[I could probably have called this post “Unusual Journeys 3” following on from “Unusual Journeys 1: The Boat” and “Unusual Journeys 2: The Bus”…]I’ve been advised to go to Dakar, the capital of Senegal (the Gambia’s neighbour), for ‘a two week holiday’. Sadly the political situation in the Gambia is increasingly tense and there’s quite a serious risk that there could be civil unrest. I follow the advice. How was the journey? Well...
Step 1 - Preparations
Sunday morning - Eric arrives in the Gambia from Dakar to be our guide. I’m so grateful. He’s a relative of a Gambian friend of mine who now works in Dakar, where they live together. He’s done the journey overnight (as many do) since it’s a bit quicker and cooler. I take him to the house where he can rest before he does the same journey in reverse with us.
I head to church, leaving Mama to rest (she’s recovering from malaria). I have to work hard to persuade her to stay. We’ve got a long couple of days ahead of us though. I go and preach what feels like the most under-prepared sermon I’ve ever preached, but God wonderfully sustains me and upholds me. Afterwards there’s a long and drawn out meeting which I’d really rather absent myself from, with all the preparations to be made, but can’t. Trusting God.
Sunday afternoon - my legendary co-worker and very generous friend Pastor Steven seeks someone to help with the ferry queue - it can take many many hours to queue for a space on a ferry to cross the River Gambia, so one tactic is to find someone willing to sit it out for a small fee. Steven finds Sheiku (brother of a friend) to take the car and sit in the queue overnight. It should enable us to get an early ferry in the morning and get going.
I go with Sheiku to Banjul, hoping to gain confidence in him being with the car and to observe the size of the queue. All good. Hard to judge the length of the queue, not having observed it before. We packed what was ready into the car (sack of rice, a box of books etc), then after I return and leave Sheiku, I got on with packing my things. We plan only to be gone for 2 weeks, but who knows how things might develop. Could be longer.
Sunday night - finish packing at 10.30. Manage to get through to some loved ones back home and try to put their minds at ease. Try to sleep, aware that I need to leave at 5.30 and have a pretty tough journey and day ahead. I get some sleep, but not the most peaceful.
Step 2 - Ferry Chaos
Monday - Pastor Steven very kindly drives me, Mama, Rufus and our belongings to the ferry terminal at 5.30am. I call Sheiku to see how he’s got on. He’s inside the terminal (which was our target), which means he should get on one of the first ferries. I tell him to get on one if he has an opportunity, and we’ll meet him on the other side, or if we get to him first we’ll meet him on this side and load up the car.
There are long queues on the road to Banjul even at this time, because of the military checkpoints. There’s an infuriating ‘system’ of drivers undertaking the queue off the side of the road and then squeezing in way ahead. Steven’s far too proper to do it that way, though I wouldn’t mind if he did right now. It’s just as well we got the car in the ferry queue yesterday. We make it to the terminal, where it’s very crowded and there’s no suitable place to pull over and unload the car.
I focus on keeping Rufus calm (he’s doing very well - not having a clue what’s going on), and we frantically try to find a ‘porter’, ahead of many others trying to do likewise, to help move our luggage (suitcases, food for us, food for Rufus, water, etc). We send off Eric to buy tickets. At the gate, in the midst of a pressing crowd, we surge through towards the ferry, needing somehow to find Eric again - meanwhile a ferry is boarding and loading and we’d love to get on. Has the car got on? The crowd is heaving, people hold suitcases and sacks on their heads. (I guess almost all are crossing for the same reason as us.) Then Sheiku comes running back towards us from the boat, announcing that he’s got the car on so we should come quick… Crowds are piling on to the ferry. It looks like we won’t make it. People are saying, ‘Go back, wait for the next one; it’s full; it’s not safe.’ Reluctantly we begin to oblige, but Eric is working hard to persuade someone to let us on. In the end he calls and urges us to come back up the ramp that the crowd has now vacated and get on board. The ferry is actually pulling away from the ramp and we jump on board and squeeze under the propped up barrier just in the nick of time!
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| Approaching Barra at sunrise |
A sigh of relief. I chat to the guy standing next to me about how regrettable the whole situation is. When someone points out that my money belt is open and exposed, I notice that it is. That’s odd - it’s certainly not how I left it. Evidently some Artful Dodger managed to open it and pinch an envelope I had inside with an emergency stash of £250 to change in Senegal. Not surprising really - a crowd like that one we were just in must be a field day for a pick-pocket. Momentarily I panic that my passport was taken too, before remembering thankfully that it was in a different place.
As the sun rises, the crossing is a moment of tranquility amidst all the chaos and uncertainty. It does seem quite overcrowded though, and I recall that it’s not been that many years since an overcrowded ferry here sank during a crossing… Thankfully the water is fairly calm! I know already that this is going to be one of those days of continual prayer. I keep an eye out for dolphins, but not to be seen today.
Step 3 - The Border
We dock at Barra and drive off onto the North Bank, saying goodbye to Sheiku, whose job is now done. What a provision from the Lord - a huge help. Now the task is to drive across the border and up to Dakar, guided by Eric. It should be about half an hour to the border, then about 5 hours from there to Dakar. I know it could well be longer though for lots of reasons. I’m just keen to make it by dark - Dakar is a big and unfamiliar African city and I’d rather not have to navigate it in the night (dim lighting, crazy driving…).
Approaching the border, we call an immigration officer whose number I’d been given by a friend - he should be able to just smooth the crossing a bit for us by helping us know which offices to go to in which order to get stamps etc. He does so, and all the papers are sorted out for us and the vehicle. No one seems fussed that there’s a dog involved.
Meanwhile the usual street sellers of nuts and fruit offer their produce. A very timely provision of breakfast! Bananas and cashews. Thank you, Lord. It’s now about 9.00.
A similar procedure of forms and checks are required both by Gambian authorities on one side and Senegalese authorities on the other. Thankfully it’s all done fairly easily and we’re on our way. My one concern about papers was that my Gambian driving license still hasn’t come through (having applied 11 months ago, and chased endlessly since). I’ve got a receipt to show for it which seems to be sufficient. Phew. Off we go into Senegal! I breath a pretty big sigh of relief and we all in the car thank God for leading us so far.
Now that we’re within Senegalese phone coverage, Eric gets a call from his relative, my friend who works in Dakar. He’s glad to hear how we’re doing. News is though that the centre where we’ve booked to stay can’t take dogs. Ah. Thought he might have told us sooner… Slight communication breakdown there! He says he’ll try to find some options.
Step 4 - Into Senegal
The first difference I notice is all the horse-drawn carts - there aren’t any of them in the Gambia. I wonder why; seems a pretty good mode of transport. Otherwise it’s familiar countryside, like the Gambian bush. Dry trees and scrub (it’s the dry season); lots of bare Baobab and leafy Mango trees; small villages of round thatched huts, with fences made of palm tree branches; donkeys and goats strolling around. Familiar kites and vultures glide overhead. The sun is rising but thankfully there’s some cloud cover taking the edge off the heat. Still, it’s 30ยบ by 10.30.
Having crossed the border by 9.30, if we have a smooth run we’d get to Dakar around 2.30pm. In my head I decide to aim for 4pm.
The road takes us along the edge of some fascinating salt flats. It’s strange and eerie, but kind of beautiful. In years / centuries gone by, the salt produced here would have been a highly valuable commodity for trade. It leads us along 100km up to quite a large city, Kaolack. We stop to change some money. I had £40 tucked into another bag pocket so manage to buy some CFA (local currency), which should tide us over for a bit and allow me to get more fuel if we need. On the other side of the city (at about 12.30) we decide to stop and have a short breather and rest before it gets any hotter. A tangerine that we’d bought at the border is a refreshing snack.
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| Having a breather after a good first few hours of journeying |
We carry on and the road is generally very good - just the occasional big pot hole to keep you on your toes. At a couple of points the road was being repaired or widened, so we were diverted onto a very bumpy dusty road for a time. It makes me very grateful for the tarmac that we’ve been enjoying mostly! Wasn’t there just a few years ago.
I begin to notice something I wish wasn’t happening - the car doesn’t feel quite right. The accelerator isn’t giving the power to the car that it should. High revs but little output. Hmm. I wish I knew more about car mechanics! Some of this landscape we’re driving through is really very remote...
By 2.30pm we’re on the edge of a town, Mbour. At one point, the accelerator is giving nothing and the car pathetically decelerates so I whack on the hazard lights (not that anyone’s around!) and steer off the side of the road. Sadly Eric knows no more about cars than I do. We do the usual thing of popping the hood, not having a clue what to look for. I check the oil level and it’s ok. Hmm. We pray. After a few minutes we start the engine and it seems ok again for a bit, though clearly not right still. Thankfully it looks like we’ll make it into Mbour, where we pull over again and Eric finds a mechanic about 50 metres away!
The ‘mechanic’ appears and looks about 12 years old. Huh. Still possible he knows more than me I suppose. He has a look and decides to call his boss. Good. It’s a very basic ‘workshop’. The boss says he doesn’t really know anything about automatics. But he gives the air filter a bit of a clean and that seems to help. I guess some of those roads were seriously dusty. Right… So we seem good to carry on, praying that we’ll make it to Dakar where we can find someone to have a proper look.
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| The not entirely reassuring mechanic's workshop in Mbour |
Step 5 - Approaching Dakar
It’s now less than 100km to Dakar - within reach! In UK terms that would be nothing. But this is Africa… As we progress, sadly the car is still struggling. We see Dakar in the distance - it looks big. It is. 2 million people or more, depending where you draw the line - more than all of the Gambia! The roads begin getting bigger and faster. The car isn’t doing great. A couple of times we have to pull over again, try to imitate the mechanic by cleaning the air filter, and carry on. It kind of works. But not really. I’m a bit gutted that we’re being passed by countless very old and dilapidated vehicles which seem to be going along just fine, whilst this big solid 4x4 is struggling. Hey ho - God is sovereign and knows what he’s doing; I’m sure he’ll teach me lots through all this!
I think we’re on the outskirts of Dakar but it’s kind of hard to tell. I thank God that we’ve made it before dark! It’s now about 5pm. It’ll be dark around 7… But soon we have to pull over and stop. It’s just not safe to keep trying to creep forward. Eric knows where we are so hops on a bus to go and find a mechanic. Mama, Rufus and I just wait. I take Rufus for a short walk along the busy road in case he needs to relieve himself, and it’s good for both of us to stretch our legs.
After an hour or so, Eric reappears on the back of a moped. The rider takes a look and suggests I drive with my hazard lights on and he’ll follow to see what he can see. I’m not convinced but I oblige! After 100 metres, in the middle of a busy roundabout with trucks and cars hurtling past in all directions on all sides, the car grinds to a total halt. Yikes. Eric jumps out and, with one or two people who appear out of nowhere, pushes us free of the roundabout to the side of the road into a filling station.
Eric heads off again with this less-than-convincing mechanic to find someone to tow us the rest of the way through Dakar. He says it’s only 15km or so to go, but it’s a large and congested city. Mama, Ruf and I wait again. I buy a disgusting coffee to keep me going. After a couple of hours an old van arrives to tow us. We push the car around into position and the rope is attached. I sure hope the guy knows how to tie a good and sensible knot. We’ll see, I guess.
Step 6 - Tow Time
It takes about 1 minute for the rope to dislodge and we separate in the middle of fast-moving traffic again. The van driver has another go, using a supplementary rope that’s even thinner than the other. Continual prayer continues…!
I’ve never been towed before. If I had to request my first towing experience, I probably wouldn’t choose: by (flimsy) rope, attached to an old van that’s hard to see around, driven by a young care-free driver, through a big, congested, unfamiliar African city, in the dark. But it is what it is! Anyway, Mama reminds me that I said I didn’t want to drive through Dakar in the dark - I’m not having to, I’m being escorted! God answers prayers and provides grace in surprising ways!
It’s quite an exercise in trust. Can I trust this guy?? I have to! I figure out that steering slightly to the side means I can see round him a bit to foresee when he’s going to have to break - I’ll have to, since we’re connected by a short rope! We hurtle through fast and busy highways at an alarming speed, then around crazy roundabouts and through busier slower roads. Wow - this city sure is big. So different from the Gambia. It’s a similar size to Birmingham (UK), but with a far more mad traffic system!
After a second coming apart and re-attaching of the rope, we head down the side road of an industrial zone where the mission centre is that we’ve booked to stay at. We’re here!! After the chaos in Banjul, the ferry crossing, the border crossing, the hours of deserted Senegalese roads, the several breakdowns, the dodgy mechanics, and the tow van, we’ve made it. Praise God for seeing us through and providing all along the way!
Once we’ve paid the tow man, using up just the amount that I’d changed back in Kaolack, we dump our bags and are very glad to have arrived. Mama says to me, “If life had no challenges, you wouldn’t be alive.”
Step 7 - Final Challenges
One challenge outstanding - a home for Rufus. Sadly it seems like a pretty unbreakable blanket policy that no dogs are allowed in the centre. He’s permitted to stay in my car but even that feels like a generous exception is being made. After a day in the car already, when he’s used to roaming freely around the compound chasing lizards and birds and going for a walk with me to the beach, he won’t be best pleased about staying in the car overnight too! But he’ll have to manage. I just hope he doesn’t bark all night in frustration and keep everyone here awake!
A kind British friend of friends here has begun looking into options and emailed lots of people to see if anyone will take Rufus in. Thankfully, the next day, after visiting one local option (a dirty dungeon under an outside concrete staircase - thanks but no thanks), a lovely American couple agree to take him in and look after him! Hooray.
Other issue - the car. The next day we find a mechanic (hopefully a bit better than previous attempts) who thinks he’s worked out what it is. With my trying to explain the problem to him in French, and then me trying to interpret his French reply, I’m pretty clueless as to what he’s saying. But he’ll tow it away and have a proper look at it. One good thing is that parts will be much easier to find here in this city than in the Gambia.
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What a day. Mama and Eric are perfectly used to this kind of travel, and probably think it was a relatively normal journey. A bit different for me - not so used to it! Early in the morning, my dear mum had texted me the words from the hymn: “I am weak, but Thou art mighty; hold me with Thy powerful hand.” I certainly am weak, He certainly is mighty, and he certainly heard our prayers and held us with his powerful hand!
