Matt Williams
Mwilli50@aug.edu

Narrative Journalism – Senegal

I couldn’t believe what I had seen. And I had walked straight through it.

Children were begging for money, following us as we ran through the streets in disarray. Broken-down cars filled the lanes. This couldn’t have been real. Places like this don’t exist.

I was frightened. The most uncomfortable I have ever been. Why the hell was I here?

I had never been anywhere before. I grew up in Georgia and only left for vacation. I couldn’t describe the inside of an airplane if you paid me. Had never been in one.

Going to Senegal changed that.

We were in Dakar, the capital city of Senegal. It was 11:30 p.m. I was with a group of study abroad students from my university. I was the only one who had never flown before, which singled me out as a rookie from the beginning. I had never been to a different country. I was terrified. It showed in my eyes.

After leaving the airport and running fervently to our bus through chaotic streets, I questioned everything about myself that led me to sign up for this program. Why in the hell would people come to this place? What was to be learned by walking these streets?

I soon would find out. And it made me a different person.

The bus ride to our hotel in the middle of the city was shocking. Sensory overload at its definition. Unfinished buildings lined the streets, lacking any interior structure. Hundreds of people crowded the sides of the street. They were waiting for public transportation that would never come. Most would be stuck for the night.

The ride was only thirty minutes, but it took what seemed like a lifetime. I had a headache from all the visual stimuli I tried to take in and process. It was far too much.

Getting to the hotel alleviated some of the internal pressure I was facing. It was much nicer than I would have ever imagined. A full-service bar was downstairs. The rooms were clean. And I was in Africa.

I couldn’t sleep that night. All I could think about were the images. I walked the walk from the airport terminal to our bus dozens of times in my mind. I could see the children’s faces. Their outstretched hands. I could feel their need now, much unlike earlier, where my only concern was getting to somewhere enclosed. I could see the destruction on the streets.

My roommate wasn’t nervous at all. He was excited. And it drove me damn crazy. I couldn’t get why he didn’t seem in the least uncomfortable.

“Well, the way I see it, I am going to either live, or I am going to die,” he said. “So, I figure, what the hell else is there to worry about.”

He was right. He was completely right.

The next morning we made our first trek into the city. It was quite busy for the morning-time. But there was something different about this Dakar. As if it had changed overnight. I no longer felt threatened. I didn’t have a reason to be. The city was spectacular. The sun was shining, bringing out the beautiful colors all around.

Street venders were everywhere the block around our hotel. They were selling everything from traditional African necklaces and clothing to watches and cologne. They would follow you with their product, forcing you to view it. If you displayed any interest, you were theirs for the taking. They would follow you. Beg you for just a few dollars. Seeing as the majority of Senegalese people live off a few dollars a day, the one sale means volumes to the street venders.  It means they can feed their families.

After our walk, we loaded onto our bus and made our way through the city. Seeing this different culture in motion was incredible. The poverty was apparent everywhere but the faces of the people. They didn’t seem to notice it. This was daily life for them, something they have been used to for quite some time. Our presence, however, did attract attention. Locals would point and stare as we passed by. Others smiled and waived.

The Presidential Mansion was our first stop. It rested behind towering gates and a heavily armed guard, who welcomed our presence smugly. The entire group couldn’t resist getting individual photographs taken with him, much to what appeared to be his dismay. However, he obliged. Afterwards he made sure we had his e-mail address. He greatly wanted the photos to be sent to him.

After the short visit, we made our way towards the coast. The beauty was near indescribable. It was spectacular. The view of the ocean could take your breath away from every angle. As we weaved along the windy road, I felt such a sense of elation. To think that the night before, I was ready to write off the entire country all together. I would have packed my bags and boarded the next flight out after seeing what I had seen. Now, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. I was consumed. I wanted to feel this place. 

Our drive took us to a well-ornamented Catholic church, the only one within the city. With ninety percent of the country being Muslim, it is very rare to encounter Christians within Senegal.

I was overpowered as soon as I walked in. The stained-glass art had a distinct African style. The architecture was outstanding. I had never seen anything like it before. I hadn’t even begun to fathom the premise that the same God is worshipped in the same way around the world. It was an awe-inspiring thought.

I began to watch my friends. Some were taking photographs of the artwork around the sanctuary. Others were looking around. My roommate, a devout Catholic who had only missed Mass twice in his 21 years, was praying at the front pew. It was here that for the first time in Senegal, I felt at home. I could relate to my surroundings. You could sense the power in that place. I would have sworn to you that God was alive in that building. You could feel Him.

I walked out of the sanctuary with a smile on my face. Senegal never looked the same afterwards. Before, I was an outsider. Now, I felt at home.

We boarded the bus and headed for the most popular tourist location in Senegal. And for good reason. Most people come to Senegal just to see Goree Island. Located to the East of Dakar, the gorgeous island is inhabited by less than 1,000 people. But what makes Goree Island so unique is its history. It holds the beginnings of the Atlantic slave trade within its 45 acres.

When I heard that we were visiting the island, I was apprehensive. The horrors that went on within that small area are incomprehensible. But they happened. This small island played a huge portion in shaping the history of the United States to this day. And it was something I needed to see for my own eyes.

We took a large ferry across the ocean with hundreds of tourists. It was incredible to see so many different groups of people together at the same time. Very few spoke English, as the tourism segment of Senegal is driven by the French. Most Americans in Senegal are there for humanitarian efforts, such as the Peace Corps. Not surprising. Citizens of the U.S. tend to have adverse reactions to sentences containing both the words “Africa” and “vacation.”

It was apparent as soon as we stepped on the dock that the beauty of Goree Island had not been exaggerated. Flowers grew all over the sides of buildings and walls. The colors were unbelievably vibrant. As we walked through the small town, we made our way to a restaurant that had been waiting for our arrival. A table was set up for all fifteen of us as we sat down to our first experience with Senegalese cooking. I was warned vehemently about the dangers of eating the food when in Africa. It was obvious that normal tap water was off-limits, due to the bacteria. However, we were assured that everything we were being served was fine for tourists. Whether or not the food was laden with bacteria, it was the best fish I have ever had.

We finished and began our trek through the island. The dirt alleyways between the old buildings created an atmosphere like I had never seen before. They were cramped and aged. But the places they led to were breathtaking. An old Presbyterian church taken over by intoxicating flowers. Rustic statues that begged for admiration. History was everywhere. And you could feel it as much as you could see it.
We arrived at the slave house. My emotions were high. I had researched this place for weeks. Now I was standing at its doors.

You couldn’t help but imagine what it used to be like. The cells were dark, only illuminated by a crack in the wall that delivered but a sliver of light. It was almost useless. But it was the last light many saw. Many people died in those cells. I didn’t need a tour guide to reassure me. I just knew.

Then I saw it.

It was the door. The last door the slaves saw before being stripped from their homeland. The door of no return.

I had read so much of it beforehand. I knew it would leave its mark on me. When you see something so powerful, it just sort of happens that way. I looked out. The view was gorgeous. But I couldn’t appreciate it. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t think of my loved ones who I knew wanted to be by my side. I only thought of the pain. Because it was there. God it was there. Screaming and tearing at the walls. It hasn’t gone away. And it never will.

I jumped down to the rocks below the door. The ocean was calm. I just stood. It was all I could do.

This was the last thing they ever saw. The coast. The city of Dakar in the distance. The water. It was endless. It was incredible.

I couldn’t help but to think back to the beginning. When we first arrived in the airport. How frightened I was. Being completely away from anything I had ever experienced. I couldn’t say that anymore.

I questioned everything when I arrived. Why I chose to come here. Who would want to see these things. What was so important in Senegal that I needed to experience.

It ended on those rocks, staring into infinite ocean. This was something I needed to see. Something everyone needs to see. I needed to breathe the air of a foreign land to understand that it’s the same as my own. My eyes needed to see the wonders of a different culture to appreciate the diversity of life itself. You can’t learn that anyway else.

It was on those rocks that I realized my life was changed forever. The magnitude of what I was experiencing began to set in. I had seen things that people only dream of seeing. Felt emotions too difficult to accurately describe. I will never be able to. But I will always have them with me.

I wasn’t going home the same person.  And I was okay with that. It was the way it was meant to be.