Hey so I was going to be done posting about Spain, but then our return trip was so entirely noteworthy that I decided it was worthy of another entry.

On our way to the airport in Madrid, we ran into another PCV from The Gambia, Jax, on her way back from a trip to Morocco, and as it turns out, we were to fly back to Dakar on the same flight. Awesome, not only was it great to see her and exchange stories, but she also speaks Wolof and so would prove helpful. Blahblahblah, flight was fine. Then, we arrived in Dakar at 9 pm their time, though it was 11 pm by our Spain-adjusted bodies. And immediately there was no doubt that we were back in West Africa.
Our original plan had been to sleep in the airport terminal until morning, then try to arrange transport home, but being so tired of traveling (and worried that we might get kicked out), we decided to try to arrange for a night bus to the border, hoping to make it to the north bank in time for the first ferry. Jax negotiated very hard on our behalf to get a car to take us, finally they settled on a price that was only slightly more expensive than what we had paid to get there, we agreed considering the driver would be going all night. Also, this transport company seemed somewhat legit, considering they had an office at the airport, we didn’t want to get stuck in some shady carpark in the middle of the night.
At this point, we realized that we did not have enough CFA (pronounced “say-fah”, the official currency in Senegal) to pay for the trip, but many of us had some Euro left over. But where to change it at 10 pm? On the street, of course. So, without much difficulty at all, we found a man on the street right outside the airport willing to change our Euro. We weren’t sure how much the exchange SHOULD be, but all the people we talked to seemed to agree. We exchanged bills, but then wanted to exchange coins, only to be told that coins were exchanged at a much worse rate than the bills were. Why? Money is money. We told him that that was BS, and when he asked for more coins to make up for the balance, we told him “mbang!” (while sharply flapping our arms down at our sides once, much like a chicken dance, it means “I refuse!”) and he burst out laughing and responded “You refuse? Ok then, we’re friends.” Sounds like shady practice to me, but what do you want from changing money on the street.
Once we got that sorted out, we returned to load onto our van and get going. Before we could take off, the driver and the man with whom we had been negotiating asked Jax, our Wolof speaker to come into the office so that they could take her passport number and giver her a receipt. When she got into the office, they locked the door and proceeded to berate her in Wolof. They then tried to add 30,000 CFA to our already agreed price. Jax was only able to get out of the office when she said that she needed to go back to the car to get money. Instead she returned with the only male traveling in our group, the men changed their tune, and we got on the road. It was around 11 pm.
As if there hadn’t been quite enough hints that this was not a safe choice, the ride was a nightmare. Our driver, while very nice, drove like a maniac. He was going at absolutely ridiculous speeds, careening around potholes, and swerving around other drivers. We would ask him to slow down, but bit by bit he would speed up again. There were many times that I seriously questioned whether I would rather die in my sleep, or rather stay awake to see my death barreling towards me at breakneck speeds. On the upside, I can now say “slowly slowly” in four languages.
By the grace of God, we arrived at the border at around 4:30 am, did the passport thing, and arranged for another car. The new driver indeed took advantage of the fact that it was early, we are foreigners carrying backpacks, and it was raining. But we negotiated a price and started for the riverbank, 20 K away. Along the way, Jax wanted to get out and walk to her village. It was only 2 k off the road, and she was anxious to get home. The driver wouldn’t let her out. He said that it was dark and raining, therefore not safe, but if we doubled the price, he would take her all the way. What? Double the price to add another 4 K to our 20 K trip? No way dude, we’re already paying you too much. But he continued to be rude, he wouldn’t let her out, and it really was insulting. Seriously dude, we’re here giving up two years of our lives to help develop your country, and all you can do is be a greedy asshole? We could be home earning money, having a normal support network of friends, having a normal romantic life, but we’re here instead trying to bring some good into the world. F you and F that noise. We raised such a ruckus that he finally let her leave, but he was really pissed at us for not giving him more money. Ugh, its not that I want special favors, I’ll pay a fair price for fair work, I just don’t want to be taken advantage of. Asshole.
We finally got to the ferry, waited in the rain to be let on. I fell asleep on board, in the rain, because I was just that tired.
When we reached the other side, the steady rain had turned into a downpour, and again we needed to arrange for a car to bring us to the PC hostel. We arranged a price with one car, and began loading in. The price was again elevated due to the rain and the fact that we were all carrying luggage. But then, another driver offered a price that was half of what we agreed to. We gave our driver a chance to reduce, he refused, so we unloaded our luggage and started to get into the new car. Our driver got mad and started yelling at us and at our new driver. Some of us loaded into the new car, but then the other driver physically blocked the rest of us from getting in. So we’re stuck standing in the downpour, holding our bags, while the two drivers yell and shove each other in the street over who gets to drive us, and at what price. This went on for about ten minutes, a crowd gathered, it was great. We finally were able to get the people OUT of the car who had gotten in, and we got another car. And paid a small fortune to be dropped right at our doorstep.
So at the late hour of 9 am, we all passed out, muddy and exhausted.
Dear West Africa,
Thanks for all your help.
Whitney