BEACH BARS & HOLY TREES
The next day, we woke around 9:30 AM and went to breakfast at Les Baobab’s restaurant—a simple, aromatic affair of fresh baguettes with butter, marmalade, and jam accompanied by juice, coffee, and tea. Tor and I had slept well in our comfortable, one-room cottage in the round, surrounded by a grove of beautiful moringa trees.
On our way back to the room, we ran into Antje and Karamba, who suggested that we all go to a nearby batik shop. So, off we went. Along the way, we browsed some other stores but none were as good as Karamba’s artist friend, Bilo, whose shop we visited the longest. I bought an original batik bag and set of wooden and shell necklaces for our nieces. While there, Karamba and I played the African seed counting game. (I beat Karamba: 30 to 13, which impressed them all). Bilo was kindly allowed me to photograph him making Batik. He created bright, playful tapestries along with beautifully-crafted bags, clothes, and jewelry.
From Bilo’s shop, we walked to a fancy hotel on the beach with a fabulous beach bar next door; very handmade and charming. Extremely relaxed. We ordered fresh orange juice, beer, and omelets with chips. While we ate, Karamba told us about his village and his family (he has four older sisters and two younger sisters), and how he dislikes basketball (too much machismo) but enjoys playing volleyball on his village team and even better—they are the champions of the region, he reported proudly.
After lunch, we swung in the hammocks while Antje sat on a log smoking her little pipe in the sun. Later, Tor and I explored the very old remnants of a boat sunk deep into the sand.
On our way back to Les Baobabs, we walked through the fishing grounds where the women were drying hundreds—thousands, probably—of fish on wooden racks in the sun. The men were working on nets next to their huge, colorful boats. All of their flags were whipping in the wind.
Some of the men hissed at me—Pssst! Pssst!—and I asked Karamba why they did that.
“Pay them no mind,” he explained, sheepishly. “This is how a man calls a girl if he does not know her name,”
“Not the nicest way to ask for someone’s attention”, I said. Karamba nodded in agreement.
The next time a man hissed at me, Karamba and I stared disapprovingly at him until he ducked his head and looked away.
*
Back at the resort, Tor and I read on the beach for a few hours. A group of people came across the little footbridge to the sand—three African men toting a woman in a wheelchair with her family and friends in tow. They brought her right up to the water’s edge and her friends pulled her into the waves where they all floated together in the surf, squealing happily while the men waited on the beach.
A sandstorm kicked up, so we moved over to a pair of canvas chairs on the grass outside the restaurant. Antje joined us a little later, her small pipe in hand.
Saikou, Karambe’s old friend from Berending, arrived as he had promised around five o’clock.
“Where are my boys?” He asked jovially, referring to Karamba and Sarjo.
“One is sleeping and one is praying,” Antje replied.
We figured this must mean Karamba was taking a nap. The boy was a machine. He worked all night long as the night guard at Boboi Lodge, slept from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon, and then worked with his friends building a rock road to his village (they volunteered themselves for this because the government would not build one, and the only road was completely washed out by the winter rains). After working on the road, Karambe reported back to Boboi for work. Aside from this trip away, we rarely saw him sit down, much less sleep.
Sarjo, we knew, was a devout Muslim (we had seen him carrying his beads), so he must have been the one praying.
Soon after Saikou arrived, Sarjo strolled up and we all walked down to the end of the road and hailed a small taxi. We piled in—me on Tor’s lap in the front, Antje, Karamba, Saikou, and Sarjo crammed into in the backseat. Everyone was laughing because my face was smashed into the ceiling of that tiny car! We got out at Saikou’s shop in the village and had a look around. They sold everything in his shop—building supplies, gardening tools, extension cords, scissors, soap, toothpaste, Q-Tips, tea bags, animal feed, rubber boots, dish and laundry soap, razors, hoses, shovels, even colorful woven rugs.
Slowly, we made our way to Abene’s Holy Tree. On the way, the kids from the village ran up to hold our hands and escort us. One little girl hugged me around the waist for the entire visit, like a little koala bear. Tor, Karamba and I took turns climbing inside the folds of the gigantic tree. The great, Holy Tree is over one thousand years old and is actually six separate trees of different varieties, all grown together. At their heart, there is a well—a natural spring—where the village priestess brings women to bless them for fertility.
Saikou showed us another tree, also big and beautiful like the Holy Tree. Nearby, there were mango trees, goats grazing, and some pigs eating trash. On the way back through the village, we met Sarjo’s sister. Near where we stood talking in the street, Antje found a huge vine of loofah growing along a fence. She cracked open the brittle pod and showed us the loofah inside—incredibly, it looked exactly just as you would buy it in a store. Karamba was astonished when I told him that in America, a person would pay $5 USD or more for one of these.
“But it’s only grass!” He wrinkled his face. “We have these all over my village and never do a thing with them.”
We told him that he should put these in Boboi Lodge, that the eco travelers would love them. He should export them, too, we decided. And become a very rich “grass pod” farmer.
We walked slowly through the village where we watched a high school soccer game and looked in at the shops; we found one where a man was selling djembes and a large koura-type instrument. Eventually, we came across a French-run restaurant where we ordered cokes and beers and finally, supper. It was spring rolls (or nems) for Antje and I, chicken for Tor, and steak fillets with chips for Sarjo, Karamba, and Saikou.
We laughed uproariously at dinner because Karamba told us the story of drinking beer for the first time when he came to Les Boubabs in November, and how he stumbled back from the bar, very sure he knew the way, only to fall asleep in the wrong room.
Later during the meal, when Sarjo left to take one of his many “important” phone calls, we hid his still-full plate among the many others on the table, prompting him to ask when he returned, “Hey, where is my food? Why are you all laughing?”
After dinner, we strolled some more and stopped to hear a jam session in a small shack. It was three men: one on djembe, another on seed shakers, and a third playing a homemade xylophone of some kind. Amazing music and very organic. Friends just playing to play.
Abene is so enjoyable in this way—relaxed and slow and people just greeting each other, asking about their families and their general well-being.
I took out my my iPhone and recorded the men playing music.
The super moon was in full glow as we walked the rest of the way back to Les Baobabs on the red, dusty road. There was a slight snap in the air, perfect for walking at night. All in all, a stunning Senegalese evening.