Why Dakar?
July 22, 2019
People ask, “Why Dakar?” This place has been on my bucket list. I had a dream lets say four or five years ago about a country where the buildings were washed in light blue namely my home. I am an older woman with long silver hair I believe I am facing north. The arid breeze brushes past my face. The ground is like clay and the sky has a unique grey hue. I couldn’t tell if it was the Caribbean or the continent at the time. I came to believe it was Senegal and began making my mind up to visit.
So many people I knew had been to Senegal or spoke about planning go. I kept either missing trips due to work or folks just weren’t making the trip like they said they would. I realized that I needed to be the one to set travel plans in motion if it was going to happen for me.
I thought after I booked the ticket that Karen and her fiancé Baki would be able to join me, and so I booked an apartment. Before booking something spoke to my spirit about provisions, that's all I heard was have, “more than enough room.” Karen and Baki didn’t end up making the trip.
In hindsight, I think the apartment represents more than enough space to grow into something, to metaphorically create space for my imagination, creativity, and aspirations.
Let's get into it.
The Arrival
So I arrived in Dakar a solo traveler. I asked my Airbnb host ahead of time how much a taxi from the airport should cost. Uber isn’t officially here. When I got off the plane all I had was a general price range, a map of the vicinity (google shows the apt is located on an unmarked road), a phone number for the building manager Bolo, and other than that not a Blue’s Clue about how or where I was going. Before leaving the DSS airport, I made my way to an ATM that took my card and almost refused to return it, my nerves were on edge. I finally got my card back and the funds from another machine.
Taxi Cab Confessions
The airport doors opened to usher in a sticky icky heat BABYYYY.
“You ain’t in Kansas no more. ”
Picture it: I’m looking for the taxi stand — its dark out. During my mostly stationary search (my feet were slow to move, allowing my eyes to do most of the work) I was asked approximately every thirty seconds if I needed a taxi in a different language.
I couldn’t focus.
I tried calling Bolo (remember the Airbnb Building Manager). My Verizon phone continued to lose reception. Just then a man walks up to me with a face so similar to my cousin Kandi’s ex-boyfriend Jermond (from Louisiana) it was crazy. I made up my mind to go with the familiar face. I got Bolo on the phone after sending a translated message. I handed the phone to Jermond’s doppelganger and they begin speaking in Wolof, not French so I’m really out of the loop!
He passes the phone back to me, Bolo says I can get in his taxi. I’m ready, but the man is just standing there staring into space while eating peanuts. I’m baffled, but at the same time the hood (trying to reclaim any street smarts I had left) in me understands that something ain’t quite above ground. I ask if we can go, and he mumbles, “wait” (in English). Then after about a minute he tells me to follow him but not directly.
Rogue as all get out.
I’d taken an unofficial taxi in South Africa with Jowhari a few years ago. But then again she had been there before, and there were two of us in broad daylight. Not the dead of night. Not alone. Not including a language barrier.
At the time its simply not clicking. Jasmine (third person) you are not thinking.
Another man approaches me as I am walking across the parking lot. He is wearing a green safety vest with a bage that looks like it has been printed at FedEx Kinkos. Green vest calls out to me in French (which I pretend to understand), he ain’t stupid so he says in English, “Ma’am that is not a taxi.”
I thought he was just trying to steal the other man’s business. When I tell you he wouldn’t let up! His words alone were creating an invisible boundary. I felt the words slowing me down, pulling me in the opposite direction. I kept marching against his warning. I finally relented and called Bolo back and placed Green Vest on the phone.
By the way Green Vest looked like my friend Traka’s ex, literally everybody looks like somebody on the continent. I get the phone back and Bolo says that I should go with this man. As we are walking back across the parking lot a whole ass taxi stands emerges like a hologram. Where was that when I was looking for it?!
I spot a taxi with the two front doors open, the vehicle is clearly in neutral. One man on each side is pushing the car forward. I think to myself, ‘I sure hope that ain’t the next one.’ Honey when I say they popped the trunk on that thang so fast. Before I knew it my bags were in the trunk, but not before I had a glimpse of the trunk’s contents: a 10-gallon bottle of water and a white rope. LAWDNESS!!! If Imma die today just let it be right where I’m standing!
On the sly, I try to take a photo of the taxi’s license plate. Even my camera thought it was too damn dark out and set off a flash. Green Vest said, “you are ok now.” I sucked my teeth and we laughed. The cab driver waged his finger at me, and I put him on the phone with Bolo, more Wolof was spoken. Green Vest has the passenger rear door open, I say I’m not getting in until Bolo confirms. Bolo says its a go. On my way into the taxi I thanked the man with the green vest. Bless God for him, he wouldn’t leave me alone and I am so glad.
Ebonics Ahead (disclaimer)
So now we rolling and when I say rolling I mean speeds of 100 mph or more. I don’t know how fast because the speedometer didn’t move all that much no matter how fast we went. Imagine. Everything is so dimly lit the atmosphere has a sepia hue.
The road is immaculately paved. On either side of the freeway just a few feet its pitch black. Traffic on the other side of the road is roaring just as fast. The static from the radio feels like alien interference. There's what appears to be the pelt of 100 ferrets on the dashboard holding up a leather-bound Quran that has clearly seen just as much use as a Bible belonging to a thumpin’ Black granny.
All you smell is petro, gasoline, diesel. Over the static, on the radio all you hear is the driver deploying his high beams as flashers to be used in tandem with his horn on occasion. The bumper had to have been tapping the back of the cars in front of us before he even considered using the breaks. BABYYYYYY
Mind you he was eating from a hand full of peanuts and was occasionally answering a Nokia original from the 99 2000s. When he rolled up the window and put on a hat, I knew it was on and poppin’. Then about twenty minutes later he pulled from his pocket a big ass smartphone.
All I could do was raise my head and place my arm over my mouth — my body was quaking from the laughter. I was like this is where you learn how its done.
The whole ride I kept petitioning my Maker to keep me safe. We made it to the apartment in one piece. He kept my change, but I got a ride and a story to tell so I was more than happy to have paid extra to arrive. He told me to delete the photo of his plates. Smiled and left me — literally in the dust. Bolo welcomed me inside.
I love that man, and tried to describe his hat so that I could purchase one as a way of remembering him for a long long long time.
Living and loving ya’ll. Bisu Bisu. 💋💋