This title comes from a song we sang in church a lot growing up and I found it an intriguing way to start a post-holiday reflection.
I remember arriving in Banjul, eyes half-open, a smirk on my face and as we walked dreamily through the airport, our entrance into Africa wasn´t so different than any other country I have traveled to. When we walked out, the completely normal row of drivers holding papers, as to be expected at 3:30 am, but where was Buba? Nowhere to be found and hence the adventures with public transport began. Our first taxi, a small green 1970s version of the Ford focus, rattled up, and so we hopped in. As we travelled down the smooth Gambian roads, with a cool breath of air blowing through the window and a cute, cozy Spaniard snuggling into me, I felt Africa welcoming me with open arms.
I remember diving into the Atlantic off Gambia for the first time, feeling baptized by the water, a little bit colder than my liking but nevertheless, it was as if I had been cleansed of my sins and resurrected from the hard work of the last few months. I splashed around, and rode the waves, my mind secretly swimming back to childhood moments of getting lost in the water for hours upon end.
I remember arriving in Ziguinchor, which seemed like a scene from the movie District 9. It was like a junk yard/ trash deposit that had come alive with old cars dominating the scene. Men of all colors haggling, stores constructed of car hoods, rope, and plastic bottles selling anything you could imagine and a lingering odor of urine and farm animals.
I remember being thirsty and confused when Andrés directed me to a house in Kartong and said, "This is the bar."
And, we rocked up and a small Guinean man came out and said "What do you need?"
"We can get a cold beer here?" We asked.
"Sure, come in."
And sitting in the cozy living room of this man´s house/ bar, I couldn´t help but laugh about how important it is our definitions are always changing while traveling.
I remember getting told that "Bisous son interdit," otherwise known as "Kissing is forbidden" in the street while getting in some make out magic on the streets of Cap Skerring.
I celebrate the voices, dancing, costs, access to entertainment, energy of the Abene music festival. While watching African women shake their booties and move their legs dancing like crickets would, I watched, hand in hand with a small African child who had grabbed my hand and insisted we were dance partners, shaking our hips with broad smiles and wide eyes.
I celebrate the fireworks and chaos of Place de Independence in Dakar on New Year´s eve. Firecrackers flew in every direction. By some people´s definition, a war zone, energy flew around and lit up people´s faces and hearts.
I celebrate the island of Goree and the ability to walk around freely exploring like it was your grandfather´s old farm house. Every corner lied photo opportunities people dream of and the tranquility of the island left room for your imagination to create independent accounts of people´s experiences and adventures in this island.
I celebrate a good boogie in Cap Skerring and holding my own in the African discotheque. I was never a hip hop star. But somehow, on that magical evening, I was surrounded by a crew of Senegalese men, busting a move to Sean Paul and somehow, for a moment channeled Rihanna. We all have moments when we fool ourselves into thinking we are cool.
I celebrate the Saigonesse in Saint Louis. In general, Vietnamese food makes my world go around; nevertheless, I will be dreaming of the pho we had at the Saigonesse for awhile until something else nurtures my culinary spirit like that again. Here´s hoping.
I believe that I had the best tiger prawns yet along the Cap Skerring coast, at a fly-infested hut along the beach. Always reiterating beggars can´t be choosers and expect the unexpected.
I believe that sharing experiences makes color disappear in front of your face. As we sat in the crowded bus, and more people climbed, kids on every lap possible, a bench and people basically sitting on our laps in the back and finally 5 people holding onto the luggage rack and ladder along the back of the bus as we cruised down the road towards Saint Louis. You can´t help but share nods, expressions that say "I know, this sucks" or "Respect that we can do this."
I believe in the healing power of hot water and really, how it can make everything better, when you are traveling out of your comfort zone.
I believe from the happiness of the people in Senegal with so little that we all must take a step back and look a little bit closer at appreciating what we have.
I believe that trips like this help us to reflect, laugh, grow, develop patience and to appreciate and value our existence, our partners, our families, our lives.
I encourage you to remember, celebrate and believe.
I remember arriving in Banjul, eyes half-open, a smirk on my face and as we walked dreamily through the airport, our entrance into Africa wasn´t so different than any other country I have traveled to. When we walked out, the completely normal row of drivers holding papers, as to be expected at 3:30 am, but where was Buba? Nowhere to be found and hence the adventures with public transport began. Our first taxi, a small green 1970s version of the Ford focus, rattled up, and so we hopped in. As we travelled down the smooth Gambian roads, with a cool breath of air blowing through the window and a cute, cozy Spaniard snuggling into me, I felt Africa welcoming me with open arms.
I remember diving into the Atlantic off Gambia for the first time, feeling baptized by the water, a little bit colder than my liking but nevertheless, it was as if I had been cleansed of my sins and resurrected from the hard work of the last few months. I splashed around, and rode the waves, my mind secretly swimming back to childhood moments of getting lost in the water for hours upon end.
I remember arriving in Ziguinchor, which seemed like a scene from the movie District 9. It was like a junk yard/ trash deposit that had come alive with old cars dominating the scene. Men of all colors haggling, stores constructed of car hoods, rope, and plastic bottles selling anything you could imagine and a lingering odor of urine and farm animals.
I remember being thirsty and confused when Andrés directed me to a house in Kartong and said, "This is the bar."
And, we rocked up and a small Guinean man came out and said "What do you need?"
"We can get a cold beer here?" We asked.
"Sure, come in."
And sitting in the cozy living room of this man´s house/ bar, I couldn´t help but laugh about how important it is our definitions are always changing while traveling.
I remember getting told that "Bisous son interdit," otherwise known as "Kissing is forbidden" in the street while getting in some make out magic on the streets of Cap Skerring.
I celebrate the voices, dancing, costs, access to entertainment, energy of the Abene music festival. While watching African women shake their booties and move their legs dancing like crickets would, I watched, hand in hand with a small African child who had grabbed my hand and insisted we were dance partners, shaking our hips with broad smiles and wide eyes.
I celebrate the fireworks and chaos of Place de Independence in Dakar on New Year´s eve. Firecrackers flew in every direction. By some people´s definition, a war zone, energy flew around and lit up people´s faces and hearts.
I celebrate the island of Goree and the ability to walk around freely exploring like it was your grandfather´s old farm house. Every corner lied photo opportunities people dream of and the tranquility of the island left room for your imagination to create independent accounts of people´s experiences and adventures in this island.
I celebrate a good boogie in Cap Skerring and holding my own in the African discotheque. I was never a hip hop star. But somehow, on that magical evening, I was surrounded by a crew of Senegalese men, busting a move to Sean Paul and somehow, for a moment channeled Rihanna. We all have moments when we fool ourselves into thinking we are cool.
I celebrate the Saigonesse in Saint Louis. In general, Vietnamese food makes my world go around; nevertheless, I will be dreaming of the pho we had at the Saigonesse for awhile until something else nurtures my culinary spirit like that again. Here´s hoping.
I believe that I had the best tiger prawns yet along the Cap Skerring coast, at a fly-infested hut along the beach. Always reiterating beggars can´t be choosers and expect the unexpected.
I believe that sharing experiences makes color disappear in front of your face. As we sat in the crowded bus, and more people climbed, kids on every lap possible, a bench and people basically sitting on our laps in the back and finally 5 people holding onto the luggage rack and ladder along the back of the bus as we cruised down the road towards Saint Louis. You can´t help but share nods, expressions that say "I know, this sucks" or "Respect that we can do this."
I believe in the healing power of hot water and really, how it can make everything better, when you are traveling out of your comfort zone.
I believe from the happiness of the people in Senegal with so little that we all must take a step back and look a little bit closer at appreciating what we have.
I believe that trips like this help us to reflect, laugh, grow, develop patience and to appreciate and value our existence, our partners, our families, our lives.
I encourage you to remember, celebrate and believe.
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