Transportation

First let me apologize for not blogging in forever. I was in Dakar for my mandatory mid-service medical appointments (all's well) and the power situation has been horrible. Senegal ran out of gas. I'm not joking, the country didn't have gas. Everyone was driving on what reserves where left and when people (who normally cook over gas tanks) ran out, they had to use firewood. Luckily the gas boat docked and the situation seems to be temporarily solved. Now on to today's actual blog:

I went to Thies this morning to get lunch with Jackie and Elizabeth for Elizabeth's birthday (happy birthday!). Like normal, after lunch I went to the garage and got a seat in a sept place to Diourbel (the large city after mine - I just get out in Bambey). If I haven't described a sept-place before picture a brand new station wagon. Now age it about 50 years in harsh conditions, add a third row in the back, remove the handles from all of the windows, and maybe exchange some parts with another equally run-down car. This glorious mode of public transport is called a "sept-place" because there are 7 seats (in order of preference): passanger seat, middle row left side, middle row right side, middle row middle, back row left side, back row right side, back row middle. This is an undisputed ranking of seats (you get in and out of the car always from the right side which is why left is better). Like usual, I was one of the last people getting into the car (somehow it always works like that). I was the 6th person so I took the back row right side seat. After paying my fair and buying a sack of water, the 7th person came - a woman with a baby. Feeling the need for some karma, I gave up my seat and scooted to the dreaded back middle seat. The woman took the baby off her back and handed him to me while she climbed in. I quickly realized that it wasn't a baby but a giant toddler and my arm strength could barely support the weight of the near-teenager.

With all 7 people in the car, we could start the drive. The women took her kid back to sit on her lap and I was wedged in the middle. Usually there is at least one "ceeb mama" (ceeb meaning rice, but generally a "ceeb mama" is a large woman) so I was content to be between two average people. I'm used to kids being afraid of me and I'm used to kids being amused by me, I was not prepared, though, for the giant toddler next to me to start touching my skin. Yep. He spent the first 45 minutes of the car ride touching my shoulder and my hair. Awkward situation - sure - but what are you supposed to do about it? My wolof isn't quite there to say "Hey lady, I realize I'm an oddity but can your kid stop touching my arm?" so I let it slide. Then, because it would not be a ride in a car in Senegal without it, the woman started breastfeeding. I stared straight ahead and just waited for my stop. Then I noticed that you could actually see the road through a hole in the bottom of the car. But, at the end of the day, I got home safe and that's what matters! Oh, also, in most West African countries the same car that is a "sept place" to me is a "neuf place" (for the non French speakers neuf means 9).

Cheer Senegal!