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Life and death in Dakar
Page 64
Page 65
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IF THE SHOCKINGLY bad standard of driving doesn't get you, the carbon monoxide fumes will. That sentence just about sums up life in Dakar, especially for those who dare to navigate their way through the city's chronically congested streets.
The general condition of road vehicles in Senegal is poor, to put it mildly. It reminded me of a visit to the Romanian city of Brasov as creaky trucks belched smoke from every orifice and had wires protruding from the tyres. "Do they have MoTs?" ! asked a local. "Of course," he replied, "but it's all done
within the constraints of the local economy!" That was almost 10 years ago, and the situation in Romania is now much better.
But over the same period the situation in Dakar has gone in one direction: down. New legislation means all imported trucks must be less than 10 years old, but if you can't afford a replacement, the import legislation simply becomes a game of making the old stuff last longer.
Then there are the vehicle emissions. If, like me: you've wondered if the pace of change in Europe is a little brisk, having
seen the first five waves of EIJR) emissions regulations arrive in a relatively short period of time, look no further than the densely populated third-world cities.
The streets of Dakar are clogged with cars, trucks and buses that haven't seen a service since Nelson Mandela was released from prison. Opening the window in a traffic jam is not for the faint-hearted.
Much of the country's diabolical road safety record is down to the people themselves. Conservative estimates are that, despite the laughably easy test, 70% of drivers don't hold a driving licence.
Our tour guide mentioned a friend who has never held a steering wheel in anger, but holds a licence to drive. Rank-and-file government officials are poorly paid in Senegal so the stark truth is that you can either buy off the people issuing the licences, or buy off the policemen who stop you. Either way it's going to be OK.
The direct result of this corruption is that many !people die. The man driving our minibus would be considered almost saintly by local standards, but he too had his moments. He drove with what is best described as tunnel vision, ignoring anything at the rear or on either side.
On day one he came in direct contact with a pedestrian and a gearbox-laden barrow. On day two he ripped the nearside wing mirror clean off a C-class Mere. On day three he removed a large chunk from the rear nearside of a Toyota taxi. The odd thing is, we simply drove off after each collision. another day on the mean streets of Senegal.
Quite a few of the foreign visitors had the aid of the local gendarmerie. which was handy when trying to cross the city without stopping. The cops ride ex-French police .BMW motorcycles, which are generaliy .much the worse for wear.
Our party was assigned one of these likeable young men. Despite riding around on what was clearly rubbish, his sheer professionalism and brinkmanship vould have gained him an award in any 'developed country. On the way out to one of the stages his rear suspension completely gave way and the rear wheel of the BMW locked up. Our minibus driver (who was of course travelling way too close) very nearly ran him over the Dakar on behalf of French magazine France Routes, made a running repair and off we went.
On Sunday 21 January the rally began its closing stage at the beautiful setting of Pink Lake. This 16km section is more for visiting fans and TV viewers than hardcore rally enthusiasts, so it should have been a happy day. But an oncoming car killed the policeman who was escorting the minibus in front of ours, just minutes from the car park and relative safety.
With the dead man lying in the road tji locals, and a party of Toyota-drivin dignitaries, still tried their best to get was a chiding reminder of how cheap human life can be in certain parts of the
world and how ugly i. tience..Qan be such circumstanc