Back to nature, then back to reality

It's been two long weeks since I returned home, but the memories are still fresh. That's good, since I have not had the time to write until now.

My last two days in Senegal were quite eventful.

The Friday before I left, in hopes that I might find a story to sell once I got home, I had an appointment with the American director of a non-governmental agency that promotes personal health in Senegalese villages. Unfortunately, right after I arrived, this rather scatterbrained individual had noticed that she had forgotten about some major project that was due the following Monday and decided to cancel the meeting right there on the spot. Needless to say, I was a bit flabbergasted. It was not like I could reschedule, seeing that I would be on a flight home the next night.

This woman offered to pay my cab fare back to my uncle's house, but I was not exactly happy with what was transpiring. Thanks to my superior interviewing skills (or so I like to think), I was able to engage her in a discussion for about 15 minutes about what this agency does and about how it helps teach the uneducated masses about basic medical care. While the discussion here in America is about how to computerize patient records, in Senegal they are lucky to have health professionals (not always doctors) keep any records at all on their patients.

It was not the most convenient appointment for me, since the office was in Yoff, a booming suburb near the Dakar airport, but I did find a great little restaurant nearby, where I got some wonderful Moroccan-style chicken and couscous for about $2.

I also got to experience the thrill of Dakar public transportation on the way out to Yoff.


A Dakar car rapide going nowhere fast.

What passes for a transit system there is a seemingly disorganized fleet of minibuses known as cars rapides. This is a misnomer, as there is nothing remotely rapide about any of them. Nor is there any sort of destination sign on the buses; one has to know where the stops are and has to ask the driver or fare collector where the bus is going. The fare collector isn't wearing any distinguishing clothing or badge, either. He's usually the person hanging out of the back of the bus at the door — almost always open — that people use to get on and off.

Steps? Wheelchair lifts? Air conditioning? Yeah, right. They don't even believe in fire aisles. In fact, some cars rapides have people sitting on jump seats that fold down in the aisle, so everyone in the middle has to get up whenever someone gets on or off the bus. By the way, the vehicles are old and operate on diesel fuel. Try to imagine the fumes that come out of those things.

There are two kinds of cars rapides in Dakar, the plain white ones and the colorfully decorated blue, white and yellow ones. Two different syndicates, I'm told. No matter which one you get, it's bound to have random stickers on the back windows (foot-high decals of Madonna seem to be very popular) and have "Alhamdouililahi" ("hallelujah") painted above the front grille. Given the way people drive in Dakar, divine inspiration does not seem like such a bad idea.

You can't beat the value, though. Most rides cost 100 francs, or about 20 U.S. cents.

That evening, I had another harrowing ride, but this time in my uncle's car. His band was scheduled to play a gig at a fundraiser at Club Atlantique for the Dakar Women's Group, made up of dozens of expatriates, and he got home late from work. He got to the club as quickly, though perhaps not as safely, as possible, but things otherwise went off just great. The band was good and I got to see many of the same people I had met during my stay, including some of my cousins' teachers.

That was just a prelude for the rest of the evening, however. The same night, Americans in Senegal were celebrating the 60th birthday of an American woman who has run a job training center in Dakar for something like 30 years. The party was at the home of the U.S. ambassador (but paid for by private sources).

Right there playing on the front lawn for at least 300 guests was an Afro-Cuban-style band called Orchestra Baobab, an internationally known Senegalese group that has recorded with Dave Matthews. My uncle played with one of the drummers back in the 1970s, when the group was still a club band in Dakar. They became perhaps the most famous Senegalese musicians aside from Youssou N'Dour, broke up before the end of the '80s, then got back together around 2001. And I saw them playing a private party.

(In checking out the Web site, I see that Orchestra Baobab is playing Hot House in Chicago on March 25. Who wants to go?)

The following morning, my last in Senegal, we headed out for a game reserve in Bandia, about two hours (if the traffic cooperates) outside of Dakar.

Apparently, the Bandia Reserve is rather small-time by African standards, but it's the best you are going to do within a couple of hours of Dakar. The "real" game parks and safari areas are in eastern and southern Africa. In fact, 97% of the animals were shipped in from South Africa by the park's owners. About the only natives were the giraffes, crocodiles and several species of birds. There is no jungle in Senegal, just savanna.

Still, it was an experience for this city dweller. From the back of an open-air truck, I came within a few feet of towering giraffes, sleeping rhinos and majestic gazelles. I think my pictures speak for themselves.


Let sleeping rhinos lie.

Among the highlights of the Bandia park are three baobabs known to be at least 1,000 years old. One is called the Millennium Baobab. Another has a partially hollowed-out trunk because it was used as a burial site. You can actually see some of the skulls.

On a less morbid note, the outdoor restaurant near the entrance to the reserve offers a wonderful view of a watering hole popular with many of the animals, including the crocs, water buffalo and even a few monkeys. The kids seemed to like the restaurant because one of the tables had the McDonald's Golden Arches embossed in the plastic. There's nothing like re-use of limited resources!

On the Bandia trip, I rode one way in the car of the State Department physician in charge of health programs for U.S. officials in three West African countries. He brought along his wife, who is a public health specialist for the U.S. Agency for International Development, and one of his wife's co-workers. I asked a bunch of questions and got business cards. We'll see if anything becomes of that.

I can't end this entry without mentioning one unsettling incident that I believe happened a couple of days earlier on my way back from Mboro and Thiès.

I was at a storefront gallery of an artist who makes things out of forged iron. As I was considering purchasing a piece, one of the workers pulls out a photo album with pictures of many of the artist's works. Right there on the cover of the album was the smiling face of a certain Osama bin Laden.

My uncle, who was with me, asked the people there in Wolof if they knew who that person was. Apparently they were told he was some sort of holy man. My uncle then asked if they were aware of the fact that bin Laden was responsible for people flying airplanes into buildings in America and killing thousands. The gallery workers had no answer. They also had no sale from me.

I honestly don't think that these folks were followers of bin Laden or haters of Western values. They were just not aware or concerned with things that went on outside their own lives, and apparently bought the bin Laden album from some anti-American types in an Arab country, without really knowing who this monster really is.

This incident demonstrated to me how sorely education is lacking in the developing world and gave me a chilling sense of how many people think that the world's most notorious terrorist is a hero.

Overall, I found that it was not necessary to hide my identity as an American while overseas, though I tried my best to be respectful of other cultures by not being an "ugly" American. I think the easiest way to avoid the stereotype is not to assume that everyone speaks English. If you don't know the language, at least have the courtesy to ask if they speak English, preferably in the local language. I don't know much Spanish, but I did learn to ask, "¿Habla usted Inglés?" while in Spain and while flying Iberia, the Spanish airline. It helped.

Above all, my two-week trip opened my eyes to how vast and diverse the world is and proved to me how the only true way to comprehend how others live is to experience it for yourself. I'm excited about the possibility of exploring other parts of Africa on future trips, though the one place I want to see more than anywhere else remains Australia. Too bad I spent so many miles on this trip. I guess I'll just have to build up my account again.