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Fresh blood. It was a feast indeed. So meticulous in their planning. Mosquitos. Clever and never satisfied By Mohammed Thiane Stepping out of the Kenyan Airways flight, at the Blaise Diagne International Airport in Thies, Senegal - some 40kms from the capital, Dakar - I felt the hot wind in my face as I disembarked from the plane. The hot, sticky breeze immediately struck a memory of my earlier years in this great city. The time before I migrated to Zimbabwe, with my parents, for school. I had expected significant climatic differences between my two homes, so the 36-degree heat I felt walking onto the tarmac, was really no surprise. I was greeted by beautiful smiles as I walked to join the queue where my fellow travellers were getting their passports stamped. My turn came and I responded to the call. I walked to the counter and presented my case. I had no visa. I had heard that my father was sick, having suffered a terrible stroke. My sister had bought me a ticket, and, without hesitation, I had taken the next flight out. Finally, after some minutes, I was called to collect my passport and my bag.