There are days when I wind up spending most of the day in the apartment. I’m either helping Abraham with his project, researching our upcoming trip to Ghana (more on that in another posting), or just being lazy. Eventually I find some reason to step outside, and I’m usually struck by what I see. There is always something going on, people walking around, someone to say “Salaam alekaam” to, some interesting juxtaposition. Life is going on, and all I have to do is step outside to witness it, to become a part of it.

The juxtaposition of very different things happening simultaneously is often quite humorous. The other day we saw this cow munching on some greenery and decided it was an opportunity to take some pictures. We pretended the cow as the subject, but used it as an excuse to surreptitiously take pictures of people walking by. Still, it turned out that the pictures with the cow in them were the most interesting. I love this picture because it represent so much of what I believe is Senegal. A man in conservative Muslim attire crosses the hot street on one of the final days of Ramadan, a modern SUV speeds by and a cow — what better symbol of Senegal’s long rural history — stays cool in the shade.

Across the street, people wait for another form of transportation — the bus. They got a kick out of our apparent fascination with the cow.

Finally, the cow makes his move. Paying no attention to traffic, it casually steps into the busy street and crosses the road. The cars come to a halt. The driver of the grey car honks — as drivers love to do here — but the cow continues unfazed. The crazy Dakar drivers have met their match.

Just a few days ago we were in a taxi — life often happens through the window of a taxi — when suddenly a threatening looking man in uniform stepped into the road and pulled all the cars over. Traffic came to a complete halt as military men stepped into the street to survey the scene. Many ideas went through my mind as to what was going on — not all of them pleasant. However, our driver — who seemed to be cursing under his breath in Wolof — informed us that the road was being effectively shut down to let the President of Senegal, Abdoulaye Wade, pass. Abraham and I looked at each other thinking the same thing — another interesting Senegal experience — and waited for Wade’s car to drive by.

It quickly grew very quiet as drivers turned off their engines. I began to bake in silence as I was stuck on the sunny side of the car. Abraham managed to take the above picture through the windshield, but I was against him taking a picture of the officer across the street — what if he saw us? Still, nothing happened.

After about 20 minutes, three cars passed by at high speed, flashers on. Was that it? Apparently not, as the hot silence returned. Eventually a few more cars zoomed past, followed by a lonely motorcycle who’s horn blared unnecessarily. Again, silence. Finally, after more than 30 minutes, a speeding gang of cars zoomed past — there must have been 30 or 40 cars. Among them was the presidential limo. Still more cars passed — who were these people? Then we saw a taxi pass. And a moped. There was no way they were part of the entourage. Still, the military man would not let us go, even though it became clear that all kinds of people were taking advantage of the cleared roads to join the caravan. Finally he conceded, and we pushed on — only to be stuck in a massive traffic jam with all the other cars.

We experience much of Senegal in a taxi. Drivers are usually more than willing to start up a conversation, especially if we throw in the few words we know in Wolof. Yesterday I was returning home in a taxi when I encountered a driver who knew some English. We drove past a small shop when he said, “My two wives work there.” Two? I wasn’t surprised, of course, as Muslim men are allowed up to four wives, as numerous men I have met have pointed out with pride (the women, however, seem a little less enthused about the practice).

Of course, cars are not the only form of transportation.

Often, the only option is to walk. Sometimes, though, finding a path can be a challenge.

The greatest reward of going out, whether by taxi or by foot, is to unexpectedly come upon a beautiful scene like this, le Mosquée de la Divinité. It’s located around the bend of a small road along on the rocky coast. After almost two months in Dakar, I still come upon new scenes of great beauty that just take my breath away. Whether the beauty is in Dakar’s scenery, or in its people, I am privileged to be a part of it.