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Published: December 14th 2007
Police, same everywhere
Notice that only the cops are hefty-sized?
Preface: As I gather thoughts for this, it's from a year and a half later, after all the roughest parts of the journey are long since past and the emotional memories are all pleasant ones. But I'd be doing you a disservice not to touch on some of the ugly parts, if only so that you will be able to avoid those pitfalls and have nothing but wonderful memories of your own journey. Be sure to read the last paragraph. Though some very tense moments occurred during the voyage, it's those in the last paragraph that remain in my heart.
Taking the car into Mali had been a big deal. Guinea wanted money for it to leave, Mali wanted money for it to enter... and the process took hours. Coming back in was a bit easier because I was feeling ill (though not quite so bad as we made out) and they pretty much just lifted the gate and let us pass.
(Warning: Usually you must arrive at the
RoofGoat
Not something you see most days in the States. Look closely at the roof! border of Mali/Guinea during daylight hours. Night travel is discouraged in order to give bandits less opportunities... or so they say.)
Once we'd navigated through the harrowing roads of the Guinea no-man's land (bring at least one 5-gallon gas container full, to avoid being gouged for 25% higher prices and having to buy petrol by the liter bottleful) the border of Senegal awaited. Anticlimactic, it was just a line in the dirt at the beginning of a Senegalese national forest. Checking in was easy enough. They stamped the back of a piece of paper, signed it, no fee, and away we went.... on a nearly perfectly graded dirt road! I was sure Senegal was heaven.
I wasn't quick enough to snap a picture, but I saw monkeys and warthogs (yep, the babies follow the tail in front of them and go trotting about with their own tails held straight up in the air!) It was very pleasant and a sharp contrast to the skull-jarring that the other roads had been.
At the first town, there was a sign about Duance (taxes) but when I stopped and went in, the man only asked if I had fruit or
vegetables. When I didn't, he said to go on ahead and have a safe trip. (I think he was in a hurry to get back to his showering.) Not a word was said of any need to pay any fee for the vehicle, to buy a "permit de circuler". We continued on, and I began to think we might very well get there ahead of schedule to ship the birds! (The birds themselves will be in a separate blog all their own.) Silly me.
In the first main town, we drove through without major incident. Someone asked about a piece of paper, but when I told him that was all we had, he seemed okay about letting us pass. When I arrived at the big town, though... not so fast there, buckaroo! Two guys with machine guns, friendly and pleasant enough themselves, asked for a permit de circuler. I showed him the piece of paper gotten at the border. "Non. Ce n'est pas le permit de circuler." But thats' all I have... and after a couple more moments, the door is opened and I'm strongly invited to get out and follow him inside. My spidey sense goes off; I've
got a BAAAAD feeling about this.
Inside, a large black woman is on the floor, screaming as men manhandle her, dragging her out. What happened to the Islamic principle that you NEVER touch the sisters? I guess it doesn't apply to federales with machine guns. I'm coming to the slow realization that we're not in Kansas anymore.
The guy behind the desk looks up at me with loathing in his eyes and I KNOW we've got a problem. The guard hands him my paper for the car, and the little guy behind the desk asks for my permit de circuler. I explain that we came from the southern border, and that no one told us to get anything. He insisted that I must have one. I told him that I'd be happy to have gotten it, that I'd paid whatever fees were asked of me, but that no one said anything about it. You'll have to go back, he said. Uhm, no. I'm not going backwards 200 kilometers for a piece of paper. "Let me see your passport," he demanded. I handed it to him, holding onto it as I have learned is best. (Once they have it
The cause for the pause
These are what I came for.. .and I'm happy to report that all 10 are still alive and well, and had babies their first spring here in the States! in hand, it disappears and you don't get it back til the bribe is paid or whatever.) He snagged it anyway, and placed it atop the car's papers. Okay, maybe not so bad... and then he starts to slide the whole pile towards an open desk drawer. Uhm, no. No f-ing way. Keep the car, but you are NOT keeping me hostage like that. I reached out and snagged my passport back from beneath his hand... which set him into an instant rage.
"YOU TOOK THAT FROM MY HAND!" Yes, it's mine.
"BUT IT'S IN MY HAND!" But it's my passport. You have no right to hold it. In fact, it's actually not mine, it belongs to the U.S. government. Do you want to start a war with the United States over this?
"YOU TOOK THAT FROM MY HAND!" And now he reaches into another drawer and starts fumbling about... trying to get his pistol from its holster! Reminding me more of Barney Fife than anything else, my greatest fear was that he'd shoot one or more of us by mistake before he got it out. I was clear that he wasn't balanced, but
Peanut Mountain
Yep, just peanuts. what to do? This guy's just crazy enough to shoot me, and there are guys behind me with machine guys. If I take it away from him, then I'm holding a pistol and pointing it towards their superior, and they mow me down. Bad call. Maybe just get it away and throw it on the ground and pray it doesn' t go off? At least that way I won't be holding it!
There's mercy from above. He's so flustered he can't get the pistol out of the holster, so he tries to regain some dignity by putting the whole assembly on as he stalks out the front door, trying to look like he's leading the parade. He stalks over to the car, gets in, starts it up, and commences to grind the living HELL out of the gears! First forward, then reverse... trashing my transportation! I know I don't want to be stuck there with the birds and a broken down car, and I'm screaming at him in French to stop. "What kind of muslim are you? You're destroying my property! You have no right!" Finally, someone gets through to him and gets him out of the car, volunteering
Tall Minarets
Tall towers indeed. I'd get nosebleed climbing up there!:) to drive. He's not great, but he's a lot better and he's calm and sane, so... I go along with that.. and we're driven (in our own car) to the Capitain's house.
El Capitain is on his day off, preparing for one of the many legal holidays, and would as soon spit as look at someone.. but at least I'm a bit of an oddity, maybe an interesting attraction. Long story short, he asks what I'm there for. I explain that I'm a raptor biologist and about the birds. He has the vehicle and our bags searched, and finally allows that I spoke the truth. Half an hour later, we're conversational as he explains that the Permit De Circulier is mandatory, a temporary registration paper, and costs $5 (which I volunteer to pay immediately.) I'm informed that I must go back to the border for it. "I'm going to Dakar, I'll get it in the capital, you have my word." "I believe you, he says, but you cannot get this at the capital, only at the southern border." I thought he was mistaken. He had to be mistaken. Why wouldn't I be able to get a federal document at
Mbour seaside
It's an unfortunate reality that trash is not well handled in W.Africa. the country's capital, or even at the northern border? I promised to go to the office of taxation first thing in the AM, he corrected me that it would have to be Tuesday, as Monday is a holiday, and we shook hands. He asked me to go into the office and apologize to the lieutenant. To keep my word to him, I did so... cringing the whole time... and the man was jovial. Since the Capitain had said that I'm a good guy, it must be true... "very sorry for the misunderstanding, drive safe, have a good trip!" Go figure.
True to my word, I did go to the capital. I sent the driver with $7 for the paper, and sat down to enjoy coffee at a sidewalk cafe in downtown Dakar, in a real city, the first since I'd come to Africa this time. There were some Europeans at this place, and the vibe was pleasant. About mid-afternoon, the driver finally returned, only 5 hours away, with a man in a suit. He explained that I must go back to the southern border, 600 km away... but that he could fix the paperwork problem for a mere $50
Grey Kesrel
Another beautiful creature from W. Africa! US. "Sure, here ya go, no problem," I said in my mind's eye. "Oh,wait, sorry, fresh out of $2500 bribes, but have a cup of Go Screw Yourself instead!" Of course, that's not what I SAID but.. it was pleasant enough of a thought that I smiled a bit as I said, "I understand you need to feed your family, but the entire bill won't be gotten from me. Go on back and see if you can't find a more reasonable solution. I'm busy drinking my coffee." He didn't even bother to argue. Fifty USD indeed!
At 10 til 4, the driver still wasn't back yet, so I hastily went up the 5 flights of steps, just in time to hear him being told that he would have to take the train 600 kilometers back to the Frontier border to get the paper. "NO, I interjected, stepping between the official flunkie and the driver, "He is not getting on a train and going 600 kilometers to get a five dollar piece of paper. If you wanted it back there, you should have asked for it back there. Now I've had it. Between this nonsense, the fool with the gun,
and the guy wanting the bribe, I'm done with you!" My timing couldn't possibly have been better. The head of the entire taxation department for the country was coming around the corner and heard me. Well mannered, polite and civil, he told everyone else it was past 4 pm, to come back tomorrow, and asked me what the problem was. I told him, in summary and without the vitriol, and he asked me into his office to discuss the problem, offering coffee. (Wow, what a difference!) He asked again about the bribe, and asked me to describe the man. I did, he asked the secretary to call a guy in. Sure enough, same chap. HE denied it, said it was a misunderstanding. I got out of my chair and into his face, said "You're calling me a liar now as well? My french is just fine, and if it were not, my driver's is!" The driver nodded, confirming that the guy was lying his butt off. The director said "Leave. Don't bother coming back," and that was the end of that.
The papers were issued - a special stamp and note signed by the Assistant Director of Taxation for
Burseo Palms
This is what the falcons like to nest in. the country of Senegal. Though I tried to insist, they refused to take a fee and offered apology. They also explained, though, that their personnel were entirely correct about that it must properly be gotten at the border. Why? No computers. THey're on manual books, and the car has to leave the same way it came in... so they had to have records at the place where we'd leave. The car couldn't remain in Senegal, it had to return to Guinea... and that was the only way they'd know it had come in, so as to know it had gone back again.
The rest of the stay was a bit of a whirlwind ,with manning the birds down, getting the crates made, arranging the flights, etc. When it was finally accomplished, I had a couple days to relax and enjoy the place, and found that, overally, I'd fallen pretty hard for the place. The people were like people anywhere, some good, some bad, but there was something just a bit more candid and direct about them that I really enjoyed. Any time cultures and ways collide, there's potential for conflict, but we managed to get through them without anyone
Afro-Arab horse
This horse was grazing about, no clear owner.. and had -- get this -- a bee's nest under its tail! being killed, without waging war.
The folks in Dakar were mostly helpful... a couple bad apples stand out in my memory, but even then, if it wasn't such a pressured situation, deadlines and all, I don't expect that would have been as rough either. If I have one suggestion for dealing with the bureacrats and police, it's that you be respectful in your speech and go with the flow. Did I do that all of the time? Absolutely not.. but that's why I'm passing it along to you, so you can learn from my mistakes. Even if you're spot-on right regardless of what culture it may be, you're still going to find your life goes smoother if you just let the details go. Yes, that cop is the only fat guy in the village... but if you need justification, then know that he also employs a couple people to take care of things for him with your bribe money.. and they really need the job!
I'd like to share a bit more of the warm moments, so you don't get a negative impression of Senegal or West Africa. I certainly didn't leave with one, or I wouldn't be
The Clown
This dog was SO sweet! I was bumming about leaving and she came up and INSISTED that we play! Antics like this had me laughing - I ccouldn't help myself! It's testimony of the good heart of the people that, unlike in the States, they don't feel an animal is inconvenient and deserves to die just because it's running around without a leash. Why shouldn't they be allowed to for a stroll too? going back at the end of the month. There was the lady at the souk (market) for example: Elderly, she sold dried hibiscus flowers (for bissop tea).. and I purchased a huge bag full for 85 cents. (Yes, I tipped her, but still...) The villagers where I trapped at, who were almost all very cooperative and supportive, friendly. The men who saw my car had gotten stuck in loose sand and came over to help get it out, then left without even looking to see if I had a gift for them. Or the Veterinarian who wrote a note to the Inspector for me, explaining that I was there for good purposes and asking him to help me as best he could... and that inspector, who opened up a second time after hours to sign my paperwork so we could catch an earlier flight out. Or the man at South African Air who was so helpful from beginning to end... The guys at the surf shop, the frenchman at the deli who loaned me one of his digital scales to weigh the birds with, and dozens upon dozens of warm, wonderful folk who shared their lives with me during the
V1 & V2
The first set, for the females, the second for the smaller males. Good work from this cabinet maker! We teased each other a lot while they were being built, a lot of inside lines about the Black Man and the White Man... but it's not a prejudicial issue as it would be in the States, just comparing tans! time I was there. Sure some people there were greedy or nasty. In their mind's eye, we are rich beyond imagination, while they are stuck in a country which holds relatively little future for them. If there's one thing I could have done differently, it would have been to be a little more generous with them, even if it did make a bad example. After all, the buck or two wouldn't have killed me... and it might very well have made a huge difference in the lives of those people and their families. As I prepare to head back to Senegal, it feels strange that I'm leaving the land of my birth, where I've lived most of 48 years, to a land far across the sea that feels most like home.
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