Searching for sandy climes, my flatmate and I taxied past Pointe des Almadies – the very tip of the Western world – and arrived at the bustling Ngor beach. Seeking a spot of serenity amid the hustle and bustle, we noticed the half-pint-sized Ile de Ngor, a tiny spot, only a few hundred metres away. We probably could have swam had it not been for the flotillas zig-zagging around piggybacking land hoppers like us. Our method of transport was a pirogue: the brightly coloured, individually patterned Viking-style longboats with family initials scrawled into the woodwork, which packs in about 30 intrepid travellers. Following intense logistical difficulty getting into a boat with no step about ten metres out to sea in thigh-level, foaming water, the battered motorbike-sized engine spluttered into life. After landing, I manoeuvred myself around the toe-dippers, stopping about a third of the way round the island. Treading water in the nippy surf, facing the shore, I surveyed the landscape. On my right was a beachside restaurant preparing for the evening rush, in front a regal black dog surveying the stripy sun loungers, but most arresting was to my left. On the same plot of land were an adjacent open-air gym and a lavishly decorated purple-and-cream edifice. As powerful adolescents lugged rudimentary metal weights on a patch of dusty terrain, perspiring in the muggy, sinking sun, only metres to the left proudly stood a three-storey, columned structure literally and metaphorically insulated from the environment only metres away. As pretty as it was, the air-conditioned, sterile interior beyond my view, leading onto an empty balcony, seemed impersonal and superficial, and the immediate juxtaposition of prosperity and poverty symbolised Dakar’s uneasy divide between the have and have nots, worlds apart within one camera frame. Basking in the peach-and-champagne twilight, tiptoeing across smooth rocks in the translucent teal ocean, I knew on which side I’d rather be. The smell of fried seafood, lemonade and salt filling our nostrils, an elderly islander approached us with hope in his eyes and an ornate wooden xylophone in his hands. “Do you like? Is very nice.” “It is very pretty, but I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of money with me.” “I do you very good price!” “No, thanks, I definitely don’t have enough.” “Very good price.” “I’m sure it is, but I only have enough to get home.” “You want go home without this? Is very nice.” “It is nice-” “So you do want? 10,000 CFA.” [About twelve quid. Not a good price] “No, despite its niceness, I really don’t have enough.” “I do Euro. You French?” “No, English, but-” “You do pound?” “No.” “You English and no pound?” “Only CFA.” “Oh, good! 8000, excellent price.” “No, sorry, thanks. I need it for my return journey.” [A slight pause] “6000?” “I really can’t, I do honestly like it, but I’m not buying anything.” “4000. Very good price!” [About a fiver] Another sixty seconds ticked away as he held our gaze unblinkingly. “2000?” [About two pounds, actually a very good price. At this point, had I been considering buying it, I would have started to doubt its quality.] Eventually he walked away begrudgingly, looking back as if we might suddenly change our mind. Some time later he walked by again. He didn’t look at us, but I swear I heard a faint: “1500?” Maybe I’m imagining things. With twilight descending we decided to leave. Wading through the growing crowds with a swelling tide and darkness falling, we positioned ourselves next to the incoming pirogue. Within seconds about 60 passengers, double the first boatload, had thrown themselves on unceremoniously. Just about afloat, tilting precariously, it chugged off into the still darkening horizon. When the next pirogue crunched onto the sand, tepid greyish water rising ominously, I hurdled the side and sat relieved, the first aboard; I was told to get off until I had a lifejacket. By that time every lifejacket was gone and the boat was full again, including many without lifejackets. It sailed off. A quick-thinking cream-coloured yacht offered to ferry us back and we accepted instantly, sailing away with the now near-deserted island fading gradually from view across the brief divide.