Arrived, Alive, and Alright

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Dear Friends and Family

I am alive and well (at least still kicking) in St. Louis, Senegal. So let us start this adventure from the humble beginnings: my tearful mother bid me goodbye at the Toronto International Airport. From there I smoothly navigated US customs and got to New York for my lay over. While at the JFK airport I thought it would be fitting to have one last proper North American meal before I set off Africa, in part to appease my mother who was concerned that I would starve in Africa there and also I really was quite peckish. After much deliberation and exploration of the international wing that I was confined to I came to the conclusion that Burger King was the establishment that best epitomized American cuisine. I might add that the icing on this gluttonous cake was that apparently Burger King has this new, American, and the novel feature of informing you just how many fatty calories each grease ball burger contained. I naturally went for the Double Whopper with bacon, cheese, a medium drink and onion rings; totally to a staggering 2200 calories in one breathtaking, heartrending, artery clogging meal. Ah God Bless America! With enough food and fuel to feed some third world nation I set off to feebly attempt to burn off that inordinate amount of fat by sitting on a plane for 8 hours.

After many hours of intermittent dozing, terrible on-flight films, and constant nervous tension I arrived at my destination. Now, Dakar epitomizes the term International Airport. It really truly did, I mean from what I could gather it did not even appear that the airport serviced any national flights, or if they did their volume and frequency was so dwarfed by the international traffic that it appeared insignificant. I checked the arrivals and departures and with the exception of two, the rest were international. What a place. However, let this not fool you into thinking that this was a world class place. The airport is, well how does one politely say this?
It’s a shit hole.
I really do not mean any disrespect but the airport was size of your average tiny domestic Canadian airport, like Campbell River. Furthermore, the maintenance put into the building I imagine is marginal enough to ensure that International carries would still come to the country. To illustrate my point the "terminal" was only two dilapidated carousels that produced a horrible squeaking noise just at the register of hearing. The other section of this "terminal" was something that vaguely resembled security, which was a free for all as to how many bags you could shove into an x-ray conveyer belt as quickly as possible in the mad rush to get out.

On a much more positive note, customs were a breeze: only a few questions and smiling faces. Now I am getting a head of myself. Before I could join in the orgy of baggage “scanning” I had to patently wait for my single and only bag arrive on the carousel. At the Dakar International Airport things run on Africa time, which I am beginning to become aware of. There was only one cart that could ferry bags from the airplane, which was not close to the terminal and baggage claims. When another plane arrived they than alternated using the only baggage cart between the two planes.... This further increased the already long wait. Thus the vast majority of passengers, including myself, waited for about 45 minutes or longer in muggy heat for our bags. While we waited, we all naturally indulged in the nightmarish potential futures where our bags had some horrible accident happen to them...

Luckily patience won out over pessimism and I got my bag. I departed the Airport to only be besieged by taxi drivers. One of them seeing my indecision pounced on me and stole me away from the herd of plying cabbies, where he told me his brother would get me a good deal. If you read the last blog entry, the instructions said to bargain down to 4500 or 5000, well I was given the price of 7000 and was obligated to cough up something for the guy who connected me with his brother the taxi cap driver. I being a fresh gringo off the plane was in no real mood or position to haggle with them. So I went with it. This, I was quickly surmising, but slowly learning, was how the Senegal economy works.

Now the cab took me to the "Gare Routiere," which as far as I could tell appeared to be an organized demolition derby. A giant parking lot was filled with honking taxis, in a wide range of disrepair that competed for passengers. Though I was ripped off by the first cabby, the second one, which I was quickly introduced to, offered me a reasonable price right off the bat that was consistent with the advice. With some left over change I was able to grease the wheals by getting some fruit and a bottle of water as well a tip for the "organizational" help.

The next leg of the journey was in this station wagon, aptly named a "sept place" literally meaning seven places/seater. I was crammed in the back of this beat up taxi with a bunch of locals. I alas have to apologize that I did not have the time, courage, or opportunity to photograph these events, but trust me, these taxis and places were ghetto. I was excited at first to see the scenery between Dakar and St. Louis. After driving for half an hour we emerged from the sprawling mass of Dakar into the savannah. On first glance I thought it was pretty cool. Since it’s currently the rainy season the grass is green and doted by squat gnarled trees. This was a feast for my eyes, yet as a half hour of savannah turned into an hour of savannah, my hungry eyes quickly became satiated with the monotonous landscape and the feast dried up into a famine. The trip to St. Louis was fairly uneventful; I dozed, while we hurtled down the small highway. Along the way we would periodically stop to fill up on small amounts of petrol, or the driver would mysteriously give/receive money from men waiting on pull outs along the highway. The only real event worthy of mention was that we had a flat tire, which thankfully was promptly fixed by our able driver.

At St. Louis I took my last cab to the "Hotel de le Poste," again I believe I was fleeced, but after hours of travel I could no longer care. At this hotel I called the organization to let them know I had arrived. I was picked up and I am now slowly making myself at home. I have very reliable access to the internet and the people I am with have not made any attempts to remove my organs or sell me into slavery. In less melodramatic terms their exactly the type of people I expected. I am unsure when my next update will be as I do not want to flood you with information. Also if have questions, I would love to try and respond to them with the best of my abilities.

Love
Jan

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Comments

[Mark Bond]

Good on ya Jan. Look forward to more updates.