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Over the course of more than a decade, I have spent considerable time in Dakar, Senegal. A vibrant city with much history and friendly people, there is no shortage of places to visit and things to do.
One of the most sought-after destinations for most visitors is Goree Island and that was the first place on my agenda when I arrived more than 11 years ago.
A short walk from our hotel was the ferry port and a twenty-five minute choppy boat ride had us approaching a colorful island nestled in the Atlantic waters off of the coast of Senegal. It was quite the adventure! Over the years, I made many trips to Ile de Goree, but some time had passed since my last. Walks around the island always revealed the Portuguese, Dutch, English and French influences. I always found photographic opportunities at every turn and I had been toying with the idea of a return.
As I overheard two of my co-workers, on their first trip to Senegal, questioning whether or not to venture out to the island on their own, I decided that maybe it was time to reacquaint myself with the beautiful island and I offered to take them there.
Noting the ferry schedule, we decided to leave our hotel (now much farther from the city center) about an hour prior to our selected ferry. Little did I realize how much more congested the city’s streets and roadways had become. Sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, we inched forward along the coast, ultimately realizing that we would not make it in time. Our two taxis finally arrived at the port only to discover that COVID and security restrictions had personnel limiting those who could enter and demanding identification. While I had my driver’s license with me, I discovered that two others had not brought any identification…at all. This certainly put a kink in our plans!
A gentleman, who had been hovering nearby, suddenly stepped in and introduced himself as a tour guide. He went on the explain that those wishing to visit Goree with a tour guide leading the way, could enter without identification.
Smelling a rat, I questioned him further, wanting to know the cost of his services.
“You pay me at the end of the tour what you think I am worth.”
Although he had the official tour guide badge, I have been in this situation before and it never ends well. But what other option did we have at this point? Jump into two more taxis and go back the way we had come, enduring more than another hour’s worth of traffic?
Reluctantly, I made an agreement with him. We paid him the cost of the ferry tickets and the cost of the admittance to the island along with the tour guide tax (paid to the island) and took a few seats in the nearby restaurant to wait out the time until the next ferry departure.
At two-thirty on the dot, our boat pulled away from the dock and we enjoyed the salty breeze on our journey, punctuated with pleasant conversations with some of the local women. Though these conversations seemed innocent enough, it wasn’t until we arrived that I remembered their purpose.
“Enjoy your visit. My name is Fatou. I have a stand in the market. Come see me and buy something.”
Making our way with our guide along the dock and to the crescent beach area, we waited patiently for him to settle the necessities for our tour.
Finally, we were on our way.
Everything was still quite familiar to me with a few remodeled buildings and a new market area. We listened as our guide gave us a detailed history of the island, including its role in the slave trade from the 15th to the 19th centuries, and we followed him in the direction of the House of Slaves.
The House of Slaves, is the most famous landmark on the island, built by the Afro-French Métis family from 1780-1784, and is one of the oldest structures on the island. This is the location where more than 33,000 slaves, torn from their families, were held and then shipped to the western world to work, wage free, never to return.
We made our way through each of the small rooms of the house, taking in our guide’s haunting stories, aware of the atrocities that took place where we now stood. But, until you stand at the Door of No Return at the rear of the structure, you don’t realize what each of these people must have encountered until gazing out at the water beyond the portal. That ocean was their uncertainty. Their new future. One that they could not have envisioned.
Leaving the House of Slaves, we wandered the streets, with our guide, making our way to a small shop where the art of sand painting was demonstrated. Years ago, I remembered seeing this on the hilltop area of the island, however, this store was a little nicer and allowed the artist to exhibit multiple paintings, all for sale.
After a couple of purchases, we once again entered the streets, heading to the Catholic Church of St. Charles Eglise. With my distinct fascination of religious structures, I found it odd that I had never been here before or even knew of its existence.
Remember Fatou? Well, you don’t think she or the other women were going to let us forget our promises to visit their shops. These women began to follow us, asking us to make purchases from them. Although I have more than enough African art, fabric and crafts, it is hard to continually say no when they begin to follow you, interrupting your tour.
And if that wasn’t enough, after our guide led us to the area near the fort (now a museum), relieving himself on a wall as we looked on, he then demanded his payment.
All five of us put up 10,000 CFA each, a total of almost $50.00. Unbelievably, he was not happy about that amount and demanded more, which we refused to hand over. And this was in addition to what we paid for admission to the island, the museum and for the guide tax, which he had assured me a portion would be given to him! A frustrating situation, all due to two people not having identification.
After his hasty departure (in order to make the next ferry), we made our way through the back alleys, eventually losing a couple of our group to the demanding ladies in the market. Gathering our group once again, we made our way to the highest point on the island with its winding walkway lined with giant paintings. This has always been one of my favorite parts of my visits as it is like an art gallery in nature.
On the island’s highest peak, La Castel, we found ourselves in the presence of two large cannons, remnants of the French occupation during World War II. The Vichy cannons were the largest ever made of this type and their turrets now function as homes with artwork and handicrafts for sale near their entrances and clotheslines strung with the occupants’ freshly laundered clothing swaying in the wind. Also topping this pinnacle is the WWII Commemorative Monument which is in the shape of a white sail.
Spending a few minutes in this area, we looked out on the waters that surrounded the island, remembering that the grand cliffs leading down to the ocean were the ones that Gregory Peck scaled to attack Nazi troops in the 1961 movie “The Guns of Navarone”.
Noticing the late hour, we headed down the steep walkway toward the bay and ferry dock for the next boat to Dakar, carefully evading Fatou and the others. Although we would have loved to purchase more to help their businesses, time and funds were running short.
Making our way to the front of the ferry, I suddenly realized how tired I was. It’s a lot to take on the responsibility of a group and to ensure that all goes well and that we everyone achieves what they want from their visit!
So, to wrap up this adventure, if someone asks me for recommendations on visiting Goree Island, I would give them three important pieces of advice.
Hire a reputable guide.
Make sure everyone carries identification.
Pack your patience.
Well…that and a camera!
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Dakar-Ile de Goree Ferry
- Ferry Schedule: Sunday, 1200-2300, Monday-Thursday, 0645-2300, Friday, 1200-2300, Saturday, 1315-2300. Ferries run every one or two hours.
- Fares: Special ferry boat, 1,750,000, Resident, 2,700 CFA, Non-resident, 5,200 CFA
