Why was I uncomfortable in Dakar? I landed at the airport, and immediately noticed a similarity with Bamako’s airport…..small, unorganized, and dirty. Internal logistics of getting through customs and finding my baggage were cumbersome. But then the real fun started. I needed to find a ‘taxi’ to get to my hotel. Keep in mind that I landed about 10 pm at night. So a gentleman approached me, and I confirmed 3 times that it would be $6 to get to the hotel. He led me to his car, an unmarked car (this was warning #1). He then locked my luggage into his trunk (problem #2). Shortly after we left the airport, he pulled over on the side of the rode, and said that the trip was really $26. I said that I wanted my luggage back. He said that I would be my luggage when he got his money (he had me hostage). Realizing my precarious situation, I said that he would get his money when we got to the hotel. He proceeded along back, dark roads with no other traffic. I was feeling my susceptible situation more every minute.
This realization caused me to change my approach. I became friendlier, asking him about his family and children. I wanted to make it harder for him to harm me. We arrived at the hotel, but he would not stop. He said that he wanted his money before he stopped. I said that he would get his money at the exact same time that I got my baggage. He refused. We argued for several minutes before he stopped at the hotel, and we did a very precise exchange of money and baggage. I immediately turned away and went to the hotel. He had offered to act as my tour guide. I had to think a while, uh…………….NO! FYI, a Peace Corps volunteer friend of mine arrived in Dakar the next week. He had a very similar experience. I was not unique.
In the hotel, the shower did not work well, the mattress looked like you might find along the road someplace in the USA. The television presented a fuzzy picture. The sheets were clean, so I went to sleep. During the night, I felt something crawling across me. I slapped it. It kept moving. I hit it this time. It kept moving. Next, I hit it very hard (ouch) and ground it in. It stopped. I went back to sleep. In the morning, I went to the breakfast buffet. It was on the top floor of the 16 story hotel, so it had a great view (see pictures). There was 1 type of cereal, but no bowls, spoons, or milk. There was juice, but no glasses. There was coffee, but no cups. There was one type of muffin. That was it. I ‘enjoyed’ my breakfast for $8.
When I went downstairs to the lobby to begin my holiday sightseeing, several staff members warned me of pickpockets and thieves. Wherever I went in Dakar, I was warned of thieves. Later I learned that there are also kidnappings. So I locked as many of my valuables as possible in the room (camera, money), turned my backpack inside out, and proceeded out into the city.
Many places I was aware of people watching me. Few people were friendly. Two or three times, I was call ‘racist’ as I walked down the street. I never that I could relax and enjoy. I did get to the museum (see pictures of panoramas), and on one day I went to the Island of Goree. Goree was the highlight of my trip to Senegal. It is located just off the coast of Dakar. It has a history of being a defense post for the French, with big cannons and remnants of other armaments. It also has a history of being a staging area for slaves before they were sent to the USA. I was stunned.
20 million slaves were deported from the west coast of Africa to the US. Of those, 6 million died very soon after they began their journey. Often before they were actually dead, they were thrown overboard with cannon balls tied to their feet. After a while, the cannon balls slipped off, and the bodies floated to the surface. Around Goree Island, there were so many bodies that washed ashore, that the white residents complained of the smell.
During its ‘prime’, Goree had 39 slave houses. I visited one, which was kept as a museum. See the pictures here. Each house housed about 200 slaves. They were held about 3 months in order to separate out those who were able to make it, and feed some to make them stronger. Bodies were thrown into the sea. Children were separated from their mothers and family. There was a room for men, one for women, one for children, and one for young girls. Use your imaginations there. There also 2 dungeons, one with a window, 1 without. They were used for slaves that were hard to control. In some cases, malcontents were hung, but not by their neck. They were hung by their thorax in order to prolong their agony and dying process. So if we do the math, 200 people, 4 times per year, times 39 houses……….that means that Goree Island could have processed over 30,000 slaves per year. I do not know for how long. Someone suggested 200 years.
After I finished with my tour of the slave house, I calmly walked around the outside of the house, to the ocean front, near where the door was that they likely used to throw out the bodies. I sat there. I cried. I took a couple of more pictures. I felt overwhelmed. To offset this experience somewhat, I found a wall on a building painted with murals espousing world harmony and integration. I was grateful to see these paintings. It offered hope.