Driving 'The Beast' through Africa
Northern Senegal
by Isabelle Demaeght, January 21st, 2025
The crossing to Senegal is slightly delayed, as we discover a wonderful place: a deserted strip of nature reserve with beach and sea where we stay two nights in peace.
We wanted to stay even longer, but unfortunately our solar panels don't do as well (or, again, our refrigerator consumes more power) in this heat. The “house” battery no longer fully charges in one day of sunlight. But we have to move on anyway: our supplies of food and especially drinking water are also running low.
Crossing the border into Senegal is surprisingly smooth, by African standards. We travel with a Carnet de Passage en Douanes (CPD - a kind of passport for the car), which is accepted in Senegal but not at this border post. We get a temporary import document for 5 days. Within that time, we must have our CPD stamped in Dakar.
Soon we arrive in Saint-Louis, where we immediately pop into an Auchan (a French supermarket chain). And as in any “new” country, we provide a SIM card and cash.
We spend the night on the outskirts of town and take a walk through the center the next morning. The charm of Saint Louis strikes us: narrow streets with colonial houses on this picturesque peninsula. The enthusiasm and friendliness of the Senegalese also immediately catch our eye.
We end up at Zebrabar (in a nature reserve) on the water's edge, an overlander spot run by a Swiss couple. This is one of those places where travelers meet over and over again, as if the world gets smaller for a moment. Adriaan meets again the New Zealander who blew up the engine of his BMW F650 near Atar, in the Mauritanian sand.
The campsite has a car workshop with a platform, which gives Adriaan a chance to grease the drive shafts. While doing the work, he discovers that one of the ball joints urgently needs replacing.
We had to go to Dakar for the CPD anyway, so we head there to find the necessary spare parts for The Beast. The Toyota dealer turns out to be unable to help us, another garage suggests replacing the entire wishbones - an option that is not exactly attractive. Searching, we traverse the chaotic, wriggling streets of Dakar as the sun shines mercilessly and the thermometer hits 34 degrees. Not an easy day. But perseverance pays off: eventually I manage “via via” to find an address where the right parts are available.
We also meet a bush mechanic who replaces the ball joints in a dusty Dakar street the next day. They don't need hydraulic presses: they choose between one- and two-pound hammers. Bricks serve as axle supports. Fortunately, Adriaan had already seen “alternative” methods in Guatemala.... And: how many mechanics in the world have already taken care of our faithful vehicle?
We perch on the tip of a sandy peninsula opposite La Somone where shacks on the beach serve as a bar and restaurant. Tourists from La Somone come here by water taxi to eat and lie in the sun. (Also many (French) expats have a house here because of the favorable climate and because Senegal is a former French colony).
At night we sleep alone, among abandoned restaurants that only come back to life the next morning. Adriaan finds an unusual oyster bar on Google, run by a cooperative of women dedicated to growing and selling oysters and mussels. The oysters taste exquisite, while the mussels, cooked on the barbecue, have just too much of a smoky aftertaste.
On a peninsula in the delta of the Saloum River, we visit a fishing village (Djiffer) and learn something about the fish markets here: here (broken) refrigerators and freezers lie on their backs in the sand under a shelter. Each trader thus has its own insulated container in which they keep the fish on ice for sale. There is trade in fish (of course), ice, fishing nets, ropes, paint and there is someone who repairs outboard motors.
Near Palmarin is a bird sanctuary, which is well protected. No access with motor vehicles and a guide is required. We get on a horse cart two hours before sunset and are explained how salt is extracted, see many birds and after sunset we observe spotted hyenas.
We sleep afterwards at Mamadou, who has a restaurant by the sea. The ocean turns green with algae and swimming is not attractive. There are, however, a good number of women busy preparing for a party, next Sunday, intended for Palmarin residents who celebrated their 60th anniversary in 2024. We are promptly invited and decide to stay an extra night.
It turns out to be a great event. On Sunday there is a mass (for Catholics, Muslims will have done something else). The celebrants proudly fill the front rows of the church: All wear colorful dresses and boubou's (traditional African garb) of the same fabric. They were all given 6 meters of fabric and each made their own.
After Mass, the party erupts: music, dancing, food, drink and fellowship. We are warmly welcomed into the festivities. The sixty-year-olds have come here from all over Senegal. “You upgraded our party!” one said, as we were amazed at so much shared conviviality.
An attending lyceum principal invites us to visit his school on Monday, which takes us north again. We are shown around by the principal's rumored successor, and we are amazed at the discipline here. Children (going to school) learn something here in a way that we (60-plus) recognize.
We were already on our way to Goudegene, where we wanted to see a Belgian kindergarten project. Arrived, it turns out to be closed. Still, the village is full of life. Children look at us curiously, giggling and full of wonder. One very young child is startled and looks for his mommy. “Never seen a white person before,” she explains.
A little outside the village (at a well) we make a meal and decide to stay overnight so we can still see the school in the morning. One of the villagers persuades us to be guests inside his fence, because “just sleeping anywhere is not an option.”
It confronts us briefly with African reality: this village has no running water. We see women carrying large bowls or buckets of water on their heads. They have to laugh very hard because even with an empty bowl I can't manage. At night there is total darkness due to the lack of electricity.
We are shown around the next day by the principal of the lyceum nearby (which includes a kindergarten, for which we came). We see the same discipline, but now with adolescents. The man is an inspired teacher and sees new teaching opportunities, “if we could connect to the electricity grid that was recently built.” Spontaneously, we decide to take on the cost of a meter and construction. To be continued.
But then it turns out that there are two places called Goudegene: the other is about 6 kilometers of dirt road away. THERE is the kindergarten funded and built by Susan's friends. It is a beautifully finished school. During our visit, the children are on break and spontaneously perform a dance. The enthusiasm and energy are contagious.
After this extraordinary experience, we continue exploring the Saloum Delta. We spend two days in Toubakouta with a Belgian couple, Peter and Marjan, who run a charming B&B (with a lovely swimming pool) called “Chez Nous Chez Vous”. One of the highlights is a boat trip through the mangroves. At sunset, we see numerous birds congregating, looking for a sleeping place in the same tree. We also take pictures of a solitary bird hunting frogs.
We are not the only ones enjoying this spectacle. Our room is occupied the morning we leave by three Spaniards, armed with cameras with gigantic lenses. Their first question when we tell them about our boat trip: “have you seen the white-crested tiger heron?”. Somewhat foolishly, we pull out our photos. “This one?” “That picture I had wanted to take!” They traveled especially for this bird....
Although we initially thought we would skip Gambia, we decide to go anyway. We cross the Gambia River and save a lot of miles. And we can then drop by the Guinea consul to arrange a visa, something that proves impossible online. Finally, we can then visit the Casamance River delta in southern Senegal as well.
After the (even easier) border crossing, the ferry crossing awaits us, which this time causes serious delays. There were once three ferries, but only one still works. So there is scarcity, because only 20 cars and three trucks can go at a time. The security people take advantage of this: if you bribe them, you get to stand at the front and you are sure to go along. By coincidence, we are already fairly near the front, and “bribe” is not part of Adriaan's vocabulary. Luckily we fit in, but many behind us have to wait for hours until this boat returns....
The Guinean consul in the capital Banjul cannot help us right away. He is not allowed to issue visas anymore and he thinks electronic visas are unnecessarily complicated. I tell him that I know some (well-known) women in Guinea. But then his electricity also fails (and he can't even make a phone call) so we will have to find a place to sleep. I then ask him if he knows a restaurant. Adriaan hisses, “That's not a question for the Consul of Guinea, is it?” The consul laughs off the comment and hints anyway. But he feels recognized as an important diplomat.
Unfortunately, we can't tell how we got our eVisum the next morning, but it was done without bribery or corruption.
The Gambia is a former English colony which is immediately noticeable by the uniforms of the school-age youth. The official English language also makes it more accessible to tourists from Anglo-Saxon countries. The European tourists cause 'white' stra
The Gambia is a former English colony which is immediately noticeable by the uniforms of the school-age youth. The official English language also makes it more accessible to tourists from Anglo-Saxon countries. The European tourists cause “white” streets (with police security) to appear with eateries for those tourists. We even see “codzienne menu” (Polish for “ day menu”) listed.
And... white, post-menopausal or post-separation women finding new happiness with Gambian, good-looking men are an industry here. “Look - a white woman with a white man!” we sometimes say, because interracial seems to be the norm here. According to our Muslim but beer-selling campsite manager, it is even OK to have as guests a married couple with two other (colored) invites.
We prepare (with no more than two) to return to Senegal, the southern part.