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.
That's the overview of travel here.
It's the luck of the draw and always an adventure! And sometimes, you
just have to ride a camel!
Peace
