The road was pretty good on the Senegal side and everything looked greener than in Gambia with a lot more vegetation. The road to the coastal town of Kafountine had so many bits of ashphalt missing that it was easier to drive on the sandy shoulders. Although taxis pay tolls the money doesn't seem to go back to repairs and maintenance.
Kafountine is in the Casamance region and is inhabited by the Diolla people. They have a reputation for not wanting to be ruled by outsiders and rejected slavery, the French colonial administrators and more recently a pro-independence movement. There have been clashes with the authorities in Dakar and in the late 1900's there were more than five hundred deaths. Various government travel advisory sites warn against visiting the area as there is occasionally some banditry. We have met several people who have been to Casamance recently and so felt reasonably comfortable about travelling here.
We stayed at a reasonably new lodge about 300 metres from the beach and set in a lovely garden with vines growing over the huge mango and palm trees. The owner's son, Abdulie, told us that a German guy helped them set up the lodge. He managed to convince fifteen Dutch people to invest 2,ooo Euros each in the place. They then had three years to spend three weeks a year at the lodge and not pay for accommodation. This has enabled them to build two blocks with four double rooms and extend the restaurant. Everything was well set out and the facilities all worked. The mattresses were especially imported from Europe to ensure the guests had a good sleep.
One evening Abdulie got dressed up in his new clothes and played the djembe for us while we ate our dinner. He plays in a group and likes to get as much practice in as he can. He studies Marketing in a school in The Gambia so speaks very good English.
We walked down the beach to the fshing village where we saw the boats coming in and the beach alive with indusry as the townsfolk processed the fish on the sand as it came out of the bins.
Strong guys waded to the wooden pirogues and carried plastic bins full of fish on their head. Some took it to a sorting area where it was sorted to go in sacks of ice and onto trucks headed for Dakar. Other guys ran up the beach to local sorters. The faster they can empty their bins the more money they can make.
The whole family is involved in dealing with the catch. The women cut up huge sea snails which they dry to make flavourings. Some of the fish is bled as soon as it hits the sand from the bins and then the waste is dumped into the tide.
Behind the high tide mark are racks where the fish is dried and covered grills where it is smoked. There are stacks of logs drying for firewood and processions of donkey carts delivering more wood. Senegal suffers from overfishing and the trees taken for fish smoking have contributed to deforestation. As well as the estimated fifteen thousand pirogues working the seven hundred kilometres of coastline, there are also Asian and European fish companies taking fish in these waters.
Amongst the buzz of fish sorting are the hawkers; they try to sell thermoses, cellphones, torches, and all sorts of other goods. It's amazing that they think the frantic workers have time to buy anything from them. Even the 'African tea' sellers light up their charcoal fires to brew the Chinese green tea to sell. Not far from the fish sorters were the boat mechanic squatting on the black oily sand repairing outboard motors. Everything is happening in a short stretch along the beach.
When the land is cleared of the trees for firewood, it is then turned into peanut farms as this is a major industry in Senegal. The industry is run by the marabouts, Muslim religious leaders. The children that they school in their Quranic schools are employed in the fields as workers. At present the land is being prepared for peanuts which they will plant during the rainy season.
We were most surprised to see Wendy and the 4x4 up to its axles in sand. They had driven to Kafountine from the coastal town of Abene and took the beach route rather than the road. Luckily the military were happy to lend a hand get her out as well as lots of strong locals. The soldier in the photo didn't even take off his rifle while pushing.
Some of the village houses were so colourful with bougainvillea.
We enjoyed watching the dozens of birds in the garden when we weren't watching the fishers, walking on the beach , reading, or walking in the town.
The trip from Kafountine to Ziguinchor was so different from the one to the coast. We waited the customary half an hour for a sept-place to fill up with locals. The most annoying thing with the public transport is the negotiating for the price of our backpacks. Usually they go in the boot and the locals often have a lot more luggage than us but we always have to pay more. We buy our sept-place tickets from an office and here in Senegal it has the seat number that you are sitting in. The best seat is beside the driver and not shared with anyone else. The middle seats take three people but tip forward to let the people in the back bench seat in and out, so it is a hassle if people only travel short stops. The back bench seat is usually unpadded and only about 30 centimetres wide. It sits up high and you have to bend your head so it doesn't hit the roof where the boot door hinges meet the window. The windows don't open for the back bench seat so you have to get the middle passengers to open their window so you can get air. There are usually no window winders so you have to get a screwdriver from the driver to open it. The locals hate the wind blowing on them so it is always a battle to get cool air.
The driver of the sept-place vehicles don't deal with the passengers at all. He is allocated a set amount of money for fuel by the marabout and is paid. There is another man who is supposed to recruit passengers for the driver. Sometimes it is difficult to tell who this person is, as everyone gets in on the act as soon as they see us arrive at the gare routiere. This man earns his keep by charging you for your luggage. Of course he wants to charge us more than he charges the locals so it is always a battle to get a reasonable rate. Some try to charge as much as the fare when traditionally it is 10% of the fare. When negotiations begin there can be half a dozen men joining in and having their say and some are hoping they will get a cut if they can get us to increase the price we pay. John is very patient and after much eye rolling and foot stamping we end up paying a reasonable rate.
There were several police check points on the road and we had to get out and walk through them and show our passports. The bandits, it seems, not only target the tourists but also the locals.
