13 June

Skipping forward quite a bit I’m now writing as we’re en route to the Roberts Airport, almost a two hour drive outside of the city to the east.  It’s been a whirlwind 42 hours (so far) in Liberia and we’re all ready to leave, I think.

This is a very depressing country with few redeeming values or reasons to be optimistic beyond the demonstrated resilience of many of it's people that have survived so much.

Still, there are very few countries that I will be so happy to leave.

I’m only half joking when I say that Monrovia is a potential preview of the Zombie Apocalypse with it's skeletal buildings, poverty, bullet and RPG holes in walls, collapsing infrastructure and population density.

As I type, we’re at a traffic checkpoint, stopped, watching police scream at two obviously American motorcycle riders on their shiny new motocross bikes.

Our driver just cleared the inspection, though, and we’re not going to see the conclusion. Instead, we’re driving fast to the airport with the windows down because the fan belt on the bus won’t allow us to use the air conditioning.  We’re on a quasi-four lane highway lined by businesses with no curb, divider, or controls/lights. Pedestrians cross wherever they choose and cars stop randomly for them causing brakes to squeal and minibuses to swerve. We turn right onto (strangely) a smaller two lane road that supposedly will lead to the international airport in 27 miles, then merge on to another road.

We’re driving now by the Samuel Kanyon Doe soccer stadium. Yes, that Samuel Doe, who executed his predecessor in a bloody coup d’etat.  I ask Jimmy, our guide, about it and he says that Doe had the stadium built during his time in power. I ask why they haven’t changed the name of the stadium and he said it’s because he contributed so much to soccer in Liberia.  Yeah, and Mussolini made the trains run on time, too.

We pass a sign that says that the EU paid for this road and is paying for it's maintenance until 2021.  It’s a good road now…

We just went through our second police checkpoint, this time without a stop. It’s 1225 and there are many school kids walking along the sides of the road in their various uniforms, presumably because it’s lunch, but who knows.  We see kids in school uniforms at every hour of the day.

The air conditioning belt just snapped.  Our driver pulled over to the side of the road and told us he would try to reconnect it (somehow).  I just said, “No, let’s go. We don’t need air conditioning. The windows are already down.”

Just rolled through police checkpoint number three.

We’ve also passed two large government office building, one the ministry of health and the other a new building to house all other government ministries and learn that they were both built by the Chinese.

Further out of town and along the coast, we pass many large homes in the distance (not along the road, with the poor, but seaside) that are quite large and in every conceivable state of repair--from block walls and no roof, through fully complete and apparently maintained well, to abandoned to the jungle and squatters.

I driver swerves to pass a land cruiser and just ducks in front before a head-on. He’s no Idi by a long shot.

As we get more rur, we see farming area around the homes and compounds growing corn and bananas.  There are piles of trash interrupting jungle overgrowth of vines along the side of the road.

We’ve covered the first 20 miles in about an hour, but we seem to be rolling along now on a hilly but straight road.  The number of palm trees increases, as does the number of half-built and abandoned homes. We pass by some wetlands in which women and children and wading, harvesting greens of some type, I think.  Next is a rainy season pond that, in the dry season is a soccer pitch--since the pond has goal posts and crossbars at two sides.

The wong-like white airport appears in the distance across a field of sparsely planted banana trees.  Sadly, it’s not open yet, and we turned into a sad little, moldy terminal that was only marginally bigger than Wayne Airport where we arrived two days before.

Jimmy and the driver dropped us at the door and, since we had arrived almost four hours before our expected departure of 1645, we decided to walk over to the Farmington Hotel and get some lunch.  It was only about 200 meters away and we just carried our bags. Jimmy offered to carry us over in the minibus, but that wouldn’t taken longer by the time we loaded and unloaded. Still, he walked over with us to say goodbye.

I gave him  USD $20 and thanked him. I didn’t say goodbye to Emmanuel. He didn’t seem interested in us at all throughout the trip, so that didn’t surprise me. If Jimmy decided to share some of his tip with home, that was his decision.

We entered the very nice Farmington Hotel and we're directed to the dining area where they had a very nice buffet lunch with many local selections awaiting us.  It was relatively expensive at USD$20 apiece, but the cadets got their money’s worth by the time they’d ravaged the dessert table. The best and most interesting dish was a sort of spinach purée stewed with some spices, chiles, and and tough beef or goat. It was very good over here rice.

We connected via WiFi and started to check on the status of our flight.  Each of us, checking a different site or app got a different response for the Air Cote d’Ivoire flight 759 to Abidjan.  These discoveries ran from 'no flights today to Abidjan’ to departures at 1600, 1625, and 1645. The Air CdI site showed no Wednesday flight from ROB to ABJ.

We decided that, in case Charlie’s source (1600 deposit) was correct, we should walk over. Becky was checking with hotel staff to see if they knew the schedule, but their expert wasn’t around, so we walked to the front door.

The manager, who looked Lebanese, was very kind and courteous--and clearly happy that we’d dropped USD$175 on his establishment, so he offered up a free shuttle to the terminal since rain had begun.  We took advantage of that, tipped our driver with some remaining Liberians 100’s and entered the decrepit little place by comically walking all four legs of the labyrinthine rope cue with no one else in line.  The security guards were clearly amused.

We entered and we're pleased to see three check-ins for Air CdI.  From there, check-in was easy and event free, as was clearing of customs and security.   Quaintly, the gate agent hand-wrote each of our boarding passes after checking our passports.  She then handed me a printout of my ticket, which, it turns out had another name on it, unknown to us all.  Richard, however, was scheduled to return to Monrovia from Abidjan' on 22 June. Bon Voyage, Richard. All were accomplished in probably less than 2000 square feet of terminal space and we were in the only waiting area. Security was funny because the older gentleman working it said that he would have to dump my water bottle. But, at the last minute he said, “It’s okay. No problem. I trust you!” And handed it to me across the inspection desk.  Good for me, but not great for airport security.

The little waiting area had a few shops, some broken chairs, and was occupied by about 30 others.  There was a transfer bus outside. An Air CdI agent walked around and took our tickets. We tried to ask her what time we would board and finally understood her to say, “When it’s announced.”

“But when will that be?”

“I don’t know.”

It turns out she was wrong. Five minutes later, the exit doors to the tarmac opened and everyone just starting walking to the bus without an announcement.  Since is was only 1525, we now deduced that Charlie’s source was correct and our flight would leave at 1600.

We were flying on another Q-400, albeit one that looked a little newer than the ASky one on which we flew two days before.

The flight was delayed by about 20 minutes because of an indicator light on the cabin door that was showing it wasn’t fully closed, but they resolved that and we were on our way a little bit late.  The flight was uneventful for us, but for the cadets up a few rows, apparently one of the passengers smelled so bad that another passenger asked to be moved to another seat. The plane was about 75% full, so that was easily accomplished.

Service was very good for an 80 minute flight, with three flight attendants--all very tall.  They served us a small sandwich, plenty of drinks and were working constantly.

We landed in Abidjan and immediately noticed a difference--even though we didn’t have a jet bridge.  There were large (A330 and B787) aircraft from Air France and Brussels Airlines, the runway looked organized and busy, and we stepped into an immigration area that was modern and well-lit.  The e-Visa desk was just inside the door and they were not only ready for Becky when she arrived, they actually greeted her by name when she came in the door.

I was impressed with this service by the company SNEDAI.  You basically completed all of the application on-line and paid the fee weeks in advance, then, upon arrival, you presented your passport, they took the necessary biometrics like photo and fingerprints, then they created her visa in a little laminating machine and stuck it into her passport.  The whole process took a total of five minutes. She was then only a few minutes behind us in the regular immigration line.

We were moved as a group to the diplomatic and first class line and were equally impressed with how quickly they processed us.  From there, we went to baggage claim that actually had a moving carousel and luggage carts like any European airport. Bags, came out, bathroom stops were made, and we cleared the customs inspection, too.  George was waiting for us and we chatted briefly.

The cadets were just amazed at the difference between Liberia and Abidjan and all smiles.  George couldn’t have been more friendly. He is Ewe from Togo, Benin, and has been a guide for 13 years.  After the Cote d’Ivoire Civil War ended, he was invited into the country by several leader general officers and asked to set up tourist itineraries and to do liaison work with communities to reestablish the countries overland tourist industry.  He served as a liaison for some communities and seems to know the country inside and out. He proudly opened (completely) a full Michelin paper map of Cote d’Ivoire and described potential 14 and 15 day adventures that he has led in the past covering all of the major villages, ethnicities., cultures, etc.  We’re clearly with the right guy.

He then told us what we’d be doing for the next couple of days before heading into Ghana and set our departure time the next day for 0800.

The team settled into the bar for a local beer and some ordered food.  We were surprised by the costs--about twice the price of things in Dakar--but then I reminded them that per diem allowances in Abidjan were among the highest in Africa at $225 per night for lodging and $113 for meals.

For some reason, the bar was not air conditioned and we all go remarkably sticky and sweaty just sitting there.  We adjourned to our rooms at abou 2130 and all seemed to have slept well.

We arrived right on time at Payne International Airport in Monrovia.  On the flight in from Accra, we bounced around a little with the many thunderstorms in the area, then descended to see a very green, jungle countryside.  The runway at LFW was very short and our pilot put the plane down hard and jumped on the brakes and thrust reversers, tossing us into our seatbelts. As we slowed and started to turn onto the taxiway it was clear that we were very close to the end of the runway.  The taxi was very short and then we pulled up to a small terminal that was little better than a small private airport in the US. We walked down the stairs and onto the tarmac that was asphalt with significant amounts of loose gravel. Some well-dressed men came out of the building’s left side and greeted one of the passengers--some sort of dignitary--and we proceeded to the immigration line.

Charlie moved to the front of the line and was processed quickly.  While we were in line, though, one of the officers came out and asked for the leader of our group.  I spoke up and he asked for our group’s official passports. Then, he told us that we could go to baggage claim and wait while they processed our passports.

Our bags arrived and they were checking claim tags before we could leave with our bags.  Managing to find our tags or use other ID with our bag tags, we gathered our luggage and took the time to hit the bathroom.  When we stepped outside, two young men were waiting for us with signs and we carrying our baggage to their two sedans.

It became obvious that our transportation was unaware of our trip and just bringing us to the hotel.  Our driver asked us if he could stop for gas on the way back--only about 100 meters from the hotel--which I found strange, but we agreed.

We arrived at the hotel, checked in quickly, but still found no note from our tour guide or any other information from TransAfrica or Tailor-Made Travel.

I was in touch with Mr Jarad Geiger from the embassy, trying to arrange dinner, via WhatsApp but still wanted to clarify our guide plans here.  I called Tailor-Made’s 24-hour number and spoke with Holly, a very helpful agent aware of our trip. She was surprised that we didn’t have the necessary info, but gave me the TransAfrica local number which I called.  I was using my Google Pixel phone and wifi calling to do all of this since they don’t have service in Liberia.

A TransAfrica agent answered quickly and told me that we our guide would meet us at 0730 at the hotel the next morning to begin our tour.  He then texted me the guide’s name and contact info. With that, we set dinner with Jarad at 1900 and he committed to come pick us up with a colleague of his.  I sent all of this info to our cadets using our GroupMe app and they all responded promptly. We settled into the room and relaxed for about an hour.

Jarad and his colleague, Josh, a foreign service officer serving in the political office at the embassy, picked us up in a white Chrysler Van and a 4x4 with US Embassy plates on time and we went about a mile away to their residential compound.  It was right along the beach with a view of the breakers. The building had a huge gate, tight security, and very high walls. We walked up to Jarad’s furnished apartment that was large and spacious with a balcony and well-stocked drink fridge containing soft drinks and beer.  Inside he had some excellent red wine and copies of Wine Spectator on the coffee table in front of the large, flat-screen TV.

We did introductions and stepped onto the balcony where we stayed for most of the evening.

The discussions were fascinating.  Josh is a former contract flight test engineer that worked with the Air Force before joining the foreign service.  Jarad has been stationed overseas for 20 straight years all over the world. He’s leaving in January and will take a post at the embassy in Slovenia--a nice bonus after Liberia.  

They were both pretty negative about the country and thought that they were headed for another crisis or economic crash in the next six to twelve months.  They were surprised that we had come here and said that if the Army Lt Col Defense Attache was here he would have certainly invited us out, too, and taken good care of us.  They told us about West Point and called it the “worst slum in the world,” and that when bad storms hit, since it is build on a sandbar, several people are just swept away. They advised that we just see it from a distance and don’t go in.  They described violence in the city and it was pretty shocking. They also told us about former warlords and child soldiers with known histories of committing murder and atrocities within their parliament or in cabinet offices. They described a country with very few serviceable roads--it takes 14 hours to drive 240 miles to Sierra Leone’s capital of Freetown--and rampant corruption.  They said that Liberia is the fourth poorest country in the world, too, and that the Liberian Dollar had dropped in value against the US Dollar by about 40% in the last year.

Liberia has very few exports except for mineral wealth mined by international corporations and a huge rubber plantation established by Firestone in the 1930s.

We talked about Redemption Beach and seeing the soccer goalposts still on the beach against which Samuel Doe had had his enemies shot by firing squad in the coup d’etat of 1980.

The pizza was pretty good and I’m sure the cadets enjoyed it.  After finishing it, I actually did NOT have heartburn for the first time in about 48 hours, so I felt good.  I laid off the beer and had a glass of excellent Rioja that Jarad offered.

They told us that under no circumstances should we walk around after dark in Monrovia, even in a group, and that we should, in general not go walking around without our guide.

They offered to set us up for dinner with them the next night at a place they called, “the best restaurant in Monrovia, for what that’s worth,” run by a Lebanese friend.  It turns out that much of the successful merchant class here is, or has been, either of Lebanese or South Indian descent. Many were now leaving, though, as they were not allowed Liberian citizenship because the Constitution of Liberia requires that all citizens be “of African descent.”

They returned us to the hotel and we all returned to our rooms, set to meet for breakfast at 0700 for an 0730 departure with our guide.

12 June

Breakfast was very good with scrambled eggs, sauteed mushrooms, potatoes, breads, cereal, coffee, juices, etc.  Everyone seemed to be in pretty good health and only one requested a Loperamide tablet.

We were ready in the lobby at 0730 and Jimmy, our guide, arrived at about 0740.  We waited until almost 0810 for our minibus, though, and Jimmy was definitely frustrated by this.  Jimmy has been a guide in Monrovia for about six years and speaks very clear, good English. He’s a member of the Kpelle tribe from the county of Bong a few hours from Monrovia. He appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s.  Our driver is Emmanuel and he’s much younger than Jimmy--about 25 or so.

He told the group that we’d be going to West Point, walking around, and visiting a pair of schools there. We’d also go by Redemption Beach on the way.

Elaborate later on Jimmy’s discussion of the tourist industry.

On the drive, Jimmy pointed out several government buildings, the University of Liberia, United Nations and EU buildings, as well as the old US Embassy, now used as housing for embassy personnel.  We turned up Broad Street and went uphill from there to Ducor Hill to an immense abandoned resort hotel called the Ducor Palace. We parked in a brought asphalt area and were the only cars there.

First we went to the Roberts Memorial that pays tribute to Liberia’s first president.  It’s statue on a small ride atop the hill surrounded by high relief bronze sculpture plaques showing the arrival of the Elizabeth carrying the first freed slaves and others from the American Colonization Society as well as dispictions of local tribes meeting them, ultimately integrating with the “Americos.”  Jimmy told us about Liberia’s early history with some level of pride.

From there we stepped over the abandoned Ducor Palace and began our tour there.  First we went to the old swimming pool. Eddie actually walked out on the old, very questionable diving board and sat on the end.  Jimmy started laughing saying that in all of his tours he’d led, no tourist had ever had the guts to do that. We told Eddie that if the board broke and he fell into the stagnant, green water (probably only two to three feet deep) that he was on his own--no one was going to help him.

Jimmy explained that the hotel had begun construction in 1967 and was ultimately bought by Muhammar Qaddafi from Libya as part of his Pan Africa efforts and investments.  However, afer the coup of 1980 and the ensuing civil wars that lasted well into the ‘90s and early 2000’s, it had been abandoned and generally stripped of everything except some of the marble on the floors and walls.  There was considerable graffiti on the walls, some of it actually quite beautiful. The parking lot actually had a security guard--for what reason, I do not know.

We stood on the balcony and looked out at West Point, the Port of Liberia and other landmarks to the west.  From rooms on the east side we looked over central Monrovia and Broad Street. In some ways it reminded me of the ruins at Mesa Verde National Park.  I’d also visited a similarly abandoned resort during our trip to Cambodia in 2014 that was left fallow with the arrival of the Khmer Rouge to power. Like its Cambodian counterpart, the Ducor Palace was photographic paradise and I could stay there all day taking photos accentuated by the puddles of calm water on many of the floors, the holes in the walls made by both bullets and rocket propelled grenades, and more and more graffiti.

From the Ducor Palace, we drove down the hill and headed into the West Point Township slums.  We parked at a Total gas station and walked out onto the wet road, watching a front loader scoop tons of wet, smell garbage.  

Trying to get this out--pardon the (probably)many typos.

More 9 June

The National Museum of Banjul was a surprisingly well done little museum with a very sincere and enthusiastic docent that couldn’t have been more helpful. It helped that we were the only people at the museum and he seemed to be the only employee on duty, but he just exuded this infectious pride in his country and the displays that we all admired.

The museum was on two levels and not much bigger than a moderate sized home.  Originally, it had been the colonial “British Club,” then the national library, until it’s conversion to a museum

The first section on the main level covered contemporary culture and politics, while the back section covered history back to prehistoric times, including a fascinating display on iron smelting, Stone Age tools and discussions of regional ethnic and imperial histories, the introduction of Islam, and the colonial era.

Downstairs, they had a display of traditional musical instruments that you could actually touch and play.  Ali impressed with his skills on the antique tribal xylophone, then admitted that he was jus 'making shit up.’

From the museum, we went to the market where we first had to pass through the souvenir section (resulting in some cadet buys) before seeing market proper.  A couple of ladies selling fresh fish actually allowed me to take their photos, which was a rare treat. It was a typical market, though, and we didn’t stay too long.

From the market we first drove to the Grand Mosque of Banjul which, while not that large, was very beautiful and newly renovated inside.  At the gates entry, we saw an interesting sign showing in excruciating detail the right and wrong ways to pray, with graphic photos, red X’s and green ✓’s.  Ali laughed at this and said it was silly.

We walked inside and there were two gentlemen inside--one much older than the other and me.  Both wore the robes of mosque leaders. They didn’t explain much about the mosque, but the local guide had a few words.

While I was taking photos, I walked closer to the two gentleman and the younger one asked me if I was Muslim. I told him that I was not. He then asked, “But do you pray?” I told him that I did not. He asked me why and I responded simply that I choose not to do so.  He looked very perplexed, but the other, silent, older gentleman, flailed his right hand (obviously understanding what I’d said) and stomped away in apparent disgust). I then said, “Thank you allowing us to visit your very beautiful mosque,” walked away.

From the mosque, we drove outside of Banjul to the livestock yards that had some cattle, but mostly hundreds of goats.  We learned that herders bring their goats here to sell, while butchers and private families with drop in to pick goats and cattle for slaughter, haggling with the goatherd or his agent.  We asked about the prices and found that your typical, average-sized adult male goat went for about 4500 Dalasi, or just under $100. Prices were higher for big billies with unique horns and prices would jump to 10,000 Dalasi or more for a high quality animal near the end of Ramadan (Eid).

The next couple of hours were a bit frustrating as we we're supposed to go to a Batik factory--or at least a place where artisanal workers were dying and producing fabrics in this fashion.  However, since it was Sunday, many people were not working but the markets and roads we're jammed. When it all didn’t work out, we returned to the Lemon Creek and relaxed for before dinner.

Most of us went out for a long walk on the beach, going first north, then past the hotel to the south. We easily covered three miles.

The tide was coming in and the waves were occasionally surprising us as we walked along the wet line in the sand.

Our dog friends were on the beach again, as well as a herd of about ten cattle that seemed content (and unsupervised) to ruminate on the meaning of life while staring contentedly at the waves.

A small freshwater pond near the hotel had several hundred gray-headed gulls bathing and chattering.

Some people approached us asking if we’d like to come to their beach bar for happy hour, but we declined.

Many local kids were playing in the waves and Ali pointed out that he didn't to think any of them knew how to swim--but they just staying in the shallows.  We passed one gentleman with his dog on a leash (the first time I'd seen such a thing in Africa, as well as a ball that the dog loved to fetch from the breakers.

We returned to the hot and ordered drinks, including a few JulBrews, then Becky and I went to our room to relax, get cleaned up and do some photo work (me) or crossword puzzles (her).

We left at 1900 with the whole crew headed to Ali’s house.  We parked on the dirt street and walked down a sandy, block-fences line alley to an iron gate. From there, we walked to the front door that also had a little porch on which the family was cooking a large pot of excellent-smelling food.

Ali led us in, introduced us to his mom and dad, sister, aunt, and cousin and we were seated in the living room. Ali offered drinks and then fired up his XBox he’d brought from the States (he said he’d returned with only that, his cadet laptop, and a few clothes).  He and the cadets took turns playing war-type single shooter games while his father sat quietly the women prepped dinner. The TV was also on, playing a Gambia public TV discussion on sexilual assault.

About 15 minutes later, two huge bowls of food were brought onto the dining room table.  The first was about five pounds of spiced red rice, the second almost as much stewed vegetables, cassava, and whole fish.

Ali had told us this was the national dish of The Gambia and (we learned from Moussa) Senegal. It's called “one pot” because all of the cooking occurs in one pot.

The rice was tremendously as we're the veggies.  The fish was fired and a little chewy at first with plenty of bones to pick.  The cadets (especially Austin and Matt) ate copious quantities of the rice. Juice was also served and fresh bananas we're brought out for dessert.

Following the meal, we took group photos and we presented another Colorado photo book to Ali’s parents.

Ali’s parents don’t speak much English. His mom is from Senegal and speaks French.  At home, they speak primarily Wollof--and, as we were learning, Wollof seemed to be used more than English in most of the areas we visited.  So, we didn’t converse much, but we did thank them for the very generous dinner. Augusto and Idi seemed to really enjoy it, too.

We returned to the hotel, bought cold water and a few JulBrews and sat outside having deep conversations about The Gambia, America's role in Africa, growing Chinese influence here, and Ali. I think everyone enjoyed The Gambia a little more than Senegal in the sense that they were more comfortable in an English-speaking country that was a little cleaner and more orderly, but they also saw the optimism is Ali’s eyes and really seemed interested and concerned about the country’s future.  It was a very good day

Becky and I returned to our room and we're disappointed to NOT see our air conditioning unit dripping on the exterior floor, meaning it wasn’t on. Again, I returned to the lobby, and gain the desk agent had to determine whether we’d paid for a/c or not. I assured him we had, but it still required a phone call.  The technician walked back with me and it was turned on promptly.

We pre-packed for the next day’s departure, I uploaded the day’s photos and we went to bed.

10 June

We needed to leave early the next morning o catch the second ferry to Barra, across the Gambia RIver’s mouth again.

Augusto had tried to negotiate a slightly earlier start to the regular 0700 breakfast suggesting we could eat quickly if they had the cold items available at 0645. This concerned the staff greatly--they wanted to make us ham and cheese sandwiches to go instead for some reason.  We deferred to them, but I’d told all of the cadets to be in the eating area with bags, ready to go not later than 0645.

Becky and I Arrived at 0630 and saw they were already laying things out--but they’d also prepared a platter with 10 aluminum foil wrapped sandwiches for each of us.  The cadets put the sandwiches in their bags and then got the normal breakfast. Eddie even was able to wolf down a plate of scrambled eggs in about 60 seconds since the omelet guy had everything fired up by 0650.

Austin and Charlie said goodbye to the hotel cats (Greg and Karen) who’d followed us out to give us a kitty paws wave goodbye and we were off again.

Traffic was very light on Sunday morning and we made it to the ferry dock in downtown Banjul quickly, by 0730.  At first, it didn’t look promising that we’d get on the next ferry as the terminal was packed with large freight trucks and passenger cars as well as pedestrians (no cattle this time), but Augusto and Idi worked their magic and we moved towards the front if the queue, just in time for street sellers to offer us plenty of last-minute Gambian souvenirs.  Idi took advantage of one excellent offer to buy two white bottom undershirts from this driver side window.

The inbound ferry arrived at about 0820 and emptied quickly on to the quai, one small pickup truck with side rails had six cattle onboard.  Milliseconds after the last vehicle came off the ferry, cars pushed forward to it ahead and on. The ferry workers, however, did a good job of a game I now call 'Africa Ferry Tetris’ in somehow maximizing the platform space to get the most various-sized vehicles onboard, even if the rear gate didn’t shut all of the way and the bed of a truck was hanging over the water.  Idi managed to get us in a position in which we could actually exit the vehicle (the door opened in, as if designed for this game) and get us within millimeters of the mango truck ahead of us. We squeezed out and went above to the open air seats on a very nice, cool morning.

(Skip this next paragraph if you get queasy reading things about African toilets, ferries, and their intersection)

By now, My digestive system was beginning to show some signs of trouble.  When the gates were semi-closed and we pushed off of the pier, I moved quickly downstairs looking for a toilet after asking Becky for some paper. I lucked out (only in terms of time) and opened a very rusty door to find an equally rusty small space with a porcelain 'squatter’ that was, shall we say, well and recently useful to many, many people. It vented directly to the big bring and there was a large blue plastic bucket half-filled with water for 'la nettoyage.’  The light roll of the ocean was magnified by the exterior nature of the small room and, we’ll just end this by saying, it was one of the very least pleasant experiences of my life. I used all of the remaining water in the bucket to wash the whole thing down, feeling just a little bad for the poor soul that might follow.

The rest of the ferry ride was uneventful and we arrived in Barra about 30 minutes later.  Along the way, we passed the very distinct line between Gambia River freshwater flow (filled with silt) and the clearer green-blue ocean water.  Fishermen in pirogs made a ring about part of this transitional zone that, apparently, was attractive to their prey.

The border was not far away and soon we we parked and exiting The Gambia, reentering Senegal.  Clearing the Gambia side was quite easy this time. The usual hawkers, this time selling lots of cashews in addition to trinkets were there in addition to unofficial money changers. One came up to my window and, with Idi’s help we negotiated a reasonable rate helped by dueling calculator apps on our cell phones.  Idi assured us that the rate we were getting for our remaining Dalasi (converting to CFA) was better than we’d see in Dakar or at the airport and by now we all knew to trust all things Idi.

In mid-negotiation, however, near tragedy struck.  I tossed my wallet to Becky, excused myself from my business partner and walked/ran as quickly as possible to a douane who, in Trump's, directed me to the nearest toilets. (Once again skip forward as needed)

I went behind a small building to find standard four stall, cement block building with a large barrel of water out front. Just barely making it in time, I didn't have time to fill the sluice buckets in my stall. Not good.  The place was just a mess when I arrived and soon got worse. Olfactory senses were now turned off completely as I grabbed the buckets, pulled up my shorts and went to the barrel. I filled them quickly and went back to my stall thinking that this was the least I could do to help--or worse that by not doing so I was committing some huge cultural faux pas.  Well, apparently that wasn’t the case. Even the the barrel was ten feet from the door, in the few seconds I’d turned to get water, an elderly woman in a brightly floral dress had just as urgently gone into the stall, not finding it necessary, it seems to pull the door more than halfway shut. That was awkward. I set the buckets down on the concrete outside the door and returned as quickly as possible to more mathematical pursuits--and two Imodium tablets.

From the border, after a quick stop to buy two 10L water jugs) we began what would be a lot of driving.  Again, Idi was just on his game. I sat next to this guy for a week and he never came close to dozing or losing his focus.  By now, I could predict when he would honk a warning to pedestrians, goats, donkeys, horse carts, or other vehicles. (He said that he never honks at cattle because they just don't listen or respond)  Despite some dangerously crazy idiocy by other drivers (and goats and kids) I didn’t see him get angered or flustered in any way.

We drove for over two hours to Kaolack again where stopped outside town for an uneventful bathroom break and a chance to buy snacks.  It was hot as blazes on the concrete. I decided to treat myself to a Coke Zero for the first time on the trip and also bought a small package of yogurt, which hit the spot.

We drove for almost another two hours in a roundabout route that I didn’t quite understand--possibly to stay on the smooth, newer roads--before arriving in the town of Foal on the beach about 100 km south of Dakar.

We learned that Foal was once the center of Portuguese trade in the region and that it was also the home of Senegal’s first president, though that second claim was up to some dispute or interpretation.  It was also the third most important artisanal fishing village in Senegal behind Saint-Louis and Mbour.

We parked a hotel near inlet/bay side of the town and shortly thereafter met Edward, our guide for a tour of Shell Island.

Edward was originally from Shell Island and has been a certified guide there for six years.  He lived in New York at some time in the past and had clearly been influenced by reggae/Rasta culture, speaking with a pretty good Jamaican accent and sporting some serious dreads above his scraggling, short, and graying facial hair.

Shell Island and it's community were really a series of mud or sand flats in a mangrove bay that had been built up over centuries with billions and billions (trillions?) of cockle and oyster shells.  They reclaimed the land and built a whole town of 6,000 on shells dumped on mud and sand covering three distinct islands to depths (or heights) of well over 20 feet covering many hectares of land. The reclamation continues to this day with locals constantly gathering shells and dumping them by the basket full in low areas or as new foundation. Shells we're even used in the making of concrete blocks as a sort of matrix.  We took a 500 meter wooden bridge over part of the shallow bay to reach the island and could seat the abandoned pilings of the old bridge sticking out of the water to our left as we did.

The community was big enough to support six districts, each with its own ramada-like “palaver’ for local discussion debate, and meetings. They also had a mosque and a Catholic church.  The island was unique in Senegal in that it was 90% Christian, which explained the huge number of pigs running loose in the town or wallowing in the mud of the brackish bay at low tide.

Interestingly, Edward explained that the town football field was really a sandbar just on the west side of the island that was only useful during low tide.

We walked through village saw what appeared to be arriving little community of happy people.  As usual, there were plenty of little kids everywhere. Edward took us to large church and showed us the Black Jesus sculpture opposite the main pulpit and above the entry doors.  He was quick to point out that this Jesus had dreadlocks like him, but that they also had a White Jesus at the front.

Edward also was very proud of the fact that Christians and Muslims cohabitated peacefully on the I and that they had helped finance, build, and rebuild each other’s place of worship, and that were ultimately buried together in the same cemetery.

We next walked over a shorter bridge (about 200m) to their cemetery island. Here, as mentioned earlier, there was a Christian and a Muslim section.  Almost all of the Christa burial sites were marked with a cast concrete cross with details of the deceased written in paint on the concrete. The Muslims had simple steel plates with data and all were oriented in the direction of Mecca.  The cemetery island was actually quite a bit higher than the main island, maybe as much as 20 meters high at an overlook sporting a large cross. Again, this whole island and all that was above the now rising tide was shells.

Edward explained that you could tell how old the grave was in part because of the color of the cocke shells. Newer grave sites were darker, while older ones were bleached white by the sun.  The cemetery had been there so long that a few large baobabs had sprouted and grown amid the shells, as well as some vivid flame trees and some shrubs.

I asked Edward how long people had been living on Shell Island he said he didn’t sure, but that it was many, many hundreds if not thousands of years.  Clearly some grave stacking was occurring on the island as almost all of the graves we saw where no older than the second half of the 20th Century.

We returned to the main island and came upon an older gentleman weaving cloth with a small foot loom.  He had hundreds of threads stretched out 15 meters or more from his loom tied to a cement block, keeping it very tight.as he worked on his Kente-cloth like strip of blue, gray, and white fabric, he would slowly pull on the brick until in needed the rethread the whole loom--womething Edward said could take up to a week.

Austin bought about a two meter section of cloth that was very nice for only 2000 CFA, for which there no reason to bargain.

From there we returned to our van, reboarded and headed back to Dakar.  Traffic was Terri let until we were able to get on the new N1 Toll Highway that runs from the airport to the City.  We drove to the Hotel Djoloff and checked-in.

The Hotel Djoloff was very, very nice. New, modern, great fixtures and architecture.  We instantly liked it.

We’d been communicating with Moussa and planned to meet him for one last dinner before leaving Dakar.

I still wasn’t feeling very well (nor were a few others) so Becky and I checked out the hotel restaurant on the third floor (fourth floor for Americans).  It had a great view of the bay and city and was open air, with a good chalkboard tapas menu. We asked them to set us a table for 10 and then informed the cadets and Moussa (then en route) of our plans.

Dinner was excellent with green beans cauliflower, fish, cured Spanish ham, avocados, duck, and dessert plates.  It was a relaxing evening and a good way to put the exclamation mark on our time in far western Africa.

As we said goodbye to Moussa and promised our return, he gave Becky a nice Senegalese dress and three African shirts for Sean, Andy, and me.  I gave him one of my last Astro coins and there lots of hugs going around.

Becky and I again pre-packed for the next day’s flights, cleaned up and though I tried to work on photos was just too tired.

11June

We awoke at 0450 for our 0530 departure and packed quickly

We we pleasantly surprised to see the hotel had put out a tray of breads and cookies for us as an early breakfast and we all grabbed a few items.  We left on time and made it to Blaise Diagne International Airport in only 45 minutes. At the curb, we said goodbye to Augusto and Idi, returned our Trans-Africa customer surveys to them and gave them each envelope with large tips for their great work.  I also gave Augusto my business card and hope communicate with him in the future and maybe even visit Guinea-Bissau.

Airport check-in went very smoothly and we cleared immigration easily, too.  The new airport is quite nice with little shops, duty-free, and even relatively clean bathrooms--those Charlie managed to discover that they save one stall for the traditional squatter format in each bathroom.

Each of us bought some water or snacks and we settled into our chairs to write, read, and relax.

Our plane arrived on time and we boarded just the same.  We’d warned the cadets that assigned seating might not be that meaningful on an African airline within Africa and the passengers proved us right.

Becky and I were assigned to an exit row but those seats were taken by one gentleman and Austin gave us a shrug when we looked at him--apparently someone was in his seat, so he’d moved into ours.  The flight attendant asked us if there was a problem and Becky said that’ “Someone’s in our seats,” as she pointed to them. He gave her a helpless shrug as well, but then giggled when she said, “C’est l’Afrique!”

The plane was barely half full, so we just moved to the back half of the plane and claimed our whole empty row.

ASky served a good breakfast for free on this 3.5 hour flight and I used almost all of that time to write this with my thumbs on the way to Lomé. We arrived right on time and the transfer to our next flight was easy.  They were waiting with our next boarding passes in the hallway as we exited and after clearing security one more time, we went to Gate 6, waited for only about 10 minutes and boarded via a bus that drove us out to our Bombardier Q-400 (really a deHavilland Dash-8).  As your bus arrived at the plane, so did the luggage truck and trailer and we were relieved to see our bags had made the transfer with similar ease.

Again, our flight had several open seats, so Becky moved to my side of the aisle for the quick 20 minute flight to Accra.

We landed on-time with just a few bumps and all but for us and maybe four others deplaned. I asked the flight attendant how long we’d wait before the next flight and he said we’d be taking off in 20 minutes.   He was nearly accurate as we began taxiing shortly after 1400. Only about dozen boarded the plane, so we each enjoyed our own two-seater row.

We were pleasantly surprised when they served a light lunch of fish in a red tomato sauce with rice and potatoes, plus a mini-baguette and fresh fruit salad.  No complaints at all about ASky so far.

Writing on 10 June…

Wow, now I have to journal our entire time in The Gambia (@thesmilingcoastofafrica, #gambiahasdecided) all at once as we leave this very interesting and optimistic little country.  The contrasts with Senegal are very interesting and worthy of about a 10-15 cadet Poli Sci term paper, so I’ll jus touch on those later and briefly.

It goes without saying, though, that our visit here was tremendously impactes by having 1Lt Ali Sumbundu join us for most of our time here.  Ali is a 2017 USAFA grad, one of our unofficial sponsorees, a former student of mine (Engr 100 in Fall 2013), and is currently and already serving as the aide-de-camp to the Chief of the Defense Staff (Lt Gen) of the Gambian Army.  I can’t put into words how proud we are of this amazing young man.

After finally getting on the road in The Gambia, we stopped about an hour later at a cashew plantation and saw cashews on the trees and laying on the ground with their red “apples” and gray/purplish “nut” connected externally and below.  Though I’d seen pictures of them before and read articles about how drink manufacturers in the US were beginning to try to market the juice and other products from the apple, I’d never seen one, much less tasted one.

Augusto explained that they aren’t picked off the tree but rather gathered when they fall--indicating they are ripe.  We wiped off one of the fresher looking dropped cashews and I gave it a small bite. The skin seemed loaded in pectins (Moe so than even apple skins) and the meet just burst into sticky, sour juice.  It was quite tart, but very tasty. Matt liked it, as did Becky. I think Eddie was the lone dissenter among those that tried it. It seems that cashews are one of the up-and-coming agricultural products in West Africa because of the many uses they have.  Augusi told us that the squeezed pulp pressing of the apple are used to make soap and the nut is also ground to a flour for baking. I’ll have to do more research on cashews and see if we can get some juice in the US. I think it would make a great flavor additive for a sour beer at LFBC.

We arrived at the Bari ferry landing and Idi and Augusto got out of the bus to purchase our ticket.  Augusto had been in contact with the ferry operator or some intermediary all day and we were quickly driving up the ramp, parked in the queue behind a large concrete pumper truck and another truck loaded with fresh produce.  Within five minutes of watching the newly arrived file past us on the lesft, we were driving onto the ferry that could probably hold a half-dozen large trucks or as many as two dozen passenger cars. Two young men with four head of cattle also joined us, pinned to an area in the aft right corner of the parking area.

We climbed out of our bus and made our way to the seating deck from where we could watch the whole show.  From the ferry, we could see fishermen and their pirogs along the beach to the west as well as several large freighters in the mouth of the Gambia.  Banjul was a misty six or seven kilometers away to the south.

There was a nice breeze that mitigated the sunny, humid conditions somewhat.  Two women were selling cellophane-wrapped shortbread cakes displayed on a platter on their heads, while the rest of the passengers checked their cell phones or napped.  The cadets bout two of the cakes as a snack and liked them.

The trip lasted about 20-30 minutes and we passed the returning ferry, going to the North shore, along the way.  It seemed larger, with three decks and many more passengers. It was also named the Kunte Kinteh.

Arriving at the Port of Banjul, we saw two large ships tied to a pier pararllel to each other with a large Turkish flag and signage indicating that these boats we're essentially a sea-going electrical power plant.  An oil tanker was tied next to them, large smoke stacks extended from the western ship, and high tension lines ran directly from one ship to tall towers and, presumably, Banjul’s electrical grid. We’re heard that Banjul was notoriously underserved by reliable electrical power and that this, as well as new power lines from Senegal, we're part of the solution.

A large freighters was tied to one of the piers near our landing as well as a decrepit and rusty river boat and a semi-capsized ship of indeterminate type.

The captain spun the ferry around in the shallow channel, running aground on the beach as he backed the ferry attempting to swing into the gate.  We cleared that quickly and we're brought into the ramp straight away.

The ferry unloaded quickly and we were on our way into Banjul.  We were going to visit the National Museum of The Gambia that afternoon, but Georgia’s condition and our earlier delays helped us decide that we would skip that.

Along the way to the hotel, Augusto pointed out many landmarks, included the museum, city centre square, various government buildings, etc.

It was about a twenty minute drive to the hotel, during which time it became apparent that the Gambia was somewhat cleaner and marginally more orderly than Senegal.  We saw several large businesses, sidewalks and curbs in a better state of repair and significantly less dust, grime, and loose plastic bags and trash.

We stop at a Standard Chartered Bank ATM and several of us got cash before the machine ran out.  We got 2000 Dalasi each, about $50 and went to the hotel.

The Lemon Creek Hotel was somewhat difficult to find, down a couple of dirt roads, but then we arrived driving into the parking area that was completely covered in white clam shells.  We were very close to the beach with several six to eight room buildings, tile roofs and many flowers and tropical plants as well as a couple of large baobobs.

The rooms were fairly large, with mosquito netting over the bed and air conditioning that wasn’t operating.  Each room had a nice balcony with several chairs.

We relaxed, went to the bar and tastes our first JulBrew beer--brewed by Banjul Breweries.  We liked it! We also found the wifi fairly effective and used it to communicate with Ali who was arranging dinner for us at a local restaurant with Muhammed Cham, our incoming Gambian cadet.

The cadets walked down to the beach, I caught up with photos and we enjoyed the relaxing afternoon.

Ali arrived with Muhammed at about 1730 and we all had a chance to chat in the bar area. Muhammed impressed us a quiet and very sincere--as well as very young.  Ali told us that Muhammed had attended the best technical high school in The Gambia, St Peters, and that Ali had shepherded him and many others through the application process with the help of the US Embassy. He’d put them through weeks of physical training so that they would crush the candidate fitness assessment (CFA).  He bragged that Muhammed could do 21 pull-ups and 72 push-ups.

In end end, Ali had gained appointments for three future Gambian officers--two to the US Naval Academy and the second cadet at USAFA.  That’s just an amazing feat for a country so small.

We left at 1900 for dinner at the Butcher Shop and arrived about 15 minutes later.  It was an impressive, white tablecloth restaurant with a large slate menu on the wall, nice wine selection, and very attentive staff.  They proudly displayed all of their TripAdvisor awards on the wall, too.

The owner/manager was a middle-aged man of European descent who walked around with a lit cigar in his mouth.

Augusto joined us for dinner, but Idi went to prayers and had a snack elsewhere.  Ali and Muhammed explained that they would be early lightly, planning to return home for a planned larger meal closer to 2200.

I asked the waitress here favorite dish plate and she recommended a whole fish stewed in a tomato garlic sauce with rice and other vegetables.  Becky ordered the tuna steak, medium rare and the others picked generally between beef and chicken. Everyone seemed to enjoy their meal an the owner made sure we had plenty of bread.  Becky and I paid for Ali and Muhammed, while we all split the Augusto’s bill. It cane to about 750 Dalasi for each of the eight of us, or about $17.

We returned to the hotel and we're pleased to find our air conditioner dripping water outside the door, a sign that it was functioning well.  We turned on the fan to provide some white noise. Otherwise, the room was comfortable and we slept pretty well, waking just after 0600.

9 June

After loading a few more photos and checking social media--plus NCAA track results, I walked on the beach with Ali who’d arrived early.  He was happy to have his first day off in quite some time and wanted to spend it with us, touring around Banjul and other parts of the region.

The beach was remarkably clean by African standards with much less plastic trash than many places.  There were a few stray dogs that were not aggressive and seemed well fed. They were contact to lay in the cool, wet sand.

Matt and Evan had left just before us and we're getting a workout in, running on the waterline and stopping to do some calisthenics.  The breeze was cool and the skies cloudy and hazy at the same time.

During the walk, Ali told me about his situation more and I my admiration for him grew even more. He’s paid a pittance, as are his colleagues, and he received advice from many quarters not to return to The Gambia after completing his degree at USAFA.  He’d endured a change of government (for the better) while in his Firsties year and returned anyway, committed to helping his country’s military rebuild the trust it deserved from other branches of government and the civilian population. He said he wanted to come back because his family and everything he knew was here.

However, having spent four years in the US, he was treated quite differently by his peers, superiors, and even friends and family.  They considered him 'American,’ and many assumed that he had come back rich from his cadet time. He laughed about this and said that that was a common misperception among Gambians--that everyone who spends any time in the US, no matter what their job, is rich.

He said many Gambians return from the US and feel like they have to prove they were successful there, whether they were or weren’t, by borrowing and spending lavishly on many consumer items and entertaining family and friends. He thought his was sad and misguided.

After breakfast, we loaded up and went to the National Museum of The Gambia in downtown Banjul to start the day.

6 June Continued

After spending most of the afternoon working on photos and the blog, I decided to do a little walk-around solid with the M5.

The cadets had gone out earlier to do a little shopping and later said that they’d been robbed by hawkers.  Austin had finally bought a Senegal Lions football Jersey for the World Cup, but they’d bought little else and had returned to the hotel to play cards and relax.

I stayed close the hotel and worked on the M5 whose controls are quite different really from the 5D.  I found it tougher to set Auto ISO and really just need practice with the touch screen.

I had my first less-than-friendly encounter with a local when I took a photo of a fruit stand and the back of the man selling fruit.  I don’t photograph his face, so I thought nothing of it. However, a man of about 30 walked up to me and said (in French) “Why do you think you have the right to take a photo?”

I think he was trying to shake me down for money, so I quickly shot back at him, while walking, “C’est un pays libre, n’est-ce pas?” (Isn’t this a free country?). He was clearly taken aback by my response, stopped walking towards me and said no more as I turned and walked away.  I do need to be more careful.

I walked around shooting more doorways and asked a few kids if I could take their photos. Some agreed, some did not.  I returned to the hotel at 1915 and shortly thereafter we left for the restaurant in the Hotel de la Residence just a block away.

Dinner was again good--a Prix fixe menu already arranged with salad to start. We we a little hesitant to eat the lettuce and tomatoes, but ultimately convinced each other to go for it, in part because of the balsamic vinegar.  Not foolproof, of course, but it worked for us.

The main course was either chicken brochets or grilled snapper with a choice of vegetables, rice, or frites.

The snapper was good, but bony and the veggies we're better than at La Flamingo the night before.  For drinks, we a few of us ordered Flag and then we had two large Kirene water bottles (1.5L) that we shared. Service was outstanding again--very friendly but not overbearing.  The sliced baguettes, which, I think may be the cadets’ favorite thing to eat on the trip, we're great.

For dessert, our waiter brought out little wooden pirogs with a scoop each of mango and strawberry sorbet, plus some small shortbread cookies.  The total bill came to about 7600CFA so we asked for 10,000 each and threw a 1000 CFA bill to each of the non-Flag drinkers. Both Idri and Augusto ate for free again and were clearly well-acquainted with the wait staff.

On the way back to the hotel, we bought two more 10L bottles of water for only 1000CFA apiece to recharge our bottles.

Becky and I returned to a rather chilly room as osur a/c had been running all evening, but it felt good while we pre-packed for the morning and climbed into bed.

7 June

The next morning, after sleeping fairly well, I woke up at 0530 ( the alarm was set for 0550), showered and tried to load more photos.

We met for breakfast at 0630, everyone dressed in long pants and long-sleeved shirts as instructed the night before by Augusto.  He’d told us that we would be leaving the next morning at 0700 for a three hour drive to Touba, the second largest city in Senegal and the home of a very large mosque.

According to our trip notes, Touba is the home of a particular Sufi Muslim sect and city with its Grand Mosque operates almost autonomously in the country.  Nearly 4,000,000 pilgrims visit the mosque each year from across West Africa.

Georgia wore a long black skirt and Becky put on her long grey convertible pants.  All of the men wore long-sleeved T or collared shirts.

Breakfast was again good with the same name as the day before. Matt and Evan shared another messy mango, while Becky and I had plain yogurt, pastries, coffee, and some cheese.

We left on time just after I hit the ATM for

100,000 CFA to get us through to Banjul over the next couple of days.

The route southeast from Saint-Louis was typical in that the quality of the road surface was outstanding and we went through a string of small towns that seemed identical.  Kids walking to school, women waiting for transportation to markets by communal taxi buses, goats along the road, and overloaded trucks.

It was cloudy and humid, with a few light sprinkles muddying the windshield.  The countryside for progressively drier as we went inland, with mostly bare ground and acacia trees by the time we’d traveled 30 km.

Senegal continues to amaze me because, despite the dirt, dust, and poverty, the hundreds of little kids, the trash, and the shacks, horse carts and abandoned cars, half-built and collapsing homes--very little that would suggest development past what you’d expect in the US during the Depression of the 1930s, men and women are often well-dressed if not overdressed in terms of style and colors, they make amazing French-style pastries, service and food is excellent, and kids are all walking long distances to school with backpacks full of books, often in uniforms.  While the boys are often barefoot, in shorts, with T-shirts, the girls and women are wearing very clean, very vibrant, colorful, full-length dresses with matching scarfs on their heads. Those without scarves have intricately coiffed, often tightly braided, hair.

All seem very honest and hard-working.  At La Hotel de la Posted, when we left our 'payment box’ at the table and forgot about the 2000CFA change from two Flag beers, the waitress presented the boss to me two hours later when I returned to order a second beer.  I paid her all 2000, tipping her 500 after the 1500 CFA beer.

So far the cadets have been outstanding--we couldn’t ask for better travel buddies.  Despite very different backgrounds at USAFA, they get along very well and we’ve had zero conflict.  There’s plenty of good-natured ribbing for little mistakes--as you:d expect on a France-led tip--and everyone seems willing to give and take in good humor.

They’ve all been on-time or early to every call and haven’t backed down from strolling through the worst back alley.  They’re asking good questions, are observant, trying to use a few French words, and are friendly and respectful of everyone they meet.

We’ve seen VERY few European/American/White tourists so far.  We stick out even more than I thought we would. The hawkers are very aggressive and pounce on us almost immediately upon leaving the hotel or mini-bus.  It reminds me a bit of Tanzania in that respect. Kids automatically ask us for money, candy, or ink pens. I wish we’d brought hundreds of ink pens!

I’ll say it again and again… you just can’t escape all of the plastic trash here. Everywhere. Bags stuck on virtually every Bush and tree along the roads. Piles of trash in every village. Some of it is burning, but Augusto tells me that it’s now illegal to burn the trash--apparently preferring one type of pollution over another.  I think we all need to get rid of plastic bags if we’re not going to assiduously commit to recycling them--and certainly containing discarded bags to real landfills in which they can degrade. Or we need to find new formulations that will degrade in days or weeks instead of years and decades.

In small villages that we passed, often the town was on one side of the road and the other side of the road was the town trash dump.

Along the road we saw increasing numbers of Falani grass/thatch huts mixed in with the usual block buildings.  We also saw Falani tribespeople wearing the typical woven conical hats.

We arrived in Touba from the North just before 1000, passing through a large concrete arch.  Idri told me later that all of the major roads leading to Touba had these large gates.

We saw many signed referring to “Bon Magal” and learned that Magal referred to the pilgrimage that almost four million per year make to Touba.

We arrived at outside the mosque and we're greeted by a tall gentleman dresses in a white boubou with caftan.  He was very friendly and pleasant, explaining to us that we needed to leave our shoes in the car and then gave Becky and Georgia wrap-around skirts plus carefully arranged and positioned head scarves.

The grand Mosque was huge. Our guide told us that it was the 'largest in Black Africa,’ with the only larger one in Africa found in Morocco.

Our guide was very clear that in Senegal they practiced a very tolerant, moderate sorry of Islam and that Islam meant peace and tolerance.

The grand Mosque was started in 1927 with the caliph of a particular Sufi sect.  The mosque is like the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona in that it may never be completed and was still be renovated AND built at the same time.

The mosque has seven minarets and will not get any more because it’s improper to have more minarets than the Grand Mosque in Mecca (8).

There hundreds of women in deep blue-purple robes cleaning, artisans were recarving patterns in cupped ceilings, and two of the larger minarets had scaffolding around them for work being done.

The floor tiling was all in white Italian marble not unlike Terrazzo strips at USAFA while the exterior walls were all in Portuguese pink marble. It was amazingly opulent and contrasted starkly with the abject poverty and filth that was only meters away on the exterior.

Our guide told us that there had been eight caliphs since the founding of the mosque and sect and that the eighth had taken his place just a few months ago. All were sons or grandsons, or great-grandsons of the original caliph. The names of the caliphs were all over the city, on taxis and buses, shops and homes, all invoking their specific favorite caliph’s name in hopes of blessings and good fortune.

Our guide told us of the annual pilgrimage or “Magal” that occurred in Touba, brining almost four million there every year from(mostly) across West Africa. Pilgrims were housed by locals and fed as well as part of the hosts’ Muslim obligations, though many chose to stay in hotels. He was quick to point out that this was a huge boon for the local economy, but that it wasn’t a true pilgrimage in the sense that it replaced the requirement of all Muslims to go to Mecca for the Hadj--rather this was more of an annual commemoration or celebration of the Weather African sect or caliphate centered in Touba.

At one point, our guide got into an argument with a younger man who took offense at him wearing a cap in and around the mosque. It got somewhat heated as we watched and walked. I think it was all conducted in Wolof or another local language because I could only pick up the occasional transliterated French words.  Apparently, our guide told the younger man that he did not understand his own religion and needed to study more. That was not well-received. Eventually others joined in and the younger man exited through a gate to the other side of the iron fencing around the mosque proper. We thought, at first that it might have something to do with us, as infidels with women, being there, but that was not the primary issue according to our guide.

The tour ended after about an hour and we made our way back to the bus. I gave our guide a donation of 2000 CFA.

On leaving Touba, we did a quick water and toilet stop at a gas station and Becky and I again marveled at the nearly spotless shoppette with it’s Kum-N-Go type selection, minus the clean bathrooms--those were still outdoor squatters with a big bucket of water and large Dipper to 'flush.’

We drove for another two hours to Kaolack, which, Idi explained was the crossroads of Senegal. In the city several national roads met, going to Dakar, Saint-Louis, The Gambia, and parts East.  It was a town of peanuts and salt, too, with the salty Saloum River passing through it on Nearly flat plain and mountains of salt and peanuts at processing facilities nearby. He explained that you could always tell someone who was from Kaolack because of their teeth stained brown from the salts and sodas in the water--something we saw soon enough.

We arrived at the hotel along the river and we're again somewhat impressed by it.  The Relais de Kaolack was part of a chain (Relais Bleu) in the area and had huge outdoor verandas, a nice pool, and an excellent bar serving Flag for only 1000 CFA (about $1.80)!

We were roomed in small bungalows that had two rooms each.  Augusto said that we were free until 1700 when we would go on a market tour downtown.  The cadets used the time to play pickup water polo in the pool and have a few drinks (beer and soda).  The hotel was hosting a government conference on information management for the sanitation profession with about 100 attendees that moved in and out if the pool and outdoor seating areas as their sessions progressed.  Easily 90% of the participants were male. There were two other groups of European-American tourists, both either French or Quebecois, one being a family of four with grown children and another a group of female college-aged friends. There was also a group of Chinese business people.

Becky read and did puzzles while I worked on photos and tried with limited success to get internet access.  Eventually, I went for a short swim, too.

At 1700 we went to the market and met a local guide took the lead through what turned out to be a typical covered, crowded, find-it-all, African market, complete with narrow passageways, sewing machines, freshly butchered meat and poultry, produce, and just about everything else.  It was maze-like and we were quickly disoriented. Since it was a market for locals, there weren’t a lot of pushy people trying to sell us things here. The cadets handled it well despite the mess and heat that was approaching 100F.

From the market, we walked to an artisanal village of small sales shops.  I saw some interesting paintings and batiks, Charlie bought a small carving, but that’s about all.  As we walked back to out minibus, Eddie asked me what sort of souvenirs we liked and I said that we didn’t buy many souvenirs these days because we had so much already at the house.  We preferred photos and memories and maybe something useful like a bolt if unique cloth or fabric that could be turned into a tablecloth and napkins and ultimately a story to tell friends when they visited us for dinner.

We returned to the hotel at about 1830 and, as we did the day before, ordered dinner in advance planning to eat at 2000.  Becky and I had a drink at the bar and watched the Bislett Games track meet from Oslo on the television above the bar.

Dinner was not particularly good, but the veggies we're acceptable and the baguettes nearly fresh.  Eddie wasn’t looking too fresh and he admitted that he was suffering from some digestive issues. After dinner, we brought him back to our room, gave him dose of Imodium (Loperamide) with a few more pills to last the night, checked that he didn’t have a fever, and refilled everyone’s water bottles.

Our room was chilly from the full-scale refrigeration and, after trying to connect to WiFi and processing the afternoon’s photos, I went to sleep.  We both slept well, waking a few times, but not completely until the alarm at 0620.

8 June

As we started to move luggage outside the door, Georgia appeared looking pekid and said she’d had a rough night with more digestive issues.  She didn’t have a fever, so we gave her Loperamide, too, and plenty of water.

Breakfast was pretty poor with only second-rate French pastries, no fruit, no yogurt, and last night’s baguettes.

On the bright side, Eddie was looking and feeling better. One the downside, Evan and Matt both needed doses of Immodium, too.

We loaded the van, leaving on-time, as usual, and hit a gas station after a few kilometers to get more water.  The shoppette inside wasn’t open, but the guys Manning the pumps were glad to accept 2000 CFA for two 10L bottles if Kirene water.

We're drove about an hour on the highway and then turned off on a dirt road, passing through three Wolof  farming villages to arrive at the Sine Ngayene complex stone grave site. Along the way, Idi explained that they farmed mostly corn and peanuts in the area and each spring burned the fields prior to planting after the third or fourth rain of the just-commencing rainy season.

It was clearly a wetter climate here as the nber are large green trees (not baobab) increased and the acacia disappeared.  The thatch and stubble from last season’s corn was raked into pikea and ling strips and then burned--we could see the black rings and stripes of past fires with several other still burning. Some were attended by kids or adults, others left to burn out on their own.

The drive to the site was about 10 kilometers over sandy roads. IDi stopped once to check the front left tire that he had had refilled two days prior. Happily, it was holding.

When we arrived at the site, the gates were locked. Idi made a phone call and we climbed over the low, rusty, steel tube railed fence and into the UNESCO World Heritage Site--one the only that we will ever visit completely alone, with no other tourists.

The site is quite interesting in that it dates to between 925 to 1305 CE.  It contains 1102 large volcanic, rectangular headstone each weighing a ton or more.  These monoliths are arranged in single and double circles of twelve stones each--52 circles in all.  The volcanic rock has no writing or symbology.  https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1226

A guide arrived a few minutes later and began explaining the site to us.  He spoke almost no French, but rather conversed in Wolof to Idi who then translated to French.  Augusto and I then translated Idi’s comments to English for the group. Sometimes the guide used obviously French words and we could understand his intent.

He told us that the age of the site has been verified by Carbon-14 dating of the bodies found in the graves.  The largest double circles held 65 bodies with the body of the supposed queen buried 1.5 meters deep and in the outer ring, with the king buried three meters below the stones in the center.  The higher ranking bodies had jewelry, knives, and Spears buried with them and their bodies we're positioned oddly with their lower legs pulled up behind and their hands together, arms straight, down at the waist.

The site was discovered in 1956, uncovered by local farmers like the Terracotta warriors of Xi’an, China, then slowly unearthed by French and Senegalese archaeologists in the Sixties and Seventies before being named a UNESCO site in 2006.

Our guide told us that the stones came from a site over a kilometer away and they were probably transported there during the rainy season in pirogs  or rolled on logs in drier times.

I took plenty of photos and then we walked towards the now-open gate.  Our guide unlocked a small stone shack that held a one-room museum explaining the site, showing some recovered artifacts from graves, and displaying maps showing similar sites in that region of Senegal and The Gambia.

Goats we're playing on the stones under a huge Green tree, plastic trash fluttered in the dry brown sticks of the last rainy season, and we left out the gate to find at least 20 kids and mom's begging for money and candy at the car.  Georgia had gone back to the car not feeling well and was being pestered by the kids and mom's.

We drove back and headed south to The Gambia.

We cleared Senegalese immigration relatively quickly (though we were unaware that we needed to pay a 2000 CFA exit toll.  I paid it as a group to move things along and then we walked across the border.

Gambian immigration was another story entirely.  We couldn’t get Gambian visas in advance as they do not have a functional embassy in the US or any means to do so.  The douane said that we needed to pay 3000 Dalasi to enter.

He gave us back our passports and told us that we should follow “the boy” (actually an immigration office NCO with two stripes) to immigration down the road.

We pulled over after about a kilometer and all entered the immigration office, except for Georgia who again stayed in the van with Idi.

I went to back room with Augusto and we explained to the immigration officer that we didn’t yet have any Dalasi and needed to app in a combination of CFA and USD.  It took quite a while to work this out as he called his superiors (or a local money exchange friend) on his cell phone to confirm the rates I quoted.

We ended up paying 40,000 CFA each for two of us (Evan and Becky) and then $66 each for the rest of us ($400 total) coming from our stashes of USD.

He asked how I would like the receipt written and if one receipt for all of us would do, and I agreed. He really was quite friendly and helpful given our situation.  I thanked him for his help and shook his hand. He asked how long we were visiting The Gambia and seemed disappointed when I said “Only two days.” He responded that he had given us all two weeks on our visas and hoped that we would extend our stay.

We loaded back on to the minibus after the one hour detour and started into The Gambia proper.

Immediately I noticed a few things--besides the signs all being in English--there seemed to be better corrugated steel roofs on the houses and much less plastic trash--apparently least in some areas. That might be because of the wetter climate in both cases, but villages seemed a little cleaner, too.

We passed some cashew farms, plenty of cattle grazing in marshy areas, and noticed many huge mango trees and tall red termite mounds.  The roads, though, are not nearly as good as in Senegal.

I've been trying to take notes as we go, typing with my thumbs on my Google Pixel XL phone and can't keep up because we're just seeing and learning too much.  Let me post the following to catch everyone (or anyone) up on our travels and I'll add to it and edit whenever possible.

2 June

Our flight from Denver was uneventful, but we did spend about 30 minutes waiting and taxiing to the gate because of so much ground traffic at JFK.  When we arrived, our assigned gate for the flight to Dakar was B36, so we took the shuttle from Terminal 2 over there with the cadets and then decided to just split up, walk around and meet back at the gate before the flight was set to leave at 2205, boarding at 2110.  Becky and I got dinner in a pub-style restaurant instead of waiting to eat dinner late on the flight--a decision that paid off later. Afterwards, we walked around the terminal as our gate changed from B36 to B22.

JFK is a 60s or 70s style airport that is very crowded in the older part of the Terminal 4 international  area, with just scads of people lined up for flights and almost no space to stretch out. We were clearly in an older, less renovated area, unlike the newer, more open parts of Terminal 4.  

Later, our gate was changed to B33 and we moved down there, sitting and reading.  We helped a very nice French woman from Nice with some questions about her long-delayed flight at a gate that was expecting a flight from Amsterdam and then eaves-dropped on some conversation in French between a woman in a wheelchair and some porters.  She, too, was headed to Senegal, dressed in a deep yellow floral print. It wasn’t clear why she needed a wheelchair.

We saw her again when our gate again moved to B22, then we endured yet another set of changes to B33 and back before taking off.  It seemed that many flights coming in from Europe were late arriving and Delta was having trouble finding open gates in a timely fashion.

Meanwhile, at B22, Georgia struck up a conversation with our Senegalese friend and was learning a lot about the city.  Her new friend wanted to meet her for dinner and show her around the city and they exchanged contact info.

We finally boarded--or started to board at about 2130.  There were dozens of small children and at least five women in wheelchairs.  Boarding was a complete gaggle and we were joking with an American that lived in Dakar that it looked very French, with no one willing to respect place in line.

Becky, the cadets and I pre-boarded after all of the children and wheel-chair bound were on-board, taking advantage of the offer for active duty military to walk on with First Class.  Moments before boarding, I took my 10mg Ambien and we thought we might make it on time.

Of course, boarding took longer than usual, but we settled into the full flight and made the best of it.  I put on my eye mask, used by bluetooth headphones as earplugs and fell asleep.

I woke up at about 0015 and we hadn’t left.  It seems that someone did not board the plane as expected and they had to search the cargo hold to find his luggage--this took nearly 90 minutes.  Ultimately, this caused us to arrive almost three hours late.

During the flight, we both slept very little due to the many babies crying and a medical emergency.  One women almost directly behind us felt very ill and passed out, requiring calls for a doctor on-board--there was none.  A few minutes later we heard the automatic voice of the AED device prepping to give her a shock, if needed--it wasn’t needed.  She was, however, carried to the first row of coach, nearest the main doors so that she could be evacuated quickly upon arrival.

I woke up another time when a young boy apparently had the night terrors and couldn’t be calmed, screaming like a banshee about three rows up and across the aisle.

We landed about three hours late at 1300 and parked on the tarmac, despite what looked like an empty, new terminal with plenty of jet bridges.  No one getting off the plane required a wheel chair, but there was an ambulance waiting for the woman who had an emergency and she was taken off the plane almost immediately, despite looking none the worse for wear..

We got on the second bus and arrived at the immigration/visa processing door in time to see Georgia rushing back to the plane.  She’d been on the earlier bus but had realized that her passport had fallen out of her pocket while on board. We waited at the door, though the guys had cleared immigration and were awaiting our bags.  

Happily, she came back quickly, passport in hand and our first crisis was averted.  We three cleared immigration quickly and didn’t have to wait too long for our bags. We cleared customs inspection just as quickly and stepped into the lobby to meet our guide patiently awaiting us, sign in hand with my last name and “Tailor Made Travel.”

On Augusto’s advice, we all got cash at ATMs near the exit doors.  With an exchange rate at about 560CFA/1USD, we decided to get 50,000 CFA for each person..

We learn that is now an hour drive from Dakar since the new international airport in Thies opened in Dec 2017.  We thought that maybe that’s why we didn’t use jet bridge--it wasn’t open yet. Augusto led us to a large 16 passenger van and we loaded up with the assistance of Idri, our driver.

We drove along smooth, new roads and bridges coming into Dakar and saw work being done on a high speed train being finished to the newly renovated downtown train station.

Augusto explains that Senegal government being moved out of downtown Dakar to nearer airport, explaining all of the construction we saw along the way.  New hotels, a basketball arena, large government offices, and commercial centers seemed to be going up everywhere. It was, however, very dusty along the way with many homes looking half-built, some goats and herders along the highway and mixed in with the homes and small compounds.

During the drive to Dakar and the Hotel de La Madrague hotel, we passed by an Atlantic beach with excellent waves and dozens of surfing riding their boards waiting for breakers that seemed to be in the six to eight foot range.

City very dirty with dust on everything.

Checked into hotel without problem--excellent view of N’Gor Beach, fishing bay, and N’Gor Island to the west.

Hotel nice and clean with bright colors. Simple decor.

Enjoyed a nice lunch at the hotel with grilled whole filet of sole, rare grilled tuna steak, etc.  We shared several plates between pairs, but made a mistake in ordering and got an extra fillet of sole which was easily devoured.  The beer was good and cold, too, and we tried both Flag and Gazelle, the two Senegalese brews. Flag is your very typical tropical climate developing world light lager comparable to Tiger Beer in Singapore and was perfect for lunch.  With drinks, we paid a total of 7000CFA each.

Depart for City tour at 1500.

Many things closed due to Sunday and Ramadan.

Went to Monument to African Renaissance.

Huge statue of family financed by North Korea and just open a few years.

Very impressive, somewhat like Mt Rushmore combined with Washington Monument and Statue of Liberty.  Very heroic, socialist style.

Augusto said that it offended some Muslims because woman is uncovered and legs bare while man is lifting baby in left arm/hand.

Walked up many stairs to base of statue but didn't pay 10€ to go up elevator top of 'crown.’

Saw cool modern art sculptures nearby, then drove past huge Mosque on the beach under renovation paid for by UAE.

Drove into centre college and past President’s residence seeing changing of the guard.

Passed many ministry offices and residences downtown and we're told again that it’s all moving out of town.

Also went by old int’l airport (Yoff) that is now operated by the military.

Abandoned ministry offices will become apartments and hotels downtown.

Went to Catholic cathedral to Mary downtown, built by French in 1930s. Closed.

Went to city overlook and saw Goree Island in the distance as well as port and downtown, then to a monument to WW1 and WW2 dead in front of city hall..

Returned via main roads lined by street sellers with markets down side roads.

Stopped at grigri booths where shamans were selling herbal cures and weird stuff like goat horns, dried lizards, chicken/turkey feet, minerals, spices, leather strips, fur, etc.

Sellers wanted me to pay for photos.  In general, people are very reticent to have their photos taken here and most women either cover their faces or turn away when I simply ask the question.

Walked down a street and saw other street sellers and small shops:. paint, food, hairdressers, tailors, auto repair, etc.

Walked past large concrete soccer/basketball area with a game going on then returned to bus and Idiot, our great driver.

Back to hotel to arrange dinner with Moussa

Moussa arrived at about 1900 to take us to dinner at his mom’s house.

V2 joined us, here with CSLIP for three weeks as sub, arrived four days earlier and had been body-surfing that day.

Moussa negotiated taxi fair (2500 CFA per car and we went in a total of three cars to his mom’s--where he also lives.

About a 20 minute ride on good streets, then down sandy sidestreet to apartment complex. Upstairs in dark hallway to very simply decorated 2-3 bedroom apartment on second floor to meet his mom and aunt who were cooking in kitchen down long hallway.

TV on with African soap operas (Walf TV) and then Muslim chanting/singing announcing sunset and prayers.

Nice deck on West side facing neighborhood of upscale (relatively) and new apartment complexes that were 2-4 stories.

We could hear muezzin calling prayers.

Dinner was served first courses being finger foods that were very tasty, almost like mini-pizzas.

Served at dining room table buffet style.

We served ourselves and ate in living room, not realizing that other food was coming, so we conserved the food on the table to not wipe it all out.

Moussa wanted his mom and aunt to practice their English with us, but there wasn’t much interaction really. They just brought food out.

Next (main) course was roasted chicken with couscous and a great onion sauce that included spices and green olives. Layered on a plate with sliced baguettes.

Moussa had gone out to get bread earlier and he explained that he had taken his mom to the market earlier in the day to get all of the food they needed to prepare for the evening.

We all are well. Cadets asked Moussa questions about his flying, as did I, and experience with the CN-235 flying around Senegal.  Moussa told us that he likes flying around Senegal and that the Senegalese are planning to buy one or two more CN-235s.

We talked about Boubacar and Moussa told us that because of the T-6 stand-down due to oxygen issues he would be graduating late and probably not back to Senegal before September or October.  Boubacar is now married to an officer in the Senegalese navy that he met before he went to UPT while stationed for several months in Saint-Louis. Moussa was stationed there at the same time.

One of the few decorations on the wall was Moussa’s UPT grad certificate and USAF pilot wings.

After dinner, we stepped into balcony and saw a night football match going on in the streets.  

Cool evening breeze.

We thanked Moussa’s mom and aunt for dinner and presented them with a Colorado photo book Becky brought along.

Walked to corner to get two more taxis and then back to the hotel, exhausted.

No need for Ambien tonight as we were totally exhausted.

Went to sleep easily and slept until after 0630.

Augusto is from Guinea-Bissau and has been a guide for ten years for a variety of companies. Speaks at least five languages including French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese.

He’ll be our guide until we depart for Liberia on 11 June.

Idri (or Idrissa) is our driver and he’s from Dakar, speaking only a little English. He speaks to me in French when I’m in the front seat and is good practice for me.  

He’s an excellent driver always in control of our 16-seat mini bus, very careful and courteous.

The mini-bus is quite spacious and comfortable.  I sit in the front right seat with Becky behind Idri and Augusto beside her on the right.

4 June

I got up and met Eddie for a walk-around the area and photography.

Hazy morning light and fishermen being taken to their smaller boats from a couple of large pirogs.

Several locals in wet suits, some with scuba gear and spear guns going out to their boats.

Colorful pirogs on the shoreline littered with plastic, trash, and blobs of seaweed.

Some people running for exercise.

Many people starting their day.

Walked to point and ducked into neighborhood with very narrow passageways, unmarked, around homes packed into the area.

Some open areas with laundry drying, while there were goats and a few cats as well.

Became a little lost but knew our general direction from sunrise in the east.

Saw kids going to school and small businesses opening.

Back hotel as planned at 0815 for a quick shower and breakfast on the hotel terrace.

Good coffee and pain au chocolate, pain au raisin, crêpes, cheese, salami, and cantalope.

Met Augusto and Idri at the front gate--they’re very timely--and we departed for Goree Island.

Traffic was heavy and thee are very few traffic signals in Dakar--mostly just round-abouts and uncontrolled four ways.

Saw one traffic signal.

Parked near entrance to ferry port near train station under renovation and walked in.

Augusto was buying us tickets when several women (two names Maria) introduced themselves and insisted that we visit their shops on Goree.

Augusto gave us our tickets and we went inside to wait.

About 100 people or more we just outside with crates and fruit and vegetables separated in steel 'pens’ awaiting loading and shipment of their goods.

Several large freighters in the port and a large dry dock.

Weather was nice and cool with a breeze, the sky generally clear but still hazy.

Ferry ride was about 20 mins. Two little British kids sat in front of us on upper deck, outdoor seating calling out jellyfish and 'sharks’ when they saw them--then will really none of the latter but plenty of the former, quite large with reddish tentacles extending ten or more feet behind them in the current.

Sea was calm with only a gentle roll and we could see fishing boats heading to work and more freighters on the hazy horizon.

Goree Island is a UNESCO world heritage site--one of the first so-named.

We stepped off of the ferry and met our guide IDi who lives on the island and was very proud to show us his residence card.

He spoke quickly and moved us along on a tour that only lasted about 90 minutes because we needed to catch the 1200 ferry back to Dakar.

Goree was first settled by the Portuguese and then changed hands many time (mostly in the 17thC prior to becoming French like most of West Africa.

It was a staging place for slave going to Europe and the Americas and at one time had 28 slave houses.

One remaining slave house is well-preserved and our guide showed us around all of the rooms.  There was tourist graffiti on almost all of the walls, some with sympathetic messages but mostly just names and dates.

We saw the island’s old well and an exclusive school for girls named in honor of a Senegalese female author that I’ll try to lookup.

Idi said the best girls were chosen for it and lived there Mon-Fri for school, taking the ferry back to Dakar for weekends.

The island is in two parts and is originally volcanic, kind of like a micro-Maui.  We walked up stairs to the top of the largest part of the island and saw an old (approx) pair of 10” guns that served to protect the island and strait between it and Dakar, built by the French before WW1.  

The barrels had been spiked and destroyed before WW2.

The summit also had a Goree Island monument sculpture that was dedicated to those lost at sea from Goree and Senegal.

There were several artists there and lots of hawkers selling trinkets and the cadets succombed for the first time, with Matt buying these wooden knockers used to keep rhythm (I think Charlie bought a pair, too).

IDi then took us to his old sand painting shop where he used to work and he demonstrated how it was done--then offered us bargain prices on the work.

I think only Georgia bought a small one.

We then huddled through town to get to the ferry on time, passing by a very unique sculpture garden of iron cotton plants with bills of real cotton in them.

One of the Maria's caught us we were leaving and was very persistent about selling bracelets to Becky and me.

She got on the ferry and would not leave us alone.

Her strategy worked and we bought four or five for 5000 CFA just to get some peace more than anything.

I’m wearing two of the bracelets now as a means of fending off other hawkers.

During the visit, my non-Canon OEM battery failed and I had to switch to the M5.

It worked well but I'm just not used to the controls and couldn’t get just what I wanted.

Can’t believe I forgot to get another battery as backup, so I was stuck carrying around useless gear.

We drove back across town after returning on the ferry and north the Lac Rose, almost halfway back to the airport.

Lac Rose is pretty fascinating in that it’s a supersaturated salt lake (ten times saltier than the ocean) no more than a couple of meters deep with a base under the salt water of crystallized salt about a meter thick.

Small wooden boats go out into the lake and you piles to break up the salt under the water and then baskets to collect the Chuck's if salt.  The salt is then brought into shore and piled up for grading, breaking, sorting and bagging. Huge piles of his salt and hundreds of bags are everywhere.

Of course people were selling things and I got another 'free’ bracelet that cost me 200 CFA.

After Lac Rose, we drove back into Dakar and we're told we were free for the evening, but that we would be leaving at 0800 the next morning with bags fully packed and ready.

We relaxed for a little while after returning with the cadets walking along the beach and having a couple of beers. They also enjoyed the pool and Becky read by the pool.

I worked in photos and then joined them.  They said that the security guard advised them not to go too far and Georgia was admonished by locals for walking on the beach immodestly in her bikini, so they came back to the hotel.

Matt and I walked to the South to a point and talked quite a bit. Several ladies selling things approached us but we didn’t buy anything.

Back at the hotel, we made arrangements for dinner with Moussa.

Initially, Moussa implied that dinner with Boubacar’s dad, Gen Ousmane Kane, should only include Becky and me.  I told the cadets and they started to make other plans, including contacting Georgia's friend from the flight.

Just as quickly, Moussa texted back and said that the general expected ALL of us for dinner and that we’d leave at about 1900.

I asked about attire and he told us to wear a little nicer clothes.

We all piled into Moussa’s car and another taxi and arrived shortly after 1930 to his apartment.

Gen Kane greeted us at the door in a flowing white boubou and cap and was very warm and friendly. He invited us in and explained that since he was fully retired he lived in his large apartment complex with his nephew and niece taking most of the house. He also rented out part of the apartment to an American couple who allowed him to use the downstairs area for events like this.

In an undecorated room with chairs and a sofa, the main table was laid out in a buffet with fruit, vegetables, and canned tuna--salad with tomatoes and delicious mango chunks. Also, more sliced baguettes, which the cadets love.

We talked a lot about Senegal, the general’s time in the Air Force and compared National War College stories since I’m class of 2000 and he’s 2007.

Becky spoke of working with spouses of international officers at ACSC and at NWC.

We were introduced to his nephew and niece but they didn’t join us for dinner.

The nephew brought in a large platter of grilled lamb with onions and potatoes which was delicious and falling off the bone.

We had tea as well as soft drinks, juice, and water.

We concluded the evening by presenting him with a book of Colorado photos again and taking pictures--a great evening with a genuinely warm person who couldn’t stop expressing his thanks to us for all we’ve done to help Boubacar and all of the African cadets we’ve sponsored.

We left and took another taxi ride back to the hotel and on the way, in the dark, noticed many people out for an evening run--clearly recreational because they had earbuds in plus they were wearing upscale running shoes.

Back at the hotel, the cadets played cards for a while and then we all went to sleep--or tried to do so.  Neither Becky nor I, nor, apparently Matt and a few others slept well.

5 June

We agreed to be ready to leave at 0800 the next morning and, after breakfast, everyone was set and ready to go--this is a very timely group and I appreciate that.  Breakfast at the hotel was quite good with excellent crepes, patisseries, cantalope, etc. Moreover, Augusto and Idri are very prudent with our time and theirs, so we ended up leaving actually at 0750.

After taking some time to get out of Dakar due to morning traffic, we drove by the towns bordering Lac Rose before heading north only a few kilometers from the coast towards Lompoul and ultimately Saint-Louis.  Each of the little towns looks alike with the same markets, speed bumps, horse carriages, shops, etc.

We went through different agricultural zones in which Augusto and Idri explained that the water table is no more than five meters below ground, so tons of green beans, squash, cauliflower, potatoes, and onions are produced.  Senegal also produces lots of chicken, but I presume it’s all small-time because we didn’t see any large poultry farms along the way. Idri mentioned that Senegal imports zero chicken from Europe or other countries--seemingly due to equal parts concern for health/hygiene and national pride.  Food for chickens and other animals is provided by SEDIMA, the Senegalese equivalent of Purina.

Every village has many, many goats of different sizes, presumably used for meat and milk and we saw herds of large-horned, white African cattle in many places along the way, many time crossing the roads.

We stopped once for water and a bathroom break, buying some snacks instead of having a formal lunch which seems to be the pattern we’ve fallen into, buying big jugs of water, some Pringles, local small roasted peanuts, and other items.  Idri doesn’t eat because he’s Muslim, while Augusto has no issues with that.

Augusto hasn’t told us his religious beliefs but just that in Guinea-Bissau about 50% of the people are animist while 40% are Christian and about 10% are Muslim.  We’re learning a lot about Guinea-Bissau on the trip as Augusto tells us about his life there.

We arrived in Lompoul and after a few minutes rendez-voused with a four wheel drive pickup truck that would take us to the Ecolodge to see the sand dunes and ride camels.  We climbed in through and over the tailgate aided by the driver and a small stool and then moved close to the cab to sit on facing rows of padded seats surrounded by a welded frame.

The drive was over sometimes deep sand for about three or four miles of bumps and slides--without any real danger.  We then arrived at a camp with probably a total of twenty large white tents at the base of a huge sand dune and across the small valley below it.  We got out and learned about the camel riding which would be done in groups of four since there were four serviceable camels.

Becky and I ordered a flag beer each and the cadets relaxed in hammocks.  Augusto explained that there were tents here set up for overnight stays with a complete restaurant tent, a few wood and thatch huts, and en suite bath facilities in each tent.  We saw a few other guests, but not many.

The cadets did see boards for sand surfing and they immediately headed to the dunes since we were told we’d have to wait to ride the camels.  Georgia stayed behind with us and we watched as they headed about 200 meters away in the sand.

Most of their efforts were not very successful, but on the larger dune with the larger boards, they eventually figured it out and did well enough to have some fairly spectacular spills.  They continued to surf while we were called ot ride the camels and Austin joined us to make four

We walked over to a small stand of eucalyptus trees where our guide had led the camels.

When we arrived, they were all lying down on their knees chewing their cud.  Our guide led us each to a camel and one at a time we mounted the camel and he gave them the signal to stand up.  We sat just behind what looked like the cargo saddle and it was surprisingly soft and comfortable.

We were, nonetheless, quite a bit higher than if we were on a horse and that was a little disconcerting.  Still, Becky managed to conquer her fear of heights and climbed aboard the fourth camel. We walked for about twenty minutes over several hills.  The only time that we felt the least bit unstable was when the camels walked downhill, picking up their speed and catching themselves softly with their padded feet in the deep sand.  Georgia, in particular, liked the camel ride and decided to name her camel “Spirit” because of her (or his) nose ring. Of course, I couldn’t help but constantly hum the theme from Lawrence of Arabia while we swept over the dunes.

When we returned, we called the guys over and they climbed aboard while the others went back to relax.  I took photos of them and they climbed aboard and began their slow, guided walk. Suddenly, though, Charlie leaned over to his right and vomited all over the sand.  He sat up and then turned to his right a second time, spewing over his camel’s right hip. We called the guide and we got Charlie down. He explained that he was dehydrated and nauseous from all of their time running up and down the dunes in the heat and begged off of the ride.  He returned to the eucalyptus copse and layed down in the shade before returning to the main camp. He claimed that he felt okay, though, and would be doing better with some water and shade.

I took more photos of Matt, Evan, and Eddie as they returned and then we all walked back to the camp.  A few minutes later, we remounted the pickup truck and were back on our way to the town of Lompoul, though we did all pay the camel guide 2500CFA apiece for the rides.

On the route to Saint-Louis, we had only one stop to see an enormous, almost hollowed out baobob tree along the side of the road.  It was hundreds of years old and could hold several people in it nearly empty core. It reminded me of the large redwood in Sequoia National Park in the US that you could drive through--until it fell in a storm a couple of years ago.

We arrived in Saint-Louis at about 1600 and immediately checked-in, dropped our bags in our rooms and descended the stairs to jump onto two horse carriages for a tour of the town lead by a French-speaking guide that used Augusto and me to help him translate.

I sat up front with my driver, Daode, and we turned north from the Hotel de la Poste to the north end of the island.  Along the way we passed the Grand Mosque (built by donations, in large part, after the French government refused to pay for it).  The mosque doesn’t have traditional towers for the muezzin to call everyone to prayers because the French colonials didn’t want to have to deal with the noise.  They made it condition of construction that mosque have a bell instead.

We rode by former slave holding areas, the local military base for the “Secteur Nord” of Senegal and arrived at the top of the island in about ten minutes.  Here, we could see the branches of the Senegal River with Mauritania to the other side. There was a large sandbar where the river empties into the ocean that separates Senegal and Mauritania and on that island are nine large trees that mark the border right on the coast.  Our guide pointed out several other key buildings and we took several photos. Strangely, in the cul-de-sac at the end of the road was a Vietnamese Restaurant, La Saigonienne.

We turned south and then went across the next bridge to the beachfront side of the city.  Here, on the main drag of old Saint-Louis, we experienced more “Africa” in one place than I’ve ever seen,  Out guide explained that this part of the island is 30 hectares in area and has 30,000 people. It seems that we saw every one of them and more.  

The street was a smelling, dirty, wet melange of hundreds of children from toddlers to teens, goats, horse-carts, sidewalk markets and shops, dogs, cats, fruit, refuse, boat parts, and just about everything else you can imagine.  It was maybe the most chaotic, smelly, poorest area I’ve ever seen.

Still, the horse carts carried women in their finest dresses who preferred to be seenin the open air of the horse cart than be cooped up in a regular taxi.  

Kids waved to us, some turned away.  The cadets seemed more than a little overwhelmed and, frankly, I know Becky and I were, too.

We got off at one point and walked between collapsing brick buildings to the shore.  There, we saw hundreds and hundreds of ocean-going pirogs in all of their color and peeling paint, dragged onto shore with more coming in late in the afternoon with every wave and dozens more waiting for just the right wave.

We saw one pirog ride a wave in with incredible speed and power, almost being flipped as its keep caught the sand and fisherman alternatively ran from shore to stabilize it and were tossed (or jumped) from it in the melee.

Hundreds of women with buckets, baskets, and bins lined the shore making bids on the incoming fish or transporting the fish for their husbands to markets (wholesale and retail) where they would make their daily profits.

We kept a close eye on everyone and moved quickly off the beach when an obviously drunk and/or crazy “gentlemen” started shouting and moving towards us with a giant, shit-eating grin, huge teeth, and his pants half-way down his thighs, sans sous-vetements.

At one point I turned around to chat with Matt and he just looked overwhelmed by it all.  I reminded him that “more of the world lives like this than lives like you do in the US,” and he came back with his typical hockey retort of “100 percent, sir.  100 percent!”

We made our way to the south end of town past more shops and mayhem, then turned north and crossed a bridge back to “our island.”

Our guide led us past city hall to a statue of the French “founding father” of Saint-Louis and he explained how controversial that statue had become with the locals.  Many have called for it to be torn down for reasons similar to the removal of US Civil War statues because of this guys rather genocidal (or at least inhumane) treatment of the locals in establishing order, but the local government also didn’t want to upset the French and insult them by disrespecting someone the French considered a great administrator.  Our guide did admit that this guy had done a lot in terms of establishing government and infrastructure, but that it had some at at enormous cost.

I asked him about the “Lycee des Hotages” that Boubacar’s father had mentioned the evening before and he explained that the subject of the statue and others had, in fact, set up a system of schooling that was in line with what General Kane had explained.  In fact the school’s original dormitory was just to our south and he pointed it out.

French officials had set up a school for the sons of Senegalese tribal kings and the royal sons from other parts of French West Africa, promising to teach them French, engineering, science, and history to prepare them to lead in the region.  The unspoken truth, though, was that these “hostages” were held in quasi-ransom by the colonial French and their status at the school meant that their father-kings would not rebel against French domination.

The story does have some positives, though, as our guide and Augusto listed the names of part presidents of free, West African republics that had graduated from “Hostage High School.”  Becky and I immediately thought of the same situation in the US represented by the Indian Schools (one of the largest being in Phoenix, where I grew up) that served the same purpose even though, by the time they were established, most Native American tribes were relegated to the poverty of their reservations.

We next went to an orphanage, now abandoned, down a side street.  Behind the iron gate that we could not enter was a pair of circular concrete stairs that looked suspiciously like the steps going to the second level of the last slave house on Goree Island.  Our guide explained that the orphanage was run by an order of Catholic nuns that took in abandoned children drop at the gate. Apparently, a rather famous French movie was made about the orphanage starring many top French names.  There was a plaque outside the gate detailing its history. Once again, they pointed out that there were some very positive outcomes from the orphanage as the wife of the second president of Senegal had been one of the abandoned girls there.

After a few more short stops to see the riverside and large fish market on the inland side, we returned to the Hotel de la Poste at about 1800 and went up to our rooms.  Charlie was feeling better, he said, but also told us that he had puked one more time.

We agreed to meet shortly before 1930 to walk to La Flamingo restaurant across the street from our hotel and overlooking the river and bridge.

The Flamingo is a very nice restaurant with a nice maitre d’ but terrible service.  We tried to talk through a prix fixe menu but that didn’t work. We ordered drinks and waited for the chef to arrive so that we could have some sort of proposal.  That took about an hour. Meanwhile, we “grignotee’d” some peanuts and waited to order.

Finally, our waiter came back and gave us menus to order a la carte.  We skipped appetizers and went straight to the main course, hungry by now as it was approaching 2045.  Becky, Augusto and I helped with menu translations and we all ordered after learning (the hard way) what was NOT available, including a few of the supposed “Specialites de Chef.”  

I had the fish-of-the-day, grilled morue, and it was very good once it finally arrived.  Others seemed pleased with their orders. Charlie had Sprite to drink and managed to hold down his dinner, so that was a good thing.  In all the bill was about 8700CFA apiece. Augusto had his meal comped by the restaurant (nice move!) for bringing us all in. He and the maitre d’ were clearly friends.  We would’ve ordered a second round or more of beers, but we were never asked.

We made it back to the hotel at about 2145 and everyone agreed to be ready to go the next day at 0900.  Several decided to join me for a morning walk-around at 0700 followed by breakfast at 0800 and we all repaired to our rooms.  

Becky and I stayed in the center open area of the hotel to do some computer and communication work since the connection was so bad in our room.  We got some work done and then ALL of the lights and power went out shortly after 2200.

We turned the flashlights in our cell phones on and made our way up to our rooms to get ready for bed.  I showered in the semi-darkness and we prepped for bed. A little while later, we heard a generator kick-on (loudly) across the street and our power returned.  It was obviously a hotel-owned backup as the rest of the city seemed to remain in the dark.

In the middle of the night, I woke to find the power off again--I think the silence of no air conditioning and no generator running is what startled me.  Becky was awake, too, and soon we heard yelling at the generator. It seemed to us that someone had let the generator die or run out of gas. After a few minutes of yelling, it started again and a few seconds later La Hotel de la Poste had power again.  We slept until about 0615.

We successfully made it to DIA have fueled up and it's on to the Big Apple.