TDI: 1-2 What's this?
What is wrong with this white man?
Some of the people I have encountered in Dakar, the capital of Senegal were quite surprised I didn’t speak French. Over the years of traveling, I’ve learned the basics, but when I visited Senegal, I didn’t speak it at all. Some of the people wouldn’t even believe me that I didn’t speak it. I concluded that the only Westerners that ever visit this country are from France or the French-speaking side of Belgium. Maybe some other Westerners come here, which can speak French. Hence most of the people in Senegal think that French is the language of the white people.
I remember asking a lady on the street for the direction. When she realized I can’t speak any French, she frowned. I could see in her eyes what she was thinking: ˝We had to study French so we can communicate with white people. Now this guy comes here claiming he can’t speak French?! What’s his problem!?˝ The reality is, the people in Senegal do have a mutual language called Wolof, which they use to communicate with each other. So most of them don’t see the point of speaking French anyway. I could see why the woman felt like I was provocative by not speaking French.
There is a new dining trend on the streets of Dakar – Fast Food. I am not talking about McDonald’s, KFC, Burger King, etc… At least not yet! I am talking about regular street vendors selling the local interpretation of fast food… Sandwich with eggs and potatoes, sandwich with lentils and pasta. In case the sandwich is too dry, there is always local watery ketchup available. Those sandwich places had labels: Fast Food. It is a brand that sells! It is so popular that I wasn’t able to find any of the traditional meals like fish stew & rice.
If you’d like to see more similar photos, I recommend checking out my Sierra Leone photo gallery.
Fine dining on Goree Island
Goree is a small, cute, and touristy island off the coast of Dakar. I went there with a Czech volunteer I met in the hostel. While walking in the tiny streets, a young local guy greeted us and wished us a warm welcome to the island, where he is born and raised. We felt no threat, so spontaneously continued walking around with our new friend. And yes, he spoke English! We also passed by his home, so he showed us where he slept. The room was nothing but a converted cave! Not only that he enjoyed a prime ocean view from his bed, but he was also blessed with the cool air breezing through the cave (his room, I meant to say).
At that moment I heard a female voice shouting. As soon as the shouting stopped, our new friend told us: ˝Food is ready, let’s go!˝ We tried to be polite and said: ˝Thank you, but we are not hungry!˝ He ignored our response and dragged us into the front yard of his family’s house. This one looked like a house. Not all the members of the family had the privilege to enjoy ˝the cave architecture˝.
In the front yard, there was a huge family pot on the ground. I have recognized rice, some sort of protein, and the dark red sauce, everything mixed up. There was a man, a woman, and a young girl sitting around the pot and eating from it. As soon as they noticed us, the three of them moved closer together to make more room for the three of us.
So six of us were enjoying this delicious fish stew. I wasn’t sure what impressed me the most: the deliciousness of this meal, or surprising hospitality of these strangers, or the dining style we used: 6 of us sitting on the ground eating from the same pot that was in the middle… Yet, the dining experience wasn’t too tribal because we were given spoons. I needed this meal after 3 days of “fast food” in Dakar.
On the boat ride back from Goree Island I was analyzing my day to find out how did I get myself into such an adventure? I went to the touristy island and I was walking around. That was all I did. Nothing crazy. I guess in Senegal you don’t even need to be adventurous to experience an adventure.
What the hell am I doing here?
Nianing is a small beach town where I have met a nice friendly local, that I ended up hanging out with for the next few days. Yes, he was able to communicate in English as well. Went several times to his house, met his wife and 4 kids… It is always a cool thing to see where ordinary people live.
One day, my new friend suggested I join him on a trip to Foundiougne, where his cousin lived. He described it as a beautiful town by the river. I was excited! His idea was to get there by taxi which cost $50. Since I was the person in charge of the trip expenses, I insisted on going there with the local bus, of course. He looked at me very disappointedly and said how it takes a long time to get there with the bus. At that time I didn’t have a whole lot of traveling experience, but I was still able to realize this guy is my friend so he can get something out of me.
I asked him: “Would you take a taxi to Foundiougne if I am not here?” …no response.
“Would the Senegalese people travel an 85 km distance with a taxi?˝ …no response. I took his silence as a “No.”
Later, when we arrived in Foundiougne, we had about 20 minute’s walk to our host’s home. 20 min walk was more than enough for me to realize that this town was not beautiful, not even interesting. The streets and houses were spread out, and the landscape was pale brown, flat, and dry. Normally, walking on the streets of random towns is something I find very interesting. Here, I got bored after only 5 minutes, cause for the remaining 15 min of walking, everything was absolutely the same.
I came up with the conclusion that my Nianing friend was lying to me that Foundiougne is beautiful, cause he wanted to visit his cousin and he saw the opportunity for free transport. Since the bus ride for both of us was $6, I wasn’t upset about the transport expense. I was walking silently next to my ˝friend˝ towards his cousin’s home, looking around, hoping to see something interesting… something that would make this trip worth a hustle… something that would make me feel less stupid for deciding to come here. I felt I was probably the 1st white man that has ever visited this town. Well, maybe not the first white man, but the first tourist. Looking around, I still couldn’t believe I ended up here, from all the places in Senegal.
Our host proudly welcomed me to his home and introduced me to his wife, 7 children, Mom, sister, and the animals that were visible at the moment. We were all hanging out in the front yard. Inside, I was assuming is just enough room to sleep. The wife came out with the big pot. My Nianing friend, my Foundiougne host, and I sat on the ground and she put the pot in the middle of us. It was a fish stew and rice … a familiar concept!
It was a tasty meal in an interesting local environment. I enjoyed myself! I started to feel like it was worth coming here. People connect easier when sharing and eating from the same pot, I thought. When they finished eating, I decided to finish as well, although I wasn’t quite full, and there was still plenty of food in the pot. As soon as I placed my spoon away, both of them insisted that I should eat more. Since the food was delicious and I wasn’t quite full, I thanked them and continued eating a bit more. The next time when I placed the spoon away again, my host told me again I should keep eating. I thanked him and said how I was full. He kept insisting I should eat more and he also told me the rest of the pot is for me anyway. Since I did have some more room for this delicious meal, I decided to eat a little more before I announced: ˝I am full, I have no room for another bite!˝
We continued sitting and chatting. A few minutes later, I went to use the toilet. When I stood up, I noticed 5 children eating from the same pot we were eating from. They were silently fighting for the leftovers. Their dinner was our leftovers. Earlier, their father was forcing me to overindulge myself and the result of that was his children got a very miserable dinner. I felt ashamed. I was also disappointed with my host.
In the middle of the front yard, the TV was on. A very tiny one. My host has set me on the floor right in front of it. (By the way, everything is on the floor. Chairs don’t exist. They are an unnecessary luxury. The screen was the size of the iPad and the picture quality was pretty low with everything flashing and blinking like somebody was kicking the TV with a baseball stick during the broadcast. A terrible acting and bad production French-speaking Soap show was on. My prime TV-watching spot was supposed to be a privilege, but I took it as a punishment. I felt I deserved it after eating the kids’ dinner.
Where’s the beach?
I told my Nianing friend I am ready to move on, to a different part of Senegal. Perhaps, somewhere by the ocean, again. Can’t go wrong with the ocean. He has suggested the city of Ziguinchor. He thought it fits my criteria. Before I continue, I need to disclose how during my visit to Senegal my traveling style was extremely casual: no plans, no research, no wifi, no offline maps… old school.
So I decided to visit Ziginchour on his suggestion, without checking about it online. There was a small issue though. The fastest way from Nianing to Ziguinchor is along the coast through the country of Gambia. However, my host also told me how the border is currently closed due to political tension between Gambia and Senegal, so I would have to go around.
I took the Bus to Tambacounda, where I arrived at 2 am. The man approached me and asked a question I did not understand. I just answered: ¨Ziguinchor¨. He was talking to me while tying my backpack to the roof of the very old van. I couldn’t understand a single word he said. He was not very friendly. Upset cause I couldn’t speak French. I sat in the van and waited for it to get filled, so I could proceed with my journey to the south of Senegal.
After the unpleasant conversation (or attempt to the conversation) with the driver, or conductor or, a kidnapper maybe (you never know), I came up with the conclusion there is a significant chance this van is not going to Ziguinchor. I decided not to worry. Rather sit, relax, try to fall asleep, and see what happens.
Wanna see some more photos from the neighboring countries? I would recommend checking out Burkina Faso
Later on, during the journey, the sun started to come out. I was semi-awake, with headphones on listening to some music. Trying to figure out if I’m still in Senegal. I have noticed a new sound in the song on my playlist. I wondered how come I never noticed that sound before… Then the next familiar song started but with the same unknown sound. Here it is again. Well, maybe it is not the music. I took the headphones off. Surprisingly, I am hearing the same sound again! I looked around to find out where is the sound coming from. Nothing. Then I looked down. Bingo! On the ground, there were little yellow chickens spread all over the van. I was glad everything is ok with my headphones and my playlist.
We have finally arrived. Outside of the van, I was busy with getting the blood and oxygen into the parts of my body that were too squeezed, during this journey. On the roof of the van, where all of the passengers’ luggage was, there was a goat tied to my 20 kg backpack. It was hugging my backpack with her arms, legs, and neck.
After throwing the backpack in the room where I’d found the accommodation, I rushed out, on the streets of Ziguinchor to look for some food. Eventually, I found a small street joint.
The lady that worked there was pretty attractive. I asked her where the beach is… She spoke no English. I did know how to say ‘the beach’ in French, so that was a good start.. good enough. She understood my question, but, of course, I did not understand her answer. The lady was patient and tried to explain it to me in many different ways. She has tried pointing with her hands, as well as drawing. After a while, I managed to understand the answer: ˝There is no beach in this town and the closest one is in Cap Skirring 70 km away.˝
If you open the map of Senegal, it is very easy to notice how Ziguinchor is not at the ocean, but rather on the river 50 km away from the ocean, but during this trip, opening a Google map was not my style. So there I was after a 15 hours trip, in this thorn down and very polluted river city, instead of an ocean town with nice beaches.
The girl told me she was going to Cap Skirring that afternoon and she would like me to join her. Since there was a significant language barrier between us, she was explaining to me her invite in many different ways, again. It took me about 10 minutes to understand. Once I finally did, I accepted. Did I mention she was attractive?
Later in the afternoon, we arrived at Cap Skirring. Then she brought me into a big nice house. ˝Nice˝ by Western standards… When I got to the terrace upstairs, I saw a beautiful beach 50m away. I could hear the waves… mission accomplished… I am at the nice beach! Accommodated in the vacation house of some old French couple, I was assuming, and hosted by their attractive housekeeper.
I have spent a day and a half with a person that doesn’t speak any language that I spoke. As a result of that, I did get better at French. And at the pantomime as well.
If you’re interested in more stories from exotic African countries, I would recommend checking out my Togo post.
Wanna read more about Senegal? I would recommend checking out the blog of my dear traveling friend Guilherme Canever. Since he is Brazilian, writing for the local audience, make sure you use a translator tool in your browser (unless you’re fluent in Portuguese).