14. Senegal: Dakar to Barra, The Gambia

Ille de Goree

                                                                       Ille de Goree, Senegal, Sunday, Nov. 21, 1982

(DAN) We had arranged to meet Don at 10, and Maureen actually got up, ran, showered, and went to mass before then. We got to the dock to find that the ferry had just left and we had two hours to kill. We walked along the waterfront and saw the Dakar shoreline from yet another point.  The Isle of Goree is in the harbor and is only a 20-minute ride from the dock.   As Don put it, it is a very “mellow” island, and it has its own architecture, history, and air. It was first settled by the Portuguese in 1444 and held by them until 1595, in Dutch hands from 1597 to 1677, and disputed by the British and French until 1817. The island was as a major (if not the biggest) marshaling point for slavers[1].  Though the French outlawed slavery in 1818, its practice is said to have continued at least until 1848. 0ne of the places we visit was the “Maison des Esclaves” (slave house) built in 1778.  It is a large old house with numerous small, airless rooms. All of the houses on the island are at least 100-200 years old and of colonial French style. It was hard for me to associate slavery with this place as the local people seem to lead a healthy, very happy life.

Ille de Goree Street

 There are two fortifications on the island (the whole place is not more than 1 km long and 2-300 m wide). One is an old but intact circular fort with old cannon on the roof, and the other is the ruin of a fairly modern fortification built on old foundations on the hill-cliff side of the mountain. The second fortification has a lot of circular concrete bases for artillery, and there is an enormous “16” artillery shell. Our guess is that the island and one of the points of the peninsula were fortified for WW II and then abandoned. This latter site had a fairly intricate set of bunkers underground and several levels up the face of the cliff. There are no signs of restoration or explanation. It would appear strategic to the harbor. The population of the island is entirely Black, around 500  but at one time numbered 4000.  A very high percentage of the people we saw went out and came back on the ferry. There is a little beach, and some went fishing out on the rocks.

Don has turned out to be really interesting. He is from Saskatchewan and is here on a Rotary scholarship to study in the School of Public Administration. He has studied for a year at London University (where he is going to return for graduate work) and a couple of years in Quebec. He is extremely knowledgeable about U. S. geography and politics. In fact he worked in some capacity for Carter’s futile campaign in 1980 and appeared to be highly distressed over “the conservative, reactionary views of Canadian farmers in general”. We’ll try to keep in touch.

Don, Helena and Maureen, Ille de Goree.

                                                                          

Dakar, Senegal, Monday, 22 November, 1982

 (HELENA) Dan and Maureen had a busy day out on the streets, but I stayed in all day and “puttered”. Among other things I washed our camera bag (the one we proudly tell every­one that our mother made) after two months of use. It was getting pretty grubby-looking even though we try to never set it on the ground. Now it’s spanking clean, good as new.  I did go out twice, once to take our passports to the Gambia High Commission and another time to pick them up with our visas in order.  Dan went on several errands, to buy two kilos of “crème de arachide", pick up some information at USAID, change money, get information on travel to Gambia, and most impor­tant, pick up our last mail at Socopao and leave a forwarding address. Two very welcome letters from Mother, mentioning her first conversation with Maureen’s mother.

Dan found that we could take a small bus (transport en comun) or a train to Kaolack and from there find something else. The train is about 100 CFA more per person, but since we have seen some mighty full buses, we’ve opted for the train.

Every place we’ve gone, we’ve noticed little mannerisms that appear to be common to a certain place. In Galicia people would point in a certain manner when giving directions. In Mauritania and here people will say “no” (as in “no, you’re wrong”) by clicking their tongue and shaking their index finger. Today Dan noticed that in giving directions people will snap their fingers and point.

For the second evening in a row we splurged and had “chawarm” for supper. It’s the same meat (supposedly lamb, well seasoned) as what we had on a plate in Saint Louis, but this is rolled up in very thin bread. Delicious!

                                                                              Dakar--Barra, The Gambia 23 November, 1982

(DAN)  We achieved an impressive 20-minute departure and loped into the train station at 5:50, half an hour early. There was a queue forming, so I got in line while we got organized. Senegalese have so far shown an impressive lack of respect for lines, so I was to rush the ticket line, while Maureen made for the get-on-train-to-reserve-seats-line, while Helena guarded the packs. At 06:30 the ticket seller made his entrance, the guard let us through, and we reformed at the window, much to my disadvantage. When I got to the window, it turned out that they were not selling tickets for the 06:20 train to Kaolack, only for the 18:00 hrs train to Bamako, Mali!!:  "Because the Kaolack train is not here yet." (Neither was the Bamako train.) Our train finally showed at 08:00.  We rushed both lines in fine local style and got seats, as did everybody, with half the train empty. The trip is supposed to take between 2 and 3 hours by road, so we thought maybe a little longer by train.  After three hours we were waiting for a train in Thies only 30 km out of Dakar. After 4 1/2 hrs, we were not half way. We waited for another train in Diourbel, and another in Guinguineo (the one from Bamako, Mali to be exact). We finally dozed into Kaolack at 14:30. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, and the people and scenery were most interesting, so we survived.

Our travel route. Yellow for bush taxi or bus and light orange for train.

The trip was especially interesting in view of the visit I'd made to USAID yesterday. One of the project descriptions I was given to read was of a pilot re-forestation project for the area.  The area has traditionally been Senegal's groundnut or peanut belt which is in turn Senegal's big export item.  However the area has also been the source for fuel for Dakar, and Thies has a wood-cutters caste in its society. Twenty years ago they just cut around Thies; now they have to go up to 500 km to find the fuel. Apparently even Dakar uses wood or charcoal for 90% of its domestic energy. If I had not read the project, the area would have appeared normal.  There were quite a few trees scattered about, mostly baobabs, which must be too thick for cutting. But every now and then there would be a fenced-in area, and it would have at once more trees, more grass, and apparently more stable soil. Otherwise, for the peanut butter belt of Senegal, there surely were a lot of small dunes and just plain raped-looking areas. There were a lot of goats in evidence. A bit of trivia for somebody. One of the most common trees in Senegal is the one that produces gum- arabica. I've heard of these trees through the years, but the scientific name would never have meant anything to me. It is Acacia senegales. Another alarming forestry fact is that about half of the fuel cut in Senegal comes from the Senegal River basin, not that they have a lot of trees. Instead they are still harvesting trees that died in the 73-74 drought. Of course, nobody is replanting. In fact the only positive thing I can report on the forestry situation in Senegal is that USAID has hired a most charming young woman to head their project...

Sahel Countryside, near Kaolack, Senegal.

Back to the trip. We had projected to spend the night in Banjul (Bathurst), Gambia, so in Kaolack we went to get a "bush taxi" to go as far as Barra, where one takes a ferry across to Banjul. We found a Peugeot pick-up right away, clambered aboard and proceeded to drip sweat for the next 2 hours while we waited for it to fill enough to leave. He must have given up, because we left with a mere 14 passengers. We headed southwest, and until it got dark, the countryside changed from a parched sandy savannah to patches of open forest or stands of tall (6-8 ft) grass and villages overrun with mango trees.  We have been proud that we planned the trip so as to hit dry season, winter everywhere we go. We are beginning to wonder if it might have been smarter to aim for mango season all across Africa.

Peugeot 504 pickup that showed up in our Bolivian Amazonian town in 2012,  just like the bush taxis that we had across west and central Africa 30 years ago.

The border crossing was a cinch, and the Gambia side conducted the formalities in English. We pulled into Barra about 20.00 hrs. Right away things kind of went wrong.  There were no lights except the generator at the police building. The last ferry had already crossed, there were no hotels, and a man was pressuring us to buy money on the black market.  We found at the police station that we could either sleep on the police station porch and provide live entertainment for half the town, or sleep in a "traveler's room" for 10 Dalasi. We decided to look at the latter, but while they looked for a key, I went in search of something to drink. While I was inside a store inquiring, I was called outside, and from the shadows a figure spoke to me softly in Wolof. I couldn't understand, so he called two friends who tried to communicate in French. Finally we went to a fourth person, also in the shadows, who asked me in English, "Did you leave a bag on the taxi?"  Not that I knew of. However, when I got back to the police station we realized that we had indeed left our tent poles in the taxi. Panic! I went back in search of the shadows, but all four had disappeared.

We settled on the room though it was only about 10 ft. by 10 ft. with a semi-slatted bed and (alas) no moquito screen. Even this was not without confusion. A young man who had offered to take us across the river for $20 showed us the room.  He said it belonged to his sister who was also married to the police constable. The constable had us pay him, though later a man and a woman emerged from the shadows and informed us that they were the owners of the compound (either an old school or barracks). He made a half attempt to charge us again, but soon left, probably to see the constable, who, it turns out, is his son-in-law.  As we blew out the candle, somebody lit burners under the slats and then the mosquitoes took over.  It was a long day and night!

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[1] We also now appreciate that not only is it Africa’s westernmost point, it is also conveniently located for the winds and currents to sail to Northern Brazil and the Caribbean.  We later learned that it is still a major jumping off point for sailing yachts headed to the Caribbean.