Continuing where I last left off chronologically...
(Apologies, I can't upload photos at this computer either, but I may try to come back and add some later.)
TOUBA
Touba, the day before the Grand Magal, the yearly pilgrimmage. We dropped by to visit Caitlin's former host family, bringing them a massive bag of onions. It seemed like something of a strange present to me, until I fully realized that onions are in every dish here - and that the family is cooking for possibly hundreds of Magal visitors.
Also, Touba has its own TV channel which was showing loops of, what else, Touba's streets and the long lines waiting to get into the mosque.
In Touba I also ate really-really Senegalese style for the first time: sitting around an enormous platter on the floor with an entire family, awkwardly using my right hand to eat (I'm left-handed, and as Tapha in St. Louis said when he saw me eating with my left, "It's not good...but you should eat how you want to") and picking out the bits that were not quite meat. Eating stuff cooking with meat is not high on this vegetarian's list of favorite things, but I'm glad I had the experience of really eating with a family. And I'm definitely a little proud that I was able to do it.
When I was packed up and ready to walk out the door to go back to Dakar, our host Ibrahima motioned us into the living room, and the family served us a last glass of soda and platter of fruit. I was charmed by the "You're leaving, by which we mean, let's sit down and eat something" culture, and wasn't put out, because I already know better than ever to be in a rush in Senegal!
Nearly every vehicle in the country (not exaggerating) was driving into Touba for the holiday the next day, but Caitlin managed to flag me down a minibus headed to Dakar. For much of the ride, I was the only passenger, and there were sections where the driver veered off the road and drove in the dirt alongside it, because both sides of the two-lane road were gridlocked, complete-stand-still traffic going to Touba. Glad I got out when I did!
Road travel here is hair-raising, that's just the truth of it. The daring, skin-of-your-teeth style of driving (and even more, of passing/overtaking) is familiar to me from Thailand and India both, but I guess it bothers me more here because in those other countries, you also have the option of taking the train and avoiding the roads.
I notice, though, that the roads here do have their own sort of makeshift system, in lieu of real road rules: For example, when a bus or truck breaks down on the side of the road (and they do constantly), there's always someone who hops out to wave traffic past using a flashlight.
The part that upsets me: I do understand that, in a place where daily life holds so many risks, it starts to seem like there's no point even trying to avoid them. But why doesn't anyone, ever, bother with seatbelts? Why don't they put up a simple railing around the roof, so their kids don't fall off? Why push everything to the absolute limit at every moment, with no thought at all for the future cost as opposed to the momentary benefit, overloading the cart until the horse collapses in the middle of the road or the bus tips over, and then your source of livelihood is gone completely? Also, does it really cost so much to buy a rope, instead of dragging the goat down the road by its front foot?
The part that impresses me: People help each other like breathing, without a second's hesitation. When there's an accident, when the horse collapses in the middle of the road, before you can blink the place is swarmed with people helping, unloading the sacks from the cart and getting the horse on its feet again.
For example: The minibus from Touba dropped me off on the side of the road outside Dakar, in the dark, and just as I was really starting to get angry at myself for traveling in a place where I can't even speak the language, the other two passengers who got similarly kicked out outside of town shepherded me down the road, brought me with them onto another minibus, and told me where to get off. By my stop, they'd already gotten off, so another man took charge of me, walking me to the place where I could catch a taxi, insisting that because he works as a bodyguard, he felt he should protect me.
Nonetheless, I was very glad to be back with Kap and Graham in good old Ngor, the beach-side village just outside Dakar, after the chaos and anxiety of African road travel. The trip from Touba (normally maybe three hours, I think?) took six hours, thanks to all the Magal-related traffic, and when I wrote Caitlin to let her know I was finally back, she wrote that everyone was impressed how fast it had gone! Kerry's boyfriend had the misfortune to be traveling the other direction; he left Dakar at 8 a.m., and when I left Touba at 6 p.m., he'd just arrived.
That night, falling into bed after Kap and Graham and I exchanged stories of our adventures, I realized: Only then had I finally been in Senegal a full week.
DAKAR
After all that hectic-ness, we took a couple slow days in Ngor and Dakar. Played on the beach with the kids from the first family we'd stayed with. Went out food shopping without Kap to hold my hand language-wise, and actually managed it. Found the woman in the village who sells chakry (one of the specific ways of preparing millet) fresh, right out of a room in her house - I'd just been saying that it's probably one of those things that you can't get in a normal store, you have to just know who sells it - and then we asked everyone we passed, and actually found it, down a little lane, just before the mosque.
Went to a bizarre party hosted by the international school, held at a softball field, with oldies played by a band of enthusiastic middle-aged men, truly terrible export beer served, everyone danced. Kap's friend Abdoulaye joined us there, and we said, Welcome to America.
Then, even better, an amazing concert by a singer called Cheikh Lo - I didn't know until afterward that he's world-famous, and we had seats at a table right up front, for just the price of our dinner.
MBOUR
Now we're a bit further south, staying with Kap's friend Manyang, who she met because he sells goat cheese, and the last time she was here, he took her out to meet the goats.
We're staying with his family, which means four different, mostly-related families sharing a big house (and a goat pen kept on the roof? with one turkey in with the goats?) and kids running around everywhere.
We are definitely the bizarre toubabs (white people) with the odd vegetarian habits and the strange proclivity for sleeping outdoors on the roof ("It's so cold in Germany! We never get a chance to do this!" Kap kept explaining), and the first day, the kids just stared wherever we were. But they're warming up - especially to Graham, who chases them around and throws them over his shoulder, while they giggle madly.
Today we visited Manyang's kids' preschool, then spent a while at a school for dance and drumming. Kap just wanted to ask there about possible future dance courses, but finding out this information involved drinking several rounds of tea, then finding outselves served breakfast, then hanging out for a while and watching the men build djembe drums, before eventually there was an opportune moment to talk to the proprietor...with the answer being that Kap should come back on Wednesday and try out a class and theoretically, at that point they may actually tell her if there's a class in February. Senegalese style!
Okay, we're off to rustle up information from an odd Frenchman with a massive beard, who's said to know the ins and outs of the Sine Saloum delta, where we're headed next.
We'd wanted to visit the goat farm that supplies Manyang's cheese business, but first we wanted to go today, then tomorrow, and now Manyang says it would have to be Wednesday, because the goats are currently grazing too far away, and they'll be back on Wednesday. Maybe.
We'll see!
Next time, mes amis, samma hari, I promise pictures.
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