As I sit on my couch in my new apartment in Denver, I can’t help but reminisce on my time in Florence. Just a month ago, I was beginning to study for my final exams… More
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Toubabs in Touba
This past weekend, a few of my friends and I hatched a plan: we were going to Touba. Touba is the religious city of the Mourides (a sect of Islam) and home to arguably the most beautiful mosque in Senegal. Considering the importance of religion in Senegal and that my host family are Mourides, I really wanted to see it! I was very happy some of my friends shared the sentiment so we could all have the adventure together.
We decided to make our excursion a day trip since Touba is a city without any hotels. From previous travel experiences, we learned that the Dem Dikk (which literally translates into English as “go, come”) buses are by far the most timely, reliable, and comfortable. Therefore, our plan was to take the early morning bus to Touba (two and a half hours away) and return on the afternoon bus. It would be a lot of travel for only about five hours in the city, but we were really excited to see it.
However, only my friend Ameya and I got tickets for the bus before it filled up. Our friends Izzy and Abby had to take the “adventurous route” hitching a ride with Abby’s host uncle who was also going to Touba. Our plan was to meet up as soon as we arrived in Touba.
At 5:45am, I groaned at my alarm. I had fallen asleep at nearly 3am the night before, very much not on purpose. The past week or two I had spent every night tossing and turning for hours, unable to actually drift off. With only three hours of sleep and a long day ahead of me, I might be in for it—but I was excited!
I met Ameya and we took a Yango (Senegalese equivalent of Uber) to the bus station. We got on seamlessly and found our seats without a problem. Everyone around us was wearing traditional clothing: long, flowy dresses or skirts for the women, and long tunics or pants for the men. I myself was wearing a two-piece dark purple outfit I had gotten made at the tailor the past week. The wraparound skirt reached my ankles and my top had bell sleeves that reached my wrists.
Since Touba is a religious city, it is important to dress very modestly and cover up as much skin as possible. Mosques are even more strict. Non-Muslims are permitted to visit any day of the week but Friday, but women must wear long skirts and headscarves. I had borrowed a beautiful white “foulard” (scarf) from my host mom in order to actually go inside the Grand Mosque of Touba.
When we arrived, we learned that in the typical Senegalese fashion, Abby’s uncle had not left on time and they were still about an hour away. Ameya and I were feeling a little hungry (for both food and adventure), so we decided to go exploring. We put on our foulards and stepped off the bus and found ourselves mere feet away from a fabric store. We started chatting with the shopkeeper, who was fascinated by the fact that Ameya is Indian and speaks Malayalam. Apparently, one of his Senegalese friends is living in India! He even FaceTimed him so his friend and Ameya could speak to each other; however, he speaks Hindi, not Malayalam. The connection was bad and everyone was a little confused and it was awesome.
We promised the shopkeeper we would return at the end of our visit and then left to find a little supermarket. We bought some madeleines and fruit to share, and sat on someone’s steps to eat them. It was a delicious snack, and we were fueled up for adventure! Still waiting on Izzy and Abby, we walked around exploring the city. We saw shops with prayer beads, carts led by horses, and so, so many people. For the most part, it was a pleasant experience walking around because my clothing helped hide my white skin, so I got a little less attention. However, the men catcalling and children begging for money, as always, persisted.
We made our way to the Grand Mosque. It was absolutely beautiful: four towers surrounded one tower that was even larger, and three domes on the side. We took off our shoes and started wandering around the outside, still hoping to wait for our friends. We asked (in Wolof) a few people where the women’s entrance was: “Fan la bunt bu jigéen nekk?” (This possibly translates to asking where the door—that is, itself, a female—is located, which is a little odd, but I think we got the message across). We entered the mosque and it was absolutely beautiful, full of Moroccan-style mosaics and men and women praying.
Almost immediately, a guide found us and began giving us a tour. He explained that the entire mosque was funded by the people of Touba and is renovated often, always changing and innovating. He took us all around the grounds and inside the mosque. I’ll let you look at the photos for this part; I don’t think words can suffice!
Then, he introduced us to one of the head marabouts (Muslim religious leaders) of the mosque, who often does the call to prayer. He showed us a private tour of the sound equipment and microphone for the call to prayer and then took us into some of the back rooms and numerous conference areas. It was feeling a little sketchy following some random man inside all these locked doors, but I had Ameya with me and the dude seemed very chill. He also only spoke Wolof, so we were putting some serious effort into basic communication, but we were having fun.
In one of the conference rooms, he told us to sit down: “toggal.” He invited us to take pictures and then we asked to take a picture all together. The three of us sat down on the couch and took a selfie. Then, he pointed to me and said he wanted a picture with me. Ameya stood up and stepped back to take a photo. Then, the marabout—one of the most religious people in a city of religious people, who has dedicated his life and livelihood to a religion in which you are never supposed to touch any woman other than your wife—put his arm around me and squeezed me towards him. His face barely a few inches from mine, he asked, “Am nga jëkker?” “Do you have a husband?” Yes, I responded. He let go, and I stood up. I looked at Ameya and she whispered “are you okay?” I nodded. He then asked to take a picture with her, which she did, but not before I warned her to tell him she has a husband. We then left as quickly as possible.
Honestly, I should’ve felt worse about that experience than I did. However, I think I’ve been a little desensitized since being in Senegal. Random men on the street propose to me around once a week, and nearly every day I am told I am the most beautiful woman this man has ever seen or I am asked for my number within 30 seconds of chatting with anyone—a taxi driver, someone on the street, or even the pharmacist. Rarely do verbal scares become physical, but this time it did. I think I’m most shocked that someone who is supposed to be this holy religious figure would do it in such an important religious space, but I know this is more common in multiple religions than we’d like to think.
Trying to escape, we left the premises and went to the mosque’s library. It was beautiful and we befriended a woman named Fatima who gave us a quick tour. She then walked with us to return to the mosque’s grounds and visit the smaller, chapel-like buildings on the side. We entered and an older Senegalese woman invited us to pray. We knelt and put our hands palms-up in front of us. I closed my eyes and thought about all of the people, places, and experiences I am so grateful for both in Senegal and elsewhere. I am not a religious person myself, but in my opinion this is one of the best parts of religion: taking time to reflect and be grateful. I definitely want to incorporate that more into my own life, in a spiritual way if not a religious one.
We finally, finally met up with Izzy and Abby when they arrived at the mosque! They had been at a marabout’s house (who apparently is friends with Abby’s uncle) for hours and we couldn’t wait to exchange stories. However, at this point, Ameya and I had been at the mosque for hours and were feeling a little dehydrated, hungry, and delirious. We said bye to Izzy and Abby for the moment and left to go find food. We stopped at another grocery store on our way to get lunch and a coffee called “Cafe Touba.” Therefore, we were Toubabs (foreigners) in Touba (the city) drinking Cafe Touba (the coffee). As a word association nerd, I was psyched!
Afterwards, we ended up at the fabric store again. The shopkeeper remembered us and told us to go find him in Dakar at his other shop. We promised we’d try, but for the moment we had to leave and get on the bus. I bought a new foulard for my host mom as a goodbye gift (we were leaving Senegal in three weeks) and we found Abby and Izzy on the bus. We shared snacks and stories and all fell asleep on the way home. It was a great adventure.
And it wasn’t over! We had an hour turnaround and then went to go see the Wicked movie, which was entirely in French. I fell asleep at 2am that night, but at least my insomnia problems were cured by just how exhausted I was! As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.
Ba ci kanam / À bientôt / See you soon,
Caitlin
Two Cheap Rental Cars & Too Many European Christmas Markets
I assumed renting a car in Europe would require loads of paperwork, questions like why five American girls want to rent a car, and maybe at least a warning. Instead, it took a three minute online booking, five minutes in person, and cost less than a round-trip train or plane ticket. The man behind the counter barely asked for identification, no passport, just proof of license and that at least someone knows how to drive a car. Contrary to laws in America, you have to be 21 to rent a car in Austria, not 25. He handed us the keys like we were borrowing a pencil and we were on our way to find our Toyota Aygo in the parking garage. Automatic, not manual of course. That’s how four students with varying levels of driving competence ended up in control of a vehicle, twice.
Driving nine hours to Paris went smoothly until we met the highway tolls. We drove about five hours to Strasbourg, which is right on the border of France in Germany, and found a perfect hostel fit for three with an included breakfast in the morning. We immediately fell asleep upon getting there and were ready to continue driving first thing the morning. Driving on the Autobahn was a driving experience I will never forget. There are speed limits in theory, but they aren’t the part people pay attention to. The left lane isn’t democratic; it belongs to people with both experience and no fear. The tolls appeared, each offering an array of unlabeled lanes covered in symbols that did not feel intuitive to anyone in the car. But of course, there was only a slim chance everything would go perfectly, so we got stuck at some tolls dialing for help in broken English. Most gates opened. A few hesitated, which made us consider whether we had just committed toll fraud by accident. If a bill from France ever arrives, I’ll know exactly why. Once we found an overnight parking garage, which not only required a longer conversation with street signs than with the rental employee but also driving through the city of Paris, we walked through the beautiful and culture filled streets. Very few people can say they saw the Eiffel Tower and survived a toll booth system designed for locals with patience. On the way back, we decided to commit to driving the whole nine hours in one day. Unfortunately for me, I was hit with a mystery stomach bug the night before and was up all night sick. I was laying in fetal position in the back the entire way with a trash bag next to me. I gratefully bought my friends coffee and drinks for days after to show my appreciation for not making me drive. Nonetheless, Paris was incredible and one of my favorite cities. I took my time in the Louvre, ate delicious meals, and hung out with friends – what could be better! Returning the car was a different story. In no way, shape, or form, were we allowed to take the car outside of Austria—a rule that absolutely no employee mentioned to us, nor was it in the fine print. We ruled it a miscommunication with an employee who seemed to find it more humorous than worrying and left with a relieved smile on our faces.
The second rental car took even less effort to obtain. Within 15 minutes, we were on the Autobahn again. Luckily, Munich is only an one hour and forty minutes which made the drive 10x more enjoyable with some good music and company. We were more skilled in finding a parking garage, but this still entailed driving through the city streets of Munich. We enjoyed the festive Christmas markets under the Glockenspiel and celebrated with a brat and hot chocolate. It worked perfectly as a day trip: manageable, lively, and rewarding. Yet, coming back to Salzburg I realized nothing will beat the true Christmas markets here — up in the Fortress or in Residence Platz, they are arguably the best.
So, was driving worth it? Yes, and a million times over, yes. Not because it was efficient or logical—it wasn’t—but because we earned every market and historical sight we reached. We navigated toll roads without instructions, respected and adapted to the Autobahn, and found parking in cities that seemed determined to hide it.
Trains take you somewhere.
Driving abroad makes you understand where you are.
DU Abroad 