I have fallen in love with the desert. I remember learning that dessert is spelled with one more “S” than desert because you want more of it, but it’s a good thing I can already spell them both, as now I’m not sure which I prefer! Cheesy, I know, but it is just so beautiful!
After a good five-hour bus ride, we found ourselves plunging into the brush in a beat-up, old army pick-up, only to stop breathlessly at the desert of Lompoul—breathless from the ride, but even more so from the sight in front of us. Like the ocean, it seemed to stretch out to the edge of the world, and in vain we tried to capture the sight of the sun slipping into the dunes while we took turns “camel riding”; I use this term loosely, as the experience reminded me of a little kid’s birthday party, with the guide leading us just to the point where we couldn’t see our comrades over the next dune before circling us right back around! That night, after a meal of couscous under billowing, white tents and some dancing and drumming around the fire, we spread out on the dunes to marvel at the immensity of the desert (which eventually flows into the infamous Sahara) and count the continuous stream of shooting stars.
Saturday, we were awoken before the sunrise by drumming and the disorienting English chant that accompanied it, “Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up…” We bid a hasty good-bye to Lompoul (and its amazingly chilly weather!) to make the trek to St. Louis. Usually a two hour drive, we had the misfortune to be arriving on the day Abdoulaye Wade (the current president) happened to be inaugurating the ancient bridge that links the island to mainland Senegal. As a result, we ended up having to stop at a hotel on the way for four hours; we had the good chance to stop at one with a huge pool, so the hours passed quickly until we finally were able to enter the city. Once there we spent the remaining daylight hours wandering the streets, bargaining with vendors, brushing by a few historical sites (St. Louis is the former colonial capital of French West Africa and a World Heritage site), and just soaking up the city. With its colorful homes, charming street-side cafés, and celebrations around every other corner, it had us all feeling “homesick” for New Orleans! Following an amazing dinner of brick-oven pizza, I headed to a free outdoor concert with a few friends—and a few thousand Senegalese students! We enjoyed the classic Senegalese mbalax beats, an impressive laser light show, and hours of conversation before at last giving up on ever hearing the main act perform; turns out they weren’t to come on until 3:00 AM!
Sunday morning we made the trip up to Djoudj, a national wildlife reserve that is apparently the third-best place to bird watch in the world. Two hours on a pirogue and a few hundred pelicans later, I was ready to believe them! Then it was back on the bus for the final time to journey south, south, south to Dakar, where we arrived just before 11:00 PM. I was greeted with warm handshakes from Papy Jo and Mama FK and teasing remarks about my disheveled appearance from my brothers—“Sand! Dirt! Dust! Amy is boooootiful!”— before giving in to travel-induced exhaustion. Much as I loved the desert, it was awfully nice to find myself once more in the company of my eccentrically affectionate Senegalese family, in my remarkably sand-free home!
Happy Thanksgiving folks, et ba beneen yoon,
Amy Diallo
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