Emma’s Visit, Part II: The Epic Journey

On January 5, after spending a few days in Linguere, Emma and I made our way southeast to Tambacounda. At 8 am, we went to the Linguere garage, where we conveniently found a sept place--the 7-passenger station wagon that is generally the fastest public transportation option--heading to Touba. We waited for about half an hour for the sept place to fill up before we were on our way. A couple minutes into our ride, realizing that Emma's experiences with public transportation on her trip had thus far been way too uneventful, I thought, with a hint of regret, “What if she doesn’t get to experience the real joys of public transport in this country: the waiting and the sweating and the break-downs?”

My concern was unfounded, at least on one front. Emma got to wait. When we got dropped off on the side of the road in Touba at around 11:30, we took a shared taxi to the garage, where we found a sept place getting ready to leave for Tambacounda. Unfortunately it only one spot left. Oh, the heartbreak of arriving just minutes too late to catch a car... Because we were one passenger too many, we had to wait for both the first and second cars to fill up before we could be on our way.

Emma quickly adapted to Senegal's thumb-twiddling lifestyle, though. During the three hour wait she entertained herself by purchasing clementines and a bracelet from two of the many roaming salespeople, while wisely foregoing the assorted packets of knock-off pills of uncertain origin and purpose. She also made friends with the public restrooms, which isn’t easy to do, as it requires both vigilance to avoid the ever-present men crouching to pee outside the stalls instead of in them and a nose of steel.


The Proof Is In the Poo? Public toilets in Senegal

While visiting the bathrooms, Emma also got to witness some of my more quality interactions with Senegalese people. I stole back our kettle of washing water from an overeager man who grabbed it out of her hand while trying to cut in line between us, and later loudly and theatrically argued with the toilet supervisor over the 50 CFA (ten cents) extra he wanted to charge us to pee in a stall. Arguing in Senegal, especially among Wolof populations, is nothing more than a form of friendly socialization, and by loudly proclaiming that we weren't planning to poop (yes, the word's the same in Wolof), I endeared myself to the toilet guard enough to keep the 50 CFA.

Eventually the sept place did fill up, and at about 3 pm, we hit the road again. We arrived at the Tambacounda garage after dark, and convinced a taxi driver to stop at both the bank and the mini-market on the way to the Peace Corps house for no extra fee, save a candy bar to appease him. By the time we made it to the house, it was almost 9 pm. Dirty, tired and hungry, we tucked into an oversized can of ravioli before showering and tucking ourselves in for the night. We slept soundly in preparation for the next leg of our journey, Tamba to Kedougou, which I'll detail sometime soon.


The Route

Just for the record, Emma is a trooper. I dragged her from the northwestern-most point in Senegal to the southeastern-most city in Senegal during her two-week trip.