Friendliness

Before I set out on this trip, my copy of Lonely Planet informed me that the Senegalese like to make much of their culture of teranga or 'hospitality'. This I found to be true - when I thanked people for being welcoming, the response was often 'it's the Senegalese way', or 'that's teranga'.

Nor is it misplaced pride. I owe a great deal to the friendliness of the Senegalese. The best example, perhaps, of this is my encounter with Souleymane Diatta, a young maths teacher I met on the long journey down from Dakar to Ziguinchor in the south.. As we stood on the interminably slow ferry across the River Gambia, I took Souleymane's phone number and promised I would call should I pass through the village of Oussouye, where he lived and taught.

A few days later, I did indeed arrive in Oussouye, planning on a brief stay before moving on to Cap Skiring for its famous beaches. I phoned Souleymane to say hello, and I'm glad I did. By the time I left Oussouye, I had met a king, discussed health policy with the district's sole doctor and participated in an English lesson at the local lycée, all thanks to Souleymane (and his cousins). I shared meals with his family and spent evenings sitting by the side of the road chatting and drinking thé senegalais.

To benefit from this kind of hospitality, though, requires two things - decent French, without which a decent conversation is hard, and an open attitude, without which such a conversation is impossible. The first, you either have or don't have. The second is more complicated, because not every seemingly friendly approach is well meant. It is easy to become exhausted by the touts, the prospective guides and straight-up scam merchants. Others want you to help them with European visas. Friendliness is so often tinged with commercial interest that it becomes easy to doubt everyone's motives. In Bamako I met a Californian couple, Toby and Karma,  who had been travelling through western Africa for about the same length of time as I had. Lacking workable French and travelling as a pair, they had shrunk into themselves, talking only only to expats and the occasional Anglophone traveller (a rare breed - Toby and Karma are the only native English speakers I have met so far). Clearly friendly people, they had been worn down by constant hassle (often it can seem that the only locals who speak any English are touts).

I have sometimes found myself doing the same thing. In Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, where I am now, I've taken to avoiding certain areas because of the hassle. Maybe it's just that I'm a little tired after seven weeks on the road, but I've found that the much-vaunted friendliness of the Burkinabé has manifested itself predominantly in the persistence of its salesmen. Travelling alone, however, means insulating yourself quickly becomes boring. Furthermore, hassle quickly evaporates as you get further from the main tourist strips. Solitude has its limits and starved of conversation, I usually now welcome someone sitting down next to me, extending a hand and saying 'ça va?'.