Travel Part 2...Kedougou and Basari Co.

The second part of the trip I like to think of as first hand “cultural ambassadorial experience”. There are no words to describe all of the smells, dirt, smiles, sweat, basic human need and emotions that swarmed the group, but I’ll try…
Our first night out of the park we stayed in Dar Salaam Village. We were greeted with the luxury of a toilet and an actual shower head in each hut and two choices for dinner! WOW! During dinner we heard chants and drum beats from the neighboring village. The guide gained us entry into the village where we witnessed an anthropologists dream. Illuminated by an almost full moon, women chanted and danced in a circle to the beat of 4 drums. The male leaders of the village sat to one side and interjected some sort of story during the change of the chants. Encompassed by a collection of huts, warm bodies and the swarm of music- it was like being in another world. I was entranced, with a barebreasted woman sitting next to me, when I felt a tug on my pony tail followed by girlish giggles. Taking the hint, I released my pony tale to let my hair fall across my back. Not thirty seconds later, no less then 10 little hands were stroking my ‘white-girl’ hair with amazement and more giggles. With my permission, my whole head was quickly transformed to braids. An unforgettably intimate and truly blessed experience. (photo: me w/ girls who braided my hair)
The next day we left our truck and rented two 4x4s to travel to Kedougou, a village further SE in Senegal. A lot more dust, rutty roads, and sweat later we arrived to meet our next guide and buy cadeaux (presents) for the villagers. In order to enter the villages, it’s recommended to present soap, candles, matches, candies for the kids and kola nuts. We also stocked about 50 liters of water—6 days, 7 people-- you do the math.
That afternoon we each packed a small overnight sack and enough water to climb a mountain, spend the night and descend the next day—about 2L a person. It was around 85-90 degrees and dry heat. After about 40 minutes of climbing we were joined by shoeless little kids in pieces of cloth, with snotty noses and crusty hands, their mothers with big bundles of sticks or buckets of water balanced on their head were not far behind. We quickly distributed our first candies and climbed the rest of the way with a brown eyed children holding each hand. More children with bloated bellies, from malnutrion, soon surrounded us beseeching our cadeaux and the realities of an isolated, mountain life quickly assaulted the group.
The village of Iwol, established in the 15century, was the first Bedick village in Senegal. They speak Bedik and thanks to 17th century colonists are Christian- though like most Senegalese, are also Animist. Approximately 530 people live in the village.
After the sun went to sleep and we were formally welcomed by Jean Baptist the village tourguide-pharmacist-religious leader-school teacher we found ourselves face to face with lots of curious kids. One of the most beautiful traditions of the trip started then; we sang “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” and “If You’re Happy and You Know It” in no less than 4 languages in each village! We couldn’t really talk about anything and there was no electricity to interrupt our attention so we shared what all humans share—children’s songs and smiles!
The next morning after sleep on uneven, hard bamboo mats covered by plastic-y prayer rugs, the 7 of us shared a fifth of a bucket of well water to wash our hands, face and feet. Do we use our precious potable water to wash hands, and brush teeth before we have to climb down the mountain in the heat? …Our more than rustic accommodations were further stretched as some female members of the group were afforded the “opportunity” to ponder what African mountain women do during menstruation. There are no toilets- only wholes in the ground, no water to wash, no waste baskets, no chocolate and no place to buy feminine products. We didn’t have the language abilities nor the established relationships to ask our questions—so we “adapted.”
The next village was Ibel, home of our guide. Upon arrival we basically waited out the heat of the day under the shade, on another hard, uneven bamboo bed. Ibel was a larger village with a rather developed school. Close to Ibel was a marble mine. As our guide, born in this region, proudly showed us the beauty of un-treated marble I, as innocently as possible, asked, “So, who manages these mines?” “Italians and French” he responded. I followed up with, “who owns the land? Or, who do they pay to access the mines?” A bit perplexed by my questions, he explained that they pay the workers who cut the marble. I insisted, but do they pay for the natural resources and opportunity to use the land? He didn’t know for sure, but was pretty sure they just paid the workers. I then gently asked, “What are the people going to do once all the marble is gone?” He didn’t have an answer…I remained silent in frustration…I later found out, he doesn’t even know what marble is used for or how expensive it is in the Western world... (photo: me checkin out the marble w/a saying from the current President)
That night our guide arranged for a village dance. All of us were sat on a bench and 5 musicians with instruments I’ve never seen before cordially entertained us. At first a local woman would pull one of us gently in the middle of the circle and let us humiliate ourselves with our white-person lack of rhythm. Well, there’s no way in heck that I’m going to just sit in a village in the middle of nowhere with drum beats swirling and amazing African dancers letting it all loose and not jump in the middle. So, Lies (Belgian buddy) and I grabbed two local kids and jumped in the middle of the circle. The circle quickly collapsed into a mess of flailing arms, legs and smiles! I’m proud to report that my Brazilian dance skills definitely let me hold my own with the best ‘em. There’s nothing like dancing under a full moon with a bunch of locals in the middle of an African village! (photo: Ibel's cheif and top counsel members)
The next day we ventured further south to Basari Country to visit the villages of Dindefelo and Dande. At one point we thought we had crossed into Guinea—but I think it was a fake border crossing that allows the locals to earn some extra income… We took a late morning hike through some rather dense forest/bush. Now almost a normal occurrence, we passed groups of topless women with interesting facial piercings washing clothes or themselves in the river. About 35 minutes into the hike, a chorus of chimpanzees announced our arrival to the cascade (waterfall)!! Hot and dirty we all gasped at beauty this 100-150 story high waterfall—and the opportunity to get in the water and cool down (yes, also possibly parasitic waters, but there’s no way we could resist!) ahhhhhhhhhh.
After lunch and again waiting out the worst of the heat, our guide told us we were going to visit one last village—on top of the mountain. So late afternoon we sweated up an extremely steep climb. We saw yet another village, the source of the waterfall and even a cave with bats. Then around dusk we started to get a bit nervous, we couldn’t stay the night up here…let’s just say if you really want to heighten your senses, climb down a steep mountain in the dark, with two flashlights for seven people. I’ll spare the details for all concerned; we all made it safely.
It was moments like those, however, where we really came together as a group. Sure some were extremely frustrated, and even terrified. But really, I’ve learned that I can waste my energies being peeved at the irresponsibility of the guide who lead us into the ridiculous situation and worried about the bug that made my leg bleed or I can take it step by step knowing that I have to get down somehow, at sometime. Why waste my energy being angry over something I can’t control or change at that moment. Similarly, (un)fortunately through my travels abroad and working with refugees/migrants I’ve established a rather absorbant emotional barrier. It has helped to digest great emotional shock and has allowed me to witness many things without judgment or qualifications but just to accept that they exist. It came very handy throughout the week... (photo: helping ladies in Dande crush millet for the night's meal)
This trip was an escape from city life in Dakar, but it was hardly a vacation. As difficult as it got, not one person complained the entire week! When the holes in the roads got bigger, we sang louder. When we didn’t see an elephant we rejoiced in seeing a family of monkeys. When the mountain got steeper we simply waited to catch our breath to start again. And as Jamie cried one night, “I’m so dirty, I have to wash my soap!” I couldn’t count the layers of dirt, sweat, bug spray, sunscreen and whatever else was out there. Yet at the same time, through all of the layers, I’ll never forget the laughter of the kids, the singing and the dancing. As I’ve felt in numerous countries/cultures, life can be hard—but it’s what you make of it—and it can be simply beautiful.
(photo: that's not a wicked sandal tan, it's dirt!)
Now I’m back to long days but productive days in Dakar. I have a new French tutor who I consider to be the Goddess of French Grammar. My French capabilities are going to skyrocket!! There are local elections this weekend. It’s nothing compared to Presidential elections nonetheless one never knows. We appreciate your prayers for a peaceful democratic weekend in Dakar. If you have questions or requests for pics feel free to email at ellenk_miller@yahoo.com