april - dakar

Nakh yeneen gi ci jam? Is everything in peace?

Some more news from off the beaten trail..
Casamance did not happen because the farmer was taking too long, making preparations, so instead I joined 4 Canadian ladies and decided to conquer Gambia.

Ah the Gambia. Many times I would wonder how and why this place actually exists. A former British colony surrounded by French Africa with a river winding through, now a 'peaceful' dictatorship with no infrastructure but tourism.. the smallest country in Africa seems like a continent when the roads are so bad that you drive beside them or through village paths. Hard to recap the journey in so few words.. and as I've come to experience here, it isn't about the fucked-up things you see but the wild people you meet..

Gambia is kind of like Jamaica, a rasta haven, except much more poor and the people speak Mandinka and some English. I learned some Mandinka and my Wolof improved.. people are far more warm, open, and welcoming when you make genuine attempts to learn their culture. A popular Gambian expression: "it's nice to be nice". They seemed more warm and less sneaky than some of the Dakar city dwellers.

We travelled from Dakar to Barra, took the slowest ferry ever to Banjul, and after 5 police checks (these were constant throughout our journey) we left for Bakau on the coast. It was beautiful in Bakau: clean, lush, the trees smelled delicious, the existence of grass was shocking. I frolicked and rolled in a beautiful patch with some goats under a massive billboard of president Jammeh who looms over every busy intersection. There was also a sign with an infantryman's legs inside a condom. It read "The soldier protects the nation and the condom protects the soldier." - funded by the US Department of Defense. While this was the touristy, coastal part of Gambia, the people here were also laid back.. in short, this seemed to be the opposite of Senegal and the rushed Dakar mentality. But we figured this was only a polished version for the tourists, and we decided to go inland, to see the real Africa, which is also where the insanity began.

We bused to Serekunda, a bustling place with sandy roads, a market that puts Dakar's Medina to shame.. stayed up late as someone took Claire and Leah and I to the town dance hall. Ate street meat, snapped a great picture of a man serving spaghetti in the wee hours. Some graffiti behind him said "knowledge is power". In the morning, sugary tea and greasy eggs in tappalappa (bread) gave us strength. They don't just add sugar, they drown their coffee and tea in sugar and sweetened condensed milk. It was a bit odd. We went to a nature reserve and saw renegade chimps, hyenas, and vultures. Life was still too normal here so we headed for Soma.

Standing in the heat at the terminal in Serekunda the buses all seemed to be taking the north bank road (the lying bastards who write Lonely Planet claimed both roads were equally treacherous but called the north one "dire") so hardly anyone would take us.. I made a friend, Musa, he gave me his picture, and his helpfulness and generosity was so moving it was painful. We waited hours for a ndiaga ndiaye to Soma, [luckily we had these cold sweet things, kind of like mini mr. freezies] finally got one, waited another hour for it to fill. I wonder if one could enjoy life here without patience. I wave to Musa, who I'll never see again. While filling up at a gas station, across the street a luxury car collided with a cyclist. The windshield exploded. The cyclist was thrown and slid on his face until he came to a stop. Moans and gasping prayers rushed to surround his twisted body. He did not die, but this was a bad omen - our driver changed three times before we left. The road was nothing but craters, ground up rock, and sand. We didn't even make it to Soma, got stranded in this village called Kwinella.

We slept at what seemed like an awful adult summer camp with a crocodile pool but no crocs. I wondered around the compound walls plotting my escape and met an old man in the wall named Ura. In the morning we returned to Kwinella (on the main road) to pick up another bus. 5 toubabs with 3 packs is a tight fit when every bus is packed to the brim. With Ura, we waited hours in the blistering sun with hot water and 30 village children with unsatiable attention and demands. Many were fascinated by my leg hair. My four wives played with the children, braided hair, we played football and sucked candies in the desert heat. We finally got a bus (I tried to give Ura my seat but he promised he'd have better luck catching another bus) that had space for us, and though I was kneeling on a gas tank up front in pools of sweat, this was the best moment ever, and I remember thinking "How can this be the best moment ever? What is happening to me!"

We drove 5 minutes, and then while avoiding a pothole for the roadbank the tire exploded and shattered the brake disc. We filed out into the scorching savannah with no shade, and I was feeling nausea, with friendly people urging me to practice my shitty wolof and hitting on my friends/'wives'. With my lips peeling off this was probably the low point of the journey. But the amazing drivers managed to repair the bus in 20 minutes and we got to Soma.

We wandered into Soma with our filth and dirt-caked faces, and I think the locals were scared of us because no one jeered at us too much. I even saw Ura again! Soma is described as a "dusty junction town" but it also has no electricity, no running water, except for 5 hours during the evening. The streets were all sand and dust, and it was as hot as Kwinella, but at least it was sundown. We ate street meat here (few alternatives) and possibly got sick, but the Moses Motel was friendly.. Souleyman (aka Notorious because he was a chubster) took me to see his parents, everyone was friendly and laid back.. but the young lads were sometimes just mooching to get close to my 4 wives. Some were genuine though.. and Khady, who ran the motel bar, what a sweetheart.. she makes a dollar a day but spent hours teaching us language and joking around.
Sipping on my Julbrew under a full moon watching endless spliffs pass by, I remember these rastas are Muslim, and they smiled when I come back from the bar with cold bottles of pop.. what a luxury, a cold drink with friendly strangers.

Anyways, we then left for Georgetown, aka Jang-Jang Bureh, supposedly an interesting and historical colonial town, but that was all lies! It was even hotter than Soma, and there was nothing to do! There was really no where to stay, and everything was absurdity at this point. The taxi that took us into town from the river (JJB sits on an island) had no interior, it was just a metal shell! But the hotter it gets, the friendlier the people become. The place we stayed in had lizards, roaches, and a huge rat in my room which I abandoned. After I took a tepid shower and lay on my bed in humid bliss until the sun went down. I remember sinking into my mat, feeling like the heroin overdose scene in Trainspotting, just waiting, waiting for a breeze, anything to relieve the heat.. I was drifting away..

Luckily there were two friendly Swedes here conquering all of West Africa. In the middle of our heavy discussions I got sick for the first time since I fell. The ladies left for their own dinner and the Swedes fed me their lentil soup and garlic, and I got better (just sick from dehydration) and wandered around Jang-jang-bureh. I remembered my wives were out and about and went looking for them. The village had very few lights, but it never felt unsafe. My friends met some wonderful citizens and we hung out with them down by the river. JJB became beautiful when I remembered the existence of water. We ate from a huge plate of yembe, a tasty peanut/rice dish which we shared with the cicadas and cooks. Back at the hostel, writing by candelight with Leah and the two Swedes, a strong breeze knocked leaves and kola nuts from the trees, and under the moon I started to appreciate how the very smallest things in life are the most beautiful, and I was happy that we had made it this far, even if it was nowhere.

The next day we got up at 7 to take a boat ride. With the people bathing bodies and washing clothes along the cool river, this was another high point. In their tin can raft we drank attaya, saw some beautiful birds (kingfishers, a grey heron, others) monkeys, watersnakes.. no crocs or hippos though. Passed a prison and their vegetable garden. They showed me plants that cure certain maladies, and I was happy to learn. On the way back the entire town comes to the water to bathe and wash and I was reluctant to take pictures here because it's insulting and there's no way to share them, but I will remember this colourful scene forever..

Anyway we left the next afternoon for Farfenni, another dusty junction town just south of the Senegalese border. And we almost cried when we got to the road. It was a fucking highway! We were doing 75km/h instead of 15! We were very happy to cross the border into Senegal and enter civilization again. We had a nice relaxing beach day near Mbour on the petite-cote and stayed at a beautiful place. That night, I got back to Dakar, and stayed up until 430am dancing at a Youssou N'Dour concert. I feel better but I am smaller now.. I only weigh 69kg.
When I come home your food is going to make me laugh.

In love and peace,
Adam