Tout à Vous: On y Go!

Where do I begin with transportation.... Transportation is my arch nemesis in Senegal. I love to travel, but just thinking about traveling in Senegal makes me want to retreat to my apartment and never leave. Why you may ask? There are a variety of reasons, including, but not limited to: conditions of transport, poor roads, frustrating people who work in transport, distance and time. Every time I travel when it's not in a World Vision or Peace Corps car, I have to resign myself to the experience and prepare myself mentally for what's to come. Don't get me wrong, I have some spectacular travel experiences, but there are times where I really wish I could apparate.

Lets talk about the different forms of transportation available...

My legs: Walking is great, but it's not a practical means of transportation. There was a period where I didn't have my bike in Velingara and I had to walk everywhere. It was a great way to see the town, but walking around in the heat is not an enjoyable pass time.

My bike: My bike= my life. I would be lost without my bike and it would've been a long two years if I didn't have it. As a friend once described it, a bike is to a Peace Corps Volunteer as Samson's hair was to Samson. When I went home to America last year, I went through bike withdrawals and couldn't wait to be reunited with this amazing piece of machinery. It's great to have a bike here in Velingara, but I miss my bike rides in the bush. A bike ride to a neighboring village is the perfect cure for village restlessness. I can't count the number of times I put on a podcast, jumped on my bike, and went.

In my opinion, biking is one of the more reliable forms of transportation and safer. There were numerous times where I would arrive at my destination before any other form of transportation passed me on the road. It's a relaxing way to travel in the sense that you don't have to deal with annoying transport people. In addition, some of my favorite in country memories are associated with bike trips (including the time I was attacked by bamboo).

Charette: A charette is a cart drawn by a donkey or by a horse. I have never taken a donkey charette and I hope I never will. Here in Velingara, there are no conventional taxis, so I've taken a horse drawn cart. Imagine the horse drawn buggies in New York City and scale the fance level down...a lot. It's a slightly rocky form of transportation, but it gets you from point A to point B.

Moto: Riding on motorcycles is against Peace Corps Senegal policy. So why am I bothering to include it in this post?? I'm the one volunteer authorized to ride on motos! Why? I work with an NGO that works in villages throughout the region. The majority of site visits are on motorcycles, so I petitioned Peace Corps to allow me to ride on motos as a part of my job. I prefer the air conditioned cars and motos scare me (especially on bad roads), but it's all part of the job. I wouldn't be happy stuck in an office all the time, so I don my sweet motorcycle helmet, cross my fingers, and off we go.

Alham: This is what PCVs dub the mini buses due to ever present “Alhamdoulilah” painted on the vehicle. There is another name for it, but I have no idea how to spell it (that's why I'm omitting it). These are the vehicles who's routes are along highly trafficked roads and are one of the most terrifying forms of transportation. Packed to the brim and loaded with bikes, goats, sacks of rice, and even a monkey or two, these cars lean precariously to one side as they barrel through pot hole ridden roads. In addition to these conditions, there are the apprenti, young men who signal stops to the driver and who collect money. The apprenti are the most frustrating people I have to deal with. They always try to rip you off and often give us the “white person price”. I argue with them relentlessly in order to get the fair price and usually they give in. However, there was this one time my friend and I were kidnapped by an alham...

It was a beautiful day in Kolda, days after Christmas and my friend and I had just spent a relaxing day in my village. We were returning to Kolda and were waiting patiently on the side of the road at my father's boutique. In the distance, we see an Alham approach and we flag it down, only to argue with the apprenti. A NGO car comes up behind and we flag them down, hoping to avoid further arguments with the stubborn apprentis. The NGO car is friendly and as we are talking to them, the apprenti interferes and starts to berate the driver, saying that we are his clients and they can't drive us. Understandably, the NGO car sends us an apologetic look and drives off (they had more important things to do than argue with people). My friend and I look on as our comfortable potential ride drives off and turn our attention back to the car idling on the side of the road. While all of this was happening, they had placed my bike on top of the alham. As PCVs who sometimes do things for the principle of the matter, we refused to pay the increased price and asked them to remove my bike. They refused and the car started to move. What were we to do? They had my bike... Fueled by adrenaline, anger, and righteousness, we jump on the car. The apprenti think they've won, but the smug smiles on their faces makes us livid and we start yelling at them in a myriad of languages: Wolof, Pulaar, French, and some English thrown in for ourselves. At this point, we have the attention of the entire car: eyes trained toward us, gazes unwavering, the anticipation of what will happen next tangible (ok... I may be exaggerating this part, but it sounds cool, doesn't it?). We demand that they let us off the car and that they kidnapped us (actually, we said that they stole us because we didn't know the word for kidnap in our local language). They ignore us, but we keep trying; we say things like, “we forgot something, we need to go back!” or “we're going to this village, this is our stop.” It doesn't work. Finally, 5 kilometers down the road, another passagener, with a bike disembarks. We snag this chance. “Take my bike off too. This is my stop.” Nope. It doesn't work. We go and appeal to the driver, maybe he's more reasonable than his apprenti and will take our side. Unfortunately, this isn't the case.

At the time, we thought the smartest way to get what we wanted was to stand in front of the alham. They wouldn't run us over, would they? And if we disrupt them enough, they'll give in to our wishes. Wrong again. The driver tries to physically remove us from in front of the car and we scream. The passengers look horrified. Then, he gets back into his seat and goes forward, just a bit, hoping to scare us. We were determined and not to be deterred. At this point, the passengers are outraged. “You can't do that!” “Just give them their bike and let's go!” “Are you crazy!?” In addition to the passengers, half the village next to the road has shown up. A kind passenger offers to pay for our ticket, but it's not about the money. It's the principle of the matter. After a few more minutes of arguing, the driver tells his guys to take my bike down. We won! The villagers (who knew me) sympathized with us and when they heard the entire story couldn't believe that the apprenti and driver sank to such lows.

In retrospect, this was dumb and it could have gone a lot differently. But, when you get PCVs and transportation issues together, we often do things for the principle of the matter.

Oh alhams. If I never have to take one again, I'll be a very happy girl.

Sept place: 7 places, in french, these cars are old station wagons modified to seat seven people in addition to the driver. Usually highly uncomfortable, this is the primary form of transportation when going further than 100 kilometers. The front seat is the most spacious and the most comfortable. The middle seats aren't bad, but there isn't a lot of leg room. The back, however, is cramped and is torture if you have to travel for more than three hours. But as with most travel vehicles, the quality of sept places vary. I've been in sept places where the back row is roomy and comfortable, and I've been in sept places where metal poles prevent you from getting into a comfortable position. It's luck of the draw and you never know what you'll get.

Bus: There are buses that travel between Kolda and Dakar. It is a slow form of transportation, but it's cheap. These buses range from run down buses from the 80's, where they've installed additional seats in the aisle (definitely not a fire hazard...) to last generation greyhound quality buses. There are buses that travel overnight and arrive in Dakar around 6am, but Peace Corps highly discourages us from taking it. It is dangerous to travel at night due to the poor quality of the roads and the potential for a driver to fall asleep. However, it's nice not having to waste an additional day on travel.

NGO car: The crème de la crème. These nice quality, often air conditioned vehicles make travel almost enjoyable. There are still horrible roads to contend with, but it's a lot easier when you aren't overloaded with baggage and tilting to one side. There are CD players and MP3 attachments, where we can play fun music and just go. This is definitely my preferred way of travel, but it's rare and needs to be appreciated. I always feel like I win the lottery every time I get an NGO ride.