I visited the island-city of Saint Louis over the weekend.
The ride up was a great adventure (more eventful than
actually visiting the city would prove to be), as it turned into a series of windows into Senegalese life.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get there, since the taxi ride to
the bus station included some of the most insane driving I’ve ever experienced.
Even by Senegalese standards this was insane: between the cataracts that
prevented the driver from seeing out of one eye, his disregard for what few red
lights there are in the city, his penchant for driving all over the road
including into incoming traffic, and a tendency to wave wildly at people around
him, leading him to forget to break unless I hit him on the shoulder (yelling
didn’t do anything), I considered getting out, but since he never stopped the
vehicle once during the 30-minute drive I could not.
I finally arrived at the bus station, and made my way to the
area where buses are for Saint Louis, after taking a minute to appreciate the
firm ground beneath my feet, and letting my legs stabilize. A station official
helped me find the right bus in the middle of the sprawling station, and I was
again thankful for the people wearing a small plastic badge around their neck
in Senegal, who will go out of their way to ensure you arrive where you’re
trying to go without soliciting bribes.
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| Above the man in the baseball cap, hangs the portrait of a man: the bus is under the protection of a cheikh |
I found a seat in the middle of the aisle – a fold-out seat
with very little back support and, in the case of my particular seat, a broken
spring that stuck into my back like a needle. During the ride, I grew to hate
that spring intensely, more so with each passing bump and lurch. As I settled into
my seat as best I could, I asked what time the bus was leaving and told “there
are four seats left.” I realized that in Senegal, the bus leaves when it is
full. It turns out this can be a subjective notion: after I had been sitting in
the bus for about 50 minutes, an animated argument broke out between some
passengers at the front of the bus and the driver. Since it was taking place in
Wolof, I had no clue what the fuss was about, until I asked another passenger
who said the passengers wanted to go since the seats were filled while the
driver wanted to wait for people willing to pay to stand in the absence of
seats.
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| In such a crowded bus, getting off can be a struggle |
Their frustration was all the more understandable since some
of the people had been waiting in the bus for 5 hours at that point. I was
again amazed by the patience the Senegalese exhibit, a resignation to forces deemed
outside their control. While we waited, vendors kept jumping on the bus to sell
us their goods, each one carrying one type of item: water, cookies, phones, dried
fruit, books, perfume, t-shirts, toothpaste...
I waited for about an hour and 15 minutes before the driver
finally agreed to depart. That’s when mechanical issues intervened: the motor
refused to start. A crew of 8 men standing around the bus, quite possibly for
just this purpose, began to push the bus, its 42 passengers, and the luggage we
had brought on board, outside the station, as the driver tried to start the
engine. He finally succeeded after the guys had been pushing us for nearly 10
minutes, out of the station and onto the street.
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| At the outskirts of Dakar, we encountered bustling markets, which differed greatly from the fruit stands we'd drive past in the countryside |
Once we finally got going, we suddenly stopped after 2
minutes of actual driving, for reasons unclear, in the middle of the road. Vendors
hanging around immediately jumped on board to try once again to induce us to
purchase something. At this point, I’d been on the bus for about 90 minutes, on
my broken, uneven seat, in the midday heat that the open doors only alleviate slightly,
barely at all when the bus isn’t moving, especially as temperatures continue to
rise to their midday peak.
Finally, we began to move again, lurching forward, and
shaking as the driver shifts gears. When the bus went over a speed bump, and
despite slowing down to about 5 miles per hour, the whole bus creaked and trembles
as we laboriously climb over the speed bump. As I felt the spring jab me in the
back, I thought, this 4-hour, 160-mile journey should be interesting. It’s
12:04pm. What follows is my attempt to chronicle “in real time” the events and
adventures I witnessed during the drive, which ended up lasting almost 9 hours.
At 12:08pm, we pull into a gas station, to fill the empty
gas tank. They fill it up with exactly the amount of gas needed to complete the
trip. Vendors immediately jump on the bus again, offering apples to general
indifference. I should add that vendors can hop on so easily because the front
and back doors remain open at all times, including while moving, to provide much-needed
ventilation.
At 12:20pm, we pass a bus that’s broken down, its passengers
mulling around on the sidewalk to escape the heat of the bus. I estimate our
odds of arriving without further mechanical issues at 50-50.
12:39pm -- At a busy intersection, where the bus slows down but doesn’t
stop as it charges through the traffic, a vendor makes a well-timed jump, and
proceeds to try to sell cookies for about a mile and a half, before getting off
just as he got on, when the bus slows down to struggle over a speed bump.
Suddenly, an athletic Senegalese runs alongside the moving bus
and hops on board. He isn’t selling anything, and looks very comfortable
sitting on the steps of the bus. No one challenges his presence. I later
realize he’s the co-pilot, who alternately rides by standing outside the back
of the bus hanging on a pole, or sitting on the stairs of the back door. He’s
in charge of telling the driver when to stop to let someone on or off, when to
go again, and is responsible for ensuring we don’t lose people during rest
stops. He communicates with the driver by banging with his hand on the side of
the bus.
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| Leaving Dakar, our path takes us along the coast for a few, short minutes. The ocean breeze is delicious, the calm landscape a welcome respite from the busy urban chaos we just traversed |
At 1:08pm, at a seemingly random spot (as far as I can tell)
along the road, at the outskirts of Dakar, the co-pilot begins banging on the
side of the bus. The driver laboriously pulls to a stop, and three new passengers
climb on board. Since there is only one free seat, two people are forced to
stand in the front. I’m confused by how the co-pilot knows when people standing
on the side of the road are passengers; the only landmark I can make out is a
tree, which is perhaps the informally-accepted location for a bus stop for this
route.
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| A small fruit stand selling mangoes. I saw more mangoes during this bus ride than at any point in my life |
At 1:10pm, my stomach begins to growl. I consider eating some
of the dried fruit and Senegalese gingerbread I brought with me. Since I’m unsure
if there will be breaks, and since there are no bathrooms on the bus, I decide
to hold off from eating for the time being. Meanwhile, a woman a few rows ahead
begins to sing – not softly, but very loud. No one seems to take any notice.
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| Woman with baskets of fruit race to be the first one on the bus at every stop |
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| A vendor selling bags of oranges on our crowded bus |
1:58pm – As we drive past an outdoor market in the middle of
nowhere, brightly-clothed young women begin racing to the slowing bus, with
baskets of fruit on their head. They fight each other to be first on the bus,
and begin selling large bags of mangoes for 500 cfa Francs, less than $1. Since
the aisle is filled with people like myself seating on fold-out seats, the woman
stand at the door, shouting; when someone wants to purchase a bag, money is
passed up, and fruit is passed back. They ply their trade for a few minutes,
until the co-pilot begins banging on the side of the bus again. Some women get
off immediately, others choose to remain onboard in the hopes of making another
sale, and, in a now-familiar pattern, get off when the bus slows down to go
over a speed-bump.
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| Our dynamic pharmaceutical sales rep extols the virtues of the toothpaste he's selling |
At the front of the bus, a passenger gets up from his seat,
and begins selling pharmaceutical products. He seems different from the other vendors:
he had a seat on the bus, and has stored his goods on board. He talks and
gesticulates for about 20 minutes, expanding on the virtues of the toothpaste, toothbrushes
and “really extra gel” (a sort of pain relieving gel) he’s selling today. He passes
out samples for people to examine the labels, and unlike the other vendors
sells most of his goods. After about 20 minutes, the bus stops to let him come
to the back of the bus and repeat the same spectacle for our benefit, with a
new bag of the same goods. Next to me, a local marabout or Soufi religious man buys
about 15 packs of toothpaste and 15 toothbrushes, which I assume he’s bringing back
to his community.
2:23pm – At another stop at another fruit market, the same
scene plays out. It’s much shorter this time, since most people who want to have
already purchased bags of oranges and/or mangoes. A passenger gets out to
stretch his legs. The bus begins moving again until the co-pilot spots the man
and bangs on the side of the bus. How the driver knows how to interpret the
bangs is beyond me, but the driver obliges by slowing down for the passenger, who
sprints up to the moving bus and jumps on.
2:24pm – The motor stalls. I hold my breath. After a minute,
it starts again, thankfully.
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| In rural communities I saw, horse-drawn carriages seemed more prevalent, a reflection perhaps of the greater difficulties such communities would face in refueling their cars, and their poorer economic status. |
2:40pm – We stop in the middle of nowhere in response to the
copilot’s banging. Three people get on after agreeing on a price with the
copilot. Even though the bus is crammed full and no one has gotten off, they somehow
manage to fit on the bus, some standing, some sitting. I’m beginning to believe
the laws of physics may not apply to this seemingly expanding vehicle.
2:41pm – A bump on the road rams the spring into my back
forcefully: certain laws of physics do apply after all.
Anytime the bus stops at a fruit market (and I lose track of
how often this occurs), the temperature quickly rises in the bus: we lose the
precious breeze, while the sun and the nearly 50 people crowded inside the bus
combine to produce almost unbearable heat.
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| The Senegalese countryside. The yellow color is not a distortion: it's caused by the sand in the air (I actually took this photo during the drive back down). As the sky became yellow it created a desolate atmosphere |
4:02pm – After 4 hours of driving, we’ve nearly reached the
halfway mark on this supposedly 4.5-hour trip. However, we’re making fewer
stops as we drive past empty fields in the countryside. The landscape features decrepit
buildings, and a few new ones, all mosques, which stand out because they don’t
look dusty but are kept immaculately clean.
We drive past fields of sandy dirt, where a few trees
somehow manage to grow, where young boys 9 or 10 years old herd small flocks of
skinny sheep, relying on bright t-shirts, a stick, and their youthful energy to
keep the flock together.
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| Even driving through isolated villages, you see signs of the French economic presence, here with TV provider Canal+ |
5:34pm – 5 and a half hours into the trip, I finally get to
seat in a real seat (a handful of people have gotten off at various spots). I sink
gratefully into a seat that’s even, had back support, and lacks any spring pointed
at my back. I’m hot, sweaty, and hungry, but I feel great, and settle into a
blissful contemplation of the countryside for the rest of the trip.
8:47pm – The bus pulls into the station at Saint Louis. I
get off the bus. A cool, ocean breeze kisses my face. It’s time to find a taxi
to take me to the island of Saint Louis, and to figure out a place to stay for
the night before exploring the island at dusk.
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