written Thursday, 26 July 2007
I decided to go up to Tamba on Monday so I could check my mail and email and just have a break from the village. But since I will be leaving next week to go up to Thies for another month of training, I didn't want to stay in Tamba for very long. So I decided to take an "Alham" car instead of doing my usual four hour bike ride each way so that I could go up to Tamba and come back to the village all in one day.
So Monday morning I woke up early and biked the 8 km from my village to the main road. I had been told that the first car should come by around 7 am, and it was only a little after 6:00 (I'd woken up earlier than I meant to - just couldn't sleep), so I decided to bike another 30 minutes down the road and wait for the car in front of the hospital.
When I got to the hospital I pulled over, leaned my bike against a tree, and waited for a car to come by. Sure enough, right around 7:00, an Alham came by. I waved it down, and the ticket/loading man asked me where I was going.
"Tamba," I said.
"That'll be keme fula," - two hundred - which, of course, according to the completely logical rule that all numbers must be multiplied by 5 when referring to money, meant that it cost 1000 CFA, about $2. It's a fixed price (unless they try to charge you the higher toubab price, but this guy didn't), so I didn't have to haggle. I said okay, and he tossed my bike on top of the van and told me where to sit - a middle row (the safest place to be in case of a wreck) with only women (which I assumed was to preevent any potential shenanigans by the men passengers and which I appreciated).
I tried to pay him as soon as we got going, but he wouldn't accept it. Then about 20 minutes later he tapped me on the shoulder, which meant I was supposed to pay. I'm not sure why they don't want to be paid right away, but my theory for now is that it is in case the car breaks down, that you don't pay until they've taken you far enough that they wouldn't have to deal with giving you a refund. Or maybe he just needed to find change.
The rest of the trip to Tamba was quiet and uneventful, except for when a passenger got on carrying a live chicken (held upside down by its feet), so for a few seconds there was a chicken squawking and flapping around my head.
In the afternoon, around 3 pm, I went to the "garage" where all the cars leaving Tamba depart from, to try to get a ride back to my village. As soon as I got into the garage parking lot area, several men ran up and tried to take my bike and bags for me, asking me where I wanted to go. I think they get paid some kind of commission by the car owners for finding them passengers, but I made sure to keep a careful eye on my stuff so it wouldn't disappear. I told the men where I was going, and they took me over to a car going that way. I bought a ticket (a scrap of paper with "1000 CFA" and the date scribbled on it by the ticket boy), and they tossed my bike up on top of the car. Now I just had to wait - we'd be leaving just as soon as there were enough passengers to fill the car.
- Which took a really long time. I sat on a bench and talked to a nice old man who told me he drives an Alham to Kedougou (he was waiting for his car to fill up too). He also told me he is a former soldier, having fought for the French army in Algeria during its war for independence. I wanted to ask him what it felt like to be from a colonized country, fighting to prevent the independence of another colonized country, but I didn't get the chance. Maybe next time I am at the garage I will ask him.
I did ask him about his pension, though, since I had read before coming to Senegal that there is discussion of increasing the pension paid to former French army soldiers from Senegal and other former colonies so that it is equal to the pension paid to French soldiers. (The argument, of course, is that soldiers from the colonies did the same jobs and took the same risks, and therefore should be paid the same. The counterargument from the French government is that the cost of living is lower in countries such as Senegal, so an equal pension isn't necessary). The man told me that his pension from the French government is very good, but that they haven't raised it yet to match French soldiers' pensions.
While I was talking to the former soldier, another old man came over and pretended to be interested in talking to me, but pretty soon he was just asking for things:
"Give me your sunglasses."
"No."
"Then give me your flip-flops."
"No."
"Then give me your change purse."
"No."
"Then give me your tote bag."
"No."
"Then buy me some kola nuts."
"No."
These conversations still make me feel awkward and uncomfortable, even though I keep telling myself to get over it since the other person never seems to be embarrassed or uncomfortable at all. Anyway, eventually he gave up and went away, and soon after that my car finally had enough passengers so we could leave.
It was already 5:30, and I needed to be home by 8:00 at the very latest in order to be home before dark and in time for dinner. Luckily there weren't any major delays along the way, so I got dropped off at the turnoff to my village just before 7:00. I still had a 30 minute bike ride up the dirt road to my village, though, and it was starting to look like rain.
I told myself not to worry, though, since it has been looking like rain for a week and not raining, and anyway if it did start to rain there was nothing I could do, I still had to make it home that night. As fate would have it, the long-awaited rain finally came after I had been biking for only a few minutes. I was soaked almost immediately, which was actually pretty nice - I haven't been that completely weet for months, including when I take bucket baths (the heat just evaporates the water right off me, so I never manage to have more than one arm or leg wet at a time). The dirt road quickly turned into a creek which I couldn't see the bottom of. So the rest of the ride back was a lot more exciting than usual, although I worried about the books I was carrying getting wet.
But the books stayed dry, and I made it home in time for a nice hot meal of futoo nin sosoo (cornmeal with bean sauce - one of my favorite dishes). I missed taking a nice warm shower though, since my "shower" is an open air latrine and any attempts to wash out there would have just meant getting rained on some more. So I just wiped off the mud with a dirty t-shirt and changed into dry clothes.
And then I went to bed, feeling happy that I had had a "real Peace Corps experience" adventure that day.
0 comments:
Post a Comment