In December, 2010, I visited Guinea Republic in West Africa. My destination was Conakry, Guinea’s capital city. The vacation was intended to give me ample opportunity to relax and see the world that lay on the western flank of Africa. I wanted to experience a different environment and relate with people who were different from me. Going by the stories I heard about Conakry, I had the mental picture of trees, friendly natives, amazing beaches and a comforting weather. After I booked my ticket, I decided to research a little more about where I was going. In my findings, I discovered that Guinea had fine tropical fruits and beautiful seaports. I was joyed by these inspiring findings and could not wait to leave the country. I had already packed suitable clothing and other gadgets, as I got ready to travel. The following day, I bade my family goodbye and took a taxi to Murtala Mohammed Airport in Lagos where I boarded a plane to Conakry. Conakry was once a small island town that had spread to the country's mainland. It was a hub of natural wonders that comprised one-fifth of the country’s population. Conakry boasts the national stadium, Stade du 28-Septembre and the National Museum. In Conakry, the Palais du Peuple, a thriving botanical garden converged many people who came for open-air markets. Plenty of nightlife activities took place in the Palais du Peuple. Just off the coast, the Iles de Los was a popular local escape for swimming and relaxation. During my first three weeks in Conakry, I stayed with my aunt. She and her husband were missionaries in Kipe, a small town in the heart of Conakry. With the trees that assembled in the compound where I lived, I had the opportunity to take nice pictures of the edifices that lay around the vicinity from tree branches. I had travelled with my 12-pixel Canon camera. I bought the camera for the purpose of taking photographs of the environment, and also cover significant events with the video recording function it had. Nearly every afternoon, I would take a decent 30 minutes walk around the neighborhood learning and observing how the people in Conakry lived. One day, I visited a friendly neighbor whose house was just a yard away from mine. It was one of those mornings that I woke early. As I entered Sherif’s house, the sight of a type of bread called “talapa” greeted me. I had eaten it once the very day I arrived Conakry, but did not like it. It was too crispy and was baked in form of a sugar cane. The bread was about 7 inches long if measured with a tape rule, and coned on its edges. I wondered how Guineans survived with this type of bread. I was told that Guineans liked to eat talapa bread becau