Sweet Fine Saloum

04 October 2010 - Travel Africa Magazine - Nick Boulos

The river’s cloudy water laps against the boat’s speckled blue underbelly as it grows slowly nearer. This lone, rickety vessel ahead is the only distraction on the otherwise serene horizon. Our journey through Senegal’s lush Sine Saloum delta had been, up until this point, a solitary one. But unlike me and my guide Paco, the chaps approaching weren’t out enjoying a leisurely day on West Africa’s most elegant network of waterways. The scenery was no doubt lost on these three opportunists, for they had business to attend to.

“Another illegal sugar run,” remarks Paco, his voice etched with disdain as they pull alongside. It seems some sweet-toothed people go to great lengths to get their sugar fix. “In the dead of the night,” Paco explains, “some people secretly venture across the border into The Gambia, where sugar is cheaper, and stock up on supplies.” As their boat, heavily laden with sacks of sugar, disappears and the hum of their engine grows faint, we are once again left with an uncompromising view of the snaking estuary ahead.

Three rivers – the Bandiala, Saloum and the Diombos – converge here with the Atlantic to form the Sine Saloum delta, one of Senegal’s most stunning spots. A wild expanse of beaches, lush mangrove swamps and sand islands, the protected lands of the delta – located on the Petite Cote, 60km south of Mbour – cover a remarkable 180,000ha. Nature enthusiasts in the know, particularly birdwatchers, flock here seeking the untamed landscapes and rich wildlife. Many of West Africa’s 560 bird species can be found here.

As you travel along the Saloum River, heavy branches clamber down towards the surface like thirsty giraffes at a waterhole. Dozens of inlets snake off in every direction, each holding unknown sights and sounds – some so narrow that only canoes could attempt to discover what lies within.

Ripples lap at our wooden stern and glisten over the wild and bright primary colours painted on its exterior. Soon the water takes on a more menacing persona as a strong Harmattan gust rushed around us. Blowing out from the Sahara, this West African trade wind has been known to carry the desert’s dust and sand as far as North America. On this occasion, it batters the Senegalese flag bellowing at the front of the boat, and causes the surface of the river to rise and hiss. As the rocky waters pound our vessel a flurry of black and white shoots past us – a flock of egrets taking to the sky to search for a more peaceful spot to dwell.
The stiff breeze dies down before long, and the river became calm and placid once again. Two more boats appear on the horizon. More sugar fiends, I suspect.
“No, these people are nomadic fisherman,” Paco informs me. “They come and go during the rainy season. Some spend three days fishing on the delta. They sleep on their boats to escape the mosquitoes and only return home when their supply of ice starts to melt,” he adds.

Paco steers the boat sharply and crosses to the other side of the river. Showing no signs of slowing down even slightly, the boat rushes ashore. Its underbelly scrapes against the thousands of perfectly formed crescent shells. Paco turns and smiles.
“Welcome to Diorom Boumack.”
Only a slither of land stands between the tall craggy peaks and the water’s edge where auburn leaves have settled in abundance. Hidden within the chalky cliff faces, Paco proudly informs me, is evidence that people had lived here four centuries before Christ. Embedded tightly within the rocks were numerous pieces of pottery that once belonged to these early settlers. Paco leads me to a dilapidated wooden ladder and looks up towards its steep ascent expectantly. Each step seems to struggle as I advance higher, and the rail shakes wildly as I grasp it with white knuckles. Once up on terra firma, I peer down on the tangled vines of the endless mangroves that cling to the river’s shoreline.

Towering baobab trees, sturdy with their gangly, root-like branches, dominate the parched vista of Diorom Boumack. In the centre of the biggest baobab is a large hollow chamber, its eerie trunk covered in deep, ancient carvings. This darkened clearing was the final resting place for historians and other respected members of the community. As final resting places go, this is indeed a spectacular option and was understandably reserved for only a select few. 
However, there’s more to the Sine Saloum than its nature and heritage found on the banks of its rivers. With this in mind, I eventually venture away from the delta itself to explore the arid land beyond.

Wednesday is market day at Nguéniène, and heading into the town ahead of us is a long procession of horse and carts ferrying families and purchases. “Public transport,” quips Yamar, my guide for the day. These steeds and their thunderous footsteps send a dusty blaze skyward. The clattering of their hooves is soon drowned out by the intoxicating commotion of village life. A council of elders sits engrossed in deep conversation, rubbing their grey whiskery beards as they speak in whispers. Children sprint around the large cattle market where farmers mull by the fence finalising business transactions.
Nguéniène is a cauldron of colour and aromas. The musky scent of dried barracudas, red carp and marous linger heavily, but the onions and spices add a sharp bitterness you can almost taste. Elsewhere reels of paprika-red and ocean-blue fabrics with swirling yellow patterns hang from rusty stalls. The local mosque enjoys a surge of foot traffic, though the same cannot be said for the local salon. Even its large hand-painted mural of a manicured hand does little to attract business. The owner stands in the doorway idly surveying her perfectly groomed fingernails.

Later we pass the remote settlement of Leona, the site of a cluster of only six or so thatched huts. Three ladies sit barefoot in the shade of a large alamo tree, and together they chat as they methodically work through a mound of peanut shells, cracking them open one by one and depositing the nuts in a hollowed-out calabash shell. Chickens roam amongst them and shards of broken peanut shells are strewn around their outstretched legs and leathery-skinned soles. Their weathered faces break out in broad smiles as we pass. Leaving Leona, the trees and shrubs thin away as we approach the delta once again. The tide is out, revealing sparse flatlands. In the distance a car careers across the grey plains, like a scene lifted straight from Days of Thunder.

Later, at Keur Saloum, a riverside hotel boasting serene views over the Diombos River near Toubakouta, I am keen to delve further into the area’s intriguing backwaters. Since the delta is my oyster I waste no time in climbing into another boat and setting forth. This pirogue is half the size of Paco’s, making it the perfect vessel to get into those hard to reach places. Gargling somewhere beneath the surface, the motor comes to life, casting gentle ripples far and wide. The twisting branches overhead rustle as birds take flight against the setting sun. We set off and navigate our way across the river’s main channel before veering off into a windy tributary that narrows with every inch we travel. Wild mangroves erupt from the waterbed and close in around us, low-hanging vines swoop down like leopard tails. The stream sweeps along until it curves sharply. I lean over, attempting to steal a glimpse of what is ahead, but can see nothing but layer upon layer of impenetrable greenery. We enter an enclosed clearing surrounded entirely by tall emerald walls. Floating in this a natural cul-de-sac of verdant paddy leaves, we have clearly gone as far as Mother Nature will allow. The silence is penetrating. Every accentuated birdcall drifts through the trees and lingers in the air. Back on the Diombos, the inky blue sky is smudged across the horizon, and streaks of crimson ribbon start to appear. The tide is rising slowly and the birdwatchers on board are getting twitchy. Everyone studies the sky above as a steady flow of long-tailed egrets, cormorants and reef herons soar overhead.
Hundreds upon hundreds of feathered outlines soon swoop down on a speck of land, known as Reposoir des Oiseaux (Birds Dormitory Island), in the middle of the delta. We are not alone though; a few other boats have gathered for this nightly spectacle.

Countless species sit perched on every inch of every tree. A deafening chorus of squawks and piercing calls booms from the branches. Dark shapes race around in all directions; birds chase each other in and out of this large, forested aviary and vanish into its deep crevices.
The temperature drops as night falls and the last trace of light disappears over the horizon. Despite the chill in the air, this evening’s events are the icing on the cake – no need for even a sprinkle of illegal sugar.

Plan your trip
Getting there
The Senegal Experience (www.senegal.co.uk) run a twin-centre trip with three nights in The Gambia and four nights at Keur Saloum on the Sine Saloum delta costing from £1000 per person including return flights from London Gatwick, half-board accommodation and transfers.

When to visit - The Sine Saloum delta enjoys warm weather all year round, with a short rainy season between June and September.

Visas - Visitors from the UK, EU, USA and Canada do not need visas to travel to Senegal. Passports, however, are required to be valid for three months after your planned return date.

Books - Lonely Planet’s The Gambia & Senegal (4th edition, 2009) by Katharina Lobeck Kane is the most up-to-date and thorough guidebook on the region.

Find out more - The Senegal Experience (www.senegal.co.uk), Senegal Tourism Office (www.senegal-tourism.com)