Street scene

View from my personal bathroom on the hill

Hanging out on the beach

Senegal part 11

No trip is a trip for me without a bathroom blunder, and this time was no exception.

Mono + greasy food + food poisoning + Malarone does not make a good combination.

We went for a walk around the island, and I could barely keep up. My stomach started rumbling, along with other body parts. I knew I was in for some trouble.

I felt the beginnings of a fart coming on. Due to my "delicate" nature, I tried to be discrete as possible.

I learned the hard way that it's impossible to be discrete when you've got diarrhea.

It wasn't just air that came out.

In a panic, I asked one of the nearby sellers (there was a mini market set up along the path) if he knew of a nearby toilet. He just giggled at me. I pleaded with him, that it was an emergency. Laughing, he told me that there were no toilets around. However, if need be, I could go up the hill, because no one would see me there.

So up I climbed. It was the highest point on the island, and as I went up, I could feel myself squish. Retching and heaving, I finally got to the top.

I found a small firepit on the very highest point, so I climbed in and used it as my personal toilet (beggars can't be choosers!). Taking off my shorts to assess the damage, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I was able to use one of the bottles of water to clean myself off, so I felt reasonably refreshed.

I turned around to leave and realised that my entire ass was on display to the whole island. If anyone had looked up, they would have seen me in all my glory. The firepit wasn't as camouflaging as I originally thought.

If that wasn't humiliating enough, there were two enormous goats who saw the whole thing. These were monster beasts of epic proportions. They made a move forward, and I made a bigger move backward, scrambling down the hill.

I had a few more mini emergencies. Luckily, I was near the beach, so I was able to clean up in the ocean.

The beach was lovely. I splashed around in the water and collected beach glass. Got a slight sunburn, which was a novelty, as the temperature was below freezing back home. I started to feel sick again, so I passed out under a few palm trees.

We all gathered at the restaurant for some drinks. At last, the elusive toilet. It was wet, smelly and of course had no toilet paper, but it was a real bonafide toilet.

Our host's daughter, in front of the Point of No Return (AKA, the best picture I've ever taken)

Room for the children

Hallway between the rooms used to hold the people

The Point of No Return

The slave house

The museum door

Ile de Goree

Goree shoreline

Dakar skyline

The ferry terminal

L'Ile de Gor�e

Senegal part 10

When we got to solid land, the group decided to take a tour of the island and the museum, and then have some free time in the sun and sand.

The streets were narrow, with colourful houses and buildings on each side. The hot sun was beating down, and my bottle of water was almost gone already. Not that it mattered, because it was already hot enough for tea.

We then went to a former slavehouse. I didn't know how I would feel about it. Would I imagine myself in it? Or would I experience it passively, like a television documentary?

We walked into a courtyard full of people. The walls of the building were a soft pink, and the ground was well-trod upon earth. A large staircase dominated the middle, and it split into two and ran along the galleries. Huge glassless windows were cut into the walls, but you still couldn't see the the ocean.

I couldn't hear the presenter talk, as there were so many people murmuring amongst themselves. I wandered around the inside perimetre, touching the walls and peeking into the museum. They had maps, slave charters and torture equipment, like manacles, balls and chains and restraints.

The families would be separated in the courtyard and sent to small, dark rooms. I ducked behind the stairs to explore behind the tiny rooms and corridors.

To the left was the room for the children. It was about 2 metres by 5 metres, and held approximately 50 children. The sign above the door said (and this is a rough translation, as the sign was very hard to read) "Innocent child, far from a smile, and crying for his mother".

Further away was the room for young women, which was slightly larger, and lit by a single lightbulb, which cast an eerie yellow glow on the stone walls. On the other side was the largest room, reserved for the men. There was also a sinister room, for the "temporarily unfit".

Upstairs were the traders' quarters. They were turned into miniature exhibits for artifacts found on the grounds.

A single hallway led to the ocean, with only a tiny doorway overlooking the sea. It was called the Point of No Return, as it was the last place the Africans would see before being forced on the slave ships. You could literally feel the pain and agony in the hallway. The walls were scratched and chipped. I ran my hand along the surface and felt sick to my stomach. I found out later that I wasn't the only one who had that reaction. The temperature was noticeably lower in the hallway, than in the rooms or courtyard.

I went to the Point of No Return, and saw a few children playing in the rocks. Our host's daughter was also looking out, and I caught her on camera at the perfect moment. Probably the best picture I've ever taken.

The ocean looked so beautiful, sparkling outside the doorway. Too bad it has such a sinister history.

Unesco did a wonderful tour of the slave house, which is accessible here.

Senegal part 9

The highlight of Senegal was our trip to l'Ile de Gorée.

A bit of background history first.

We got up bright and early to catch our bus to the ferry.

By now, I was in the midst of full-blown food poisoning. I could barely stand up straight. My colon was contracting violently and I was getting hot flashes and chills.

But I was still going to go.

To pass the time, we were all supposed to sing a song from home. I remember leading a rousing round of "Dragostea din Tei" before passing out against the window. Romania, represent!

When we got to the terminal, I laid crumpled in a ball on the maroon vinyl benches. Suddenly, I realised that I had to go to the bathroom. Bad.

How did I know this was going to be foreshadowing of the rest of the trip?

I ran to the bathroom and tugged on the door. Locked. I pulled and pulled. Wouldn't budge. A custodian sauntered around the corner and watched my show of desperation. I politely asked if he had the key. He slowly nodded his head and even more slowly, unlocked the door. I was so grateful that tears were streaming down my face.

Inside, there were two dirty toilets, a cloud of flies, a soaking wet floor and no toilet paper. I didn't care. I was wearing sandals and had a personal supply of toilet paper.

I staggered out, empty but relieved. I took a quick look in the gift shop and bought a bag to use to carry my book, towel and toilet paper.

Luckily, the boat had just arrived, so we all hopped on and we were off!

I seemed to be the only person who brought sunscreen, and for about 20 minutes, I was Miss Popularity. I hate boats more than almost anything, but luckily I wasn't sick. The trip was short, we were surrounded by glittering water, and we got spectacular views of both Gorée and the Dakar skyline.

Sunset

Twilight

Horizon

Twilight

I'm sure my sociology prof would be proud that I'm still using the textbook, 4000 km away

Starting the presentations

Mosque at dusk

Roundtable discussion

Zoolander!

Jerri, Gwen and I on the roof

The view from the roof

The view from the roof (the good Internet cafe is to the left)

The view from the roof

The mosque across the street

The view from the roof

The view from the roof

Keynote speaker (minister for women's rights)

New friends

Three oranges!

Juggling oranges

Opening day meet and greet

Senegal part 8

We were all pretty disappointed that we were not able to see any of the town. Kat, one of the Canadian interns, spent her year in the Gambia and often travelled to Dakar. She told me several times what an amazing city it was.

We went out the second night to a few nightclubs. The African girls wanted to go to a traditional African bar. The guys wanted...I didn't know what they wanted, because they ran up ahead. And I wanted to go to someplace with a lot of people.

I had no idea how to dress. They were all slipping into shiny, slippery lamé tank tops and tight jeans. I was dripping sweat, so settled on a rather unsexy tank top/skirt/sandal combo.

The first disco was nearly empty. It looked like any club I had gone to back home, with a large bar, comfortable couches and mirrored walls. Or maybe a dance studio from hell. The music was techno-ised African music that I didn't recognise.

I plopped down on a couch with the Romanians and watched the scene around me. The African girls were amazing dancers and really knew how to move. If I could only be 1/10th as graceful as they were.

I'm a horrible dancer with no rhythm, so I was hoping for something vaguely Britney Spears-ish, so I could get up and gyrate on the floor. One of the girls dragged me on my feet and I made a half-hearted attempt to dance. I mainly wobbled back and forth.

Soon, a bunch of white guys (translation: fat, sweaty, piggish businessman-types) swaggered in, surrounded by a gaggle of lanky black girls. As per my suspicions, they were prostitutes. Our hosts quickly wisked us out and into a different bar.

This one was distinctly "African" themed, with low lights, fake palm trees, creaky wooden floors and picnic tables. It almost felt like being in the gallows of a pirate ship. After 20 minutes, not a single soul passed through the doors, so off we went again in searchb of adventure.

I was accosted outside by a young man about my age. He was clearly on something and was mumbling to himself and pointing at me. He followed us about 1/2 a kilometre down the street, and no amount of "leave me alones" could get him off me. The African girls were only warming up, but myself and the Romanians had had enough. We hailed a cab and prayed that we would not be "taken for a ride". Luckily, we got home in one piece, only marginally ripped off, and no worse for the wear.