Hello Friends and loyal readers. I know I’ve let you down over the past few months. You were so good to me in the summer giving me my best day of all time and then I repay you by not writing for five months. It’s bad education on my part. I’m sorry.
Here I am, back in Africa. Have been here for 4 weeks already–two in Mali, 1 in Senegal and 1 in Ghana, where I currently find myself. I have another half-week here then 1.5 weeks in Ethiopia and then back home just in time for Christmas.
It’s been a frantic four weeks. Today is the first day I get to myself and so I write.
For the most part, it’s been a pretty uneventful month from the perspective of adventures. There is, however, one adventure of note.
On week three, my Malian colleague and I traveled to Dakar together for a week of meetings. One evening I dragged him out of the hotel to go for a walk along the seawall. Most of you will remember that Dakar has a gorgeous coast that has been manicured to provide walkers and runners with a picturesque path along which we can exercise while enjoying the fresh air and the ocean.
This past April when I was last in Dakar I ran along the seawall everyday by myself and never had any safety concerns. Granted, I was usually back by sundown, but never did I feel unsafe since it was rather well-populated by other “sportifs”.
One evening last week, like pulling teeth, I fought to convince my colleague to go for a walk with me. It was already after dark and after dinner, possibly 9 pm. But my colleague is a black giant. He is about 6′4” and as thick as a brick. Without thinking too much about it, I figured we’d be fine and I certainly wouldn’t be a target having Le Geant Noir with me. The truth is that I left all the precautions I would usually take in roaming African streets by the wayside. I put my wallet, cell phone and camera in my little snakeskin purse which I carried daintily on my shoulder. I don’t EVER carry a purse in Africa when I’m walking around, especially not a flashy one like that. I usually stuff my bra with money, cell phone and camera (my cleavage has an unusually large capacity for hiding items) and none is the wiser. This time, I was accompanied by Le Geant Noir (LGN) and thus was far less cautious.
We exited the hotel and walked away from the bustling city toward the ocean. The seawall, although usually well-populated, appeared to be rather sparse that night. On the west, it is flanked by a beach and the ocean on the East side, there is a rather busy four-lane highway with a three-foot concrete median in between the two sides. If there are not many people around, it feels pretty deserted even though the car traffic is always raging on the road.
The truth is, I wasn’t even paying attention to the surroundings, given my bodyguard-like company. We were walking and chatting, enjoying the ocean air. The first thing I remember noticing was a man in a wheelchair rolling himself up the steep hill that we were walking down. I almost considered offering a helping hand, but didn’t, mostly out of precaution. We kept on walking into the night on the left side of the road, against traffic, stopping periodically to look and listen to the waves crashing below. We were about to come upon the Millennium Gate which is a huge monument with a golden statue, a fountain and a door leading toward the sea. This part of the path was much more populated. There were merchants, youth and lovers sitting on the steps, along the beach and in the darkness. We stopped to look at the monument and decided to start walking back to the hotel. Right in front of the monument, there is a small lane to allow taxis to stop and let people on and off. In this little lane, we noticed some unusual activity. There were two large white vehicles–one SUV and one pick-up truck–parked along the side of the road. One had three big man inside and the other was occupied by one driver. I had seen this, but again, not really thought anything of it.
As soon as we passed this scene again, LGN says to me, “As-tu noté les 4×4 la-bas et les hommes qui nous observent? As-tu noté les divers taxis qui se sont arretés pour quelques moments, qui ont parlé avec les hommes des 4×4 et parti?” Basically my colleague had been observing the whole environement like a spy from the moment we saw the disabled guy. He filled me in on what was happening, namely that he was sure that we were about to be the target of some kind of organized crime, most likely a kidnapping and that a large proportion of the people we saw around us were implicated in the crime–the disabled guy, the series of taxis, the random woman who walked across the road and onto the dark beach alone, and, of course, the four beefy men with their SUVs.
We both suddenly got into defense mode. He made me take the notebook he had in his hand, which I took voluntarily given that he was in a way better position to beat someone up than me, even though I would certainly put into action my Capoeira Jinga surprise if need be! He also instructed me to hang my purse on my right shoulder which was in between the two of us.
Our bodies tense with adrenaline, we maintained our pace but stiffened our postures. We walked with traffic back toward the city.
Suddenly, one of the two white vehicles drove up slowly past us and stopped 5 metres ahead of us. This activity confirmed our suspicion.
“Let’s cross the road,” I whisper frantically.
“Ok, allons-y,” he concurs with decided fear.
Irrespective of the cars zooming down the highway, he grabs my wrist and we leap across the road like gazelles being chased by lions. With one felt leap, we jump synchronistically like trained spies onto the median, stop for a second, look toward the oncoming traffic, and leap across the other half of the road.
We make it safely to the other sidewalk, not that we feel all that safe since we are now right in front of the federal prison wall, with its dark alleyway just ahead. But at least we are now across a highway from the kidnappers…but not for long.
We have bought ourselves a few seconds to regroup and to decide on our next course of action. LGN susses out the situation. As we continue our walk, increasing our pace, now breathing rather heavily, we notice that white car #1 (with one man) has sped ahead down the highway to the turn-around point so that it would meet us on this side of the road. White car #2 (with three men) is still on the other side of the road, observing us intently. Both vehicles, with their respective occupants, along with all accessories to the crime are now acutely aware that we are onto them and we are trying to escape.
I want to run, but LGN replies sternly, “On ne court pas!”
He realizes that Car #1 has already made over to this side of the road and has stopped up ahead, not 7 metres in front of us. He also knows that the other car with the three burly men is waiting for us to cross back to the other side of the street to accost us. I just follow his lead. I’m gonna need him to fight if we do get caught. It’s in my best interest to stay with him. Incidentally, my wrist is still firmly in his worried grip, so I wouldn’t be able to get away anyway.
We walk slowly toward the pick-up truck up ahead. We’re almost cornered with him in front of us, the prison wall to our left, a road full of implicated taxis on our right and three beefcake criminals across the road. Lucky for us, a guy on a motorcycle stops on the side of the road right in front of Car #1to take a phone call. LGN has already determined that this guy is not part of the crime group. He’s an innocent bystander. So we stop right beside the motorbike, a metre in front of car#1and wait.
The man in the pick-up truck leans over the passenger seat with his right arm outstretched. LGN squeezes my wrist with fear. I look at him. His forehead is beaded with sweat. His eyes are wide open trying to determine if he sees a weapon in the hand of the man. I don’t see one. It appears that he wants to roll down the window or open the passenger door to “speak” to us. We look across the street and notice that Car #2 has now been forced by the flow of traffic to move up ahead and drive toward the turn-around point.
LGN, now panicked with terror, yells, “On traverse!”
He grabs a tighter hold of my arm and pulls me across the first half of the street. We jump on the median and wait. Car #2 has been forced to leave its post on the ocean side of the street and speed around the bend. So we jump onto the other side of the highway and run to the ocean-side sidewalk.
As soon as we get to this side of the road, the man in car #1 yells out across the four lanes of traffic, “C’est la police!”
Oh yeah, as if we’re going to believe that! He realizes that we’re not falling for that so he speeds ahead to reach the turn-around point so that he can catch us on the other side. Finally, LGN is ready to run. “Courons!” he yells.
I’m down with that command. I break free from his grip and zoom off toward the city. He’s a giant and not in very good shape so he’s a bit slower than me. I run right into a pack of wild dogs, something that would normally freak me out, but that is the lesser of all evils. Christ! I’ve got my rabies vaccination and getting bitten by a dog is an African adventure I’ve already had. It’s like getting struck by lightening: It’s not gonna happen twice. The dogs disburse anyway. They are more scared of me than I am of them. LGN is almost right behind me.
We make it off the seawall and back into the city streets before the crime cars can catch up to us. There are are more and more people in the streets, but we’re not so sure that the criminals aren’t following us. When LGN catches up to me he grabs my arm again and, panting and sweating, he says, “Don’t worry, I think we’ve lost them.” I wonder if his grip is to offset his own fear rather than to keep me safe. He is terrified. I think he just mostly felt the need to protect me and was so worried about what might happen if I had been caught.
His theory is that we had been tartgeted earlier that day and that they followed us from the hotel out to the ocean. I just thought we were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They may have mistaken us for somebody else–politically strategic people maybe? I couldn’t imagine that they were just after my little bag… All that coordination to get a few hundred bucks? It didn’t really gel, but I suppose desperation and poverty might make people do all sorts of things, even work out the most elaborate of organized crime scenes to get a few bills.
The next day we found out that these kidnappings have become very frequent in Dakar over the past few months. We were really lucky to get away.
After the fact, far from danger, I can say that it was exhilarating to outwit and outrun a whole group of criminals. We felt like spies.
LGN realized that he needs to get back in shape. He called me yesterday to tell me that he joined a gym back in Bamako so that he has enough stamina to keep up with me next time we are chased…
