Book 2: Simplicity and Sweat...

The wayward backpackers getting ready for a hike to a waterfall

Book 2: Simplicity and Sweat...
Second Installment in the Chronicles of Legal and Semi-Legal Activities

The second part of the Chronicles of Legal and Semi-Legal Activities picks up right where Book 1: A Theory of Relativity leaves off in Tamba. Katie and I eventually made our way back to the small cross-road town after several 7-place, alxum, and bed-of-pick-up truck changes. We met with the rest of the group at the Peace Corps Regional House (PCH) and compared adventures. Listening to the wide array of experiences was fascinating, though somewhat embittering for Katie and I. We got a hard reality-check throughout our week. Some others had similar shocks, but we definitely felt like we got the hardest hit. Domestic violence, a failing school system, a similarly failing health system... none were easy pills to swallow.

Our first hotel in Kedougou-with the hobbit door for Peter

The following section briefly (always, despite what reader think, these blog posts are always too brief for my taste) outlines our 4(ish) days we spent packing around the Bassari region in Southeast Senegal. This beautiful region is the home of the only mountains in Senegal, a good-sized chimpanzee population, and very popular backpacking trips. This is also the region where my parents and I stayed, which is detailed in the post Bush Adventures and Bucket Lists.

First river sightings

Guinea fowl-and international road block

After spending the night on the PCH roof, the coolest place to sleep at night, we were up and at the Tamba garage by 7 AM. We wanted plenty of time before we arrived in Kedougou. We acquired a car with no trouble. Feeling slightly smug with our smooth traveling arrangements, we settled down to bear the jolting, crunching ride to Kedougou. However, in keeping with the trip's theme of technical difficulties, the car began to smoke right at the 30 km mark outside Tamba. So we turned around and headed back to the garage for a new car. Then, once again, we re-settled for the 7 hour trip to Kedougou.

I'm going to let the images speak for themselves on this post with the exception of the final portion. We hiked to wonderful waterfalls, climbed to the top of cliffs to overlook the entire region. We heard chimps in trees and relished the feel of being in the shade. It was a wonderful break after being in Dakar for so long, and even better to spend that time with good friends.

Cash payment for guides-aka, crime lord status

Marble quarry, exported to Europe and around West Africa

Fighting our way to the view... with the customary amount of children

Village well next to the community garden

Our transport across the region with Doba

At the words, "lets take a picture," the children flood the car

Map of the region in Campement le Bedik 

Perfectly good huts... and we sleep outside

Common area for meals, games, journaling, deep thinking

Gorgeous, simply gorgeous 

Village on the mountaintop above Campement le Bedik. Inaccessible to cars/bikes. Foot access only. 

Peter's Pride Rock

Resting before the rest of the climb

Down below: Campement le Bedik 

That smile is false. I was terrified and wanted down. Immediately. 

Rest stop: we are winded, children are bored.

Our trip began in Kedougou, where we set out to explore the greater area. Following our hiking and adventuring, we traveled back to Tambacounda and hired a car to take us to the eastern Gambian border. We would then follow the northern part of the Gambian River, spend a few days in Georgetown, then proceed back to Dakar though Farafenni.

This is how the Chronicles got weird: we seemed to have bad luck with transportation. On the drive to the Gambian border we rented an upstanding looking vehicle with an upstanding looking driver who presented his papers and strapped our bags on board. We set off out of town, on a paved highway.. which was great. Five miles in, we took an abrupt right turn onto a skinny dirt road leading off into the tall grass. After several minutes of strained silence, we inquired of our driver where the hell we were going and got a vague "border" response. Excellent. Having previously traveled in the Casamance, and thus versed in potential banditry situations, I advised the others in hiding their money, memory chips, etc on their person. After a couple miles, we took a sharp left turn on a slightly larger dirt road, and saw the border fence in the distance.

At the gate, the guard and our driver entered into a discussion. Apparently, his papers were invalid. As was his vehicle. And his drivers license. As we had payed him to take us to the first town in Gambia, we were temporarily stranded at a seldom crossed border station. Nothing a little small talk with the guards couldn't fix. We convinced them to let the driver take us to the Gambia, where we would drop him like an invalid license in favor of a Gambian ride.

So, we did just that and proceeded to spend a relaxing few days in Georgetown. We fought off monkeys at breakfast and set out on a 7 hour river cruise where we saw numerous hippos, monitor lizards, baboons, and other wildlife. There was an incident of mistaken identity between a water bottle and our disguised vodka stash and I'm pretty sure I got some kind of stomach flu from a monkey whose hands was in our sugar bowl. Other than those brief moments, the few days we spent in Georgetown were relaxing after our backpacking/hiking adventures. A couple days before we left, our kind hotel manager told us he had called a driver with a van to take us all the way back to Dakar. Better, we were promised that the driver would speak English (administrative language of the Gambia) or French (the administrative language of Senegal) or Wolof (the lingua franca no matter what country you're in). We weren't picky. Any of the three languages would do, and the idea of a driver who we couldn't fluently communicate with sounded lovely. We accepted the manager's generous option, hoping for a seamless transition back to Dakar.

The van was everything we wanted...leg room, air conditioning, a spare tire in the trunk. Luxury. It was wonderful. The dream lasted until the border. Our driver didn't speak any of the three languages described above and we got by with advanced and theatrical version of charades. Once again we were forced to bail out an illegal car/driver, bribe some border guards and sweet talk some others. The problem was, we were stopped at each subsequent check-point on the highway and questioned. I had been living in Senegal longer than anyone else, and was apparently the most adept at getting us out of trouble so I was pushed out of the car in these instances to negotiate our driver's release. 

However, the real skills weren't tested until 5 hours into our drive, when the signature bumping of a flat tire interrupted my nap. The tire was flat, our spare was flat, and the jack snapped on the first attempt to raise the car. Well, seeing a van of people in distress demands a certain kind of response from a passing bus of Senegalese. In case you're wondering, the number of kind people it takes to rock a van hard enough to wedge several large rocks under it... is 8. And from that point we could remove the tire. Since our spare was useless, I was again volunteered to hitch-hike to the next town, buy a tire, hitch hike back. Which I did, with our not-so-helpful driver in tow.

Though we originally planned on arriving back in Dakar before dinner, we ended up rolling up at about 9 PM... easily 12 hours after we started. The feeling of peace that had radiated from our bodies while floating on the Gambia River was gone. Some of us still had tire grease smeared on our faces, and the driver's language barrier was getting particularly wearing. We grabbed out things and bid adieu to each other and our cursed vacation.

I dropped my bags in the foyer and submitted to consolation from my grandmother. One thing I miss about Senegal is their brutal honest. No one placates you when you look terrible, they just say it. My grandmother asked if I had walked across Senegal, told me I smelled terrible, and sent me off to get cleaned up before telling her about my trip. Some vacations are merely more difficult than others. I didn't know I had a hidden skill to talk us out of bribes, but hey, we saved lots of money.

In retrospect, though were were miserable, it was one of my favorite vacations. Sometimes they were just ridiculous. Sometimes they were lessons learned. We walked away with unquestionably thicker skins and a delight in all things Dakarquoise. But now that I've moved on from Senegal, this trip is recounted the most.