Adventures to, from, and in the Sine Saloum

My trip to Toubakouta with my friend Fatiha was quite the adventure. First, Fatiha came to my house at 4 am to get a taxi to the gare routier. We wanted to leave early to avoid holiday traffic. We got to the gare in hopes of getting a 7 places or bush taxi (a station wagon that sits seven) to Kaolack where we would transfer to another 7 places to go to Toubakouta. However, we were promptly informed that because of Tabaski (festival of sheep) there were no 7 places going to Kaolack, instead we could take a mini-bus. At 4:15 am we boarded the mini-bus. We were told to sit on the seats that face each other instead of the rows of people. Our seats, actually benches, hold three people like the back seat of a car. You are pressed against the other passengers. Our driver wanted four people on our benches. I got stuck on the bench with a very large woman and two men. Needless to say, it was an uncomfortable ride. I realized that the man next to me had two kids awkwardly placed on his lap so I offered to hold one of the boys on my lap. As soon as he settled on my legs, I could feel his body heaving. Fatiha, seeing the heaving, whipped out a plastic bag and the little boy vomited. The trip to Kaolack took four hours. The boy and his brother next to me threw up four times between them.

Fatiha and I then ate breakfast, bread filled with spaghetti, and hopped into a taxi to take us to another 7 places gare in Kaolack. We found a car going to Gambia that would drop us off on the way. We were told to sit in the back row, which is elevated and uncomfortable. With no other choice we got in. After waiting for the car to fill, we watched the market surge around us. People were buying sheep, knives, and fancy clothes for the holiday. Bags of onions, suitcases, and other large items were being tied to the tops of cars. Our 7 places had a sheep on the roof and was filled with suitcases.

The road between Kaolack and Sokone is unpaved, dusty, and filled with holes. The trip, although not long in kilometers, took over two hours. The bumpy road smashed my head against the windows and filled my mouth and nose with dust. Our driver stopped several times to allow the car to cool down and to add oil. Between Sokone and Toubakouta the road was smooth and paved. Once out of the car in Toubakouta a little boy showed us to our hotel.

We stayed in Keur Youssou, a hotel owned by a nice couple. We were given a hut with two beds and a bathroom. The hut was impeccably clean. The only problem was that there was no door to the bathroom and so one had to announce when using the bathroom. It was one of the most comfortable places I have stayed in while in Senegal.

That evening we took a boat ride on the river. It was a trip I had done three years earlier when my study aboard group stayed in Sokone. We went to a man-made island made of shells and hiked around. Boarding the boat we sailed around the river until getting to a mangrove in the middle of the river teaming with egrets. There must have been hundreds of birds. Our guide explained that at sundown everyday these birds come to sleep for the evening. It was an incredible sight.

During breakfast of our second day we met a French couple and their adorable son staying in our hotel. They also live in Dakar and happen to work at the Catholic school where I work. They had rented a car and offered to take us to Missirah, a village near Toubakouta. Getting to Missirah was an adventure. First, we took the wrong road and got stuck in sand. We had to push the car out and turn around. Sand flies infiltrated the car and we had to get them out and keep the windows shut. Then we took the right road but got stuck in sand about seven more times. When we finally arrived in Missirah we were exhausted. Then villagers harassed us for money. They made us pay to walk on a bridge that led to nowhere. Many men came up to us to be our guide. The village is small and easy to navigate so a guide is not necessary. Granted, it does bring in money but it is not as productive as proving other activities for guests or tourists. After walking around the village an old man accosted us and extorted some money for taking pictures of a large old tree. Fed up and tired, we returned to Toubakouta.

After being kept wake during the night by an outdoor nightclub that raged from 1-4am, Fatiha and I walked to the main road at 7 am. We waited an hour for a car to pass either going to the Gambian border, 17 kilometers away or heading toward Kaolack. Finally a 7 places came and charged us double the normal price to go to the border. We got out in another small village that has 7 places and waited for it to fill up. This time we had excellent seats in the middle row with windows. The dusty road to Kaloack took a long time because our car was dying. We had to switch 7 places in Kaloack. Fearing terrible traffic, caused by people returning to Dakar from their holiday weekend, we prepared for the usual traffic jam in Rufisque. To our surprise we sailed right through. The trip only took eight hours from start to finish. We made good time and had a nice adventure.

A boat on the river

Egrets in the mangrove. Not the best quality but all the white dots are birds.

The old kopak tree in Missirah.

Thanksgiving and Tabaski

At the private school where I work three days a week, I have been teaching my students about Thanksgiving. Each of my students made a "thankful turkey," by assembling cut-outs of turkey parts using glue and markers. On the “feathers” they wrote what they are thankful for. Many students wrote “I am thankful for my dogs” and “I am thankful for my games”. I hung all of the turkeys on a bulletin board in the entrance to the school. Picture below.

At the Catholic school, where I teach twice a week, we discussed the past and present of Thanksgiving. When I asked the class what happens on Thanksgiving I was told, “it’s when you kill many animals and then eat them” and “It’s when you get a lot of presents from your family.” To set the record straight I gave the Montclair public schools version of Thanksgiving. There was much talk of sharing, food, and being thankful.

When discussing what is currently eaten at Thanksgiving meals, I asked the students where they think people get their turkeys. “The slaughterhouse,” “the laboratory,” “the farm,” and “the chicken coop” were all shouted at me at once. When I talked of buying frozen turkeys at the supermarket the kids were stunned and disgusted. They asked many questions regarding the quality of meat, the freshness, and the size. They could not believe that for a holiday Americans do not kill their own meat and that they would actually purchase frozen meat from a supermarket.

Either Friday or Saturday is Tabaski, depending on the Muslim brotherhood one is affiliated with and trusts. Tabaski is the “festival of sheep” or the great slaughter, depending on your views. Every Muslim family is supposed to have at least one sheep, sacrifice it, and then distribute the meat to those without. Families come together to share a meal and have a good time, like Thanksgiving.

In Dakar, people sacrifice their sheep either in front of their houses, near the street, on their terraces, or in parking areas making it difficult to avoid. I have participated in two Tabaskis and that was enough. My friend F.B. and I are escaping the slaughter to a village south of Dakar called Toubakouta. We hope to avoid participating in the festivities and instead eat fresh fruit and go bird watching.