On My Way to Work

I have previously held a 9-5 job. Each morning on my way to work I munched on a baggie of dry cereal while listening to the radio for the 13 or so minutes it took me to drive from my house. This routine is not unlike that of millions of other gainfully employed individuals. And despite the obvious changes to my routine having arrived in Senegal, it was not until today that I made the specific comparison between this routine and my current commute.

This morning I had a meeting at the Health Post in Dabo, my closest road town which is about 15km from my village. I usually bike this distance in just under an hour, but having received considerable rains yesterday and again last night, my road was impassable via bike (I amend that statement: I was not able to bike on the road… the Senegalese are MUCH better at riding through any puddle or mud pit you throw in their way. I am still working on this skill). I expected this, and woke up early enough to be able to walk the three hours to Dabo by 9am for my meeting with my professional counterpart at the Health Post.

Comparison #1 – I just added 167 minutes to my commute time to work.

En route to my 9-5 job, I was seldom distracted by more than ambitious joggers, a few cute kids trying to cross the street or the occasional awkward moment when you stared just a second too long at the person in the car next to you. Again, not an incredibly original scenario. However, this morning, just after the sun had come up, no more than 15 minutes outside my village, I entered a heavily wooded section of my path to Dabo. In the absence of a radio, I had become engrossed in singing my own version of song lyrics when I was overtly distracted by a group a six monkeys who seemed to fly out of a tree, bolt across my path and stop just short of completely vanishing back into the woods so that I could glimpse their shenanigans briefly before they really did disappear up another tree.

Comparison #2 – Animals who typically require some combination of netting, fiberglass or even massive reservoirs of water to separate them from me at the zoo, just cut me off! Back home they would have caused a 10 car pile-up.

As a child, I was called the bag lady. Not only did I always have at least one bag with me, but it was always FULL of whatever I deemed important (or would fit) at that particular moment. My mom was kind enough to entertain the compulsion through my childhood, which has now matured into a quest for the perfect bag for every situation. On any given work day, you could easily find my work-out bag (a huge LL Bean boat tote), my backpack (though not incredibly professional, it had all the right pockets for my laptop and accessories which went with me to work everyday) and some version of a “purse,” though I don’t like that label, which could vary from a hiking day pack to my favorite black leather shoulder sac. This was at a minimum. However, when trekking three hours through the busch, one needs to downsize. And while I have cut out most of the baggage, I have added my bucket. My fist week in Kolda I purchased a 15L purple bucket with a lid that now accompanies me every time I leave my village whether strapped to my bike or in hand. It’s waterproof. It can hold a lot. I can do bicep curls while walking… you know, all the important stuff.

Comparison #3 – Some things never change… even in Senegal I still find the need to always be prepared, if not with the right bag, at least the right container.