In Search of Lost Flip-Flops and Family-Part Two

A Calabash Tree

Still in Cassamance, we headed from the river back towards the coast to Cap Skirring, a town noted for "the most beautiful beaches in Senegal" and a richness in the traditional ways of life. Cassamance is incredibly tropical and lush, a far cry from the dry, sandy streets of Dakar.

Our first day on the beach, which was indeed gorgeous, we met a guy who said he could take us a traditional drum and dance circle that evening. As always, I was in search of traditional music and a place to dance. So, at 10:30 that night we met him under the archway of the campment where we were staying. It was myself, Libby and Amy (2 teacher friends) and Noah. Before we ventured out into the wilderness, the owner of the campment checked out our new friend and gave us the a-okay that we were safe in his company.

The sky was velvet black with no moon, a blanket of stars and only the bright orange hue of Mars to guide our way. Our guide led us through a maze of giant plants down a narrow, dirt path that seemed to go on forever. At one point we all stopped talking and noticed how silent and dark the night was, and we became more and more dependent on our sense of touch to guide our way.

Just as I began to wonder why we were not hearing drumming in the distance, our feet landed on a somewhat smooth, paved road. We learned that because of Korite, the holiday to celebrate the ending of Ramadan, all of the artists had gone home to their villages and there wouldn't be any drumming after all.
None of us were terribly disappointed, as we were exhausted from our long day. We had especially enjoyed the unexpected night hike and turned around to retrace our steps, this time with a little more confidence.

At one point, Noah took the lead and began to run, but managed to take one wrong turn and ended up in a hole full of sticky, wet mud. Once he pulled his feet out, he realized that he was missing his shoes. After feeling around in the mud a bit, he retrieved his left flip-flop but, once again, his right flip-flop has gotten away. We decided that between now and the morning, no one would be interested in stealing one left flip-flop caked in thick, brown mud, so we left the shoe and he walked home wearing his new mud boots.

He was terribly distraught and again, the suggestion of buying brand new flip-flops was out of the question. He just wanted to go to sleep so that morning would come more quickly and he coul return to find "righty."

Up as early as possible, we headed out in the blinding sun, in search of the mud puddle and ultimately, the shoe. Although there hadn't been rain in a few weeks, the puddle was still there and it was impossible to tell how deep it was. "Lefty" was nice and dry by now, with an extra pound of mud caked on the bottom, top and between the straps. But "Righty" was nowhere to be seen. Since there were no strong branches around, I grabbed a piece of orange plastic pipe lying on the side of the trail and started to feel my way into the depths of the mud pit. It wasn't looking to hopeful. Suddenly, deep down, I hit on something hard and thought it was a rock or a piece of metal. I tried to move it but the weight of the mud made it almost impossible to lift. I continued to dig and finally, I was able to pull it out. I handed the pipe to Noah, with his flip-flop hanging off the end, covered toe to heel in pasty brown sludge and completely brown. He was so shocked and a huge, surprised smile came over his face. "Thank you, thank you!" he yelled!

On our way back to the camp, carrying one dry and one wet muddy flip-flop, a man working at a house near-by suddenly appeared in front of us and motioned for us to give him the shoes. Noah looked at me with concern, not sure that he wanted to let go of them again. If there was any chance that this man (George) would wash these shoes for us, I was willing to take the risk. A few minutes later George returned with the most beautiful, worn-down, blue flip-flops. Unfortunately, we had no coins to give George as a thank you, but he didn't seem to mind.


Later that day we headed into the small "downtown" vilage of Cap Skirring and bravely entered the artisan village, better known as the 'tourist trap.' It was completely empty, except for the shop owners and a kora player, playing one of the most beautiful koras I had ever seen.

I knew that Noah had a lot of family in Cassamance, but didn't have any contact information to find them. It wasn't too difficult. Noah picked up an extra kora and started quietly playing the songs he has learned. The man playing the kora starting singing to Noah's song and within minutes we were invited to come and meet the rest of the family.

The next morning, I bought a couple bags of bons-bons (candies) to give to the children and a big can of Nescafe for the family and we went back to the market where Keba and Famara Cissokho were waiting for us. We were led through a maze of dirt roads crowded with chilren playing, women washing and preparing food and men doing their usual hanging out, until we reached a small cement porch with a curtain hanging as a door to the family room. There were a couple of other rooms across the way that also belonged to the family. We met Maty, the sister of someone's brother's uncle and the rest of the extended family. It's practically impossible to understand all of the branches on the family tree and really all that mattered was that Noah's last name was Sissoko.

Can you find Noah in this picture?

Noah quickly became the star of the show and everyone was impressed with his kora playing and singing. After we spent some time hanging out with all the neighborhood kids and the family, Famara took us to his room and played kora with Noah for a couple of hours. It was so beautiful to listen to and watch! This was the last day of our trip and a perfect ending to an amazing vacation!