Crossing the Gambia

Today was devoted to getting from Kaolack to Kolda, where we're scheduled to start assessing reproductive health needs tomorrow morning. And travel in Senegal (and I suppose in most of Africa) means constant concern about the quality of the road.

The route to Kolda required us to go through the Gambia, a narrow strip of land on either side of the Gambia River, completely surrounded by Senegal. Apparently, the Brits decided they needed a river around here, so they created their own little colony, which is now its own little country.

The first phase of today's trip, from Kaolack to the Gambian border, was realllllly bumpy, but somehow I managed to sleep through much of it anyway. The trip through the Gambia took about two hours, a combination of more bad roads and a ferry ride across the river. The crossing itself only took about ten minutes, but with waiting, loading, and unloading, the river accounted for almost an hour of our time in the country. The ferry itself was not so different from the ones in British Columbia—not the big monsters that ply the Vancouver-Victoria route, but the smaller ones that go to the Gulf Islands. It was about the same size as the one that goes between Quadra and Cortes Islands, maybe a little smaller, certainly a little more run-down. But the experience was quite similar: waiting for the boat to dock, watching the cars come off, driving on and pulling up as far as the attendants says as he packs in as many vehicles as possible, feeling the wind and enjoying the scenery as we rode across the river. Even the smell of the fuel had a comfortable familiarity to me.

Another half hour after the river-crossing, we reëntered Senegal. The region south of the Gambia is knows as the Cassamance, after the river of the same name that runs through it. People keep referring to the recent civil war in this area, and I’m too embarrassed of my ignorance to ask for details (when? where? who?). Remarkably, though, the roads are beautifully paved, and we made great time from the border crossing all the way to Kolda, with a quick stop for lunch along the way.

So here I am at the Hotel Hobbe (no, not Hobbes). I’m in room 78, which is between room 46 and room 47, across from room 34. No idea why; perhaps there’s a pattern I haven’t figured out. The hotel has a crested crane (I’m told) strolling around the edges of the pool area. And a remarkable number of insects crawling and flying about, but luckily not many in room soixante-dix-huit. Luckily, I’ve been taking my malaria pills every day.

The wireless internet here only works outside by the pool, where there is nowhere to plug in my computer. Since I used up my battery chatting with Amy and Andy, I’m now back in my room, writing offline, so won’t post this until I go back down in the morning. But it seems petty to complain about this inconvenience. Given the state of the infrastructure on this continent, it’s astounding how easy communication has become. My phone was rarely out of range throughout the 8-hour trip here (my Senegalese SIM card didn’t work in the Gambia, but my US one did), and then I spent the evening chatting with London and New York. Now if only they could do something about the roads.