Bumper Cars in Dakar

Today I got a ride to my hotel with a Japanese woman in the office who happened to be leaving at the same time as me and heading in the same direction. When I mentioned that I thought she was brave to drive here, she told me that it's not so bad, and I only need to go to downtown to see 'bad' drivers. Wow! I've seen good-bad drivers (Israel), crazy-bad drivers (Bangkok), and now, scary-bad drivers (Dakar). There was certainly no need for the humanitarian aid agency I work for to have a rule about no driving when on deployment, there is no chance in hell I would chance it here!

The taxis are a mixture of Western cars, Indian cars and Iranian cars. You'd think that would be enough of an explanation, but no. The sea of yellow taxis around Dakar (I would imagine that for every private car on the road, there is a yellow taxi to match) is quite spectacular. Traffic rules are entirely optional. I don't think the phrase "give way" exists in either French of Wolof - especially at round-a-bouts. I think I am yet to see a taxi without a dint in it. And I'm not talking the kind of scratch one gets from someone pushing a shopping trolley into your car, I mean enough dents and scratches to warrant the manufacturer selling the new 'shape' as a whole new model. The drivers will do what they can to pick you up if you're walking, then try and take you to the cleaners when negotiating a fare with you, and if you're lucky, get you to your destination alive. I was told that they will typically try to charge me twice of what I should bee paying, but as of this morning, 5x doesn't seem out of the ordinary! On the other hand, with the 'real' fares paid, I have no idea how there can possibly be any profit in the fare, assuming the cars run on petrol (which is as expensive here as any Western country).

My landing in Dakar was fairly pleasant, despite the long journey. The view of the city just prior to landing gave me a tiny bit of a shock - a very bland landscape of what I thought were crumbing buildings, but later turned out to be half finished buildings (and they are everywhere - the seemingly endless amount of construction is crazy). I was greeted at the ramshackle airport (this one really brought back the couple of memories I have of Harare airport in the 80's) by dozens of friendly Senegalese trying to change my money, sell me SIM cards, and get me to my destination. Just a little overwhelming. Especially when you don't have the language to communicate with them.

The language has really turned out to be quite an issue. Any shyness I have had in the past about languages is disappearing pretty quickly. The people who can't speak English still speak it better than I speak French. And no one is afraid to laugh at any attempts a non-speaker makes! They're not being horrible, they're just having fun. My colleagues are determined that by the end of my 3 months here I'll speak French - but given that I still have to ask them, after they talk amongst themselves, whether they were just speaking Wolof of French - I tell them they're dreaming! At the very least - I need to know my numbers - although the street seller today who received 100 CFA (20c) for a bag of nuts instead of what I should have paid her, 50 CFA, probably isn't complaining!

N'gor Beach / Fishing Boat Harbour

The culture shock has been something. I have somehow been scared into a state of slight nervousness. Were I travelling for 'fun', perhaps it would be different, but I feel bound by rules. Obviously, the rules (well, recommendations) are totally in my best interest. Whilst Dakar is an extremely safe city (assuming you are not too worried about petty theft of being totally ripped off by taxi drivers or street sellers), I have been informed that I shouldn't be out alone after 7pm. Hmmmm - OK. Then, perhaps this sounds a little crazy, but  I would say this nis either as a result of growing up and living in 'white' cultures, or the South African heritage (it would be nice if I could easily blame it on just that), but despite how much I don't want to notice that people are different, I notice skin colour. But maybe this isn't a bad thing, in fact, I know it's not. There is nothing wrong with noticing that in Denmark many people are blonde and blue eyed, so it's not bad to notice that everyone around me has skin as dark as midnight. But of course, the difference produces some kind of reaction that makes me hold back. And don't get me wrong - these are some of the friendliest people I have come across. My colleagues are a million times nicer to me than I have been to foreign consultants coming to work with me. Similarly, I get a 'bonjour' from just about every person I walk past in the street - which is certainly a wonderful change from Denmark (even if it does take some getting used to). Despite being made nervous about petty theft - no one touched my gear on the beach when I went swimming this evening - there were just hundreds of people chatting, swimming, drinking tea, playing games and mucking around near me. In fact, I'm hoping the happiness will be contagious.

I know someone will read into the above something I don't mean, but those who know me will understand what I mean. I'm loving the differences here - would be nicer if I had a slightly more permanent place to live - but I'm loving it.