Emissaries of Night

Along the Senegal River

(Part One)

They knew negotiation. And, they had no reason to believe they were not gifted when it came to doing it. They had journeyed south, through the sandy quarters, negotiating the Old Aderer wasteland via Wadan, the ancient impenetrable fortress. They had successfully negotiated an inhospitable 'red zone,' inhabbited by hordes of bandits who were very gifted at terrorism. They continued this downward trend until one of the duo realised that his foot was sandy no longer. They both looked to the left, and then to the right. A similar chord was set off inside them. For, they knew this watery passage was their second frontier.

This was a special frontier inasmuch as they both knew, negotiations permitting, they could be borne all the way along this natural border and spat out over and into their third frontier. So, they looked to the left at the palm-fringed haze and wondered what the interior held. More importantly, they reflected on those things that they held for the interior. They thought how best it would be to disseminate these things amongst the expectant masses and then a large ship dipped onto the horizon. It was about that time that they both knew they were looking at the ocean. Unperturbed, they shifted their gaze to the right and that interior pondering commenced once more.

Dropping a few sheckles into the boatman's hand, they crossed the turquoise water. They were also told to quickly shut down their peering cameras as the Mauritanians may well construe this as espionage and the Casablanca to Joburg dream would slowly rot on the mildew of a Nouakchott prison. Fortunately, nobody saw them - they distribute the material for the right price - and they beached on the banks of Africa's oldest democracy. They had no idea, then, that this would be their last stint on a boat for quite some time.

Port St. Louis

Ile St.Louis straddles the estuary of the forceful Senegal River. The late capital of Francophone Africa is also a fine example of French architecture at it most ransacked. "It seems like it shouldn't be lived in. But, it is," one of the pilgrims wisely observed. The other one hadn't heard him, or he was ignoring him. Another close observation was made by the sun on the pilgrims' two wan physiques. It was obvious they would need to return to their former patterns of stealth; slinking in the shadows and stumbling through the night.

Apart from spending a turbulent afternoon with a self-professed spiritual leader and appealing to a policeman to neutralise this same sod after things turned sour; they did not have much fortune in negotiating a boat. The only suitable vessel for their voyage upstream was not quite suitable enough. Even these two knew the old maritime adage: 'A fine vessel rides only on her fine name.' And, this vessel was not endowed with a very positive name. One must zoom in on the boat to fully appreciate her name.

Podor

They had heard of a place upstream that produced musicians. Baaba Mal, for example, is the second best musician in Senegal, and he hails from sleep Podor. Youssou N'dour is the best, but, as a large woman in a taxi observed: "He should probably stick to singing."

They decided, then, to patronise Mr. Mal's guesthouse. This turned out be a fine example of a guesthouse which had become a riotous saloon. In their moset yellow tent, they survived a night fraught with tense negotiations. None involved a boat. All were initiated by lawless pagans. One of the pilgrims - the one with the heightened olfactory senses - was busy burying ash with a garden ho when he was called out to. The sultry pitch of the calling, on the sweaty evening breeze, convinced the other pilgrim - the smuttier one - that this was no ordinary bird of the night. And, after negotiating this first threat they both received a vision later that night. It was a polite but disorderly patron of the guesthouse. Only after he had thrice declared his love for the travellers, did the brave duo manage to beat him back into the shadows.

As they now felt they were battling on all fronts, they made the most logical decision;  the one is a man of science - the other,of human science, so it was a swift process. Let it be said, at this juncture, that for these two men, being persuaded as they are, did not take the decision lightly. With all their personal effects, hats in hand, they gave a gentle tap on a big blue gate bearing a rusty nameplate: "Maison Catholique de Podor".

Never before have so jaundiced a pair, owed so much to the generous spirit of one other - the Cameroonian resident priest who claimed to have never left the compound in his life. Of course, a few things had to be ironed out. One of the travellers, fond of saying "inshallah," tried it out unwittingly on the Cameroonian. How gracefully he was reminded this was the house of a different, but still mighty, god. 

What more could the travellers ask for, in these circumstances, than that rare quality of level-headedness. Well, they could ask for one more thing - a boat. Their second round of naval discussions ended unpleasantly. Consensus was only reahced after the pilgrims had retreated back inside the compound and politely shouted through the bolted gate for the growing crowd of unruly fishermen to "please leave."

Matam

Downtrodden. Low. They set out to the East on the road. The weather had taken all its orders from the Harmattan that day. A catastrophic haze engulfed them for the twelve hours it took to cover the 230km to Matam. The only respite arriving in the form of a Sarah Brightman rendition from a fellow commuter: http://youtu.be/GIQ0ReCH2cI

 This small fishing village they were aiming for would be their last-chance saloon to fulfil their quest to drift along the frontier and spread their things about. They had been told pirogues were moored at this town. They had been told many things, though. It was dark when their bus rattled into town. As they waited for the goat to be untangled from their baggage on the roof, they were approached by a tout.

"Looking for auberge, hotel, camping?"

"Take us to the Catholic Mission, " they replied.