It’s not too fun being sick in a foreign country. It finally happened… it was something I ate and I was sick as a dog. I called the emergency doctor people (couldn’t leave the apt) and he came and gave me all sorts of medicines. My mom came two days later, and I was still recovering. It was a week before I actually felt like myself again. I am never eating a hamburger in this country again. I mean before, I never felt too good after I ate them before, but this is definitely the worst.
So my mom came and we headed off to Tambacounda on Tuesday, but not before I pitched not one by two fits at two different taxi drivers. One misinterpreted where I meant and the other was just a jerk. I mean all they see is money from you. And would you believe the second taxi driver - who insisted we pay more for our baggage than we should have - actually asked me to move seats. I told him if I saw all the money he made me give him for the baggage I might consider it. But he scoffed at that offer.
Then… the inevitable happened. We were drivng along and the car hit a pothole and completely broke down. We were stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere somewhere around 10 at night. So, we watched the stars. You could see the entire milky way, it was really amazing and we were pointing out all sorts of constellations. After about two and a half hours we were on the road again. And then… somewhere around 2 in the morning we broke down again. We were on that sept place (seven seater car) all night long. My poor mom… she was exhausted by the time we reached Tambacounda. On the upside, we did save by not having to get a hotel room. So we headed straight to another sept place and took it to Dar Salaam, where we found yet another truck to take us into Nicoloko Park (sp?).
The poor hotel, there had been a forest fire only the day before and it burned up their main reception area. Everything was ruined. I told him our house had burnt down and I was very sorry for what they were going through. So, they took us to the Hotel in Simenti, and it was a very rough ride… not that all other roads aren’t rough either but this was unpaved. We got to the hotel, and surprise surprise, there were a few other Europeans there! They were so nice, there were some french people there and we took a boat ride with them. We saw hippos, crocodiles, and these beautiful colorful birds. You know they have palm trees that make naturally alcoholic coconuts? Afterward, a very nice Senegalese guy who worked there offered us a free tour. (Of course in the middle of the tour he proceeded to ask why I wouldn’t come back and stay with him. I told him it was not prudent. It’s what I tell every guy at this point….) We saw gazelles, deer, baboons, and more beautiful brightly colored birds.
Then, at dinner, I heard someone calling my name in a high pitched voice. I was like… no… no one could know me out here (except the staff, they were all so sweet always coming by and talk to me in wolof. Not that I understood any of it.) And it happened to be Skye! She is another exchange student studying up in St. Louis, I met her through Rebecca. She’s Rebecca’s sister’s best friend from high school. She’s a sweetie, and I was just so shocked to see someone who knew me. So we hung out a bit and then mom and I went to bed exhausted. But not before doing some more Sudoku puzzles… you know those things are so addictive?
So the next morning, we got up and met Skye to go animal watching. We saw a few birds, but the audio was really the coolest part. You could just hear all the animals waking each other up, and some deer came out by the lake to drink. It was rather peaceful and quiet. After we were really hungry, we went back to restaurant to eat breakfast. When we came outside, I saw this big truck that looked like it was about ready to leave. All morning mom and I had been trying to figure out how we were going to get out of the park. And I asked the employees where the truck was going, and it was going to where we needed to go! I asked them if they’d be willing to take us and they asked me if I saw what the back of the truck looked like. I said yeah. So what? So they said come on, and I ran back to the hotel room and told mom we needed to pack everything pronto!
So we packed up, ran back out to the truck, paid for the hotel and with that, we were off. The Senegalese employees were all so nice, they offered us the most comfortable seats and when I tried to give mine up to this poor carsick girl, the men absolutely refused. Sigh, I felt bad for her, so I gave her some dramamine and she was better. I think this one guy was flattered… I held onto his leg almost the entire ride because I almost fell every time we hit a bump. I was sitting on a box of coke bottles with a cushion between my tush and the coke bottles. When we came out of the park, there was a group of Europeans doing some kind of filming and photo shoot of the area and all the cars. They saw us and were pointing and turn the camera at us, and shot a picture of the truck, with my and my mom and all the Senegaese hotel employees in the back. I think they thought were nuts. (So did the french people who we had shared a boat ride with. They drove right by us when we were on the back of the truck.) I thought it was funny so I walked over and introduced myself, and we spoke at first in broken french, and then the conversation flowed better in English. They were from Germany and were doing some type of documentary. Very kind people.
We finally made out, and the entire day was wasted on traveling. We went all the to tambacounda, but not without yet again arguing with the sept place driver about the cost, especially when it had already been established. I mean they always take advantage of a situation. My mom and I had to pay for an entire sept place to Ziguinchor because there were no cars going to Kolda. So, he tried to offer a seat to another guy - free to the other guy - because mom and I were paying. I jumped out of that car so fast yelling at the top of my lungs, he didn’t know what had happened. Of course… you can picture it… me yelling at the top of my lungs in broken french, absolutely furious that the other guy wasn’t paying for his seat. And, instead of making the other guy pay, the chauffeur just had him get out. I told him to let the guy stay and let me pay less. But the chauffeur wouldn’t have it. So I wouldn’t have it. This was also with an entire crowd of people surrounding us, watching what was transpiring. I was absolutely furious. But he wouldn’t have it and we argued for another hour but he finally dropped it realizing I was just making him look stupid in front of his other friend sitting in the front. I hate the gare. It’s really just obnoxious. Elimane, my neighbor, said it best yesterday… they are just vultures and prey on others. If there was one thing I would regulate here. If I had to pick one thing to regulate, it would be the gares. They would be so well-organized, and so well-regulated that no one would ever be hassled.
At Ziguinchor, we made it to a beautiful hotel on the water. We got something to eat, and went to bed. We were both exhausted from the entire day. The next day, we walked around, found a place to eat, and went looking for the African Batik store. Well we followed the map from the lonely planet… but those maps are never accurate. I swear, the one for Thies is just a pain. So, we finally found it, where a nice man met us and explained the batik to us. Mom saw them and I just instantly fell in love with them, so we ordered some clothes and two batiks. When we went back home, I called Aziz and he came over to hang out with us. He’s a friend of Rebecca’s and last time I saw him, he had fallen head over heels for me. I told him what we had been up to and our painful times at the gare and he said he would help us get settled at the gare when we went to leave on Sunday morning. It was good seeing him, and I think mom liked him so that was great.
You watch the actual process of the batik-making, so mom and I spent the better part of the next day watching the batik making process. We ate Yassa, communal style with his family, and Mom found some Batiks she really liked from their boutique. That pretty much took up the whole day. After, we went back to the hotel, and sat by the river. The next day, we woke up very early, met the Batik guy and he gave us our products, and then met Aziz. Aziz took us to the gare and helped us find a ride to cap skirring, where our flight was. And, as the truck was taking off put a package in my lap.
It was a beautiful Batik outfit, made just for me. You know, I commented about the fact that the tailor was taking too many measurements, but I finally figured out why. Aziz had sought him out made sure he got all of our measurements and had an outfit made, not just for me, but also for my mom. Oh geez. I was in utter shock. I thought I had made it clear to this boy that I didn’t want to date him. So, I sent him a text thanking him and have ignored most of his calls since then. I feel bad but I have explained to this boy numerous times that I wouldn’t date him. It’s not like I can give the clothes back. They were custom made to fit me. I can try… but is that too much of an insult? I just don’t know. I don’t like being put in this position, because it’s as if I “owe” him something, but it’s not going to be my affection. I like him, but only as a friend.
We finally made it back to Dakar, and I was exhausted and so was my mom but she still had her flight to catch. I know she didn’t want to leave me, but I’ll be home in four months. She is truly the bestest mom. I mean what mom brings rice krispies treats, kraft mac n cheese, and gushers to her daughter in Africa? I couldn’t have been more grateful. She also brought me plenty of other things, but the food definitely topped the list! I was so happy to have here hear. I am a homebody by nature… and miss home lots. Since then, I have been doing little things, trying to get stuff done around the apartment. Rebecca’s still touring Guinea, so it’s me and the Tukks for now.
