Senegal — East, West, North and South
“On these roads, you will get a real education not found anywhere else.” Ahmed Conde
After Bamako, I took the overnight bus to Kayes, then on to Senegal. Initially, I wanted to take the historic Bamako-Dakar train but was disappointed to learn that it wasn’t running. I arrived in Kayes in the early morning hours before continuing on to Senegal.
“You will get a real education here” a young Guinean told me on the bus. He has been on the road for three straight days, traveling from Burkina to Dakar. My bus was filled with young men like him. Some off to Niger and on to Libya/Morocco across the Mediterranean Sea to Europe. Others making their way to central Africa for work — top destinations were Angola and Equatorial Guinea. Their stories were heart breaking. Some illiterate, some with just a primary school education but all desperate to leave their home countries for better opportunities. Their lives are at the mercy of their fellow travelers, the border agents and the all too powerful sea. The fate of these young africans crossing oceans has been making news lately. When it came time to part ways, I wished them luck and told them to be careful. I left thinking that this could have been me.
In Senegal, I started my adventures in a town called Goudiry, about 50ks from the border with Mali. Goudiry feels like a place that you know but have never been to before.
Walking around the village built by the train tracks, I quickly realize the source of the familiarity. It is the literary and descriptive powers of Ousmane Sembene in God Bits of Wood. What may at first glance appear as random is intentional — the baobab tree towering over a small hut, purposely placed there for the shade the giant brings with it where the unforgiving afternoon African sun is not felt inside the cool mud hut; the giant baobab trees just steps away from the train tracks; the houses scattered around the dusty dirt road stretching as far as the eye can see and the donkeys feeding on the patches of green grass growing out of the red earth.
Throughout Senegal, I stayed with friends of friends. The genuine warmth of my hosts, their families and neighbors was heart melting. Rouggi, my host in Goudiry, is a student at the University of Sheik Anta Diop in Dakar. By coincidence, she was home for the Eid celebration when I was passing through the town. We toured Goudiry together, visiting her primary and secondary schools, the markets and family members in the area.
She told me of days when the train would break down in Goudiry and the passengers would venture into the surrounding villages where they are welcomed, fed and given shelter — sometimes for days before the train is fixed before they continue on to Dakar.
I left Goudiry on a rainy day and headed northeast towards Matam and from Matam I went to Podor — hometown of Baba Mal. In Podor, I was also put up by a family.
a river separate Mauritania with Senegal and the border is very fluid. A favorite activity of the teenagers that showed me around is to swim over after dark and steal “the juicy mangoes” on the Mauritanian side.
Everywhere I have been in Africa, I am often blown away by the ingenuity of the people and Senegal was no different. My host’s teenage younger brother was both a hip hop artists and technical genius. We listened to his tracks on fused desktop laptop. “The screen broke, so I wired the body of the laptop onto this monitor” he casually tells me. After touring Podor, I became his bands cameraman, shooting a few music videos.
I took the bus down to Dakar,going through St. Louis and Thies. The joke in Senegal is that 50% of the population is Guinean and the other 50% is Senegalese. Walking around Dakar, that joke seemed much like the reality. Everywhere I went, my people were there — from recent arrivals to three or more generations removed. This was my third time in Dakar and this time I navigated the city by public transport and a whole lot of walking.
After a week in Dakar I headed to the Southern part of the country, going through Khaolak and spending the night on the courtyard of friend of a friend in Kedougou.
The next morning, I set out for Fouta Djallon in my native Guinea. This being the rainy season, the dirt roads of the Fouta Djallon was not navigable by car. I opted for a four hour motorcycle ride. This was both the most beautiful and difficult part of my travels. The stunning mountains of Fouta Djallon were no small feat! What a journey! More on that on the Guinea entry.
