Finding the Sénégalese parliament, or National Assembly, was an easy affair. I simply walked down the street in front of the hotel for about 2 kilometres. The first part of the walk is chaotic though. The street is full of activity with taxis, trucks, carts, people, goats and products on display crowding the street. It is a real obstacle course trying to get through, with some really tight squeezes. Then the buildings get nicer, the taxis, trucks and animals thin out and you start to realize that you are in a much nicer neighbourhood. Soon you start to see embassies. The Cameroonian embassy complex is quite nice but the Spanish embassy is a very small nondescript building.
Somewhere in that journey you turn the corner onto Rue de Nelson Mandela and start to see the National Assembly building in Soweto Circle. The building looks like a nicely kept up, modern structure with nice gardens, but a close look also shows a little wear and tear. I asked the guard in front if they had tours and he said no. It doesn't look like they have the type of security set-up for civilians to come and go anyway. So I snapped a couple pictures from across the circle. Next door is the National IFAN-University of Dakar Museum. It was open but hardly anyone was there. I went up to the front paid 2 000 francs (US$4) and started walking around.
As you can see from the photos it is dedicated to west African culture and art. But strangely very little of it actually comes from Sénégal. About 1/2 of the art on display was Malian and the rest came from other nearby francophone countries. There are many examples of beautiful masks, pottery and tapestries and some exhibits of African tribal dances - initiation and harvest rites.
On the second floor were many statues of women who were breastfeeding babies which were used in animist religions as objects of veneration and worship. I got the impression that women were held in high regard in several of these cultures and were probably the big losers when these people were converted to Islam or Christianity.
This will probably be my last post from Africa. I am going to take one more walk, then see if I can get a nap in. I need to eat. I need to reorganize my pack and I need to pay my bill. So I will "see" you guys from the other side.
À bientôt!
samedi 29 novembre 2008
Day 9 Last Day in Africa
Geez. Where did this trip go?
Today is my last full day in Africa. My flight leaves at the UNGODLY (UNGODLY I tell you!) hour of 3.05am tomorrow morning. I have one full day left in Dakar.
Unlike all the other places I have visited on this trip, Dakar has a reputation of being a bit dangerous. My guidebook is full of suggestions on what to do, and not to do, and where to go and not to go. The #1 suggestion: Don't EVER look like a lost tourist. That's easier said than done if you don't know the layout of a city and are trying to look for a building or a ferry.
There is even a chapter on all the well-known scams and how to avoid them. One of those scams I have already encountered twice. The "Remember me?" scam is one where the scammer claims to know you from your hotel and out of politeness you agree. Then he claims he loaned you money which he needs back now. The pressure builds and builds until you pay just to get him to go away.
The guidebook emphasizes that violence against tourists is rare, but that it has happened and counsels you to stay off side streets and not to go out at night. I have been in other dangerous world cities: Port Moresby, Belize City, Tijuana, and learned a long time ago to leave the wallet at the hotel, carry a small roll of bills for today's spending and then carry a bit more so that if you are robbed, the robber is satisfied with what he has taken and lets you be. Always look purposeful and confident and leave your watch, no matter how cheap it is, at your room.
What is odd about Dakar is that many people initiate conversations with me in English before I even open my mouth. I have grown used to conversations switching to English once they hear my Anglo accent and realize I am not "really" French, but starting a conversation off in English strikes me as odd. I see French people all over the place but haven't encountered any North Americans (Americans or Canadians) here at all. I have to wonder whether North Americans just look different than Europeans. Are we taller or bigger? Does the fact that most of us are ethnic mutts make us look different? Do I scream North American because I wear a baseball cap, polo shirt and shorts, or what? I dunno.
Anyway, my itinerary today is to find the parliament building and the National Museum.
Today is my last full day in Africa. My flight leaves at the UNGODLY (UNGODLY I tell you!) hour of 3.05am tomorrow morning. I have one full day left in Dakar.
Unlike all the other places I have visited on this trip, Dakar has a reputation of being a bit dangerous. My guidebook is full of suggestions on what to do, and not to do, and where to go and not to go. The #1 suggestion: Don't EVER look like a lost tourist. That's easier said than done if you don't know the layout of a city and are trying to look for a building or a ferry.
There is even a chapter on all the well-known scams and how to avoid them. One of those scams I have already encountered twice. The "Remember me?" scam is one where the scammer claims to know you from your hotel and out of politeness you agree. Then he claims he loaned you money which he needs back now. The pressure builds and builds until you pay just to get him to go away.
The guidebook emphasizes that violence against tourists is rare, but that it has happened and counsels you to stay off side streets and not to go out at night. I have been in other dangerous world cities: Port Moresby, Belize City, Tijuana, and learned a long time ago to leave the wallet at the hotel, carry a small roll of bills for today's spending and then carry a bit more so that if you are robbed, the robber is satisfied with what he has taken and lets you be. Always look purposeful and confident and leave your watch, no matter how cheap it is, at your room.
What is odd about Dakar is that many people initiate conversations with me in English before I even open my mouth. I have grown used to conversations switching to English once they hear my Anglo accent and realize I am not "really" French, but starting a conversation off in English strikes me as odd. I see French people all over the place but haven't encountered any North Americans (Americans or Canadians) here at all. I have to wonder whether North Americans just look different than Europeans. Are we taller or bigger? Does the fact that most of us are ethnic mutts make us look different? Do I scream North American because I wear a baseball cap, polo shirt and shorts, or what? I dunno.
Anyway, my itinerary today is to find the parliament building and the National Museum.
vendredi 28 novembre 2008
Day 8 Gorée Island
Wow. What to say about Gorée Island that does the place justice. It's just a bizarre juxtaposition between incredible physical beauty and one of the greatest evils ever committed.
The island itself is beautiful, with the same French colonial architecture I saw in St-Louis but better preserved. It has flower lined lanes, palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze and beautiful blue waters off the cost. There is a resident population but they are used to tourists and seem better able to take rejection when they attempt to sell you souvenirs. There is also a public school on the island but it's unclear if the school kids are residents. Many schoolgirls took the ferry back with me.
It's just one of those idyllic places you fantasize about retiring to.
The circular fort is now a museum which traces the history of human activity in Sénégal from pre-hominids to the present. (Yes, evolution doesn't seem to be that controversial here.) It isn't anything fancy, but gives an interesting account of Sénégal's rôle in the Ghanan and Malian empires, the jockeying of the Portuguese, Dutch (Gorée is a French pronunciation of the Dutch words "Goe Ree" which means "good port"), British and finally French for control of the area. There is a room about the Islamic conquest and one about post-Independent development.
There is definitely more to Gorée Island than slavery...
But then you turn a corner and there is the slavehouse or "Maison des esclaves". It too is a handsome building, though once you enter you immediately see the dark, damp, dirt floored holding cells where men, women and children were held separately pending the trans-Atlantic crossing. You can just feel the fear these people must have felt not knowing what their fate would be. Finally there is the famous "Door of No Return" which opens out to the Atlantic. It is a very moving place. I have read stories about African Americans falling on their knees crying and can understand why. It's one of the places where humanity's inhumanity impacts you in the deepest way. Gorée Island was not the largest transit point for slaves. These rooms are quite small, maybe 7-8 metres across at the greatest and could never have held more than a few dozen people at a time. But still, it was a very chilling experience.
The second floor of the building used to hold administrative offices but is now a museum which documents slavery in Sénégal.
Lots of Gorée Photos can be found here
The island itself is beautiful, with the same French colonial architecture I saw in St-Louis but better preserved. It has flower lined lanes, palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze and beautiful blue waters off the cost. There is a resident population but they are used to tourists and seem better able to take rejection when they attempt to sell you souvenirs. There is also a public school on the island but it's unclear if the school kids are residents. Many schoolgirls took the ferry back with me.
It's just one of those idyllic places you fantasize about retiring to.
The circular fort is now a museum which traces the history of human activity in Sénégal from pre-hominids to the present. (Yes, evolution doesn't seem to be that controversial here.) It isn't anything fancy, but gives an interesting account of Sénégal's rôle in the Ghanan and Malian empires, the jockeying of the Portuguese, Dutch (Gorée is a French pronunciation of the Dutch words "Goe Ree" which means "good port"), British and finally French for control of the area. There is a room about the Islamic conquest and one about post-Independent development.
There is definitely more to Gorée Island than slavery...
But then you turn a corner and there is the slavehouse or "Maison des esclaves". It too is a handsome building, though once you enter you immediately see the dark, damp, dirt floored holding cells where men, women and children were held separately pending the trans-Atlantic crossing. You can just feel the fear these people must have felt not knowing what their fate would be. Finally there is the famous "Door of No Return" which opens out to the Atlantic. It is a very moving place. I have read stories about African Americans falling on their knees crying and can understand why. It's one of the places where humanity's inhumanity impacts you in the deepest way. Gorée Island was not the largest transit point for slaves. These rooms are quite small, maybe 7-8 metres across at the greatest and could never have held more than a few dozen people at a time. But still, it was a very chilling experience.
The second floor of the building used to hold administrative offices but is now a museum which documents slavery in Sénégal.
Lots of Gorée Photos can be found here
jeudi 27 novembre 2008
Day 7 down time
No trip to Gorée Island today. I seem to have developed a dreaded case of "traveler's trots". You know, queasy stomach, the runs and weakness. But I don't have a fever or anything. So it was a day of rest with just a few walks around the neighbourhood to see what the area was like and then back to my room to rest. CNN International was my friend, though its continuous coverage of the Mumbai bombings got old after a while. (This will probably be the only trip I have ever taken where I am going to lose weight instead of gain it.)
Dakar seems to be a pretty typical Third World capital. Lots of hustle and bustle and apparent chaos but not much physical beauty. Still I posted a few photos here.
Dakar seems to be a pretty typical Third World capital. Lots of hustle and bustle and apparent chaos but not much physical beauty. Still I posted a few photos here.
mercredi 26 novembre 2008
Day 6 - In Dakar
It looks like the hotel's internet is up and running again. That's a relief!
Last night I had a wonderful conversation with the waiter in Saint-Louis where I ate. It was a quiet night, the Dutch tourists left, and there was only one couple there. The waiter is one of those guys with a big engaging smile and who you can tell absolutely loves his job. He asked me what I thought of Sénégal, I told him it was marvelous and he just beamed. He has a brother who lives in Queens and asked me a lot of questions about New York.
Last night was also a toss and turn night. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about today's trip. I had read about the stories about the chaos at the Gare Routiére and stories about bush taxis breaking down in the wilderness. My fears turned out to be unfounded. Yes, the Gare Routiére is crazy and as a White tourist you are the object of attention. But it isn't anything I hadn't encountered before.
I took a local taxi to the station and once we arrived I got my pack out and just started shouting "Dakar...Dakar...Dakar..." until someone shouted back. I got into the car with my daypack (which has all my valuables) and gave my backpack (which just has clothes) to the driver to load in the back. The bush taxis sell fares by the seat and I bought two seats for 5 000 francs each plus another 2 000 for my backpack. (Total cost $24) Then it was about a 20 minute wait for 5 other people to show up, fill the 7 seat taxi which meant we can leave. It was a long 20 minutes. In fact, it is hard to convey how intense the chaos was at this point. There were lots of street merchants shoving bottled water, candy bars and phone cards in my face. There were lots of teenage kids asking for money for "helping" me and, of course, there were the ubiquitous filthy beggar kids. So I am sitting there turned partially around to watch my pack in the back trunk so that no one walks off with it while these people are shoving goods, cans for change or their hands in my face and shouting at me. At one point the teenage kids tried to open my door to get at me. So then I had to use one hand to keep the door pulled shut while turned the other way to make sure my pack stayed in place. As I said, this was an intense moment!
Finally, 5 other people showed up. There were 3 men in the backseat in traditional clothing. Two in white robes and one in a beautiful purple-blue robe. There was the man next to my second seat, who was in modern clothes and chatted on his cellphone and then a younger man in a t-shirt and jeans in the front with the driver. The 3 men in the back were older and didn't speak French. It sounds like they weren't speaking Wolof either. The man next to me spoke French and a bit of English and wanted to try his English out on me. The two men in the front were silent the entire time.
It's a 5 hour drive, direct. We had to dodge the same groups of people, slower cars and livestock. This time I decided not to watch the driver drive and enjoy the scenery. The landscape is savanna with brown grass and scattered trees which got greener as we went south. We passed through the same villages I saw on the way up, but this time I paid more attention. From time to time you would see thatched huts in compounds. On the way up I assumed that everyone lived in concrete homes and these were for livestock. But it is apparent that people do still live in these thatched huts. We stopped every 100 klicks or so, sometimes at a lean-to at the side of the road and someone there would hand the driver a piece of paper with a number on it. (Perhaps to make sure he took the correct route? I dunno.)
We got into Dakar in mid afternoon and crawled through traffic for an hour. Ugh! An hour of the worst kind of truck fumes you ever smelled. It's a smell you don't smell in the developed world and left me with a headache. Finally the bush taxi pulled along the side of the road, I transferred my packs to a local taxi and we went to the hotel. The receptionist didn't have my reservation but checked me in. I was exhausted and sore but had to get a stash of bottled water. I found that at a local shop, came back and am going to take it easy tonight. I am wiped, feeling a little sick from the fumes and just need a night of quiet.
Tomorrow I am off to explore Gorée Island.
Last night I had a wonderful conversation with the waiter in Saint-Louis where I ate. It was a quiet night, the Dutch tourists left, and there was only one couple there. The waiter is one of those guys with a big engaging smile and who you can tell absolutely loves his job. He asked me what I thought of Sénégal, I told him it was marvelous and he just beamed. He has a brother who lives in Queens and asked me a lot of questions about New York.
Last night was also a toss and turn night. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about today's trip. I had read about the stories about the chaos at the Gare Routiére and stories about bush taxis breaking down in the wilderness. My fears turned out to be unfounded. Yes, the Gare Routiére is crazy and as a White tourist you are the object of attention. But it isn't anything I hadn't encountered before.
I took a local taxi to the station and once we arrived I got my pack out and just started shouting "Dakar...Dakar...Dakar..." until someone shouted back. I got into the car with my daypack (which has all my valuables) and gave my backpack (which just has clothes) to the driver to load in the back. The bush taxis sell fares by the seat and I bought two seats for 5 000 francs each plus another 2 000 for my backpack. (Total cost $24) Then it was about a 20 minute wait for 5 other people to show up, fill the 7 seat taxi which meant we can leave. It was a long 20 minutes. In fact, it is hard to convey how intense the chaos was at this point. There were lots of street merchants shoving bottled water, candy bars and phone cards in my face. There were lots of teenage kids asking for money for "helping" me and, of course, there were the ubiquitous filthy beggar kids. So I am sitting there turned partially around to watch my pack in the back trunk so that no one walks off with it while these people are shoving goods, cans for change or their hands in my face and shouting at me. At one point the teenage kids tried to open my door to get at me. So then I had to use one hand to keep the door pulled shut while turned the other way to make sure my pack stayed in place. As I said, this was an intense moment!
Finally, 5 other people showed up. There were 3 men in the backseat in traditional clothing. Two in white robes and one in a beautiful purple-blue robe. There was the man next to my second seat, who was in modern clothes and chatted on his cellphone and then a younger man in a t-shirt and jeans in the front with the driver. The 3 men in the back were older and didn't speak French. It sounds like they weren't speaking Wolof either. The man next to me spoke French and a bit of English and wanted to try his English out on me. The two men in the front were silent the entire time.
It's a 5 hour drive, direct. We had to dodge the same groups of people, slower cars and livestock. This time I decided not to watch the driver drive and enjoy the scenery. The landscape is savanna with brown grass and scattered trees which got greener as we went south. We passed through the same villages I saw on the way up, but this time I paid more attention. From time to time you would see thatched huts in compounds. On the way up I assumed that everyone lived in concrete homes and these were for livestock. But it is apparent that people do still live in these thatched huts. We stopped every 100 klicks or so, sometimes at a lean-to at the side of the road and someone there would hand the driver a piece of paper with a number on it. (Perhaps to make sure he took the correct route? I dunno.)
We got into Dakar in mid afternoon and crawled through traffic for an hour. Ugh! An hour of the worst kind of truck fumes you ever smelled. It's a smell you don't smell in the developed world and left me with a headache. Finally the bush taxi pulled along the side of the road, I transferred my packs to a local taxi and we went to the hotel. The receptionist didn't have my reservation but checked me in. I was exhausted and sore but had to get a stash of bottled water. I found that at a local shop, came back and am going to take it easy tonight. I am wiped, feeling a little sick from the fumes and just need a night of quiet.
Tomorrow I am off to explore Gorée Island.
Day 6
Cant write much but I made it to Dakar in one piece and am all checked in. Trying to hunt and peck type this on a French keyboard while a shopkeeper looks on. He let me borrow this computer but obviously wants it back.
More as I can.
More as I can.
mardi 25 novembre 2008
Day 5.5 Paid the Bill
Total cost of 4 nights stay in the luxury room with the amazing balcony of the La Louisiane Hôtel, including 4, 2 course well-cooked meals washed down with a 1/2 carafe of French wine each night = 120 000 francs...
...or about US$240.00. This is not an expensive trip.
I meant to add earlier that it was quite a bit hotter today. The thermometer at the hotel read 40°C in the shade (about 104°F on the old scale) but I don't think it was that quite that hot. It felt more like the mid-30s to me. The sky had a dusty brownish tinge to it today and the winds were really kicking up. This must be the Hamattan winds blowing off the Sahara.
If it is in the mid 30s in late November, I can only imagine what it must be like in summer, especially with no-AC.
...or about US$240.00. This is not an expensive trip.
I meant to add earlier that it was quite a bit hotter today. The thermometer at the hotel read 40°C in the shade (about 104°F on the old scale) but I don't think it was that quite that hot. It felt more like the mid-30s to me. The sky had a dusty brownish tinge to it today and the winds were really kicking up. This must be the Hamattan winds blowing off the Sahara.
If it is in the mid 30s in late November, I can only imagine what it must be like in summer, especially with no-AC.
Day 5 Last Day in Saint-Louis
Today is my last full day in Saint-Louis. Tomorrow I will take a bush taxi back to Dakar. For all those who are worrying about me, tomorrow is the day to worry (but PLEASE don't!) The danger in west Africa certainly isn't violent crime and, at least in Saint-Louis, pickpocketing. People here have been respectful of my personal space. They would rather attempt to separate you from your money through (by our standards) persistent, manipulative business transactions. But those are pretty easily avoided once you figure out how things work, how to bargain and realize that the shops have marked, fixed prices that are very reasonable, whereas the people on the street will try to get as much out of you as they can.
No. The danger in west Africa is much more mundane - things like mechanical breakdowns and traffic accidents. So tomorrow I will be in the most danger as I will be taking a bush taxi. Given what I have seen of the taxis here, most seem put together from spare parts. They seem to run okay but have a lot of flat tires. Now, I know next to nothing about cars. I don't even own a car. So it will be difficult to evaluate how road worthy a bush taxi is, but I can certainly check out the tires. I am bringing spare water and a few packaged cookies in case it turns out to be a longer trip than expected. So I will pay my bill tonight, take a local taxi to the Gare Routiére and leave for Dakar tomorrow morning. I have a room at a mid-priced hotel in the centre of town all reserved.
I told myself I wasn't going to buy any souvenirs on this trip. Well, "any" became "many" and now I have a space problem. So I walked back over the Eiffel bridge to the African market to buy a gym bag to throw the extra stuff in. (Even with the gym bag I am traveling very light.) I found my bag and paid 5 000 francs ($10US) for it. As I walked away I thought I would take a picture of the market where I made the purchase, pulled out my camera but before I could take my picture the crowd yelled "NON!". I am sure I had a sheepish look on my face as I put the camera away and said "Désolé" (Sorry!) and started to walk on. A pretty woman dressed in traditional clothes with a headscarf walking ahead of me giggled and said to me in French "They didn't like that." I laughed and said "Certainly not". She said "They probably wanted you to pay them to be in your picture." "Ahhhh..." That makes sense. The conversation itself was striking as it was the first time a woman initiated a conversation with me.
The store where I bought my souvenirs is near downtown Saint-Louis and is staffed by a very tall, regal looking woman. She is calm, composed but friendly, allowed me to browse and didn't put any pressure on me to buy anything. Now people, I am 100% grade A homosexual. I love women, but not that way. I don't feel a bit of attraction but, my goodness, the women are pretty here. They take good care of themselves and put a lot of work into their appearance. There are piles of an orange sand or powder around town and some women and men seem to have an orange tinge to their faces. I wonder if they are using it as makeup.
There seem to be many more street beggars out today than before. Most are young children, 5-8 years old. They appear to be well fed and show none of the telltale signs of malnutrition but most are absolutely filthy. They are sent out by the mosques to beg for alms and it is part of tradition to drop change in their cans. I don't know if the mosques make these kids look filthy in order to get extra sympathy, but one thing is true. They aren't in school.
There is one man to whom I am tempted to hand over my wallet's contents every time I pass by. He is crippled and walks around town in a sitting position using his hands to drag his body along. He is also filthy and no one talks to him. He is not a beggar. A simple wheelchair could change his life. It's a heartbreaking scene and leads me to see if I can do something through a charity once I get home.
No. The danger in west Africa is much more mundane - things like mechanical breakdowns and traffic accidents. So tomorrow I will be in the most danger as I will be taking a bush taxi. Given what I have seen of the taxis here, most seem put together from spare parts. They seem to run okay but have a lot of flat tires. Now, I know next to nothing about cars. I don't even own a car. So it will be difficult to evaluate how road worthy a bush taxi is, but I can certainly check out the tires. I am bringing spare water and a few packaged cookies in case it turns out to be a longer trip than expected. So I will pay my bill tonight, take a local taxi to the Gare Routiére and leave for Dakar tomorrow morning. I have a room at a mid-priced hotel in the centre of town all reserved.
I told myself I wasn't going to buy any souvenirs on this trip. Well, "any" became "many" and now I have a space problem. So I walked back over the Eiffel bridge to the African market to buy a gym bag to throw the extra stuff in. (Even with the gym bag I am traveling very light.) I found my bag and paid 5 000 francs ($10US) for it. As I walked away I thought I would take a picture of the market where I made the purchase, pulled out my camera but before I could take my picture the crowd yelled "NON!". I am sure I had a sheepish look on my face as I put the camera away and said "Désolé" (Sorry!) and started to walk on. A pretty woman dressed in traditional clothes with a headscarf walking ahead of me giggled and said to me in French "They didn't like that." I laughed and said "Certainly not". She said "They probably wanted you to pay them to be in your picture." "Ahhhh..." That makes sense. The conversation itself was striking as it was the first time a woman initiated a conversation with me.
The store where I bought my souvenirs is near downtown Saint-Louis and is staffed by a very tall, regal looking woman. She is calm, composed but friendly, allowed me to browse and didn't put any pressure on me to buy anything. Now people, I am 100% grade A homosexual. I love women, but not that way. I don't feel a bit of attraction but, my goodness, the women are pretty here. They take good care of themselves and put a lot of work into their appearance. There are piles of an orange sand or powder around town and some women and men seem to have an orange tinge to their faces. I wonder if they are using it as makeup.
There seem to be many more street beggars out today than before. Most are young children, 5-8 years old. They appear to be well fed and show none of the telltale signs of malnutrition but most are absolutely filthy. They are sent out by the mosques to beg for alms and it is part of tradition to drop change in their cans. I don't know if the mosques make these kids look filthy in order to get extra sympathy, but one thing is true. They aren't in school.
There is one man to whom I am tempted to hand over my wallet's contents every time I pass by. He is crippled and walks around town in a sitting position using his hands to drag his body along. He is also filthy and no one talks to him. He is not a beggar. A simple wheelchair could change his life. It's a heartbreaking scene and leads me to see if I can do something through a charity once I get home.
Day 4.5
The Dutch had taken over the restaurant again. This time they insisted that I join them. They seem to have brought their brewery with them and gave me a couple glasses of Dutch beer.
They all spoke perfect English. I don't just mean grammatically correct English but American English with almost no trace of an accent. When the waiter came around to take our order they would all switch to French, even telling witty jokes and making the waiter laugh.
Have I told you how much I hate the Dutch, and the Scandinavians? (Hi Göran!) Ok. Maybe "hate" is the wrong word. Perhaps, insane jealousy is better. Or, frustration with the North American educational system. How the fuck is it that these people can leave school able to speak three or four languages with enough fluency to tell jokes in another language, but North American kids leave school barely able to speak their native language, much less another? Even in the bilingual belt of eastern Canada, most English speaking kids only know a few French phrases. Why do we accept this? Every kid leaving an American or Canadian school should be fluent in Spanish and French**, at the very least.
If Senegalese street traders, who may make US$2,000/yr if they're lucky, can speak 3 languages conversationally, Wolof, French and English, why can't North Americans?
**Say what you want about the "decline" of French. It is still the only language besides English that is widely spoken throughout the world. French is an official language in places as far flung as Guyane in South America, New Brunswick in Canada, Madagascar, Sénégal, Lebanon, Cambodia and Tahiti.)
They all spoke perfect English. I don't just mean grammatically correct English but American English with almost no trace of an accent. When the waiter came around to take our order they would all switch to French, even telling witty jokes and making the waiter laugh.
Have I told you how much I hate the Dutch, and the Scandinavians? (Hi Göran!) Ok. Maybe "hate" is the wrong word. Perhaps, insane jealousy is better. Or, frustration with the North American educational system. How the fuck is it that these people can leave school able to speak three or four languages with enough fluency to tell jokes in another language, but North American kids leave school barely able to speak their native language, much less another? Even in the bilingual belt of eastern Canada, most English speaking kids only know a few French phrases. Why do we accept this? Every kid leaving an American or Canadian school should be fluent in Spanish and French**, at the very least.
If Senegalese street traders, who may make US$2,000/yr if they're lucky, can speak 3 languages conversationally, Wolof, French and English, why can't North Americans?
**Say what you want about the "decline" of French. It is still the only language besides English that is widely spoken throughout the world. French is an official language in places as far flung as Guyane in South America, New Brunswick in Canada, Madagascar, Sénégal, Lebanon, Cambodia and Tahiti.)
lundi 24 novembre 2008
Day 4: Day of rest
I haven't uploaded as many photos today. My body was trying to tell me that I am pushing myself too hard: too much walking (5km yesterday alone), not enough sleeping and not enough water. (Keep in mind that the anti-malarial drug I am taking leaves you dry mouthed anyway.) The water situation caught up with me last night when I woke up at about 3am feeling very dehydrated. I drank the 1/4 bottle (about 1/2 litre) of water I had left but it didn't satisfy me. I was out and still thirsty. The hotel staff were gone for the night and it was an odd feeling knowing there was water in the tap I can't drink.
Also I have had a lot of trouble sleeping. I just can't unwind and fall asleep. My mind is racing with all the things I have seen and done, also thinking of people at home and then there is the time difference. It's hard to fall asleep at 7pm Eastern Standard Time. I toss and turn and finally get to sleep at around 2-3am local time and then the muezzin starts in at 6.
So I did two things today. I went and bought LOTS of water. You'd amazed at how much I have drank and how much better that has made me feel. I also resolved not to try to adjust to the local time anymore. I have finally figured out the local weather pattern. It is hot and oppressive with lots of bugs pestering you in the morning and then at about 2pm the sea breeze kicks in, it feels 10 degrees cooler and the bugs are gone. Why not just sleep in and avoid the worst part of the day?
(On a good note, I am a mosquito magnet. They find me from miles away but I haven't seen a single mosquito since I got here and haven't had any bug bites.)
I made a first run at trying to mail off postcards today. The post office is on Rue du Général DeGaulle which is also where the street traders are. So you have to take a deep breath and make a beeline to where you are going. Any hesitation and they swoop down on you like flies and try to lead you to their spread of wood statues and masks. But when I got to the Post Office the attendant said that they aren't taking mail now and to come back in an hour. I am going to make another run in a few. I have post cards for family and friends and for those who asked who asked here. Sénégal's mail service is supposed to be reliable but if it doesn't make it, it isn't because of a lack of trying.
The other thing that struck me is all the street singing you hear. I passed one man with a Qur'an or prayer book singing out his prayers on my way to the Post Office. It was absolutely beautiful to listen to! There are a few others that were doing the same but this one man had a voice like velvet and a real musical sensibility. He should get a recording contract.
On my walk back from the failed attempt to mail my cards, the muezzin started in but very few people actually stopped and prayed. I get the feeling this is a relatively secular city focused on getting business done. About 20% of the population dresses traditionally and the rest dress in western clothes.
UPDATE: Allah be praised! I got to Rue du Général DeGaule just as a bus was unloading French tourists. I was able to get to the Post Office unhassled. The street traders were far too busy with new victims to shake down. I got my post cards mailed!
Also I have had a lot of trouble sleeping. I just can't unwind and fall asleep. My mind is racing with all the things I have seen and done, also thinking of people at home and then there is the time difference. It's hard to fall asleep at 7pm Eastern Standard Time. I toss and turn and finally get to sleep at around 2-3am local time and then the muezzin starts in at 6.
So I did two things today. I went and bought LOTS of water. You'd amazed at how much I have drank and how much better that has made me feel. I also resolved not to try to adjust to the local time anymore. I have finally figured out the local weather pattern. It is hot and oppressive with lots of bugs pestering you in the morning and then at about 2pm the sea breeze kicks in, it feels 10 degrees cooler and the bugs are gone. Why not just sleep in and avoid the worst part of the day?
(On a good note, I am a mosquito magnet. They find me from miles away but I haven't seen a single mosquito since I got here and haven't had any bug bites.)
I made a first run at trying to mail off postcards today. The post office is on Rue du Général DeGaulle which is also where the street traders are. So you have to take a deep breath and make a beeline to where you are going. Any hesitation and they swoop down on you like flies and try to lead you to their spread of wood statues and masks. But when I got to the Post Office the attendant said that they aren't taking mail now and to come back in an hour. I am going to make another run in a few. I have post cards for family and friends and for those who asked who asked here. Sénégal's mail service is supposed to be reliable but if it doesn't make it, it isn't because of a lack of trying.
The other thing that struck me is all the street singing you hear. I passed one man with a Qur'an or prayer book singing out his prayers on my way to the Post Office. It was absolutely beautiful to listen to! There are a few others that were doing the same but this one man had a voice like velvet and a real musical sensibility. He should get a recording contract.
On my walk back from the failed attempt to mail my cards, the muezzin started in but very few people actually stopped and prayed. I get the feeling this is a relatively secular city focused on getting business done. About 20% of the population dresses traditionally and the rest dress in western clothes.
UPDATE: Allah be praised! I got to Rue du Général DeGaule just as a bus was unloading French tourists. I was able to get to the Post Office unhassled. The street traders were far too busy with new victims to shake down. I got my post cards mailed!
Yeah, he is all over town, painted on the sides of buildings and over doors.
All that art is based on one surviving photo:
This is Cheikh or "Sheik" Ahmadou Bamba Mbacké (1853-1927) God's "protégé", poet, mystic and founder of a religious order.
Senegal follows a brand of Islam called Sufism. It is different than the Sunni version we hear about in the Middle East in that it is mystical, focusing on the believer's experience with God, and is less concerned about following "Da Rulz". That's why things like alcohol, cannibis, depictions of the human face in art, conversion to Christianity and other religions, women uncovered or even bearing skin, etc. are met with a shrug rather than outrage (though you don't want to rub these things in anyone's face.)
Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba was a mystic and religious leader who produced a prodigious quantity of poems and tracts on meditation, rituals, work, and Qur'anic study. Politically, Ahmadou Bamba led a pacifist struggle against French colonialism while not waging outright war on the French.
Bamba is called God's protégé" in French on the graffiti here. I think it would be offensive to translate that as a prophet because only Muhammad is God's prophet, but calling him a saint might work. "Renewer" may be another word. He attempted to study in the Qur'anic schools of the Middle East but dropped out, came back to Sénégal and founded an order which emphasizes salvation through hard work. His most famous phrase is: "Pray as if you will die tomorrow and work as if you will live forever."
The rest comes from Wikipedia:
As his fame spread, the French colonial government worried about Bamba's growing power and potential to wage war against them. He had converted a number of traditional kings and their followers and no doubt could have raised a huge military force, as Muslim leaders like Umar Tall and Samory Touré had before him.
The French sentenced him to exile in Gabon (1895–1902) and later in Mauritania (1903–1907). However, these exiles fired stories of Bamba's miraculous survival of torture, deprivation, and attempted executions, and thousands more flocked to his organization. On the ship to Gabon, forbidden from praying, Bamba is said to have broken his leg-irons, leapt overboard into the ocean and prayed on a prayer rug that appeared on the surface of the water, so devout was he. Or, when the French put him in a furnace, he simply sat down in it and drank tea with Muhammad. In a den of hungry lions, the lions slept beside him, etc.
By 1910, the French realized that Bamba was not interested in waging war against them, and was in fact quite cooperative, eventually releasing him to return to his expanded community. In 1918, he won the French Legion of Honor for enlisting his followers in the First World War and the French allowed him to establish his community in Touba, believing in part that his doctrine of hard work could be made to serve French economic interests. His movement was allowed to grow, and in 1926 he began work for the great mosque at Touba where he is buried.
...Amadou Bamba's teachings emphasized the virtues of pacifism and the importance of hard work, became in the 20th century one of the biggest influences on contemporary Senegalese life and culture...
Evidently the Saudis find all this terribly unorthodox and are pouring the petrodollars we give them to fill our cars into "reviving" Islam in west Africa and bringing it closer to the stricter Sunni Wahabiism practised in the Middle East.
All that art is based on one surviving photo:
This is Cheikh or "Sheik" Ahmadou Bamba Mbacké (1853-1927) God's "protégé", poet, mystic and founder of a religious order.
Senegal follows a brand of Islam called Sufism. It is different than the Sunni version we hear about in the Middle East in that it is mystical, focusing on the believer's experience with God, and is less concerned about following "Da Rulz". That's why things like alcohol, cannibis, depictions of the human face in art, conversion to Christianity and other religions, women uncovered or even bearing skin, etc. are met with a shrug rather than outrage (though you don't want to rub these things in anyone's face.)
Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba was a mystic and religious leader who produced a prodigious quantity of poems and tracts on meditation, rituals, work, and Qur'anic study. Politically, Ahmadou Bamba led a pacifist struggle against French colonialism while not waging outright war on the French.
Bamba is called God's protégé" in French on the graffiti here. I think it would be offensive to translate that as a prophet because only Muhammad is God's prophet, but calling him a saint might work. "Renewer" may be another word. He attempted to study in the Qur'anic schools of the Middle East but dropped out, came back to Sénégal and founded an order which emphasizes salvation through hard work. His most famous phrase is: "Pray as if you will die tomorrow and work as if you will live forever."
The rest comes from Wikipedia:
As his fame spread, the French colonial government worried about Bamba's growing power and potential to wage war against them. He had converted a number of traditional kings and their followers and no doubt could have raised a huge military force, as Muslim leaders like Umar Tall and Samory Touré had before him.
The French sentenced him to exile in Gabon (1895–1902) and later in Mauritania (1903–1907). However, these exiles fired stories of Bamba's miraculous survival of torture, deprivation, and attempted executions, and thousands more flocked to his organization. On the ship to Gabon, forbidden from praying, Bamba is said to have broken his leg-irons, leapt overboard into the ocean and prayed on a prayer rug that appeared on the surface of the water, so devout was he. Or, when the French put him in a furnace, he simply sat down in it and drank tea with Muhammad. In a den of hungry lions, the lions slept beside him, etc.
By 1910, the French realized that Bamba was not interested in waging war against them, and was in fact quite cooperative, eventually releasing him to return to his expanded community. In 1918, he won the French Legion of Honor for enlisting his followers in the First World War and the French allowed him to establish his community in Touba, believing in part that his doctrine of hard work could be made to serve French economic interests. His movement was allowed to grow, and in 1926 he began work for the great mosque at Touba where he is buried.
...Amadou Bamba's teachings emphasized the virtues of pacifism and the importance of hard work, became in the 20th century one of the biggest influences on contemporary Senegalese life and culture...
Evidently the Saudis find all this terribly unorthodox and are pouring the petrodollars we give them to fill our cars into "reviving" Islam in west Africa and bringing it closer to the stricter Sunni Wahabiism practised in the Middle East.
dimanche 23 novembre 2008
Day 3: Change in plans
The Halal pizza was delicious. It was a thin crust pizza with tomato and cheese and had chicken, beef, olives and mushrooms on it. The hotel restaurant was taken over by about a dozen Dutch tourists in their 50s-60s who were boozing it up. They were very loud, but friendly.
Though it was pitch dark I decided I wanted to see what Saint-Louis was like at night. Well, for one thing, it is dark. I suppose that in a poor country, wasting energy on streetlights probably doesn't make sense. Fortunately, I had a flashlight, a key thing to have given how uneven the roads are.
There isn't much going on. The only thing I stumbled on was activity at the military domicile. There were some teenage kids around the front of the complex and other, older soldiers in uniform watching TV inside. The news all over TV tonight is about the attempted coup d'état in neighbouring Guinea-Bissau. Some mutinous soldiers surrounded the Presidential Palace in Bissau, the capital, and are shelling it. Sénégalese troops are on high alert and have been rushed to the border to keep the violence from spilling over here. (Now keep in mind this is on the southern border. I am on the northern border, 700 kilometres away. Please understand that I am in absolutely NO danger.)
Tomorrow I was supposed to take a bush taxi 500 kilometres south to Banjul in The Gambia. But I had been rethinking that plan already. It's a 10 hour drive, including a 2 hour wait at the border, payment of bribes and boat trip across the river on a ferry notorious for pick-pockets. I am not finished exploring Saint-Louis yet. Also, I think the military situation might make the drive even worse with a longer wait at the border into Gambia and even more so when I come back into Sénégal on Wednesday. My nightmare scenario is that Sénégal closes the border altogether and I am stuck in The Gambia unable to get back to Dakar and catch my flight home.
Tomorrow, I will ask Marcel if I can stay a couple more days. I may have to switch rooms but that is okay. I will spend the last 3 in Dakar then. That means more relaxing and exploring and less driving.
Though it was pitch dark I decided I wanted to see what Saint-Louis was like at night. Well, for one thing, it is dark. I suppose that in a poor country, wasting energy on streetlights probably doesn't make sense. Fortunately, I had a flashlight, a key thing to have given how uneven the roads are.
There isn't much going on. The only thing I stumbled on was activity at the military domicile. There were some teenage kids around the front of the complex and other, older soldiers in uniform watching TV inside. The news all over TV tonight is about the attempted coup d'état in neighbouring Guinea-Bissau. Some mutinous soldiers surrounded the Presidential Palace in Bissau, the capital, and are shelling it. Sénégalese troops are on high alert and have been rushed to the border to keep the violence from spilling over here. (Now keep in mind this is on the southern border. I am on the northern border, 700 kilometres away. Please understand that I am in absolutely NO danger.)
Tomorrow I was supposed to take a bush taxi 500 kilometres south to Banjul in The Gambia. But I had been rethinking that plan already. It's a 10 hour drive, including a 2 hour wait at the border, payment of bribes and boat trip across the river on a ferry notorious for pick-pockets. I am not finished exploring Saint-Louis yet. Also, I think the military situation might make the drive even worse with a longer wait at the border into Gambia and even more so when I come back into Sénégal on Wednesday. My nightmare scenario is that Sénégal closes the border altogether and I am stuck in The Gambia unable to get back to Dakar and catch my flight home.
Tomorrow, I will ask Marcel if I can stay a couple more days. I may have to switch rooms but that is okay. I will spend the last 3 in Dakar then. That means more relaxing and exploring and less driving.
Day 2-3 African market
After I wrote last night I had dinner. The hotel has a small restaurant downstairs. There are never more than a dozen people there. The food is delicious as they cook everything in a wood fired stove on the spot. Last night I had marinated chicken with potatoes and a citrus-y salad with more red wine. There were 3 French people about my age eating at the next table. They asked me what I ordered, we got to talking, in Franglish, and I joined them for dinner. They were traveling from Spain through Morocco, Western Sahara and Mauritania and were going to finish their trip in Dakar. It was a very nice conversation apart from their chain smoking.
After dinner I went back to my room, dragged a chair out on the patio, set the shortwave radio to the BBC World Service which came in crackly, turned out the lights and just took it in. The first hour was Muslim evening prayer and the 4 or 5 mosques in this area were chanting up a storm. Now I knew about the call of the muezzin but always assumed it lasted just a few minutes. Nope. It lasts nearly an hour. Some of the chanting is very shouty but there are a couple chanters who can really carry a tune. It is Arabesque but very musical. Think of what it would be like if 5 churches around you decided to broadcast their entire service over loudspeakers at the same time. It's a real cacophony - 5 times a day and quite loud. I have recorded a few examples of this using my camera's video recorder but this little laptop can't handle audio and video processing, so you'll have to wait until I get home. But it really adds an air of rich strangeness to the place. I feel like I am in the French foreign legion.
The chanting and the BBC stopped at about the same time. I looked for another station on the shortwave and could only find the Voice of America Africa Service, which I could stomach for about 10 minutes. (Please, President Obama, do something about the VOA. People here depend on it and it is now a neo-con propaganda mill.) The other alternative was China Radio International which always bores me to tears so I switched to a local station which was playing uptempo music which I can only describe as Islamic gospel. It was pop music with lots of the "Allah this", "Allah that" and "Inshallah" every few phrases (Those are the only 2 words in Arabic I know.) The breeze made the evening cool enough where I needed a heavier shir andt the stars were amazing. You could see the Milky Way, the Seven Sisters and an occasional shooting star. I just sat there and enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells for a few hours before bed.
This morning I got up and walked down across the Eiffel Bridge to the mainland. The Eiffel Bridge was built a decade earlier than the Eiffel Tower in Paris by the same Eiffel. It was originally intended for the Danube, but the French packed it up, shipped it here and it has traversed the main channel of the Senegal River since 1896. Now it is a rusty affair, literally falling apart before your eyes (there was a piece of a girder lying in the road backing up traffic.) But it is heavily used by both car and foot traffic.
On the mainland is the African market. The surprise here was that I could walk through it relatively unpestered. This is where Africans go to buy television sets, cellphones and what-have-you so maybe white tourists were off the radar. There were also goat herders pushing their livestock through the crowds dressed in Bedouin clothing. It's hard to convey the bustle of the place. It was busy! One stereotype that is certainly not true is the notion that Africans are lazy. Not in a million years. They are the hardest working, most entrepreneurial people I have seen. They are smart and they are persistent. If historical circumstances were a bit different they would dominate the world.
The market was amazing. I would have stood there and just watched it for hours but there is too much activity and standing still meant you were in someone's or some animal's way. So I walked back and forth the 5 long blocks or so and just took it all in. I bought some more bottled water, breakfast biscuits and a traditional bracelet all for 10 000 francs (about $20US) and walked back to my room. I have used up all my CFA francs and need to go to the bank and exchange some euro tomorrow.
Tonight I will eat at the hotel restaurant again. There is a Halal (Islamically correct) pizza that intrigues me. More photos on flickr.
After dinner I went back to my room, dragged a chair out on the patio, set the shortwave radio to the BBC World Service which came in crackly, turned out the lights and just took it in. The first hour was Muslim evening prayer and the 4 or 5 mosques in this area were chanting up a storm. Now I knew about the call of the muezzin but always assumed it lasted just a few minutes. Nope. It lasts nearly an hour. Some of the chanting is very shouty but there are a couple chanters who can really carry a tune. It is Arabesque but very musical. Think of what it would be like if 5 churches around you decided to broadcast their entire service over loudspeakers at the same time. It's a real cacophony - 5 times a day and quite loud. I have recorded a few examples of this using my camera's video recorder but this little laptop can't handle audio and video processing, so you'll have to wait until I get home. But it really adds an air of rich strangeness to the place. I feel like I am in the French foreign legion.
The chanting and the BBC stopped at about the same time. I looked for another station on the shortwave and could only find the Voice of America Africa Service, which I could stomach for about 10 minutes. (Please, President Obama, do something about the VOA. People here depend on it and it is now a neo-con propaganda mill.) The other alternative was China Radio International which always bores me to tears so I switched to a local station which was playing uptempo music which I can only describe as Islamic gospel. It was pop music with lots of the "Allah this", "Allah that" and "Inshallah" every few phrases (Those are the only 2 words in Arabic I know.) The breeze made the evening cool enough where I needed a heavier shir andt the stars were amazing. You could see the Milky Way, the Seven Sisters and an occasional shooting star. I just sat there and enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells for a few hours before bed.
This morning I got up and walked down across the Eiffel Bridge to the mainland. The Eiffel Bridge was built a decade earlier than the Eiffel Tower in Paris by the same Eiffel. It was originally intended for the Danube, but the French packed it up, shipped it here and it has traversed the main channel of the Senegal River since 1896. Now it is a rusty affair, literally falling apart before your eyes (there was a piece of a girder lying in the road backing up traffic.) But it is heavily used by both car and foot traffic.
On the mainland is the African market. The surprise here was that I could walk through it relatively unpestered. This is where Africans go to buy television sets, cellphones and what-have-you so maybe white tourists were off the radar. There were also goat herders pushing their livestock through the crowds dressed in Bedouin clothing. It's hard to convey the bustle of the place. It was busy! One stereotype that is certainly not true is the notion that Africans are lazy. Not in a million years. They are the hardest working, most entrepreneurial people I have seen. They are smart and they are persistent. If historical circumstances were a bit different they would dominate the world.
The market was amazing. I would have stood there and just watched it for hours but there is too much activity and standing still meant you were in someone's or some animal's way. So I walked back and forth the 5 long blocks or so and just took it all in. I bought some more bottled water, breakfast biscuits and a traditional bracelet all for 10 000 francs (about $20US) and walked back to my room. I have used up all my CFA francs and need to go to the bank and exchange some euro tomorrow.
Tonight I will eat at the hotel restaurant again. There is a Halal (Islamically correct) pizza that intrigues me. More photos on flickr.
samedi 22 novembre 2008
Day 2 - Mauritania
Day 2 started on an amusing note. I got up, showered, got dressed and when I walked out of the front of the hotel, the street trader from yesterday was there with his stuff. I said "Bonjour. Ça va bien?" and kept walking even as he called after me. I think I am getting more comfortable with the locals, better sensing how far to take a conversation before I need to cut it off and keep walking. No money changed hands today, other than I found two big bottles of water. One problem solved!
It seemed a bit hotter today. I think the winds have changed and are coming from the interior rather than the ocean. Still, today was the day I was going to walk into Mauritania. This involved walking into downtown Saint Louis, across the bridge and up the ocean side penninsula. No problem with the walk to the beach. I was only mildly harassed in downtown and once I got to the beach only the children would call out to me. I would answer "Bonjour" and keep walking. A few younger women would hiss at me as I walked by trying to get my attention. The first time, when I turned to look, one rubbed her crotch. Ahhh... okay.
The beach in Saint-Louis is a busy, dirty affair. It is full of pirogues, the Sénégalese fishing boats lined up side by side, and the air smelled of drying fish and only occasionally, of human waste. There are young men, women, children and goats everywhere. As I walked up the beach the city just abruptly stops. No more buildings, no more pirogues, no more people, no more goats. Marcel, the hotel owner, said the border was a row of trees about 100 metres beyond the last building, which I think was a military outpost. Googlemaps puts it another 1000 metres farther up the beach. To be safe, I walked another 1/2 kilometre, spread out a blanket and sat for about an hour. It was the first time I was outside the hotel where I was able to assume I could sit and relax without being pestered. Ahhhhhhhh...
The beach in Mauritania is pristine. There is almost no litter, no people, no nothing. It was peaceful, quiet and the water is green and beautiful. Occasionally someone would zoom by on a motorcycle presumably coming into Saint Louis from Mauritanian villages up the coast, but they paid no attention to me.
After about an hour the heat and sun were getting to me and I was out of bottled water, so it was time to pack it in. While Marcel said there would be no problem walking up there, I was technically an illegal immigrant to the Islamic Republic of Mauritania and had visions of sitting in a local jail pretending to be a stupid westerner unaware that I crossed the line. (Would the Sénégalese stop me from coming back???) So I walked back over the border and back down the beach. The tide was coming in FAST though. Before I knew it I was up to my ankles in water and had to move closer to the people and activity, which was a real obstacle course. I got back to the beach entry, walked back over the bridge and caught eye of bottled water at a shop. Bingo! I went in and asked for 3 bottles but he only had 2 bottles, which I grabbed, and continued the walk home.
My day trip was about 4 hours of walking in the hot sun, so I was pretty wiped out when I got back to my room. My shoes were also wet and needed to dry out. So I took it easy for the rest of the day, doing some reading. More pictures on my flickr site.
It seemed a bit hotter today. I think the winds have changed and are coming from the interior rather than the ocean. Still, today was the day I was going to walk into Mauritania. This involved walking into downtown Saint Louis, across the bridge and up the ocean side penninsula. No problem with the walk to the beach. I was only mildly harassed in downtown and once I got to the beach only the children would call out to me. I would answer "Bonjour" and keep walking. A few younger women would hiss at me as I walked by trying to get my attention. The first time, when I turned to look, one rubbed her crotch. Ahhh... okay.
The beach in Saint-Louis is a busy, dirty affair. It is full of pirogues, the Sénégalese fishing boats lined up side by side, and the air smelled of drying fish and only occasionally, of human waste. There are young men, women, children and goats everywhere. As I walked up the beach the city just abruptly stops. No more buildings, no more pirogues, no more people, no more goats. Marcel, the hotel owner, said the border was a row of trees about 100 metres beyond the last building, which I think was a military outpost. Googlemaps puts it another 1000 metres farther up the beach. To be safe, I walked another 1/2 kilometre, spread out a blanket and sat for about an hour. It was the first time I was outside the hotel where I was able to assume I could sit and relax without being pestered. Ahhhhhhhh...
The beach in Mauritania is pristine. There is almost no litter, no people, no nothing. It was peaceful, quiet and the water is green and beautiful. Occasionally someone would zoom by on a motorcycle presumably coming into Saint Louis from Mauritanian villages up the coast, but they paid no attention to me.
After about an hour the heat and sun were getting to me and I was out of bottled water, so it was time to pack it in. While Marcel said there would be no problem walking up there, I was technically an illegal immigrant to the Islamic Republic of Mauritania and had visions of sitting in a local jail pretending to be a stupid westerner unaware that I crossed the line. (Would the Sénégalese stop me from coming back???) So I walked back over the border and back down the beach. The tide was coming in FAST though. Before I knew it I was up to my ankles in water and had to move closer to the people and activity, which was a real obstacle course. I got back to the beach entry, walked back over the bridge and caught eye of bottled water at a shop. Bingo! I went in and asked for 3 bottles but he only had 2 bottles, which I grabbed, and continued the walk home.
My day trip was about 4 hours of walking in the hot sun, so I was pretty wiped out when I got back to my room. My shoes were also wet and needed to dry out. So I took it easy for the rest of the day, doing some reading. More pictures on my flickr site.
Day 1.5 In the spotlight
I took a nap, got dressed and headed out again. Well, more than once. The sun is very intense and 20 minutes into my trek, I had to make beeline back to the hotel for sunscreen as I was feeling my skin start to burn. But the air temperature is very comfortable. There is a constant breeze off the water which makes it quite pleasant.
Saint-Louis is the old French capital of West Africa. According to Wikipedia the city was established in the 1600's and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As such, you'd expect a lot of tourists. You would expect wrong. In my first day in Saint Louis, I encountered a whole 20 white people, all of whom are probably French. Other than the guy at the airport, I haven't found another North American.
The long and the short of this is that you stick out like a sore thumb. Now I have traveled to similar places in the past - Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Cook Islands - where you stick out. But here it seems to be different. Here, people stare at you. REALLY stare at you. To the point where I started wearing sunglasses to avoid eye contact with them. Now I have never felt threatened. I have never felt hated. But the staring is unnerving too. And about the only time someone speaks to you ("Bonjour. Ça va bien?") their interest seem to be separating you from your money.
I allowed this to happen once - I forked over more than I should have to buy 3 ebony masks from street vendors. My souvenir budget has been used up. But this didn't stop one street vendor from walking 1 whole kilometre with me almost back to my hotel trying to convince me to spend another 30 euro on more of the same shit. AND, get this, when I got back to my hotel the other street vendor I actually bought the masks from was there with his stuff out. I was supposed to ask other guests to come out an talk to him. Uh huh. Sure buddy. I have no idea how long he waited.
Now I probably carry around more white guilt than most. My people stole their people and used them to make us rich. So rich that I can spend one month of their salary on a dinner that I will probably have already forgotten about by the next evening. In fact, am spending more than a year's per capita earnings for the average Senegalese on just spending money for this trip.
This is the centre of the slave trade and whether your country was directly involved or not, we all benefited. I get it. Honest. That is one reason I am here. And I am willing to put up with some payback by spending a bit more than the best price so that they get a little back. But it would be nice to be able to have ONE conversation with ONE local without it turning into a manipulative business proposition.
Did I say that I am amazed at how many people speak English? This is supposed to be the most French of French African colonies but shopkeepers and street traders almost without exception seem able to speak conversational English.
At the end of today I realized I have two issues - access to food and drinking water. These aren't quite as easy to find as I thought. I suppose Senegalese don't eat out much so restaurants aren't plentiful and there is nothing resembling a supermarket here. Bottled water is harder to find than I thought too, but I have a few bottles I brought from New York City. I am going to ration them for brushing teeth and drink Diet Coke (which is EVERYWHERE) instead. My hotel has a restaurant open for dinner but I am on my own the rest of the day. I had a delicious meal - a tasty marinated shish kabab like meal and a couple glasses of wine, all while listening to chanting from several mosques in the distance. For a 96% Muslim country where they take religion very seriously, they are very relaxed about alcohol. Tomorrow I need to ask Marcel what to do about finding food and drinking water. I don't think I am going to gain weight on this trip.
Saint-Louis is the old French capital of West Africa. According to Wikipedia the city was established in the 1600's and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As such, you'd expect a lot of tourists. You would expect wrong. In my first day in Saint Louis, I encountered a whole 20 white people, all of whom are probably French. Other than the guy at the airport, I haven't found another North American.
The long and the short of this is that you stick out like a sore thumb. Now I have traveled to similar places in the past - Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Cook Islands - where you stick out. But here it seems to be different. Here, people stare at you. REALLY stare at you. To the point where I started wearing sunglasses to avoid eye contact with them. Now I have never felt threatened. I have never felt hated. But the staring is unnerving too. And about the only time someone speaks to you ("Bonjour. Ça va bien?") their interest seem to be separating you from your money.
I allowed this to happen once - I forked over more than I should have to buy 3 ebony masks from street vendors. My souvenir budget has been used up. But this didn't stop one street vendor from walking 1 whole kilometre with me almost back to my hotel trying to convince me to spend another 30 euro on more of the same shit. AND, get this, when I got back to my hotel the other street vendor I actually bought the masks from was there with his stuff out. I was supposed to ask other guests to come out an talk to him. Uh huh. Sure buddy. I have no idea how long he waited.
Now I probably carry around more white guilt than most. My people stole their people and used them to make us rich. So rich that I can spend one month of their salary on a dinner that I will probably have already forgotten about by the next evening. In fact, am spending more than a year's per capita earnings for the average Senegalese on just spending money for this trip.
This is the centre of the slave trade and whether your country was directly involved or not, we all benefited. I get it. Honest. That is one reason I am here. And I am willing to put up with some payback by spending a bit more than the best price so that they get a little back. But it would be nice to be able to have ONE conversation with ONE local without it turning into a manipulative business proposition.
Did I say that I am amazed at how many people speak English? This is supposed to be the most French of French African colonies but shopkeepers and street traders almost without exception seem able to speak conversational English.
At the end of today I realized I have two issues - access to food and drinking water. These aren't quite as easy to find as I thought. I suppose Senegalese don't eat out much so restaurants aren't plentiful and there is nothing resembling a supermarket here. Bottled water is harder to find than I thought too, but I have a few bottles I brought from New York City. I am going to ration them for brushing teeth and drink Diet Coke (which is EVERYWHERE) instead. My hotel has a restaurant open for dinner but I am on my own the rest of the day. I had a delicious meal - a tasty marinated shish kabab like meal and a couple glasses of wine, all while listening to chanting from several mosques in the distance. For a 96% Muslim country where they take religion very seriously, they are very relaxed about alcohol. Tomorrow I need to ask Marcel what to do about finding food and drinking water. I don't think I am going to gain weight on this trip.
vendredi 21 novembre 2008
Day 1 Dakar to Saint-Louis
I made it to my beautiful hotel room without a hitch.
I took a South African Airways flight which stopped in Dakar on its way to Johannesburg. We landed in Dakar at 6am local time and only a handful of us got off the plane. There was one other 40 something white guy who got off with me and the others were all locals. He immediately looked at me and said "DOD?". "Huh?" "Do you work for the Department of Defence?" No. He said "Too bad" I glared. He said "I didn't mean it that way, but you do have a military look. First time in Sénégal?" Yes. "You?" "No. I live here." "Ahhh... interesting."
Anyway, we got our passports stamped and went through customs, which was very efficient, and then walked out the front door of the terminal whereupon we were both besieged by about 50 male taxi drivers begging us to hire them. THEM! NOW! ME! NO ME! It was loud, aggressive invade your personal space-type chaos and we were both separated quickly. What was interesting is that they all spoke nearly perfect English (Someone must have heard our conversation.) So I took a deep breath, tried not to look too overwhelmed and asked a few of them to show me their cars. I found one who had a nice (and I do mean nice - nicer than any Manhattan cab I have taken) BMW car and asked "How much to the Gare Routiére" which is the terminal where I could pick up a bush taxi. He told me and I got in. Then one of the others leaned through the car window and started pestering me for a tip. "For what?" I asked. He said for helping me with my stuff. "I carried my own stuff!" "Yes. You are such a gentleman you'll give me a tip". No. Sorry buddy.
We started to leave and he asked me where I was going, ultimately. I told him Saint-Louis and he offered to take me there directly - for US$200. Hmmmmm... I could take a bush taxi for about 1/10th that amount but I would have to go to the Gare Routiére and go through the same chaos, hassle and badgering and then wait and wait for the taxi to fill up with 6 other people. I had gone about 24 hours with no sleep and while $200 seems high, it is a 5 hour, 400 kilometre trip.
I talked him down to $100 and we took off for Saint-Louis. So here I came to Africa expecting to speak French and take questionable transportation to get around but I am speaking English and in the back of an immaculate luxury car. Is that really an African experience? Shouldn't I rough it a little more than this? Hmmmm...
The first surprise is how good the roads turned out to be. The entire highway between Dakar and Saint-Louis must have been resurfaced within the last 6 months. There wasn't a pothole to be seen anywhere. Between some of the villages my driver was doing 160 klicks (about 100mph)! The second surprise was the driving. Oh brother! We were dodging buses whose back doors were open and men hanging out of the open door precariously on the back bumper; we were dodging completely oblivious people; we were dodging livestock. It was hair raising. Traffic was pretty slow until we cleared the outskirts of Dakar and then we zoomed along. We stopped twice. Once for Muslim prayers. The driver found a group of robed men praying, pulled out his rug and joined them. The other stop was for gas. Both times, groups of young (6-9ish) kids would surround the car and peer in hoping for money. I tried waving them away but they wouldn't move. That was a little unnerving.
I can't remember how many villages of different sizes we passed through. Most were little more than slums with concreteroom-sized houses that were not connected to the electrical grid, but a few villages had some charm to them. The poverty is also unnerving. I backpacked through the South Pacific and only encountered a bit of this in Papua New Guinea. But despite the poverty many of these people wore beautiful robes and looked very elegant - both men and women. Only occasionally would you see someone in dirty or torn clothing. Everyone appeared well fed too. As the morning wore on there appeared groups children on their way to school and they seemed fairly well fed and clothed too.
The cab driver was chatty, pointing out the places we passed through, including his hometown and the Senegalese President's home town. We finally arrived in Saint-Louis around 10:30am went over the bridge, onto the island and found my hotel. I got my stuff out of the back of the taxi and then the driver started pestering me for another $50 for petrol. "We agreed on $100" I reminded him, but we settled on $30. I figure they need the money more than I.
The hotel is very quaint, in the French colonial style that is found all over the city. I have a beautiful room with French doors that opens to a balcony which looks out onto the Senegal River over the border into Mauritania. (I am going to walk across the border tomorrow so I can say I have been to Mauritania.) The owner of the hotel, Marcel, is a warm friendly guy and I am trilled to be here.
The only drawback is the Wifi service is very slow and spotty, so uploading pictures is a chore. But I managed to save a few here: Flickr.com Day 1
More tomorrow. I need to sleep.
I took a South African Airways flight which stopped in Dakar on its way to Johannesburg. We landed in Dakar at 6am local time and only a handful of us got off the plane. There was one other 40 something white guy who got off with me and the others were all locals. He immediately looked at me and said "DOD?". "Huh?" "Do you work for the Department of Defence?" No. He said "Too bad" I glared. He said "I didn't mean it that way, but you do have a military look. First time in Sénégal?" Yes. "You?" "No. I live here." "Ahhh... interesting."
Anyway, we got our passports stamped and went through customs, which was very efficient, and then walked out the front door of the terminal whereupon we were both besieged by about 50 male taxi drivers begging us to hire them. THEM! NOW! ME! NO ME! It was loud, aggressive invade your personal space-type chaos and we were both separated quickly. What was interesting is that they all spoke nearly perfect English (Someone must have heard our conversation.) So I took a deep breath, tried not to look too overwhelmed and asked a few of them to show me their cars. I found one who had a nice (and I do mean nice - nicer than any Manhattan cab I have taken) BMW car and asked "How much to the Gare Routiére" which is the terminal where I could pick up a bush taxi. He told me and I got in. Then one of the others leaned through the car window and started pestering me for a tip. "For what?" I asked. He said for helping me with my stuff. "I carried my own stuff!" "Yes. You are such a gentleman you'll give me a tip". No. Sorry buddy.
We started to leave and he asked me where I was going, ultimately. I told him Saint-Louis and he offered to take me there directly - for US$200. Hmmmmm... I could take a bush taxi for about 1/10th that amount but I would have to go to the Gare Routiére and go through the same chaos, hassle and badgering and then wait and wait for the taxi to fill up with 6 other people. I had gone about 24 hours with no sleep and while $200 seems high, it is a 5 hour, 400 kilometre trip.
I talked him down to $100 and we took off for Saint-Louis. So here I came to Africa expecting to speak French and take questionable transportation to get around but I am speaking English and in the back of an immaculate luxury car. Is that really an African experience? Shouldn't I rough it a little more than this? Hmmmm...
The first surprise is how good the roads turned out to be. The entire highway between Dakar and Saint-Louis must have been resurfaced within the last 6 months. There wasn't a pothole to be seen anywhere. Between some of the villages my driver was doing 160 klicks (about 100mph)! The second surprise was the driving. Oh brother! We were dodging buses whose back doors were open and men hanging out of the open door precariously on the back bumper; we were dodging completely oblivious people; we were dodging livestock. It was hair raising. Traffic was pretty slow until we cleared the outskirts of Dakar and then we zoomed along. We stopped twice. Once for Muslim prayers. The driver found a group of robed men praying, pulled out his rug and joined them. The other stop was for gas. Both times, groups of young (6-9ish) kids would surround the car and peer in hoping for money. I tried waving them away but they wouldn't move. That was a little unnerving.
I can't remember how many villages of different sizes we passed through. Most were little more than slums with concreteroom-sized houses that were not connected to the electrical grid, but a few villages had some charm to them. The poverty is also unnerving. I backpacked through the South Pacific and only encountered a bit of this in Papua New Guinea. But despite the poverty many of these people wore beautiful robes and looked very elegant - both men and women. Only occasionally would you see someone in dirty or torn clothing. Everyone appeared well fed too. As the morning wore on there appeared groups children on their way to school and they seemed fairly well fed and clothed too.
The cab driver was chatty, pointing out the places we passed through, including his hometown and the Senegalese President's home town. We finally arrived in Saint-Louis around 10:30am went over the bridge, onto the island and found my hotel. I got my stuff out of the back of the taxi and then the driver started pestering me for another $50 for petrol. "We agreed on $100" I reminded him, but we settled on $30. I figure they need the money more than I.
The hotel is very quaint, in the French colonial style that is found all over the city. I have a beautiful room with French doors that opens to a balcony which looks out onto the Senegal River over the border into Mauritania. (I am going to walk across the border tomorrow so I can say I have been to Mauritania.) The owner of the hotel, Marcel, is a warm friendly guy and I am trilled to be here.
The only drawback is the Wifi service is very slow and spotty, so uploading pictures is a chore. But I managed to save a few here: Flickr.com Day 1
More tomorrow. I need to sleep.
jeudi 20 novembre 2008
Departure
By the time you read this, I will have departed for the airport.
My tentative itinerary is:
Nov 20 - JFK (JFK) to Dakar (DKR) Depart: 05:20pm-Arrive: 06:10am
Nov 21 – Sept-place taxi to Saint-Louis in Sénégal.
Nov 22 – Day in Saint-Louis
Nov 23 – Day trip to «Reserve Speciale de Faune de Gueumbeul»
Nov 24 – Taxi to Dakar. Transfer to taxi to Banjul in The Gambia
Nov 25 – Day trip to Juffureh
Nov 26 – Taxi from Banjul to Dakar
Nov 27 – Day trip to Touba (if I have time - this is a 4 hour trip each way from Dakar)
Nov 28 – Day trip to Ïle de Gorée
Nov 29 – Explore Dakar
Nov 30 - Dakar (DKR) to (JFK) Depart: 03:05am-Arrive: 07:05am
Now, this being my first trip and this being west Africa, I may not follow my initerary. If I find a place I want to spend extra time at, I may drop a leg or two of the trip.
I know that the hotel I am staying at in Saint-Louis has Wifi access. I am bringing my mini-laptop to store photos on. If the connection is decent and I have time, I will post a few photos and share some experiences, otherwise I will find a cybercafé.
And for your listening pleasure, here are the national anthems of the 3 countries I am planning on visiting.
The National Anthem of Sénégal:
The National Anthem of The Gambia:
The National Anthem of Mauritania:
I think I like The Gambia's tune the best, though the Mauritanian anthem has an interesting Arab feel to it. Too bad the Gamibia is ruled by a crackpot dictator who will probably be Africa's next Idi Amin. National Anthems are rather staid pieces of music; I hope to post some good local music once I get there.
vendredi 7 novembre 2008
Feeling better
The arthritic pain is gone, but my psycho doctor left 5 messages on my v-mail yesterday about my bloodwork which threw the fear of God into me! But she just wanted to tell me that my cholesterol is a bit high and that she thought I was overdue for a routine prostate exam.
I feel like I have the doctor from "Family Guy". Note to self: Find new GP when I get home.
2 weeks to go
I leave for Africa 2 weeks from today and I think my preparations are complete. Yesterday I received my last shot, for Yellow Fever. I needed proof of vaccination in order to enter The Gambia.
This was the only shot that hurt, both financially and physically. It wasn't covered under the healthcare or my prescription plan so I had to pay for both a consultation, which consisted of a 5 minute talk with the doctor, beginning with "Why would you want to go to Sénégal?". The cost: $100. Then I got the shot itself which cost another $125. I am not generally squeamish when it comes to shots but this one was really painful. After the pain itself went away, I felt flu-ish and went home. Today, the flu-like symptoms are gone but I am feeling arthritic-like muscle and joint pain. The symptoms are supposed to pass in a day or two unless I am "on steroids, HIV positive, pregnant, trying to make someone pregnant or on chemotherapy" in which case the shot could kill me. Fortunately, I am none of the above.
He did give me a good pamphlet on what to watch out for regarding food and water. I already figured I would stick to bottled water, even to wash my face/hair and brush my teeth with, but the tips on avoiding dairy, fish and meat that isn't very well cooked right before I eat it, ice cubes, and fresh fruit that doesn't have a thick skin are all good advice. I may try to find a supermarket and buy packaged food from France. I have CIPRO for "traveller's trots" in any case.
I have bought lots of bug spray with 40% DEET, sunscreen and mosquito netting. I have a small but bright LED camping lantern for the frequent power cuts, a small flashlight, a small shortwave radio for company in the evenings (Love ya BBC!), luggage locks and cables for security and a money belt. I have a Canon 12MP camera and tripod and a backup camera with 3 batteries each as well as two 16GB memory cards, an alarm clock, pens, 240V power converter and surge protector and my travel book. I have hand sanitizer creme, chlorine pills, antiseptic and Malarone for Malaria, which I have to start taking 3 days before I leave.
I have €1500 in traveler's cheques and have their numbers listed, along with a scanned image of my passport and driver's licence in an encrypted file I emailed to myself so I can access from any computer in case they are lost and I need to replace them. I have a secure VISA card with $2000 limit as back up; if anyone gets the number and tries to commit fraud, they won't have access to my regular bank account. (I have to remember that there are about 650 CFA francs to the Euro when I get the traveler's cheques exchanged.)
I talked to someone who lived in Sénégal for 3 years and found out that there may be a bigger language barrier than I thought. My Québécois French is passable and I have no trouble understanding Parisian French, but Sénégalese French may be another matter altogether. Even he had trouble, though he studied in Paris for many years and is completely bilingual. I should also learn a phrase or two in Wolof, the local language. I guess there will be lots of pointing and nodding.
When I asked about safety, he said it probably isn't much more violent than a major American city, but watch out for pickpockets and crazy drivers. He also said that it was often difficult to tell who was being friendly and who was trying to separate you from your money and possessions, either by nefarious means or by trying to help you for a fee even if you don't need it. It is better to err on the side of caution. You may not make a new friend but you also won't lose your stuff. Sad, that.
I have also been looking at the weather. Dakar's daily temperatures seem to be around 28-34 degrees centigrade, or in the 80s-90s using the old scale.
This was the only shot that hurt, both financially and physically. It wasn't covered under the healthcare or my prescription plan so I had to pay for both a consultation, which consisted of a 5 minute talk with the doctor, beginning with "Why would you want to go to Sénégal?". The cost: $100. Then I got the shot itself which cost another $125. I am not generally squeamish when it comes to shots but this one was really painful. After the pain itself went away, I felt flu-ish and went home. Today, the flu-like symptoms are gone but I am feeling arthritic-like muscle and joint pain. The symptoms are supposed to pass in a day or two unless I am "on steroids, HIV positive, pregnant, trying to make someone pregnant or on chemotherapy" in which case the shot could kill me. Fortunately, I am none of the above.
He did give me a good pamphlet on what to watch out for regarding food and water. I already figured I would stick to bottled water, even to wash my face/hair and brush my teeth with, but the tips on avoiding dairy, fish and meat that isn't very well cooked right before I eat it, ice cubes, and fresh fruit that doesn't have a thick skin are all good advice. I may try to find a supermarket and buy packaged food from France. I have CIPRO for "traveller's trots" in any case.
I have bought lots of bug spray with 40% DEET, sunscreen and mosquito netting. I have a small but bright LED camping lantern for the frequent power cuts, a small flashlight, a small shortwave radio for company in the evenings (Love ya BBC!), luggage locks and cables for security and a money belt. I have a Canon 12MP camera and tripod and a backup camera with 3 batteries each as well as two 16GB memory cards, an alarm clock, pens, 240V power converter and surge protector and my travel book. I have hand sanitizer creme, chlorine pills, antiseptic and Malarone for Malaria, which I have to start taking 3 days before I leave.
I have €1500 in traveler's cheques and have their numbers listed, along with a scanned image of my passport and driver's licence in an encrypted file I emailed to myself so I can access from any computer in case they are lost and I need to replace them. I have a secure VISA card with $2000 limit as back up; if anyone gets the number and tries to commit fraud, they won't have access to my regular bank account. (I have to remember that there are about 650 CFA francs to the Euro when I get the traveler's cheques exchanged.)
I talked to someone who lived in Sénégal for 3 years and found out that there may be a bigger language barrier than I thought. My Québécois French is passable and I have no trouble understanding Parisian French, but Sénégalese French may be another matter altogether. Even he had trouble, though he studied in Paris for many years and is completely bilingual. I should also learn a phrase or two in Wolof, the local language. I guess there will be lots of pointing and nodding.
When I asked about safety, he said it probably isn't much more violent than a major American city, but watch out for pickpockets and crazy drivers. He also said that it was often difficult to tell who was being friendly and who was trying to separate you from your money and possessions, either by nefarious means or by trying to help you for a fee even if you don't need it. It is better to err on the side of caution. You may not make a new friend but you also won't lose your stuff. Sad, that.
I have also been looking at the weather. Dakar's daily temperatures seem to be around 28-34 degrees centigrade, or in the 80s-90s using the old scale.
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