Île de Gorée

 I chose the 10 a.m. boat so that I could get a good sleep and a leisurely morning before heading to the ferry terminal for an hour before departure to manage the passport check, lineup to pay the ferry tax and lineup to purchase the ticket. I should have taken exact change for the ticket - they weren't able to make correct change for my 10,000 CFA note unless I added smaller bills, so they told me to wait to one side until they had the right cash on hand. The next in line, a kind local woman, passed me a 1,000 note after they got their change and then pooled small bills with their friends to buy my change and make up the difference. I could have been standing there a while if she hadn't helped out.

On to the crowded pre-boarding waiting room where I was next to a tour group - probably from France. These folks were friendly and game to join a local who was selling maracas in a musical number, two of the men up and jiving, singing along, while their friends filmed the "show". I considered buying a set for my son - he'd seen them on his visit - but still had only problematic big bills that were tucked safely in the very bottom of my daypack.

At last it was time to load, with standing room only along the edges of the boat. Fine with me - I love a good view and the wind and salt spray in my face!

 

Waiting for the journey to begin, we got a chance to watch the busy port at work, observing ships from all over the world and cranes shifting large transport containers.

 

At last we set sail, and I was glad of the sturdy tie on my hat. Less hardy folks were adding sweaters and scarves as the wind whipped over us. Twenty minutes later, we approached the island, curling around the fortress and into the brightly coloured harbour.

I made what I thought was a good decision to head to the fort while the boat load of people likely went straight to the Maison des éclaves. (I had not checked the hours for the main attraction - which, it turns out, closes for a couple hours around lunch time to offer private tours.) 

The island isn't that big, so I wasn't worried about striking out down any road to discover where it ended up and enjoy the range of colours and unexpected delights - like chickens!

 

Approaching the fort you come to the monument to emancipation, and entering the colourful building you find a simple museum to which a brief overview was provided by a recorded English tour. I learned a bit about shell mounds, the ancient kingdoms of west Africa, European colonization of this region, the transatlantic slave trade and African resistance.

I then set out to wander and see where the paths and the wind took me, and discovered signs of both decline and the islanders living their lives, interspersed with artisans practicing their craft and shopkeepers desperate for a sale.

 

 

I finally made my way to the Maison des éclaves - and discovered my error. I had two hours to fill, so I took my picnic lunch and sat under a tree in the commons and watched locals and tourists intermingle.

With more time to fill, I wandered down a road I hadn't yet explored and came across the atelier of a sculptor that featured some outdoor pieces of metalwork and a few picturesque nooks and crannies.

 

 

At last, after another lineup, I was ready to purchase my ticket to the Maison des éclaves - another place that wasn't able to make change. Again, someone pressed money into my hand to cover the the small amount that was needed which left me feeling guilty, and they left so quickly after paying for themselves that I couldn't find them again.

The museum was excellent, with informative panels in both French and English exploring both the historical horrors and its links to anti-Black racism and the more modern variations on slavery - sex trafficking, oppressed domestic servants and more. Viewing the spaces where slaves fattened up like geese to reach the required "ideal" weight of 60 kg, the area under the stairs used for punishment, and the "door to the voyage of no return" was quite moving. 

Looking for the exit, I turned into a small nook and stumbled across a plaque installed by the government of Canada. It commemorated Richard Pierpoint, a man enslaved in Senegal who adopted the name of the British officer who purchased him. Twenty years later, he earned his freedom fighting for the British during the American Revolution and settled in Upper Canada. The "coloured corps" during the War of 1812 was created on his suggestion - a corps that was never part of my history lessons in school. Richard was known as a great storyteller, maintaining his own cultural traditions. He wanted to return to Africa but was unsuccessful. He is now recognized by the Canadian government as a person of "national historic significance", one of the first leaders and advocates of the Black Canadian community.

My delay getting into the museum meant a delay in catching the ferry back to the city, so I did a little more wandering in the artisan zone and purchased a painting from one of the artists I'd connected with earlier.

With an hour still to wait, I wandered back to the harbour and noted a large number of school children gathering to catch the same boat. When people began to queue, I joined them between the barricades and enjoyed a halting conversation with a teacher and tried to engage his students. I managed to get some shy smiles and waves. A man suddenly shouted and gestured at me to move forward - past all the children - to the front of the line. This felt rude to me, but everyone seemed to expect that I should get preferential treatment and let me through. 

After another long wait, people began to move forward through the turnstiles and the crowd behind and around me surged forward, pressing us in like sardines in a tin. Children trying to move forward were told to stay back behind the adults. Finally, I reached the turnstile and joined the crowd standing on the pier - again grouped behind a barricade to leave space for those disembarking. Checking my phone, I realized we still had a long wait so I stepped back from the crowd and leaned on the barricade to enjoy the breeze on my face and enjoyed another chat with some other passengers who wondered where I was from and how I found the weather - they laughed when I said I found it quite  warm, arguing that it was very cold out at 25 celsius.

A cheer went up as the ferry appeared, and we all piled on with the help of the crew - with any children again forced to wait. This time I was able to get a seat, surrounded by locals - and the late boarding children - but after a while I decided to go back outside and enjoy the fresh sea air before getting back to the diesel fumes and dust of the city.

 

It was a long day, but well worth it, and I took the opportunity today to rest. Tomorrow we head out for a long weekend adventure to St. Louis, the Langue de Barbarie, the Djoudj bird sanctuary and Lac Rose.