If you’re looking for things to do in Dakar and expecting a neat checklist of attractions with tidy descriptions and TripAdvisor-starred rankings… you’re in the wrong place. Dakar doesn’t do tidy. It does colour, chaos, contradiction, and—if you’re lucky—a little bit of magic.
I travelled to Dakar with one goal: to understand it. Not just to see the sights but to feel the heartbeat of the place. That meant stepping off the well-worn path, talking with locals, following music down side streets, and occasionally getting wonderfully, gloriously lost. Which is how I ended up in a stone quarry chatting with the last five remaining stone sculptors in Senegal—world-renowned artists chiselling masterpieces in the shade of a baobab tree. They weren’t on any map. But they were, without question, one of the most unforgettable things I stumbled across.
And that’s the real beauty of Dakar. Yes, you can climb a monument, visit a haunting island, or marvel at grand mosques. But the true essence of this place reveals itself in the spaces in between—in unexpected conversations, surprising contradictions, and communities that open their arms even when you don’t share a language.
So here it is: my guide to the most fascinating, powerful, and unusual things to do in Dakar. Some are well-known. Some are wildly overlooked. All of them are worth your time—especially if you like your travel with a generous dose of depth, heart, and adventure.
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You can’t talk about things to do in Dakar without mentioning the African Renaissance Monument. Mostly because it’s staring at you from nearly every angle of the city, standing 52 metres tall with a muscle-bound man hoisting a child into the air like a Lion King reenactment on steroids. And yes—you can actually go inside it. Because why stop at building a statue when you can turn it into a skyscraper with abs?
The monument, built in 2010, is meant to represent Africa emerging from darkness and stepping into the light of the future. And despite the slightly Soviet-meets-Marvel aesthetic, it’s a powerful symbol. Climbing the 198 steps to the top isn’t just a workout (though trust me, your calves will notice)—it’s a journey. At the summit, Dakar sprawls out beneath you in every direction: the Atlantic on one side, the city’s ever-buzzing streets on the other.
But like all things in Dakar, there’s more beneath the surface. The statue cost a cool 30 million USD, which sparked quite a public outcry—especially given Senegal’s average wage is around €100 a month. And then there’s the fact that it was designed by a North Korean firm (because, apparently, that was a logical outsourcing choice). Add in the politics of legacy, pride, and power, and you’ve got a monument that’s as controversial as it is colossal.
Still, love it or loathe it, the African Renaissance Monument is unforgettable. Whether you go for the views, the history, or the sheer absurdity of seeing a family flex carved in bronze, it’s one of the most iconic things to do in Dakar—and a fitting metaphor for a city constantly in the midst of reinvention.
You know when something is so stunning that it almost makes you uncomfortable? That’s Gorée Island. Of all the things to do in Dakar, visiting this tiny island just three kilometres off the mainland is the one that left me reeling the most. You step off the ferry expecting to be hit with solemnity, maybe silence. Instead, it feels… oddly charming. French colonial buildings in sorbet tones, palm trees swaying in the sea breeze, picture-perfect shutters, and cobbled lanes where couples stroll hand in hand. If Disneyland decided to build a “Colonial Africa” section, it might look like this.
And then, just beyond the picture-perfect pastel façade, lies the House of Slaves.
Here, the pain is impossible to gloss over. Built in 1776, this house was one of many on the island used to detain enslaved Africans before they were shipped to the Americas. The House of Slaves is the one that was preserved. Polished. Curated. But no amount of smoothing the paint can erase the horror.
Inside, I walked through cramped rooms where up to 20 people were kept in 2×2 metre cells. These weren’t holding rooms. They were cages. Slaves were weighed—60kg was the target. If they didn’t meet the quota, they were fattened with beans and palm oil. Some, deemed too weak for the transatlantic journey, were sold domestically instead. Others died before ever boarding the ships. The sick were discarded—literally thrown into the sea to avoid infecting the rest of the “merchandise.”
Our guide was firm, passionate, and relentless in telling the truth. He pointed out the infamous Door of No Return, the symbolic passageway where enslaved people were loaded onto ships. Once they passed through it, they were never to set foot on African soil again. He showed us the punishment cell under the stairs. The “privileged room” with a drain for a toiler, built not out of mercy, but so the enslavers could keep certain women “clean” for rape. And the pillar, where men and women were tied and whipped—punishment for daring to resist the dehumanisation.
And yet… the island itself is touristy. Almost jarringly so. Kids pose for selfies, guides shout over each other, and souvenir shops line the entry path, all of it feeling like a strange clash of trauma and tourism. Compared to Bunce Island in Sierra Leone, which is raw, untouched, and deeply haunting, Gorée feels more like a curated museum of pain. Still, the pain is real, and it’s essential to witness it.
My advice? Skip the first few souvenir stalls at the entrance. You’ll be ushered toward mass-produced trinkets. Instead, keep walking. Toward the top of the island, there are real artists creating genuine art. Support them. They’re the ones preserving memory, not just selling magnets.
It would be easy to leave Gorée with the feeling that slavery is something buried in the past. But that’s the thing about visiting Senegal—history is never just history. The legacies of domination (a term used far more often than “colonisation” here) are still felt every day. In the language, the economy, the education system, and even the architecture.
Senegal was a French colony until 1960. Unlike many British colonies, the French colonies didn’t fight for independence with guns and bloodshed (Algeria being the infamous exception). Instead, domination was subtler—wrapped in ideas of assimilation, where the French believed they could “civilise” the Africans and make them French. And for some, they did. Remember those women raped on Gorée? If they gave birth to mixed-race children, those children were granted French citizenship. Not because of love or mercy—but because a drop of European blood made them more worthy.
Fast forward to today, and Senegal remains deeply Francophone. French is still the official language, taught in schools, used in government, and spoken by the elite—even though the vast majority of people speak Wolof or other indigenous languages at home. It’s a linguistic hangover of an identity crisis: are we African, or are we what the French made us?
The economic implications run even deeper. Senegal has long been at the mercy of foreign interests. European countries once fought over it due to its strategic position—the closest African point to the Americas. Today, the battle is more subtle but no less problematic. Chinese and EU ships overfish the Senegalese coast, often under shady agreements. BP has a boat offshore to drill for gas, but the new government discovered recently they hadn’t received a cent of the profits. Independence, it seems, hasn’t always meant control.
Even tourism on Gorée Island is tinged with this imbalance. Mass-market souvenir stalls greet you before you even reach the museum. Locals, often excluded from the wealth it brings, hustle to get your attention.
So yes—visiting Gorée Island is one of the most important things to do in Dakar. But it’s not a tick-box attraction. It’s an emotional reckoning. One that asks not just what happened here—but how it still echoes today.
If Dakar has a soul, you’ll find it in Medina. It’s not polished. It’s not curated. And that’s exactly why it’s one of the most essential things to do in Dakar. While the city sprawls in every direction—modern towers, beachside villas, and traffic that could give Cairo a run for its money—Medina remains defiantly, proudly local.
The neighbourhood was born from exclusion. During the colonial domination (I mean colonisation), European settlers wanted Dakar for themselves. So they pushed the African population out to the fringes—and Medina became the first proper African neighbourhood within the city. What started as a forced exile has grown into a cultural powerhouse.
Walking through Medina is a full-blown assault on the senses—in the best way. There’s music pouring from speakers and mosques. Fish sizzling in giant pans by the roadside. Women in vibrant wax-print dresses balancing baskets on their heads like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Children weave through traffic like they have nine lives. And then there are the street barbers—yes, street barbers—trimming hair and filing nails right on the pavement, with queues of customers who clearly know a good deal when they see one.
You’ll pass stalls selling everything from second-hand shoes to shea butter so pure it could fix your love life. There’s a particular fascination with feet here—not just the pedicure stalls, but full-on nail sculpting right out in the open. Don’t ask me why, but I can say my toes have never felt so judged.
The French influence still lingers, not just in the language but in the architecture and education system. Schools still follow a very French model. The signs are in French. Government paperwork is in French. And yet, the average person in Medina is more likely to speak Wolof. It’s a classic case of a system imposed from above, never fully adapted from within.
And yet, Medina thrives. It pulses with life. It refuses to be sterilised. If you want to understand Dakar—not the Dakar of brochures and monuments, but the one that breathes, sweats, laughs, and hustles—you need to come here. You won’t find guided tours or photo ops every five steps. What you will find is real life. And in my book, that’s one of the most important things to do in Dakar.
Sometimes, the best things to do in Dakar aren’t things you plan at all.
We took a wrong turn. Or maybe it was the right turn disguised as a wrong one. Either way, we wandered off the main road, past a few goats and some suspiciously quiet alleys, and ended up in what looked like a disused quarry. Dust rose in soft clouds as we walked. And then we heard it: the chink of metal against stone.
There, surrounded by boulders and fragments of half-formed faces, stood a group of men chiselling away with delicate precision. They were stone sculptors—five of them—the last five in all of Senegal, or so they told us. And not just any sculptors. These were internationally commissioned artists, creating works that would soon be shipped to galleries and public spaces across the world. Right there in the dust and sunlight, they were crafting beauty by hand, one strike at a time.
We stayed for an hour. Maybe more. They proudly showed us their work—busts, abstract forms, intricate carvings—and we spoke in a mash-up of French, English, Wolof, Spanish, and wild gesturing. There were no expectations. No prices. No pressure. Just people sharing their craft, their pride, and a little piece of their world with strangers who stumbled into it by accident.
It was one of the most magical encounters I’ve ever had on the road.
This is why I always say: get lost on purpose. Let your feet go where the maps don’t. Because sometimes the real things to do in Dakar aren’t listed on any website. They’re found in the dust of a quarry, in the laughter of a sculptor, in a shared smile when words don’t quite line up, but meaning still makes its way through.
It’s easy to get caught up in the must-sees. But Dakar rewards curiosity far more than checklists. So go. Wander. Get wonderfully lost. You never know what kind of masterpiece you might find.
Not far from the crashing waves of the Atlantic, the Millennial Monument rises like an open invitation. Built after Senegal gained independence, it stands as a bold message to the world: “We’re open for business.” When independence was declared, many Western nations worried that Senegal, like Japan once famously did, might slam its borders shut—turning inward, rejecting trade, and retreating into post-colonial silence. But this monument was built to say the opposite: Senegal wanted to step into the global market with its own voice, on its own terms.
And right next to that powerful political statement… is Magic Land.
Ah yes. Magic Land. What can I say?
Imagine someone once visited Disneyland, took a few notes, then tried to recreate the experience with a few bits of scaffolding, two rollercoaster tracks, and a slightly haunted-looking animatronic giraffe. Welcome to Senegal’s answer to theme parks. It’s delightfully chaotic—or mildly traumatic—depending entirely on your tolerance for things that creak more than they should when in motion.
There’s something strangely charming about it though. Like everything else in Dakar, it’s a little rough around the edges, a little unpredictable, and full of heart. Kids run wild, rides look questionably assembled, and no one seems too concerned about health and safety. But the laughter is real, the colours are bright, and the energy is infectious.
Is it one of the top things to do in Dakar? Look, maybe not. But is it an experience? Absolutely.
So after visiting the monument and soaking up its message of sovereignty and identity, you might as well pop next door and scream your lungs out on a ride that probably hasn’t passed a safety inspection since 1993. It’s all part of the charm.
When you’re trying to wrap your head around the things to do in Dakar, don’t forget to look beyond the monuments and markets. To truly understand Senegal, you’ve got to dive into what makes it tick: faith, politics, and the slow, stubborn march toward progress.
Let’s start with religion. Senegal is 95% Muslim, mostly Sufi—a gentle, spiritual branch of Islam that values peace, music, and the occasional swirl of mysticism. There’s also a 4% Christian population, mostly Catholic thanks to the French legacy, and then there’s the 1% listed as “.
Naturists. In a conservative Muslim country. It’s fair to say this was a translation mishap by our guide Pap, who was actually trying to describe people who don’t believe in God but instead believe in nature. I suppose naturist is the obvious made-up word to describe that… if only it didn’t already have a completely different meaning!
Religious tolerance, however, is real and beautiful here. Mosques and churches sit side by side. You’ll often see interfaith families celebrating each other’s holidays. Faith is lived with pride, but not enforced with hostility—a refreshing contrast to some of the more hard-line narratives that dominate global headlines.
Politically, Senegal is an outlier in the region—in the best way. It’s never had a military coup. Not one. That might not sound exciting until you look at a map of West Africa and realise how rare that is. Instead, Senegal’s transitions of power have been democratic and largely peaceful. The press is relatively free. Activism is alive. And people care. You feel it in conversations—in taxis, in market stalls, at the beach. Everyone has an opinion, and they’re not afraid to share it.
And then there’s the fishing drama. For years, Senegal had agreements that allowed foreign vessels—mostly from the EU and China—to fish in its waters. In theory, this brought in money. In practice? It gutted local economies. Coastal communities watched their fish stocks disappear while Chinese ships hauled in tonnes of catch, often well beyond agreed quotas. It wasn’t just overfishing—it was theft with a handshake.
So the current president scrapped many of the deals. Bold move? Absolutely. Risky? Definitely. But for many, it felt like reclaiming something more than just fish. It was about dignity. About not being the world’s resource buffet. About saying, “No, actually—we’d like to eat our own fish, thanks.”
Of course, China still cheats. Reports of illegal trawling continue, and enforcement is patchy. But the message is clear: Senegal is trying. And in a world where many small nations are still pressured into signing away their resources, that effort matters.
So when you walk the streets of Dakar, when you share a meal or hop into a taxi or wander through a market, you’re witnessing a country negotiating its past and its future all at once. That, in itself, is one of the most fascinating things to do in Dakar—observe a nation working out who it is, in real time.
You haven’t truly experienced Dakar until you’ve stood on a street corner watching someone get their toenails cut while a goat trots past and the smell of sizzling fish fills the air. Forget fancy rooftop bars—this is the theatre of Dakar, and it’s playing live on every pavement.
One of the first things that struck me (besides the lack of heat and the traffic) was the very public obsession with feet. You’ll see rows of people sitting on plastic stools getting their nails cut, scrubbed, or sculpted by street-side specialists. We’re not talking quick trims, either. This is performance art. It’s unclear whether it’s about hygiene, social bonding, or just a very accessible form of self-care—but it’s fascinating to watch. And if your toes are feeling left out, you can absolutely join in.
Dakar serves up some of the best meals I’ve had anywhere in West Africa—bold flavours, rich spices, and generous portions of rice that could double as sandbags. From the national dish thieboudienne (a heavenly mix of fish, rice, tomato, and vegetables) to sizzling skewers of grilled meat and fresh seafood plucked straight from the Atlantic, the culinary scene is deliciously satisfying.
But here’s the twist: it’s not cheap, at least not by regional standards.
Restaurants can be surprisingly pricey—especially the ones aimed at tourists or Dakar’s upper crust. You’ll find yourself paying €10–15 for a basic meal in some places, which doesn’t sound outrageous… until you realise the average monthly wage in Senegal is around €100.
It’s a reality that adds perspective to every bite.
As a traveller, it’s easy to take prices at face value. But when locals are navigating skyrocketing food costs, unreliable imports, and limited wages, your lunch comes with a side dish of privilege. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat out—just that you should do so thoughtfully. Support smaller, local eateries. Tip when you can. Ask where the fish came from (you might hear a great story). And don’t be afraid to try that nondescript street stall with plastic chairs and a smoky grill—it’s probably where the best food lives anyway.
In Dakar, eating isn’t just a necessity. It’s a window into culture, inequality, and everyday joy. So sit, eat, and watch the world go by. Between the foot grooming, food flames, and casual chaos, it might just be one of the most entertaining—and revealing—things to do in Dakar.
If you’re looking for things to do in Dakar that will leave you exhilarated, inspired, mildly overwhelmed, and possibly a little sweaty, the markets are where it’s at. They’re not just places to shop—they’re full-blown experiences.
Let’s start with Marché Sandaga, Dakar’s most iconic (and chaotic) market. It’s the place where you can buy everything from fabric to footballs, flip-flops to fake Gucci. The main building is currently under renovation, but the surrounding streets are a buzzing maze of stalls, sellers, and more shouting than a New York traffic jam. If you make it through without accidentally buying a second-hand phone or a questionable cologne, you deserve a medal. But if you go with an open mind and an adventurous spirit, you’ll come away with some brilliant finds and even better stories.
Then there’s Marché Kermel—slightly calmer, much prettier, and perfect if you’re after fruit, spices, and crafts in a gorgeous colonial-era building. It’s more manageable, but don’t be fooled into thinking it’s “touristy.” Locals shop here too, and if you pause long enough to ask about the piles of baobab fruit or the jars of vivid red bissap (hibiscus) petals, you’ll likely get a mini-lecture in local cuisine—delivered with a smile and, occasionally, a nudge to buy just one more thing.
Marché HLM is the spot for wax print fabric lovers. It’s a riot of colour and creativity—rows upon rows of bold, beautiful textiles that will make you seriously consider taking up sewing. Even if you don’t plan on making anything, the patterns are artwork in themselves.
Every market in Dakar is a lesson in economy, energy, and endurance. Be ready to haggle (it’s expected), keep your valuables close (pickpockets do love a crowd), and bring small bills. Don’t worry about getting lost—it’s half the fun. Plus, you’ll probably emerge from a random alley clutching something you didn’t know you needed, like a carved wooden hippo or five litres of mango-scented shea butter.
But the real reason to visit? The people. Markets are where stories are told, gossip is swapped, business is done, and life happens in real time. Don’t rush it. Walk slowly, ask questions, and absorb the beautiful chaos.
Because among all the things to do in Dakar, this is where you’ll feel the city’s pulse—up close, loud, and unforgettable.
While Dakar is a city best explored with curiosity and a willingness to get a little lost, sometimes it’s also really nice to hand over the reins to someone else—especially when that someone happens to be brilliant.
I explored Dakar with a private guide called Pape, and he was honestly one of the highlights of my trip. Funny, easy-going, fluent in English, and an absolute font of knowledge, he made history feel alive and answered every random question I threw at him—from slavery and monuments to mobile money and why everyone’s obsessed with feet. If you’re looking for someone to show you around Dakar (or even the rest of Senegal), I can’t recommend him enough. It’s like sightseeing with a friend—if your friend happened to have a PhD in local culture. He doesn’t have a website yet but you can reach him on WhatsApp (+221 778813752).
But if you’re more of a semi-solo explorer and just want to add in a few guided experiences along the way, here are some great tours that let you dive into Dakar without needing to manage all the logistics yourself.
Tours like these give you a deeper sense of place, a local perspective, and—let’s be honest—a bit of a break from having to figure everything out yourself. And in a city as layered and complex as Dakar, sometimes that’s exactly what you need.
While Dakar will keep you busy for days on end, one of its best features is just how many incredible escapes are within arm’s reach. Whether you’re craving nature, art, wildlife, or simply a bit of peace and quiet after dodging taxis and horse carts for a week, these day trips from Dakar are well worth your time. You can either book tours in situ or contact Pape, the guide who spent two incredible weeks with us, showing us all the best of Senegal.
Let’s address the Instagram elephant in the room: Lac Rose isn’t very pink right now. For years, the lake was famous for its high salt content and vivid pink colour caused by a microalgae called Dunaliella salina. But due to a nearby canal being opened—allowing rainwater to rush in—the salt levels have dropped, and the colour faded. That said, the pink isn’t gone forever. Locals say it’s slowly coming back, especially in the dry season when the water level drops.
Why was a canal opened up? Because the Mayor of the city sold land illegally for housing development. The repercussions (aside from a colour change)? The tourism industry has tanked, and locals are struggling with the lack of visitors. But fear not; they are working hard to rebalance the levels once more.
Colour aside, Lac Rose is still a surreal and fascinating place. Salt harvesters work waist-deep in the water, piling crystallised salt into boats in scenes that feel otherworldly. You can float in the lake (Dead Sea style), ride quad bikes across sand dunes, visit nearby Fulani villages, or just sit back with a cold drink and take it all in. It’s about an hour and a half from Dakar—longer if the traffic gods aren’t smiling.
Tip: Visit in the dry season (roughly November to June) for your best chance at seeing the lake regain its famous hue.
If your nervous system needs a break after Dakar’s sensory overload, Popenguine is your sanctuary. Just under two hours south of the capital, this coastal village is known for its gentle vibe, cliffside views, and a beach so quiet you can hear your own thoughts again.
It’s also an important pilgrimage site for Catholics in Senegal, with the Popenguine Basilica drawing thousands each year. But beyond the religious significance, Popenguine is just a genuinely lovely place to unwind. The nearby Popenguine Nature Reserve offers easy hikes with views over cliffs and sea, and birdwatchers will find plenty to geek out about.
There’s not a lot to do in Popenguine—and that’s kind of the point. It’s where you exhale.
On paper, Bandia Reserve sounds like a perfect escape from the city: a tidy, well-maintained wildlife park just 1.5 hours from Dakar, where you can spot zebras, giraffes, antelopes, warthogs, monkeys, and even the Derby Eland, not found in traditional safari destinations. And for many visitors, especially those who’ve never been on safari, it ticks a lot of boxes—open terrain, visible animals, and knowledgeable guides.
Baobabs dot the landscape here like ancient sentinels, some of them so wide you half expect a door to swing open. I’d always thought of baobabs as the pride of Madagascar or the scattered giants of Tarangire—but Senegal’s got its own impressive collection. And bonus: you can drink them. Baobab fruit juice is a local staple—tart, refreshing, and allegedly good for your health. If it also clears skin and mends heartbreak, I wouldn’t be surprised.
While most of the animals have ample space to roam, and the reserve is well-run in many respects, there are two major red flags: the crocodiles and hyenas are kept in enclosures. The kind that feel more zoo than a reserve. And that, for me, is a dealbreaker.
Hyenas are intelligent, social animals that deserve more than a concrete pen for tourists to stare at. Crocodiles, too, are confined to a murky pit that feels like it belongs in the 1970s. It’s uncomfortable to see—and hard to justify in a setting that otherwise seems to value conservation and education.
As someone who’s been on multiple safaris in East and Southern Africa, I found Bandia underwhelming overall. It’s safe, yes. It’s accessible, yes. But if you’ve experienced the raw, wild beauty of a true safari, this won’t come close. Still, for first-timers or those unable to travel further afield, it can be an enjoyable introduction to some of West Africa’s wildlife—as long as you go in with open eyes and manage your expectations.
Would I recommend it? Not really.
The ethical concerns around the hyenas and crocodiles are enough to make me say, “Give it a miss.” There are better ways to support wildlife in Senegal without compromising animal welfare.
If you genuinely want to experience a safari in Senegal, head to Niokolo-Koba National Park.
Equal parts fishing village, bohemian retreat, and artsy beach haven, Toubab Dialaw is a haven for the creatively inclined. About 1.5 to 2 hours from Dakar, depending on traffic, it’s long been a favourite weekend escape for locals, expats, and artists.
Here, you’ll find colourful murals, music and dance workshops, poetry readings, yoga classes, and more than a few offbeat guesthouses that double as art galleries. The beach isn’t polished, but it’s raw and honest—with waves crashing against red cliffs and locals hauling in fishing nets as kids sprint past with kites made of plastic bags.
There’s a real sense of community here—one that welcomes curious travellers with open arms and invites you to stay a little longer than planned.
Tip: Check if Ecole des Sables has any open events or classes—this world-renowned contemporary and traditional African dance school is based right here, and it’s phenomenal.
If you’re craving calm water, bird calls, and a break from the urban buzz, Somone Lagoon is your spot. Just 1.5 to 2 hours from Dakar (depending on traffic and goat crossings), this peaceful protected area offers a refreshing mix of mangroves, quiet beaches, and small pirogue rides through calm, shallow waters.
Hop on a traditional boat and glide through the lagoon while spotting herons, kingfishers, and—if you’re lucky—lots of crabs. There is a brilliant Rasta restaurant along the edge where you can dig your toes in the sand while eating freshly grilled fish, and the vibe is gloriously slow-paced. You can even swim if you fancy a dip somewhere less salty than the ocean.
It’s not flashy, but that’s exactly the charm. Pair it with a short walk, a kayak, a drink by the water, or just a lazy lunch, and you’ve got a perfect mellow escape from Dakar’s chaos.
Technically still part of Dakar, Ngor Island is just a short pirogue (traditional wooden boat) ride from the mainland—but it feels like stepping into a different rhythm of life. There are no cars here. No chaos. Just sandy paths, brightly painted houses, and the soothing sound of waves replacing traffic noise.
You can walk around the island in under an hour, stop for grilled fish at a beachfront shack, take a dip in turquoise waters, or just lay in the sun pretending you’ve fled to the Greek Islands without paying the airfare.
It’s popular with locals, surfers, and creative types. On weekends, it gets busier, with beach bars and music filling the air. During the week, it’s a sleepy slice of coastal calm. Either way, it’s the perfect micro-getaway from the intensity of city life.
Tip: Bring cash—there are no ATMs on the island, and card machines are few and far between.
You’ve soaked in the monuments, feasted in the markets, dodged rogue goats, and possibly paid too much for grilled fish—but before you strut confidently into the Dakar sunset, let’s talk practicalities. Because as vibrant and welcoming as this city is, Dakar doesn’t come with a manual. And Google Translate is only going to get you so far.
Senegal has a multitude of local languages—Wolof being the most widely spoken—but French is the official one, and it’s your golden ticket to getting by. Want to ask for directions, barter at a market, or explain to a taxi driver that you’re not paying tourist prices? Do it in French. Even bad French. Especially bad French—it shows effort, and effort goes a long way here.
English speakers are few and far between outside tourist-facing businesses (and even within tourist businesses, they can still be hard to come by!). But the beauty of speaking French in Dakar isn’t just about logistics—it’s about connection. Conversations open up. Jokes land better. People appreciate that you’re trying. And in a city where connection is everything, that makes all the difference.
Bonus points for a little Wolof:
In most of Senegal, tipping in the Western sense isn’t common—but small gestures of appreciation are. Locals often offer a few coins, small bills, or useful items as “gifts” to express gratitude, especially for things like help with bags, local advice, or great service. Tourist-facing spots (restaurants, hotels, guides) are more likely to expect a tip, but no one will make a fuss if you don’t.
Speaking of money… get small bills whenever you can.
Seriously. The economy might just be held together by the elusive 1000 CFA note. ATMs love giving out large bills, which are useless when you’re trying to pay for a mango or give a small “gift.” Break your notes in supermarkets, restaurants, or anywhere that won’t flinch when you hand over a 10,000.
And when they do, they may be out of cash. Or offline. Or just inexplicably “not available today.” Don’t rely on them exclusively. Bring euros (easy to exchange) or CFA if you’re coming from elsewhere in West Africa. And always carry cash, especially if you’re heading out of the city.
Dakar is still largely cash-based. Credit cards are accepted in upmarket places, but your average restaurant, shop, or taxi won’t want anything to do with them. Locals use Orange Money and Wave, but you’ll need a local account to use those.
You’ll likely get your SIM card from a man sitting on a plastic chair on the side of the road. He’ll whip out a stapler, ask for your physical passport (not a photo), and disappear into a tiny kiosk. Don’t panic. This is normal. In fact, this is the mobile network setup across Senegal.
Orange is the most reliable provider for coverage and data, though Free is gaining ground.
Bonus tip: I have a global Airalo eSIM with data, calls, and texts—$4/month with the code TRUE. It’s not my main SIM, but when my local one fails, or I need emergency minutes, it’s a lifesaver.
Dakar is modern and progressive in many ways, but modest dress is still the norm. Women don’t need to cover their hair, but shoulders and knees should generally stay under wraps. Think floaty over fitted, respectful over revealing. Swimwear is fine at the beach, but keep a cover-up handy for the journey there.
Dakar feels safe. Locals are warm and community-oriented, and violent crime is rare. That said, opportunistic pickpocketing does happen—especially in markets and crowded buses. Keep your bag zipped and your wits about you, and you’ll be fine.
You can exchange euros easily at banks, but for other currencies you’ll need a bureau de change—and a physical passport (not a copy). Rates can vary, and queues can be long. Get what you need in one go if you can, and always double-check your cash before you leave the counter.
Yes, there are beach hotels. Yes, some are very nice. But the real Dakar happens in side streets, shared courtyards, and spontaneous djembe circles. If you’re looking for authenticity, wander away from the brochure version of the city—and into the stories you didn’t expect to find.
Because, at the end of the day, the best things to do in Dakar might not be on any itinerary. They’re waiting where the maps stop—and the music starts.
It’s easy to fall in love with Dakar—the colour, the energy, the rhythm that seems to beat from the pavements themselves. But part of travelling responsibly is being willing to see all of a place—not just the postcard-perfect parts. And in Dakar, one of the most confronting realities is the number of children forced to beg on the streets.
They’re called talibés—young boys, some as young as five, sent by their families (often from rural areas or even neighbouring countries) to study the Quran under a marabout (religious teacher). In theory, this is a respected Islamic tradition—a path to spiritual education and personal growth. But in reality, far too many are caught in a cycle of exploitation.
The marabouts don’t receive government funding or salaries to support the children, so they send them out to beg—asking for coins, rice, sugar, or soap as a means of survival. From their perspective, it’s necessary: how else can they feed and shelter dozens of boys? But for the children, it often means wandering barefoot through traffic, knocking on windows, holding out plastic containers, and facing physical punishment if they return empty-handed.
Some boys will approach you with wide, hesitant eyes. Others are bolder—because they’ve learned tourists sometimes feel guilty enough to give. And you will feel guilty. It’s gut-wrenching. But giving money directly, while well-intentioned, can inadvertently reinforce the system—keeping children on the streets and enabling a cycle of dependency and neglect.
If you want to help—and I hope you do—consider supporting local organisations that work directly with talibé children. These NGOs offer education, shelter, healthcare, and long-term support while also advocating for systemic change. The current government has started taking steps to address the issue, aiming to better regulate Quranic schools and integrate the talibés into wider society, but change is slow—and incredibly complex.
Because for all the incredible things to do in Dakar, its beauty loses its shine if we ignore the suffering that exists in its shadows. This is a city of contrasts—joy and hardship, pride and pain, movement and stillness. And travelling with open eyes means being willing to hold those contradictions with care.
Dakar isn’t perfect. No place is. But acknowledging its complexity makes every connection more meaningful—and every memory more honest.
Travel is often marketed as an escape. A break from routine. A chance to “switch off.” But here’s the thing: I think the best travel does the exact opposite. It switches us on. Sharpens our senses. It throws us into unfamiliar worlds and asks us to look a little closer, ask a little more, and accept that we may not have all the answers—and that’s okay.
Because if we don’t question what we see while we’re travelling, we risk misunderstanding it… or forgetting it entirely.
Take the sleek, grey power boat we passed on the way to Gorée Island. It looked impressive, parked offshore like something out of a Bond film. Our guide mentioned it belonged to BP, part of a grand offshore gas project that was, in theory, meant to be fuelling Senegal’s energy future. But then came the twist: Senegal, he said, wasn’t actually receiving much gas from it. Or much money, for that matter. A project on Senegalese soil (or rather, in Senegalese waters), producing gas for export, with little benefit to the people living just a few kilometres away.
That single observation—just a boat on the horizon—sparked a cascade of questions. Who benefits? Who signed the deals? What’s being done to change it? And the answers? Well, they’re complex. Yes, the current president is reviewing and challenging the agreements. Yes, Senegal is trying to secure a fairer share. But these aren’t headline stories in glossy travel brochures. You only learn them when you look beyond the surface, when you ask questions and when you care enough to lean in.
And it’s not just about energy deals. It’s the same for the talibé boys in the street, the un-pink Pink Lake, the horse-drawn carts quietly hauling the weight of the city, the kids taking boats to school. Every observation has a backstory. Every backstory is a clue to how a place really works.
Travelling with open eyes is good. Travelling with open eyes and questions? That’s where the magic is.
So don’t just listen to the guide. Don’t just accept the sign. Don’t just snap the photo and move on. Ask. Wonder. Dig a little deeper. Because that’s how travel shifts from sightseeing to understanding. From ticking things off a list… to seeing the world just a little differently than you did before.
And if that’s not one of the best things to do in Dakar—or anywhere—then I don’t know what is.
Dakar isn’t just a city you visit. It’s a city you feel. It pulses through your feet, dances in your ears, and somehow leaves a layer of dust on your soul—in the best possible way. It’s a place of contradictions: brutal histories and joyful rhythms, chaotic streets and quiet moments of connection, postcard sunsets, and deeply confronting truths.
You’ll find layers here. Layers of history, yes—but also of humanity. There’s a warmth to the people that catches you off guard, a willingness to share, to smile, to help you make sense of it all (or at least laugh when you can’t). And then there are the moments you don’t expect: stumbling into a stone quarry full of world-class sculptors, being invited to share ginger liqueur in a backstreet courtyard, or being shaken by the silence of the Door of No Return.
If you came here looking for the best things to do in Dakar, I hope you’ve found more than a checklist. Because the real treasures aren’t always pinned to a map. They live in conversations, in curiosity, in the courage to get a little lost.
So go. Wander. Ask questions. Get uncomfortable. Dance badly. Laugh loudly. And if you do it right, Dakar won’t just be somewhere you’ve been. It’ll be a part of how you see the world.
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