Baptism of Fire - Blogabond

Whew, a whole lot has happened in the last 48 hours. We set out from Nouakchott, very excited to see Senegal even though we heard it could be a gruling place. Driving past the informal settlement of the last few hundred kilometers of Mauritania, crossing a fiery border was far from my mind. But so we arrived at the border. The persistant hands and faces through the windows signified that we were in for zealous deal makers. We were met by a Mauritanian border police man. He took our passports. Silence. 'You're visas expired 2 days ago' fell like a hammer on ice. We looked, and would be damned, but he was right. When we entered the country, the border police back dated the visa by 3 days from a sunday to a sunday, thus leaving us illegal in 'no man's land'. But there's a price for everything in Africa and once we agreed on a new visa of $30 each, we were on the move. We have a persistant tail with us ensuring that he will look after us. We crossed over the River Senegal on a vehicle ferry. What lies ahead would be our baptism of fire, the first real African border crossing going solo (we lost contact with George and his Nissan cargo van in Nouakchott as we stayed at different places).

The barricade is lowered. Out rushes people with large 'mielie sakke' and trucks, 4x4s etc; in rushes sunglasses sellers, money changers, etc. So at this sensory overload, people take chances. Walking through the knee deep waters of the River Senegal, a man in his civvies ask for our passports. The tail tells us he is police. But I have no proof that these guys are scammers and I refuse to comply. The man gets aggressive. The people crowd and move among us. I persist. He persists. The tail comforts sayings its okay, and we hand it over. Off he goes, on we go. We are lead to a small room where we wait. 5 minutes. Money changers enter. 20 minutes. They push for deals but we wait for the passports. 35 minutes. And the relief; he is back, asking for cash for border stamps. We give it and he is off again. But I follow him this time and face up to the legitimate police, who hands over Neill and my passports; Iakovos' being kept behind. The reason? Greece isn't in Euro Zone and Hellenist isn't a nationality, only Greek. We knew a bribe was in the making. Long story short, we ended up speaking to the police chief who assured the police man Iak has a legit entry into Senegal. But the police man's pride is dented and keeps pushing Iak's passport to the back. Eventually, after 2 hours of border corssing, we are walking off to the garage; only to start the next experience: the African bussing system!

Dakar, Senegal

We arrive at the garage for a lift to Dakar. We find a good looking bus with amper space for 4 people. The driver says we leave in 30 minutes and we agree that its a good deal and pay the cash. 3 hours (!!) later, we are off. And instead of 4 people, 8 people. We are sour. On top of that, the driver short cutted the Customs regulations and we were stopped 4 times, unpacking most of the bus. So this 370km journey ended up taking us 13 hours to complete, arriving the the big, dangerous, Johannesburg-type city of Dakar. Its 3 am, we are tired. After getting a taxi to central Dakar, the receptionist at the hotel refuses that we pay in the morning, and we dont have cash yet. No ATMs around. So we walk out on him and go and sit at a Shell garage, waiting for sunrise to get a room and sleep the day through. All went well and we are rested again. I was also very nearly mugged today and if I had something in my left shorts pocket, it would have been stolen now.

So basically, just really the ropes of the notorious French West Africa at the moment. We feel much more street smart and understand the thugs' tricks. But all considered, loving these people and cant wait to see some live music tomorrow evening

written by

afrikawasbeer on October 21, 2009 from Dakar, Senegal

from the travel blog: Traveling Africa Overland

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close encounters hey!wow!going prayerfully,I'm sure!

written by Lorraine Fieuw on October 22, 2009

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