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Images from Dakar, Senegal, November 2005
Dakar, and the Isle de Goree, were virtually the center of the African slave trade. Goree Island is situated just offshore from Dakar harbor, and was the holding and departure point for a very large percentage of the Africans that were sent to the Caribbean and American ports as slaves. We spent all of our visit there on Goree Island, touring the slave processing and storage center, wandering through the streets of the old French colonial village, talking with a few shop owners and artists. You will see some of this in the images that follow.
The island today is a tourist center, you pay a tax to take a tour, you probably hire a guide who may or may not do much good. The people are friendly, but the slave quarters carry such a huge burden of guilt and disgust that it is impossible to say any of it was enjoyable. They make an attempt to educate us about the enormity and cruelty of that trade. This is the place where the story of "Roots" began.
However, I did enjoy a few things. First were the people that I met. In particular, the African women on the ferry to the island from Dakar. Dressed rather well in traditional style, and quite adamant about not being photographed. We negotiated and they allowed the few photos you see here. Look closely at the woman in the blue/purple. She is imaculately dressed, her hair tightly braided, her head piece very demure. On her face on either side of her eyes are two marks that denote her familial or tribal associations. I found her striking and beautiful. The image of the captain of the ferry leaning on the railing while the European and American tourists hurried to their shopping reminded me of a similar very famous image of the European emigration to America. And the man in the orange clothing and white head piece, with all the people on the boat looking the other way, sort of described the whole experience.
The folk art in the street markets was very expressive and well done. The sand painting interested me and the main feature that the artist tried to impress me with was the durability of it, which he demonstrated by showing that he could not scratch the surface of it with a piece of wood. We brought home a piece of his art.
The old colonial homes were very European, well styled and pleasing. On the waterfront were several very colorful hostelries and restaurants. One could easily imagine a graceful life in this community, except that we had already been to the slave house. The final image of the fan tail deck of the ship we were on, looking across at the town of Dakar, serves to remind me that we are truly foreigners in these countries. Our way of life is so foreign to them, and theirs to us, that we virtually cannot understand each other.
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2005 © C A Brackett