More than 6000 km behind us.
Dear reader: the things I've seen and experienced can simply not be captured in an occasional blog post. The kindness, the life of prayer, the heat, the wind, the beaches, the sand in our toes, the hand signals when words aren't there, the smiles, the children, AFRICA!
My hands are shaking at the thought that this will be my internet memory of this region at this time. To say the least, I have traveler's feaver. No, I'm not sick, I just want more! Try to close your eyes and breathe with me, becuase everyday I cross the Atlantic or Mediterranean this way with you.
Since I left you last in St. Louis, Dana and I have travelled on rediculously slow, busy and fumey Senegalese busses. (We even got into a fender bender with a taxi. No injuries.) We travel like the locals and have learned how to navigate through the all-in-one "garage", "gare routière", "marché", and zone for shoeless begger boys. Most busses can hold 15 to 35 people and will freauently stop the 35km/hr tromp to pick-up and drop-off passengers along the way. A small city outside of Dakar was where we said goodbye to our 3-week travelling companion named, Diop. He was our guide and interpreter-éxcellent but more than anything, our good friend. The night we three and Céline arrived in Thies, Senegal, the only hotels to be found were three times more expensive than what we were able to pay. At around 22h00, we stumbled upon non-French speaking Phillipinos who are here laying fibre-optic cable on contract for one month. They live next door the the Sayo family from The Central African Republic. Mme. Sayo is a large, intelligent, motivated and evers-so-kind woman who sustains her family of 7 children by working towards human rights all over the world. Her husband and their father died in a war three years ago. She put us all up for the night, and we played with her children. We spoke politics, exchanged gifts, e-mail addresses, food, smiles, music and continued the next day.
Dana and I were on our own again, with the goal of The Gambia. A larger river; a small country. People there speak English and live under mango trees. Rasta culture has crossed the Atlantic with the requisite dreadlocks, weed and Reggae. Dana and I made friends with musicians and I went out to a nightclub to see live music. Words like "Raspect" and "Bombaclatt" instantly reminded me of my time in the Caribbean.
After three weeks in the desert, we desired the beach and found the most spectacular beach I have ever been to. Seven kms of private beach for us and the two or three other guests, and a handful of locals who would walk and cycle the beach to get from town to town. The market was rick with hot peppers, tomatoes and mini obergine, so we cooked up a storm and swam three times a day for three days. It was our rest, and our southern-most point.
Since then, we have been making our slow return trip. So enamoured by our family in Thies, we returned to sing "Hotel California" (hilarious) at the top of our lungs with the Philipinos who blew me away with John Denver songs on the guitar, and gin and juice.
We also took a day trip into Dakar to visit my friend Benj's host family from when he was a student in Dakar. It can be said of our trip that one measurement of time is the families we stayed with. Benj's (or Ousmane Diallo as he was known there) family took us in and toured us around Dakar, French Africa's largest and busiest city. We took the trip to Goree Island, the point of no return for all the African slaves from that region for 300 years. It was so moving to hear the stories, walk the streets of this tiny island, and see the "Maison des esclave."
From Dakar back to Thies, then to the Mauritanian border, and more slow desert travel. I can't describe the beauty of dunes that flow with the wind. If you are not careful they may take over the highway or bury your tent. In Mauritania, sand is the only danger and the only comfort for lack of couch or chair.
Unfortunately, both Dana's camera and mine broke, so most of this return trip will not be captured on film, so the stress is on stories and drawings, and most of all, memories.
We take tea. I will make the famous Mauritanian tea for you when I see you next. Insha'allah.
A word on spirituality:
People here are believers. In every word is the reverance for Allah. Any mention of the future or in any response to the question "how are you?" they respond with "Insha'allah" or, "God willing." In most of our desert sunset rides, we stop to pray. Men wash their feet in the sand, and fold in the now-globally recognized "Muslim" way. How beautiful these men are when they pop back into the car with white, red or brown sand on their noses and foreheads. How much they desire to know us, exchange emails, give phone numbers if we need help or for our next trip. They jump at the chance to say all humans are the same and equal, and what matters is purity of heart not what's in your pocket. The godliness in the air, in the music, in the rituals has rubbed off on me. I am inspired to a state of constant and extreme thankfulness. I needed it more than anything in this world. Thankfulness. I give thanks to all the known and unknown forces that make my life wonderful, my family and friends healthy and loving, and my eyes open.
I send you, dear reader, nothing but peace, love and profound thankfulness.
I am in Dakhla, Western Sahara, Morocco after what seems like years of movement and laughter. Dana, my excellent and ideosyncratic traveling companion leaves in less than one week. I am the dirtiest I have ever been in my life, and the most happy (other than wishing you were here with me).
Dear reader: the things I've seen and experienced can simply not be captured in an occasional blog post. The kindness, the life of prayer, the heat, the wind, the beaches, the sand in our toes, the hand signals when words aren't there, the smiles, the children, AFRICA!
My hands are shaking at the thought that this will be my internet memory of this region at this time. To say the least, I have traveler's feaver. No, I'm not sick, I just want more! Try to close your eyes and breathe with me, becuase everyday I cross the Atlantic or Mediterranean this way with you.
Since I left you last in St. Louis, Dana and I have travelled on rediculously slow, busy and fumey Senegalese busses. (We even got into a fender bender with a taxi. No injuries.) We travel like the locals and have learned how to navigate through the all-in-one "garage", "gare routière", "marché", and zone for shoeless begger boys. Most busses can hold 15 to 35 people and will freauently stop the 35km/hr tromp to pick-up and drop-off passengers along the way. A small city outside of Dakar was where we said goodbye to our 3-week travelling companion named, Diop. He was our guide and interpreter-éxcellent but more than anything, our good friend. The night we three and Céline arrived in Thies, Senegal, the only hotels to be found were three times more expensive than what we were able to pay. At around 22h00, we stumbled upon non-French speaking Phillipinos who are here laying fibre-optic cable on contract for one month. They live next door the the Sayo family from The Central African Republic. Mme. Sayo is a large, intelligent, motivated and evers-so-kind woman who sustains her family of 7 children by working towards human rights all over the world. Her husband and their father died in a war three years ago. She put us all up for the night, and we played with her children. We spoke politics, exchanged gifts, e-mail addresses, food, smiles, music and continued the next day.
Dana and I were on our own again, with the goal of The Gambia. A larger river; a small country. People there speak English and live under mango trees. Rasta culture has crossed the Atlantic with the requisite dreadlocks, weed and Reggae. Dana and I made friends with musicians and I went out to a nightclub to see live music. Words like "Raspect" and "Bombaclatt" instantly reminded me of my time in the Caribbean.
After three weeks in the desert, we desired the beach and found the most spectacular beach I have ever been to. Seven kms of private beach for us and the two or three other guests, and a handful of locals who would walk and cycle the beach to get from town to town. The market was rick with hot peppers, tomatoes and mini obergine, so we cooked up a storm and swam three times a day for three days. It was our rest, and our southern-most point.
Since then, we have been making our slow return trip. So enamoured by our family in Thies, we returned to sing "Hotel California" (hilarious) at the top of our lungs with the Philipinos who blew me away with John Denver songs on the guitar, and gin and juice.
We also took a day trip into Dakar to visit my friend Benj's host family from when he was a student in Dakar. It can be said of our trip that one measurement of time is the families we stayed with. Benj's (or Ousmane Diallo as he was known there) family took us in and toured us around Dakar, French Africa's largest and busiest city. We took the trip to Goree Island, the point of no return for all the African slaves from that region for 300 years. It was so moving to hear the stories, walk the streets of this tiny island, and see the "Maison des esclave."
From Dakar back to Thies, then to the Mauritanian border, and more slow desert travel. I can't describe the beauty of dunes that flow with the wind. If you are not careful they may take over the highway or bury your tent. In Mauritania, sand is the only danger and the only comfort for lack of couch or chair.
Unfortunately, both Dana's camera and mine broke, so most of this return trip will not be captured on film, so the stress is on stories and drawings, and most of all, memories.
We take tea. I will make the famous Mauritanian tea for you when I see you next. Insha'allah.
A word on spirituality:
People here are believers. In every word is the reverance for Allah. Any mention of the future or in any response to the question "how are you?" they respond with "Insha'allah" or, "God willing." In most of our desert sunset rides, we stop to pray. Men wash their feet in the sand, and fold in the now-globally recognized "Muslim" way. How beautiful these men are when they pop back into the car with white, red or brown sand on their noses and foreheads. How much they desire to know us, exchange emails, give phone numbers if we need help or for our next trip. They jump at the chance to say all humans are the same and equal, and what matters is purity of heart not what's in your pocket. The godliness in the air, in the music, in the rituals has rubbed off on me. I am inspired to a state of constant and extreme thankfulness. I needed it more than anything in this world. Thankfulness. I give thanks to all the known and unknown forces that make my life wonderful, my family and friends healthy and loving, and my eyes open.
I send you, dear reader, nothing but peace, love and profound thankfulness.
I am in Dakhla, Western Sahara, Morocco after what seems like years of movement and laughter. Dana, my excellent and ideosyncratic traveling companion leaves in less than one week. I am the dirtiest I have ever been in my life, and the most happy (other than wishing you were here with me).
posted by Adam Popper at 8:01 a.m.
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