Viva Boabab!

Viva boabab!, viva boabab! Caribbean and African beats roll thru the club. The sax player gives a show, the two lead vocals swing, the bongo player smiles, the lead guitar thinks about a cigarette, the two base players are joking, and the drummer, the drummer is in seventh heaven. Welcome to club Just4U, Saturday evening, Dakar, Senegal. Have a cocktail, sit back and enjoy. The band on stage (as I discovered later) is the world famous Orchestra Boabab. During the seventies the band scored international hits (maybe this explains the slightly older crowd). They stopped, and were reunited. The sound is comparable with the Buena vista social club. I lean back and see the stars thru the palms tree. The evening is warm and relaxed. How did I end up in here?

The day started at six, I mean, five in the morning. I was woken up by a slightly drunk crowd, colleagues from the MRC. They had been clubbing and were going for a swim. I didn’t join them, I should have; the next hour was all about twisting and turning.

Twenty past six I was picked up by Anna, the twenty something kiwi girl. Anna was leaving today, and on her way back to New Zealand she wanted to stop in Istanbul and Dakar. Since I was meaning to go to Dakar as well we diced to team up. To make it slightly more exiting we were planning to travel over land, by all means. This could turn out into a long journey, so we had to leave early.

The early start was extra necessary because it was Set Settal that day. Set Settal is the wet dream of David Cameron. For a few hours the country comes to a stand still. If you are spotted on the street you can get fined or go to jail. There is only one place where you should be those hours, and that is at home. The purpose of Set Settal is to clean up your compound, street and direct neighbourhood. One morning cleaning a month keeps the country tidy. Easy as that. This cleaning festival should start at nine; so we had to be out of the Gambia before. The biggest obstacle between my house and the border is the Gambian river. The river is too wide for a bridge as it takes an hour by ferry. The service starts running as soon as there is light; this is at seven in the morning.

Anna had decided to leave in style, and what is a better style as by an original Indian tuc-tuc? So there we went, suitcase in the back, suitcase on top, sleep in our eyes.

The ferry was in demand that morning; a serious crowed was stacked on the boat. The crossing took an hour and ten minutes. For an hour and ten minutes it was dead quite on the boat, for one hour and ten minutes we all glared to the rising sun. For an hour and ten minutes the time stood still and our faces glow gold.

Once on the other side we catched up with time by rushing into a taxi, and thanks to serious speeding we arrived ahead of time at the border. The border was easy-piecy. Stamp at the Gambian side, stamp on the Senegalese side, donkey cart to the taxi-stand, five minutes shouting in French, claiming seats in the taxi, telling numerous kids you do not want their cookies, load more boxes on the taxi, and of you go. Twenty to ten, Dakar here we come.

The first miles were on proper tarmac, stopping every once and a while for road blocks. As in the Gambia there seems a huge police force in Senegal involved in checking cars ever odd mile. Very annoying since the police is unpredictable and unreliable, sometimes it takes a few seconds, sometimes ten minutes.

Tarmac became stones and stones became sand. Although still heading along the thick red line as printed on the map of Senegal, this road was more about corn fields than anything else. In a state of half-sleep, with Amadou and Mariam singing on the background (Amadou and Mariam sound like this), chasing the taxi in front of us, passing him on the left, he passing us on the right, tree, road, taxi again, market, donkey carts, it all came together. For an hour we were clutched on the back seat. Back on proper tarmac again we felt like sea-sick people returning to the harbour, delightful.

The rest of the trip was as any road trip. The landscape in Senegal hardly changed. It consisted mainly out long grass, low bushes and scattered trees, almost none of the land is obviously cultivated. Every couple of minutes you see little clusters of small huts with palm leave roof tops. The scenery is almost stereotypical Africa. We only experienced some heavy traffic just before Dakar so we arrived at 4 at the central taxi stand. Six hours, not bad, but my arse was numb for last hour. From the taxi stand it was a short taxi ride to the hotel. Swim, sleep, Senegal fast food, taxi again.

“Oui, bonjour, ca va? Et tu, to Just4U? Oui, Just4you. How much? Wha? How much! What! Non! Ok! Me and my French skills. For the price of 2000 CFA (pronounced as Sifa = 2.6 Pounds) we were on our way to the music temple of Dakar. Arrived at the club I gave the driver 5000 CFA and claimed my change. But what does this smart arse do? He says straight in my face that I gave him only 2000 and he does not want to give me my change. I make a fuzz, he leaves the car, other people get involved, we shout, 3000 CFA it is not worth a fight, and he knows. We go inside and decide; getting mugged in Dakar - TICK!

The next morning is very slow. Since we are in Senegal we might as well enjoy the French culture. We go for a coffee and croissant. Yummy. Before we have the bill it is afternoon, the croissant was French, the service African. Downtown Dakar is fairly organized but not special in anyway. The only gem we discover is a very modern cathedral, guarded by African angels. The service had just finished so the choir was still singing some French hymns, they sounded familiar but I did not recognize them.
Dakar is situated on the end of a peninsula and is slightly curved, due to this there is a lagoon kind of feeling, this combined with the azure blue sea and the yachts anchored just of the coast we imagine ourselves in the Mediterranean. Therefore we decide to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.

Fortunately I am not the first Dutchman in Dakar, well travelled as we are. In 1588 we were already in Senegal and even conquered a small island from the Portuguese. Homesick as they must have been they named the island after another island in the Netherlands: Goeree after Goeree-Overflakkee. Or “le Goree” for French, or “Gore Island” for the English. The island is 20 minutes of the coast and a visit looked the perfect thing to do at the end of a warm sunny Sunday afternoon. We arrived at the island around 17:30, still an hour and a half to wonder around, which is more than enough for the tiny island. The island is populated by happy people who life literally everywhere, in houses, holes, huts and bunkers. The inhabitants make a living by producing art, or however you call the handmade mass produced African gimmicks. Given the colourful houses, the smiling people, the diverse art work and the beautiful sea Goeree is a very pleasant place to hang out. This was strengthened by the African music festival which was still going on when we enjoyed our meal. The night had fully arrived when we were on the boat back; Dakar had been a very relaxed and pleasant experience.

Back on the shore I packed my bag and made my way to the airport. Two minutes before boarding it turns out we will have a two hour delay. Yeah, in the end we fly at twenty to four. Due to the small distance I am in my bed by five. A long, long working day will follow.

Cheers

Albert Jan

Fishing score: two small stingrays and a brownish fish with a lot of teeth.