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Dear Family:
Hope all's well. Chuck's arranging a Golf Tournament for Monday - Labor Day. It's become a tradition to have a golf outing on each American holiday. we're having it at the Meridien Golf club -- "The Pebble Beach of West Africa". Yesterday the course was strewn with cadavers -- of dead locusts.
3rd
Travels with Anzie - Part 28: A Plague of Locusts
Meet Jiminy. He's a cricket. He's bright yellow, about 3"-5" long, and can eat his weight every day. He and billions like him are now wreaking havoc in West Africa.
We've heard about the swarms of locusts as they've moved west and south from Mali and Mauritania into the farmlands of eastern Senegal. President Wade sent troops there armed with insecticide pumps. They were ineffective. Now the locusts have arrived in Dakar, and it's amazing sight for us two sojourners to behold. How many of you remember the gypsy moth invasion of 1982? I remember the stories of cars sliding off roads that were covered with squished gypsy moth caterpillar bodies. We're hearing the same stories here about car accidents caused by locusts.
First let's talk terminology. In these parts the locust is called "criquet pelerin", or pilgrim cricket. They look like grasshoppers on steroids. (see photos below)
Yesterday driving to work we first came across several locusts flying this way and that. Then it was a few more. As we approached the Mamelles area we saw what appeared to be yellow smoke. As we entered the "smoke", our car was hit by hundreds of the critters. Every leaf of the surrounding bushes, trees and plants was covered with locusts. Actually it was a beautiful sight. The yellow insects against the green leaves looked like forsythia in the full bloom of early Spring.
All at once, like a cloudburst, we were through it. Anzie gets on her cellphone to Amidou at home: "Amidou, take every bedsheet we have out of the closet. Take them out in the yard and cover as many bushes and plants as you can."
"But madam", replied Amidou, " We have no locusts here. They will fly away as soon as they feel the warmth of the sun."
"Amidou, give the sheets to Omar (guard). I'll call back later", says Anzie.
On the way home from work, I passed through the same area. The locusts were still evident in great numbers, but not nearly as numerous as before. The tops of most bushes were stripped of green down about 12 ".
At home I spotted several locust corpses and no sheets in the yard. I let the cats out to hunt down any stragglers. After about ten minutes of acting as huntresses, Sweety and Snooty both stretched out under a tree and went to sleep. Omar, our guard, explained that a swarm of locusts flew over while he was watering the lawn. He immediately aimed the hose in circles over his head. The swarm flew on without landing.
This morning the locusts were gone, I know not where. Mamadou, an agricultural expert with Peace Corps, told Anzie that the worst is yet to come. The adults we saw yesterday laid eggs that will hatch into larva in 2-3 weeks. These larvae - they resemble large black ants and are called "hoppers"-- have ravenous appetites. Mamidou has seen them strip five acres of knee-high green beans in less than a day.
In the meantime, President Wade is now pointing his finger at all of the countries that supply aid to Senegal, complaining that their financial aid is taking too long. His Minister of Agriculture estimates that the cricket problem can be solved with in infusion of $100 million. More photos of troops outfitted with insecticide pumps.
Guess what, folks. You're too late. The time to fight the locusts effectively is when they're in the larval stage. Once they're flying, it is next to impossible to eradicate them from the ground. It's not that the powers that be haven't had adequate forewarning. They knew about this impending disaster since last October.
Maybe now that the disaster has reached Dakar, people will join forces and fight this pest in an effective manner. When the babies are born in 2-3 weeks, that's when the battle can be fought, and won.
For more on the West African locust problem check out this website.
Here are a series of BBC articles
and a BBC gallery
of locust pictures.
Also,
see our photos
A la prochaine,
Chuck & Anne
12th
Travels with Anzie - Part 29: Gambia
Introduction
Meet Dez. He's a transplanted Brit who now resides in Gambia. Dez is a compact, muscular man in his 60's who retired to Gambia because he and his wife, Sylvia, can live well for less.
Dez and Sylvia are not alone. Many people have come to Gambia to vacation on its wide, uncrowded beaches, and then decided to live there permanently. Life in Gambia has its good and bad sides, like everywhere else, as Anzie and I were to discover.
I've been working fulltime at the Embassy since mid-June. Lemmetellya, fulltime work isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, it's been interesting work in real estate. I get to visit some pretty awesome houses. I negotiate with landlords and realtors (In Dakar the buyer pays the commission. Can you believe it?). I inspect houses when tenants leave and before new tenants arrive. I share in the stress of getting properties ready within a time frame that is never long enough. I get to work closely with some pretty fantastic, dedicated people. Believe me, for the most part, they dispense the taxpayers' money wisely.
But, I digress …. Anyway, these last two months have been hectic with people moving in and out. Finally, last week I went back to part time. Dieynaba, my funny, beautiful Mauritanian colleague came back from two months home leave. Her husband, Kevin, was born and raised in Syracuse. Anzie had some work to do in Gambia, so I agreed to act as driver and boytoy.
Getting There
We left early Thursday morning. Friends had estimated the trip to take 5-6 hours. As we drove south of Dakar we both were taken aback at how beautiful the country had become with the onslaught of the rainy season, or l'hivernage. The season usually lasts from June to October. Last year it rained too much. Everything was so green! Just a few miles south of Dakar we travel through a baobab forest. These huge trees that look like they were planted upside down, were absolutely bushy with leaves. The further south we drove the greener the countryside became. The town of Kaolack lies about three hours drive from Dakar. South of Kaolack we left the green but arid countryside, which is punctuated by the occasional tree, and entered the lush verdant country of tall millet and cornfields, green rolling hills dotted with a wide assortment of arbor vitae.
The downside of traveling during the rainy season is the horrible road conditions. Actually Senegal's highways south of Dakar have improved tremendously over the past year. The trip to Kaolack that took four hours last year is now down to three. Nonetheless, the detours are still killers for a normal car. Mud wallows and knee-deep, pond-sized puddles caused us to sing the praises of Karen Lass, who sold us her Toyota RAV-4 4 x 4 last May. Our little Nissan Sentra would never have made it. The road from Kaolak down to the border is 60% excellent. The rest is Pothole City, more hole than blacktop. We came upon some potholes large enough to house a Vietnamese family of four. South of the border city of Karang? - Forgeddaboudit!! You're now in Gambia where "infrastructure" consists of a sign saying "Welcome to Gambia". The only good road we found in Gambia was the one from the outskirts of Banjul, the capital city, to the beach resort area in Kololi.
South of Kaolack we stopped in the village of Sokone so Anne could do a little Peace Corps business. We lunched with volunteer Chris Murphy, who is working in the (SED) Small Enterprise Program. Chris is working with community leaders to build a tourism program. They are focussing on tourists from Europe who wish to have an authentic African experience. This includes an overnight stay with an African village, participating in village activities, be it farming, herding, ritual festivities, fishing. Sokone is located on the Saloum River close to where it meets the Atlantic, so fishing is an important industry. Most of it is accomplished using nets out of the heavy wooden piroque boats. Deep-sea fishing is also good here. It is now the swordfish/marlin season.
Chris and Anne talked shop while I dined on an excellent plate of fish thieboudien, including rice, onions, cabbage, manioc root and a bouillion-based sauce. Chris has a good sense of humor. He described a fellow volunteer as "the little sister I never wanted to have". His narrative of his trials and tribulations trying to get his community counterparts to agree on common objectives and go about business in a professional manner made our lunchtime go by fast.
We bid Au revoir to Chris and continued our journey to the border. Our concern was getting delayed at the ferry that traverses the Gambia River. The road and the countryside was fantastic all the way to the border town of Karang. Anne kept busy with her bird book identifying the many exotic species we ran over across saw.
At the entrance to Karang we were stopped at a police roadblock. We had to enter the police shed and produce our passports and car papers. It was the first time since we bought the car that I realized our papers weren't in order. Even thought we bought the car last May and had submitted all the appropriate paperwork, we still hadn't received the proper documentation. The real issue is the Carte Grise, the Grey Card, which serves as a registration card.
Two things happened in our favor. First Anzie did a shmooze job on the commandant. She discovered that he had a relation in Washington that did some work for the Peace Corps. Second, the police noted our green diplomatic plates. They sent us on our way after our promise to obtain our Grey Card just as soon as we returned to Dakar. It still took us about a half-hour. One of the cops took umbrage at the way I parked the car. I parked perpendicular to the road, instead of parallel. Of course there are no signs. You're just supposed to know! What's more, the kid peanut vendors there are a pain in the ass. They're all over you like flies. Anne offered them a couple of empty plastic water bottles. They almost broke her wrist wrenching those bottles from her grasp.
On to the next stop four kilometers away, the Gambian Customs House, the Douane. There are no signs to direct you, only men in civilian clothes who act as officious as the parking gardiens around the Place De L'independance. One directs you to a parking spot. Another informs you that you must move your car. "It's in the way." The Customs House is filled with people sitting around waiting for Allah knows what, while apparatchiks behind a long counter thumb through huge, dog-eared ledgers. While I'm moving the car, Anzie, the only toubab lady in the house, steps to the front of the line. I enter carrying all the car papers I can find, including a couple of gas receipts. I'm worried about another problem with the missing Grey Card. I hope that maybe I can bamboozle them with an excrescence of paper work, and they'll let us go. Anzie turns to me, beaming. She says, "It's our official (diplomatic) passports. They let us through no problem!"
Moral of the story: Dip Plate and Dip Passports will speed your trip. It will help to have your car papers in order, including the Grey Card and an up-to-date insurance card.
We continue on our way searching for the next stop, the ferry ticket booth. The road turns terrible. What pavement exists is a combination of seashells and dirt. We begin to see groups of young boys pulling a scam that we haven't seen since last summer up north in the Fouta. One or two boys are shoveling dirt into a pothole while another waves us motorists down looking for tips for their work repairing the road. We wonder if they have an association that operates throughout the country or is that some kind of innate knowledge. We finally decided that it's the latter. It's similar to the reaction a youngster has when first confronted with an Oreo cookie. Nine times out of ten he'll pull the cookie apart and lick the icing. The other part of the pothole-filling scam is that, when you return over the same road, you discover that the road isn't any better. The "road repair gangs" are always on the same section of road, like it's their franchise. They simply remove dirt from one pothole to fill another. For the record, Anzie disagrees with me on this point.
So, we're traveling along this road, looking for the ferry ticket office, for 25 minutes. Navigator insists that it couldn't take this long to get to the ferry, that we must have taken a wrong turn. Driver insists that there's only one road to the ferry, so there's no wrong turn to take. Navigator insists that we stop to ask directions. We stop at the next gang of pothole-fillers, throw them some bon-bons we keep for such an occasion, and Driver asks them where and how far.is the ferry. They act as if we came from another planet. They don't respond except for puzzled looks. Suddenly it dawns on Driver that perhaps these boys speak English, which turns out to be the fact. We discover that we are indeed on the right road and that we have another five kilometers to go. Navigator then decides to look at the map, where she discovers the reason that the boys speak English. We've been in Gambia ever since we left the Customs House in Karang 40 kilometers ago. In fact, the ferry is about 45 kms. south of the border.
As we buzz by a truck weighing station on our left, we notice people signaling us. Since they weren't filling potholes we stopped. They tell us that this is where we buy tickets. Apparently there is a small sign just before it indicating that ferry tickets are for sale just ahead, but we didn't see it. Friend Chanh had warned us. He missed the ticket shed. When he arrived at the ferry, he was forced to return the two kms. to buy tickets. Tickets for vehicle, driver and one passenger came to 4500 CFA, less than $10.00.
We arrive in the ferry port of Barra to find a long line of cars and trucks. We're motioned to a gate at the head of the line. An official inspects our tickets, and we're directed through the gate to the dockside. Lo and behold, a ferry is at the dock! We had heard that a ferry departs every hour on the hour. The time was now 4:10 pm The official looked at our Dip. Plates, and directed us to drive on board. We couldn't believe our luck! The attendants maneuver the vehicles so close to each other and to railings that we were certain that our poor baby RAV would not escape injury.
The trip is supposed to take a half-hour. We finally arrive at the Banjul side of the River at 5:50, without damage. To this point our trip has taken 9 ½ hours. Even taking into account our two-hour lunch, it's still been a long trip.
Our return trip was a lot faster. We waited 45-minutes for the ferry. Because of our diplomatic plates we were escorted to the "express line". The trip took only 45 minutes. From the time we disembarked in Barra to our front door, the trip took five hours. We stopped only once, for gas.
So, we learned a few things that might hasten your trip:
Gambia -- The Country the World Forgot
Gambia is such an interesting country. Look at a map and you'll see that the country looks like a smiling, or grimacing, mouth in the face of Senegal. It is surrounded on three sides by Senegal. It extends along each side of the Gambia River, which defines it. The country is about 250 miles long by an average of 15 miles wide. It starts out wide at the ocean, then after about 30 miles, it narrows down. Should be perfect territory for spaghetti plantations. History has it that the British military contingent charged with mapping out the territory sailed up the river in a gunboat. The boundaries were determined by how far they could fire a cannonball from the river.
Gambia was a British territory from 1820 until 1965. The British didn't do much to improve the country during their tenure. Peanuts constituted the single important export product. They even tried to trade it to the French, who occupied Senegal, for more favorable territory. The French weren't interested. During the first part of the 20th Century, India and other parts of Africa dominated British colonial policy. Gambia became independent in 1965. The capital city of Bathurst was renamed Banjul.
Beginning in the '70's Gambia became a tourist destination, offering wide, sandy beaches, great fishing and beautiful, sunny weather during the winter months.
Banjul, the capital city, resembles some of the poorer sections of downtown Detroit. Some streets are impassable due to flooding. Trash is everywhere. We noticed one dramatic difference from Senegal as soon as we hit the highway to Kololi. The Gambian drivers are so civilized. They drive slowly. They stay in line. They give way to cars entering from parking lots or driveway. They are courteous! Perhaps their good driving manners stem from their long association with the British. Gambia was under British rule until 1965. Apparently the turnover of power was amicable. Since then Gambia has experienced three bloodless coups.
The uncertain governance has not helped the economy to revive. The main export is still groundnuts. Tourism was hurt by the unrest, and is just beginning to revive. There is talk of Sheraton building a resort just south of the airport. On one hand, it's too bad. It's a beautiful area: lush, tropical vegetation -- exotic birds-- wide sand beaches -- plenty of bars, restaurants, niteclubs and hotel accommodations -- a friendly, laid-back population. On the other hand, it's a good deal. The dearth of tourists has kept prices reasonable. And, as Dez and Sylvia discovered, the prices of housing are cheap, as is the cost of living. Wages are low. The average monthly wage is $100.
But, I digress ….
We arrived at our digs, the Coconut Residence. Anzie has stayed here several times because of its style and elegance. Plus, it's not very far from the Peace Corps offices. I was struck immediately by the fact that there was no sign. It implied that if you didn't know where it was, you had no business being there. The warm, welcoming attitude of the staff belied this implication. They greeted Anzie as a long lost cousin.
Coconut Residence can best be described as a "boutique" hotel. It consists of 28 rooms that are located in separate bungalows and villas. These are surrounded by jungle gardens. Our room was half of a duplex bungalow, complete with a large furnished veranda. The furnishings exhibited a refined taste, British Colonial with Moroccan accents, and included a queen size four-poster canopy bed. The owners are Moroccan. I thought the room was just fine. Not good enough for Queen Anzie. She kept whining that it wasn't romantic enough. I don't know - the bed looked good to me. I kept saying, "… but this room is great!" She kept saying "No, this is a simple room. We can do better." I kept saying, "It'll be a hassle to move." She said,"No, they do it all for us." She was right. She asked for, and we were given for our next two nights, the room she had stayed in during her last visit. Our "final resting place" was located on the second floor of a six-suite villa: a living room, huge bedroom beautifully decorated with Moroccan rugs, and a balcony overlooking a swimming pool.
The staff of 110 are inculcated with a true service mentality. They see a problem, they own it until it's taken care of. I was climbing out of one of the several swimming pools as a staff member was passing by. As soon as he saw me he stopped, reversed direction, and appeared a minute later with a towel for me. They seemed to be just looking for ways to serve us. Everyone knew our names. Of course, I was "Mr. Dodge".
The bar is another plus. After 10 hours on the road, I looked forward to a stiff drink. David, the bartender makes an excellent martini! So good I had two! It was the first bar I found in Africa that made an acceptable martini. I made a toast to the British influence.
The restaurant is well-appointed. Normally, tables are set alongside the swimming pool. Unfortunately, construction activity precluded this. They were adding a second floor. The food is nouvelle cuisine and excellent. One day Anzie ordered a Moroccan dish of lamb, prunes and almonds for that evening. She remembered eating it there during an earlier trip. It wasn't on the menu. The chef made it up special. It was excellent!
They also serve an excellent breakfast, if you have the time. The breakfast staff was incapable of serving breakfast within a half hour, which is no problem if you're a tourist.
The hotel offers a cruise up the Gambia River on their private boat, including lunch. At $90.00/person I thought it too expensive. The manager offered us a special rate of $72.00. Anzie had heard good things about it, so we went.
The boat is vintage class. About 50 ft. long, it consists of two decks. (See Ofoto for pictures). The lower has two bathrooms and a shower, a bar/kitchen and a lounge, all decorated with mahogany trim, cushioned chairs and couches. The top deck is designed for sightseeing and sunning. We set off with a crew of four. Picture Anzie sitting on the top deck, glass of white wine in hand, giving "queen waves" to the birds as we passed.
The banks of the river are all mangroves. At low tide we could spot thousands of oysters clinging to the roots. We anchored after about a half hour at the confluence of two bolongs, estuaries. We began to fish along with the skipper, Aliouf. Anzie quit after a half hour. Aliouf and I persevered. During two hours the two of us caught what looked like the same 8-inch long catfish a total of six times.
Take 3
This is my third attempt to write the following. I have lost about 3-4 hours worth of writing due to our sudden power cuts. They happen almost every other day. This is a new computer. We haven't set up "Automatic Save" yet. Here we attribute these problems to WAWA - West Africa Wins Again.
We sat down to dine on a platter of hors d'oeuvres, salad and fish brochettes. It was quite satisfactory. We had food aplenty, since the chef had ordered enough for four. The other couple had cancelled at the last minute.
We disembarked at around 5:00 PM after embarking at 11:00 AM. I'll tell ya, an hour of nothing but mangroves goes a long way for me. Even the birds were nothing exotic. Perhaps I've become jaded, or perhaps it was the on-again-off-again rain. I enjoyed our trip down the Senegal River out of St. Louis with El Haj much more. The birds, the scenery, the food and drink, the ambiance, the learning experience all seemed much better in retrospect . Perhaps it was the newness of everything. After all, I had been in Africa for one month. Nonetheless, in retrospect El Haj's tour was well worth the $50.00.
The Coconut Residence isn't for everybody. A family with kids should probably stay at the Kairaba Hotel. It's right on the beach and offers plenty of activities. Next to it is the Senegambia Hotel - older and a bit more relaxed. For stays of a week or more take a look at the Kololi Beach Club. We did because we had exchange privileges at this time share complex. It offers townhouse apartments with all the amenities, golf at a par-3 course and an isolated, wide, sandy beach. Meals at their beachside restaurant can be included.
For eating, a couple of must-do's: The Butcher Shop and the Clay Oven.
The Butcher Shop is basically … well …a butcher shop with an outside terrace restaurant. Open only for lunch in the summer, they begin to serve dinner in October. Theirs are the best hamburgers in West Africa. We also bought three kilos of Cumberland sausage, which we shared with Chanh, my boss and friend. It tastes as good as they claimed it would.
The Clay Oven is an Indian restaurant - the only one we've discovered in West Africa. Another toast to the British influence! The Clay Oven has an extensive menu, plus dinner specials. Good food at moderate prices washed down with several bottles of a good local beer, JuhlBrew. Tastes like Heinekens. Clay Oven, my kind of place.
While in Gambia we stocked up on staples like pork products -- bacon and sausages, scotch, gin, rum and charcoal. We bought two 50# bags of charcoal. It's 30% of the cost in Dakar. Barbara, a Peace Corps friend in Banjul, was amazed that we came to Gambia to shop. Usually Gambians travel to Senegal to shop.
Checked out two sports activities:
Bijilo Forest Park
This small wildlife reserve is located in the beach across the road from the Kololi Beach Club. Trails lead through lush and shady vegetation where you'll see three different types of monkeys and many exotic birds. Regretfully we didn't have time to visit. Next time.
Getting There from the U.S.
JFK to Dakar will cost you about $1000 round trip. You stay at our place for as long as you want (bear in mind the thing that fish and houseguests have in common. They both start to smell after three days. Just kidding!) Your flight Dakar-Banjul will cost $200. Time: JFK-Dakar 7 ½ hours. Dakar-Banjul 45 minutes.
A la prochaine,
Chuck & Anne
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