The Plateau, a neighborhood of a thousand layers.
Between calm and bustle, these few grid-patterned streets are the stage for the comings and goings of so many lives. Here, every step tells a story. Every peeling facade, every archway, every corner beats to the rhythm of superimposed memories.
In the heart of a concrete mosaic, a few century-old kapok trees still resist the relentless march of progress. They stand guard, while Dakar replaces Dakar, building after building, year after year.
Taxis stream by, horns blare familiar tunes. Schoolchildren pass civil servants, tourists cross paths with street vendors.
Bougainvillea, flamboyant and unruly, climbs the walls and clings to the buildings, like a final love letter to the city.

By day, everything pulsates, but when night falls, soft and silent, the streets quieten and empty. And in the warm darkness, the Plateau holds its breath, ready to reinvent itself.
Tomorrow, everything could change in Dakar... Ecru or beige, elongated, gridded, or architectural.
A new fabric will be woven. The Plateau will remain its very essence.