We cross the border into Senegal in the eastern part of the country. Here we have chosen a dirt road that takes us through small communities and beautiful nature that changes from semi-desert to vegetation. We are overwhelmed by the many hospitable and smiling people we meet on our way. People who live traditionally and who do not have much – but they have big hearts and strength, which is expressed through their lively eyes.
Crossing the Senegal River
We look across the river. Just over there is Senegal. Our 8th country on the trip and yet another huge shift in culture. It's fascinating how everything often changes by getting two stamps in the passport. We leave the Arab culture and start in earnest on the Afro-African countries of West Africa.
It's a small border crossing, but it's busy. We cycle through a shopping street with lots of people. Everything from washing powder to small deep-fried loaves of bread is sold. We turn down a small sandy side street and at the end of it is the border post. Here we have to stamp out Mauritania. We are shown to the Chief and the bench next to his desk, which is about to fall apart. A guy comes in and puts a banknote in the Chief's pocket. Others come by, another banknote in the Chief's hand. We also have to drink tea and eat bread while we sit schooled on the small bench and wait. After a while, the Chief opens a book in which he makes new lines with a clipper as a ruler. Then our passport information is neatly written into the book. He was a bit strict at first, but his warm side took over, and when he first finds out where our names are in the passport, he pronounces them with a funny accent and a smile on his face. He then takes a picture of our passport and sends it to the head office on Whatsapp. The stamp plate is carefully filled with ink and our passports are stamped with an exit stamp with a bang. We are officially out of Mauritania.
There are several small boats by the river, constantly sailing back and forth with people and goods. We negotiate a price and together with the bicycles we are placed in a pirogue, which together with another boat, full of women in brightly colored clothes, is towed to the other side. Here we are welcomed by a group of young smiling and very talkative young guys. Unlike in Mauritius, where many did not want to be in pictures, we had barely gotten out of the boat before the young guys said: “Take a picture of me – take a picture of me too” and it continued like that until we finally had to say that we should now check into the country.
We crossed the border with our Mexican cycling friend, Gustavo.
We could feel the change in culture right away. There was loud music when we stopped to buy a cold drink at a kiosk and people in bright, colorful clothes. A man in a bright yellow suit, big sunglasses and a wool hat – a cool, funky style that would fit right in with Vesterbro.
National Route 7 – Baobab trees and starry sky
We have chosen National Route 7, which runs from the small town of Ogo south to the larger town of Tambacounda. Since it is a National Route, you might be tempted to think that it is a nice asphalt road. It is not. On the other hand, it is a dirt road that becomes a network of small ruts before it becomes a dirt road again before Tambacounda. Just the way we like it best.
We are still in semi-desert, so there are only a few trees and bushes. We are excited to see trees. It has been so long. On the other hand, we are not so excited about the heat. The temperature has taken a jump upwards. Especially in the afternoon the sun is beating down on us, and the thermometer shows plus 45 degrees. Once we hit 50 degrees.
We cycle past a small village and look in. Some people see us and wave us in. We pull our bikes into the small collection of houses. In the middle stands a beautiful tree with a huge, dense crown, casting a lovely shadow on the platform built around the tree. It is a Moringa tree, which is used to prevent and cure diseases. Marie immediately calls the tree the 'Tree of Life'. In the middle of the baking afternoon heat, it certainly feels that way. We are greeted with curious looks and shown to the platform. We are also given a cup of water. Very sweet and thoughtful. The village head, Alkaloen, comes and sits next to us. He speaks French and the local languages Wolof and Pular. We try to communicate as best we can. We talk about the family who lives here. Parents, siblings, cousins, and friends who live in the houses that stand around the tree. There are two sandstone houses on either side of the tree. Between them stand beautiful clay huts with palm roofs and various outbuildings. All the houses form a circle around the tree, which traditional family communities are often built around. It is also here that the elders gather when important issues need to be discussed.
We are shown around and stop at the Koran school, which is four posts with a roof over it. Here we look at the wooden boards that the children write on. They write with a black color, and the boards are cleaned with ash and water. It is really smart. We later saw the children at school, and there is strict discipline. It is the older children who teach the younger children, but Alkaloen keeps an eye on the school all the time. If there is the slightest problem with the children, they get a reprimand.
We start to think about cycling on, but that's out of the question. We have to stay and eat. We try to say that it's too much, but it doesn't work. And we really want to stay and experience more of this amazing community. On the other hand, we are also very careful not to eat their food. We know that it's an area where there's not much to do.
We see how the women are preparing the food. Fresh fish from the river is cleaned. Delicious local vegetables are arranged and cut. Sweet potatoes are mashed with spices, and the rice is ready to be steamed. The food is cooked in a huge pot over a fire. We quickly decode that the woman in charge of cooking has a bone in her nose. She cooks food for the entire village and at the same time manages the children and breastfeeds an infant. While the food is being prepared, we play with the children. There are many of them, and they look at us curiously. The only “toy” we see is a spare part from a car that a stick can fit through, and then they roll away with it. Another girl has found the remains of a lipstick, which she inspects. Otherwise, we see no plastic. No garbage. The children help with the cooking and play with each other. When the food is ready, it is very carefully divided into several large dishes. Then the dishes are distributed. Two large dishes for the men, who eat under the tree. One dish for the bigger boys and one dish for the smaller boys. The very young children get porridge and eat themselves, which is an impressive sight. Two dishes for the women, who eat in the house. We also get a dish and eat with the men under the tree. The food tastes fantastic. The rice is cooked in a kind of sauce. On top are four delicious vegetables and a piece of fish. Young and old sit around the dish, which is on the ground. The fish is peeled apart and shared so that everyone gets something. The same with the vegetables. They sit on their right foot and have their left leg forward. We feel like the stiffest cyclists, who can hardly even sit in a tailor's position for more than five minutes. We are also challenged to eat with our fingers, and we have to practice the technique of making a small ball of food so that it doesn't all go to waste before it gets into our mouths. There is something very special about sitting together and sharing food in this way.
After dinner, the older boys prepare the cart and harness the horse. Here they load all the families' large water cans, which need to be filled. They drive off with about 25 cans, and we meet them again at the well as we cycle on. There are many families with their donkeys, horses and water cans. There are two donkeys pulling a rope to pull the water bag out of the well. It's a long way down to the water. Really long. The man who is filling his cans thinks it's funny if Kenneth and I try to empty the water bag. If you're a wimp, it's heavy. The bike arms really come to work. It's hard work to fill so many cans every day. But there's a good atmosphere at the well. It almost feels as if life at the well also serves a social function.
We cycle on, and before we have to camp, we see a place where we can get water. It doesn't take long before we are surrounded by smiling women and men in beautiful clothes. We are allowed to get water and fill our water bottles. We are very grateful, because water is not a given on this stretch. A boy holds out a funny fruit towards us. We understand that we have to taste it. We are standing under the characteristic Baobab tree, which actually has the nickname, the Tree of Life. It looks like it is turned upside down, so that it turns its roots upwards. The trunk is often huge, and the tree can be several thousand years old. It absorbs water during the rainy season and uses the water during the dry season to make a nutritious fruit. It is absolutely brilliant, since there is not much other fruit at that time. The fruit is a large capsule that hangs on the tree. It has a hard shell that looks like it is covered with velour. Inside is a dry white fruit with seeds. It has a sour but good taste. You can eat the fruit as it is, use it in cooking, make juice and press the seeds into oil. We get the rest of the fruit with us, and we thank you very much.
We cycle further along the sandy road and only encounter carts pulled by donkeys and horses. No cars. We find a nice spot for the tent and set it up while the sun sets and the moon peeks out. As we lie in the tent, we talk about the day's experiences. We feel so lucky to be allowed to gain insight into and be a part of their everyday life for a while.
The alkalo and the many women
The next day we cycle past a group of houses, and when we are at the entrance, a group of women come running towards us. We stop to talk to them. They are super nice and invite us into their village. We say yes. That is why we have cycled away. To experience and learn about the lives of the locals. We come into a group of houses. There is a fire going, and the women are busy with various household chores. Everything stops when they see us, and they come over curiously to say hello. There is something completely magical about the immediacy and openness that we often meet with. We are seated on a covered terrace made of wood with a roof of palm leaves. We speak to each other as best we can. They in the local language Pular, and we in English spiced with sign language. The atmosphere is good. There is smiling and giggling. The women are dressed in the most beautiful colorful clothes and their scarves are smartly tied on their heads. They stand perfectly sharp, and we wonder how they can keep their clothes so clean and neat when the ground is dusty and they live in small mud huts. We look down at ourselves and at our dusty, boring cycling clothes for comparison. Their lips are painted blue, and they have two markings next to their eyes. They are given this as children to show which family they belong to. The women surprise us with food. It looks like a kind of grain, but it is millet, which they pound with a stick in a large wooden pestle standing on the ground. There is also a cup of milk to mix with the millet. It is meant to be eaten with our hands. Marie gives it a try, but we surrender to our spoon, which we have on the bike. It tastes good, and we thank you many times.
On the terrace next door, Alkaloen sits in front of his hut. He is older, smiling and looks very friendly. We talk to him, but it is difficult in the local language. Before we are allowed to cycle on, we need to rest. We try to say that we want to go, but we can feel that this is how it will be. So we lie on the terrace in the shade and listen to life in the village. Millet is being trampled, a cow is chewing chow, the goats are wheeling around, the children are playing and suddenly the woman scolds the donkey, which has tipped the lid off a large tub of millet and is now munching away. Before we cycle on, we ask if we can take pictures of them. We always ask and are always very attentive to whether it is OK. There is no doubt that the women think it is OK. They laugh lovingly when we show them the pictures afterwards, and everyone wants to have their picture taken. A mother also wants to have her baby photographed, but the baby is not ready for that and is screaming at the top of its lungs.
One of the women points to the child, and we understand that she is asking if we have anything for the child. So we ask if we can pay for the food in order to give something back in return. The women refer to the Alkaloen, who decides, and he rejects it kindly but very firmly. There are so many codes, and we do our best to do the right thing. After a long farewell ceremony, we cycle on with a big smile. What amazing women and personalities. We talk about how there was only one man and several women in the village. The man was definitely the Alkaloen, the head of the family. Marie would rather believe that the other men work in the fields. Kenneth is more inclined to believe that it is polygamy, which is completely normal in these parts. It is certainly a possibility if we look at the interaction between the Alkaloen and the women and how the place is structured. The Alkaloen has his own hut, and so do the women, and the women sleep in turns at the Alkaloen. It's legal and completely normal here, but Alkaloen was older and some of the women were young, so our brains with a different worldview need to chew on that a little.
In the evening we reach a small village again, and here we are also invited in. They ask us if we want to sleep there, and of course we are very happy to. We are placed on a wooden plateau raised from the ground with four legs. Right next to the small road that runs through the town. Then we can follow what is happening in the town and the residents can also follow what we are doing. It is absolutely perfect.
It's a really good evening with good conversations as best we can in a mix of languages and once again great food. Marie sits on a bench with the women. They think the zipper in the pocket of the pants is funny and a sports bra is absolutely fantastic. Marie, on the other hand, is fascinated by their beautiful colorful dresses and lots of jewelry. As darkness falls, two teenagers sit on a bench at the end of the plateau. Marie watches and says: “Ahhh TikTok”. They laugh and say that Marie speaks their local language, Pular. It's a wild contrast to the rest of the experience. The women and girls are dressed in the beautiful traditional dresses, the food is cooked over a fire and the water is collected from the town well outside the town. They sleep in beautiful but primitive mud huts. The donkeys and goats walk the streets. There is no electricity, but there is a fire and light from the moon and the grocer has a flashlight. And then the young guys (we didn't see any young women) are on social media. They are the only ones we have seen using phones besides touch-tone mobile phones while we have been in the small village. The contrasts are great, and it is fascinating and fantastic at the same time that we think about what access to the internet and social media will do to traditional society and between generations. Will it affect development positively, or will it create gaps between generations.
The world is changing and inspiring
The route is only about 300 km., and it takes us four days to cycle the distance because we are invited in so many times. The hospitality is enormous, and we enjoy being allowed to be part of these communities and experience how they live. A way of life that is so different from Danish society. We have shaken so many hands when we cycle through the villages – children and adults. Received so many smiles and gave the same in return. A life energy radiates from the eyes of most people, and they have an openness that is quite special. We can already feel how the energy and togetherness is much more intense here in Afro-West Africa, compared to the Arab countries we just came from, and especially Denmark, where everyone has a much larger private sphere. Most people on this stretch don't have much, but they can manage. Yet they share with us, and we are included in the community immediately. It only happened in one town that the children asked for gifts. Otherwise, we are kindly but firmly told no to having to pay for the food. It is a difficult balance, because we would like to give something, especially because we know that it is a poor area, but on the other hand we must also respect and accept their kindness and traditions. We have had a lot of time to talk about what the good life is. What does it take? Is it our modern life with lots of materialism or can less do it too? Where is the limit for what is needed? Here everyone has a place and a task in society and must help to make society function. And how will these societies develop in the future, when the 'TikTok' generation takes over. We spoke at a small trading post with a guy who knew English. He had gone to school in a larger city for four years. He had returned home to his family because this was where he belonged. It is a good development, but we also hear about more people who want to come to Europe. What will the living conditions be like in the area in the future. Will there still be water in the wells, which are already very deep to get water. It is clear to see that there is a big difference in the small communities depending on who is Alkalo. He is often older and sets a direction and a mood for the community. We hope that they find their way in the development and maintenance of their culture and traditions.
