Matt Radcliffe and Hamish Reid were given grants by the Radleian Society to help to build a Health Centre in Bonaba, Senegal.

The sandy area of Bonaba lies unassumingly between the gigantic coastline of West Africa and a vast salt lake, Lac Rose, which derives its name from the pink glow emanating from its waters. On one side of Lac Rose, the villagers of Bonaba depend predominantly upon herding goats, sea fishing, fresh water welling, and garden allotments. On the other side, nomadic and determined 'salt villages' milk the lake for all its produce and pile up the salt in huge heaps for the big traders from Dakar.

Dakar, subject to French influence during its days as a vital trading port, contains both fine colonial architecture and a unique musical culture. Radically more visible and realistic, however, is the poor, over crowded, disease-ridden outskirts of urban Senegal: a crumbling wasteland of half-finished buildings, stretching for miles in all directions. Budgets are limited in Senegal and forethought invariably optimistic.

When Hamish Reid and I arrived in Senegal we were met by Daniel Basner. Danny was the architect and guvnor of the future Case de sante. A man with the extremes of life etched into his face and the stories to go with them. He had thrown Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols out of his home and had been the landlord of both the Pretenders and the Stray Cats. He greeted us urgently, tipped the customs officers and led us both from the intense hum and piercing eyes of Dakar Airport. In his van we glided through the warm evening air to dusty Bonaba, far removed from Dakar's urban squalor. Ramadan, the Muslim holy month, was coming to an end and the restlessness was simply captivating. The sense of immediacy was accompanied by a stunning array of colours; from the flamboyant clothing to the huge ceramic pots for sale on the side of the road out of Dakar.

Hamish and I lived in Bonaba Café, owned by Danny and Maidie; an English couple blessed with a typically African enthusiasm for their business. On weekends French tourists would lunch boisterously by the lake, as it glistened a silent blue and muddy pink. The land for the restaurant was donated by Bonaba on the condition that they set up a medical centre for the basic medical needs of the villagers. This became known as the Case de Sante; a five sided 'straw' house. Open two mornings a week and aiming to provide 'basic health care at an affordable cost at the request of the local community', it initially registered 166 patients but within two years over 1000. That is where Hamish and I came in. It was also why; a concrete building was the only way to ensure the privacy and permanence of the Case de Sante.

Within a week of arriving, all the necessary tools and materials had been purchased from Rufisque (an open-sewer town with little more to offer than the threat of an admiring posse of flies). At the site, Hamish and I were general dogsbodies, leaving the technical decisions to Danny (a builder for some twenty years) and the daily direction to four locals; two senior figures from Bonaba and two professional masons. We marked dimensions, dug solid foundations, mixed cement and then mixed plenty more cement. The villagers were generous without compromise, always eager to help. Hospitality and respect, such as I have never received before, were showered on me in rainstorms: ten-minute handshakes, contagious smiles, nourishing meals, dangerously strong tea, and a heartening enthusiasm for what we were doing there.

If this building was to be a permanent solution to the villagers' medical needs then we needed to ensure its longevity. Deep foundations, plenty of cement and precise 90-degree angles were vital factors to this cause. However laborious, the task was straightforward and we made swift progress. Once the walls were up, we fitted the corrugated cement roofing and four ornate cement windows to breathe light into the building. The floor was layered with pure cement, smoothed and flattened several times before facilities could be installed. A sink was added, with piping leading to a waste disposal area, as well as a doorstep and flowerbed. With two huge wooden doors with metal framing in place, Hamish and I painted the lot, inside and out, twice; first in a dazzling white and secondly with a more inconspicuous sandy-white. Finally a huge metal cupboard (for secure storage of medication), a bed, a table and chair for the reception area were added and a proud blue cross was painted on the side. And the building sat there as though it always had and as I hope it always will. The money that was not used was left as a fund for the new medical centre and thus the Bonaba Health Project was completed. Immediately the anticipation of the villagers exploded and the ceremonies began.

In the meantime Hamish and I had been to Dakar to try to sell a Mercedes, frequented plenty of clandestine drinking establishments, helped in the café, played a lot of backgammon, and taught the locals cricket (or at least 'Hopkins' cricket), which went down a storm. But Africa insisted that we saw a different side of life. One dusty morning we woke to see one of the salt villages smouldering in the distance. The silhouette of the community reduced to ashes - an act of competition from another 'salt village' - was a haunting vision. We contributed with clothing, but their expressionless faces said nothing of the devastating impact of this tragedy. It was easy to feel as though this was not all that unusual.

Justice cannot be done to my experience in Senegal with these words and photos, but I hope that you can appreciate at least that the project was completed exactly as planned, and with recent news from Maidie, that it has worked. The Radleian Society has been vital for this end and it is for this and for my experience that I thank you very much.

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