Our friend John likes to call people who travel on Holland America tours “Sticker people.” That’s because before we get on the bus, we have a dayglo sticker with a number slapped onto our jackets or shirts. That way each tour guide can identify their flock. At most ports we just go out and wander. Some ports we arrange our own tours in advance. But in Dakar we became sticker people. We’ve been here before and set out on our own but this time, I guess, we were lazy. It turned out to be a good choice. Four and a half hours on a bus, we get to see stuff we may not have known about, hear a local spin, and there is a guarantee that if we are on a HAL tour we will not miss the boat.

Our shepherd was not such a good shepherd. The bus was full, and since I am slow, we were among the last ones on. Suzi and I had to sit separately. My seatmate was delightful. Knowing that I really could not see out the window, the bus was not only packed but small so that I had to have my legs sticking into the aisle causing me to face inward. My legs not fit the pitch between the seats. She kindly gave me a running commentary on what was happening. She was a delightful seatmate, and we cruised a lot of the city before our first stop.

At our first stop, a Catholic Cathedral, which will be the topic of another post, we all got off. The driver neglected to tell us how much time we had but we all, well mostly all, drifted back to the bus. My seatmate had not returned when the bus started to move. I shouted “STOP, Betsy (I have changed her name to avoid embarrassment) isn’t here.” The driver stopped and the guide counted, which he had neglected to do earlier. I described “Betsy” to the guide and we went looking for her. She left her bag on the seat. I looked through it for an id. It held only a scarf. Suzi and I thought we had been the last ones out of the Cathedral. We looked around and thought, huh, where is everyone? So, we skedaddled back to the bus.

After another, almost 20 minutes, we could not find “Betsy”, so the guide and driver decided to go to the next stop, a craft market. We got there just as the first bus was leaving (we had two busloads on this tour.) The driver was sure “Betsy” must have gotten on the other bus by mistake. She had not. Then the driver really became distressed. “It is my job not to lose a tourist. I have never lost a tourist.”

I am not a shopper so while others were at the market, I looked at some fishermen who had their colorful boats pulled up along the shore.

“Betsy’s” absence put kind of a pall over my day, I was concerned. On the other hand, I could finally fit into the seat so the tour was more comfortable than it would otherwise have been.

Our second stop was the Monument to the African Renaissance, a hideous, 52 meter (171 foot) bronze statue of an African family looking out toward the Atlantic. It was designed by Senegalese architect Pierre Goudiaby based on an idea suggested by the President. Politicians have such impeccable art sensitivity. It was built by a North Korean monument company and looks like every monumental Socialist Realist monument that we;ve seen in former Soviet capitals – only bigger – much bigger.

The statue was controversial at the time it was dedicated, in 2010, and the riot police needed to be called out to quell the protests. The objections were the cost, $27,000,000 that this poor country could have used for other things; artistic, it is hideous; religious, imams said the depiction of the human form in the way it was shown was idolatrous; and corruption. The President claimed copyright on the thing and demanded 35% of all sales of stuff related the statue.

But here it is. Two hundred steps up a hill to the base, and then you can take an elevator to the top. School kids clamored out of minibuses, the number of kids coming out of one bus reminded me of a clown car. Smaller kids used the smooth marble along the steps as a slide, and vendors sold stuff to all of us who made the pilgrimage. I bought nothing. No Senegalese politician is going to get a cut of my money. But I certainly wanted to see the monument.

Other stops will be handled in other posts. But here are some pics of our ride through Dakar.

And what about “Betsy”? I took her bag to Guest Services. Since I didn’t know her last name all I could tell them is that it belonged to “Betsy”. The next day I found out that she made it back to the ship. She lost track of time, wandered off to take some pics of the cathedral, I guess from a distance, and some people at the Cathedral arranged for her to get car back to the ship, safe and accounted for.