Casamance’s tropical beauty belies its troubled history and is the reason that visitors are beginning to return. Everyone has likened Casamance to paradise and when we arrived we could see why. Traveling from Dioloulou to Kafountine in a gutted caravan with plastic flowers hanging from the ceiling we saw the greenery roll out before us. Palm, mango and cashew trees interwoven with lush vegetation form a dense bush that stretches as far as the eye can see, concealing rivers and creeks within.
Anything that grows near the road is turned from a vivid green to a rusty brown as dust settles in thick layers until it is washed away in the rainy season. The un-tarmacked dirt packed main road connects the towns to travel and trade but most of life goes on in villages widely sprawled on either side. Sandy paths wind through the bush linking rural communities together. Palm trees not tower blocks are the local landmarks.
We got a chance to know Kafountine as we wandered the idyllic streets in search of CFA (the currency here). Two weeks earlier bandits had robbed the only bank in town, leaving it shut until further notice and peppered with bullet holes. These ‘rebels’ are the armed legacy of the separatist conflict which has marred the region for decades. Once part of a political movement for Casamance’s independence the rebels are now considered lawless criminals. Although independence is still a topical issue the overwhelming majority of people condemn the violence and do not see it as a way forward.
With the banks shut we had to find an alternative way of accessing cash and ended up being ferried from brother to uncle to friend in search of someone who would change our Gambian Dalasi. After several visits to different Arab shop owners (almost impossible for the Senegalese to own shops as loans, favours and freebees are expected by friends, family and vague acquaintances!) We finally found the only man who would take Dalasi and haggled for a fairly decent rate. A long winded way to fill our wallet but a great way to tour Kafountine.
After a couple of days relaxing in our beach side campement we headed for Ziguinchor the dynamic capital of Casamance and the only place with a working cashpoint (hour long queue). The gare in Ziguinchor is full of familiar hassle however it is a million miles away from being the capital we expected. The city lacks the modernity of Dakar and feels more like a large sweltering market town, where buildings do not reach above two storeys. It is however the administrative hub of the whole of Casamance making it often a necessity to visit.
After escaping the bumpsters of the gare we managed to get a lift to a hostel, this turned out to be the first of many in our search for budget accommodation. Miles of sweaty traipsing, two fruitless taxi journeys, an irritatingly unhelpful man (turned out all he wanted was a lift to his front door although he did offer to share his room with us), and three hostels later we found somewhere to lay our heads, a brothel!
The rough guide described Bel Kady as “faintly bordelloish” however as night fell and women in tight bejeweled outfits frequently lead men in and out of bedrooms we realised there was nothing ish about it. Although the room was indescribably undesirable and we slept under what appeared to be a decade of ejaculation masquerading as a mosquito net the staff were incredibly welcoming and obviously happy to have quests who were not paying by the hour.
We really enjoyed staying in Ziguinchor, the hustley bustley market is an excellent place to wander around, buy your first Senegalese tea pot, and a great way to get to know the city. There is life and livestock everywhere but very little in the way of working infrastructure, very few street lights and pot holed roads make for an interesting capital city, another example of Casamance’s troubled history. Even so well worth a visit.
After two days of sweating in the breeze-less air we headed for the coast and Cap Skirring, near the boarder with Guinea Bissau. Cap as it’s known by the locals could be a desert island, the palm lined stretch of coast is in the form of a cove, making you feel secluded from the rest of the world. The crashing Atlantic adds to this effect. The natural beauty draws many visitors here, both local and foreign, even the cows come here to relax from the stresses of life. It is very easy to get drawn into a beautiful routine of nothingness making it a perfect holiday destination.
The staff at Auberge du Paix were all really friendly, however being mostly bored young men their hospitality could be stifling at times. After being invited to a reggae party that turned out to be yet another Rihanna tribute night we managed after a long discussion to get rid of two of these guys and explore the town on our own. We came across a huge group of colourfully dressed people celebrating a wedding. The guests were joyfully chanting and stamping in a circle while others danced furiously in the middle. The buzz this created was far more exciting then listening to ‘Shine bright like a diamond’!
It was on our way home that we were once again reminded of the problems here. We failed to recognise that it was a soldier shouting hello at us (not just one of the many drunkards we had just passed) on the unlit road home. His displeasure was immediately apparent and when he realised we did not have our papers he felt the need to showcase his authority. Waving his machine gun in our faces and shouting aggressively in French he tried to take us by pulling and pushing into a dark compound. Understandably we were reluctant to comply but this further enraged him.
When the situation was beginning to look a bit desperate we saw to our embarrassed relief that the guys we had shaken off earlier were walking past. We called them over and just managed to beg our way out of trouble. We did not even have to bribe him which is normally the practice. It was an unpleasant encounter but one unlike the locals we do not have to face everyday. It made clear to us the intimidating reality of the military presence and drove home the actualities of living in a place where the people who are meant to protect you take advantage. Although threatening we knew we had the assurance of having British passports.
Casamance has so far been unrivaled in beauty to any where we have been since arriving in Africa. Although traveling through the region can be challenging the chilled out relaxing benefits will see tourism rise again. What could beat rolling out of bed onto a unspoilt tropical beach with the roaring ocean and as much peanut brittle as you could eat?!
