The second day I went to the UN protected national bird park. It’s considered the third best bird watching spot in the world. It’s about an hour drive from St. Louis so Joanna, Raph, Jean-Pierre and I plus an older French couple split a sept-place (a seven place car) down there. We bargained a price for the whole day - $24 per person. This included the taxi there and back, the park fee, and the boat guided tour through the park. Not bad, I must say. We took a small boat around the park. We saw birds, mainly pelicans, crocodiles, a python, and warthogs. It was fun, but there wasn’t actually that much to see. It was the same four bird types over and over again.
When we got back to St. Louis, Joanna and I decided to explore the city. We went to the coastline to watch the fishermen come in from their work but were informed by a local that it wasn’t fishing season. He offered to take us around. He showed us the rows of huge hollowed out wooden boats that Senegalese fishers use. Some were 10 feet tall and could hold 42 people. He showed us a tied up pelican, which is huge when it is standing next to you, about half my size. Apparently the fishermen use pelicans to fish. They tie a rope around the pelicans throats, take them out to sea, then have the pelicans catch the fish. But the pelican can’t swallow them because of the rope so when they get back to shore, they spit out the fish for the waiting fisherman.
It was evident from our walk that St. Louis people were much nicer than the people in Dakar. Everywhere we went we were received with smiles and greetings. But I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Our guide asked if we would pay for sugar and coffee for his family. Joanna, being a nice person, agreed without asking questions. So we walked to the nearest store, but it was out of sugar. He had the store owner write out the price on a piece of paper for us to just give him the money. My jaw dropped when I saw the price – 4,500 CFA, which is about $9. That’s a lot for coffee and sugar here. We figured out later that he was trying to stock up and buy a liter of coffee and a liter of sugar. I told Joanna I would say something to him if she wanted but she said she would just pay it. However, she only had 4,000 CFA. The guy turned to me to pay the other 500 and I refused to pay it. He got angry and called me rude for not helping my friend pay. Then he told me that the $1 I was withholding from him is not that much. Maybe not in and of itself, but in addition to the $8 he has already taken from us, it is. I got mad and said that a $1 is a lot, that what he pulled was rude, and that coffee and sugar shouldn’t cost that much. Joanna and I walked away and the guy followed to shake our hand and say thanks anyway. That sort of thing happens a lot here. They think that because we’re Americans that $10 is nothing to us and they forget that we’re students living off our parents just like the Senegalese our age.
That night the four of us went to a Moroccan restaurant, my first taste of Moroccan food. And I ate the best lamb of my life. Oh my gosh, was it amazing. Then we went to this club where we played pool, Europeans versus Americans. Raph was the only one who was any good but Joanna and I managed to sabotage the European shots enough that the game lasted surprisingly long. They were only two balls ahead of us! And might I mention, I made all but one of the shots on my team. Then we just relaxed in comfy chairs and discussed the politics of our respective countries and the differences between northern and southern US.
The next day we just walked around St. Louis, visited a “museum” that took us 30 minutes to go through, and then got a sept-place back to Dakar. This time we knew this was the better transportation to take and expected the ride to take 3 hours. And it would have if we hadn’t gotten into Dakar at rush hour. Ohmygosh, worst traffic I have ever seen in my life. We were stuck in it for 2 hours before we got to a place to get into our respective taxis to go home.
The next day, Thursday, we just relaxed and decided what we were going to do for the weekend. Then Friday, we went to N’Gor, an island off the coast of Dakar. Of course, on my way to meet friends there, I took the wrong transportation, spent an hour trying to find my way back before giving up and getting a taxi. N’Gor is known as the surfing beach with strong waves and soft sand. Both were true, but we didn’t see any surfers. Or anything to get excited about. Because of the rocks, there were only two spots to swim and they were populated by tourists. So we swam for a little in the freezing water and then went back to the mainland to get a late lunch. In the evening Joanna, our friend Rebecca, and I went to this modern African dance event. It was awesome! The strength, the pounding drums, the beautiful choreography. Afterwards, we went to a fast food place, got some gelato, hung out with our Senegalese friends, and finalized our plans for the weekend.
Next Up: A pink lake, a village of turtles, and the worst transportation catastrophe of my life.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Epic Spring Break: Part 1
A long time ago, someone named the week they skipped school, flew to the Bahamas, and stayed drunk 24/7 “Spring Break.” The name caught on as more and more students followed suit. Soon, schools could see no alternative other than to institutionalize this “Spring Break.” Now every student was given a free pass to tour Europe or skinny dip in Miami beaches or party until the sun comes up. Study abroad groups adopted this ridiculously awesome idea and encouraged their students to explore their surroundings (translation: take shots on top of the mountain you just climbed). But students in Africa study abroad groups have it a little different. Sure you can do the drinking, the dancing, the stripping, but it all comes with a pretty big price. And before you can do any of that, you have to get through the long travel, nonsensical directions, and hard bargaining before the night time comes.
This is the story of the pains and the pleasures of my Senegalese Spring Break. Part I.
My friend Joanna and I decided to go to Saint-Louis in northern Senegal for a few days. Saint-Louis is a town known for being a hub of the Atlantic Slave Trade. The town has maintained the old French architecture and small town friendliness that Dakar lost long ago. It’s a three part town, the mainland where the people live, the tourist island with the old buildings, and the fisherman island with the fish market and fishermen boats.
Early Monday morning, Joanna and I bargained for a taxi to take us to the gare routiere which we (wrongly) assumed was down-town. We bargained badly and paid too much. But our taxi driver was nice. In fact, he was so nice, he just loved talking to us, so much so that he turned his head back to us to converse. What happens when your eyes aren’t on the roads, kids? That’s right, a car crash. So we rear-ended the car in front of us. We didn’t hit it hard, barely hard enough to scratch the car. But the best part was, the driver of the car in front of us, the one that was hit, gets out of his car and angrily approaches our taxi driver. But when they get a good look at each other, the man calms down, and the taxi driver greets him by name. Yep, our taxi driver hit his friend’s car and his friend decided it wasn’t a big deal. Hands are shook, pleasant greetings exchanged, and off we go to the gare routiere!
We arrive at the gare routiere surrounded by half a dozen modes of transportation and men surrounding the taxi asking us where we want to go. We say our destination and half the men say that’s where they are going. We say we want a sept-place, which is the fastest mode of cross country transport in Senegal. It is a large car that has seven seats for seven people. It is more comfortable and faster than the large njang njaays (think white hijack van) or the mini-cars (think white hijack van), which are the slowest and most painful forms of transportation. However, let’s remember that, at this time, neither Joanna nor I had any concept what any of these forms of transport looked like or where they would be in the gare routeiere. So of course we followed the nice man who offered to take us to the area with cars departing for Saint-Louis. When we rounded the corner and saw the large white van, I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t a sept-place but I thought, “What the heck, why not take it, since we’re here. How bad can it be?” Yes, I thought this. Yes, I know I’m stupid. Yes, these words bit me in the ass later. So Joanna and I paid the driver for the seat and for our luggage. I loved watching them toss my luggage to the top of the car; I loved following the bag as it missed the top and rolled down the van to thunk on the hard ground; and I loved knowing that I had made the right decision to leave my laptop at home.
As we took our seats in the row behind the driver, the man who showed us to the mini-car followed us into the van and asked us for money. What we had took to be kindness was actually an entrepreneurial move to hoax money from white people. We refused and he was NOT happy, but after a little while, he left us alone. Only to be replaced in the front seat next to the driver by two other young toubabs (white people). They introduced themselves as Raf from London and Jean-Baptiste from Bordeaux, France. Raf had recently quit his job as a sports journalist and was travelling West Africa for a few months. Thanks to his Belgium mother, he was fluent in French. Jean-Baptiste was visiting a friend in Senegal for a week. Both guys had met three hours before when they had arrived at the gare routiere to get a bus to Saint-Louis. They had been waiting for the mini-car to fill up ever since. Oh, Senegal.
Thankfully Joanna and I only had to wait about 30 minutes for the mini-car to take off. And thus began the longest, most uncomfortable ride of my life. What should have taken three hours took five and a half. What should have been comfortable seats were hard stones. What should have been a refreshing breeze blowing in my face was merely wafts of dust. The driver seemed to stop once every 30 minutes to buy juice, or talk to a friend he knew on the route, or give tiny notes to random people. Once, we stopped for ten minutes and just sat there. Nothing happened. No one approached the car, the driver didn’t get out. We just sat. And then we started up again.
Finally, we reached Saint-Louis. Raf, Jean-Baptiste, Joanna, and I split a taxi to the cheapest, cleanest student hostel mentioned in our guidebooks. Fortunately they had room for us and put the four of us in two connected rooms for $12 a night/person. The four of us decided that, first things first, we needed to get lunch. It was already 4:30 pm and none of us had eaten since 8:30 am. We found a small restaurant with Senegalese food and cheap prices. I got a plate of white rice, a plate of chicken, and a bowl of onion sauce called yassa for $4. It was delish. After finishing up, we all walked around Saint-Louis and crossed to the mainland (we were on the tourist island) for a couple of hours. We got lost a dozen times, shook hands with tons of cute kids, and watched the hundreds of goats roaming the streets. Eventually, we made it back to our hostel.
We hung out at the hostel getting to know each other and the other guests. Everyone spoke French so I got to practice my French with actual French-accented people! Then the four of us went to this nice, slightly expensive restaurant. I got chicken – the best chicken I have had in a long time. It was spiced with garlic and something else. We all got beers and split some good wine. After the restaurant the four of us went to a local club where we just hung out for a while drinking beers. We started dancing to mbalax, a hip Senegalese music and dance style. When some American dance music came on, all the Senegalese people cleared the floor and Joanna and I had a stereotypical toubab dilemma: clear the floor with the locals, shaming our country’s music and abandoning our patriotism or be the only two people on the dance floor. We chose the latter and looked like fools. But we had fun. Then some light salsa came on and I got to practice some skills with a couple of men there. Eventually, happy and exhausted, we made our way back to our hostel, ready for sleep and excited for the next day.
So endeth my 1st day of Epic Spring Break. Check later for updates on the rest of the exciting week.
This is the story of the pains and the pleasures of my Senegalese Spring Break. Part I.
My friend Joanna and I decided to go to Saint-Louis in northern Senegal for a few days. Saint-Louis is a town known for being a hub of the Atlantic Slave Trade. The town has maintained the old French architecture and small town friendliness that Dakar lost long ago. It’s a three part town, the mainland where the people live, the tourist island with the old buildings, and the fisherman island with the fish market and fishermen boats.
Early Monday morning, Joanna and I bargained for a taxi to take us to the gare routiere which we (wrongly) assumed was down-town. We bargained badly and paid too much. But our taxi driver was nice. In fact, he was so nice, he just loved talking to us, so much so that he turned his head back to us to converse. What happens when your eyes aren’t on the roads, kids? That’s right, a car crash. So we rear-ended the car in front of us. We didn’t hit it hard, barely hard enough to scratch the car. But the best part was, the driver of the car in front of us, the one that was hit, gets out of his car and angrily approaches our taxi driver. But when they get a good look at each other, the man calms down, and the taxi driver greets him by name. Yep, our taxi driver hit his friend’s car and his friend decided it wasn’t a big deal. Hands are shook, pleasant greetings exchanged, and off we go to the gare routiere!
We arrive at the gare routiere surrounded by half a dozen modes of transportation and men surrounding the taxi asking us where we want to go. We say our destination and half the men say that’s where they are going. We say we want a sept-place, which is the fastest mode of cross country transport in Senegal. It is a large car that has seven seats for seven people. It is more comfortable and faster than the large njang njaays (think white hijack van) or the mini-cars (think white hijack van), which are the slowest and most painful forms of transportation. However, let’s remember that, at this time, neither Joanna nor I had any concept what any of these forms of transport looked like or where they would be in the gare routeiere. So of course we followed the nice man who offered to take us to the area with cars departing for Saint-Louis. When we rounded the corner and saw the large white van, I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t a sept-place but I thought, “What the heck, why not take it, since we’re here. How bad can it be?” Yes, I thought this. Yes, I know I’m stupid. Yes, these words bit me in the ass later. So Joanna and I paid the driver for the seat and for our luggage. I loved watching them toss my luggage to the top of the car; I loved following the bag as it missed the top and rolled down the van to thunk on the hard ground; and I loved knowing that I had made the right decision to leave my laptop at home.
As we took our seats in the row behind the driver, the man who showed us to the mini-car followed us into the van and asked us for money. What we had took to be kindness was actually an entrepreneurial move to hoax money from white people. We refused and he was NOT happy, but after a little while, he left us alone. Only to be replaced in the front seat next to the driver by two other young toubabs (white people). They introduced themselves as Raf from London and Jean-Baptiste from Bordeaux, France. Raf had recently quit his job as a sports journalist and was travelling West Africa for a few months. Thanks to his Belgium mother, he was fluent in French. Jean-Baptiste was visiting a friend in Senegal for a week. Both guys had met three hours before when they had arrived at the gare routiere to get a bus to Saint-Louis. They had been waiting for the mini-car to fill up ever since. Oh, Senegal.
Thankfully Joanna and I only had to wait about 30 minutes for the mini-car to take off. And thus began the longest, most uncomfortable ride of my life. What should have taken three hours took five and a half. What should have been comfortable seats were hard stones. What should have been a refreshing breeze blowing in my face was merely wafts of dust. The driver seemed to stop once every 30 minutes to buy juice, or talk to a friend he knew on the route, or give tiny notes to random people. Once, we stopped for ten minutes and just sat there. Nothing happened. No one approached the car, the driver didn’t get out. We just sat. And then we started up again.
Finally, we reached Saint-Louis. Raf, Jean-Baptiste, Joanna, and I split a taxi to the cheapest, cleanest student hostel mentioned in our guidebooks. Fortunately they had room for us and put the four of us in two connected rooms for $12 a night/person. The four of us decided that, first things first, we needed to get lunch. It was already 4:30 pm and none of us had eaten since 8:30 am. We found a small restaurant with Senegalese food and cheap prices. I got a plate of white rice, a plate of chicken, and a bowl of onion sauce called yassa for $4. It was delish. After finishing up, we all walked around Saint-Louis and crossed to the mainland (we were on the tourist island) for a couple of hours. We got lost a dozen times, shook hands with tons of cute kids, and watched the hundreds of goats roaming the streets. Eventually, we made it back to our hostel.
We hung out at the hostel getting to know each other and the other guests. Everyone spoke French so I got to practice my French with actual French-accented people! Then the four of us went to this nice, slightly expensive restaurant. I got chicken – the best chicken I have had in a long time. It was spiced with garlic and something else. We all got beers and split some good wine. After the restaurant the four of us went to a local club where we just hung out for a while drinking beers. We started dancing to mbalax, a hip Senegalese music and dance style. When some American dance music came on, all the Senegalese people cleared the floor and Joanna and I had a stereotypical toubab dilemma: clear the floor with the locals, shaming our country’s music and abandoning our patriotism or be the only two people on the dance floor. We chose the latter and looked like fools. But we had fun. Then some light salsa came on and I got to practice some skills with a couple of men there. Eventually, happy and exhausted, we made our way back to our hostel, ready for sleep and excited for the next day.
So endeth my 1st day of Epic Spring Break. Check later for updates on the rest of the exciting week.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
So Senegal - Slaves, Salsa, and Haiti
Fun stuff I’ve done so far:
Our 3rd weekend here we went to Goree Island, a tiny island off the coast of Dakar. It’s just a trip to downtown Dakar and a fifteen minute ferry ride away. Ir’s known for its position as a holding spot of slaves before they were shipped to other countries around the world. However, if you do research on the island, the history of it explains that far fewer slaves were held here than people think. Its importance is just that it is symbolizes the slave trade.
At Goree, we went to the House of Slaves, the place where the slaves were held, and we went to a Senegalese cultural museum. The museums were our morning and the afternoon was spent exploring the island, discovering the best spots for a view of Dakar and avoiding local vendors. The vendors did have this cool instrument, which was two wooden balls connected by twine. You hold the twine in your hand and flip it with your thumb back and forth to make the two wooden balls hit each other. It creates a cool beat that you can dance to. I learned how to play the simple version, but the vendors could do cool tricks like hitting the wooden balls against their bodies to make different sounds. One guy even played and sang “We’ll be together” by Sean Kingston.
We have also gone to this resort place called Toubab Dialaw, which literally translates to “more white people are coming.” It’s just a beautiful place to relax on the beautiful Senegalese coast line. I ate amazing food, read in the most comfortable hammocks I have ever laid in, and tanned on the beach. We got to take classes in either batiking, African dancing, or African drumming. Batiking is the process of dyeing fabrics to make patterns. I chose the dancing and drumming. The dancing was so much fun and a good workout. You’re expected to give every move your all and throw your body up and then this way and that way. I was nearly falling on the floor after the lesson. The professional dancers were phenomenal – one day I want to dance with as much energy, confidence, and commitment as they do. They basically just threw themselves around the dance floor violently and somehow made it look graceful and beautiful. The drumming was cool too. We just learned simple beats. But I have always wanted to learn to play an African drum.
I also went to a salsa lesson where my entry fee was donated to the Haiti relief effort. Cuban salsa is huge in Senegal. There are tons of salsa clubs and I definitely want to practice the basic skills I know. It’s interesting how connected Senegal seems to Haiti. I didn’t expect that I would hear much about it here. But there are many references to it. There was a walk to raise awareness about Haiti and collect donations. The salsa event raised money for the relief efforts. The president has opened his borders to Haitians that would like to come to Senegal (don’t ask me how he thinks they’re going to get here). Also, the president tried to create a law that would take three days worth of citizens’ pay to donate to the Haiti cause. It didn’t pass in Congress because of the people’s opposition to it. But it is a radical and interesting idea. However, knowing President Wade, it’s doubtful that all of the money would have gone to Haiti.
We also went to this art gallery of professional Senegalese artists who have showed throughout the world. One of them had a huge wall piece using everyday items to artistically connote hardship and dignity that was an homage to Haiti. And this Sunday there is an all day Haiti cultural event to raise awareness: a film about Haiti, a speaker, more salsa, and Haitian food. Next week there is a telethon for Haiti and a concert with the biggest Senegalese musicians.
It took me a while to realize why the Senegalese care so much about Haiti’s plight and why they feel so connected to the Haitian people. Haiti is a country almost made entirely of former slaves. It is likely that many of those slaves came from Senegal as Senegal’s history is rife with violent slave dealings. The president’s offer of refuge in Senegal for Haitians implied that Haitians could return to their natural homeland. It’s interesting, to say the least.
Anyway, here’s an unpdate on all of the exciting things I’ve done since being here!
Our 3rd weekend here we went to Goree Island, a tiny island off the coast of Dakar. It’s just a trip to downtown Dakar and a fifteen minute ferry ride away. Ir’s known for its position as a holding spot of slaves before they were shipped to other countries around the world. However, if you do research on the island, the history of it explains that far fewer slaves were held here than people think. Its importance is just that it is symbolizes the slave trade.
At Goree, we went to the House of Slaves, the place where the slaves were held, and we went to a Senegalese cultural museum. The museums were our morning and the afternoon was spent exploring the island, discovering the best spots for a view of Dakar and avoiding local vendors. The vendors did have this cool instrument, which was two wooden balls connected by twine. You hold the twine in your hand and flip it with your thumb back and forth to make the two wooden balls hit each other. It creates a cool beat that you can dance to. I learned how to play the simple version, but the vendors could do cool tricks like hitting the wooden balls against their bodies to make different sounds. One guy even played and sang “We’ll be together” by Sean Kingston.
We have also gone to this resort place called Toubab Dialaw, which literally translates to “more white people are coming.” It’s just a beautiful place to relax on the beautiful Senegalese coast line. I ate amazing food, read in the most comfortable hammocks I have ever laid in, and tanned on the beach. We got to take classes in either batiking, African dancing, or African drumming. Batiking is the process of dyeing fabrics to make patterns. I chose the dancing and drumming. The dancing was so much fun and a good workout. You’re expected to give every move your all and throw your body up and then this way and that way. I was nearly falling on the floor after the lesson. The professional dancers were phenomenal – one day I want to dance with as much energy, confidence, and commitment as they do. They basically just threw themselves around the dance floor violently and somehow made it look graceful and beautiful. The drumming was cool too. We just learned simple beats. But I have always wanted to learn to play an African drum.
I also went to a salsa lesson where my entry fee was donated to the Haiti relief effort. Cuban salsa is huge in Senegal. There are tons of salsa clubs and I definitely want to practice the basic skills I know. It’s interesting how connected Senegal seems to Haiti. I didn’t expect that I would hear much about it here. But there are many references to it. There was a walk to raise awareness about Haiti and collect donations. The salsa event raised money for the relief efforts. The president has opened his borders to Haitians that would like to come to Senegal (don’t ask me how he thinks they’re going to get here). Also, the president tried to create a law that would take three days worth of citizens’ pay to donate to the Haiti cause. It didn’t pass in Congress because of the people’s opposition to it. But it is a radical and interesting idea. However, knowing President Wade, it’s doubtful that all of the money would have gone to Haiti.
We also went to this art gallery of professional Senegalese artists who have showed throughout the world. One of them had a huge wall piece using everyday items to artistically connote hardship and dignity that was an homage to Haiti. And this Sunday there is an all day Haiti cultural event to raise awareness: a film about Haiti, a speaker, more salsa, and Haitian food. Next week there is a telethon for Haiti and a concert with the biggest Senegalese musicians.
It took me a while to realize why the Senegalese care so much about Haiti’s plight and why they feel so connected to the Haitian people. Haiti is a country almost made entirely of former slaves. It is likely that many of those slaves came from Senegal as Senegal’s history is rife with violent slave dealings. The president’s offer of refuge in Senegal for Haitians implied that Haitians could return to their natural homeland. It’s interesting, to say the least.
Anyway, here’s an unpdate on all of the exciting things I’ve done since being here!
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