Senegal today also preserves the memory of the Salonika Front, when the French army fought shoulder to shoulder with the Serbs, and among its ranks there were Senegalese soldiers as well.

Senegal, a country somewhat larger than Serbia and Greece combined, with about twenty million inhabitants, is slowly waking from its dream and taking the place it deserves in Africa. This is felt most vividly in Dakar, the capital, known for the Paris–Dakar rally, which still exists under the same name today — but in Saudi Arabia. Driving on Senegalese roads is excellent preparation for this rally — many roads are still sandy tracks that change direction depending on the winds. On Senegalese roads horses and donkeys are still a very common means of transport, so I too had the opportunity several times to ride in carts. Yet even in the most remote steppe, where this is the only transportation and people mostly live in reed or earthen huts, almost everyone has a mobile phone. About their donkeys, horses and life in the wilderness, fishing feats or herds of livestock, Senegalese regularly post on TikTok.

Dakar

Dakar seems like another world compared with the interior. A modern city on a peninsula whose western beach is at the same time the westernmost point of the African continent. It is a city of unimaginable traffic jams. Most Senegalese born outside the capital would never dare to sit behind the wheel here. Horses and donkeys intertwine with the most expensive cars, and thousands of motorcycles buzz like flies from all sides, darting between cars, jumping out of alleys, seeming to fly over the crowds and people. Asphalt and sand intertwine in an endless labyrinth of crowded streets. But at the western point of the city there is nobody, everything is deserted. There is only a worn-out lookout made from the stern of an old ship and a sign with information on how far other cities of the world are. The great waves of the Atlantic bring cold air, so it seems to me that I am not near the equator. They cool Dakar and the steppe along the entire coast. On the endless sandy beaches it is mostly impossible to enter the sea — both because of the waves and because of the cold. The freshness the ocean brings to Dakar at night is such that one cannot sit outside without long sleeves, even a jacket. It is enough to move several dozen kilometers inland and temperatures become unbearable; the fortieth degree Celsius is an everyday reality there.

National Pride

The tallest monument in Africa was built by a company from North Korea precisely in Dakar on the Atlantic coast for the 50th anniversary of Senegalese independence. North Koreans have built monuments across Africa in past decades, but nowhere has a bronze marvel 52 meters high been erected. The African Renaissance Monument, set on a hill about a hundred meters high in a suburb of Dakar, the work of a Senegalese sculptor, depicts an African family — man, woman and child — striving toward the sun. Not everyone in Senegal was delighted with this monument, and protests followed because of the high cost of construction during an economic crisis, when most Senegalese barely make ends meet. The art world did not welcome the monument enthusiastically either. Many artists claim it resembles sculptures from North Korea too much, and the Muslim clergy protested because the family on the monument is partially naked. The former president of the country, on whose initiative the monument was erected, demanded personally to collect 35 percent of the revenue on the basis of authors’ rights that belong to him for conceiving the whole idea, which also angered many. Now pride prevails, and Senegalese are an extremely proud people, to such an extent that they have painted most pavements, trees and various spaces in the cities in the colors of the national flag. With this monument Dakar has gained a recognizable symbol. Most tourists who come to Senegal first rush to enter the bronze giant where on five floors there is one of the better Senegalese museums with an exceptional view of Dakar from the top of the monument, reminiscent of the Statue of Liberty in New York.

What bothered me most was the position of the monument in relation to the sun; at whatever time of day I passed here, the sun was behind it, which made photographing inconvenient. Other tourists are mostly bothered by the suburban location, where robberies are especially frequent, so whoever does not inform himself well and goes for a walk there will remember the visit forever, but not because of the monument. The protests over financial malversations that often accompany such projects have long subsided, they told me as I entered the University Library. There I found as many as about twenty books about Serbia, including an extremely rare edition printed during the First World War in Paris. The paths of books are wondrous: testimony about Serbian suffering during the Albanian Golgotha ended up in the holdings of a Dakar library. While I was driving around the university campus, I suddenly found myself in a ring of smoke, which did not surprise me because in Africa someone burns something on every corner, but this smoke began sharply to sting my eyes. Tear gas. Soon I began to cry from the heart and could not even open my eyes. It turned out that I had arrived at the Dakar university to visit the library in the middle of student protests because of poor living conditions of students, in which, I would learn only later, Abdoulaye Ba, a second-year dentistry student, was killed. I was struck by a strong feeling of discomfort: I was calmly searching library collections and talking with librarians while a young man was losing his life in the immediate vicinity.

Museum

As for museums, Dakar cannot really boast of them. The grand Museum of Black Civilizations, recently built with help from China, testifies more to the interconnectedness of African peoples than to Senegalese history. Right next to it is also the National Theatre, likewise built with Chinese assistance. I entered that new, grand building, hospital-clean. They allowed me to look at the main hall, to climb onto the stage. I could not resist: before the empty hall, an imagined audience, I began reciting the poem “The Fatherland” by Đura Jakšić. “And this stone of the land of Serbia…” in Senegal. A bit of a joke and a bit of truth, because we are all connected and interwoven by strong threads. The French army that fought shoulder to shoulder with the Serbs on the Salonika Front also had Senegalese soldiers.

The old French railway station is the most beautiful architectural monument in the city center, in the immediate vicinity of the Museum of African Civilizations. In 1929 another Serb arrived there: Rastko Petrović, to begin from there his journey across Africa, the land where people live “a life of eternal childhood,” about which he would write one of the best Serbian travelogues. Rastko was astonished by the richness of colors, the vitality and beauty of people and the sky. Authentic freedom, authentic beauty — that is how Rastko wrote about Africa almost a hundred years ago, and that is precisely how I now experience this continent. I will end my visit to Dakar at the white lighthouse, where the keeper will allow my group to turn on the light that tonight will guide ships away from the cliffs. From the height, the lighthouse overlooks not only the ocean but the entire city. There is a restaurant with a music stage. Someone practices percussion as night falls over the Atlantic, as night awakens an ever busier Dakar. It seems the city is livelier at night than by day, which will certainly be the case once Ramadan begins. Senegalese drink juices of hibiscus and baobab fruits all night. They most enjoy listening to mbalax, a special combination of jazz, rock and soul interwoven with percussion. Such rhythm recalls Cuban music, which is loved here, and in recent years they have begun combining percussion with every possible kind of music. As if every night in Dakar a new musical direction is created, while percussion is the only constant. And the richness of life that carries with it all the beauties and all the sorrows of the world.

Text and photographs: Viktor Lazić

Source: Kurir

P.U.L.S.E World edition

  Adligat, Senegal, Travels, Viktor Lazić – Adligat