12/20/2023 Bikepacking Senegal Day 134 : The Emperor’s New Clothes

I don’t have a good explanation for you as to why I’m having the time of my life in Senegal. If Janet and my niece and nephew were also here, I could feel perfectly happy using up the full duration of this visa.

I woke to the faint sound of women singing. The sound was soft, distant, and soothing. You may think of Arabic people as being the only Muslims, but Islam is strong here amongst the Fulani people of this region. We greet each other with the same “salam aleykoum” (peace be with you), which I’m pretty sure is Arabic. It would be like you saying “hola” as if it were English.

Inside my tent, I stuffed my sleeping bag listening to a rhythmic “pop-pop-pop” that started coming next from various pots within the corral. Like last night, people formed small squatting clusters, and using tree branches like potato mashers, thudded the bottom of the pots. It was before sunrise, and small fires had already been lit. Surprisingly, although this was female dominated task, a couple men were sharing in the cooking duties.

I was offered coffee; they use the same shape teapots as in Morocco, only they three times larger. No mention of tea.

You know that I’m super careful about proper giving, so I called the (apparent) elder aside for a private meeting. He was the one who chuckled last night about my predicament understanding the children’s words. Since this was a difficult concept (and I wanted to get it right) I relied upon the phone to tell him my thanks, and ask him to do me a favor: Would he please take a gift and distribute it evenly amongst the children in the village? I explained how I didn’t want to give directly. I didn’t want “Toubabs” (white people) to be seen solely as gift givers or ATMs. He chuckled and understood all of this. I trusted him to evenly distribute; after all, he had generously brought me food last night - complete with a spoon.

Even if it doesn’t go to the kids, the money will probably go to good use. I noticed that below his clothing, he had a growth the size of a volleyball on his back. It’s a delicate topic, but I didn’t want to turn these innocent children into beggars, and going via the village elder with an agreement seemed the safest way to responsibly attain that goal.

The day would only get better.

In the next village, I needed some water. As I turned to enter, I noticed a small crew hand-erecting the base of a tower. Red and white painted poles lay on the ground. A bit of sadness washed over me - the characteristic color pattern of a cell phone tower. Modernity would soon be here too - in a place where I was having so much fun due to the precise lack of such connectivity.

Kids formed a cheering circle. I let some of the older people ride my bike. Even the oldest guy in town hopped on; he might have been 60. Some very friendly folks begged me to take photos of them while the guy was riding the bike. This wasn’t a “photo for money” request. The man said, “please, take a photo of my family” and he gathered them up and they posed. I have no idea who-was-who relationship wise, and even though I ask over and over, the names in Pulaar are like nothing I have ever heard before. They escape me the minute I hear them, so everyone remains unnamed…

Since I can’t spell his name anyway, we will call the older man riding my bike “Alvin.” You will see why in a moment. Alvin came up to me after passing the bike to the next teen waiting. He grabbed a bit of his indigo-blue gown, showing me a torn hole at the bottom. He said many things in Pulaar, and though I didn’t understand a word, I was certain that he said my bike ripped his gown and now I owed him money. He did not appear upset; almost humored. I quizzed all the teens around me in French: “What is he saying?” On a delicate matter, it’s best not to make assumptions.

One of the smarter guys in the group pointed out: Maybe ask one of the cell phone guys. Great idea! I said let’s go. Once we started walking, Alvin held my hand affectionately; the way I would hold Janet’s hand. It felt weird, but I’m embracing this new life. All the kids tried to hold my one remaining hand at once and we marched through the dead weeds like the cast of the Wizard of Oz going down the Yellow Brick Road.

At the tower, amazingly, there was a young guy who spoke English! But he did not speak the language of my hand-holding friend with the ripped gown. I asked my new English speaking hero (we will call him “Clark” like Clark Kent), “Can you please tell me what this man is trying to say?”

The young Clark climbed down, and said he would need a third translator - also working on the tower - to translate Pulaar to an intermediate language before he could translate to English. Several minutes of discussion later, he explained the 4 person translation path.

We held our high court out in that meadow, and elderly Alvin made his case. Before I received my translation, the entire village and cell phone crew were already laughing at him mockingly.

Clark seemed like a great guy. He laughed as he translated: “He says your bicycle ripped his gown and now he needs money for new clothing”.

His gown was already ripped in other places.

I asked, “How much does he need?”

A few translations later: “15,000”

I asked my English speaking hero: “Do you think I should do it?”

Unhesitatingly, he laughed, “YES!”

I opened my wallet and pulled out the cash (about 26 dollars worth) and said to Clark as I put the cash in Alvin’s hand, “please tell him that he needs to distribute this evenly amongst the villagers.”

Clark smiled broadly. He loved being a translator. The moment the translation got to Pulaar, the entire crowd roared cheering, kids jumped up and down. Clark and I high-fived.

Alvin looked happy too. Even though everyone had laughed at him, and he now had more than 40 witnesses knowing the terms of the agreement, he seemed delighted to grab my hand and take me back to the village. We sat together on some boards as the village circled the two of us like they were witnessing some sort of important meeting. We were no longer able to communicate intelligibly because Clark was back at work on the tower.

Well, I won’t bore you with the rest of the details, but this was certainly a fun day. I met many more villagers, and each time I witnessed this amazing joy amongst them. Senegal, this section at least, has been the superlative of happiness; I can safely say that I’ve seen nothing like it anywhere.

Before I left, I shook hands with dozens of kids. Small hands, big hands, soft hands, dry cracked hands, wet hands, sticky hands. An unbelievable variety of little hands. I’m currently listening to a Peter Attila podcast on the importance of diversity in the micro biome… So, let’s do this shit!

Oh, and the bicycle… it had been out of my sight for a long time with people taking it for joy rides. When I got it back, 4 of my bags had been opened - but nothing was missing. I’m guessing the kids were searching unsuccessfully for candy. I mounted the bike and plied through the crowd. Something was wrong with the rear brake. When I got out of sight, I tried to fix it… befuddled for a moment until I extracted the culprit: a frayed piece of indigo-blue fabric stuck in the caliper.

Alvin!