Packing List and Tips for Prospective Students in this Beautiful Country.

This post won't be too interesting to any of the blog's followers, but I've been meaning on putting up a packing list for any other student going through the CIEE Dakar program, in case, like me, they did a pre-departure Google search of what they should bring. The following is both what I found useful, what I found unuseful, and what I wish I would have brought:

Things I was particularly glad to have brought:

1.    Moisture wicking underwear. Most items will not be listed in order of importance, THESE being the exception. Through months of hand washing my lingerie in the shower, I can’t say enough about this magical comfy, fast-drying, durable underwear. (Mine were Isis brand.)

2.    REI quick-dry towel. Fast-drying, highly absorbent, and impressively compact.

3.    Flashlight. Infinite electricity outages made my flashlight one of the most vital items in my suitcase.

4.    Books. There was a packing debate pre-departure on whether their weight was worth their place in my suitcase. Granted, I’m a bit of a bookworm, but lots of down time in a slow culture meant lots of great lit was oft taken advantage of, and I just left the copies I had read in the school library.

5.    Travel alarm clock. These run on batteries that don’t need to be charged, unlike phones whose ability to power on and therefore wake you up on time for class necessitates reliable electricity, something not too available in Senegal.

6.    Art supplies. I didn’t get a TON of use out of these, but still appreciated having paints and colored pencils along for the moments I did use them as a form of journaling. Also, it made me very popular with kids to have bright colors and white paper – a bit of a rarity to a lot of them.

7.   Lonely Planet guidebook. Battered, worn, discolored and torn, it came with me on all of my travel excursions; and, even the days I left it behind in order to figure things out “for myself,” it seems like all of the best stops were indeed those listed in my Lonely Planet.

Things I brought but didn’t need:

1.    Steripen. At the advice of a former student, I bought a portable water sterilizer. How many times did I use it? 0. It’s still in the package.

2.    Keens/Chacos/Tevas. Granted, I didn’t bring all three of those. But while that general Peace Corps concept of heavy-duty sandals in third-world terrain may be logical for a member of the Peace Corps, I was not part of the Peace Corps and these shoes didn’t get any usage – I stuck out enough as a white American, and those would have been the clincher. I wore my nice leather sandals and my Old Navy flip-flops everywhere.

3.   Hair dryer. I used it probably twice throughout my entire trip. It’s just too hot there to justify making yourself even hotter in order to have dry hair… which frankly, doesn’t even dry, because by the time it should be you’re too sweaty yourself.

4.   Mosquito Net. I did use the one I brought, but it would have been cheaper/less hassle just to buy one at any of the pharmacies after I had arrived.

Things I didn’t bring, but wish I had:

1.   More nice clothes. Before I left, I was thinking: Senegal = Hot, sweaty, dirty, dusty = Ultimate basics in comfort and zero style. Granted, Senegalese men think American girls are beautiful no matter HOW shabby or sweaty your clothes. But those Senegalese ladies do dress up pretty classily, and I was no competition for them.

2.   A pocketknife. It would have come in handy SO many times and I’d always regret not having one. (Remember to pack it on your CHECKED baggage - don't get blacklisted like my brother who walked through security with my knife... also why I no longer have one.)

3.   Anti-perspirant. I am a fan of Tom’s of Maine Deodorant, partly because I like the lavender scent, partly because I like the all-natural, aluminum-free quality of the product. HOWEVER. I admit that in 95+˚ weather and humidity, I’ll take the non-scientifically proven cancer-inducing status of aluminum in order to maintain a slightly less powerful odor.

4.    Notebooks. I figured this is something I could just pick up when I got here; it was, and I did, but it would have been less hassle to just bring my own.

5.   A protector for my computer. A mere month into my stay, my MacBook’s logic board was corroded by the intense humidity. I was computer-less for the rest of my semester, and $280 in debt to Apple Corp on my return.

6.   A pillow. I got used to sleeping without one, and not all students were in the pillowless situation I was in, but it still would have been welcomed.

Final Efficient Packing List to add to the above-mentioned items:

CLOTHES

Tee-shirts: 3-4

Tank tops: 6-10, or as many as you can roll into your suitcase (they don’t take up much room!)

Long-sleeved tops: 1

Sweaters/cardigans: 1

Sweatshirts: 1

Comfy, every-day pants: 2-4

Sweat pants/leggings (for around the house): 1

Nice jeans: 1

Nice pants: 1

Shorts: 0

Skirts: 2-3 (so long as it's not skankily short, any length will do! If you want to be safe, though - let not thine knees be shown.)

Everyday dresses: 1-2 (recommended at least one maxi skirt or dress, in case you visit any holy sites that require more modest dress)

Going-out dresses: 1-2 (doesn’t need to be knee length here!)

Swimsuit: 1 (bikinis are okay!)

Beach covering: 1 (I found it handy, anyway)

PJs: 3 (1 shorts + 1 light pants + 1 warmer pants)

Large, lightweight scarves: 1

Headscarves/headbands: 1-2 (good for keeping hair out of your sweaty face)

Belts: 2-3

SHOES

“Nice”/comfy sandals: 1

Flip-flops: 1-2

Sneakers: 1

Dress shoes: 1 (heels or flats, although with all the sand I liked flats much better)

COSMETICS

Honestly, I RARELY used make-up here – I was far too sweaty for it to look good or be practical. I only ever used it for going out, although I was glad to have it then.

My flat iron I used probably three times total, my hair dryer not at all.

I would, however, recommend jewelry, as long as it’s not terribly nice. I enjoyed being able to dress up outfits, especially since I was wearing the same things every single day.

Perfume

Deoderant

Razors

Extra contacts

Contact solution/cases

And lots of hair ties and bobby pins!

Everything else – shampoo, soap, toothpaste, hygienics, etc. – can all be easily and cheaply bought in Senegal

MEDICAL

Vitamins

Tylenol/Aspirin/Ibuprofen

PeptoBismal

Anti-diarrhea

Laxatives

Antiseptic cream

Sunscreen (30-50spf: You’re on the equator, afterall!)

Bugspray: Granted, I spent almost every evening outside, but went through almost two cans of OFF

Bandaids

Your malaria meds!

OTHER
Rain gear

Souvenirs for your host family/Senegalese friends (postcards, food items [I brought candy, maple syrup and wild rice, all hits,] coloring materials for kids, photographs, jewelry, candles, tea, mugs… these all proved to be popular)

Cards

Books

Camera (and accessories – charger, USB, extra memory cards)

Backpack

Water bottle

Soap holder

Laundry bag

MP3/headphones/well-stocked iTunes repertoire for music sharing

Flash drive

Purse/wallet

Glasses

Glue stick and scissors (I always find them useful, anyway!)

French dictionary

Journal

Pencils/pens

Envelopes (Not the lick-adhesive… the humidity sealed all that I brought. Get the sticker ones.)

Extra treat: Starbucks VIA (After Nescafé and dry milk and loads of Café Touba, a little instant Starbucks at the end of a long day can't be beat=)

Or, you could of course just skip the packing and get all of your clothes made in matching fabric with everyone else.

Peanut farmer: Just another one of the hats worn by one Ms. Esther Hathaway

The lovely Sine Saloume landscape, soon to be destroyed by an airport.

Monday morning I was up at the crack of dawn, hailing a taxi in the still-sleepy morning streets of Ouakam. As the sun slowly lit up - and heated up - the city, I foraged the hustling, bustling gare routiere with five other students. We were escorted to an adequate bus, and despite a sweltering 2-hour wait, we finally hauled out of the station onto the dusty country roads. Four hours of dozing, squishing, adjusting and snacking. Next thing I know, I've been dropped off, (abandoned? My "guide" shoved me out of the back of the bus without a word and off drove the bus,) and I stumble into the shade of a tree, offered a sack of grain as a chair by one of the old men already seated. A short wait proceeded before a little horse-drawn cart slowly enlarged on the horizon, my ride, driven by two of my "brothers" for the week, François and Charles.

Just me and some peanuts.

Twenty minutes later, having passed by and admired the clusters of eucalyptus, palm and baobab trees, vast rice paddies and sprawling deltas, I arrived at my destination: Djilor, birthplace of Senegal's first president and most beloved poet, Léopold Senghor, located in the lush Sine Saloume region. I was greeted by a swarm of giggling toddlers who led me to Mama Mbat and the rest of her clan: 9 children, 3 cousins, 1 son-in-law, 2 grandchildren and a grandpa - all in one house, with countless neighbors and relatives filling up any extra space at any given time.

Too many cute little children! It was nearly overwhelming.

My welcome was warm and friendly, and my integration into the days' activities was swift and natural. Mornings I would wake up before it was light and join the boys, loading myself once again onto the horse cart and trotting off to the fields to harvest peanuts. This was a pleasant task; we'd work until noon, François guiding the horse and plow, the rest of us collecting the peanuts behind him, breaking once for a breakfast of Senegalese couscous and curdled milk. Then lunch, céebu jën around the bowl, before a more leisurely afternoon. I might join the grandmothers under the shade of the big tree out back, shelling peanuts, or survey the cashew cracking rituals as I was snuck one or two every couple minutes by Robert. Then perhaps some Ludo (Senegal's favorite board game - picture SORRY, but with images of lutteurs decorating it,) Dutch Blitz (endless rounds - I hadn't lost my speed!) Buck (shout out to the Smiths,) and reading (shout out to Chico's fantastic paperback library at 2132.) As the sun moved, so we followed the shade, all of us outside, often a good six or seven lumped on a single mat, napping, talking, cooking or working.

Only for dinner did we all disperse a bit. Each night I'd join Mbat, Mbat the younger, and all the children for a Bollywood soap opera and TV-dinner ritual. Following this, I'd head back outside to enjoy some late-night conversation and attaya, one last round of cards, a quick bucket shower and then off to bed.

Charles at the plow; I never succeeded at efficient horse-directing.

I was ever so pleased with my week, ever so grateful for my generous host family, my busy yet relaxing séjours in the beauty of rural Senegal. I was admittedly disappointed to say goodbye so soon - five days not being nearly enough - but look forward to a return visit one day.

Partie trois (La fin.)

Due to the fairly consistent scarcity of posts as of late, I’m going to skip to the last leg of our journey and use it to conclude the series, lest my blog turn into a veritable Rick Steve’s Travels in a Very Little Part of the Casamance and the Gambia…

***

I petted a crocodile. NBD.

We last left our three heroes traversing the Atlantic coast into the pink and violet hues of the Casamancian sunset.

But fast-forward a few days, set your GPS to around 12.775,-15.687 and you’d likely find the trio squished into another 7-place taxi, cruising across the Senegalese border into the Gambia, Senegal’s English-speaking sister. Despite the shared Wolof, Diola, Serer & al. cultures, despite the fact that this teeny country is a mere sliver of a protrusion in Senegal’s center, there was an immediately noticeable difference in architecture, culture, and language. This equated a diminished presence of Islam, the notably greater popularity of Bob Marley, and a rather clumsy shift from Wolof-French to Wolof-English (although you’d think it would be a relief to be speaking English again, it felt unnatural to be in Africa speaking English, a literal step away from a country where almost no one speaks it.)

The funny colonial repartitioning of West Africa

We arrived in the little beachside town of Bakau, and after escaping the clutches of two hustling Gambians – whose persistent “Come on, brudda – it’s nice to be nice!” would repeat itself often throughout our trip – we lodged ourselves in the pitch black (electricity cut) Ramona Hotel and shortly thereafter collapsed into sleep, exhausted from a day of travel.

Amidst picnic breakfasts of pain au chocolat on the beach, fried chicken and French fries (not altogether Gambian, but on unlit Gambian nights in the tourist off-season, the only – and it turns out very worthwhile – choice within a five-mile radius) from a jovial Gambian cook, delicious mafé at our favorite Mai’s Restaurant with the company of a friendly German journalist, and evenings of sweet coffee and Biskrem cookies from the boutique on the corner, we filled our days with a plethora of activities. Guided by a group of young schoolboys during their recess, we made our way to the crocodile reserve where we wondered at the interesting translations in the culture museum and marveled at the prehistoric beasts that slowly waddled out of the swamp that was their home. As the sunset stretched over the horizon that evening, we took in the calm, tourist-less, white sand beach. Bobbing up and down in the shallow waves,

This guy actually ended WWII single-handedly.

Poulet au yassa, rice and fries: $1.50. Coke: 50¢. This is the life.

Warren and Alex recited every African country and its capital as I contemplated our nearly-completed journey and what in the world the funny man with the long shirt was looking for on the beach.

Another day, we joined Philipp the German for a day trip to a nearby nature reserve, and I was delighted by the quantity of monkeys that I saw in a single day. We wandered through the overgrown paths, admiring the countless spiders, gorgeous greenery, and delicate, brightly-colored flowers until we reached the animal orphanage, full of baboons, red monkeys and hyenas. (I have to add here that although their tongues were less floppy and overall they were slightly fatter than portrayed in the movie, the hyenas were very accurately depicted in the Lion King.)

Of course other lively details filled our days that I haven’t time to recount, because unfortunately this post is already growing much longer than I had anticipated. I’ve heard that the most interesting/effective blogs have a short commentary and lots of pictures, but I’ve always had a problem with lengthy essays in school and apparently I haven’t managed to kick that habit yet. If you made it through this one: congratulations! I’ll add some photos to at least get part of that right, and next post will be more succinct, I promise.

Now I’m heading off to spend a week in Sine Saloume, Serer country, to live with a village family for a week with whom I’ll have no language communication skills at my disposal. I’ll return next Sunday, and of course let you know what adventures were had.

Enjoy your week, and I’ll catch you then!

Best Photo of the Trip Award goes to Mr. Alex Villec

This 27-year old Gambian named John tried to convince me and Alex that he was Obama's estranged father, and since we were heading back home in December, would we mind asking the president why he hadn't returned his dad's persistent calls? It's not normal!

This little boy, his rickety cart, and his skinny horse saved us an hour-long walk in the heat of the day, following our realization that we had used up all but the equivalent of 20¢ of our funds.

Part the Second of My Casamance Adventure.

I know you’ve all been waiting in eager anticipation for my next blog post, and so, one week of Wolof tests, French exposés, broken computers and Senegalese rappers later, here it is.

I’ll begin with a summary of the couple of days proceeding my last post, but by necessity will will follow up with a photographic voyage that will carry you through the green jungles and vast rice paddies of the Casamance countryside just until the charming Diola village of Diembering – in order to avoid doing any injustice to the incredible sights and sounds of the day, which surely would be the result were I to try translating them into mere words.

Our short stint in Ziguinchor was characterized by a sweaty Baay Fall asking for sugar, an incomprehensible Mauritanian shopkeeper, ataya with soccer players who we never actually saw, and a revolutionary new dulce de leche ice cream. A single night at our petit campement saw us off bright and early to find a sept-place taxi that would transport us to Cap Skirring.

The first day at Cap was wonderfully slow, but hence not much to write home about. Therefore, let’s fast-forward to Day 2.

Inspired by a rusty advertisement on the road to the beach and Alex’s prominent cycling history, we voted unanimously to rent mountain bikes and take a tour to Djiemebering, a neighboring village. A heavy rain during the night left ravines and potholes in the rustic dirt roads, lined by lush forests and expansive rice paddies. The road slowly narrowed into a less traveled foot path, but on and on we persevered, mesmerized by the intense beauty that surrounded us in the form of giant fromagiers, droves of birds singing and flitting between the masses of hanging nests, and incomparably dense verdure. Breathtaking.

After a few detours, we finally made our way to Djiembering. Almost immediately following our arrival we were met by an exceptionally friendly Djiolan who informed us that A) Being outside of Wolof territory, "Casu May" was the new greeting of choice; B) Today happened to be an annual regional lutte festival; and C) He happened to be quite free - would we like him to show us around?

Our new friend Sembe did indeed give us the grand tour of the town, introducing us to its inhabititants, offering wives to Alex and Warren, recounting the myths and traditions of the village and providing cultural descriptions (and demonstrations) with musical stops along the way. (Turns out he's Djiembering's resident musician.)

Needless to say, we soon discovered a single morning would not be enough, and after an excitement-packed day we were reluctant to say our goodbyes. However the sun his descent, so we set out along the beach to finish our day against the backdrop of a beautiful horizon.

 

Destination Casamance

Despite the very normal heat that hovered in waves above the cracked asphalt and the typically bright equatorial sun whose scorching rays made no attempt to disguise their intrinsically cancerous properties, last Friday was not quite as average as the weather that preceded it. Last Friday marked the first day of a week of river adventures, post-war excitement and pain au chocolat in excessive quantities.

Ziguinchor's wide streets and colorful scenery were a welcome break from Dakar

Following our fourth week at school and our first full month in Senegal I already had arrived at fall break. Consequentially, I was faced with a really wonderful question: Where should I travel during my nine days of freedom?

The answer to that question lay in Senegal’s southernmost region: The Casamance. Renowned for the lush mangrove forests that stretch alongside the tranquil Casamance river, the flocks of exotic birds that migrate yearly from the four corners of the world and the endless expanses of white sand beaches that would make and postcard vendor drool, Senegal’s Casamance region is said to be the most beautiful region in the country.

Still, the beauty hasn’t come without the beast; throughout history, the Casamance has been characterized by years of civil warfare and rebellion, ranging from an impressive stand against French colonialism in the 1940s (with a particularly bold [albeit failed] revolt led by a female that you can read about here if you’re looking for some rainy day lit) to the past decade’s sometimes violent uprisings against the current government and the notable chaos that ensued. In 2004 the Casamance finally reached an agreement with the government and since then has been welcoming increased stability and peace, and despite the occasional sighting of a 10 year old carrying a machete in the street, the Casamance remains, hands down, the most charming and welcoming part of Senegal. *

Warren & Alex: Travel companions par excellence

All of that to say that the Casamance was without doubt the most logical destination for my fall break. Lucky for me, two other dauntless friends thought so as well – Warren, an environmental/international studies major at Northeastern, and Alex, an economics major from Georgetown. Therefore, Lonely Planet guide in one hand, passport in the other, backpack strapped securely to my back and a companion on either side, I embarked on my journey to the Fertile Region.

First stop: Ziguinchor. The Casamance’s regional capital is a fair distance from Dakar and numerous warnings about crummy roads (that barely even deserved to be call such) and very sketchy taxis that turn 6 hours into a two-day affair, coupled with the contrastingly enjoyable prospect of a maritime adventure, led us to choose the Dakar ferry as our means of transport. And an excellent choice it was – the 8pm departure furnished a beautiful panorama of Senegal’s capital city for the occasion, the glittering skyline quietly meshing into the star-lit night sky until finally Dakar disappeared altogether as the ferry pulled farther and farther away and we were left in the hushed darkness of the Atlantic Ocean. An evening on deck was filled with conversation, coffee and cookies, and after the enchantment of the nighttime sea had given way to tiredness, I climbed into my cozy cabin bunk and let the waves rock me to sleep…

Dakar's ferry port by night

The next morning saw a fairly early start. After a breakfast of chocolate, baguettes and café au lait (the recurring meal of the trip) with a very friendly French couple, it wasn’t long before our 15-hour ride had finally reached its destination. Amidst the belligerent crowd of hoteliers and taxi drivers that crowded the docks, we slowly pushed our way to the streets of Ziguinchor. As soon as we escaped, an immediate sense of calmness characterized this new city whose wide, sparsely-trodden roads, low buildings and impressive foliage (Dakar had me forgetting that the color green ever existed) was a dramatic contrast to the bustling streets of Dakar, so crowded with people and animals and vehicles coming and going in every direction without regard to anyone else. Here, people moved slower, smiled more, and made a really delicious yassa au poulet.

The welcoming shores of Ziguinchor!

But can you wait here a minute? Or a few, if you don’t mind; I’m going to leave you hanging for a day or two before I continue my vacation tales, lest I end up writing an entire novel in one go. So I’m stopping here, but I’ll add more soon. Until next time! Ba beneen yoon!

*Granted, I’m pretty certain those machetes were actually going to be used in the rice fields that pervaded the Casamansian countryside… but it sounds awfully more dramatic if I leave out the context.