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Senegal - december 16th 2002 until january 4th 2003
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| Welcome -St. Louis- |
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| The whole happening at the borderpost of Diama has made us very tired. Nevertheless we drive on because the Zebra bar is not far anymore. It must be a splendid camp-site and we have agreed with other overlanders to spend some time there. Short before Saint Louis we are stopped by police officers. 'papers!', roars one of them. This must be the notorious Senegalese police constables, but why now? Apparently patiently we give the passports, international drivers licenses and the Carnet (border document for Rusty). The cop browses everything and can only conclude that all have been well filled in and stamped. But he does not. 'Le Passe Avance!, it sounds |
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through the car". We say we do not have such a thing
but that the Carnet should suffice. The agent thunders in our ears that
the Passe Avance is obligatory for the car, even if we already have a
Carnet. 'You don't speak French?!? 15 Euro and you can pass', he changes
strategy. We offer to drive back to the border. ` Oh no, but you are tired
and want to go to your hotel. No need to go to the border', it sounds
friendly. A short moment of stupefaction before we realise that we can
win. ` Just pay and you can go'. We once again say that we want to drive
back, starting the car in the meantime. This is our victory: impetuously
the man gestures that we can drive by. Shortly after Saint Louis another
agent stands. `Not again' we think. Again we must show all paper-work.
Fortunately this agent is nowhere after. After a short drive we arrive
exhausted at the Zebra bar. |
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Untamed nature -Niokolo Koba- |
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During our stay in the Zebra bar we laugh with other travellers about the mauritanian border officials. Everyone has had their own problems with these corrupt people and created own solutions. Under large hilarity the individual stories are compared. After a couple of days recovery from the desert it is time to leave. The capital Dakar to the coast is a modern large city which gets very divergent responses. We rather avoid the cities and head directly to the national park Niokolo Koba that's widely known for its rich vegetation. Already dozens of kilometres for the park see we fires alongside the road. Hopefully the park has remained unharmed. At the entrance of the park it looks good. Beautiful dense vegetation and no sign of fire. Also when paying the ticket there is no mention of forest fire. 'Then it will be OK', we think. A false assumption. After some days drive we have a picture of the scope of damage. More than half of the low vegetation inthe park has been burned away, trees are ash-covered or lie smouldering on the ground. The heat has shrivelled many leaves. On a virtually bald plain small flames lick the trunk of a solitary tree. The next day the tree lies on the ground. We see groups of monkeys escaping. Roe-deers and gazelles walk around uncertain where to hide. A family of wild boars looks at us with their heads raised and alarmed, before theyturn their backs on us and disappear between the trees. Only the young crocodiles which lounge on the river banks are not disturbed at all. No large-scale firefighting here; no firemen or helicopters. On the other side of the park plumes of smoke rise and merge into a pale-blue sky; destruction continues steadily. The destructive force of the fire has something impressive but seeing the enormous damage gives us a sad feeling. |
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Silent night, savannah night-Niokolo Koba- |
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| In search of a place to spend the night we are invited spontaneously by the border officials at a checkpoint. That evening we sit around a campfire chatting when one of the men stands up, grabs his belongings and notifies us that he will be picked up shortly to go home. 'Tomorrow he'll celebrate Christmas, he is the only Christian amongst us', explains one of the others. Christmas! What a surprise! Both of us have not thought about it since we left Mauritania. There is nothing in this Islamic society that tells us that Christmas is coming . With more than 35 degrees Celsius and shops and banks open Christmas passes as if it does not exist. Somewhere, in some Senegalese homes, in private company the Christian population of Senegal celebrates Christmas. We miss the illuminated trees in the streets of the cold Netherlands, nice eating, the familiair gatherings and the endlessly repeated Christmas songs on the radio that drive us crazy every year. We walk around and feel far from home. A visit to the internetcafé cheers us up. All those people who have thought of us and have sent kind and touching mails. After all they provide us with some Christmas sensation. | |
Rusty Rusty: what a luxury! -track through remote area between Tambacounda, Ranérou and Matam- |
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| Because the park Niokolo Koba was not what we had hoped, we have stayed there less long than expected. Our Mali visa is not yet valid and for this reason we decide to take a track through the "outback" area of Senegal, between Tambacounda, Ranérou and Matam. The aim is to end at the Senegal river, in the hope to find a more variable landscape. In the tranquil town of Tambacounda we fill our food stocks for the trip. Except for the bread we find everything what we need. Without bread we ride into the bush; we can have breakfast with what remains from dinner just as well as the Africans do. Once we're out of Tambacounda we see the landscape that's with us already from Saint Louis onwards: yellow grass, thorned bushes, small trees and baobab trees. These bony trees can reach enormous dimensions. They provide shelter and are thus very suitable as a camping spot.. | |
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| Because it is dry in this region we see only baobab trees without leaves but still carrying the fruit. The bald capriciously branches with obtuse ends give the trees a ghostly appearance at dawn. For the local population the trees are valuable. The baobabs moulder away from the inside so that there cavities in which long after the rain season you still can find water. Moreover the oval round fruit, about the size of lemons, is edible and the trees provide wood for fire. It is thus not surprising that the baobabs are honoured in local rituals . Through this typical Sahel landscape with its holy baobabs we drive over tiny tracks which sometimes go straight through villages. Some of them are so small (10-15 huts) that we from try to find a path around the village. If this is not possible we drive through them very carefullt. We feel like trespassers when we drive into the simple existence of the village people with our car. | |
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| No electricity, no telephone, horse and carriage instead of cars and hard work at the water well for a bucket of water. The villagers think complete differently: enthusiastically swaying adults and children who run along with our car to shake hands with us. A child carefully touches Marres hair when we leave the car to examine a difficult passage. It is clear that white people are seen seldom in this remote area of Senegal. For some days we drive the narrow track by this endless thorn bush savanna. At night the hysterical yelling of jackals sounds. Foot steps around the car. Holding our breath and with our ears pricked we lie in the tent. Then the reassuring snorting of donkeys sounds. Nature dictates our life rhythm. Two hours before dark we look out for baobab trees, cooking our meal of rice or macaroni with tomato sauce and at seven o'clock we enter the tent to go to sleep. In the morning we eat (like the Africans) what is left of the previous evening meal. New Year's Eve is celebrated while we're asleep. The picturesque views of the Senegal river we had hoped to see don't appear because the road is too far away from the river. We can enter Mali now however so we're ready to leave Senegal. | |
