Day 3 – Slave House and Street Vendors
Note to self: don’t buy things in Senegal when you’re feeling a little emotional.
OK, let me explain where that came from.
Today we visited Gorèe Island, a major tourist destination best known for it’s Maison des Esclaves (Slave House). Our adventure started on the ferry going over to Gorèe. Only one thousand or so people live on Gorèe so many of the vendors travel to the island on the same boat as the tourist. I sat between Gabi (one of our group) and Nènè going over. Nènè struck up the conversation in carefully rehearsed English.
“Is this your first time to Gorèe?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You will like it,” she continued. “Very beautiful place.” Pause. “What’s your name?”
“Darryl.”
“Pleased to meet you Darryl, I’m Nènè. I have a shop on Gorèe.” As she pointed to the jewelry around her neck, “I sell these beautiful necklaces. You come to my shop and see my necklaces?”
I’m thinking, “How am I going to find your shop?” But I said, “OK.”
“OK. Don’t you forget me. Nènè. You come past my shop.”
I smiled and nodded. I was hooked – as far as she was concerned – so she proceeded to talk with a French gentleman in French (much more conversational than in English). As we were getting ready to exit the boat, she said to me again. “Don’t forget Nènè. You come visit me at my shop. I’ll give you best price.”
We walked towards the Slave House, but just missed getting in with a large group of French tourist. We decided then to spend a little time in Musee de la Femme (The Women’s Museum), which looks at the role of Senegalese women in traditional and modern West African culture.
We left the Women’s Museum and walked across the street to the Slave House. My heart started pounding as we walked inside, but it wasn’t quite what I expected. The walls were bright colors (maybe because of the Portuguese influence), and it was much more open and airy than I imagined. Still, it was a bit difficult. There were many rooms along the bottom level. “Rooms” is putting it nicely. They were cells. The people were separated from their families: men to one cell, women to another, children to still another. For those men who were under 60 Kg (130 lbs) were sent to the room for “inapte temporaire” (temporarily unfit) where they would stay until they were fattened to 60 Kg.
I felt a tightening in my chest as we walked around listening to our guide. But I took pictures, and even video. Then we got to the passageway that led to “la porte du voyage sans retour:” the door of no return. This is where – according to our guide – over 15 million Africans last saw their homeland as they were placed onto slave ships, never to return. Others were walking down the passage, but I didn’t want to at first. The emotions were too high. I decided to go down the passageway virtually by using my camcorder to slowly zoom to the door. It helped and I eventually walked down to it, chest still tight, heart racing, not even wanting my picture taken while I was down there (but that changed too).
After walking back up the passageway (and recognizing the significance of a black man walking away from the door of no return), we stayed for a little while longer in the Slave House before heading back to the streets of Gorèe and the vendors. They follow you around just about anywhere you walk.
“Five bracelets, 10,000 (francs)… OK, 5,000… OK, how much you pay?”
“Hi, my name Cindy. Like Cindy Crawford. You buy necklace from me? You’re my first sale. I’ll give you good price.”
My emotions were still raw and I didn’t want to deal with these folks. I said a lot of “Merci, no” (no thanks) and tried to keep walking. Eventually they would give up. And then another would take their place. We kept walking up a hill, and then there she was: Nènè. And she hadn’t forgotten me.
“You remember me? You said you’d come to my shop.”
I had told her I would, and I try not to lie, so there I went to her little shop. I then learned that I’d heard all of her English on the boat. She began showing me items and talking mostly in French. There was clothing that I liked, so I asked how much. She gave me a price in francs that, when I did a quick calculation in my head, was 25-30% of the cost I would pay in the U.S. for the same items.
Now, most people at that time would start bartering. But I was still an emotional wreck from the Slave House. This was a woman whose ancestors were stolen from the country… A woman whose country was still feeling the repercussions of colonialism in Africa… I wanted to get some bargains on clothes, and this was a great bargain. Why barter? I could probably talk her down to half of what she asked. And really, would I miss the money? Just buy the clothes.
"Freedom" statue on the way to the Slave House on Goree Island
A big smile came across her face as I said yes. She had made a big sale early in the day, with no bartering! And I walked away still an emotional wreck, and now feeling guilty for not bartering.
It was hard seeing a place with so much emotional history for African Americans now serving as a tourist trap. But I realized two important things.
First, that’s important to look back and understand where we come from, as hard as it may be, but we must be persistent like those vendors, remember our past but moving towards the future.
Second, don’t go shopping in Senegal when you’re feeling emotional. You’ll miss out on the joys of bartering.
-Darryl Thompson Powell, Pastor
Bethany Lutheran, Chicago
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