With two long weekends in June, I knew I wanted to use them
to get a little further outside of Dakar than I could with just two days. Top
of my list was Saint Louis, the French colonial city that was the first French
settlement in West Africa. Strategically placed between the Senegal River and
the Atlantic, the city has been the capital of the colony of Senegal, of French
West Africa, of independent Senegal, and of Mauritania. Though small and
completely walkable, Saint Louis is divided into three regions: the old city of
N’Dar, which sits on a small island in the Senegal River; Langue de Barbarie, a
stretch of peninsula that reaches down west of N’Dar from Mauritania; and the
new city of Sor, which sits on the mainland. Seemed like a fascinating place to
check out.
A bit of research exists on travelling between Dakar and
Saint Louis, primarily because people travelling Northwestern Africa overland
use Saint Louis as a stop-off on their way to Mauritania (though the border
crossing is actually around 100 kilometers from Saint Louis, Saint Louis seems
like a nicer place to spend an evening or two before making that trip). Armed
with at least a vague understanding of how to get there, I got up early on
Saturday morning, packed up, and headed down to the taxi stand outside my
apartment in N’Gor. Usually, I can’t take five steps before ten drivers call
out “Taxi, Madame? Taxi?” but the parking lot was almost completely empty,
except for one driver, who was praying at the little make-shift tent that
functions as prayer space/shade/hangout, depending on the needs of the moment.
I tried not to disturb him as I walked past, assuming I’d just walk up to the
main road and grab a taxi easily from there (side note: there is no shortage of
taxis in Dakar. They are – no exaggeration – every other car on the road, and
when they pass me, walking to work, they honk and honk like crazy to offer me a
ride, as if I’m only walking because I haven’t been able to find a cab), but as
I passed him, he looked up, asked if I wanted a taxi, then stopped his prayer
immediately, rolled up his prayer rug, and ran over to me. I’d heard that the
bus station was pretty far outside of the main city, and I’d read that 5000 CFA
was a good price to get there, but my roommate had told me 1500. That seemed
low, since we generally pay that to get around the city. The driver originally
quoted me 8000, and we eventually settled on 4000. It was a long drive – it
took about 45 minutes in barely any traffic (by Dakar standards) – so 4000
seemed like a fair price.
The open-air bus station was pretty crowded, though probably
not anywhere near as busy as it might be later in the day, not during Ramadan.
Women along the sidewalks were selling mangoes and vegetables and bags of
crushed ginger and clothes and CDs and peanuts and everything else, while huge
buses and smaller cars rapides (vans
that function as bush taxis and primarily charter people around Dakar’s
suburbs, usually painted bright yellow and blue, often with “Alhamdulillah”
adorning their sides). I made my way through the crowds, asking everyone who
looked even slight official (and many people who did not) for “Saint Louis.” A
bus driver tried to sell me a ticket on his bus, but I knew I wanted to take a sept-place, a seven-seat car that
shuttles people between cities, pricier than the buses, but much faster. The
driver showed me where to go, and I joined the crowded headed to Saint Louis.
The sept-place drivers fill up their
cars in a particular fashion – seating
is determined in order of passenger arrival, so the first person to show
up gets to sit in the passenger seat, then the next three are seated in the
middle row, and the last three are in the back. I was the seventh person to
arrive, so I was stuck in the back, crammed between the window and the luggage
behind my head. It was not particularly comfortable, but the roads were much
better than I’d expected – though I was worried about carsickness, that really
wasn’t an issue. And sitting by the window, I got lots of great views of the
desert we were driving through! Baobab trees, fruit and vegetable stands, and
small herding villages galore!
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| Good luck charm in the rearview mirror of the sept-place - on the way there - the car on the way back didn't have a rearview mirror. |
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| Desert views |
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| Fishing pirogues along the docks of Langue de Barbarie |
After five hours in the car, though, sitting at an awkward
angle to keep my head from hitting the roof and give my legs a little space, I
was ready to get out. I was relieved when the driver turned and asked where I
was going, then dropped me off close to the bridge. From there I hailed a taxi
to my AirBnB – an arts studio and school that rents out empty rooms when they
are available, and is on the Langue de Barbarie, in the Santhiaba neighborhood.
I chose not to stay on the main island, because it was more expensive, but
Santhiaba turned out to be perfect – just far enough from the main drag that
the evenings were quiet and it felt more like residential Saint Louis, but an
easy walk to everything worth seeing. Once I checked in, got settled, and
sunscreened up, I made my way to N’Dar to find some lunch and water – I didn’t
feel quite right eating or drinking in the crowded sept-place while everyone else was fasting. As I made my way
through the narrow streets of the old city, I found myself thinking that it
looked like New Orleans. The brightly painted houses all had terraces and
shutters on their first floor windows, apparently to protect the privacy of the
inhabitants and keep dust out. As in Dakar, cars and motorbikes share the roads
with horse carts, but in Saint Louis, many of the horse carts are toting
passengers in pretty carriages – in Dakar, they’re used for carrying heavy
loads of construction materials and other supplies.
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| Riverside palm trees |
I wandered back and forth across the island. Unfortunately,
many of the restaurants were closed and there weren’t many people about –
hazard of traveling during Ramandan – but it was very tranquil and relaxing. I
noticed the people who were out and about were friendlier than in Dakar.
Everyone I passed wanted to know where I was from, why I was there, how I liked
Saint Louis, etc. I ate lunch by the river, then walked along it until I came
to the Faidherbe Bridge to the mainland. Built in 1897, it’s the most famous
landmark in Saint Louis. Mostly for lack of anything better to do, I crossed
it, then took followed the river for a while, getting a good look at the tiny
island.
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| Pont Faidherbe |
Unfortunately, the smell of the river made it a less than pleasant
afternoon stroll, so I turned inland and found a small and sandy village, full
of kids playing soccer and running through the sand. I came out onto the main
road at a huge market place, where I carefully made my way through the rows and
rows of people selling shrimp and fish of all sizes, as well as fruits and
vegetables. Back on the island, as it got closer to sunset, I found an
incredibly peaceful scene: the river bank filled up with men and older boys,
squatting in the road, bent over copies of the Quran, and praying quietly,
waiting for the end of the day’s fast. I spent a quiet evening at one of the
bars by the river, watching the bridge light up as the sun set, and listening
for the call to prayer.
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| One of the many, many mosques |
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| Pont Faidherbe at night |
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| Out of commission pirogue |
The second day, I decided I wanted to see the Langue de
Barbarie, so I started walking south from my apartment, toward the fishing
village. The road made its way through a busy neighborhood, where children,
sheep, goats, and one (possibly confused) pelican played in the street, dodging
all forms of transportation as they flew by. Eventually, the road turned out to
the river, where it opened up into a wide, sandy lane. To my left, along the
river, crowds fish sellers waited under shady tents for the fishermen to return
in their pirogues, ready to bargain for the morning’s catch. Other people
worked on their boats – touching up paint or rebuilding altogether. The Langue
stretched much further than I’d expected – it was about an hour before I turned
around – but it was a nice walk (aside from the flies, which were vicious) and
I loved seeing the rows and rows of colorful pirogues, and the pelicans that
followed the fishermen around, waiting to take advantage of any scraps.
After a very Senegalese lunch of fish, rice, and shrimp
beignets in a dingy little restaurant, I spent the afternoon in one of the
empty resorts on the island, sitting between the resort pool and the river and
reading. I spent the evening on the rooftop terrace of the apartment, which had
a great view: to the west, the sun setting over the ocean, and to the east, the
city getting ready to break fast. As soon as the sun hit the horizon, a long
alarm sounded throughout the city, signaling sunset, followed by the call to
prayer from every corner of Saint Louis. At the same time, the city seemed to
come to life – people laughing and shouting from the streets as they sipped
water and broke into fresh baguettes.
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| View of N'Dar from the apartment |
Monday morning, I woke up much earlier than most of the city
– certainly too early to find breakfast before heading back to Dakar – so I decided to walk north, up the Langue
de Barbarie to see what I could see of Mauritania. Another small village, with several
beautiful mosques, and some breathtaking views of the river, especially once I
passed the island and could look straight up the river that divides the
mainlands of Senegal and Mauritania. Overall, I had a terrific time in Saint Louis. I loved the peaceful and relaxed vibe of the city, especially compared with the hectic and chaotic feel of Dakar, even during Ramadan.
