We were 6 people heading to the hotel so we split up into 2 cabs, with our cab following and the other one leading since the cabbies in Dakar have no idea where most things are unless you give them an exact address. When we were nearing the hotel, the other cab turned right to the side streets and our cabbie headed straight on towards the Place de l’Independence (a huge square in the middle of Point E considered to be central Dakar, and where our hotel was located). I was sorting out change with Kat, a German girl and all of a sudden we were flagged down by the police.
The cabbie pulled over, and the police officer stuck his head in the window while flashing his flashlight right in our faces. “Donne moi votre piece d’identification!” he said. I pulled out my wallet knowing full well that I had no id on me and said (in French), “I’m sorry but I haven’t got any”. Kat sat stone quiet as she doesn’t speak french, and Tenita woke up in the front seat and started telling the cabbie where to go. The police officer continued to yammer on about how it was past 12:30 and we need id otherwise it’s a 6000CFA ($12) fine, a point which he kept repeating.
I kept my cool and kept politely telling him that we didn’t have id and unfortunately I wasn’t going to give him any money. I said he was welcome to take us to the station to get things sorted out if need be. That was when he got into the back seat with us and told the cabbie to keep driving. “So what’s going on then?” he says. “I don’t know, you tell me” I say. In my mind, this was all very suspect and since his main concern was that we need to pay the fine it further confirmed in my mind that we were being taken.
Eventually he asked where we were from which gave me an opportunity to tell him we are from St Louis, arrived yesterday, we were leaving tomorrow, we’re volunteers here to work with the children of Senegal, we had no idea we needed id on us, and if he wanted to talk to the director of our program he was welcome to. As I was saying this I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing Moctar’s number. It was 12:30 and I was really hoping Moctar was still up and would answer his phone. Two rings in the Officer gave up. Suddenly everything was fine so he lectured us a little more and just sat there looking at us. “Out!” I said to the girls, “Pay the fare and get out! I am completely done with this cab ride!” We were off the hook and still not at the hotel.
Finally we made it back to the hotel at about 1am only after we went into a restaurant to ask directions, and a nice couple having a late dinner called our hotel, and paid for our cab ride there after telling the cabbie explicitly where we were staying.
The next morning we were off to a late start. Sally another Brit had taken a late cab ride home at about 3:30 or so with 2 other people. “So I hear you got pulled over by the police last night?” Sally asked first thing. I told her all about it and let her know how annoyed I was about almost getting ripped off by the police. Sally’s cab had the same experience, and they managed to get a hold of Moctar while they were talking to the officer because their negotiating was going nowhere. Moctar let them know that it is in fact necessary to have id on us late at night and that they were in fact breaking the law at that point in time. Moctar talked to their officer, and negotiated a 10 000CFA for 3, steal-of-a-deal ‘fine’ versus each person paying 6000.
So I guess this weekend I broke the law, and was quite lucky to get out of it when I got caught!
Otherwise the rest of the trip was uneventful. I was grateful I didn’t go to Dakar on my own as I probably wouldn’t have gone out to see stuff, especially after dark. We walked around a bit but most things were closed as it was Sunday. The street vendors weren’t as polite as in St Louis and one even called us racist because we didn’t want to go into his shop.
So, back to the bus for a 2:00 (4:00 Sen time) departure. This time I snagged the front seat beside the driver. I had the window open and my feet on the dashboard the whole way home. Along the way I saw the slummy outskirts of Dakar, a huge yard full of hundreds of Sheep ready for Tabaski, donkeys pulling carts loaded with grain bags and firewood, Brahman cattle with huge horns being herded around, farmers piling their grasses into African style stooks, women in bright coloured dresses with flashy sequined scarves on their heads, and endless vistas of Baobab trees.
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