12/19/2023 Bikepacking Senegal Day 133 : The Path to Furthermore

I had been kind of excited about today’s route. I could see on the satellite that the so-called N7 (National “Highway”) was an unpaved route that took me to an even more remote part of Africa. The rougher the dirt road, the more the outside world stays away - just what I seek.

I stopped by a few little stores this morning, and I don’t know if it was the coffee, but I was just overwhelmed with how happy I was to be here. It’s only been one day, but I really like the warm reception. People seem very relaxed and informal. I’m getting used to guys leaning on my bike now, but maybe not yet used to the woman who without asking, grabbed my wrist to examine my watch and started dragging her finger across the display, probably thinking it was a touchscreen. Rules that we have about physical contact at home are absent here.

I did something a little different today. Remember how I said I was going to experiment with gifting? I went to another friendly store in Ogo, and for the first time, asked for “bon bon” (candy). The guy looked around and grabbed a 24 pack of individually wrapped cookies. Good enough, and if no one asked for gifts, it could serve as hypoglycemia remedies on the estimated 3 day journey instead.

The road varied between gravel, single track trail, sandy road, and hard pack. It was fun to see new vegetation and birds! You could hear chirping songs whenever you stopped, and they came in glorious colors: bright greens and blues. I stopped to try and photograph a few - even though the camera is inadequate for wildlife photography.

Tiny villages appeared. Not one car all day, but a few motorcycles passed. These settlements were composed of round mud huts and thatched roofs. The people were full of smiles. The women here have this thing they do to their lips where they are dyed darkly and bulging. Some women had piercings on their faces too. In a way, it looked like a Halloween costume - but that kind of costume that is so well done that it’s just a little scary and a lot pretty. The eager smiles help with the later.

Most of the day, I was alone. It is not a densely populated area by any means. When I did see people, they were usually herding goats. About an hour before sunset, I could see a village on the horizon - a place to get water for the night. I rode through the dusty double track, weaving around huts to the sound of children cheering. The water well was along this road; centrally located. Many people were already there, some filling big jugs that they would load onto donkeys to bring to their homes; some just watching the spectacle.

I feel a little bad asking for water, but they willingly gave it, letting me go ahead of some ladies with big jugs; I only had two relatively small bottles. By the time I had filtered one bottle, the entire village seemed to have surrounded me. Children were the closest, with adults attentively shadowing in the background. The kids were all cute and smiley.

I started to ride and say goodbye. They speak Pulaar here, but I said “au revoir” anyway. The kids ran after me, and the adults were suggesting I sleep here with the head-on-a-pillow sign language.

I smiled and thanked them and moved slowly as the kids cheered and ran alongside. They did not need to run fast as my tires bogged in the sand. You can only be in a good mood in this type of environment.

From a side trail, a slender man who looked like a tall black Jonas Vingegard headed me off. He spoke more French than anyone so far. He wanted me to sleep here. I acquiesced to their kind invitation.

The village is divided up into several “sub communities.” Imagine a small fence around a dozen huts. That little “corral” is one micro community. The cattle are brought into the same circle as the people at night. Right next door, you will have another circle of huts within their own fence. I was tentative about staying with the 100 kids blocking my path, but Jonas (I got his name, but cannot pronounce or spell any of the Pulaar names meaning we will call him Jonas) guided me into one of these circles. Only about 30 kids came with us inside the “corral”. I assume these are divided by familial relations?

He showed me a place for my tent, and as I set it up, he departed! I was scared now, as I couldn’t really talk to anyone else. Feeling a little out of place, I sat on a nearby flat donkey cart and smiled at the kids who surrounded me. Adults would periodically come by to introduce themselves, but mainly it was me and the kids.

The group diminished to a dozen kids as the night fell. They were behaved and extraordinarily patient. They would say words and make hand movements and faces; trying to teach. They did not seem to know tic-tac-toe when I drew it in the sand to their uproarious laughter. I understood them when they said “NASCAR” and made the vrooom vrooom sound. I was a bit surprised they knew about this. I also understood “telephone,” and “luminere,” but it was mostly sign language and laughter. They were astonishingly patient. The half-moon illuminated our little circle. The kids gained confidence and crept closer and closer - eventually onto my lap. One even put his head on my knee.

I noticed four small fires within this corral - adults sat in 4 separate circles and chatted. I’m pretty sure that they had just adopted me as tonight’s babysitter! I was with a dozen kids on the donkey cart without a campfire!

Adults would walk by; it seemed like new people constantly were coming and going. When an elder who spoke French walked by, I called out in the dark, “can you help me! I don’t know what the kids are saying!” He chuckled warmly, nodded his head as if to say, “they’re your kids tonight, sucka!” and slipped into his hut.

I kind of wanted to sit with the adults, but there wasn’t much point given I don’t know a word of the local Pulaar language. The kids probably had more patience with this imbecile who had no words anyway. The boys sitting on my lap touched my arms and felt my leg hairs - touch is just normal here, so I just “let it go,” trying to adapt. They were trying to say something and I finally figured out that they wanted me to take off my glasses. Once I did, they all said, “Merci” (thanks) in unison. What is it with my glasses that kids don’t like? My nephew Connor asked me to take them off too once. Some older girls approached from behind on several occasions. If I turned around, they would go running, which made everyone laugh. Kids generally aren’t shy here, but these girls seemed to be.

The boys started saying “Bonjour cadeaux” - not that they were asking for gifts… it felt more like they were trying to say, “this is what we say to Toubabs” (White people). That gave me a dangerous, and perhaps selfish idea...

I counted the boys and looked around. The adults were all focused on their individual fireside circles, and there were no other kids visible in the dark. I slipped into my tent and grabbed exactly the number of cookies as kids that were surrounding me. I plopped then down on the donkey cart, and the kids knew right away what to do: Grab! But it was good. The kids who got two or three right away gave the extra to the kids didn’t have any. Each kid ended up with a cookie pack.

The temperature was perfect, wind down, and the moonlight reflected off the Mylar cookie wrappers. Without any prompting from an adult chiding, “what do you say?”, once they had taken a few bites, the boys all refrained, “Merci.” (Thank you). I was enjoying this moment immensely. When each finished about half their package, they offered the rest to me!

Now these kids were melting my heart.

I encouraged them to eat the rest for themselves.

It’s the first time I’ve handed out sweets on this trip, but man, I can see why people do it. A twenty-something came by and jokingly asked if I had a bon bon for him.

It had been several hours now, and I had one little problem. Where is the toilet? I found the chuckling elder and spoke French. “Where is the toilet?” I asked. “Can you show me?” (I didn’t want to go into someone’s hut - especially in the dark). He mentioned something about water, and he took me to a slightly private enclosure - not unlike our outdoor shower. It had a small concrete block - presumably for standing on and pouring water over your head. I thanked him - and took my shower there. But where the heck is the poo hole? I decided not to drink much or eat my canned veggies tonight, just in case!

After several hours as babysitter, I excused myself, and while walking to my tent, I got the answer to the NASCAR mystery. Someone had a little solar battery powered TV. I could see the faces of the other village kids illuminated by the flicker of the tiny screen. In clear, well enunciated French, I could understand the news talking about the explosion at the oil refinery in Guinea that happened two days ago. I knew that these kids couldn’t understand any of the words, but they were nevertheless enthralled by the images that I couldn’t see from my angle.

Despite the remoteness and vast differences in culture, this place did not seem all too unfamiliar. It was a unique experience for sure… but it had the feel of a rustic family-camp in America where families bring all of their kids and let them play. The only difference being that this is everyday life here. It was 10:45 pm when I escaped to my tent to write this down. With the TV noises in the background; no internet connection, and no distractions.