Phaeton Rising
When a whole trimester of The Crucible got too much even for me to bear, I suggested to my friend that we go on an outing to the Iles de la Madeleine. These little islands are within full view of downtown Dakar and the lighthouse at Mamelles; they are a mere 20 minutes away by pirogue. After a labyrinthine walk to procure a ticket (down several winding staircases next to the extremely unattractive amusement park called Magicland), we came upon several men dressed in army fatigues who were drinking tea and playing checkers. They looked almost taken aback to see us, but were good about getting us tickets and into a pirogue with our guide, nicknamed Doudou (yes, unfortunately it is pronounced just the way you suspect it is, but as many Muslim names happen to end in
‘-dou,’ from Mohamodou to Amadou, it cannot be helped).
The Walk to Edioungou
We took the main road past the market in Oussouye, walking along rice fields vibrant with colorfully clad harvesters. Soon we found ourselves turning onto red dirt roads, with playful goats bleating cheerfully at one another. We passed huge areas of bright red bissap flowers, a tart local plant, chock-full of vitamin C like hibiscus and used to make a ruby red juice. The sun beat down hot upon our heads and we paused in some tall grass, inhaling the scent of fresh mint. Finally we came upon one of the little ’boutiques’ locals depend on in the absence of supermarkets. These are basically tiny convenience stores, about as big as closets, that sell virtually EVERYTHING in tiny (hence affordable) quantities, from a single scoop of sugar or vegetable oil or vinegar sold in a plastic bag to a single egg. They are in complete contrast to the bulk- or family-sized quantities American families love to stock up on in places like Costco’s – the Senegalese have neither storage space nor, quite frequently, the electricity they would need in order to keep anything perishable for longer than a day. We were delighted to stumble upon the boutique and have a cold drink, although when the big eyes of the children are upon you, you inevitably hand over your half-finished bottle (in case some of my more hygiene-obsessed readers are wincing, there is absolutely NO squeamishness here about sharing cups or bottles with virtual strangers, not even toubabs!) because of the pure joy that lights up the children’s faces at even such a small gesture of kindness.
In the Lonely Planet guide, we had read about a gorgeous place to stay and/or eat just nearby called the Campement des Bolongs. We had to ask our way through, and one young boy pretty much led us by the hand, as it was in a fairly secluded location at the water’s edge. It was well worth the trek, however, as we got to lounge in hammocks on an enormous deck overlooking the mangroves, sipping bissap with mint while awaiting our lunch. Our starter was the most generous serving of shrimp I have EVER gotten anywhere, and they must have known I was a garlic lover, because these exquisite beauties were seasoned perfectly to my taste. For dessert, we were each treated to half of a miniature pineapple, plus a memorable view of all the neighborhood children congregating rapturously in front of the lodge’s TV set.
Anchors Away
Schoolteachers are every bit as eager to get away when school ends as are their students, so I booked myself a ticket on the huge ferry leaving Dakar twice a week bound for Ziguinchor (zig-an-shore) in the Casamance. This particular voyage has a black stain on its history, as there was a national tragedy in September of 2002 when a boat christened the Joola sank due to overloading; there were fewer than 50 survivors, see article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/
Most embassies also warn against non-essential travel to the Casamance because of both rebel and bandit activity – only last year there was a case of people’s ears being chopped off! Mine are still thankfully both intact, despite my recklessness (which will doubtless be the death of me one day), but the trip was absolutely worth it. This region, in the deep south of the country, is known as the garden of Senegal, and it is gorgeously green, with fruits in glorious abundance – papayas, mangoes, watermelon and – what a revelation – passionfruit! It makes my mouth water just to think of it. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the small green fruit (yellow when ripe) that grows on vines, you can cut it in half just like a kiwi and scoop out the pulp, it is delectable.
Sights to see in the area include two lovely islands accessible by pirogues, one called Karabane and the other Egueye. Both are situated in the middle of the mangroves, and for those readers who like oysters, you might want to know that oysters love to attach themselves to the roots of mangroves. Locals break off the roots of the mangroves in order to roast the oysters over an open fire. Though I am positive this is environmentally reprehensible, and despite the fact that I care about the wetlands ecosystem and even referred to myself as a mangrove hugger in a previous article, http://www.traveling-stories-
