The old French colonial capital of Senegal (from 1673 until 1902), Saint-Louis is located in the north west corner of the country, a small narrow island in the Senegal river, just before it opens up to the Atlantic. Called Ndar in Wolof, it consists of the the island itself, a narrow strip of sand where there is a densely populated fishing village and a bustling section on the mainland.
What struck me the most in Saint-Louis were their doors and colourful walls. The layers of peeling paint, bright and faded colours, the cement patch jobs and contrasting doors (in various stages of decay) were like abstract paintings, as if walking in a modern art gallery.
Senegal is a country that I have always wanted to visit. It was the music and culture of Senegalese students I had known at university that, through their cultural events, had made an impact on me... be it the African dance moves to the talking drum, the colourful robes and threads or their fish and rice dishes. I was looking forward to catching some live 'mbalax' music - a fast paced, drum based style made popular by the world famous Youssou Ndour. As in neighbouring Mali, Cuban style salsa had a massive influence in the seventies and several bands like Orchestre Baobab still play that style of music but sung in Wolof with added African drums. From what I had read, bands played regularly at bars and restaurants in Dakar and other cities and it was easy to catch even big name stars like Baba Maal at local venues. The fact that it is a francophone country as well was a big draw for me.
It's always interesting observing other passengers on the plane whilst heading to another country. On the flight over from Brussels, it was a mixed bag of tourists, mostly French speaking, African ex-pats or students going back home and Chinese workers, hired by their government in joint venture infrastructure projects.
Looking out the window, over the Sahara, was an amazing sea of yellow, ochre, and sienna. The woman sitting next to me, from Brussels, was a regular visitor who helped organize volunteer medical staff in remote areas of the country. She gave me some good advice on a few regions I was planning on going to. However, when she said "je déteste Dakar" I sort of chuckled inside and lost a little of the admiration I had of her and her noble work in a developing country. For me, despite the chaos, traffic and pollution of large Third World cities, it's still the centre, the heart of the nation where locals and people that have migrated from all over the country or even the continent do what they have to do to get by. It's fascinating experiencing the energy and hustle in the streets or in the markets, seeing all the contradictions. You learn a lot about a country starting off with its capital.
I followed the instructions of my AirBnB host and made it from the airport on a bus, then taxi to their two storey home in central Dakar. It was to be one of three AirBnB stays in Dakar over the course of my trip and in each one, it was a foreign woman (French, American and Canadian respectively) married to a Dakarois that had an extra room that they rented out. They all included a "petit déjeuner" which was a baguette with jam, fresh fruit and Nescafe coffee. Although I think it's great seeing a typical house in a residential neighbourhood and meeting your hosts, I also like staying in mid-range hotels. In this city however, they were quite expensive for what you got.
I spent my first three days in Dakar getting a feel for the city, taking very long walks along the corniche, in the old neighbourhoods of the plateau, exploring their colourful, bee-hive markets and watching kids playing "le foot" on the beach. As Dakar really spreads out from its narrow peninsula, one eventually takes cabs everywhere. I got to know the prices of distances as you always have to agree on a price before entering. "Toubabs" (white people) of course, get a higher quote right off the bat.
In West Africa, both men and women often wear a traditional garment called "boubou". It varies a little for the women as they have a top and bottom, usually with a head scarf of the same material. While the men have a loose shirt, over their pants which is covered by a long sleeveless robe. Most are cotton but they can be silk too. Many have subtle patterns on the fabric and elaborate embroidery on the front. Other garments are made from material called "waxes" (originally handmade batik but now printed with machines using the same wax resistant technique). Dresses, skirts, men's shirts and trousers are all made from these colourful patterns. All this colour and patterns added to the elegant way people walk around town made me think of the stark contrast between say, the way Westerners dress up in black and grey all the time.
The population of Senegal is 90% muslim. As opposed to several neighbouring countries where there are struggles with fundamentalist forces, the Senegalese I spoke to were proud to be a very tolerant people. They follow the teachings of two local Imams from a century ago and you see their images everywhere from buses and shop windows to fishing boats. There are mosques everywhere, big and small. I have often thought that it's sort of mysterious, hearing the call to prayer at 5am, half asleep. It always makes me realize that I am in a very different world.
I made my way to the northwest part of Senegal, to the old colonial town of Saint-Louis. The journey there was in an old Peugeot "Sept places" (seven seats), or what is often called 'bush taxi' elsewhere in Africa. Unfortunately, I got the seventh spot, which was the very back row that did not have much room for my legs. I should have simply waited for the next one, as they leave once they are full. Too late and I cursed myself as I had to endure the 5 hour ride with my knees up to my chest. Even locals I talked to laughed and said they would only take spots 1 to 4, never the very last row!
Saint-Louis is divided into three parts. The old town, on a narrow island in the Senegal river, the fishing village, which is on a thin strip of sand that is parallel to the river just before it spills out into the Atlantic and the mainland district. The old town was impressive with its decaying colonial buildings and quiet streets. Most shops and commerce are geared for tourists. Meanwhile the fishing village was very densely populated, with all the activity geared towards, you guessed it, fishing. There were hundreds of "pirogues" the French word for canoe or boat. All sizes, all made of hard wood planks. Being an enthusiast of wooden boats, it was great walking around seeing them build, repair, paint and go out into the surf with their pirogues. I learned that the word 'Senegal' actually means "notre pirogue" (our boat) that's how important they are to the country, its history, culture and its economy.
I did a separate blog post on the doors of Saint-Louis. They are very colourful through brick and mortar walls with layers of peeling paint.
The market and a drum session in the bustling streets of Sor, the busy neighbourhood of Saint Louis which is on the mainland.
Portrait of Mbène, who worked at the hotel I stayed. Her shift was over and she had just
changed to go out for the evening with her friends.
Portrait of Moustapha, an ambitious young man doing guided tours.
Amadou, a Mauritanian man I met at the market.
After spending a week in Saint-Louis, I returned to Dakar for two days, before getting a flight to the southern region of Cassamance and to the regional capital interestingly named Ziguinchor. I was originally going to go overland, through the Gambia (a long narrow country which protrudes through Senegal from the coast like a finger) but I was told of many hassles at the border, long waits plus the price of a visa. Apparently nonsense I was later informed. Regardless, I did not have all that much time and a return flight was more appealing than the long hours in a 7 places 1980s Peugeot.
Cassamance region is named after the river of the same name and its geography is quite different than the rest of the country. Instead of the dry, sandy Sahel which covers most of Senegal, here it is lush, tropical green, hot and steamy. There are many islands in the river delta and I had a great view of them from the air. I spent a couple days in the city of Ziguinchor. Not really much to do or see but it was nice to just take in the languid atmosphere of its wide streets, hole-in-the-wall bars and cafes or to watch the river flow at sunset. There are several different ethnic groups that live here but the majority are the Diola people. They are mostly Catholic and related to the same linguistic group of people across the nearby border of Guinée-Bissau. Of course, everyone speaks French, on top of their local language but I was also able to speak some Portuguese as well with a few locals. It sort made me want to keep on traveling south across the border, but unfortunately, time was running out.
On the banks of the Cassamance River. The pirogues here are dug out canoes from logs.
My last five days in the south were spent at the beach town of Cap Skirring. Gorgeous sandy beaches, warm water. It's somewhat of a tourist town thanks to a Club Med that appeared on its shores a few decades ago. It is not uncommon to see an older 'toubab' (or 'toubabette') with a much younger local. One great aspect of this tourist town though was the live music. Every night, this one local resto-bar had a different band playing. Some excellent music ranging from African drumming and dances to bolero type creole music influenced from Cabo-verde, to Nigerian style Afro-beat. I found myself going for several nights having the typical fish with broken rice dinner and a Flag or Gazelle beer.
"Thiéboudienne" one of the staple dishes of Senegal.
Fish on broken rice with manioc and a few veggies.
Sketchbook watercolour of 'Moussa' one of many tour guides that ply their trade on the streets of
Cap Skirring. They come from all over Senegal for the tourist season that lasts the duration of
the European winter.
Craft markets in each city or town had great masks from all over Africa. These were in my hotel lobby.
These guys played drums and danced on the beach at every sunset.
Back in Dakar for my third time and final few days, I stayed in a private room in the yard of a house near the beach of Yoff. The owner, a Senegalese of Lebanese descent, shaped surfboards in his spare time. He showed me his workshop and was getting an interview that day on CNN's African Marketplace about small businesses in Senegal. It was pretty cool seeing his set up. Of course he was a good surfer as there are excellent breaks just 100 meters away. It was mostly foreigners that surfed (very few) however, there were hundreds of Dakarois playing soccer and working out on the beach every late afternoon until after sunset.
I wandered around the city again, this time getting a closer look at the gargantuan statue called "Monument à la Renaissance de l'Afrique" located on a hill near a cliff on the corniche. It's about 15 storeys high and was designed by a Senegalese sculptor but it was built by North Koreans. Not unlike the heroic statues in Pyongyang of the Kim Il Sung. You could even go up into the hat on the man's head as a lookout.
A visit to Dakar would not be complete without taking the short ferry to l'Île de Gorée, a small island off the peninsula. It was the administrative centre of French colonial Dakar for a long time before it eventually moving to the city proper. It was also an important "processing" fortress, if you could call it that, of the slave trade. The guide of the museum shows you the various rooms where slaves were held, shackled and eventually sent through the "door of no return" onto the ships that brought them to the Americas. An inhumane enterprise perpetrated by the Portuguese, Dutch, Spanish, English and the French powers as well as their counterparts in the New World.
Hundreds of thousands passed through this door onto ships
for the Americas. A quarter of the slaves perished on each journey.
It only took an hour to stroll around the entire island. The village had the feel of a French mediterranean town, albeit in the tropics, and it was a relaxed pace compared to the big city across the water. You did have to sort of ignore the locals constant attempts at selling you souvenirs unless you really wanted to buy something.
Everywhere there is water, there are fishermen in their colouful pirogues.
I met a group of tourists from Guadalupe who made a drum procession
and ceremony to the top of the hill on the island.
Souleymane, an artist on l'Île Gorée.
My time in Senegal was soon over. I took a few long walks on the beach, once in the morning when it was only fishermen going out to sea and later in the afternoon, where the beach was kilometres of soccer games, couples hand in hand and kids playing in the surf. The long bus ride to the airport, at sunset, the dry, sandy landscape was punctuated by baobabs, that symbolic African tree that always reminds me of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's masterpeice, 'The Little Prince'. "The essential is invisible to the eyes, we can only truly see with the heart."
