Put the clutch in neutral. It’s gonna be awhile.
“I think you should move.”
That was the advice given to me by the gracious soul who gave me a lift home yesterday. Doubtlessly reminded of the “no good deed goes unpunished” maxim, that was probably also the last time he offers to drop me off “on the way” home.
The worst that I have ever seen it, traffic was and continues to be at a standstill in most of the high traffic zones for motorists and foot traffic. I am fairly certain that all of Dakar is under construction, and it makes venturing outside a real treat.
While sitting in that air conditioned 4X4 bubble of serenity, I had a maturing talibé less than five inches from my face looking straight at me- separated only by the pane glass on the passenger side door. There is no sense of personal space, or comprehension of “No, non, or deedeet (Wolof for “no”).
Even the taximen are finding new reasons to complain as fuel shortages persist, traffic flow is redirected without warning, and I get stuck in a cab that breaks down on the corniche two days ago. I don’t get annoyed, but kind of play the “what’s gonna happen next?” game as he continually tries to turn over the engine. I’m actually surprised that this hasn’t happen to me sooner- the law of averages says that a 30 month tour in this country is bound to put me in at least a couple of auto-related incidents. That’s just reality.
I know that I have written about this before, but it’s on the forefront of my mind so we are going to revisit how much of a pain in the ass it is to traverse this city.
And how do you know when you are in for a long wait? All of the phone card sellers, the talibés and “traffic cops” are out in full force. Throw in a student strike here and there, and you’ve got the perfect storm of interfering factors that just makes for a lot of chaos.
My friend’s front yard. Literally. She lives under the constant drone of the life size Tonka trucks all day, and has learned that Portuguese fado music drowns out the sounds quite nicely.
“This morning…it was one huge dust cloud…then they sprayed water and it was a muddy mess…they just can’t win!” (Eye-witness reporting that makes me wonder how much actual progress is being made as they dig up, fill in, then redig up the same spots.)
Cars are by now used to the construction, and have grown impatient when they must venture down these roads. They go whizzing by with little regard for the hundreds of modern-era Frogger contestants (students) and the vendors who still manage to line the streets. It’s madness.
I live across the street from the main door of the university (shown here behind this smiling student). For the past week or so the entryway has been shut tight and the ground all around has been laced with trenches.
I really can’t forget my flashlight now; walking home from class with no (working) streetlights is getting more and more perilous.
Good thing I played a lot of Pitfall on Atari as a kid.
So because I am sans voiture, I have extreme Catholic guilt for subjecting all the naïve toubabs with wheels to my neck of the Dakar cityscape. This construction isn’t going to go away anytime soon, so I am now promising payments of fine Scotch whisky as a reward for their many mitvahs. I know that I live in a largely non-drinking country, but sometimes I really wonder how one gets through living here without a little means for détente. Maybe the key is to remember that none of us are in a rush, and maybe you do, after all, need that Orange phone card that is currently being smashed against your car window.