Streets

A few days ago, I met up with a friend Fily in the neighborhood that I used to live in.  Like old times, we took the 'transport en commun' to the neighborhood where his family lives.  Transport en commun is not a recommended form of travel for foreigners and not preferred by Dakar's elite.  The van-buses shake and rumble at a moderate pace while guys hang off the back to collect the 25 CFA toll, equivalent to less than 5 cents.  They hop off while the bus is still moving and hustle people on and off.  It's tight quarters inside--a pickpocket's paradise.  Fily suggested I put my fanny-pack, which I had slung over my shoulder, across my chest and under my sweater.  Then he pulled me through the back door of the bus and people shifted to make space for us where there really wasn't.  A man in the corner said to us, this is so much cheaper than a taxi (Fily translated from Wolof).  A taxi costs a minimum of 1000 CFA, two dollars and 40 times more expensive than common transport.

Without Fily, I would never have ventured to take common transport.  In a lecture on security by the Peace Corps Security Director last year, we were advised against it.  But we were also advised against eating street food, and fruits and vegetables.  

'Transport en commun' 

To get off transport en commun, you knock loudly on the roof and the guy hanging of the back yells at the driver to stop--or slow down.  Fily and I jumped off while it was still moving and made our way through the streets, whose breeze carried the smells of fried fish and seasonings, burnt sugar and spiced coffee, and sewage too.  We navigated puddles of waste water, trash-filled gutters, and mounds of sand and fractured cement blocks.  Many of the buildings we passed were unfinished--it's normal to build as soon as money is available, not necessarily when there's enough to finance complete construction.  Store fronts and residences blurred together, and people sat on their stoops or stood grouped around vendors, socializing and watching passers-by.  

As we walked, I asked Fily what he thinks are the biggest challenges for people in Dakar.  He said housing.  It's expensive and it's limited because a third of Senegal's population lives in Dakar.   Fily then pointed to a hoard of little girls--ages 3-10 I'd guess--playing in the sand-covered street, narrowly avoiding the reckless driving of taxi men.  We had passed dozens of similar groups of children, playing with a punctured ball or tousling each other.  Fily cited these children, left unaccompanied in the streets by parents gone off to work, as evidence of lack of economic stability and quality education.   

We passed a crowd of young and old men watching at TV on a hardware store's counter.  A moment later, celebratory cheers rose from the crowd and then entire neighborhood.  Boys in European football jerseys sprinted in front of us, screaming with excitement.  Fily yelled after one of them, who made the goal! One boy turned around as he ran and yelled, REAL MADRID.