May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind be ever at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face
and the rain fall softly on your fields.
And until we meet again
You can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella-ay-ay-ay…
It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, and I Spy what is probably the only Irish flag flying in Nouakchott. Either this is the best decoy for an Irish pub, or…..yeah, I think it’s just a paint store.
We pile back into the car, and are headed back to Dakar. Although I may not have found the country’s only Irish pub (like I did at this time last year in Cape Verde), but we are definitely dressed appropriately.
The map to get us out of Nouakchott and on the road south towards the town of Rosso seems fairly straightforward….
…alas nowhere on our trusty map does it say, “Turn right at the guy deconstructing wood pallets to create furniture.” I really can’t make fun of this industrious carpentry- my Dad has been doing this for years. Still, we are not getting out of town as directly as we would have imagined, and as such I once invoke my favorite French phrase and life motto, “C’est pas évident.”
The fringes of Nouakchott look like this. Plastic bags all scattered about that kind of resemble seaglass. Yes, I’m still finding beauty in trash. Or perhaps it’s just that I’m always looking for how things might bear some resemblance of home.
So we’re on the road, and it is incredibly snowy sandy outside. I’m no desert dweller, and the last time I’ve seen streams of particulate scurrying across streets like this was during a quality winter nor’easter. We’re not in Kansas anymore, but this still looks really cool.
As the sand moves, I enlist my iTunes to provide a soundtrack for our trip. Since it is March 17th, Saint Patrick’s Day (a date that for me marks 12 years of commissioned naval service), I aim for a ten hour music mix of U2, The Pogues, The Divine Comedy, The Chieftains, and maybe some Rhianna.
Our return journey will have us arriving at the border in a more western location than our northerly climb. We find this route much more comfortable since the entire road is paved. Here we are at the border facility- which is light years ahead of what we experienced three days ago in Diama.
In order to clear immigration, we are motioned over to the “VIP” section of the service windows. We doubt the VIP-ness of this area since it’s just a long skinny side alley with a window that has had its paint worn down by the fingers of a million dingy desert travelers. We find it highly comical as we stand here for a very long time and wait for our travel documents to be stamped. It’s all about having a sense of humor when you travel.
I should pause here and say that the only reason I am on this trip is because I was invited along by a really fantastic family (the dad wearing his hilarious ball cap is pictured above). I love it when I encounter fellow travelers who are not reactive or afraid of dynamic situations that don’t play by ridiculous rules of Western convention. This family was definitely all about adventure, and I’m truly thankful that they allowed me to share in this experience.
Since we have no Conestoga wagon that can be used to ford the river à la Oregon Trail, we pay to drive aboard a ferry that gets us across the Senegal river.
The river crossing takes only a couple of minutes, so we sit in the (air conditioned) car. At the end of this video you can hear a knocking sound, and if you look in the passenger side mirror you’ll the reflection of the hand rapping my window glass. This is a common site in Senegal; here we are, a group of privileged toubabs in a fancy 4X4- and the reality is that there is a lot of need in this country.
The kid in yellow is wearing a t-shirt that says “Abdoulaye Wade Le Bon Choix 2012”. Is Wade the right choice? I don’t know- but this kid was the one who wheeled the boy in the wheelchair- who was clearly afflicted by polio- onto the ferry. Did you think that polio has been completely eradicated? Not yet over here- but they’re working at it and succeeding.
Once over the border, we are stamped back into Senegal. I hate to be biased towards a country that has so graciously hosted me, but we could quickly feel the color draining back into our lives once we emerged from the desert. I think a part of this dramatic shift comes from the colorful boubous that clothe the Senegalese people, but I also feel like the Senegalese are a bit more animé in their language and general demeanor. Throw in this most beautifully-paved road, and I was very happy to be back in the land of teranga.
Ahh the familiar bustle of downtown traffic jams. One more quick stop in Saint Louis and we are stabbing towards the peninsula we call home.
The ecological zones here are of course quite different than what we saw up in Mauritania, and I do love land travel because you get to watch the landscape change right before your eyes. I smiled as we soon returned to a sea of majestic baobabs that stretch their short arms and twisting fingers into the sky.
And speaking of skylines- we’ve got Mamelles in view as the sun starts to call an end to our day. It’s good to be back in Dakar, and we’ve got quite an interesting week ahead of us.
Don’t forget this Sunday- the final round of elections are coming up- and this time its for all the marbles.
On to the next adventure!
