Dakar, Senegal

A child in the Wolof village of Niayes

The salt works by the Pink Lake

A woman selling jewelry at the Fulani village

You’ve probably noticed I talk about the smell of a place a lot.  I guess being far out at sea most days means we lose the smell of the land, and so become hyper-sensitive to it each time we come into port.  Dakar was no different. It was like an old Chinese curio shop - musty, with an underlying aroma of burning incense.

Dad and I were heading out with a group to the Pink Lake of Retba, about an hour’s drive away.  Once again we had a police escort.  I think this is more to bypass the horrendous traffic than for protection.  Whatever, I’m getting used to the special treatment.

Dakar is the most westerly point in Africa and commands the shipping lanes between Western Europe and Brazil and South Africa.  We were told it was lush and green, but as we drove into the countryside it was anything but.  Arid wasteland covered in half-built houses (no mortgages here - you build as you can afford and it might take 10 years) were separated by the occasional dust-covered mango plantations.  Litter and graffiti were rife.  Any vacant lot contained cattle and horses, grazing on hay if they were lucky.  The horses were used to pull basic, flat-bed carts, and these were abundant.  Back to basics - no scooters here.  We were told the cash crop in this country is peanuts, and the food crop is millet.  The people cook with imported vegetable oil though, as the peanut oil is too expensive.

We stopped near the Pink Lake (Lac Rose) at a Wolof village called Niayes.  This is a village that the founder of the Dakar Rally took under his wing and donated money to so they could have a medical centre (if you could call it that).  The whole place was was pretty depressing - a ramshackle collection of buildings lining a sandy road with makeshift shops, and a press of people selling and buying dried fish, fruit and veg, and anything else from bras to brooms. The Senegalese are much darker than those in the other countries we visited.  Their features almost indistinguishable as they merge into shadow. They have a high fertility rate and our guide told us there are a lot of kids.  He has two wives and ten children...so far.

We were soon at the Pink Lake and were loaded onto army trucks converted into open-air, safari vehicles.  A herd of camels grazed in the shade nearby.  Because of a recent sand storm all colour was muted, including the lake unfortunately, so what we got was flat beige tinged slightly pink.  The drive along the shoreline was interesting.  Cattle wandered under the guidance of child herders, and eventually we came to the salt works where harvesters labour to extract salt from the briny water. (One woman thought they were fishermen.  Another thought they were scuba divers. Seriously!)  Nothing lives in this lake except the algae that attaches itself to the salt crystals and gives the water its pink hue.

The prize-giving for the Dakar Car Rally used to be held at the Pink Lake but now the Rally, still called Dakar, is held in Argentina after four French tourists were killed in neighbouring Mauritania.

Senegal is made up of three main ethnic groups: Wolof, Fulani and Serer.  On the other side of the lake was a small Fulani village.  They welcomed us with drums and dancing and allowed us to explore their homes.  These consisted of concrete bunkers dotted amongst sand dunes, with no furniture except a basic bed for the adults. There is a common cook house, and a well at the centre of the community.

Our tour ended with a wild ride over the dunes to the Atlantic Ocean.  The beach, covered in rubbish, stretched forever and the surf was relentless.  We drove along it for a few kilometres, right into the water, which gave us all a thrill.

A small market had been set up right beside the ship so my day finished bartering for souvenirs.  Not a pleasant experience.  The traders grasp your arm and stand over you, or bar your way, until they finish telling you how fabulous and cheap their products are. They would always be asking Robin for more money, and I would patiently tell them that I was the boss, and Robin was my bodyguard.  That always got huge guffaws. They did take a few steps back though....  I’m pleased with my purchases. When I get home the house will look less like a Chinese Emporium and more like an African Market.