Îles de Gorée et de Ngor

There are many tourist-friendly islands along the coasts of Dakar, and two of the most famous are Ile de Gorée and Ile de Ngor. Although their atmospheres are similar, to a large extent, the impact they had on me was quite different. Ile de Gorée is known as a slave island where curious visitors can explore the 18th century House of Slaves. Ile de Ngor, on the other hand, offers beaches and resorts without ghosts and guilt.

I went to Ile de Gorée on my second day in Dakar. The ferry leaves only once an hour, and I just missed one, so I had time to kill. I searched out one of the coffee carts from which men sell Nescafe in plastic cups. The mix the drink (and a lot of sugar) by pouring the liquid between two cups in an impressively rapid fashion. While I took in my precious caffeine, a woman announced that we were waiting for the same boat. Not a big surprise at the port, but we started chatting amiably when she revealed that she could speak English (I also chatted admirably during my trip with many people in French, but speaking my native language is always a worthwhile luxury). So we had lunch, and walked around a bit, and I learned something about her life. Although she claims to hail from the island (where some 1000 people live full time), she now lives in a far suburb of Dakar with her family and commutes daily to man her souvenir shop. I mentioned to this woman that I wanted badly to visit the holy city of Touba, but that I was worried about going alone. My host was very skeptical of such a field trip, particularly since my French skills leave rather a lot to be desired.

The woman offered to get a friend of hers to drive us to Touba the next day, wait for us, and drive us back again. For this she offered me the low-low price of 100,000 CFA, something over $200. Needless to say, I did not accept this price. But in the process of bargaining with her, she walked me past the tourist office on the island (where I was meant to pay a tax) and talked me into the House of Slaves without my paying the admission. She then proceeded to get increasingly petulant and pouty when I decided that it wasn’t worth hundreds of dollars to take a day trip to Touba, no matter how much I wanted to see the city. And when I tried to get away without purchasing something from her understocked shop, she looked as if she might cry. I bought a basket and paid far too much for it, but it’s nice and red, so I am not too displeased.

I was a bit displeased, however, with the behavior of other tourists on the island. It’s always a bit odd making vacation sites out of the location of other people’s suffering, but it is also worthwhile to see, to remember, to know. In my visit to the House of Slaves, however, I witnessed people (white and black) taking photos of each other posing, smiling, with the crumbling surrounds.

It seemed so strange to me, I almost felt as if we should have been ushered into the house in silence, that we ought to have covered our heads and lowered our eyes. But any drama I might have liked to extract from the location was absent. Instead, the island was fun and, since the explanations and announcements were in French, I didn't learn much.

Ile de Ngor is guilt-free fun, and much cheaper too. While the great big ferry to Gorée cost 5,000 CFA, the little boats which bring visitors to Ngor are only 500. I went to Ngor in a taxi the day after I went to Gorée (and didn’t go to Touba). The ride from Dakar was only about a half hour, but the atmosphere is quite different. There are no museums there. Instead, visitors pay fees to rent umbrellas and pads and behave as is standard for beach resorts. People swim, eat fish, and listen to the beach-side musicians. I stayed on my little square of sand all day, long enough to recognize the various sales-people and read a good chunk of my book. The gigantic new sculpture that hovers over Dakar was visible from the beach, and several other beach goers gigglingly attempted to recreate its composition for their friends’ cameras.

It was great to practice French with the sales-people since I had nothing but time, although some seemed to resent the fact that I bought nothing and just wanted to chat. Throughout the course of the day, I began telling people that I am Tunisian because it is tiresome to constantly talk about America, California and Tupac. This prompted some cute reactions. I was assured a couple times that this means that I am also African, and thus that we are brothers and sisters (but aren’t we all, anyway?). Only one guy got clever enough with me to ask whether Tunisia wasn't also a francophone country (subtitle: why does your French suck?). I had a hard time answering that query and mumbled something about having gone to an American university. Luckily, smiles and laughter go a long way when it comes to communicating, and several people told me that I am very nice. I greatly appreciated the sentiment, particularly since I was proud to be able to understand that important word!