Going Nowhere Fast

Yesterday I made my big escape. I had been held hostage for three days in Dakar due to a transportation strike. That's right, all the drivers in Senegal decided to stick it to President Wade on the same day... and then for the next three days. Boo!

I arrived at the main garage in Dakar Monday at o'dark thirty with my game face on; ready to withstand twelve hours of dirt-in-your-face, middle of the back seat, sweating because the windows don't roll down, travel. I immediately took note of how crowded it was, but thought nothing of it. However, when I rolled into the corner of the garage that sells tickets to Kolda and was not IMMEDIATELY bombarded with potential sellers, I knew something was up. I couldn't buy a ticket to save my life. I couldn't make anyone take my money... unheard of!

I tried to stay optimistic. Two other volunteers showed up en route to the North and thought they were going to get out. We sought out other volunteers from across the country to gauge the movement of traffic toward Dakar. We also watched a platoon a red beret soldiers show up and fan out throughout the garage and surrounding streets - not exactly reassuring. And at 10:30am, the three of us left, in a taxi, not to our final destinations, but to the regional house where we slept and watched six hours of The Office. There was nothing else to do. The entire country was at a stand-still.

The next day we got reports of groups pulling cars off the road who weren't obeying the strike. Rocks were thrown. Not good. We decided to not even try to get out and enjoyed an evening at the beach - we were just making lemonade out of lemons, right?!?!

The last official day of the strike, several volunteers finally got IN to Dakar, but nothing was yet getting out. So I patiently waited and the morning of day 4 I returned to the garage holding my breath, crossing my fingers and saying a prayer that I would get out... and I did. It was an uneventful albeit long trip and I am back, happy to be here and not leaving any time soon!