I’m confused as to why my alarm is ringing in my ear, only a few short hours after I lay down, the decisions of the previous night - shots and dancing and lack of sleep - hanging around me in a fog. I shut the alarm off, somewhat annoyed it was set in the first place and roll over. Wait, shit! My bus! I jump out of bed at the unpleasant realization that I do, in fact, have somewhere to be. And soon. Sampson and Ian are in the living room, sitting quietly on their phones. “Oh my god,” I groan/laugh as I stumble past them into the bathroom to hastily brush my teeth. “The hangover is good, huh?” Ian responds. With quick thanks and hugs and goodbyes, I’m off to the bus station. Lagos bound. The four hour journey is a strange one. I try desperately to sleep, curled in my seat, while the group of 10 partiers in the back of the bus with me surround my seat, give toasts, and take shots above me. After what feels like days, the ride ends. I find a cafe near the bus station, send my locatio...