Yesterday afternoon and this morning, I had my first real exposure to Dakar. The two experiences were studies in contrast: one in a section of the city called Grand Yoff and the other at the Ministry of the Interior in Downtown Dakar.
In Grand Yoff, humanity teems. Vendors sell from one-room shops that are interspersed with apartments on the dirt streets. The merchants are almost universally male and the shoppers primarily female, many in vibrantly colored, traditional Senegalese dress, babies balanced in slings, goods balanced on heads. Goats and dogs and chickens roam freely, children play games with strings and rocks. Weaving in and out are the brightly painted taxi/minibuses in various stages of falling apart, packed to the rafters with passengers hanging off the back, and emitting clouds of exhaust. The motorbikes and taxis dodge in and out, as the traffic moves without any discernible logic…no signs, no lights, no order, just chaos.
Downtown Dakar is quite different. There the streets are wide and clean, especially as Senegal just celebrated its 50th anniversary, cleaning and polishing in preparation for the official activities. Behind the walls of the boulevards are the big homes, western style, groomed and detailed a la Beverly Hills. As we arrived at the Ministry of the Interior, the American Embassy was pointed out…it’s the only one with limited access and a security detail at the entrance. Our business dealings with the ministry were marked by air-conditioning, quiet, decorum and western-style efficiency. While my surprise is surely indication of underlying cultural stupidity, Nathalie and Paul also expressed surprise by the ease of the situation.
In less than an hour, we were heading back to the place I’m learning to call home.
Take it all it, and remember to look carefully at where you are stepping (i.e. open sewers, ditches, and the like)...
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