Hello Senegal

Day 1–2 | Senegal

It’s been an eventful two days since I landed in Senegal.

The luggage debacle continued. The very suitcase I hesitated to check never made it out of JFK. Luckily, I’d packed one change of clothes and a small cosmetic bag in my carry-on. If there’s one piece of travel advice I’ll die on my sword for, it’s that.

Today started at the Museum of Black Civilizations, though I didn’t get to see much before catching the 11 a.m. ferry to Gorée Island, off the coast of Dakar. In the 1800s, it served as a holding place for the slave trade. Many of the original buildings still stand—walls heavy with salt from the ocean and with history.

Inside the former prison, my guide explained that men were crammed into 6×6 rooms, hundreds at a time. The women’s cells were larger, holding about fifteen women, with a small toilet area and more ventilation. I knew enough about slavery to know why that was important. When I stepped into the dark hallway, I could hear and see the water beyond the doorway—the same sea they would have faced as they were led from those rooms to the ships waiting below.

Back in the city, we stopped at Marché Soumbédioune. What caught my attention wasn’t the noise, tarps, or debris but rather a woodworking family nearby—each man with a role, their movements purposeful: sawing, whittling, swinging an ax. The smell of cut wood and the rhythm of their tools filled the air.

We finished the day at the African Renaissance Monument, a structure reaching high into the sky and symbolizing the rebirth of Africa and its hope for the future.

It definitely had me thinking about my own journey over the last three years—how far I’ve come, and how much of me is still finding the way forward.