We're No Angels

Things have continued to roll along over the past month and change.  The biggest development is that my father came to visit me for 8 days over June 1st to the 9th.  Rather than me telling you about what we did, I figured we'd get a new perspective.  I asked him to write a little bit, about 500 words or so, on his experience and observations.  He gave me over 4000.  In the end, my desire to post his unedited, unabridged thoughts overrode my desire to keep these blogs to a manageable, readable length.  Below is exactly what he sent me.




"As I worked my way off the plane and through customs, there was no way I could have realized what I was about to experience, although I was certain I did know. I had turned 60 in the air over the Atlantic Ocean, on my way to Dakar, Senegal to visit my son. At that age, one thinks he knows much about life.


Seeing Eric for the first time in over 5 months was thrilling! I was looking forward to him showing me the sights and sounds as he experiences life in Senegal in general and Dakar in particular. He told me that we would leave the waiting area there to hail a cab at a place that would be more reasonably priced. My first experience there was to watch him negotiate with a cabbie in Wolof and agree on something, none of which I understood. “Get in”, he said, and off we went. Early on a Monday morning, we went from the airport to Yoff, where he lives. Traffic was not too bad, but I couldn’t help but notice the lack of stoplights.


Upon arrival, we decided to go to La Brioche Doree, a bakery chain, to get some breakfast. While walking, I started to get a better feel for the life people live there. Several people exclaimed, “Gouda” as we walked along, and my son greeted them. This is his Senegalese name. I am not sure what I expected, but I know that as I walked with him and watched him communicate with people, I was amazed at how easily he talked in Wolof and French to help us accomplished what we came to do, all the while, explaining to me in English what was said and expected. His talent in languages is undeniable. My first experience with Senegalese food was two cinnamon twists, and they were very, very good.


We returned to Eric’s apartment, two rooms and a bathroom (rustic is a good description) to rest up in preparation of meeting his current host family for lunch. I napped while he worked. When it was time for lunch (2p.m. is typical), we went upstairs, and I met the family, Mdme. Cisse, Msre. Diop, Bitee, Pop, their baby, and some others. (a disclaimer for Eric – I know I probably spelled every name wrong! – please forgive me! Eric has complete respect for his hosts and their culture to the extent that he expects to communicate with them correctly. I do not know how to do so right now, beyond what I have written). We sat in a circle around a communal bowl of (again I hope I get this right), Thiebba – jen (pronounced Chebba-Jen), the national dish of Senegal. On a bed of flavored rice, there is fish, vegetables, spiced dip and other things that I cannot remember. You reach in with your spoon and eat as much as you wish in your area of the bowl. Always eat with your right hand. It was delicious! All the while, there was talk and discussion, with Eric in the middle translating for me and communicating with them. How does he do that???!!!!??


The plan was for us to stay the night in Ngor, which is closer to the ex-pat area of Dakar. We got a cab and off we went. Now until this point, we had travelled early in the morning or walked. It was now evening, and life’s intensity had picked up considerably. This cab ride was a step up in what I was to realize was an ever increasing challenge in transportation challenges. More on this later. We walked down an extremely busy road looking for some place to eat. We got dinner at Planet Kabob. A fast food place. I had a Big Mac type burger and fries that McDonald’s could have produced, and then we walked back to our hotel. Accommodations included a mosquito net, which was inconvenient, but essential. So far so good! My first day was complete! One observation – during our morning, I noticed the horse drawn carts, two wheeled apparatuses that tended to carry goods everywhere. One in particular caught my eye. The driver had jury-rigged a rearview mirror on the horse’s head so he could keep an eye on traffic coming up behind him. This was the only one I saw on a horse, and as I witnessed throughout my travel, I do not believe I would have wanted to know what was coming up behind me if I was driving one. They are slower, thus always in the process of being passed…closely!!!


The next day, we were to meet a driver and travel to Zebrabar near St. Louis, with a break midday in Thies (Chez), so I could see where Eric had trained. St. Louis (San Louis) is in the northern coastal region of Senegal, and it was to take ~4 hours not including the stop. Again, travel observations were to dominate my thoughts. We headed for the toll road, but to get there we had to go through a place where a bridge was being replaced. This meant going through a roundabout that was PACKED! Cars were so close, it would have been difficult to open the door. People, nonetheless, walked in between the cars offering items for sale. This is a main road…..imagine a traffic jam on Broad St. with pedestrians walking in between lanes of traffic…..it was insane in my view, but apparently quite normal here. There were some pedestrian bridges over the roadway, but people still walked/ran across the road.


As we moved along, eventually we got to the toll road and travel was much more like what we experience in the US….high speed, little traffic and open spaces! We got to the end of the toll roads and headed up the N2, a major north/south highway, and went north. Before long, we came to a speed bump. Signage looking like a pregnant snake warned us about the bump ahead. All along the route in strategic areas, there was the speed bump, over and over, keeping us from traveling at maximum efficiency, making us slow down for pedestrians and market areas along the way. The road is a two (and a half) lane highway shared by busses, cars of varying capabilities, trucks and horse carts…..and pedestrians too. Passing is something done often and is essential to helping the car move forward at a reasonable rate of progress. Passing is done at any time it is safe to do so. It appeared to me that it was always safe to pass. I am sure the driver was being careful though…..hey, we didn’t hit anything or anyone, even though it was quite close, particularly in the villages/towns along the way.


On the way to Thies, we passed “Mango Row”, where there were what seemed to be 50 separate vendors along the side of the road. ALL of them were selling mangoes. Talk about competition! Something I forgot about regarding the driving in Dakar…..lanes are a suggestion. The direction you are driving in can, at times, be optional if you are stuck in traffic. On occasion, we witnessed cars going the wrong direction in a particular lane. One of those times, we were almost in the car doing so. We were also in a small bus that had no issue driving in the dirt area on the side of the main road because the road was packed and it was the only way to get ahead. More on those busses later.


We got close to St. Louis and started looking for the signs to Zebrabar, which was to be our stayplace for the next three nights. We turned off the main road, turned off that road to a dirt/sand road, turned on another similar road, and another……..we finally came to a village named Mouit, took a right, went over a “bridge” and pulled into Zebrabar. It was everything as advertised. We had a building overlooking the river with a front porch and two “lounge chairs” (quotes because one was cobbled together from a sling chair and a table.). We were told, “do not feed the monkey.” As we checked in. Dinner, they said, would be around 7 – 8. As I was a bit hungry, I decided to eat a snack while Eric took some time to explore our surroundings. The very second I opened the snack, who should appear there on the front porch with me but a monkey the size of a large dog. He was not particularly aggressive, but he was not concerned with me either. He did like my snack…..but he wasn’t getting any….. This was my first encounter with him.


The next day, we wanted to see the local area around Zebrabar, so Eric negotiated a boat trip to Bird Island and to the land area across the river, which was a barrier island of sorts. After a ride of about 30 minutes, we got to the “island”. It was not too big, and I could then understand why we had been told we would not be able to get out and walk on the island…..it was barely above water level and full…..full of birds. There were pelicans, sea gulls, king fishers and others I did not recognize. I had hoped to see pink flamingos, but they were not around. We then went up the opposite shoreline and walked a wide, deserted beach for about 10 minutes. No people……none anywhere. Strange to me.


At dinner the night before, we had met Sebastian Von Zul (I think I have his name right- there should be two dots over the u in his last name). He was from London, but his heritage was from South Africa. He was biking from Morocco to as far as he could get with the money he had, and he was blogging as he went. I wondered what kind of motorcycle he was riding, and asked. Turns out he was riding a bike. I tried to fathom him doing so, and he told us about his trek so far, in particular through some areas where he had to make it from town to town each day and camp out at the police stations for safety. It was really nice to have someone to communicate with in English, and I think Eric was glad he did not have to translate for me for a while. Sebastian shared a bit of his edited blog film. It was very well done and set to the music of Bob Dylan! It struck me that he and Eric were both on adventures and enduring things I had not ever considered so they could experience the continent of Africa.


The next day we went into St. Louis by Car Rapide, which is a bus-like creature designed to provide relatively inexpensive travel between points. Those of you who have read Eric’s blog have gotten a description of these modes of transport, so I will not go into detail other than to say that if you are at all claustrophobic, never, ever consider this as a way to get around. I found myself wanting to hang off the back of the bus as I had admonished Eric not to ever do when I had no earthly idea what I was talking about, but thought I did. The extra space would have been welcome.


St. Louis is a “resort” area. There were parts there that we relatively clean and well kept, but, and I will only discuss this one time, the trash in other areas was overwhelming. This was not my first encounter with trash, nor would it be my last, but here, it was particularly overwhelming in areas. I considered it to be a shame. Later that night, I expressed that thought, and both Eric and Sebastian talked about it in such a way as to help me understand that it was sort of like a “status” symbol for middle class living in a way. If you were poor, you did not waste anything and used all parts of items for whatever purposes you might be able to. If you were rich, you could afford to handle the trash in a sanitary way. If you were middle class, you did not have the means to do so, but you also had enough say so in your life that you did not have to worry about the trash. Trash is not everywhere, but where it is, they have it in abundance. The highlight of this excursion for me was a small creperie (a place that makes crepes) that Eric was eager to revisit. I had a citrus with sucre crepe and coffee. It tasted so good….it was worth the trip there.


One of the “surprises” of the trip to Zebrabar was the food. Every night, we were offered (at a price of course) a dinner that was exceptional and desert. Every night it was well worth the price. Every morning we could have breakfast there, and we did for two of our mornings. Eric indicated how good it was, but he wanted to try the local village for breakfast one morning. That day, I had a baguette filled with spaghetti and onion sauce. It was delicious, and not at all what I would have considered for breakfast, but very common in Senegal. We also had the ability to go to the cooler and get a beer or cold drink (again at a cost) any time we wanted. We sat at the common area and had a beer often during our stay, and it was a highlight for me that it was quiet, calm, peaceful…..an oasis!


The next morning, we were to travel back to Dakar (my friend made one last attempt to get to my food at breakfast….the monkey made a mad dash at our table, with two table top footprints bearing witness to how close he got- but we successfully fought him off by yelling, and then the dogs came to do their job). We arranged for a car to take us back to Eric’s home away from home. I was about to get my education in life there, while simultaneously experiencing a true oasis, grander than Zebrabar, the Radisson Blu. As we got into Dakar, I began to appreciate more and more how tight traffic is there. All seems to be chaos and mayhem…..anarchy! But everyone seems to handle it as if it is expected, and indeed to the citizens of Dakar, that is exactly what it is. I was the visitor there, and it would be quite American of me to judge them. They have their ways, and those ways serve them as well as any others. Although I saw some frayed nerves at times, for the most part people get to where they are going. I saw lots of fenders that were bent, but I only saw one accident in my whole time there…..and it did not involve any taxis. In context of how close traffic is in the roundabouts and along the busiest of the roads we travelled, that was a miracle.


I will only talk about our accommodations at the Radisson in this paragraph. It was far removed from what I saw as the daily life there. It was a treat for my son. Air conditioning, a hot shower, a comfortable bed……all things that he has sacrificed to be able to serve his adopted country……and he tells me that he has advantages that other Peace Corps volunteers do not have. I am in awe of his dedication to helping the Senegalese people, and the skill with which he does so. Absolute awe. As I arrived back in the US, I was in the customs line with a United Airlines pilot who was from West Africa, and I told him how blessed I was to have a son who could give up the things he does to help those who he could help in Senegal. Everywhere we went, and in particular when he began to speak in Wolof, it was apparent that those he was trying to help truly appreciated him, and respected him for learning their language so well. They all considered him to be Senegalese. If you ask him about his efforts, he will not explain them in such lofty ways. He is there to do a job, and as far as I could see, he does it well. But in combination with the sacrifices he makes in the way he lives, so he can experience the same life many of the citizens of Dakar do, makes him exceptional in my book. To finish the paragraph, the Radisson was exceptional and beautiful.


The first adventure in Dakar was to go to Goree Island, also known as Slave Island, because it was a key launching point for the slave traders to sell their “wares” and see them off. The island is a unique combination of museums, artists, restaurants and hawkers selling every kind of trinket imaginable. But I get ahead of myself. To get to the island, you have to take a ferry. As we got there at the boarding area, it was obvious that a large number of school classes had chosen this day to go to the island as well. They were lined up to get on the boat, and I thought to myself that it would take at least 5 hours to get through the line. It was at this point that one of the workers there apparently understood our situation (either that or Eric had somehow made it known to him), and he began to lead us up to the front of the line in this mass of people. For the next 20 minutes, we were in the middle of a…….I don’t know the right word. All of us where packed together trying to get through a small opening. At some points, we were held back and whole classes were allowed to move forward while we stood there holding against the rest of the crowd. Eventually, we were allowed through. Again, if you are claustrophobic, do not attempt this trip. As we got on the ferry, a very nice woman addressed me in English, welcoming me to Senegal and said, “when you get to the island, please come see my shop!” I would learn what these words meant as the day, and all my days in Dakar and its markets, progressed. This is the hawker’s favorite way to get you to look at their wares. This particular woman waited close by as we ate, even coming over to the table twice to remind us we had said we would come buy something from her (which of course, we never said). She would eventually get her way. Persistence is part of the tactics.


Once on the island, we began to move around to see the sights. I bought some more gifts; we had lunch; we toured a slave house and got a guide to tell us about some of the stories of the island. I was appalled at the conditions and the stories told about the slave trade. Man’s inhumanity to man is the only way to describe and consider how the new slaves were treated. I took a couple of pictures of the “door to nowhere”, the last thing the slaves would see as they were packed onto boats for the trip to their destination, be it America, South America or elsewhere. We saw a natural history museum describing the rise of civilization in Africa…..all in French. I did the best I could. I did not want to ask Eric to have to translate everything I saw!! He, of course, was in his element. We came back to the hotel to relax.
The next day, we started for the lighthouse and the African Renaissance Monument. The lighthouse is one of Eric’s favorite places in Dakar, and I could see why. It was another quiet haven amidst the craziness of Dakar. There are beautiful views of the entire city, and you get a true sense of how large Dakar really is. I saw a story on MSN about the monuments and places you simply must see before you go to the next life. The African Renaissance Monument was very high on the list. I agree. It is an awesome structure. You can see it from almost anywhere in the city proper. Climbing the steps to it, I had to rest twice. Once we got to the top, I looked up at a 16 story tall sculpture that dwarfed everything. What more can I say? Wow! Eric then took me to see the US Embassy and we went to a place on the western most point of Africa for lunch. For the finishing touch, we went to meet a group of people who get together every week to play Ultimate Frisbee and socialize. I got to see Eric play this game he has loved for a long time, for the first time! I am so glad he has this outlet and group of friends to visit with. Another day down……..last day coming up.


Oh, I almost forgot. While we were getting started for the day just mentioned, we walked by an artisanal village along the way, that Eric has been working with to help them market their work. The sculptures, furniture and artwork they produce are beautiful. Here they are, along a corniche (a waterside roadway) with cars travelling by all the time, and like so many other merchants there in Dakar, only a passing glance from the cars allow them to promote their merchandise. Eric is trying to help them by producing a catalogue showing what they create. One of the workers there saw Eric and offered a tour of the site for me. As he and Eric talked, you could see how much they appreciated him and respected him. I did not understand a word, and Eric did not translate anything regarding himself, but I could tell.


On my last day, the plan was to go to the southernmost point in Dakar, see the Presidential Palace, get some lunch at a spot Eric liked and go to a large market called Sandaga (not sure about the spelling). We travelled by bus and Car Rapide again. Cheap, and a true Dakar experience. Be prepared for close quarters. The point was amazing, with a rock-face cliff going straight down to ocean. Getting there was difficult, but so well worth it. While there, we saw some divers, so I suppose it was safe to swim, but if the seas were up…….no way! We walked back up another corniche past the Palace and got lunch. Then it was on the Sandaga.


As we walked along the crowded (I mean it!) sidewalks, we met a person who greeted Eric and wasn’t trying to sell us anything (“won’t you come see my shop?”). Eric indicated he has spoken with him before and that they had gotten beyond the business relationship of the place. Then we met someone else. He said, “Your son is my friend!” I thought that meant the same as the previous guy. Not exactly. Eric later explained his role. He hangs out along the walkway and determines which merchants to take a tourist to, based on what they want to buy. I suppose it is a useful service, because this market is blocks long and wide. You could look forever for a particular item. He earns “commission” from his group of shop owner friends for bring in clients. He had a good day with us. We made two rather large purchases….at least they were large for me, and I am sure he got his commission. After our purchase, he and the shop owner walked along with us for quite a way. I asked Eric if they were taking us to another place to shop, because I did not want to buy anything else. He said no, they were escorting us to our next destination, meaning a place to find transportation home. This is a Senegalese tradition and custom when you have done business together. There is a specific verb to describe it. Eric did not bother telling it to me, since I was still have trouble pronouncing the area where he lives. The Senegalese are quite hospitable, friendly and seem to have a smile on their faces a lot. Living the way they do, I find their attitudes to be a reflection of their happiness and sense of honor to their culture.


This has been much longer than I originally intended, but I could not have neglected any part of my descriptions without leaving out something worthwhile or forgetting some of my impressions. As a final statement, I want to tell you the best part of my trip; spending time with my amazing son! I thought I knew what he was experiencing and some of the sacrifices he was making, but until I saw for myself, I did not really know. I also understand that he most likely did not let me experience some of the worse sides of the life he sees day-to-day now….and yet he carries on and does his work. Only he can explain his motivations, but what I saw shows him to be dedicated to helping people, to helping them develop skills that could possibly help them be better business owners, to help them with their communication skills. He honors their culture and embraces it to a large extent. Those he comes across and talks to always have a smile on their face when the conversation ends, even if they did not sell us something or get us to do what they may have wanted us to do. He has a way about him that is a personification of what I would think the Peace Corps would want of its volunteers when they go into service. He is an amazing young man who is destined to do many things to help people live better lives. I do not know who those people are or how they will be impacted, but I know it will be for the good, and I could not be more proud of him.


Finally, I have to say what anyone who has ever lived outside of the USA will say to you. We in the USA have things so good. We are blessed beyond imagination compared to the average person in Dakar. Please remember that if nothing else of what I have written sticks with you, and if you have a chance, travel to somewhere else and pay attention to how they live. In this way, you will have a much greater appreciation of how well off we are. Remember those who serve our country in the military and the many organizations doing work to help others abroad. Because of them, people in other places get to see the best of what it means to be an American. My son is one of those people."

Thus ends the saga of my father in Senegal.  For those of you who made it down here, I hope you learned something of value from my father's recounting of his experience.  I'm not going to add any commentary of my own because you've already read plenty of my recounting of adventures in Senegal and because there isn't really any other exciting news on my end..  For those of you who might suddenly have a more positive opinion of Peace Corps volunteers or even of myself after having read that glowing review, let me remind you of the title of a classic Humphrey Bogart comedy, We're No Angels.   I'll just leave it at that until next time.