Whole lotta goat. (Senegal)
I woke up fresh and well, unaware that tonight i would be stranded in the Sahara, see a man eat raw brains and witness a goats balls be pierced with a twig.
After having a bad time in Bamako i was disheartened and just wanted to get out of there. Due to my previous problems with trying to get a visa for Mauritania i decided on something drastic. I would get to the airport, get some money wired and fly to Morocco.
Things didnt look got as the flights would cost in and around 900 euro. The only other thing i could think of was getting the express train to Dakar, which would take me on a wide detour of my origanal route.
After sitting around for hours watching wrestling at the airport, i haled a cab. A young man who said he would take me to the train station. As is the case with most taxis in this part of the world he pretended to not know where the staion was. And, also a trait of the West African City taxi driver, a friend hops into the cab to offer assistance. After many minutes of sitting looking at maps and a phone call, we took off through Bamako again.. I wanted out.. Arrived at the station in the dead of night just to be told the train has left and wont be back for 3 days. To add to this my young cabbie decides to charge me triple the price we agreed on due to the map looking and phone call.Usually i would politley refuse or come to some kind of agreement.........Not this time. I let loose on this guy even though he didnt understand a word i said. Luckily a man who worked in a hotel nearby heard the ruckus and tried to help me. Me and the bastard settled on the origional price and parted ways. I thanked the hotel man and told him of my dilema. He offered to help me book a seat on a bus to Dakar that left early the next day. We did and as a thank you i stayed in his hotel.
Next morning i make my way to the bus depot in high spirits.. today i would leave bamako!! A huge crowd had gathered around the Kingui ( pronounced Kinky) bus i was to board. As the process of tying bags of maze and all the luggage took place the names were called of all the passengers.. ''GLEN ROONEY'' the driver called as everyone turned to look at the pale man.
I sensed fault with our kinky bus as she struggled to get up the 8 inch exit ramp of the depot, 3 hours late. Eventually we made it out and slowly made our way through Bamako rush hour traffic and into the country side.
It was 30 something degrees outside and but it felt like double inside the bus as no windows wre allowed to be open except for buying food off street venders. Vast parched landscape surrounded us with mud huts dotted here and there. But , any suggestion of a hill on the road slowed us down to a snails pace. Donkeys , with carts, were outwallking us.
As the sun began to set we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere. Red dust as far as you could see in any direction, when all of a sudden the kinky bus comes to an abrupt stop. Since everyone else mostly spoke French, i was a little confused about what was happening. We all got of the bus and stood around in the evening sun. Muslims began praying and the only sound to be heard was the drivers attempts at repair.
One man who did speak english told me that its not uncommon to be stuck for two or three days.......... you simply have to wait for help to pass by.
Making the best of the sittuation a group of people started to play music on a guitar and improv drums out of over turned mixing bowls. Resting up against a tree, listening to them play and with the evening sun covering me like a blanket, i would have been quite happy to be stuck there for three days.
Night fell and people started to worry about food as all that was around were some crackers and rotting fruit.
By the grace of Jovi a nomad happened to be walking by with some of his goats. Somebody got to thinking that if we all pitched in we could buy one of these and ward off our hunger. 3 men from our group went around all the goats feeling for meat and lifting them while others went looking for fire wood, all the while i was just sitting on the road taking it all in.
Eventually they decided on one unlucky goat fellow. They gave him to me to hold be the horns while they sharpened their machetes. (everyone had one) By this time we had a raging fire going on the side of the road. Holding the goat, i couldnt help but feel bad for the poor fellow, he never put up a fight but had a look about him like he knew what was coming. The men took the goat from me and wrestled it to the ground. They crossed it's legs together so as he wouldn't kick about, put the machete to its throat and sliced deep. Goaty went into a fit as the blood spilled out onto the road. Soon enough it was all over and the began to skin him with surgical percision. His head got twisted off and tossed onto the fire, then his inards were taken out.
Nothing was going to waste, the skin was left to dry over the fire as the first piece of meat was handed out.
It was handed to me as i was seen as a guest. A piece the size of my palm was given to me, it was supprisingly cold and chewy and not too nice on the old taste buds. But i put on a smile and thanked them. It turned out to be a bit of lung.
We then went on to the choice cuts, covered in salt and pepper, which was the tastiest meat i have ever had the pleasure of eating. Feeling satisfied i lay on the road quite content again, looking at the head on the fire and the skewered testicles being licked by the flames... One hungry fellow saw his chance and took the head out of the fire. Using his machete he sliced the head vertically right the way through and began scooping out the brains with his hands and eating them, pink bits and all.
After many more hours a packed old bus came passing by, goats tied to the roof and doors falling offand seats if your lucky. This was our only oppertunity to leave, so we all (about 30 of us) clambered aboard the already packed bus for a further 28 hours travelling to Dakar.
Like a captain of a sinking ship the driver stayed behind with his kinky bus.........










