Last month I was preparing to leave for the glorious land of AC and microbrews. I had been dreaming of this trip home to America for months. Flying out of the only tiny airport in Gambia was maybe 600$ more expensive than traveling by land to Dakar, Senegal and flying out of there. So Dakar it was. Dakar is north of The Gambia and a bitch to get to. About a mile into Senegal the road literally falls apart. It's riddled with potholes as deep and big around as the car you're riding in. A set-place is one of the few choices in transport there but they are known even by Gambians by how uncomfortable they are. The trip can take anywhere between 6-15 hours depending on luck and how many times your car breaks down.
I didn't really start thinking about getting to Dakar until a few weeks before. I got pretty decent directions from other volunteers and some advice including "traveling to Dakar is hell", "hey, at least you'll have good stories when you're done", you don't speak the language so...good luck?", "the cab drivers are all assholes", and "those Senegalese are evil and will take all of your things if you're not careful." I was terrified. Then I told the renters what I was doing. BIG mistake. They spent hours trying to talk me out of traveling to Dakar and when I told them that I kind of had to because the plane ticket had already been booked they spent hours calling everyone they know in Senegal to find someone to accompany me. By the end of the day I had 25 numbers of people I didn't know and whose numbers I would never use.
The entire week before I left I didn't seep a wink. My fear of traveling alone across borders in Africa had completely overshadowed my excitement of being home for the first time in a year. Two days before my flight I traveled to the transit house and spent the night there. The next day another volunteer was going back to site on the north side of the river and said he would help me exchange my Dalasi into the Senegalese CFA on the other side of the river in the carpark. We got a bush-taxi to Banjul and went to wait for the ferry, which involves standing in a packed crowd of people in the sun for the ferry which has no time table. People crowd in because there is usually not enough room in the ferry for all of the people and cars waiting and everyone wants a spot. So we stood there waiting for the sounds of the arriving ferry for 2 hours. The ferry arrived just as I was about to pass out from standing in the sun holding my bag for so long. The entire time I had smelled something that smelled suspiciously like shit (more so than usual) and as soon as we started moving forward (and by moving I mean pushing and running) I realized what the smell was. It was shit. Sewage busted at the ferry ramp entrance and we all had to wade through it to get on the ferry. The volunteer I was with found a tiny ledge on the side and I balanced my way across it, with my bag and lots of pushing might I add, and only slipped once so ended up with only one poo covered foot instead of two.
We landed on the other side of the river one hour later. We went to get my money exchanged and the guy gave me 1,000 cfa less than I thought was appropriate so I argued with him for a while in Mandinka and he finally gave in and gave it to me. [score 1 for me!] I then went into the carpark and found a car going to the border. Once in the car I began talking to one Mandinka woman. She said she was going to Dakar too and she would help me out. As we were chatting I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there was a white couple, late 20s, both incredibly skinny (I would find out why later) creepily smiling at me. They asked me where I was going and when I told them Dakar airport they asked if I could help them get there. I really really didn't want to say yes, but I did. When we got to the border the Gambian woman went and found a donkey cart while we went through the Gambian side and then Senegalese side. I told the police right away I was Peace Corps and they didn't give me too much trouble, at least on the Gambian side. The couple took about 30 minutes longer trying to get out of bribes, etc. We got in the donkey cart in Senegal and rode to the carpark. It was 1:00 by the time I got to the carpark. I had left the transit house at 7 am and I had only traveled about about 20 miles. The travel gods were already against me. So the Gambian woman negotiated a decent price for us in Wolof. I was standing there with her, she told me to give her the money to pay the driver. The smallest bill I had was 10,000 cfa so I gave it to her and expected back 4,000 cfa change. You also have to realize we are in the middle of a crowd of beggars, small boys, drivers trying to pull us to their cars, pickpockets, overall chaos. So when she said she would give me my change in the car later I believed her and was more than ready to sit in a tiny hot car to get away from the people.
After the carpark ordeal I just wanted to sit and read my book and not talk to anyone, but the British couple had other things in mind. They started chatting with me. Ok...they aren't so bad. They seemed pretty normal and kind of funny. Apparently his father owned a cashew tree orchard. The father went back to the UK and the couple have been staying in his compound for the past 2 years caring for it and the orchard. We talked for about an hour. They told me completely normal things and had a completely normal conversation and then during a pause, he looks at me all crazy-eyed and said "have you ever heard of the Illuminati or the free-masons?" ....Whaaaaat. From there they went on to tell me about any conspiracy theory that's ever existed and how true they all are. Here were a few of his main topics:
-9/11.
-Rhianna, Jay-Z, and Kanye West are all devil worshipers and if I slow their songs and music videos down he could show me clues.
-All food, besides some raw vegetables, are poisonous and are marketed to us by the government (hence their extreme skinniness.)
So while this is going on I'm struggling in my mind going back and forth from silently laughing to worrying about being taken by the crazies. I would interrupt and tell a story non-related to crazy conspiracies and they would nod patiently and as soon as I was finished "and then in one of his videos, Kanye makes the sign of the devil with his right hand..."
All the while I was asking the Gambian woman for my change and she keeps telling me she'll get it to me once she gets smaller change.
At one point there was complete silence in the car and out of no where all of the Gambians starting yelling at the driver and then I heard them making fun of him for the rest of the drive. Turns out, he FELL ASLEEP while he was driving.
The Gambian woman fell asleep for about 4 hours so I held her throwing-up baby for her, because I felt I owed it to her because she got us this car at a decent price. We finally got into Dakar around 9pm. The Gambian woman hops out of the car at a carpark. I asked her one last time for my change and she then decides to tell me that she used it to pay her own fare because she didn't thing she had enough money. 4,000 cfa isn't that much money by American standards (about 8$) but by African standards, it's huge. I was pissed but there was nothing I could do. She scammed me and probably didn't feel bad. But what truely made me angry was the fact that I had held that puking baby for half the ride.
The only good thing about having the crazies in the car with me was that when we got into Dakar it was dark. The cars do not go directly to the airport, instead they go to a carpark where you have to find another car going to the airport. I got a car for us for the right price with only knowing how to count to 5 in french and how to ask "how is the morning?" in Wolof and was pretty damn proud of myself.
So my day with the crazies wasn't over yet. My flight wasn't until 6am and theirs was at 2am. We sat outside for a while drinking tea and chatting about more conspiracies.The entire time I was eying my tea and wondering if they had roofied it. Eventually we went into the airport. then the crazies went manic. They found out that they had never even booked their flight to Spain. The girl was crying, the guy was running around not really doing anything productive. They eventually got a flight booked for the next day and left in a whirlwind to find a hostel for the night. I sat there all night relishing the air conditioning, flush toilets, and lack of conversation. When it was time to board my flight I was so excited to finally sleep. But one more thing...they had to search all of our bags and all of our bodies by hand because the security equipment at the Dakar airport wasn't to American security standards.
I finally got to board the plane. It was a South African Airlines flight making its way to America but stopping in Dakar on the way so it was already almost filled with South Africans. I have no idea what I looked like at this point but I do know that I was absolutely filthy, covered in Dakar dust. It had been 24 hours since I had slept and about 20 hours since I had eaten. Once we reached our flying altitude I was wrapped up in my SAA blanket with the SAA socks on my feet, passed out, when I hear the flight attendant handing out food. I woke up and she handed me a ham and cheese sandwiches and a cadberry bar. Heaven. I hadn't had food that good since I left America. As soon as I finished I looked up and all of the classy South Africans were all staring at me...the dirty girl who just ate a sandwich and a chocolate bar in less than a minute. I didn't care a bit. I pulled my eye-mask on, listened to the airlines soft R&B station, and slept almost all 8 hours of the trip home. The only times I woke up were when the 8 year old Senegalese-American girl sitting next to me moved her head and the beads in her braids clinked. I think she also read the entire skymall magazine to me for most of the flight and I have to say that this girl has the most soothing voice I've ever heard in my life.
I switched planes in DC. I knew I was in the right terminal going to North Carolina by the cut off sleeve tee-shirts, jean shorts, and the word "y'all" being thrown around. When I got to Raleigh my Mom, Alice, Doris, and George were waiting at the airport for me. Now, I'm not a big crier, I didn't want to or feel like crying that day, I was so happy, but when I saw the signs they were holding the tears started falling.
America was great. I ate and drank more thank I thought I would, and the 8 pounds I gained while I was home was so worth it. I went tubing, went to the beach for a weekend, had a cookout, friends came to visit, and I went out almost every night. When it was time for me to return to Gambia, it was much easier than I thought it would be. I was dreading the Dakar leg of the trip of course but I was really looking forward to seeing all of my friends here who I had missed.
When I got to DC and boarded the plane I had the same seat as before. Aisle, in the middle row. Right next to me was this good ol' boy from the mid-west who works at the mines in South Africa. As we were boarding I noticed half of the passengers were ridiculously big guys. Muscles the size of tree trunks everywhere. I kind of forgot about it after I boarded and they sat down all around us (gigantic muscles aren't really my thing) until the guy sitting next to me started freaking out. He saw these men walk onto the plane and began jerking around trying to get a better look at them. He leaned into me and whispered "Do you know who these guys are?" his voice reaching a pitch only dogs could hear. "They're WWF wrestlers!" He turned into a little school girl and was taking pictures of them on his camera phone and giggling. When we took off the pilot welcomed the wrestlers onto the plane and the guy next to me started applauding.
8 hours later, after hearing gigantic men trying to fit themselves into the plane seats and the crinkling of protein powder packets the entire time (no sleep), we landed in Dakar. It was 5:30 am and still dark outside. We were rushed through customs and shoved out the door. Once again I was in Dakar in the dark...this time alone. Every cab I came across near the airport was asking for 5,000 cfa (when it shouldn't ever be more than 2,000) for a ride to the carpark. I had to walk about a mile from the airport before I found a driver who would agree to take me for 2,000 cfa. We got to the carpark and immediately I found a set-place going to Banjul with one spot left in the middle of the backseat. The seat no one ever wants because it's so unbearably uncomfortable. So my choices were that I could either wait a few more hours for another car to fill up and maybe get a better seat, or leave now and be in hell for 8 hours. I, for God knows what reason, chose the latter. I sat between two Gambians, the whole sides of our bodies touching. My knees were almost touching my chin, there was no airflow, and I could only move my feet forward or back maybe an inch. Usually the set-places stop once in Kaolack which is half way to Gambia. As we got closer and I could start to smell the stench that Kaolack is known for, I was visualizing stretching out my legs and getting some sort of blood flow back into them and then the driver drove straight through. I almost said something, and then stopped myself because I didn't want to be the toubab who cant handle sitting in the back of a car forever. By the time we got to Gambia my ass felt like it was on fire and my legs were aching so bad I would have probably been crying if I wasn't so delirious from lack of sleep. We crossed the border and I got to the ferry and had a chat with 5 old men in a language I understood and never felt more happy to be anywhere than right here in Gambia.
Who would have thought.
All the while I was asking the Gambian woman for my change and she keeps telling me she'll get it to me once she gets smaller change.
At one point there was complete silence in the car and out of no where all of the Gambians starting yelling at the driver and then I heard them making fun of him for the rest of the drive. Turns out, he FELL ASLEEP while he was driving.
The Gambian woman fell asleep for about 4 hours so I held her throwing-up baby for her, because I felt I owed it to her because she got us this car at a decent price. We finally got into Dakar around 9pm. The Gambian woman hops out of the car at a carpark. I asked her one last time for my change and she then decides to tell me that she used it to pay her own fare because she didn't thing she had enough money. 4,000 cfa isn't that much money by American standards (about 8$) but by African standards, it's huge. I was pissed but there was nothing I could do. She scammed me and probably didn't feel bad. But what truely made me angry was the fact that I had held that puking baby for half the ride.
The only good thing about having the crazies in the car with me was that when we got into Dakar it was dark. The cars do not go directly to the airport, instead they go to a carpark where you have to find another car going to the airport. I got a car for us for the right price with only knowing how to count to 5 in french and how to ask "how is the morning?" in Wolof and was pretty damn proud of myself.
So my day with the crazies wasn't over yet. My flight wasn't until 6am and theirs was at 2am. We sat outside for a while drinking tea and chatting about more conspiracies.The entire time I was eying my tea and wondering if they had roofied it. Eventually we went into the airport. then the crazies went manic. They found out that they had never even booked their flight to Spain. The girl was crying, the guy was running around not really doing anything productive. They eventually got a flight booked for the next day and left in a whirlwind to find a hostel for the night. I sat there all night relishing the air conditioning, flush toilets, and lack of conversation. When it was time to board my flight I was so excited to finally sleep. But one more thing...they had to search all of our bags and all of our bodies by hand because the security equipment at the Dakar airport wasn't to American security standards.
I finally got to board the plane. It was a South African Airlines flight making its way to America but stopping in Dakar on the way so it was already almost filled with South Africans. I have no idea what I looked like at this point but I do know that I was absolutely filthy, covered in Dakar dust. It had been 24 hours since I had slept and about 20 hours since I had eaten. Once we reached our flying altitude I was wrapped up in my SAA blanket with the SAA socks on my feet, passed out, when I hear the flight attendant handing out food. I woke up and she handed me a ham and cheese sandwiches and a cadberry bar. Heaven. I hadn't had food that good since I left America. As soon as I finished I looked up and all of the classy South Africans were all staring at me...the dirty girl who just ate a sandwich and a chocolate bar in less than a minute. I didn't care a bit. I pulled my eye-mask on, listened to the airlines soft R&B station, and slept almost all 8 hours of the trip home. The only times I woke up were when the 8 year old Senegalese-American girl sitting next to me moved her head and the beads in her braids clinked. I think she also read the entire skymall magazine to me for most of the flight and I have to say that this girl has the most soothing voice I've ever heard in my life.
I switched planes in DC. I knew I was in the right terminal going to North Carolina by the cut off sleeve tee-shirts, jean shorts, and the word "y'all" being thrown around. When I got to Raleigh my Mom, Alice, Doris, and George were waiting at the airport for me. Now, I'm not a big crier, I didn't want to or feel like crying that day, I was so happy, but when I saw the signs they were holding the tears started falling.
America was great. I ate and drank more thank I thought I would, and the 8 pounds I gained while I was home was so worth it. I went tubing, went to the beach for a weekend, had a cookout, friends came to visit, and I went out almost every night. When it was time for me to return to Gambia, it was much easier than I thought it would be. I was dreading the Dakar leg of the trip of course but I was really looking forward to seeing all of my friends here who I had missed.
When I got to DC and boarded the plane I had the same seat as before. Aisle, in the middle row. Right next to me was this good ol' boy from the mid-west who works at the mines in South Africa. As we were boarding I noticed half of the passengers were ridiculously big guys. Muscles the size of tree trunks everywhere. I kind of forgot about it after I boarded and they sat down all around us (gigantic muscles aren't really my thing) until the guy sitting next to me started freaking out. He saw these men walk onto the plane and began jerking around trying to get a better look at them. He leaned into me and whispered "Do you know who these guys are?" his voice reaching a pitch only dogs could hear. "They're WWF wrestlers!" He turned into a little school girl and was taking pictures of them on his camera phone and giggling. When we took off the pilot welcomed the wrestlers onto the plane and the guy next to me started applauding.
8 hours later, after hearing gigantic men trying to fit themselves into the plane seats and the crinkling of protein powder packets the entire time (no sleep), we landed in Dakar. It was 5:30 am and still dark outside. We were rushed through customs and shoved out the door. Once again I was in Dakar in the dark...this time alone. Every cab I came across near the airport was asking for 5,000 cfa (when it shouldn't ever be more than 2,000) for a ride to the carpark. I had to walk about a mile from the airport before I found a driver who would agree to take me for 2,000 cfa. We got to the carpark and immediately I found a set-place going to Banjul with one spot left in the middle of the backseat. The seat no one ever wants because it's so unbearably uncomfortable. So my choices were that I could either wait a few more hours for another car to fill up and maybe get a better seat, or leave now and be in hell for 8 hours. I, for God knows what reason, chose the latter. I sat between two Gambians, the whole sides of our bodies touching. My knees were almost touching my chin, there was no airflow, and I could only move my feet forward or back maybe an inch. Usually the set-places stop once in Kaolack which is half way to Gambia. As we got closer and I could start to smell the stench that Kaolack is known for, I was visualizing stretching out my legs and getting some sort of blood flow back into them and then the driver drove straight through. I almost said something, and then stopped myself because I didn't want to be the toubab who cant handle sitting in the back of a car forever. By the time we got to Gambia my ass felt like it was on fire and my legs were aching so bad I would have probably been crying if I wasn't so delirious from lack of sleep. We crossed the border and I got to the ferry and had a chat with 5 old men in a language I understood and never felt more happy to be anywhere than right here in Gambia.
Who would have thought.
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