KÉDOUGOU, Senegal — After roaring through Niokolo-Koba National Park—an arid expanse of savanna and rust-red dirt—our bus screeched to a halt on a seemingly random street in Kédougou, a dusty outpost town in Senegal’s far east. We hesitantly followed the stream of disembarking passengers through a market, which was placid compared to Dakar, where vendors sold t-shirts and other odds and ends.
I hoped that we’d be able to find Guinean money or even a soccer jersey, given our proximity to the border. More pressing concerns included locating an ATM and accommodation for the next several nights. Following the Google Maps trail to the top-rated hotel in Kédougou, we were met with a parking lot chock-full of off-roading vehicles with Spanish license plates. The entire place was booked out for some sort of ATV gathering, the receptionist explained (despite our desperate begging).
Defeated and increasingly anxious against the already-set sun, we descended a steep hill in total darkness as cicadas and an occasional howl filled the air. We found another lodge, deserted and seemingly abandoned, but we tried the bell at the receptionist stand several times. A minute later, a jovial man in a wrinkled white uniform appeared and, to our great relief, said he had the perfect room for us.
That is how we found ourselves waiting with bated breath outside the Banque Agricole du Sénégal. We cheered at the whir of the ATM as it fluttered crisp notes into the tray and soon had enough cash to pay for two nights’ stay at a hotel we had only seen under the cloak of darkness that blanketed the dimly lit town.
To celebrate our success, we headed down to a broken wooden dock overlooking the calm Gambia River and cracked open three cold Gazelle beers. The bob of a flashlight illuminated the black night and a hotel guard on the night shift—which was surprising, considering we appeared to be the only guests—introduced himself and struck up a conversation.
He told stories of his youth in this pocket of Senegal among the Bassari group, whose language is spoken by less than 15,000 spread across the remote plains of the country’s southeastern foothills. The stars, ever visible against the moonlit sky, shone brightly above, though I was not familiar with any of the constellations. We were introduced to the Bassari words for earth, moon, and river before we shared some English in return. Not bad for a language I had never heard of an hour earlier.
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