Friday, we set off to ACI Baobab after fond farewells to our new, extended family and promises to send photos etc. We tried to sneak the baby into our case but they rathered we took the fun but pesky three year old! At the center, we had the final class I had organized. We met Professor Seck who presented on Senegalese culture and traditions. This was the highlight of the week for me as Professor Seck was so articulate and knowledgeable. We discussed history and the influences of the different empires, of the Portuguese traders, of the colonialists and so on. He pointed out that the location of Dakar and Senegal being situated so far west has been very advantageous to the country, in terms of being accessible by many different influences. We discussed animisme, vaudou, les contes africains and many fascinating aspects of the culture, all of which he put so beautifully into context.
Then, off we went on some travels both north and south of Dakar: to le Lac Rose just to the north, then back south to la Petite Cote, specifically Toubab Dialow. The charming, soft-spoken, calm in every situation Rama, from the Baobab center, and her husband drove us in a huge air-conditioned Ford truck! Public transportation is rough: trains haven’t run for years; buses consist of Sept Places, super colourful and idiosyncratic vans that don’t leave a town till they have many more than seven passengers; all luggage, and you need to be imaginative here and picture anything from huge oil cans, goat feed, enormous plastic bags full of who knows what, is strapped to the roof, tumbling down seemingly precariously but somehow not off, during the journey.
The Lac Rose is just that, a lake that shimmers pink in the sun due to minerals in the water. Salt is harvested from here. After yabba poulet in the campement,, a delightful group of gites where I plan to bring my students next year, we toured the lake and the dunes in a special truck. Men take their pirogues, colourful longboats, into the center of the huge lake and dig up the sand and load into the boat. The women then meet them at the shore and transfer the salt, now wet and grey, into mounds to dry and bleach in the sun around the lake. Hot, hard work. Incredibly, the shores around the salty lake had fields of parsley, basil, millet. Agriculture seems all to be done with a horse and cart. The truck driver then let down the tyres and off we went dune surfing along and on the longest imaginable beach where we bathed our toes and wanted to stay forever. This is not called the grande cote for nothing. There isn’t much grander, untouched and beautiful.
Then, we headed back south of Dakar, going through Thies, to la petite cote: a series of bays and beaches, fishing villages, mangroves…to Toubab Dialow. (Toubab is the equivalent of Gweilo.) The villages along the cote and this one too, were clearly poorer than the city. Our auberge here was Senegalese style and reminded me of a resort in Bali: thatched, elegant open air spaces for dining, resting, viewing the sea; a little terracotta open air auditorium where locals taught us to play the rhythmic ton tons drums, that you hear lads jamming on everywhere, and a Senegalese dance. Hundreds of the most amazing black and yellow birds were going through a crazy ritual in the trees around their hanging nests, flapping their wings very fast and chirping furiously, all together! Spectacular! Bougainvillea grows everywhere in Senegal, as do Flames of the Forest and many other beautiful tropical trees. Fried fish for dinner and off to sleep in our room overlooking the village and sea, with just a fan until the electricity went out. No water in the tank in the morning until it had been refilled. We swam on the beach and had a lesson in batik the next morning. We are very proud of our creations. Lunch of fish again: can’t get enough of this fresh, delicious food served with tiny cubes of carrot, hot pepper and other vegetables in a vinaigrette sauce, or maybe a lemon and piment butter…trop delicieux! There are cats everywhere in Senegal! Everywhere! Survivors. But today I espied a baby hedgehog, tout petit! Near our batik dyeing vats.
Friday afternoon we set off back to the north in our big truck, to Saint Louis. The journey of four hours or so gave us a good glimpse of the land, much of which appeared to be cultivated by individual with horse and cart. Millet, groundnut, main export, and maize. Where the land wasn’t cultivated we saw the Tragedy of the Commons: wastelands where there was no ownership, full of the ubiquitous plastic bag, which sometimes seemed to grow in trees. Then there were the swathes of red earth populated by the mighty baobab growing as far as the eye could see. What a magnificent tree! Even the baby trees were about 80-100 years old. Griots used to be buried in the baobab until the government banned this practice on sanitary grounds. It produces a pendulous yellow fruit and flower from which locals make pain de singe, monkey bread, used in couscous or for a chalky, bittersweet drink. It is mango season! In every village a riot of color hits you as the beautiful women in their bright pagnes line the road with their stalls piled high with the beautiful mango: enormous, pink, orange, yellow, red and green. We stopped to buy a barrel load for peanuts; which we also bought by the side of the road. What more do you need?!
Arriving in Saint Louis, we said farewell for now to Rama and her brilliant driver of a husband. This ends my episode, for the most part, with ACI Baobab. We are now enjoying an unscheduled few days here in the former colonial capital up by the border with Mauritania, which we can see from the tip of Saint Louis island, where we are staying at l’Hotel de la Poste. Saint Louis reminds me of Tavira, in Portugal, for its location on the river and the old colonial buildings, or Macau when it was a sleepy place, a place to escape the pace of Hong Kong, before the big casinos arrived. The island, which might take you a leisurely 30-45 minutes to walk from north to south, and five or ten minutes east to west, is full of either crumbling or beautifully restored colonial era buildings. People approach you, as in Dakar, mais c’est cool, relaxe; peaceful, slow. There is a bridge that connects to what they call le continent, the mainland, of which I am sure David would disapprove. It is very low and currently only taking one-way traffic as it is being repaired. Infrastructure is variable. Sidewalks can be sand or broken up concrete or tile, or blocked with cars that necessitate walking in the road.
There s a most wonderful French bakery selling beignets, buttery croissants and the best coffee, with croque madames, macaroons, etc where we gorge on sweet things for breakfast, something we haven’t done all week and didn’t realise we’d missed. We wandered around the island looking at the ceremonies of hundreds of beautifully dressed people here and there or the wares in the shops or the tree lined allees where goats and cats and turkeys and lizards lazed. The river is lined with colourful pirogues. Saint Louis regrets the moving of the capital, and the funding, to Dakar, but this is a charming place, albeit clearly poorer, again, than the capital. Saturday night we dined at the northern tip of the island at a Vietnamese restaurant on calamar and crevettes in delectable chopped sauces of basil, piment, carrot and other vegetables and spices, all the while serenaded by a couple of muezzins who sounded quite hysterical in their jubilant, frenzied singing last night. In the evenings there might be brown outs and the island is pitch dark, but we are assured and have to learn that we very safe here. The odd passing taxi might stop and you can negotiate your price, or happily adhere to Responsible Tourism and pay over the local rate without haggling. Windscreens might be plastic or cracked, doors and windows might not open or close and the driver might stop to pick up other rides en route to your destination.
Sunday morning, this morning, we went with a guide from the syndicat d’initiative to la Langue du Barbarie, a very long spit of sand which runs along the west or Atlantic side of the river from Saint Louis island. This is one of the first stops for birds migrating south across the dessert so it is full of flocks of all sorts of familiar and unfamiliar birds, waders, pelicans, cormorants of beautiful colors,…and a beautiful beach where we watched fishing pirogues and hundreds of crabs, and where Laura saw baby hammer head sharks and a sting ray.
A lazy afternoon blogging, nibbling and reading and tonight le restaurant la Louisiane for capitaine grilled fish, after connecting with Clare, young Brit, from Projects Abroad in the colonial style, stuffed animal bar of the Hotel de la Poste during the match Pays Bas v. Spain… She very enthusiastically told me all about PA and what sort of program they could provide for my students. They would be volunteers working with the talibes, boys given by their families to be educated by their marabouts or spiritual leaders, but who are mostly abused in many ways. PA provides a wonderful shelter for them. I am going to see the center tomorrow morning in Sor, over the bridge from the mainland. My students would work with the talibes, learn French and Wolof, go into the desert and Dakar and Goree at the end. (Quite tough but now, having visited the center I think my students would be dedicated volunteers.) I talked with Clare a little about my students and how I ask them at the beginning of my course on French West Africa to brainstorm words that come to mind when they conjure up the words L’Afrique…I get corruption, AIDS, drought, deforestation, poverty, war, desertification, etc, etc: mostly negative responses. Clare pointed out the many ways the West has lost its way and gone wrong; the obvious value of the extended family, the way western children seem so out of control and Senegalese kids so respectful and well-disciplined, the difficulty explaining to a Senegalese how it is so much more expensive for us in the West to buy organic when they will just chop the head off that chicken in the yard, how kids in the West always need the latest toy, phone, lap top and don’t appreciate the sheer joy of the Senegalese kid happy as Larry splashing about in a puddle.
A little wander around town this afternoon, dinner at la Louisiane and tomorrow morning, taxi back to Dakar, (no a/c.) A night at the Hotel Farid again and off on an 8am flight Tuesday to Bamako where we will stay Tuesday 13th in l’Hotel Mirabeau and tour Bamako l’apres-midi. Wednesday Segou, former capital of the Bambara kingdom, Sudanese style architecture, Thursday, Mopti, market, mosque and sunset sail on Niger river. Friday, Kona by boat for about 7 hours on the river, then on to the ultimate: Dogon country! We hike here Saturday and see a mask dance, we hope. Sunday back to Mopti and Monday Djenne for the Unesco protected mosque, one of the largest mud-brick structures in the world. Tuesday July 20th back to Bamako for three nights to chill in a nice hotel. Not sure how much internet time we are going to get over this period. Wi-fi pretty good everywhere so far. Just love my Blackberry keeping me connected, though! Keep on writing to me! A bientot!
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