One of My Best Travelling Experiences

The night before we hired bikes, we'd heard some tribal drums in the distance. Ossuyeh was apparently a good place to see some wrestling (the national sport), and we had arrived in the right season. We decided to head out the following night to find our own slice of Senegalese tradition.

That next morning, we set out on some, surprisingly, good condition bikes (suspension!) on a route recommended to us by Charles, the man behind VTT. Dree was not feeling 100% after being ill, but we continued regardless. I was honestly happy to not be ill myself, as it's normally me that catches something first! But obviously sharing Dree's pain.

After a cycle down a long dirt road, we turned down a forest footpath, going past a village's back gardens and into the thick of the forest, with giant trees staring down at us. They really are amazing, far larger than anything in the UK! Only problem being that the path turned into a sand track. We were skidding and drifting all over the place. Great fun!

We eventually turned onto the main road and kept cycling through the Senegalese countryside in searing heat (we were pretty ill-prepared for the strength of the sun - far hotter than anything in Asia), past rice paddys, more giant forests, children playing at the side of the road and rogue goats. Sometimes a huge truck from the local quarry would storm past, or a sept-place would cut us up, leaving us covered in red dust. Stopping for water at a small village, we heard some commotion on the road behind us (we were about to turn back, because we only had a half-days rent on the bikes).

There was a group of about a hundred people taking up the whole width of the road, chanting, waving banners and sticks and making a helluva lot of noise. First thought - rebels. Fantastic. On closer inspection there was a mixture of all ages and both sexes, and the entire group seemed in fantastic spirits. They turned down a path into a village clearing and we got chatting to a man along the road who could speak French. He explained it was a wrestling bout between two villages, and we were more than welcome to watch! Lady Luck was on form that day!

We got taken into the clearing and our French-speaking friend got us a bench right at the front, after firstly checking with the village chief. There were two villages on either side of a large, unsymmetrical circle with male wrestlers between 13 and 35 years old, all bare chested, most with a sarong-like cloth over Adidas or Nike shorts. Makeshift drums (empty oil containers) were being banged and a hunting horn was constantly playing, with a lot of the villagers singing and dancing along. It was fantastic. A front row seat!

Then the wrestling began. Nothing at all like Stone Cold or The Hardy Boyz, this was one-on-one, mano-a-mano for your pride and that of your village. There were three or four separate matches going on at once, bodies grappling, kicking up sand, with the object to ground your opponent on his back. There were some cracking flips, airborne slams and sly leg taps. The atmosphere was incredible! When a fighter was victorious, the drums were sounded, the women shrieked about and slapped the ground with leafed branches, and some very football-esque celebrations were being shown - the chicken dance, finger to the lips, dancing, the Usain Bolt! The only one I didn't see was the Robot!

One guy was on fire. We nicknamed him 'Red', because of his shorts, and he was HUGE. Guess thats what happens when you do some manual labour, but I wouldn't know. He was throwing people all over the place, and was probably the best one there. In the final! After an hour of different rounds, he kept drawing to his opponent (i.e. neither wrestler could floor the other; a stalemate). In this instance, a 'referee' from one of the villages would come and tap them on the shoulders - usually a bare-chested man with a machete in his jeans! Occasionally, the outer cordon of the arena was broken, as a fight spilled into the undergrowth, sending screaming women running for cover.

Behind us a youth-wrestling competition was going on - children re-enacting their fathers, uncles or brothers' success. Toddlers grappling in a playfight, in training to become the next champion of the region! After a few hours the bout was over, and we headed beck to Ossuyeh in the ridiculously hot midday sun.

It was all worth it though, this was a fantastic experience, probably one of the most amazing I have been part of. We were invited into a community to witness something that has been tradition for hundreds of years. A great memory.