13. Senegal: Rosso, St. Louis to Dakar

Rurrenabaque, Bolivia, November 2012

After Mauritania, Senegal felt like a breath of fresh air.  We would subsequently list it amongst our favorite countries on the trip.  One of the things that it had going for it was that the previous year the President-since-independence,Leopold Senghor, had given up power peacefully after 20 years.  Almost all of the countries we traveled through still had the same president as they had at independence, or power had been transferred through coups. 

Zimbabwe, though it achieved majority rule much later than other sub Saharan countries still has today, 34 years later, the same president that oversaw independence. That seems to be an important indicator of the lack of respect and trust within society.  From our perspective as backpackers scraping through with limited ability to communicate, the Senegalese seemed to have more self-confidence and respect, which naturally go together.  Senegal, with far fewer natural resources than many African countries seemed to be doing much better.  We felt this in again in Cameroon, which has also apparently done well in subsequent years.  We also felt this in Rwanda... so much for our backpacker intuition...

Though we don’t mention it at the time, all of the sudden in Senegal there were no military checkpoints every hour.  This resumed once we got into Mali and continued on until Nigeria.  At many of the checkpoints they would have all of the passengers get off, and then they would have to pay the soldiers to get back on.  In many cases they ignored the white foreign travelers, almost pretending we were not there.  This was in tremendous contrast to South America where the police/soldiers’ eyes would be immediately drawn to the white, apparently foreign, travelers as soon as they would get on a bus or truck.  Hassles usually ensued.  This was not so in the many sub-saharan countries we passed through.

Dakar was the capital of French West Africa and Senegal was the first French colony in Africa, though apparently for many years St. Louis and Dakar were mainly collection points for the slaving trade.  We can believe, based on the architecture, that St. Louis was humming with the slave trade about the same time as the French Quarter in New Orleans was humming at the other end of the same business.

Travel route from Nouakchott through Senegal, the Gambia and Mali to Bamako.  Yellow represents trucks or bush taxis and orange represents train travel.

Rosso, Mauritania - Saint Louis, Senegal, Sunday, 14 November, 1982

(DAN) We crossed the river with the last of our Oguiyas in a dugout canoe.  We had the usual hassle over the baggage. The guy insisted on charging us twice as much per bag as per person.I finally just gave him all my change. He wouldn’t let go of Helena’s pack, and I didn’t want to make a bigger scene. Once in Senegal, though, things were much easier.We checked in at the police and had to remind them to stamp our entry (they were so enthralled with our personal data). We had to pay no extra for the bags, and when the customs official stopped the vehicle, they didn’t even look at our bags.

Senegal from the start is Black Africa, apparently in this area mostly Wolof and Fulani. They do wear very bright prints, and bright head cloths[1]. They were the most gregarious fellow passengers we’ve had (6 women plus 2 babies) and laughed all the way. One woman, Fulani, had heavy earrings in her ears and the hole was maybe an inch long.

We arrived in Saint Louis about dusk, and crossed over to the island (where the downtown is) to look for one of four hotels that our book mentions. The two cheapest turned out to be closed, and the only other hotels in a town of  ±150,000 people, turned out to cost 24 and 26 $us. That is for the three of us with me sleeping on the floor.  We ended up staying at the “Residence” for $26 which did include air conditioning, permanent hot shower, sit-down tub in the room, but was obviously well out of our range. Maureen offered to pay for it since they would accept her American Express Card. She then insisted on picking up the entire tab in exchange for our “letting her travel with us”. That long hot bath was very nice.  We had not been able to freshen up properly since the Canary Islands.

Saint Louis, Senegal, Sunday, 14 November, 1982

(HELENA)  That luxurious bath with clean sheets on a comfortable bed was something.  We finally got out on the streets by 10:30, and while Dan went in search of someone from the Peace Corps, Maureen and I went to see about Monday's train schedule and to pack everything to be ready to check out of our hotel.  Dan returned at 11:30 having by some miracle found a woman from Peace Corps who gave him a key to an "Animation House". We took her directions and crossed the island to a place right across from the market.  It was an oldish, dusty house, but definitely a welcome place to stay with rows of interesting books.

Nobody was there at first, but then Jim Onofrey got there. He is an interesting sort who has extended his term to three years. As always, Dan is the one to give you a full report on him. After an afternoon of reading,  Jim took us up the peninsula to the beach (in a pick-up truck). I stood rather tamely by, but Dan really “got into” diving into the waves that broke right near the shore.  Jim went in also, and Maureen got her skirt wet. It was really one of the neatest beaches I’ve seen, and best of all, after Las Palmas, NO CROWDS!

(DAN) Jim also works with the irrigation projects along the Senegal River, only on the Senegal side. He is in his third year (something none of the Mauritanian volunteers were even considering) of living in a Fulani village. He has learned the language and wants to go to graduate school in anthropology and linguistics to come back to study the tribe. He is from Wisconsin, and as I’ve found with a lot of people who live in isolated places, he was very abreast of what goes on in the world. This reminds me that we happened to hear about Breshnev’s death the same day they announced it. It was when we were in Atar in the back of the truck waiting for it to leave. A man was crouched in the shade of the cab, fooling with the controls on his big radio and happened onto a BBC broadcast.

Back to Jim, he is also surprised that there are no cheap or even medium hotels in St. Louis because there is a big project in the area. It turns out that there are several hundred foreign technicians here to build a salt water dam across the Senegal River.  Each dry season there is salt encroachment as far as 150 km. up river from the mouth, and it gets worse each season. The dam will supposedly be closed at such times to hold the salt water at the mouth! The big problem is that there is so much irrigation with so much more planned, and already some irrigated areas are useless due to salination.

Another problem he mentioned is that ever since the drought in the early 70's, the Senegal River has not overflowed; and thousands of acres formerly depended on the fresh alluvium. It appears to be the overall effects of overgrazing and deforestation causing less rainfall, and less rainfall aiding in the desertification. Add to that a very high birth rate. Finally, in a conversation with a health volunteer in Mauritania, it surfaced that a problem as big or bigger than starvation in the Sahel region is simple dehydration.  Many children are dehydrated nearly from the time they are born and never recover.

     St.Louis - Dakar, Senegal Monday, 15 Nov., 1982

(DAN) Jim was bringing an empty pick-up into Dakar, but due to Peace Corps regulations could only take two passengers, so Maureen rode with him and all our (what a relief ) bags. Helena and I got up at 05:00 and walked through the darkened colonial architecture to catch the 06:20 train.  It was full, but we were able to find two empty seats. None of the volunteers had ever taken the train because at least second class is reputed to be very dismal.  We actually left 10 minutes early, and though the train definitely bucked and rocked all the way, we had a comfortable ride. As in Morocco we found that the cheapest form of transpor­tation is the one used by the poorer, more traditional people, and we enjoyed observing them.  Senegal has as many, if not more beggars, than the other places we’ve been, and they were constantly making their presence known. As in Morocco they sing or recite the Koran, but we heard a very remarkable duo by two blind women.  At first we could only hear one voice, but as they made progress through the car, we began to hear a softer, higher voice singing a rollicking melody in answer to the first woman’s rich, deliberate voice. One of those things that make you think.

As it got light, we began to see our first of many baobab trees. The grass got thicker where it had not been cultivated, but where it was cultivated, it was terribly eroded. There were plenty of dunes, and where there were spots of intact vegetation, the soil was 6 to 12 inches higher and darker than the surrounding field. Somewhere in there the first mango tree appeared and the first papaya plant.

Sahel in Senegal:  farm land with poor vegetation cover and plenty of signs of erosion

 After we arrived, Helena and I made a bee-line to the American Express office here that is handling our mail[2]. It was closed for siesta, so we had to wait another 2 1/2 hours.The prize awaiting us was not so large as it could have been, but was beautiful to behold as it was a treasured edition of Bab’s Blabs(Mother’s general letter) and a letter from Grandmother telling of her trip on to Germany after she left us, and then home to Kansas[3].

We then looked for a tourist office and hotel on the way to meet up with Maureen at the PC office.  We ran into two tourist offices that were not the proper offices, and as for hotels, we again found that all of the cheap ones mentioned in the book are either no longer functioning or no longer cheap.  We finally settled momentarily at the Hotel Central for 4000 francs for the three of us ($12).  It sounds easier than it was; Helena and I walked for about 4 hours to get that all done.

A cheery note is that Maureen, who with Shirley hitched across Europe using a sign saying “DAKAR”, did actually hitch a ride into Dakar.

 Dakar, Senegal.  Tuesday, 16 November, 1982

(HELENA) We got a nice late start on the day before going to get some money changed and heading for the Mali embassy. We were shocked at the price for the visa, 5000 C.F.A ($1.00=340 C.F.A.) but “nimodo”.  We came back to the hotel for a long siesta, and then Dan and I set off to find the French embassy to inquire about visas for Haute Volta[4] and Niger.  Naturally, their consular section was closed, so we decided to return the next morning. We found the post office on that trip, a rather dreary place with not very pleasant people.

Dan and I felt like a good hot meal, so we went out walking to try to find a good, reasonably cheap place to eat. We must have been in the wrong part of town because we walked for a good while. We eventually got to the railroad station and started walking along a street lined with shipping companies. We were eventually rewarded by finding a nice, clean, small place run by an oriental woman. We had “poisson avec riz”, that is to say fish with rice that tasted mighty good. Back to the hotel to finish up the novels we’d borrowed from the Peace Corps.

Dakar, Senegal Wednesday, 17 November, 1982

(DAN) Another rip roaring day of embassy hunting.  The French Embassy (one end of town) handled none of our desired visas, but they gave us addresses for the respective embassies, e.g.“Niger --  Km 5 Rue Oukaim”. We could not do anything until we got our passports back from the Mali embassy, so we trucked out to Km.5 in the noonday sun and located both Niger and Zaire embassies. On the way we passed the Haute Volta honorary consulate and made arrangements for that visa.  As in Rabat, once we had put in our time on foot, we got a feel of where and how the buses work. There are four that take you to the door of Niger, and the one we took back into town dropped us at Mali. On our walk out we got to see another part of town, the medina. It is the "popular” part of town, rambling, endless neighborhoods of one or two story brick houses with woven mats for side walls. The people who live here are the ones who have ridden on the bus or train with us and not the chic, expensive European look we see  downtown. There are supposed to be more French people staying in former French Colonies compared to former British Colonies.[5]We have certainly seen regiments of petite, chic Frenchwomen bustling and driving about. There appear to be many French proprietors of the finer businesses as well.

We went to get the camera and lens fixed:  good and bad news.  We went to a very good técnico who fixed the camera on the spot (it had not worked since we changed the tires out of Choum). But.... the zoom lens would take 15 days to fix and would cost 150 $US. I figured back in the States that it was related to the position of the interior lenses.  It simply will not focus long distances. I will try again in Nigeria and perhaps sell to a Nigerian technician who is aware both of what he is buying and has a penchant for camera equip­ment.   Considering that we were almost relieved of all of our film and camera equipment in the Layoune airport, we are still ahead.

                                                                  Dakar, Senegal, Thursday, 18 November, 1982

(HELENA)  As I sit here listening to the faint sound of a Julio Iglesias record wafting through our open balcony door, I’m feeling pretty content. Not only did we get a package of mail forwarded from Algeria[6], but with tonight we'll be caught up on our journal for the first time since arriving in Nouadhibou, Mauritania,  nine days ago.

We’ve had another exciting day of visa hunting, but there are a few salient points. We picked up our Haute Volta visas right on time just around the corner from the Hotel Central.   Several people had told us that the country had a coup, and weren’t letting people in, but we had no problem at this end. All three of us then took a scenic bus ride by the sea out to the Niger embassy.  After being told rather coldly to wait, a man finally came to say that the ambassador had been in an accident and wouldn’t be in today. We would have been very put out, but the Zaire embassy was right around the corner, and Dan and I think we had good luck there. The very friendly consul had us in, talked a bit, and asked if we had our tickets for leaving the country. Apparently we’ll not have all of the problems we'd expected with Zaire. Our contact in Zaire had written to Dan that he’d probably need a letter from the president of the Methodist Church in Zaire.

We came back as fast as possible because we had thought we’d change hotels.  Dan and I had found one for 3300 CFA instead of the 4000 we’re paying now, but when he and Maureen went back to check on it, the conditions were not at all good. (I gather the shower was right above the hole-in-the-floor toilet.)  So... we all breathed a sigh of relief that we’d be staying on in spite of the extra $US 2.00 per day.

We had lunch at a place Maureen was introduced to by our Peace Corps friend, Jim.  They serve you a big basin of rice, a piece of fish, a cooked carrot, a piece manioc and some hot peppers, all for 200 CFA.

After siesta Dan and Maureen set off for their big financial transaction. As I understand it, Maureen wrote a counter-check on her New Orleans account, using her American Express Card as back-up. They issued her a letter to a bank asking them to issue travelers' checks. Somehow Dan signed the travelers' checks, but if we lose them, the claim has to go through Maureen. Dan then wrote a personal check to Maureen, and she will send that to her account.She said the check should not bounce as long as some of her law clients have paid up. We can now breathe easily for a good while.

                                                                            Dakar, Senegal. Friday, 19 November, 1982

(DAN)  Another day of visa hunting. We have our visas for Zaire, which according to some people is a small miracle, as was the Nigerian visa obtained in Morocco. It was not completely miraculous, however, as we had to pay around 25 $US apiece. The man insisted that we wouldn't need a receipt or any sign of payment at the border, so one dollar could be for the visa and 24 for a "consular fee". In any case I have a nightmare of getting to the border and having the man say, "Where are your stamps,” or "May I see your receipt, please,” because it is a perfect lead-in for a bribe. 1 just realized, however, that if we get the 5 visas we seek here, we will be saving $us 150 that we might have paid to the visa service in Washington DC, and as in Rabat, that will pay for our "expensive" stay here.

We picked up our Zaire visas and waited for an hour at Niger before the secretary decided she would get us forms to fill out.  When we first walked in, she was asleep with her head on her arm and the multi-gadget phone off the hook.  I had to wake her up for her to tell us that the consul was not in (although he was). Even after the forms were filled, we were told to come back at 3 p.m. for the visas.   Rather than travel back to town, Helena and I bought a couple of drinks and walked a km. to the ocean and had our “siesta hours” by the sea.

We walked through some very fancy housing on the way. Although much revulsion to westerniza­tion is professed, there are certainly a lot of western, three-garage, swimming-pooled houses. Some could date back to French domination, but many are very new. Though there are many Frenchmen here, I believe that most of the people in the area are Black.  When I think that most of those palaces were built when there was extreme starvation in the Sahel during the 70's, I wonder!  Everything is not right.  Rich will be rich even when half of one’s country is in some degree of starvation!  Some of the people may have been instrumental in negotiating multi-million dollar programs of foreign relief. Oh, and we didn’t get our Niger visa.  “Tomorrow!”

Modern Dakar.  No signs of the recent sahelian famine here.

Dakar, Senegal, Saturday, 20 November, 1982

(HELENA) I was actually up this morning before the other two and did a bit of washing to try to keep my dirty clothes bag empty. That is one big advantage to staying in one place for a long time; your clothes have a good chance of getting washed and dried before being put back in the pack. I was even inspired enough to wash one of our sheets that has only been slept in once, but has been used several times as a “table cloth”.

After breakfast, Maureen and I went across the street to the post office to mail some letters. Quite a surprise when I recognized our Rotary Scholar friend from the youth hostel in Casablanca. He’d given Dan a rather vague address here in Dakar, and Dan had gotten a couple of phone numbers for Rotary members from the secretary  at the Haute Volta consulate, but Dan had been unable to find Don Bobiash, (a Canadian who is here for a year). I invited him up to see Dan.  We talked for a while, decided to meet tomorrow for a trip to the Island of Goree, and we finally had to leave to go back to the Niger embassy. Pleasant surprise to walk in and have an underling hand our passports with visas to us immediately. This man had been pleasant to us always and seemed to do a lot of the work around there. Now we have only to get our Gambia visas. Maureen doesn’t need one because of her Irish passport.

On the way “home,” we stopped to have lunch at Maureen’s pension. This time the three of us were served our hot (picante) rice, fish, carrot, yuca, and peppers in one big enamel basin.  (Two decades later I can still picture the dish here and have tried to reproduce it.  The remarkable thing was the reddish color because of the palm oil.)  The place seems to be quite a gathering place for Peace Corps types. Dan and I drank a big bottle of our current favorite soft drink, delicious orange put out by Schweppes, and we all stretched out for a nap.

We had decided to spend the afternoon going through the Dakar museum of Black Africa, so Maureen went first to “her dressmaker’s”, and we puttered around a bit more before going to meet her.  The building is quite small, but holds a lot of artifacts from all over West Africa.  Actually, we saw maybe 5 things from Senegal itself. There were a lot of wooden statues and masks (some of them HUGE) made for ancestor worship or fertility and initiation rites.  One of the most interesting parts was the different drums (some big slit drums, a big log hollowed out through a long slit) and stringed instruments we saw.  I’d really like to hear and see them played. There were a few wind instruments, the most exotic being flutes made out of a giraffe’s legs. There was great variety in the stringed instruments, but I can’t hope to be able to describe the differences.

Maureen left early, but Dan and I decided to head straight down Avenue Pasteur to the Palais de Justice, a corner of the peninsula we’d not seen yet. We walked a good way along the corniche, which is a road with beautiful views of the ocean and islands, but not on a level with it.  We were surprised to see that it’s not an exclusive neighborhood, or at least reserved for government buildings. Instead it has some sort of poor soldiers’ and civilian quarters.

On our way to the museum we finally found some peanut butter for sale at the market. They sell it out of a big tub, so on the way home we looked for a container in which to put it.  Plastic was too expensive, so we bought a couple of cartons of sterilized (UHT) milk and hope to put the peanut butter in the empty cartons. We've been eating cheese till now, but it is terribly expensive, and since we are in groundnut country.... (arachide is the local word for peanuts). Yesterday we finished the last of our cheap cheese from Las Palmas.

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[1]For a good example see.  http://www.africaguide.com/images/library/etb006.jpg

[2]If one could prove a certain amount of custom (such as all of our travellers’ checks), American Express would hold and forward letters.  It was the main way to get mail on our trip.

[3] Our maternal grandmother, Edna Carttar, accompanied us for part of our trip through Spain, blogs 2 and 3 of this series.

[4] Subsequently the country changed its name to Burkina Faso

[5] It was said, at the time, that there were more French in Ivory Coast than there had been before independence.  We were not able to travel there so could not comment first hand.

[6] At the time we were planning the trip, Algeria appeared to be the most likely country to start our transSahara leg, so we had set up a mail stop.