Factfile:
mosquito bites: 3762
love letters from doting old men: 2 (one each)
poetic responses to said letter: 1
unwanted and overzealous kisses as a result of said response: 4 (2 each)
number of times I have nearly told irritating fake Rastas to 'fuck back off to Zion': 25
Number of fabricated husbands, fiancees, children: 54, 28, 72
off season, Senegal is no backpackers' dream. We arrived at one hotel reccomended by the Lonely Planet having stubbornly walked 6km from the bus station (no, the taxi driver wasn't lying about how far it was to lure us into his clutches). When we got there, the receptionist was so confused that her job consisted of more watching french soap operas that the Wolof phone conversation to her boss seemed to go:
-Guests!
-Yes they actually want to stay here!
Having negotiated to half her ridiculous asking price, we then returned in the evening to find the place deserted and the water switched off. In desperation for a shower, we climbed over a wall and switched the water pump on ourselves.
Our days have alternated between experiences like that which make us wonder what everyone is going on about when the sing the praises off 'Teranga', Senegalese hospitality. Then there are the other surprising moments when we feel like we have stepped out of the tourist trap and into people's lives. When we arrived in Podor, a sleepy fortress town on Senegal river, our welcome consisted of a plate of egg and chips that made the greasy spoon in Withnail and I look like the Ritz. This eggy delight (I HATE EGGS) was accompanied by the sounds of an empty all night disco on our doorstep.
The following day though, we stumbled upon the studio of Omar Ly, a famous Senegalese photographer who has made it big in Paris. He gave us a tour around his studio and showed us his amazing black and white photos of 1970's disco chic Senegal. That evening we ordered a meal in a restaurant, and wound up at a party full of people dancing Mbalax (a bit like the funky chicken dance but much cooler and sexier), and eating off huge plates of food. I truly lost my vegetarian virginity, but Senegalese intestines didn't go down much better than Salonian deep fried sausages...
We are spending our last few days in Ile de Gorée, 20 minutes by ferry from Dakar. Once a slaving outpost, it is now a weekend getaway for rich Dakaris: winding cobbled streets, no cars and lots of beautiful beautiful people. We are going home tomorrow. Shame really as we got invited to go clubbing with two guys who introduced themselves as 'gymnasts and models'. Still, they didn't have much chat, our bank balances are way below freezing point and we miss being able to express ourselves in more detail than talking about which football team we support. Definitely time to come home.
lots of love, can't wait to see you all xxxxxxxxxxx
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Tu comprends? Tu comprends?? No. I can't speak French.
Sarah
Having been out of internet range for a while, we're now in Dakar, the capital of Senegal. Like everyone else here the keyboard is french-speaking so expect some unexpected spellings...
We flew into Dakar a week ago, after saying an almost-teary goodbye to Sweet Salone (Jessie's not really the weeping type and I'd already used my quota of tears the week before after an arguement over a pair of paper glasses zwith the 5yr old boy who lived witht he family we were staying with...). We immediately noticed the difference in everything that changes when a country has its own (relatively) thriving economy, like Senegal, in comparison to receiving one third of its GDP as aid. Street lamps, motorways, running water and electricity as standard, real buildings not corrugated iron huts.. Dakar feels like a 21st century city where Freetown feels a little like an 18th century trading post.
Having said that, Senegal still has its fair share of problems and although the kids don,t look so obviously ,alnourished, there are still plenty of young boys begging on the streets and the attitude towards waste collection is very third world.. (Beach, street and and open ground all serve as open dustbins. We're not just talking chewinggum wrappers here. The other day I saw a cow's head, minus skin, lying in the gutter of a busy street. A COW'S HEAD. ON BUSY STREET. WITH NO SKIN. minging.)
The French did many great things (minus the slave trade and other horrors of colonialisation) for West Africa, one of which is coffee, pastries and baguettes. However, I was starting to feel less enamoured with all things francais after eating plain baguette for the 4th meal in a row during Ramadan. The indignant response i get to 'je ne parle pas bien francais' which is along the lines of 'how rude of you come to visit our country when you can't speak french, what on earth did you learn in school?' makes me feel about 2 inches tall... even smaller than I feel anyway considering all Senegalese women are gorgeous, about 6ft tall and always immaculately dressed, be it in western clothes or colourful flowing boubous (tunics and skirt or trousers) and headscarf.
Anyway, one week left now and we're heading to some beaches south of dakar, and praying fopr a little more sun than sierra leone! xxx
Having been out of internet range for a while, we're now in Dakar, the capital of Senegal. Like everyone else here the keyboard is french-speaking so expect some unexpected spellings...
We flew into Dakar a week ago, after saying an almost-teary goodbye to Sweet Salone (Jessie's not really the weeping type and I'd already used my quota of tears the week before after an arguement over a pair of paper glasses zwith the 5yr old boy who lived witht he family we were staying with...). We immediately noticed the difference in everything that changes when a country has its own (relatively) thriving economy, like Senegal, in comparison to receiving one third of its GDP as aid. Street lamps, motorways, running water and electricity as standard, real buildings not corrugated iron huts.. Dakar feels like a 21st century city where Freetown feels a little like an 18th century trading post.
Having said that, Senegal still has its fair share of problems and although the kids don,t look so obviously ,alnourished, there are still plenty of young boys begging on the streets and the attitude towards waste collection is very third world.. (Beach, street and and open ground all serve as open dustbins. We're not just talking chewinggum wrappers here. The other day I saw a cow's head, minus skin, lying in the gutter of a busy street. A COW'S HEAD. ON BUSY STREET. WITH NO SKIN. minging.)
The French did many great things (minus the slave trade and other horrors of colonialisation) for West Africa, one of which is coffee, pastries and baguettes. However, I was starting to feel less enamoured with all things francais after eating plain baguette for the 4th meal in a row during Ramadan. The indignant response i get to 'je ne parle pas bien francais' which is along the lines of 'how rude of you come to visit our country when you can't speak french, what on earth did you learn in school?' makes me feel about 2 inches tall... even smaller than I feel anyway considering all Senegalese women are gorgeous, about 6ft tall and always immaculately dressed, be it in western clothes or colourful flowing boubous (tunics and skirt or trousers) and headscarf.
Anyway, one week left now and we're heading to some beaches south of dakar, and praying fopr a little more sun than sierra leone! xxx
Friday, September 3, 2010
A Very British Summer Holiday (sea, sand, rain and fish & chips)
Sarah:
Having said goodbye to Planting Promise School, we set off on the 'holiday' part of our trip. (Yeah, ok, so it's all a holiday really...but this bit is more holiday than the other). We headed down the Peninsula to check out the beaches that run all the way along the coast south of Freetown, which are some of the most beautiful and deserted in the world. Turns out that having mountains so close to the coast also means that the Peninsula is the rainiest part of the country, and Sierra Leone is one rainy country. Childhood summer holidays in Cornwall (2 weeks of drizzle) have nothing on this baby...
The factfile continues:
Number of days- 5
Number of beaches- 4
Average hours of rain per day- 20
Other white people- 3
Least rainproof accommodation- raffia and palm-tree-leaf hut at Tokeh beach. We paid 20 quid a night to get dripped on when the torrential downpour finally made it through the tarpaulin lining on the roof. Still, we had it better than the German boys next door, whose bed got so wet on one side they ended up in each other's arms on the other side. Attempts by the caretaker to improve it the next day involved some complex fluid dynamics and one plastic bag, rearranging the drip next to, rather than on to, the bed.
Cups of sugary tea/ coffee/ cocoa drunk in someone's front room in a tiny fishing village whilst sheltering from the rain- 4. Jessie's long-time admiration for thermos flasks, our acclimatisation to powdered milk and the endless enthusiasm of local children for 'snappa' (photographs) made this a foolproof morning's entertainment.
xxx
Having said goodbye to Planting Promise School, we set off on the 'holiday' part of our trip. (Yeah, ok, so it's all a holiday really...but this bit is more holiday than the other). We headed down the Peninsula to check out the beaches that run all the way along the coast south of Freetown, which are some of the most beautiful and deserted in the world. Turns out that having mountains so close to the coast also means that the Peninsula is the rainiest part of the country, and Sierra Leone is one rainy country. Childhood summer holidays in Cornwall (2 weeks of drizzle) have nothing on this baby...
The factfile continues:
Number of days- 5
Number of beaches- 4
Average hours of rain per day- 20
Other white people- 3
Least rainproof accommodation- raffia and palm-tree-leaf hut at Tokeh beach. We paid 20 quid a night to get dripped on when the torrential downpour finally made it through the tarpaulin lining on the roof. Still, we had it better than the German boys next door, whose bed got so wet on one side they ended up in each other's arms on the other side. Attempts by the caretaker to improve it the next day involved some complex fluid dynamics and one plastic bag, rearranging the drip next to, rather than on to, the bed.
Cups of sugary tea/ coffee/ cocoa drunk in someone's front room in a tiny fishing village whilst sheltering from the rain- 4. Jessie's long-time admiration for thermos flasks, our acclimatisation to powdered milk and the endless enthusiasm of local children for 'snappa' (photographs) made this a foolproof morning's entertainment.
xxx
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