My introduction to surfing in Senegal began with me putting my wetsuit on incorrectly.
Not an especially promising start, considering I’d traveled halfway across the world, crossed three countries by land, and arrived on a small island off Dakar with the intention of spending a week learning to surf. But after weeks navigating buses, border crossings, and a twenty-hour journey sitting on a pile of iron ore, I was delighted to have a problem that didn’t require a passport or a transportation schedule to solve.
I’d made my way south through Morocco and Mauritania before eventually arriving in Senegal. The final stretch involved crossing the Senegal River at Rosso, finding shared transportation to Dakar, and waiting around long enough to develop a philosophical appreciation for vehicles that depart whenever they’re full.
By the time I reached Ngor Island, I was ready for a change of pace. I wanted to wake up without a bus to catch, eat decent food, meet interesting people, and spend some time in the ocean. Whether I’d develop any actual talent for surfing was a secondary concern, although I was cautiously optimistic.
The Atlantic had other plans.
Trading the Sahara for the Atlantic
Ngor Island sits just off the coast of Dakar, close enough to the capital to feel connected to the city but with a rhythm distinctly its own. There are sandy paths, fishing boats, colorful buildings, stretches of beach, and a small community whose daily routines continue regardless of how many visitors have arrived hoping to catch a wave.
I settled into Ngor Surf Camp, where I’d spend the next week living alongside a mix of travelers, surfers, and people who seemed to have perfected the art of enjoying an afternoon without feeling the need to accomplish anything.
The difference from the previous weeks was immediate. Instead of waking up and figuring out how to reach the next town, I could wander barefoot, eat fresh fish and mangoes, spend time in the water, and join everyone around the table for meals that frequently turned into long conversations.
There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about it.
I’d spent much of the preceding journey moving toward something. The next country, the next border, the next bus, the next experience. Even when you’re enjoying yourself, that constant movement creates its own kind of momentum. You get so used to figuring out what comes next that standing still begins to feel slightly unnatural.
Ngor was a welcome interruption.
And apparently, an excellent place to discover that I wasn’t a particularly gifted surfer.
A beginner in somebody else’s world
I’ve always enjoyed physical challenges. Mountains, long treks, demanding climbs, and the satisfaction of gradually getting better at something that initially feels uncomfortable. There’s something rewarding about putting in the effort, learning the technique, and eventually seeing progress.
I approached surfing with a similar attitude, although the first few attempts suggested my previous athletic experience wasn’t going to be particularly useful.
The ocean doesn’t care how many mountains you’ve climbed.
There was paddling, falling, swallowing an unreasonable amount of saltwater, and the occasional moment when I thought I might actually be getting the hang of it before the next wave offered a different opinion.
Meanwhile, the more experienced surfers made everything look remarkably easy. They seemed to read the water instinctively, moving with a confidence that comes from spending countless hours understanding something I had only recently begun trying to figure out.
I enjoyed watching them almost as much as attempting it myself. There was a whole language surrounding surfing, a vocabulary of waves, conditions, boards, and techniques that I barely understood. People discussed particular breaks and movements with the kind of fascination I usually reserve for mountain routes.
It was refreshing to be surrounded by people whose passion was completely different from my own.
And even more refreshing to have absolutely no expectation that I needed to be good at it.
The people who make a place
One of my favorite things about traveling is finding myself temporarily immersed in communities built around a shared interest.
I’ve experienced it in the mountains, where people from completely different backgrounds can spend hours discussing a route, an expedition, or the peculiar satisfaction of being cold and uncomfortable at high altitude.
Surfing seemed to attract a similarly dedicated group of people, although with considerably better weather and a more relaxed approach to footwear.
At Ngor, everyone had arrived by a different path. Some were serious surfers, others were traveling through Senegal, and a few, like me, seemed primarily interested in the prospect of sunshine, good company, and learning something new.
What brought everyone together wasn’t necessarily an identical background or even an equal level of enthusiasm for surfing. It was simply being there, sharing meals, spending time together, and enjoying the same little corner of the world for a while.
I particularly liked the conversations around the table. People would talk about where they’d traveled, what they were doing back home, how they’d ended up in Senegal, and what they hoped to do next. Someone might be leaving for another country, someone else had been returning to Ngor for years, and another person seemed perfectly content to stay exactly where they were.
These were the sorts of conversations I missed whenever I spent too much time moving between destinations.
A good travel experience doesn’t always require something extraordinary to happen. Sometimes it’s a group of people eating together, laughing at a story, and realizing a few hours have passed without anyone noticing.
Although having the Atlantic Ocean a short walk away certainly helps.
The peculiar joy of being terrible at something
I think there’s something healthy about periodically becoming a beginner again.
The older we get, the more time we spend doing things we’re already reasonably good at. We develop careers, build expertise, and become accustomed to having some level of competence in the areas that occupy our lives.
There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. It’s satisfying to improve at something and eventually know what you’re doing.
But I’ve also noticed how easy it becomes to avoid activities where we might look inexperienced, clumsy, or completely out of our depth.
Surfing didn’t give me much opportunity to hide any of those things.
My lack of talent was immediately apparent to anyone watching, including, I suspect, a few people who hadn’t even intended to watch.
And I found the whole experience genuinely enjoyable.
It was nice to do something simply because it was fun. There was no particular milestone to achieve, no meaningful performance metric, and certainly no expectation that I’d return from Senegal with an impressive surfing résumé.
I could spend an afternoon failing to stand on a board, laugh about it over dinner, and head back out the next day.
I didn’t need to turn the experience into anything more.
That’s a surprisingly useful feeling to remember.
Learning when to slow down
Looking back at that period of travel, I can recognize how often I’d been drawn toward experiences that required effort, movement, and the occasional willingness to make myself uncomfortable.
I loved long journeys, unfamiliar countries, and the satisfaction of navigating somewhere I knew very little about. There was always another place I wanted to visit or another adventure waiting somewhere beyond the horizon.
And while I still enjoy all of those things, Ngor reminded me that a memorable journey doesn’t have to involve constant forward motion.
Some of the most enjoyable moments of that week were remarkably ordinary. Waking up without much of a plan, walking barefoot, eating with people I’d only recently met, and allowing the afternoon to develop without trying to decide whether I was using my time effectively.
Today, with much of my life occupied by building a business alongside my wife, Espoir, I probably appreciate those moments even more.
There’s always something that needs attention when you’re running a company. Another decision, another problem to solve, another ambition that makes the present moment feel like a stepping stone toward something else.
I don’t think ambition is the problem. I enjoy building things, challenging myself, and having goals worth working toward.
But I also don’t want to become someone who can only enjoy an experience once it produces a measurable result.
Some things are worth doing badly.
Surfing, apparently, is one of them.
What I remember about Senegal
When I think back to that journey through Northwest Africa, the more dramatic experiences are easy to recall.
The seemingly endless bus ride through Western Sahara. Meeting Haroune in Nouakchott. Spending twenty hours on an iron ore train beneath one of the most extraordinary night skies I’ve ever seen. The long overland journey south and the uncertainty of getting from one place to the next.
But the week in Senegal occupies a different sort of space in my memory.
I remember the relaxed atmosphere around the camp, fresh fish and mangoes, the conversations with travelers and local surfers, and the pleasure of having nowhere particularly urgent to be.
I remember discovering an entire community built around something I knew almost nothing about, and being welcomed into it despite contributing very little in the way of surfing ability.
And I remember how good it felt to stop moving for a while.
Travel has given me an enormous appreciation for the excitement of arriving somewhere unfamiliar. I’ve spent years chasing mountains, exploring new countries, and following my curiosity into places I never imagined visiting.
But every so often, it reminds me of something considerably simpler.
You don’t always need another destination, another achievement, or a particularly impressive story to tell afterward.
Sometimes a week on an island, a few good people, and a thoroughly unsuccessful attempt at standing on a surfboard is more than enough.
Although next time, I’ll probably start by putting the wetsuit on correctly.
