Koumba and the Ark

Rainy season got off to a slow start, arousing concern among farmers throughout the region, but if last week is of any indication those fears have been put to rest. Sunday night brought one of the most violent storms I’ve ever experienced in a thatched roof dwelling – filling my ceiling tarps with gallons of water and rising the faro water levels well beyond their usual limits. Luckily Tigi is an eager snuggler and was more than happy to comfort me as deafening thunder claps shook my hut’s questionable foundation. This story isn’t really about the storm though, epic as it was. This story is about the next day...

I had planned to leave Sare Sara bright and early Monday morning to begin the trek to Fass Kahone, my friend Sharon’s site in the middle of the bush. The ride to Fass Kahone entails 15km on the main road (paved) and another 20km on a bush path (unpaved, unmarked, uninhabited). Sunday afternoon we confirmed our plan - rain or shine Sharon was to meet me on the main road and lead the way down the bush path. Due to the intensity of the rain – torrential for about 6 hours – that changed slightly Monday morning. Plan 2.0 was for me to take a car 35km to Dabo, then bike a laterite road (gravel but nice) about 20km to our friend Kelly’s village in order to visit her newly opened health post (something we were planning to do later in the week), then head to Fass Kahone in the afternoon. Game time thinking, no problem.

I caught a car out of Sare Sara by 8, and was on the turn off to Kelly’s village – Chewa Lau – around 10. You can’t go there today, some old women advised me, the road is washed out. Hm. Harnessing the very limited cell reception in the area and the last juices of my cell phone battery I reached Sharon, who was supposed to be meeting me at about that time (a back road from Fass Kahone meets up with the laterite road about 20 km after Chewa Lau, which is 20 km from Dabo). My family won’t me leave the village, she said, let’s try to meet up tomorrow. Oh, ok. I then biked down to see this washed out road for myself, and sure enough a lake had sprung up and people were streaming away from it like refugees as children splashed about. While I imagine I could have made it through the water, fighting the flood of people was more than I was willing to attempt so I headed back to the road, somewhat at a loss as to what I should do 20km away from the highway with no reachable friends in the near vicinity.

Another phone call to Sharon. I’m just going to come and I’ll swim if I have to, I told her, just tell your village you can’t get a hold of me. So off I went down the laterite road, unsure if it was even possible to reach my final destination, in which case I would be 40km out in the bush and easily two hours from any automobile. 40 minutes later I reached the turn off to the bush path and headed into the woods. About 100 yards in I met 2 young men with 6 of the mangiest dogs seen in Senegal and large machetes in hand. You can’t go that way, they protested. Well I’m not going to stay here with you, I said while riding by (a friend’s recent unpleasant encounter with machete wielding men fueling my resolve to continue - don't worry, no physical harm done).

A minute later I saw what had stopped their progress. The entire bush path and all of the forest visible on either side was fully submerged for about 100 yards. Super. Sharon’s sisters had claimed that the water was up her neck, but ignoring that information I marched straight into. There weren't any crocodiles (I didn’t consider snakes until later) and the water wasn't moving, so how hard could it be? After a few steps I heard Sharon calling my name from downstream and charged on. This plan went well for the first 50 feet or so, the water only coming up to my ankles. Then it started to get deeper. And deeper. And deeper. Halfway through the flood zone and I was holding my backpack on my head with one hand and dragging my half-floating bike through the water with the other as chilly flood waters came up to my waist. Sharon had a prime spot to watch this scene unfold and was practically in tears as I reached dry land, just in time for it to start raining again.

Another few minutes of bush path and I reached Fass Kahone a little wet but no worse for wear. The entire village (150 people) now know me as the fearless - and somewhat crazy - toubob who braved the flood waters (which they claimed was impossible). Thankfully the only casualty of the day was my water bottle that floated out of its holder while under water.

Sharon and I have already requested Peace Corps issue inflatable kayaks for next rainy season and are planning a boat tour of the Kolda faro system – potentially attempting to paddle from Sare Sara all the way into Kolda if we have another epic rainy season next year. I can only imagine the looks my villagers would give me if I blew up a pool float and took to the water for an afternoon float, but aside from the inevitable schistosomiasis infection it’s quite tempting. Just an idea for the next care package...