It's been four days since I've arrived home and I am still in disbelief that I survived, that I made it back in one piece. I'm so sorry I have been M.I.A., a result of the inevitable chaos of packing up my life in The Gambia and the ensuing 'radio-silence' of traversing half the globe. I did keep up writing during my trip home, albeit pen to Moleskin journal, so I'll be posting about the rest of my trip in the days ahead (and what adventures I had!).
It all feels a bit surreal, for sure, being back. I come 'home' to a new city, new house, new job -- basically, a new LIFE. In a lot of ways I feel like a foreigner in my own home. Being in a much (MUCH) bigger city is quite nice though, after eight years in a small, quaint university-centred town. And, despite being away from this big city for so long, in a lot of ways it feels more like home than Dunedin ever did -- this big city is where my family first lived when we immigrated to New Zealand almost twenty years ago. The few close family friends we have live here. And I am so happy to see my parents so happy. They are thriving -- socially, physically, emotionally -- in a way they hadn't been in so long. It's been a hard ten, fifteen years for them, my parents who have sacrificed their lives to give my sister and I the opportunities we've had. I am so very aware of this truth daily, but even more so lately as graduation approaches and life as a DOCTOR begins. Wow. All I get to enjoy, the opportunities, the freedoms, the experiences, all I have and all I am would not have been possible without my mum and dad. Now, and every day to come. And it is my joy to give them full credit and ownership of all I have accomplished and all I will accomplish in the future.
Despite feeling in many ways like a stranger in my own home, there is a familiarity that touches my heart in a way only New Zealand can, a reminder that home is where the heart is, and my heart is here -- the Best Place on Earth. :)
I went for a run this morning -- my first run in over three months! And it was... perfection. 'Slow and steady,' I told myself, almost afraid that I had forgotten how. But, as soon as one foot stepped out in front of the other, perfectly in time with the music pulsing through my ipod, it really felt like I was back to 'Real Life.' And you know what? Real Life is pretty damn awesome too. I missed the New Zealand air. So crisp, so fresh, with a baseline scentless-ness that is occasionally pierced by a soft sweetness -- the smell of freshly mowed grass, or the honey of flowers blossoming along the footpath, or the damp smell of trees (the smell of Green if colours had a smell). I love the New Zealand air. That, is Home.
More thoughts to come as I fly down to Dunedin on Thursday to wrap things up with med school then head into a week of Orientation at my hospital on Monday (in preparation to start Work proper the Monday after). For now I leave you with thoughts from my trip in Dakar, written by the Anna from seven days ago.
Enjoy. :)
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November 8 2010
Dear friend,
Once again, let me set the scene.
I sit on a wharf of a restaurant on the water at midday. I hear the calm crashing of the waves breaking around me and the melting smoothness of French being spoken behind me. I smell the mix of cigarettes and designer perfume sharply perforating the fresh sea air. I taste the sweet bitterness of espresso coffee and the butter of the biscuit melting on my tongue. I see the elegant yachts parked in the lagoon, rocking to and fro amongst the infinite sparkle of diamonds dancing on the emerald, crystal clear blue water. I feel the touch of the most gentle breeze as I sit under an umbrella on this wharf. And I find myself wondering, can a breeze be both cool and warm at the same time?
The answer is Yes. And it is a most enjoyable perfection on my skin, like the cautious exploration of a lover's hands roaming the small of your back, the dents of your wrists, the plane of your arm.
What am I doing here? I find myself asking yet again. How did I end up here, in this French Riviera or Mediterranean Coast in the metropolitan hub of West Africa?
Hello, dear friend, from Dakar, Senegal, my penultimate destination on this week-long journey home.
My last week in The Gambia passed by so quickly as I wrapped up my lab project and slowly prepared to say goodbye to my life here. I spent a lot of time on the terrace of Ngala Lodge, sometimes entire days, soaking in as much of the moments as I could, while I still could. Yet, more than the views or the warmth of the African sun, the ache in my heart came as I found myself saying goodbye to the people here on my last day. And I could not have predicted how hard it would be. My beautiful Ethiopian human rights lawyer; my loving Nigerian paediatricians; my kind Ghanaian scientist-supervisor; my team of fun British ex-pat friends; my fellow kiwi and kindred spirit... at the end of the day these wonderful, amazing people have been my Gambian family these ten weeks past.
And I am heart-broken.
On Friday, my last night, I had planned for a chilled out dinner with some friends followed by packing and an early evening in as I was leaving for Dakar at six the next morning. We met to watch the sunset from Ngala Lodge followed by beautiful food -- two of my favourite things. Dinner was lovely but as the evening progressed I found myself increasingly... sad. While we were eating my friend, a Gambian nurse from MRC who works with the group of Nigerian doctors on the vaccination trial, found me at Ngala. Apparently the group of them had been trying to track me down all evening -- at the lab, at my flat on the compound -- in order to give me a gift! I was speechless. So touched. A lovely, devout Muslim man, I asked him if it was culturally appropriate and okay for us to hug and he replied, 'It is culturally appropriate and okay to me.' When he left I was overwhelmed, struggling to not get teary-eyed. There is such Love in the world -- how am I so surrounded by these incredible people? Wherever I go I seem to meet the most amazing, beautiful people. How am I so blessed, continually meeting and able to share my life with people who touch my heart with such kindness??
I had planned on an early night in but as dinner was wrapping up and I sat talking to my beautiful kiwi friend I realised I wasn't ready to say goodbye quite yet. So we decided to have one last night out in Senegambia -- to go out with a bang. Most of the others were heading out anyways, so my kiwi friend came back with me to keep me company while I packed and then we met up with everyone at our usual haunts in town. Pool, dancing, 'Waving Flag,' more dancing, chicken chawarma in Senegambia junction, then closing out the night with six of us heading back for one last swim at our Ngala beach under the early-morning/night sky. It was the most surreal but perfect farewell as I climbed the steps up the cliff and waved goodbye one last time to the others still swimming in the ocean under the stars.
I had half an hour to shower and finish up packing before I had to meet my tuk-tuk driver, Assan, at MRC main gate at 6.10am. He would be taking my lovely friend Albert and I to the Ferry terminal in Banjul -- the first leg of our epic journey to Dakar by road. Early Saturday morning, Albert and I took in the sunrise from the comfort, quiet and luxury of a tuk-tuk, wind in our hair et al. Then, when we arrived at the Ferry Terminal, it was Chaos.
And thus, the adventure began.
We had been told by another friend of ours from MRC who had done the trip to Dakar by road before, that we should try to be on the first ferry of the day at 7am. The ferry ride to Barre (the town on the other side of the river), he told us, would be about 40minutes. Then we would have to catch a taxi to the border, cross into Senegal, take some sort of motorcycle to the 'parking garage' where the buses/minivans/7seaters all were, then get into one of the 7seaters which would take us all the way to Dakar, virtually non-stop -- a five to seven hour drive depending on traffic.
The ferry terminal at Banjul was buzzing with people, cars, bumpsters and as soon as we arrived we were inundated with bumpsters trying to grab our bags with offers to help with anything and everything. Thankfully, Assan -- whom I have gotten to know very well these past few weeks and whom I trusted implicitly -- remained very protective of us and helped us fend off bumpters. It was quite the vision, waiting to get on the ferry: people, cars, workers everywhere with what appeared to be -- to our 'Western eyes' -- no trace of organisation or order. This was the beginning of a day of feeling overwhelmed and slightly scared on my part, BUT Albert seemed to have the most calming effect on me, with his looming height, experience in travel, jolly Dutch-English speak, and quietly happy whistling. He truly could not have been a better travel companion and compliment to a woman who's Happy Place is the order, quiet and control of the Operating Theatre.
The ferry ride was much longer than we had anticipated, with people and cars packed on like a can of sardines. Having to stand for the following hour was pretty tough when you've literally had no sleep but I managed to strategically lean on my suitcase and doze on and off for a bit. (After my crazy trip coming over to The Gambia with 30+hrs of not being able to lie flat, I have become an expert at strategically leaning on my suitcases!)
Getting off the ferry, again, no order at all, every man for himself, a lot of pushing and shoving. And, Albert and I obviously sticking out of the crowd as 'European,' were instantly surrounded by bumpsters yet again, grabbing our bags and arms, fighting over us, trying to lead us to their respective taxis. Again, an experience I would not have wanted to handle had I been on my own, but Albert, in his calm confidence, led the way and I gladly followed. By the time we got into a taxi we had less than fifteen minutes to get to the border. Why? Because it was Set Settal, the one Saturday morning each month in The Gambia which is dedicated to what is described as 'cleaning your environment.' No cars are allowed on the road from 9am - 1pm, the police/army come out to clean the public roads, and everyone is expected to stay in and clean. We got into Omar(our adolescent looking driver who most likely had TB, the way he was coughing)'s taxi on the condition that he would make it to the border before Set Settal... and despite his speedometer not working it was obvious he was driving incredibly fast, probably at least 140km/hr. We made it though, just in the nick of time, a few minutes past nine.
The border was not what I had imagined. I had pictured it to be like the U.S./Canadian border, the only border I have traversed by car and not by air. How wrong I had it! There was no physical border or fence or gate. As we were trying to figure out what we were supposed to do (all the while fending off more bumpsters/children trying to sell us SIM cards/cashews/towels/etc) a policeman standing in front of an old building flying a Gambian flag shouted at us, indicating for us to come in. We got led into the backroom of this old building where we were asked to show our passports and a man in uniform behind a big old wooden desk wrote down our details into a big old leather-bound ledger. He asked us of our intentions, stamped our passports, and that was that. Outside, after walking another ten, twenty metres, same thing except this time the building was flying a Senegalese flag and the men spoke French. Apparently at some point during this process we had passed from The Gambia into Senegal despite there being no physical demarcation.
Successfully through the 'border', Albert and I decided to take a donkey cart over to the 'parking garage' where more definitive transport to Dakar was waiting. Our donkey cart (?)driver, missing most his teeth (as is not uncommon with locals), was lovely and I whipped out some of my Wolof during the ride. Albert and I really enjoyed the ambling donkey cart ride, the fresh air and slow pace a nice respite from the chaos of the morning. Plus, we had made it. We made it through the border with none of the 'drama' I had catastrophized in my mind, from scary police checks, bribes, and potential getting-locked-up for whatever reason.
At the 'parking garage' we switched mode of transport to a seven-seater car and by 9.50am were on our way to Dakar. The landscape was flat and largely unvaried, occasionally driving through a township of huts and 'shops' along the road. There was a stretch of road for about an hour that was littered with potholes so some very creative driving was required by our driver -- like bull-riding at a rodeo! Good thing neither Albert or I are prone to car-sickness, otherwise it would have been a very, very difficult hour!
It was a long ride -- at about five different times during the drive we thought we had reached Dakar but were met with disappointment (our French-speaking driver and fellow-passengers sitting in silence for almost the entire journey!). The conversation with Albert was a good distraction though, not to mention sporadic ten minute spells of what felt like the deepest REM sleep on my part!
Metropolitan Africa is... a true sight. Almost impossible to capture with words or photos. As we entered Dakar proper from afar, it felt like we were entering a mirage; like we had been transported back a hundred years, yet at the same time, with a distinct feeling of the 'modern' oh so very out of place. It is the strangest thing, very difficult to grasp unless you experience it for yourself...
...to be continued!
Next time on Sleep And The Middle Ground: mugging, music and a magical island
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