This is probably going to be waaayy to long for one post so I’m thinking an exciting three part series for this blog post. Spring break was so eventful, relaxing, stressful, and bizarre that it just can’t be condensed. Let’s start with my departure: the scene is Dakar way too early on a Saturday morning…
So I started my morning dark and early at 6:30am on the streets of Ouakam. I waited for a taxi and I was a bit grumpy because he gave me a crappy price. He was way to chipper and found it appropriate to shove his cup of Café Touba in my face to offer me some. Actually sir, no I don’t want your café touba because I don’t like coffee and you probably brush your teeth by picking at them with a stick like most people do here. But thanks anyways. We all met up at Ioana’s house in Mermoz but Alice hadn’t gotten anything to eat for breakfast or on our car ride so we went to Brioche Doree across the street. YAY! I love their pastries! This made my morning especially since I accidentally bought two chocolate croissants because I wasn’t paying attention. Double the fun! So we took our taxi to the Gare Routiere. Now in French Gare means train station but this is more of a station wagon station. See to get most places in Senegal there are two options: bus or sept-place taxi. We’ll learn why the bus around is the worst transportation you’ve ever taken in your entire life but that’s later. Sept-places on the other hand are these bizarre station wagon mutants. Their interior has been ripped apart to add a third row of seating so that you can fit 7 people plus the driver hence the name SEPT-place. It was surprisingly easy to find one heading to Karang (the Senegalese border town). Unfortunately, every sept-place made you wonder if you had your tetanus shot updated lately or when was the last time you found it acceptable to shove 9 people in a station wagon. Yes I say nine because we had a little girl sitting on her mom’s lap/slumped on the floor the whole way. We, the three toubabs, got shoved in the back back seat. Now since these seats sit over the back axel we have less head space, luggage directly behind us, and the metal protecting you from the tire below is the modern invention of plastic! Yes these are just in case you didn’t want to cook breakfast on the hot wheel well while you were riding along. So with us three, 5 other adults and the little girl on board we were off and out of the reach of all the vendors who had been sticking their arms and limbs in our car in a desperate attempt to sell us food/fruit/soda/tissues/flashlights/etc. Luckily we made it out without running anyone over.
The first few hours of the car ride were utterly boring and just as sweaty. I tried to sleep but I got stuck with the hump seat. Now being the baby of the family I’m used to getting the hump seat since I was the smallest and didn’t get a choice. We also had enough luggage/bags in the back that these created a convenient head rest for us. I suppose this should have been alarming to me since I have seen that episode of Mythbusters where they prove heavy objects in the back of vehicles will smash your head like a watermelon from a tall building should you get in an accident. So we got into Kaolack on a stretch of road that was starting to get yucky with lots of huge potholes which could swallow an 18 wheeler who we often aimed at as we swerved all around the road to avoid said holes. Having the middle seat probably took about 20 years off my life just from the fear and stress. We stopped in Kaolack for water and food and a bathroom if you could find one. Everyone abandoned the car as if the locks on these cars actually work or that no one would touch our stuff. Yes because that is a safe assumption. So as Alice, Ioana, and I stood guard I watched the traffic. Watching traffic in Kaolack makes me wonder how anyone lives past the age of 30 and makes you suspicious whether poverty is really what brings down the life expectancy in poor countries. We get on our way out of Kaolack and here comes the worst of the roads. Typically, we were driving on the sand besides the road rather than on the road itself. Now, we knew these roads were bad because we had recently had our trip to Toubacouta with the group however our bus was in great condition. Our sept-place was not. We get to Toubacouta which is pretty close to the border so we are excited we are close.
Nope! God decided to smite us and all of a sudden we lose a tire. With a load pop, some thrashing around under the car, some fishtailing action, and the lovely music of metal grinding on pavement we came to a sad stop. Now when I say we lost a tire I don’t mean we simply got a flat tire. At first, before the fishtailing was that a large piece of the car had fallen out of the bottom. Not a shocking thought. Then with the pop sound and fishtailing I thought we might have just gotten violent flat tire. Nope! None of that normal stuff that happens to real people. When I say lost a tire what I really mean is when you take a tire off a car and look at where the brake rotors are/should be that’s all we had left. Of course, Ioana had been sitting over that wheel so as the shock of it all settled down I realize had we not had a great driver we could have been in a serious accident. It’s not hard to flip a car when the edge of the road is about 4 inches about the sand. The wheel flew off to some unknown destination in the forest and the circular piece of metal that had been holding it on was melted flat with the road. So the three men got out to look at the damage all manly like as us girls haul out to look at it too. Alice started taking pictures a bit awkwardly and I say awkwardly because the men were still standing there and I felt she was hurting their ego by taking pictures. I took one as evidence for my Dad. He’s a car man so he knows what he’s looking at but I took it as they were searching for the tire. The Senegalese women couldn’t be bothered to look. I guess they’re used to it anyways. We also saw an accident on the way to our accident. We happened upon an accident where a sept-place had hit a motorcycle driver. We arrived just in time to see the unfortunate motorcyclist get hauled into a car. Not a happy scene. He wasn’t bloody on the outside but that doesn’t mean he’s not bleeding on the inside. In the end, a kid in a normal car took us three girls and the woman with her daughter to the border safe and sound and I learned that sept-place rides are a hot mess.
The first thing to know about the border is that the people here have no concept of personal space or anger management problems. We step out of the car into a hoard of people. “hello pretty lady how are you? Hi nice lady would you like some peanuts? I can give you Dalasi (Gambian currency) for your CFA” (because Gambia speaks some convoluted form of English). No lady I don’t want your peanuts so stop touching me. Don’t touch my bags and take a step back before I lose my shit. I was angry in case you can’t tell from that mini dialogue because they touch you and I know all they want to do is steal my stuff and invade my space so I panic into buying something. The only thing they were going to panic me into was smacking someone. Alice was spending three nights in the little village we had taken a trip to several weeks ago. To do this we had to approach the motorcycle gang while still being swarmed. We found her a ride and Ioana and I continued to the Senegalese border post. The man there complemented me on my French and my lack of an American accent which I know is untrue but it gave me a little ego boost for the day. The Gambian side was a bit more intimidating.
First, they checked our bags at the Gambian border as if they ever get real security risks. Then we went to get our visas. You walk in and the first thing you see is this crappy little detention cell with a few pots. I assume one for food and one for toilet and the third one for who knows what else. We also had the great fortune of seeing one of these detainees in his natural habitat! I stopped snickering about the crappy cell once I realized someone was in it. At the end of the hall, we arrive to a guy sitting in an office looking bored out of his skull. He hit on us some then tried to take a serious interrogation tone bout our reasons for visiting and all that. I don’t know but I’ve never seen an interrogation that comes with a speed dating service. We finally get our visas and ar eon our way paying too much for a taxi yada yada. Then the ferry was a whole new adventure.
Ohh the ferry in Gambia how I loathe thee. The ferry was a long wait first of all. They only had one ferry running that day so it took about 2 hours for it to make the round trip. Ioana and I waited about an hour and a half. We got lost finding the terminal because you have to walk through a shady maze of shacks to get there. As we waited we saw the couple from our sept-place who stayed behind. I was glad to see they made it. So we had a short conversation about our terrifying adventures. I had an earwig on my shirt and had a mini public freakout which was embarrassing. That’s about as eventful as our wait was. Finally, everyone makes a move towards the door. Apparently some people have honed ferry hunting skills and heard if from halfway to Banjul because we all shoved up against the gate in a nice sweaty crowd and waited about another half hour in the hot hot sun. Yay! Meanwhile, old ladies are pummeling me with their damn luggage so they can get in front of me. The gates finally let loose like the floods from hell. Ioana starts running so there I am running with my piece of luggage and my backpack on the front of me since I was worried about people opening it. We’re running next to crazy people swinging bags and babies everywhere. So we find seats luckily on the ferry and we wait…again. The ferry is extraordinarily slow and takes about 40 minutes to do less distance or about the same as Lake Champlain. Maybe our ferry does take that long and I just don’t remember but it took forever. Getting off the boat was just as much fun seeing as luggage hits rriiigghht at that soft spot in your knees so you near about fall as you simultaneously get shoved down the staircase. Because that’s not dangerous at all. Of course while all this is happening I get something in my contact that is burning in my eye. As if the dust from the car accident wasn’t bad enough. Ioana and I try calling their family friend who is supposed to pick us up but she is late of course…just like everyone in Senegal. We walk on to the street and stand still. Now this is the worst thing you can do as a white foreigner. You get harassed and swarmed but we didn’t really have a choice.
My eye is literally on fire. So I tell Ioana we’re going to stand where we are. I knew I had wet wipes (thanks Mom!) and my contact solution in my backpack. So I wiped my hands off and ignored the dirty old man hitting on us as I ripped out my contact. Now as most people know this is a slightly gross and disturbing process because it involves touching my eye. Now imagine you didn’t know what I was doing. The look on this man’s face as he watched me remove my contact was priceless. I only WISH I had had my camera. There was a look of sheer disgust and absolute horror which was making me laugh and making it difficult to concentrate. Mind you he never stops trying to get me to marry him despite his sheer disgust; his advances were simply mingled among the oh my what are you doing comments. I think this just tells us how desperate some men really are. I tried to explain but I think to this day it’ll be some sort of horror story he’ll tell his kids about what the crazy white folks do.
So we get harassed as we wait for our ride and I was super grumpy. Finally, they show up. Gatou and her brother drive us to our hotel which was super nice of them because it saved us a bunch because we didn’t have to get ripped off by a taxi. The hotel was down a shady little alley way and now I was worried I had picked a crappy hotel. Behind the large walls awaited a cute little oasis for our Gambian stay! There was a small pool surrounded by huts. Our hut had three rooms: the bathroom, living room, and bedroom. All were very nice. The bathroom had white tile so it looked a little dingy and got dirty quick but it was big and had a functioning shower. YAY! No bucket shower for Sammy! We also got a fridge and had a water heater for tea. I have to say the best addition I could have ever asked for was little Vega, the kitten we arrived to who was sleeping in the chair on our front stoop. So adorable!!!
Ioana and I were super tired but we wanted to meet Fatou’s family soooo we each took our turns in the nice shower and de-sweatified ourselves from our cramped travels. We figured hey free dinner and off we went again sleep deprived but excited. Fatou’s house was WAAAYYY different than any house I’ve seen in Senegal. They had it decorated from floor to ceiling with all sorts of crazy stuff. Nice china, teddy bears, photos, large glass fronted shelves. They were clearly well off. So we ate some dinner and chilled out at the TV with the family. If I remember correctly there were 3 sisters, the brother, and a baby. Of course we also met the mom of the house. Mind you, when I say sisters I’m not sure how they’re all related but anyways…As we’re sitting there I realize Fatou wants to take us out dancing because it’s Saturday night of course! I’m exhausted as is Ioana. Fatou offered me a nap but if I took a nap I was never waking up so Ioana naps while I’m with the fam. We pick up a friend of Fatou’s and bring her back. Time ticks away…now I know people go out late here and I figured ohh midnight or something. Then who knows how late we’d be out but I never get to go out guilt free in Dakar so I sucked it up. So we go to Fatou’s friend’s house as they get dressed and shower and chat. Her friend’s brother and some other folds come in and leave. We eat some eggs. FINALLY! We are ready to go out at the early hour of 12:45am. Ohh dear…so tired! I’m not used to going out on a normal amount of sleep much less on 8 hours of travel and spotty sleep the night before. We walk into the club, Duplex, and I was really surprised. I’m not really sure what American clubs look like because the only one I’ve seen is that shady little one in Burlington that allows folks under 21 every now and then, but I imagine this one is a lot like ours. It’s a huge club with lots of lights and a bar and of course huge flat screens displaying people dancing in the club. Of course the only people being displayed on these screens were the white foreign chicks who were smashed and looking mentally challenged in a club full of Gambian folks. This made me think of two things: Kesha and why white girls get a bad name.
The dancing was fun but I was too tired to enjoy it for too long. It was nice to hear some American music and just have fun. On our way back to the hotel we saw an SUV almost flip and a taxi accident where they hit each other head on. Now this should have been a warning to the utterly shitty driving Ioana and I would soon encounter in Gambia. SLLEEEEPPPP! Finally we slept and even if our bed hadn’t been comfy I would have said it was. It was a good night
SUNDAY – So Ioana and I wake up slow on Sunday tired from our night out. We scrounge around for breakfast and showered. We wanted to pay the hotel so we found Omar, the Gambian man who works for Alan (the owner). He introduced us to Alan the old British (?) man who runs the place. He talked to us forever! Finally we get it out of him that he wants us to pay in Dalasi instead of CFA. Cool. Something else we have to do. But later. Instead, we ask Omar how to get to the Crocodile pond and to our surprise he walks us there! Omar was our awesome tour guide for the day although we did have to pay to get him to the forest. Anyways, the crocodile pool was cool and they had a well laid out museum of sorts with agricultural, war, musical artifacts. We saw the crocodiles but we didn’t get to touch one because they were all in the water. We also get to see this massive silk tree that was a great picture spot. The pool was nice but a bit overpriced if you ask me.
After the pool, it wasn’t quite lunch time yet and Ioana wanted to see the forest because we were going into Banjul tomorrow. So we made the brilliant plan to go to the Bijilo Forest without lunch. Bad planning. First off, it takes a while to get there because Omar takes us on the public transportation which is just vans outfitted with extra seats and no interior. This is fine because it’s cheaper but there’s not really a direct route to the forest. We finally get there and we pay to get into the forest (paying for Omar too) when this scraggly dirty looking man walks up to us. Now at this point Ioana and I had been scammed that morning by a guy in Bakau (where we were staying). He pulled the don’t-you-recognize-me-from-the-hotel skit and brought us to his house and tried to pry money out of us by shamelessly using his kids saying they were orphans. Bullshit and mildly scary. So this guy at the forest comes up to us and starts this big speech about how we have to pay for a tour guide and that you can’t go into the forest without a tour guide and that it’s 300 dalasi. Excuse me? 300 dalasi? Do we look mentally challenged to you? I was furious. After telling him that it’s bullcrap and we don’t have to pay twice that’s not how it works I was ready to physically injure this man. I was hot and hungry and cranky. I literally had to turn my back on him for fear of screaming in his face and causing a big scene. Omar was discussing/fighting with another dude about this and finally after almost leaving they let us in with 100 Dalasi I guess. We start our walk and Omar has the 100 Dalasi in his hand when the tour guide turns around and tells us “ohh yesterday this lovely bird watching couple loved my tour so much they gave me money at the end” yada yada yada. Again a crock of shit but Omar gave him our hundred. Lame. The forest on the other hand was really cool. We got to see monkeys, hyenas, an antelope, the Senegalese parrots, baboons (I know they’re monkeys but they’re different there were some free range monkeys in the forest). The trees were also pretty cool. My favorite was the strangler fig. I can’t explain how it looks to you so you’ll just have to go on facebook once I put photos up. Oh I forgot to mention the guy at the front said this walk would take two hours. I said unacceptable I haven’t eaten lunch yet. We were aiming for like an hour tops. Also why we shouldn’t have to pay 300 extra. The forest was cool but I’ll let my pictures explain.
We finally get out of the bug infested forest ( I had forgotten to wear bug spray which was also a bad life choice) to the road only to wait forever for one of the weird little vans to take us home because Oh yea it’s Sunday and everyone is heading our direction. Everything that drove by was full. I was super ripped at this point because now it was like 4pm. All day without food makes for a grumpy Sammy. Fortunately, we made it back eventually. A slow process at best. And Ioana and I walk down our road to an open bar/restaurant place. Instantly, the man sitting at the bar is trying to seat us and hit on us and marry us. Go away. He doesn’t even work there. Such a tool. Of course while we are sitting there three other foreigners (possibly Australian) come to this place and are absolutely vulgar. They are just the definition of offensive. First off, the youngest who looks about 16 is leading a dog around and at one point says “come here bitch”. Now this wouldn’t have bugged me had all the men not laughed but no they all laughed and probably do the same shit to women. I agree with Ioana, just because the men in Gambia act like vulgar scum doesn’t mean as foreigners it is acceptable to do the same. Ioana and I were less than impressed. The food however was FAAANNNTTTAASTTIICC. So good! Kinda pricey as I found out later. But it was a good dinner. End of day 2.
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