The stitches came out of my wrist last night, well, half of them. In fact I haven’t actually counted how many are there in total – eight? The remaining stitches will be removed this Saturday, along with the two from my foot.

Perhaps I’ll be able to run a little next week? Just some light jogging. I can’t remember being  this  inactive since dislocating my hip at the age of 16 during a game of Rugby. If there is a squash court here in Dakar,  even better. I was playing 4-5 times per week before I began this journey. Good thing I’m right-handed.

My blood is still splattered along a section of the corniche. A student from the International School reminded me of this a few days ago. The taxi was driving too quickly yesterday evening for me to see. I tried to explain to the driver what happened as he drove past. “Exactement ici” I repeated pointing out of the window. It was hard to imagine five men with machetes amongst the many pedestrians and joggers on the roadside. ‘Wrong place wrong time’, as I’ve said to myself and many others in the last week. I could have been walking in the same spot two minutes later on that Saturday evening and nothing would have happened.

I’ve spent the past few hours looking through photos from the last 7 months. Here is a selection of some of my favourites from those first several months  in Europe. I’ll post another with a selection from Africa in the next few days.