Border Crossing

We had to cross the border between Senegal and Gambia to get to Fajara, where we would be working at Medical Research Council (MRC) for the last week of the trip. This involved driving from Toubakouta to Karang, the border town on the Senegalese side, having our passports stamped by Senegal officials, walking across to the Gambian side (all the while being chased by money-changing hawks and young girls selling cashews), presenting our passports to Gambian officials, then taking a Gambian taxi to the north side of the Gambian River at Barra, waiting for a ferry, then crossing the river to reach the capital city of Banjul, and finally taking another taxi from Banjul to Fajara. None of these 4 taxi/ferries traveled more than 15km each.

We accomplished the first travel leg flawlessly due to a stroke of pure luck. The owner of our hotel in Toubakouta happened to be driving to Karang for some groceries when we checked out, and she offered to take us in her spacious 4-door pickup truck (with working seatbelts, the first I'd seen in 3 wks). For free. We tried to pay her and she refused. This was absolutely unheard of, and the only time we ever got something genuinely for free while in West Africa.

The Gambian border office had about 7 employees and 2 customers (us); some were wearing uniforms and some plain clothes so unclear how many were actually employed, but at least one of the plain-clothes (shorts, sandals) people present spoke to us with authority as though he were an official employee. After walking between 3 different rooms and showing our passports to all 7 employees present, someone in the final room set about a 20 minute process of stamping our passports. The stamp itself is of the fill-in-the-blank variety like you might buy for your child as a toy. It says (no joke): "Valid for a single journey to _____" where they handwrote their country name, "The Gambia," into the blank, followed by several other blanks where they handwrote an entire novel including today's date and the generous allowance of a 14 day duration of stay.

We thought we were done after this, but one of the first guys (also wearing plain-clothes) identified himself with a laminated card as part of the "President's Club Against Narcotrafficking" (or some such thing--but I think it was called "club" and it defintely looked like an elementary school library card). He stated that he was going to search our bags to make sure we weren't carrying any drugs. We said fine. He then took us to another room and began to open each pocket of our bags. He pulled out and closely examined everything. Oddly, he paid very close attention to several items that were clearly not drugs, and asked questions about them. I got the impression that he was actually just curious about us and what sorts of things we had brought from the Western world rather than looking for drugs. He leafed through my book, "The Girl Who Played With Fire," and asked if I had ever been to Sweden (the author is Swedish). He read a few lines of our Lonely Planet. He asked if my Burt's Bees chapstick was made with beeswax. He examined Geoff's inflatable neck pillow and asked whether it was for taking blood pressure.

Interestingly, according to rumours we've heard while in the Gambia, the President's new war on drug-trafficking is an elaborate scheme to detract attention from the fact that the President himself operates and profits from a vast drug-trafficking network (or perhaps just to eliminate his competition).

Finally he returned our things and sent us out to the Gambian side of the border to find our taxi to Barra (Gambian border town). We got one with just 5 adults and 1 child in a 5-seat sedan, so that was pretty lucky.

In Barra, we bought our ferry tickets and sat down to wait. 2 hours later, the ferry could still be seen sitting on the other side of the river (maybe 10km away). Apparently there are 3 ferries, but for whatever reason (you shouldn't ask too many questions about why in West Africa because even if you were to get a straight answer, it would never make sense to your worldview) just 1 was operating that day. Then we found another helpful citizen who pointed us in the direction of a small wooden boat that was going to load passengers and make the crossing "immediately" for just 10 times the cost of the ferry (I think this was actually the cost of 4 tickets, 2 for us and 2 for our new "friend" and his accomplice, but whatever as long as we got there faster). We boarded the boat and waited for it to fill. The ferry was still sitting idle on the other side of the river.

Eventually we had close to 100 people on board and our drivers motored a little ways away from the pier. There was hesitation and we sat circling close to the pier. Apparently the boat operators had decided that the boat next to us (which was still in the process of its hundreds of 50-lb bags of grain or whatnot being unloaded onto the pier) would be a better boat for the crossing, and that all 100 passengers should wait for it to finish being unloaded, and then switch to the other boat before we departed. An argument broke out between the passengers and the 2 or 3 operators.

I was picturing an angry riot. I was also picturing the boat toppling over when all 100 people tried to stand up and rush to switch boats at the same time. Around this time, the ferry began to make its way towards our side of the river. After about 30 minutes of arguing and motoring in circles 5 feet off the pier, the operators apparently also realized the potential for a full-scale riot, and/or the abandonment of all passengers in favor of the cheaper ferry now on its way to our side--unclear which, and finally set off steadily toward Banjul. Several people we met in Gambia afterwards gasped in horror at the ridiculously dangerous idea of taking a small boat rather than the ferry across...but it seemed reliable enough aside from its riot potential.