We’re smack dab in the middle of chaos — the bus station in Dakar, Senegal. Hundreds of cars, trucks, vans and buses wait for passengers to fill them up.
Thousands of people mill about: women sporting brightly coloured dresses, babies bundled on their backs, lug heavy bags with children following, while men, most in western-style clothing, but some in African Boubous — colourful Senegalese ankle-length caftans with matching drawstring pants — scurry around.
We can’t spot a ticket booth — in fact, we can’t spot anything in the confusion. How will we ever find our way to the right vehicle?
We barely have time to wonder when we’re approached by several young men shouting out names of places and asking where we want to go. There appears to be a system that pays some sort of commission for bringing passengers.
One young man emerges from the group and leads us to a van that is our worst nightmare.
We emphatically refuse and are taken to a row of Peugeot station wagons, many a mishmash of scavenged parts. All look like candidates for the junkyard.
A driver motions for us to get into the back seat of a still empty vehicle — the most uncomfortable place, we soon discover. Sweating in the 40℃ heat, we wait for more passengers, but don’t want to drink too much water as we don’t know if there are any stops, and bathrooms are never assured.
Two men climb into the back with us. That’s when I feel the arm rest jabbing into my side, but there’s no room to shift positions. As the middle seats fill up, the back of the seat shifts into Noel’s knees.
We’re uncomfortable already and we haven’t left yet. Two more passengers arrive and we’re full — ten passengers crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder. Any movement is impossible.
But now the car won’t start. The temperature is rising as we’re stuffed together, and there’s no breeze. Hopping out, our driver is joined by two other men who, in short order, get the car going. The drivers are adept at solving problems — no doubt they have had a lot of practice with these cars.
Then we’re off, thankful for the breeze from the open windows — air conditioning is unheard of on public transportation in Senegal. Our initial relief that the road is paved and in reasonable condition is short-lived as the pavement soon devolves into a series of holes. Our driver weaves endlessly back and forth to avoid them, often driving off-road on ruts along the side of the road.
Looking ahead, we see a wall of dust: road construction. Every dump truck in an endless line is churning up dust. We’re in the desert, with no water available to keep it down.
Clouds and clouds of dust envelop us like a gritty fog: our eyes water, our mouths taste like dirt, rivulets of dirty sweat roll down our faces. But the windows can’t be closed. It’s 42℃ outside — we’d suffocate inside.
I look at my watch and notice we’re still an hour from our destination of Zinquinchor, a charming former colonial centre and largest town in southern Senegal. Noel isn’t faring well. His knees remain jammed up against the seat and are increasingly painful. I don’t tell him how far we still have to go and he remains somewhat optimistic.
As we inch closer to Zinquinchor, the construction ends and even the potholed road is a welcome change. Noel is relieved to finally straighten his knees as we emerge into another chaotic bus station, but on a much smaller scale to that in Dakar. Now to get to our hotel.
I try our ride-sharing app, Yango, but it doesn’t work — the internet is down. We’ll have to take a taxi. Several drivers vie for our business and the negotiating begins.
We check in at our small family-owned hotel, wanting nothing more than to cool down in our air-conditioned room before heading out for water and snacks for the next day’s journey to Cap Skirring on Senegal’s extreme southwestern edge and home of some of the best beaches in West Africa.
Back on the street after our rest, I still can’t connect to the internet on my phone. Assuming it’s a problem with my SIM card, we ask at our hotel where we can purchase a new one. We follow the directions but can’t find the place. We try a couple of other places and ask several people on the street, but there’s a language issue.
Almost no one speaks English in Senegal and although French is the official language, the majority of people don’t speak it. There are several Senegalese languages, such as Mankaya or Mandinka, but in terms of usage, Wolof is the lingua franca and most widely spoken as a first or second language.
We get various responses, but the only word I can make out is “ferme,” or closed. Why would mobile offices be closed? What are they trying to tell us?
After a couple of hours traipsing around in the baking-hot afternoon sun, we’re directed to a hotel where we finally get our answer from an English-speaking clerk. The Senegalese government has shut down all mobile networks to make it more difficult for protesters to organize the on-the-spot demonstrations popping up across the country.
The president, Macky Sall — who has been in power since 2012 and is no longer eligible to run — had recently postponed elections just weeks before they were scheduled. Many believed he was trying to hang onto power longer, throwing the country into political chaos.
One of the main reasons we chose Senegal as a travel destination was its reputation as the most enduring democracy in West Africa — a cornerstone of stability. A democracy that was now hanging in the balance.
We return to our hotel to access information on the current political situation in Senegal via WiFi. It’s not encouraging. Reuters, Al Jazeera, and The Guardian all report protests being met with strong-arm repressive actions from the police. Just the day before, one young man was killed during a demonstration in Ziguinchor — the exact cause of death was unknown without an autopsy.
Three demonstrators were killed, including a sixteen-year-old boy, and hundreds arrested in a violent crackdown in Dakar the same day.
We check with Crisis24, an organization that assesses global risks. It warns of possible unrest through the next two weeks.
We decide to continue our travels in Senegal just wandering around and exploring small out-of-the-way places as the Senegalese go about their everyday lives — places unlikely to be affected by protests and demonstrations.
But we will not return to Dakar as we had planned. The situation there is just too volatile.
The black clouds of our thoughts are broken when there’s a knock on our door. “Would you like to join our family and friends for dinner later in the evening,” asks a friendly middle-aged man, introducing himself as the owner of the hotel. Surprised, we say yes.
Soon after everyone gathers outside around a table set poolside, a bowl of rice topped by sliced tomatoes, squash, carrots, beans, onion gravy and an entire chicken cut into pieces is set on a table.
Senegalese-style meals are communal. Everyone eats from one large platter or pan, using spoons or just their bare hand (right hand only) to scoop up rice, vegetables and meat.
Senegal has a unique culinary culture. Traditional Senegalese meals often include a soup or stew with meat or fish accompanied by rice or couscous and vegetables. A spicy flavourful fish stew called Thieboudienne is considered the national dish and is on UNESCO’s intangible cultural heritage list.
But what adds the most flavour for us is the warm hospitality. As guests, the choicest pieces of meat are put close to us. We’re made to feel part of the family.
Lying in bed that night, thoughts swirling, I reflect on the day’s journey. For us, it was an opportunity to be Senegalese for a day — to experience something of daily life. But in the end, we can clean up with a shower, wash our clothes and consider our options.
For citizens of Senegal it’s a day in the life. They have no choice. It’s just the way it is.
We continue our journey, encountering no problems.
National and international pressure mounted and several weeks after our departure, the president reinstated elections — a key moment in maintaining Senegal’s democratic system. On April 2, Bassirou Diomaye Faye, Senegal’s youngest president, was sworn in, promising to fight corruption and reform the economy.
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