Sunny, Sandy Senegal

We arrived at our hostel in the darkness of the morning at 6am. After sleeping for a few hours, I stepped outside, blinded by the warmth and sunshine. The hotel was on a sand road, full of palm trees and cement houses. We walked to the city center Dakar, the country’s capital. Dakar is located on a peninsula, practically an island in the Atlantic Ocean. Sand surrounds and fills the island; the streets and sidewalks are all sand. We walked through markets and the main square of the city, which was filled with Christmas decorations, although the country is primarily Muslim. We visited a few markets and municipal buildings, listening to the typical city sounds mixed with unique local music. As we walked by shops and restaurants, I loved every song I heard and searched for it on my phone. Most of the people we interacted with spoke Wolof, while some also spoke French because it was once a French colony. The buses and trucks were decorated with bold colors and patterns, and there were many paintings of beloved sheikhs.

The following day, we took a ferry to Goree Island, the main site of the slave trade in the area. The island is quite small, only 69 acres in size. It’s a beautiful island with a dark past. The vibrant colors of the buildings heavily contrasted the sorrow of the island’s history. The architecture reminded me of a combination of New Orleans and Cuba. We walked into the House of Slaves and looked through the Door of No Return, where many passed through without ever seeing their homeland again. We walked past a derelict palace and a memorial. We ended our trip with the island’s museum, and took a ferry back to Dakar.

We moved to a different hostel on the northern coastline near the beach. The beach was unlike any other beach I’ve seen. On the sand near the waves, there were about thirty buses, some broken and gutted, some being cleaned and washed. Right next to it, there were men making cement blocks, some mixing the powder with water, and some shoveling the cement much into the mold, and some setting the new block to dry in the sun. But that wasn’t what made the beach magical. In the afternoon, the remaining expanse of the beach was covered with children playing football. There were makeshift soccer fields for as far as my eyes could see in both directions, up and down the coastline. I tried to count how many games were happening simultaneously; I lost count. The goals were marked by two tires. Some teams had matching jerseys, some did not. Some wore shoes, some did not. They played for hours and hours nonstop. For those not playing in a game, they were doing drills, flipping tires, practicing footwork, and looping through circuits; they were preparing for the next match. It was a beautiful sight to behold. I call it the beach of dreams.

We found a restaurant close to our hostel that served yassa, the most flavorful dish with rice, spices, and beef. The punch of flavor was a surprise of savory seasonings and spices.

On one of our final days in Senegal, we took a long walk to the African Renaissance Monument, made out of bronze and 171 feet tall. The statue includes a man, woman, and young child, boldly looking forward into the future. The statue is a symbol of hope for the African continent, standing taller than the Statue of Liberty in New York City. It was a wonderful way to say good-bye to the African Continent, a place that captures the hope, bravery, optimism, and dream for Africa.