It’s been a transport day.
The Baobab Lodge didn’t let me sleep. People live in that compound and they didn’t care for one passing guest. Music till 11pm, then some hammer sounds at midnight, then at 1:23am heavy stuff being moved from side to side, then more conversation. Roosters wake up at 7am at that place.
I posted the postcards and took breakfast. Half baguette bread stuffed with omelette and onions and cup of instant coffee, 60D. A minibus arrived soon bound for Soma, which is where the Transgambian Highway (North-South across Gambia, between Senegal borders, the only bridge on Gambia River in the country) meets the South Bank West-East highway. It took 2 hours and 150D, possibly including the 50D baggage fee.
In Soma my Rough Guide pointed to an eatery. I decided to have my lunch in Gambia as I somehow assumed lunch will be cheaper there than in Senegal. Not quite true but I also had a lot of dalaisi and wanted to spend them locally in case money changers will wanna give me bad exchange rate.
I had been thinking to visit Banjul and the coast but after all I decided not to. Banjul might be interesting as a small dying capital city, in a weird way likeable. The coast is swarmed by tourists, there are all-inclusive resorts. Nah. Empty beaches are ahead anyway.
The lunch was tasty, chicken yassa and water for 300D at Ramadan Fast Food, though the sign said Raamdan so who knows what it’s called.
There is an immigration post in Soma, they looked at my passport and told me to go to the border.
A shared taxi to the border was 25D+25D. At the border the immigration alone took maybe 10mins. Changing the 2700D took maybe 20mins. I was offered 31400cfa but I asked for 100cfa. My French is probably not very good as most of the time the change boys were explaining to me that I should give them 100cfa change (a coin) from 31500cfa (all notes) they gave to me. Only when I used the magic word “cadeau” (gift) and when I told them they should for once dash a white man instead they understood. And I got a whopping 100cfa cadeau! This will last my luck for the next 10 years, I should have used my cadeau points somewhere else.
Then comes the transport. There is a sept-place going all the way to Ziguinchor (120kms/2hrs) away but boy, it wants money. Yeah, it’s a border, there is no other choice the village is back of beyond, the manager is unpleasant and asks for 3500cfa fare and, wait for it, 1500cfa baggage. I try to talk him down and manage to get to 1000cfa. I get a “voucher” for the trip for 3500cfa. Whatever, I have been told everyone pays the baggage. It’s a good business, transport.
But we are waiting because right now we have three passengers.
Then suddenly the taxi leaves abruptly, with its trunk open and stops 100m away. Some tells me they will be loading up goats.
And yes they did. We travelled with maybe 15 goats and rams on the roof. Their legs were tied, some of the animals were packed in large flour bags. Then they were tied again to the baggage holder on the roof so they don’t fall. I never knew that goats can shriek like human beings.
One of the more shrieking goats managed to fall off the rack on the top of the car and was hanging on the rope holding it by its neck. I will never touch goat meat again.
When the money-collecting guy (the one standing on the car roof, they are rarely drivers; drivers are good people doing the hard work avoiding cows and donkeys on the road and handling police) saw me taking photos of course he started shouting he will need money for them.
We set off. The owner of the goats was sitting in front seat. The goats were coughing, swooshing above us. Saliva dropped on the car windows. The owner had a sanitary permit to carry the goats and the police were checking it scrupulously (Casamance in South Sénégal is a restless region, the checkpoints were surrounded by sandbags).
The nature was becoming greener and greener. There were more and more trees. It was hot, the sun was shining right on my head. I was drifting away in sleep, when suddenly cold drops sprinkled my face.
The sheep were pissing! The water was getting in the car. The owner in front didn’t pay much attention. My door didn’t have the window handle. The driver handed me his. I closed the door. Yellowish liquid was marking its way on the dusted glass. I will never touch goat meat again.
I picked Casa Tina in town to stay, as a possibly the cheapest option. The Rough Guide doesn’t specify the accommodation prices only the ranges, which is a horrible way of doing it because the lowest range is 0-€25 per night. There is too many euros possible in the lowest range.
Interestingly, Casa Tina was full. But Tina went out and led me to another chambres d’hôtes nearby. It is called Keur Touty and they asked for 10kcfa for a room with bathroom. Fair enough. Best thing is: Casamance is no longer predominantly Muslim and there are bars! And I have a bar on the corner! Now I love my Muslim brothers and sisters but a bar with an outside seating makes such a big difference.
Dinner was also nearby, in Erobongo, by the river, a not too well cleaned grilled fish and chips and salad and two large beers for 4300cfa. Then I went to what seemed to be town centre (quite empty at 10pm) to a pharmacy to find something to dry my burn spot. It is not painful but it just looks horrible. I got something. The pharmacist didn’t know what panthenol is.
I will probably stay here two nights. The reason I came to Zinguichor is Bissau visa and I thought I could immediately go to Bissau (or maybe the coast around here) but there is a concert in the local Alliance Française and even though I have no idea who the artist is (her name is Mariaa Siga and she’s from Casamance), I don’t wanna miss the music. I already missed two concerts in Dakar and who knows if Bamako will deliver.
Coming back to Maman 