Anchors Away

January 10, 2009

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/africa/3142668.stm.
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-magazine.com/index.php?s=mangrove , I have to say that I could not resist digging in – I have seldom tasted anything to equal it. Just picture a big bonfire on the beach, surrounded by gorgeous palms and flowering bougainvillea. Then inhale the smokiness of the fire and visualize the tartness of the lemon – in short, it was heaven. I showed just as little will power when, hot and tired from trekking alongside giant pigs on the immense stretch of beach on the island of Karabane, a bunch of boys offered me a fresh coconut, drilling a hole in the top and offering it to me as one might a can of Pepsi.

An excellent base from which to see the sights of the region is the village of Oussouye, located about midway between the bustling port of Zig and the tourist area of Cap Skiring (easily identifiable because of the palatial Club Med dominating its landscape). The Lonely Planet guidebook, a fabulous reference for the area, neglects to mention that Oussouye is a principality with its very own king living in his very own sacred wood – I kid you not. The King’s mother had just passed away, so on Dec 31 there was a grand ceremony with traditional dancing and drumming – it was a sight to behold.

In Oussouye, we stayed at the campement villageois which smelled rather old and musty and catered to its foreign clientele by serving French fries EVERY night we were there (five days total, so I probably should have called this piece Anchors Aweigh!). The restored case a etages was a pleasant enough place, even if accommodations were basic as in a youth hostel; the staff were friendly and helpful, and of course the money taken in helps residents of the community, so it is a good choice overall. Much prettier and warmer (if pricier), was the Campement Emanaye, overlooking rice fields. Rice, by the way, is harvested by hand in the region, so that everywhere we went we encountered groups of girls who seemed to be in irrepressibly cheerful moods despite long hours of backbreaking work under the hot sun. They adored having their pictures taken, so here a tribute to their grit!

Not to be outdone, let me share with you an example of my own: since I have gone on bicycling vacations, etc., I assumed that the 17 or so km to the fishing village of Elinkine would be no sweat. It never once occurred to me that it is of course a lot easier to bike on paved roads (such Annecy’s glorious piste cyclable or the loop around Lake Constance, for example) than on dirt roads with bumps and ruts and stones and gravel. Long story short, by the time we reached the village, I was ready to retire from my cycling career before it had begun – and there was the stretch back I had yet to face! This turned out to be a race against time, as the sun was setting by the time we returned, our posteriors were on fire, and soon we could see very little by the light of the moon. Luck was on our side, because just as we thought we might have to walk the bikes the next 5 km or so in the foreboding dark, a minivan appeared out of nowhere, scooped us up, and deposited us safely, ears and all intact, in our moldy room with the torn mosquito net: home sweet home!

  About the Author : Tamara-Diana Braunstein brings us her stories from Senegal every week. She was born in Brooklyn, New York. She is a restless wanderer who earned an MA from the University of Freiburg and has worked in a youth hostel in the French Alps, a law firm in Montreal, the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as in university press publishing. At the moment her home base is Dakar, Senegal, where she is supposed to be teaching but is doing far more learning, as you will see by reading her blog at www.senegalschoolmarm.blogspot.com