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Published: December 13th 2007
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Red-necked Falcons
This was what I had to go by. Like looking for a needle in a haystack? NO problem!
A laminated copy of this went with me everywhere as I began the search. This is a series of catch-up blogs, of a trip to Senegal, Guinea and Mali in search of a small (180 gram) falcon that we hoped to bring back to the States for a scientific breeding project. I'll post a few places and pictures, recounting the 2-month adventure, to get y'all caught up, before moving on to the current one that begins on Christmas Day, 2007.
We'll start off the tale in Indianapolis, Indiana. It has been a cold, wet, dreary winter, and I'm very much feeling the longing pangs; Africa is callling me back again. But I've given up all that wanderlust madness, I swear I have! Enter a call from a fellow falconer, and revisiting of a topic we covered a year or two before: trying to import some red-necked falcons (falco Chicquera) out of West Africa, for a scientific breeding project in the States. I'd told them it was ill-advised to send sums on to Conakry. Thousands later, they realized they weren't going to get anything but burned again. Meanwhile, the threat of Avian Flu was becoming all the more real, and it was dawning on them that if it established itself in sub-Saharan Africa, the continent
Atlantic from Hotel Ocean
This was taken near the lower level pool. The Atlantic was just showing off a little for me. would be closed for at least 15 years.
Being capable in such places (Previous escapades in Africa, French, some Arabic, Islamic culture, a master-class falconer with a biology background, etc.) made me the only available candidate, and would I go? I had to think about it.
I stared out the window at the dirty snow of Indianapolis for all of about 3 milliseconds before agreeing that I would perform the expedition if they paid expenses, and would leave in 3 weeks' time - just long enough to get the vaccinations & WHO card updated, pack, drive to El Paso (where the breeding project is) and get on the plane. So..
One early morning in late March, of 2006, I was at the El Paso airport with my fellows, enjoying a quiet, blurry-eyed send-off. We joked that I was going to be gone so long that my dog wouldn't recognize me, and Bill warned not to check the backpack for through, but to take it on each flight leg. Too late, already done, but they assured it would arrive with me in Dakar. Both of these were to be prophetic.
Flying into Dakar is a bit of
an experience. It's a small airport, for that it's the largest link to Europe and the West. When you step out, there will be a few mecs who try to be your Frynd and guide -- for a fee, of course. They will assertively insist, if you let them or not, on helping you carry something. Though it's far worse in Guinea, this is a sign of initiative/ambition in a relatively poor country. I'd packed and planned so that everything needed fit into the backpack though, so I really didn't need any help. I just needed to wait a little longer for them to unload the backpack from the plane... ANY minute now... mais non. The backpack, that contained all but my passport and meds, all the gear and equipment, some of which was irreplaceable, had not arrived with me after all.
After a couple hours of asking and waiting (and trying to adjust to a very foreign concept of french,) I was given a scrap with an inquiry number on it, and told to call back and check in a day or so. The whole country lacks computerization, so lost bags basically went out to the world in
Downtown Dakar
Shopkeepers having a chat in the heat of the day. the form of a note. It would soon become obvious that nobody ever reads those notes.
With nothing left to do but wait, I walked on out, acquired a companion who would Help me find cheap lodgings. (The birds are in Guinea, mind you, but there's no sense in flying on to Guinea if the gear is lost, so these lodgings aren't part of the plan.) Some walking led us to an apartment that could best be described as a roughshod. There was electricity and a ceiling fan, but it was hot as hell and had no outside windows. No, I would not stay there, not for free, and certainly not for $30 USD a night! Born at night? Perhaps, but not LAST night. Eventually, I managed to lose the companion, and found my way to Hotel Ocean, which is on the coast and run by a Frenchman and his family - a stocky, realistic fellow that I found myself liking rather well. There was AC, the ocean was beautiful, and I was still suffering culture shock... and the foolish expectation that the bag would arrive soon. I emailed to let the support team back home know that I'd
Tailors in Yoff
These two guys design and make women's fashions. Friendly and pleasant folk are easy to find in Yoff, once you get off the tourist path. arrived safely but was awaiting the bag, and caught up on lost sleep.
The next day, I trekked on over to the airport. Nothing. After explaining the import of the bag, that it was more than just clothing and the entire purpose of the trip was destroyed if the bag wasn't found, I left again... trudged on down to a gas station with a food mall in it (only in Dakar/Yoff, don't expect such things in Mali or Guinea or even Mbour.) Then back to the airport. Perhaps if I camped out on their doorstep? Mais non. Il y a rien. So, it's still a bust...
I'll save you the other dozen visits. By the end of the 3rd day, though I was enjoying the new clothes and hotel stay that South African Airways paid for, I was becoming desperate. It was going to be a very long two months' wait if that pack didn't show up.. and I had nowhere near enough budget to stay at a hotel the whole time. So I emailed Bill, a retired Army Lt. Colonel (as I recall) and asked him to see what he could do from that side. Just 4
Weaver's Nests
These birds weave their globe nests from strips and scraps by genetic memory. Amazing, eh? hours later, he had tracked the backpack, and had news: It was in CLEVELAND, OHIO (huh?how?what?!) and would be delivered by Air France to Dakar the next day.
Meanwhile, I went to downtown Dakar to gain visa for Guinea. Add another day to the plans, and delete $140 USD for the visas, but the guy was cool in the long run, gave me a visa that only just expired at the end of this August, as many entries and exits as I like.
All's well that ends well, though I've become all too familiar with the airport in Dakar. Next stop, Conakry.
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