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Fussball player
A local kid poses next to a fussball table...a common sight in the streets of St Louis
Tom Griffith At all of the border crossings I have made, whether in Latin America, Europe, the Middle East, or Asia, I have never once been asked for a bribe. Then I arrived in West Africa, and things changed. Leaving Mauritania via the depressingly awful border town of Rosso, I had our passports snatched from my hand by a policeman, who then wandered around with them for 20 minutes while Suze and I followed him. Eventually, a bigwig in an office signed them, and then they were taken away to be stamped. The policeman returned, handed Suze's back, but then kept mine and asked me to hand over some money. I smiled and pretended I didn't understand him. He then marched me over to his supervisor, who swung open the gate leading back into Mauritania and told me I could go right back in and forget about getting my passport and going to Senegal. I carried on smiling and playing dumb, and eventually the two of them gave up and I got my passport back.
From there it was a chaotic crossing of the Senegal river in a pirogue, or small wooden ferry, which was made doubly stressful by the presence
Tree bloke
A cool tree carving on St Louis island of Mauritanian cops wielding sticks and yelling at us to get onto the boat as quickly as possible. I was the last one on, and I spent an agonising ten minutes perched on the edge of the boat, my backpack threatening to pull me backwards into the bilharzia-infested waterway.
Then - on to Senegalese soil to repeat the painful process of getting the passports stamped. The toothless guy dealing with the formalities first made us wait for about 15 minutes, then requested me to dictate every part of the main passport page for him. He then stamped both of them, but, once again, we only got Suze's one back. He threw mine on his desk, spent another 10 minutes handing Mauritanian ID cards back to their owners, and blatantly ignored our semi-polite requests for the return of my travel document. Just when I thought
he was going to ask for a bribe, he decided we had waited enough, and slung the passport back at us.
Probably one of the toughest border crossings I have done, and one worthy of our arrival into West Africa.
Senegal is a veritable land of colour, music and life, especially after the
Grrrr!
A feisty goat defends his master's shop desert lands of North Africa which have been my home for over two months. The clothes are bright, the conversation lyrical, and the Senegalese people are warm, hospitable and smiling. It may sound cliched, but this is the Africa I have been dreaming about, the Africa that is so full of life but also so full of poverty.
We took a sept-place (literally, seven seat) taxi from Rosso to the nearest big city, Saint Louis, and felt positively spoilt by the amount of space we had in the vehicle after being squashed into Mauritanian cars. At the end of the journey, a lovely fireman who had been in our taxi helped us get to our hotel. As is traditional here for new visitors, he gave us Senegalese names to use during our trip. So, for the next few weeks, I am Ousmane, and Suze will be Aida.
Saint Louis was founded by the French over 300 years ago, and was the adminstrative centre of French West Africa until a century ago. The city has a real ambience, and oozes charm like only a faded colonial city can do. The oldest part of the place is built on an
A welcome sight
The sign outside our first Senegalese bar...ah, Gazelle biere, I love you island in the middle of the Senegal River, and there is a sleepy, Caribbean feel to the old French quarter. Everywhere there are European-style buildings, falling apart and neglected, but with smart wooden shutters and bougainvillea crawling over the walls. Goats and children gambol around in the streets, and everyone nods and says hello as you wander around. The island is connected to the newer section of town on the mainland by the rusty old Pont Faidherbe, a 500-metre bridge designed by Gustav Eiffel (of Eiffel Tower fame) for the Danube River, and inexplicably stuck out in the middle of West Africa instead.
The island is also connected to a narow peninsula that faces the Atlantic Ocean, which houses the shambolic fishing village of Guet N'Dar. We took a wander along the beach, which would have been quite an idyllic spot if not for the slums, goats, human excrement, garbage and rotting fish that decorated the sand. Every few metres, we would see one of the slum kids taking a dump at the water's edge...very 'real' but also a sight guaranteed to detract from one's enjoyment of the seaside.
Senegal is overwhelmingly a Muslim country, but the Islam
Beach goats
A bunch of goats clean up the garbage on Guet N'Dar's grotty beach here is completely different to the stereotypical images. Most Senegalese people belong to one of the five or so brotherhoods, based around a marabout or holy man, kind of like a Hindu guru. People identify with their brotherhood, and undertake pilgrimages to the towns where they are based. You see paintings of the founding marabouts, usually Cheikh Amadou Bamba, or Cheikh Ibra Fall, on walls everywhere, and posters in just about every shop of the current cheikhs. Religious ceremony here is much more festive and noisy, with chanting and singing, and many Senegalese seem to ignore the Koranic ban on alcohol consumption. There are bars and clubs everywhere, and it is easy to get hold of a refreshingly cold bottle of Flag or Gazelle beer...a godsend after dry Mauritania.
Along with an Argentinian guy (Rogelio, Senegalese name Daouda) we met in Nouakchott, we spent our first night in Senegal indulging in the aforementioned beverages. After a few Flags and Gazelles, we found ourselves in a cosy little bar, where a troupe of Guinean musicians were playing some awesome music on local instruments that defy description. As we unwound over our drinks, and watched the slightly crazy, wild-eyed lead singer
A St Louis house
A house on St Louis island, with a large tree taking over the front wall engage in some hypnotic call-and-response improvisation, we all agreed that, yes (and I know I said this for Mauritania as well), we were finally in Africa.
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Brett
non-member comment
Hey Ousmane!
Ousmane - I think you are missing the point here. Suze appears to have no trouble passing thru border checkpoints and you do. Perhaps you need to try dressing up as a woman??? I think you need to add a count of transport methods used on your trip. Iron ore train, camels, dodgy taxis! What's next? Stay safe.