Monday, January 3, 2011

getting there


Popenguine. Ankith and Kelsy's village - by night - stunning. I hear the waves crashing, see the beautiful white surf meet the soft, tan sand as crabs scatter in all directions. My friends sip Bailey's as I, drunk on contentment, get higher off of the killer drumbeats Toby is sharing with us on the Djembe. Getting here was almost as interesting as being here...

Public transport is variable - generally simple and always cheap, but there are a few times a girl might wish she'd forked over the extra mil or two instead of sitting in the back of a taxi with chickens tied down and clucking in the back seat. I'm just saying. The "gare" or garage is where sept places and diagndiayes (vans) wait to be filled before trasporting passengers to other cities. This is the place that can never be explained without photographs, but also the last place I felt comfortable photographing. As our taxi pulled in we were immediately approached by vendors knocking on the car doors, sticking their goods and their hands and their heads in our car windows, offering bananas and toys and tissues and... raw eggs? On stepping out of the car the sellers became even more abitious, and add on top of that a multitude of drivers trying to usher you to their car... oh yeah... and it's all in french. or wolof. of some unintelligible combination of the two. Chris handled all the talking and I soon settled in, realizing that simply ignoring the vendors was the best way to say 'no thank you.' Pile on a bunch of Talibe kids, lots of travelers, and more flies than I knew existed - and you have maybe 1/10 of an idea of my first garage experience. ...it was great.

1 comment:

  1. Dani,
    You write with such ease, and your written voice is so true. Your experiences are so rich and colorful. You really do need to shop for an agent and write a book! I love you. Always keep daring to dream and explore.

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