West Africa Cruise: Dakar, Senegal (11.24.24)

I keep thinking of Camille's comment as to why she likes visiting Africa, "You know you've been somewhere."  That was exactly how I felt during our day in Dakar, Senegal, on November 24, 2024.  The sights, sounds and smells were vibrant, exotic, and almost overwhelming.  

The adventure began at dawn, as our ship nudged into port on the African continent, just south of the Sahara.

Our shore excursion was titled "Lake Retba and Village Tour."  Lake Retba is the endpoint for the Paris/Dakar and Amsterdam/Dakar road races.  Contestants take beat-up cars, which will get further beat up on the Sahara, and drive them from Paris or Amsterdam to Lake Retba.  The race was moved from the Sahara for the past couple of years because of the threat of terrorists, but the hope is that it will move back.  On the way to Lake Retba, we stopped at a village market, to experience African local life.

Heaps of second hand clothes were for sale.  I understand that, when we donate clothes to Deseret Industries or Goodwill, many of them are sent to underdeveloped countries where brokers buy large containers of them and sell them at village markets.

This horse cart seemed like a relic from another age.

These dolls, so many of them white, looked like another Western donation.

Senegal is a Muslim country, with many women wearing hibabs.

Melons were in season, and we ate them at every shore excursion lunch.  This young boy found a shady spot behind his parents' melon stand.

Soccer ("futbol" in French, the national language of Senegal)
is the sport played by children all over Africa, and watched avidly on TV by all ages.

Throughout Africa, we passed many half built buildings.  Mortgage money is scarce, so builders construct their buildings a piece at a time, as they acquire finances to do it.

Our "home base" near Lake Retna was a fancy resort.  The guest rooms were individual thatched roof cottages.

We were greeted by dancers, brilliantly dressed and accompanied by drum beats, played faster and faster.  Tour companies and port authorities, all along the West African coast, entertained us with African dancing and music.  It was the one delightful constant.

Brightly decorated buses plied Dakar's streets.  This one was parked at our resort.

Guests were taken for half hour jeep rides to the beach.  We dashed along in the open air, swerving this way and that, and leaning towards the ground at dangerous angles.  I sat in front, with a great view and a sense of my imminent demise.

Who were these women, dressed alike in bright orange cloaks, playing at the beach?

Our jeeps were crowded, so one fellow tourist jounced along on the back bumper.

As we drove back to the resort, we passed several camels, outfitted with saddles, likely for the resort's guests.  They seemed appropriate, lounging on the sand, just south of the Sahara.

Musicians accompanied our lunch at the resort.  They played exotic local instruments.

There were signs, throughout the restaurant, announcing the road races across the Sahara.

I loved trying the local food--rice, chicken and fried fish, and delicious watermelon.  West African food typically has lots of chiles, but our meal had been tamed for the tourists.

Our bus took us back to the lake for another look.  Bright patterned clothes for both men and women were an African staple.

Even the boats on the lake were bright-colored, and flying the Senegal flag.

I paused by the monument to the founder of the Paris/Dakar race.

On our way back to the port, we stopped again for a dance program.  It was planned especially for our Oceania tourists, but local people crowded around to watch the dancers.

A woman passed around a hollowed out gourd for tips.

A group of women dancers alternated with the men.

The male lead dancer hovered next to the crowd, prancing and glaring. Who was he, I wondered, under all the paint?

Throughout Africa, I admired the beautiful children and wondered what their futures held.