My God! I don't even know where to begin with my spring break this year.
So, we spent some time in Dakar, as per my last entry... but what happened after is pretty much fate. On Friday, the day we were leaving Dakar, Rita and I got quite sick and couldn't really leave that afternoon, so we changed plans, regrouped, spent some time by the toilets, and left the next day. And I haven't seen Jess or Rita since. Hope they're having fun and staying safe. Mel and I, however, had a crazy adventure.

We got to the Gare Routière in Dakar and were flocked by taxi drivers wanting to help us get to Banjul, the capital of the Gambia. Because I was sick, we decided to change around our plans and head South. We got into a 7-places and left right away. About 3 hours in, our taxi blew out a tire, which completely just isn't a big deal in Africa. It happens all the time. We got out and took a bit of a break. I was lying on the ground, still sick, and someone came up and suggested that I move a bit farther from the side of the road. In English. I was a bit startled because it sounded like good English. Right. Because they speak English in the Gambia. (Something I hadn't found out until the day before!!!) His name was Moussa, and he ended up being a complete lifesaver on the first leg of our trip.

We rolled through "customs" at the border. They checked our bags ("What's in your bag?" Clothes. "Okay.") and they told us we needed a visa ("What?!") and that we should probably exchange money. Moussa came in with us, asking the police how much we would have to pay for visas, making sure they weren't going to overcharge us as we were /really/ quite toubabs at that time. The police threw him out and turned to us and asked, "Do you think police men lie?" We were in the back room of the "immigration office" at the Gambian border with a creepy guard with only a black-light in the room. "Do you think police men lie?" "There are good police men and there are bad police men all over the world," I said. "We're just making sure."

We got through the immigration office and then we had to get to the ferry. Which was broken down. (TIA. This is Africa.) Moussa, who had waited for us, was helping us get to the other boat that we had to take. It was now about 22h30. Everything is dark and people are speaking a language that I don't understand (Wolof with English words mixed in with a completely different accent). This was the first time in Africa that I've actually been afraid. Moussa keeps telling me someone is going to pick me up. "Well of course someone is going to try to pick me up. I'm American. Everyone tries to pick me up." And then all of a sudden, there's a man's head between my legs, lifting me up onto his shoulders. To carry me over to the boat that will take us across the river. I then realize that there are about 4 men that are carrying everyone over to the boat so no one has to walk into the water that is about mid-calf deep. There was definitely no way I was going to let some poor African man lift me up onto his shoulders when I can very easily walk out to the boat. I climb up, lose a sandal into the water (TIA), and climb in.

There is no real floor to the boat, just boards that are strewn across to help people climb around. I sit with my bag, and I see one of the workers holding something by one arm... which happens to be a baby... and hand it to its mother. There are 40 spaces on this boat, and hardly anyone is talking. Everyone is waiting for directions and for the boat to be full before it can take off. There is an older woman who falls and everyone helps her up. The people climbing over each other are always helpful, and everyone offers a hand when someone else needs it. We set off to cross the 7km river to get to Banjul. When we're on the boat, everyone is still quite silent. Moussa helps us talk to the workers to let them take our CFA because we don't have Gambian dollars. The boat runs into the dock on the other side and everyone seems in a real hurry to get off. I, definitely not in a hurry, was one of the last ones off. I was about to fall in with all my luggage, and someone came to help. He let me grab onto his shoulder while walking on the 12in-wide plank to get off the boat.

That experience, on the boat, was /so/ Africa to me. Everyone was helping each other. Of course there were people carrying each other in the water. Of course everyone was patient in getting directions. Of course everyone was helping each other off. If you don't help each other, the boat sinks. If you don't help each other, everyone has to be in knee-deep water. If you don't help each other, luggage goes overboard. I was definitely in awe of Africans at this moment. TIA, man. TIA.

Moussa helps us get to Serrekunda, the bigger and more important city next to Banjul in the Gambia. He helps us get to a nice hotel for relatively cheap. We, of course, owe this guy our lives and our first-born children. Which we tell him. And promise to buy him dinner the next night. And it was incredible that he just left after having exchanged numbers... without asking for anything in return. Just one of those genuinely nice guys who just wants to help. We were so lucky to have found him. I don't know what we would've done without him.

We fell asleep almost instantly around 12h30 when we finally got into our beds. That right there had already been enough of an adventure to last us quite some time. But there was definitely more in store the next day.

Which I'll write about tomorrow. :D

Ooooh, it's like a serial story! How exciting.