The day before we left for our week-long trip to Gambia, we still had virtually no plans, aside from the visas we had already gotten and directions from a staff-member at the Baobab Center to take a specific bus at 8am to take us directly to Gambia the next day. Well, the next day we hailed a taxi and explained the garage we needed him to take us to (all we had was the name of the place, of course he didn't speak French, and he didn't know where it was, so he pulled over a few times to ask directions). We made it to the garage with plenty of time to spare, but a kind gentlemen informed us upon arrival that our bus wasn't supposed to leave until 8 PM that night. Thus, one-half of the preparations we made for this trip were already null and void before we even left the city. What then followed was an hour of our angel of a driver taking us to various other garages and inquiring about transport to Gambia, including about 15 minutes of what appeared to be him standing, waiting for another bus on the other side of a 4 lane highway. I say "appeared to" because we didn't understand a single thing that man said to us, and really had no idea what was happening. Meanwhile, we were waiting in the car, trying (unsuccessfully) not to burst into hysterics (pictured below).
Still haven't left Dakar, and it was then 10am. A bus finally drove up, our driver bargained the collective ticket price of 4,500CFA (about $3 each), and helped us get on board. We said goodbye to our driver, thanked him profusely, and gave him a snickers bar and what I hope was a generous tip.
Once we got settled in the bus, we breathed a collective sigh of relief: Finally, on our way to Gambia! Sometime shortly after that feeling of relief, we noticed the entire bus was crawling with mosquitoes. I spent the rest of the ride dozing in and out of sleep, shooing mosquitoes away from my head, and sweating. It was getting to be the hottest time of day, and the bus was stopping way too often for the breeze from the windows to do much good. We were on that damn bus for just about 4 hours. And it didn't even take us all the way to Gambia; only about two thirds of the way. Once we got off, we used a bathroom at the gas station, bought some cold drinks, and met a couple gas attendants who claimed us as their girlfriends. The town is called Kaolack, and is a bustling travel hub for Senegal. When we were ready to start the next leg of the trip, we left the gas station and were immediately swarmed by six or seven men fighting with each other to see who would get to be our escort to the appropriate transport.
**This is how Senegalese "garages" operate: they're large sandlots pack-jammed with vans, buses, and sept-places (station wagons) loosely organized by travel destination. When you arrive, you're rushed by men who know their way around, asking where you want to go. One of them takes you where you need to be (I suspect he also earns a small tip from that driver for bringing him passengers).
After a bit of scrambling, Wolof arguing, and being lead in circles, we found a large van headed to the border. That ride took another 2 hours, but the other passengers were very friendly. We were all dropped off at the border, where our names, passport numbers, and occupations were very officially recorded in blue ballpoint pen in a giant notebook. Next step: exchange Senegalese CFA for the Gambian currency, Dallasi. Gambia was colonised by the British, so English is their national language. Dallasi is their pigeon-english version of Dollars. About 30 Dallasi equals 500 CFA, or $1.
On the other side of the border, we directly boarded another bus for 21 Dallasi and arrived in the capital city of Banjul in a mere 45 minutes. There, we followed our new travel companions (a group of older Gambian women headed by Mami, who passionately fought for my honor at the border when a woman giving me Dallasi for CFA tried ripping me off) to the ferry to cross the bay to Bakau, where we decided we would be spending our first night.
Mami knew it was the last ferry of the day, so she was rushing everyone to move quicker. I bought tickets for everyone, and we started across the bridge. We all stopped, however, when someone pointed out the bags and the old woman (who turned out to be her mother) Mami left at the gate. Knowing we were running late, Ellen and I didn't bother to ask questions before grabbing the two large, lumpy garbage bags. Mami kept yelling at us, "Run!", which was a bit funny, since we were all weighed down by heavy luggage, and the older women weren't really capable of going much faster than what was a brisk walk for us young'uns.
Luckily, we all made it onto the ferry, but it was only a few minutes once we were on before it pulled away from the dock. The ride was supposed to take 45 minutes, but we had a little detour. The other ferry's engine had either broken down or run out of gas, and we had to tow it to the other side of the bay with us. It was two hours later, and about 9:30pm when we were finally able to de-board (Ellen and I were still carrying Mami's bags). Furthermore, it wasn't until now that we tried calling the hotel and realized our Senegalese phones didn't work.
Mami saved us again by letting us use her phone to call, and she bargained the price of a taxi to take us there. At this point, we had been travelling upwards of 13 hours, and were quickly losing mental functionality. I was incredibly grateful for Mami's kindness and generosity. Oh yeah, and did I mention that the entire trip to Gambia was only supposed to take 4-5 hours total?
Basically, we were completely dependent on the good will and ability of others to show us where to go and what to do. Aside from the time I accidentally got in a bus headed for Ziguinchor (a region of Senegal south of Gambia), the good will of local people generally lead us in the correct direction.
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