Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Vans, Crocodiles, Flying Saucers

Wanterr and Tumani Tenda: September 26-29

Thursday evening post Spanish blog.

We had a language and culture lesson at 3:30 with Auntie Awa. It turned out to be mostly a cultural lesson. We talked about a variety of cultural differences. Awa teaches us language and she also teaches for Peace Corps. She told us the story of her marriage to her husband. Awa is in her 40s and with that in mind, she is quite the progressive Muslim woman. To start she is educated, but she and her husband who also worked at the Peace Corps dated before marriage. That rarely happens in a culture of arranged marriage, although the times are changing. She also said that educated women in this society often have problems in their marriages because they are too empowered. Her daughter is dating although she is trying to keep it a secret from her mother. It is not widely accepted in the Islamic spectrum although it happens in practice.

Afterwards Auntie Yamai came by and we had a house meeting which concluded in a group hug. Yamai also brought a coffee pot by the house, so I have a means of brewing my Peruvian coffee. I might resort to brewing coffee in the Senegalese style though, through a piece of cloth.

˚ ˚ ˚

Friday morning. Friday morning. Class at 8:30am? Far too early. Mr. Femi is gone to Angola this Koriteh week, for pursuits that were not made known to me. I might find out later. In order to catch up on time, we had an extra class on Friday morning. It was held in our compound which made it nice and convenient. I’m usually alive and well by that time of the morning, but it was still a class before 10:30am.

After class with Femi, Awa came by the house to accompany us to the Banjul market to take advantage of the Wanterr (pre-Koriteh) sales on fabric. Everyone wears their best on the feast day. If you can afford it you have a new outfit made, but first and foremost something new must be made for the kids. Even if it is the cheapest fabric, for the kids it must be new, or they will be mocked by their peers. That’s what I’ve been told; I was never a little kid at Koriteh.

Half of us rode in one cab and half in another to the end of Jimpex. I was in the group which consisted of the guys. Awa flagged down a cab with an older military man in the front seat. When we reached the end of Jimpex and gave our money to the drayeba, he would not take it. The Colonel insisted on paying. It turned out that he was Awa’s uncle, so they might not be related at all.

We got out and waited for the rest, but they never appeared. Finally I saw Awa’s bright pink head rap across the highway and we met them there. We were looking for each other in the wrong places.

Taxi ride to Banjul. Wait for a while wondering where the others are. Wait some more. Walk down the street and buy a fish pie for 5 Delasis (20 cents). Wait some more. Wonder where they are. Tired of waiting, walk into the market. Wait some more. Finally see them. They had problems securing transportation or something ambivalent like that. There taxi disappeared and they were waiting for it but it never returned. No worries, plenty of transportation.

After meeting up with everyone in the group we went in search of fabric. There were mounds of brightly colored fabrics waiting to be made into caftans or daaget ak maalan. Seas of people in search of the perfect cloth. Noise, excitement, colors. The dealers were stirring up attention attracting people to their stands. I witnessed a woman and a man fighting over the last 6 meters of a beautiful fabric the color of periwinkles. After surveying the area, and prices I went in for the kill. I bought 5 meters of a blue and white embroidered fabric which I plan on having made into a daaget ak maalan for my mother…unless a tailor happens to get my order wrong and makes it into a caftan in my size.

I walked into the depth of the markets and saw different kinds of fish, foods, clothing, shoes and everything within and without. Towards the back of the market I saw some excellent tie die and mahogany carvings. I pointed them out to Awa and she asked the price while I walked away. It’s not that I’m incapable of asking, but she insisted that they would give her a different price than me. Too bad I had too little money to buy anything else. I will go back to the market someday soon, with time and Delasis. Soon after, Awa ran into her “sister” and we went to her shop. She has some incredibly nice pre-made clothing, but dafa seer.

I decided that I should probably make it to my 3 o’clock Environmental Management class in something that resembles timeliness. Two of the people with me decided that they weren’t going and were going to continue the trip to the market (after all, it is with the language and culture teacher for one of our courses). Dan accompanied me back, since he had to meet someone that evening.

We made a roundabout way out of the market and eventually returned to the town square. I bought another fish pie. I’ve yet to discover how I don’t get sick from these fish concoctions that sit out in the heat all day long. And it was a Friday, the hottest day of the week.

Dan and I tried to get a transport to Serekunda but it was prayer time and so it was a futile effort. I was sufficiently parched, and since I am a bad Muslim I was not fasting. I stopped into get a cold Coke at a restaurant. There was a sign outside that said they cost 10 Delasis, but the people inside told me 15. They said that the sign was wrong. Dan left, but I stayed and paid 10.

After the refreshments we went in search of transportation again. There were plenty of cabs willing to drive us, but cabs are too expensive. I flagged down a new VW van, but it appeared that it was private because it was in good shape and not stuffed with passengers. They stopped and Dan and I and an old man hopped on after finding out that they were passing by Jimpex. The van had Guinea Bissau decals on it. A 14 year old boy explained to us that he was going to an international school and was from Guinea Bissau. His younger cousin was sitting next to him and his dad and uncle were up front. They didn’t seem to be short on any funds. On the ride to Jimpex the van stopped at some auto parts stores, I presume for motor oil. They then dropped us off at Jimpex. If you’ve not figured it out that was my first experience hitchhiking here. I highly recommend it…would you believe that I am serious? The Peace Corps engage in a hitchhiking race each year. I think it is held in the spring though.

Dropped off at Jimpex, walked towards the house. I ran into a classmate of mine, and he asked me if I was going to class. I went back to the house and got the books and showed up on Gambian time. It turns out that the others arrived just about the same time as us. Rachel who stayed at the compound, had forgotten that class was moved from 3 to 3:30, so we arriver fashionably on time. Someone in the class arrived 45 minutes after us. Not too bad.

Next day.

We were to leave for Tumani Tenda, an upcountry village on the banks of a branch of the Gambia River at 9am and arrive in time for lunch. The van got lost or something. We left our compound eventually and made it out to the village. It was a beautiful place set on a salty river with mangroves caressing the calm of the water. There were palms and other beautiful trees growing everywhere. The rich rows of soil were guarded by the palms towering overhead. Cows and goats roamed freely.

When we arrived in the village we were greeted by the villagers who would be caring for us that weekend. Tumani Tenda is an ecotourism village. The village of 300 people and 7 families was founded sometime in the early 70s. The Alkalo (village elder) explained to us that his father said that someday there would be a village where foreigners would visit. His father died before the tourist camp was started in 1999. The founding father picked a beautiful place on the river, and saw a dirt road built from his village out to the main highway. Tumani’s wishes came true.

After the welcoming in the central eating/ socializing area, we were shown our accommodations. We stayed in huts which were really very nice. A bed and a mosquito net are all you need. We then had a fabulous lunch. After eating we had a tour of the village and greeted an old woman of some significance. We all introduced ourselves to her when prompted by our translator and host (Basiru) and repeated a series of greetings in Jola, and then she prayed for us all. The people of Tumani Tenda speak Jola, not Wolof. Then we paid our respects to the Alkalo and he welcomed us, talked about the village and gave us his blessing. We also asked him questions and he was happy to answer.

Even in the village of 300, there happened to be some Mendy’s (Christian last name), as we saw when there were men and women drinking Julbrew when we returned to our gathering place. A leisurely afternoon passed by playing cards, reading and resting into the evening.

In the evening the village men who were out fishing came back in with the catch of the day. The catch included lots and lots of tilapia, a few red snapper, barracuda and a scum sucking bottom dweller. They didn’t catch an attorney. The fish is evenly distributed between everyone in the village. The fish are never sold, and if there is extra it is given away to wayfarers and wanderers.

After the fish were unloaded, and the canoes cleaned out, I asked if I could take one of them out on the river. The canoes are heavy vessels, hand carved from mahogany trees. It is a long process to make the boats. A big canoe, which can hold 7 people and a load of netted fish, takes around 2.5 months to carve start to finish. The process starts with 10 to 12 people chipping away at the boat. When weariness takes over, the carver relaxes and someone else gets to work. Towards the end of the process only 2 people are working on the boat. It is sometimes finished off with paint, as we could see from the remnants of green on one the canoes. The fisherman of Tumani Tenda have 3 canoes, but they used to have 5. They hope to build another one shortly. Their big canoe is 8 years old and the boats usually last 5 years. There was a small hole in the boat, but nothing a human bilge couldn’t take care of.

Jamie and I ventured out into the water, and the men of the village directed us to the smallest canoe. We paddled around and explored a bit, and of course I had to be the captain in the back. The river was absolutely gorgeous. The brackish water was so tranquil. The clouds and the mangroves had a fine time of looking at themselves in the still water. No development on the river anywhere in sight. It was beautiful. I keep telling myself that someday I will come back with a kayak and do an expedition on the Gambia River and her tributaries. Someday.

After a while I dropped Jamie off, and I paddled up river on my own. At a bend in the river, I could hear people’s voices carrying over the calm of the water. I was certain that it was coming from the far side of the river, but who knows. I found out later that there are two neighboring villages, each about 3 kilometers away. The voices could have been people walking around outside of the village or an echo from Tumani Tenda against the mangroves and placid hydrogen dioxide. Did I mention that there were barracudas and crocodiles?

Using the time tested finger against the horizon trick, I made it in just before dark and the ominous thunderstorm that was taunting me while I was paddling. We had a nice dinner of chicken domoda (chicken and rice with peanut sauce; we might have had that at that time, I can’t remember) and then some of us had a second dinner of tilapia over rice.

I went to sleep relatively early, and woke up relatively early. The bed was very nice but Hatabu (who accompanied us) snored, and I was woken at 5:15am when Hatab was woken to break the fast. I continued my fast. That morning I went to the water and saw Basiru scooping water out of the big canoe which we were to go in. There was a very slow leak but nothing to worry about.

Breakfast was ready and I was the only one awake, so I ate. The people told me that it is there custom to eat if the food is ready and then eat a second breakfast with everyone else as if you never ate the first. Then later in the day you tell them that it was your second breakfast. One breakfast of eggs and tapalapa sufficed.

After breakfast 9 of us, including Basiru went out for a tour in the big canoe. There brought along 3 paddles, and the boat moved very slowly. After a while I decided to walk to the bow of the vessel and I sat down and lounged, looking back towards my colleagues. Dan suggested that I looked like a colonial master (which of course I did not), so I instructed them to paddle faster.

On the way back in I jumped out of the boat and swam back with the crocs. Erika joined me for a swim. Soon after we got back I applied some some tan lotion (aka sun shit) and Annie and I went back out on the water. A 20 something foot mahogany canoe is quite the heavy vessel for one or two people to manage. It glides very well, but maneuvers as if it were brought up in a community of 1950s era Cadillacs. Annie hopped out to go for a swim, and we were surprised at how stable it was when she attempted to get back in. Only one of her toes was eaten by a crocodile, and half a finger by a barracuda.

We had a leisurely lunch and then went back to the big city life.

It happened to be Sunday and since Sundays are beach days some of us went to the beach. Daniel Combs, Jamie Phillips, Rachel Mendy and Nathan Hesse made there way to Leybato at Fajara beach, while Anna Becker was confined to her bed. Erika Demare and Renee Angelo had a particular fascination with chicken nuggets. I’m convinced that it is the lips of the chicken that make that unique flavor.

At the beach, Jamie and Dan joined the PCVs for a game of beach rugby for about an hour and Rachel and I took a stroll down the beach. While wading through the shallows, four fit football guys called out to Rachel. These weren’t the bumpster types but rather genuine ball players. They wanted to take a picture with Rachel. I’m not sure if they were more attracted to Rachel or my Nikon, but either way, Rachel has 4 new boyfriends.

Currently I am sitting in the dark at 11:23 in the morning at the dining room table. I woke this morning to wind and rain competing for entrance into my two bedroom windows. I closed out the furious storm from my room as much as I could. We have no power, but fortunately the storm has made it cool enough to be comfortable without a fan.

I think that I am going upcountry today. I am not sure when, or for how long. Mod Talla is supposed to come by this morning to discuss it, but the morning is almost over. I’m not sure if discussing it means leaving right away or what. Time shall tell.

It’s now 4:13pm and I still don’t know when I am leaving.

Until Tomorrow.

Mr. Nathan Scott Hesse
Gambian alias, Nuha Sanneh

Post Script: A word about the crocodiles. They taste good.
PPS: Apparently there have been no problems with the crocodiles. They have not been seen in Tumani Tenda since around 1970. A combination of over hunting and pollution knocked them out. It’s too bad, really, it would have been nice to go swimming with them.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Tuesday through Thursday in Banjul

This entry is written in Spanish. Find someone to translate it, or learn Spanish. It chronicles the time that I spent working on my independent study from Tuesday to Thursday last week. For those who don't know, and if I someday forget, I will be able to come back and read this: I am examining the cultural relationship between the Cuban and Gambian doctors at the Royal Victoria Teaching Hospital (RVTH) in Banjul

My next entry will be interesting. This past weekend I went upcountry, and Friday was spent in Banjul. I will write about it someday. Maybe tonight. Tomorrow I am going into the country side again for Koriteh, the end of Ramadan feast, with Mod Talla Cessay, a teacher and a student who attended SMCM last semester. So much for classes. Everything is put on hold this week. The holidays are nice. Okay then. Read away...in Spanish. Oh and there might be some gramatical errors, but oh well.

El lunes pasado, fui a UTG para hablar con Dr. Pierre Gomez, la liaison entre SMCM y UTG. Nosotros hablemos sobre la estudia independiente a RVTH. Boboucarr Njie, el “Principal Assistant Registrar (Academic) & Officer Overseeing International Affairs” me escribía una carta formal de introducción a el Provost de la universidad medícala, Famara Sanuel.

El martes Pierre y yo tomaron un van de Jimpex (cerca de Kanifing) a Banjul. Se costaron 6 Dalasis cada persona o casi $.25. Caminaron a través de seguridad en RVTH y la oficial diga “¿Foy dem?” (¿Dónde van?) pero Pierre no respondió. Fuimos a la oficina del Provost pero estaba en una reunión. Pierre interrumpió y el Provost explicó que yo debería ir a reunir con Dr. Mariatou Jallow, la Chief Medical Director (CMD), y firmó el documento. El Provost diga que no tenían documentos que explicar la relación entre UTG y RVTH, pero los documentos se existen. Baboucarr Njie está trabajando encontrar los documentos, inshallah.

Después, Dr. Pierre y yo fuimos a las oficinas de la administración para ver su hermano (en el sentido gambiano, un primo yo creo). Su hermano, señor Gabou Sylvia, el Supervisor de Archivos se me introducía y él me conducía a la secretaria de Dr. Jallow y me presenta la carta de introducción firmada por Baboucarr Njie y el Provost. Ella me pregunta escribir una carta adicional por mano explicando mis intenciones del proyecto. Escribí la carta y me la presentí a señor Gabou Sylvia. Me diga devolver por el viernes.

Me encontré con un conductor del UTG en el hospital y él nos conduzco a la universidad. El “drayeba,” como se dice aquí, se llama Lamin y diga que cuando devuelvo en el viernes, pudiera introducirme con la policía del hospital para que pudiera entrar sin ningunas problemas en el futuro. Lamin nos conduzco a UTG.

En Banjul hay un monumento llamado el Banjul Arch. Es una estructura grande y las calles son organizadas tal que el tráfico no puede viajar debajo el arco. El calle debajo el arco es reservada por su Excelencia, Alh. Dr. Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh y los diplomáticos extranjeras. Yo estoy un diplomático en cierta. El conductor dirigió el coche hacia el arco y pita rápidamente. La policía bajo la cadena que bloquear el boulevard y Pierre explicaba que yo era su diplomático. Porque yo soy un gringo (o tubab) atrás del nuevo UTG coche, yo pudiera ser un diplomático temporario.

El viernes hacia una llamada a Gabou Sylvia para descubrir si Dr. Jallow recibiera la carta. Se pregunté por el número de teléfono de Dr. Jallow, pero Gabou insistió que yo hacer el viaje a Banjul. Cuando llegó, él diga que dar la carta a la CMD, y ella la firmó y pasó el documento a Profesor Addy. Profesor Addy supervisa las operaciones del laboratorio. Desgraciadamente, Profesor Addy estaba enseñando una clase, y no pudiéramos reunirse.

Yo aprendí de señor Sylvia que la conexión y la relación con los médicos Cubanos son patrocinadas y ordenada por los gobiernos de Cuba y el Gambia. Aprendí sobre la sistema de burocracia y costumbres en el Gambia y que investigación requiere tiempo y mucha paciencia. Estoy viajando temprana en la próxima semana y pues resumiré el próximo viernes. En el Gambia todo absorbe tiempo como si fuera una esponja.

Después, yo daba gracias al Supervisor de Archivos y pregunté donde recomienda comer. Sugerí el “Canteen” en el hospital. Esperé ver algunos de los médicos cubanos en el “Canteen” pero yo estaba el solo persona al mediodía. La especial del día no está preparado hasta a las uno y por eso comí dos meat pies que costaban 10 Dalasis (40 cents) y bebí un Coca-Cola. Barato. Dos mujeres islámicas quien no ayunar comían conmigo.

Cuando yo fuera saliendo, veía una médica Cubana con un estetoscopio y me introducía y brevemente se explicaba mi proyecto. Ella estaba ocupada y yo salí RVTH con un poquito éxito.

Embarqué un van viajando a Serekunda y pregunté el “aparante” (asistente a conductor) ¿“paas bi ñata la”? (Que es la tarifa). El “aparante” diga 8 Delasis. Usualmente costa 6 Delasis pero las tarifas están fluctuando. 2 Delasis son 2 Delasis, pero en la mañana pagué 6. No me importa mucha, pero por alguna gente en el van, era una problema grande. Algunos de los pasajeros empezaron gritando al aparante y el drayeba. Finalmente, nosotros lleguemos a un control y un oficial de emigración declaró que la tarifa era 8 Delasis. Durante la discusión un hombre joven, con un paquete del UN, traducía las payasadas. El hombre, Lamin Sanney es un mensajero del libraría nacional y el bajó conmigo a Jimpex. Nosotros intercambiamos números celulares y él me ofreció un recorrido de los archivos.

Hasta mañana
Be beneen yoon

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Sept 18

Nakam?

Yesterday’s rain was very powerful. The streets were rushing with rain and it made me wish that the water was moving a little bit faster and little bit deeper, and that I had a kayak. I’m sure that experience would be very similar to that of the rapids on the Potomac, especially with the amount of sewage and parasites floating around. We called Femi to see if we would have class, and he said that it was on. He called us soon after and said that the roads were too bad and he wasn’t able to drive all the way to our part of town. Class was rescheduled for today. It also rained this morning, but in a more composed fashion.

Let’s talk about bribery. It has been discussed in both my Environmental Management class and in African Leaders in the Modern Era. Environmental Management in the Gambia is a class where we look first hand at government documents pertaining to the environment in contrast to those suggestions in practice. The conclusion that we came to last class is that much of the proposed course of action fails to occur. If for some reason environmental officials decide to take action and enforce something, the companies in question are likely to not be complying with code. The result is that a company might pay off an official to make the record books look nice. Pretty typical. The same thing happens in the States, but people try to be smug and conceal it. Bribe takers and politicians should just man up and admit that there is corruption in big business (especially agribusiness), but then of course they could not longer take bribes or be successful politicians.

We talked today in African Leaders about the many coups in Nigeria’s short history, and the role that money and corruption can play in politics. Femi raised the question of whether or not people deserve the kind of government that they have. In Achebe’s book A Man of the People, the people support a swindling, crowd pleasing corrupt leader, so that’s the kind of leadership that they get. Is a leader really a reflection of the people? I suppose that a bad leader could be a reflection of the peoples’ apathy and indifference, but at times bad leadership is forced upon people who don’t like it. But then would that leadership have been allowed to arise if the people were able minded enough to take action. People. People. People.

I took a van to the post office today and then walked back. I went to pick up my package of Port City Java coffee from my parents. Thanks mom. I’ve been drinking the Gambian favorite, instant Nescafe for the past few weeks. I suppose life could be worse.

After I received my package I had to take it to a different table for inspection with customs. The workers opened up the box and had a look. They told me that it had a strong smell. I’d call the smell awakening. The girl working said that I had to wait until she checked with her boss for a customs fee. The man who was helping me originally said that I shouldn’t need to pay a fee because I am a student at UTG. I asked her how much the fee was, and before getting a concrete answer I told her in Wolof, “Loloo dafa ser” (that is too expensive). Her boss came and after going through greetings I told him that I was a student he sent me on my way and told me to “have my fun.” I’m not sure what that means. Apparently I was supposed to pay a 25 Delasis customs fee but I didn’t even pay that. Then I went about mailing in my absentee ballot form. I didn’t vote for McCain. I hope that it arrives safely.

When I left the post office, I bought a peeled soranz (orange) off of the street for 3 Delasis (12 cents). It looked very ripe and juicy, but before biting into it I was stopped by a tall and imposing man. He showed me his identification and said that he was an immigration enforcement officer. I asked him to let me read his identification, and he put it closer so that I could read the information. His picture matched the ID. I tried to hold the ID to better inspect it, but for some odd reason he wouldn’t let me. He asked to see my identification. I asked him what kind and he told me my passport. I also repeatedly asked him why he needed to see it. I told him that I don’t carry that kind of identification with me (which is a lie). I always have a photocopy of my passport in my wallet. I explained to him that I wasn’t going to show it to him. This might seem surprising to some of you, but I didn’t think that he was a legitimate officer. His badge seemed that he was so, but he wasn’t in uniform. I then told him that I was with UTG and from St. Mary’s College, the institution that gave The President His Excellency Alh. Dr. Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh his honorary degree. That is our line to use if we have trouble with any law enforcement. I told the immigration officer that I was going, and I walked away. I didn’t show him my ID in the first place, because it is with my money. Even if he was a legitimate officer, he would be prone to try to get some money out of me. So instead, I played the Jammeh card. It seems that the post office would be a good place to get some money out of tourist tubabs. I am not a tourist. The orange was good.

On the walk back I met some nice older men who are the mechanics at the car garage on Jimpex road near our house. I will need to go back there soon for some conversation and lessons in Wolof. Upon my return I found Mohamed standing outside of the compound looking rather perturbed. Everyone else in the house was out at the time. He asked me to call Auntie Yamai, to whom I gave some of the coffee. Femi brought her coffee from the United States, but it was taken from the suitcase in Senegalese customs. I called Yamai.

Apparently someone from the power company Nawec decided to come by the house and shut off the power for most of the day. He wrote his phone number on the wall of our compound so that we could call him back and sort things out. In a few minutes Yamai arrived and Mohamed explained the situation. The bill was paid 2 weeks ago, but the workers probably got wind that there were some tubab’s living in the house and were hoping for some bribe money to get the power back on. Yamai promptly called the government based power company and told the people that the power would be put back on. After a sufficient amount of arguing in Wolof, she hung up on them. I caught the words “court,” “State house,” “American students” and “under the auspices of The President” thrown out a few times. At the conclusion of the conversation she said that someone would be put in jail at the end of all of this. Apparently she has run into problems with the power company and corruption before. I don’t think that Yamai was serious about the jail thing, but I know that she is powerful enough to make that happen if she really wanted it to. The managers of Nawec are routinely fired for corruption, and I’ve been told records of bill pay are somehow misplaced in the process. She said that she doesn’t take bribes, and then I went on to tell her of my little adventure in the previous hour. The power was to be back on by 2 or 3 that afternoon. It wasn’t back on by three, so I called her again and shortly after someone arrived to remedy the problem. I like the way developing nations work.

I think that I will go to bed now.

Fanaan ak Jama

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Vacation???

Sept 13 (3-13)
It’s been a long time since I’ve written. The days have all blurred together. The power has been off for most of the day, but it is now on. The power was also out yesterday. The internet is still not functioning. Typical.
Earlier in the week we visited some of the local clinics to see where we would need to go in case of sickness. They are clean and seem to be well taken care of, although the facilities and technology have aged. Unfortunately 2 of the group members have had to visit the clinics. An eye infection for one and tonsillitis for the other. The rainy season is the time for disease here.
I’ve also been to the markets a few times. They are filled with dried fish, spices, tropical fruits, and bright colorful fabric. Despite Ramadan, the markets are still bustling. I bought some white fabric to make a kaftan to wear for the celebration at the end of Ramadan, and I also have a few colorful Africa shirts. The Gambians call traditional clothing African, as in “I only wear African to special occasions.”
Gambians operate on African time, meaning that if you say you will be somewhere at noon, you might make it by 2. That happened the other day. The Gambian sense of time is much different from the west, and it is in fact refreshing. People are not rushed and never seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. Rachel’s friend Tunde told me that there is nowhere to rush to in The Gambia. The pace of life is much slower. Things are quiet with Ramadan. People are fasting, so generally things are still, there is little unnecessary movement going about in the streets, and there is no loud reggae being blasted from taxis. I’m told that The Gambia will be a different and much more vibrant place after the month of fasting.
Fridays are always the hottest days in The Gambia. It is a saying here, but people really believe it. Our language teacher Aunty Awa says that it’s true, but that it is just a saying. Rachel says that I have not been in the country long enough to judge whether Fridays are hot or not. Nevertheless, people rest on Fridays, especially in the afternoon, as they do during the hottest part of other days, if possible.
A word about the rainy season. This is the rainiest season in remembered history. An older woman told me that she hasn’t seen this much rain since 1977. I don’t know if that year was rainy, or just some arbitrary number stuck in her head. The rain usually comes in the afternoon and goes into the evening, and sometime through the night. The rain here doesn’t mess around either. When it comes, it comes, it doesn’t sprinkle your head, but drenches you. The sky gets very dark, the air gets cool, a tempestuous wind picks up, and then buckets of rain pour out sideways. It is raining right now while I am writing, although it hasn’t rained in the past few days.
There are some sayings in Wolof about Gambians and their tendency to melt. Gambians are like sugar so they don’t walk in the rain, and they are like butter so they don’t walk in the sun. I believe this saying to be truthful, although I’ve yet to see anyone melt. I am apparently immune to this melting syndrome.
Saturday night we attended a UTG gathering where we could meet professors and students. The professors spoke about the St. Mary’s sponsored courses and then we were able to talk to our colleagues, as people are fond of saying here. The get together was short lived, as people were anxious to break their fasts and more importantly attend or watch the football game. Gambia beat Liberia 3-0, and is on their way to the Africa Cup for the first time in Gambian history. Not bad for the smallest nation in Africa.
That night we went to Podium Pub, a bar in Bakau that Renee’s friend owns. Paul the owner, is a top notch guy, and he invited us to go to church with him and then over to his bar/house for a drink and lunch afterwards. I think we are doing that next week. Not many Gambians have televisions, so shops or restaurants will have TV’s and position them so that people can watch football games. Senegal was playing Algeria, and the support that the 50 or so Gambians gave to the Senegalese team (fellow Wolofs) was amazing. Unfortunately they lost to Algeria, and after the game ended, Reggae music transformed the atmosphere.
Last Sunday I walked down the street to the Catholic Church with Rachel. There was a guest choir from the Cathedral in Dakar, Senegal. Much of the service was in Wolof, the common language between the Gambia and Senegal, because most Senegalese don’t speak English and Gambians don’t speak French. The music and harmonies were incredible. The choir was big to begin with, and their harmonies coupled with djembes were far better than any uptight Catholic tunes in the states. Drumming is prohibited during Ramadan, and even for non Muslims it is important to respect their tradition and not play loud music for this month. Drums in church, however, are perfectly acceptable.
The Gambia is really a very small country. Everyone knows everyone, and their business, “and if they don’t they will make it up” (Tunde). Everyone you meet seems to be related to someone or connected to someone in some way or another. Here is an example of how small the country is. Rachel and I were at church, and we didn’t sit with her family because we didn’t see them until part way through the service. Rachel said that people in church would be gossiping about us and assuming that she had come back to the Gambia with a white boyfriend or husband. She is back in the country, is not married, and is not living at home, and is with a tubab. The wedding must be soon since he is here to meet the family. The prediction came true, Pontz (who you will read about later) heard rumor that she was dating or married to a tubab with long blonde hair. I can assure you, and the church down the street, that the rumors are not true.
After church, some of us went to the beach. We caught a cab out to a beach called Cape Point. We walked along a wooden foot bridge over some marsh land out to the beach where there was an isolated beach front restaurant close to where the river and ocean meet. The waves were not big enough so we walked south towards some resorts and then beyond them. The beaches were empty, but after the rainy season tourist season begins and the beaches will be full of Europeans. We walked past some resorts and a place renting kayaks and hobie cats to a more isolated beach. There were bigger waves here. We walked around a small peninsula to a beach below a cliff covered in prickly pear cacti, the fruits of which are almost ripe. Since it is the rainy season, the rain came. We decided to swim in the rain for a while, especially since the water is warmer than the air when it rains. The water here is really very nice and warm, although the waves aren’t nearly as big as what I am used to. The rain eventually brought lightening so we walked up a path through the cacti to Cape Point Hotel. There were green taxis sitting around with no customers, and we ended up taking a town trip in one of those. Green taxis are tourist taxis. They are the same taxis as the yellow, only they hang out in resort areas and charge a lot more. They had posted prices that were comparable to prices in the US. The posted price from the beach to our house would be around 400 Delasis or 20 dollars. After some negotiation, we only paid 75 Delasis.
I don’t have much to say about classes yet, although that is one of the reasons that I am here. My African Leaders in the Modern Era was cancelled both Monday and Wednesday. On Monday Professor Femi was involved in signing a memorandum of cooperation between UTG and SMCM and Wednesday we went to hear the farewell seminar of the Vice Chancellor of the University. The Chancellor is The President His Excellency Alh. Dr. Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh. Since we are on Gambia time, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cancelled any way. My first Environmental Management class was very short as is fitting for the first class. It is held in a classroom in the YMCA that lacks a/c. In fact, one of the ceiling fans is missing a blade, putting it out of commission. Friday the same class ran 20 minutes longer than it should have, when we were examining the Banjul Declaration of 1977, the first document in Gambian history to talk about the environment (independence was attained in 1965).
In all of my free time this week, I have done a lot of walking around town. It is perfectly acceptable to take two hours for lunch. One day we walked nearly all the way from our compound to Blue Bar near the traffic light for lunch. It is about an hour’s walk. We walked all the way back. It is not recommended in the heat. Gambians apparently don’t even walk that much when the sun is high. I also visited Yamai twice this week, who is the head of education for Peace Corps and in charge of us. She is helping me with contacts for my independent study. The power just went out again, making it instantly hot. Back on. She is a very powerful Muslim woman in The Gambia. She’s educated and in charge of Peace Corps and has a lot of influence in this country. Bobucarr told Renee last year that if she wasn’t married he would be afraid of her. She invited us to a party at the Jul Brew factory following the swearing in of the new volunteers. She wasn’t coming because she told us that she was too old (and Muslim), but we were welcome.
Earlier this week, Renee and I went to Baboucar’s compound in Bakau in the afternoon to hang out and work on some Wolof. We sat outside under a tree and played with all the kids. There are lots of young kids. Baboucar’s kids and all of his relatives kids who also live in the compound. Some of the kids brought us some fruit that was similar to an orange. I think it might have been taken from a neighbors tree. The fruit was green on the outside, and then you bite the orange like an apple after it is peeled. It is firm enough to eat that way rather than eating slivers. I practiced my rudimentary Wolof with the kids as they played with my hair. They were infatuated with my hair. Baboucar, Renee and I then walked out to buy some bread for dinner for the compound. If you remember from before Baboucar was in a cast, but he can hobble around now. While on our way for bread, the wind came and then the rain. We slipped inside a shop to let the rain pass. Baboucar is a very respected man in his community especially for being in his early thirties. He knew the people in the shop, and they offered us their prayer mats to sit on until the storm passed. We waited out the storm, and then hopped from rock to rock to avoid the water covering the roads. We eventually made it to the bakery. Inside the bakery a wonderful fresh, warm smell seeped out of the door. There were two clay ovens to cook the bread. Baboucar bought the bread, and gave some hot fresh bread to Renee and I to try. It was much better than the bread we get in the mornings at our house. I’m not sure if that was because it was so fresh, or if because it was a better bakery. Either way, it was delicious. We walked Baboucar back, and then headed home for dinner.
Friday the power was out, so I went with Rachel to the YMCA to print out Environmental Management course documents. The Y has generators. It also has a recording studio. I played piano for about an hour yesterday in the studio with a guy named Karamo. Karamo is an excellent kora player about my age. He is also the sound technician for the studio at the YMCA. The YMCA here consists of a hostel, computer labs, classrooms, a school and sounds and video equipment; not a gym. We played jazz with the piano and kora together, and then some more Africanesque styles. It was a lot of fun and sounded very nice, a combination that I never would have thought to put together before.
We arrived at the Julbrew factory around 9 and mingled with the PCVs long enough to have one drink before they ran out. Peace Corps paid for the event though, so it was free to all involved. From there we went with many of the volunteers for a brief stay to a bar called the Green Mamba. It was a very nice but crowded tiki bar kind of atmostphere surrounded by palm trees. It is a tourist bar, but they lowered the price to 35 Delasis a drink for the Peace Corps. I am of course Peace Corps.
Soon after we all went with Rachel’s friend Pontz and a volunteer named Marcus to a posh club called Aquarius. Pontz is the head of the YMCA in The Gambia, and his wife works for the UN. He knows everyone in this country. The normal entry fee is 250 Delasis (12 bucks) and in the height of tourist season, 500 Delasis. Because we know Pontz and he was there we all got in for free. We danced and hung out at the bar, feeling the music.
We all were given free Julbrews shortly after arriving. These came from a Gambian guy of mixed Lebanese and European descent named Yassif, with a strong British accent. It turns out that he knew who we were by way of Pontz. Yassif is the nephew of Aunty Therese, who oversees our food and logistics. We just met her today, as she was vacationing in the UK for the past two weeks. The Lebanese are notoriously wealthy in this country. Yassif bought all of our drinks last night. He told us that Yamai doesn’t like him, so he gave us all his phone number if we ever want to go somewhere on the weekends. He is a top notch character, and apparently very well off. Pontz gave us all a ride home to our compound. There is a law in the Gambia about not having more than 5 people in a 5 person taxi cab, and every once in a while you will see a taxi stopped for carrying too many passengers. We were 7 in Pontz’s car, 2 in the trunk of the station wagon. We were stopped at a routine checkpoint, and Pontz had a nice conversation with the police officer, who happened to be his friend, and then we were on our way. Oh to have connections in a small third world country.
Today we met Aunty Therese. She is a very nice woman, and was just checking in to make sure our food is okay and to let her know if we need anything. It turns out that she is distantly related to Rachel’s family. Yamai is an Aunty to us all as well. The Smiling Coast of Africa is one big happy family. “Gambia No Problems”
I’m sure vacation will end soon, and classes will really get into gear. Until then, you should be wishing that you were here.
Funny story, I’m back again, I just learned something. It turns out that Therese and Yassif’s family own Netpage, the consistently unreliable and slow internet service to which we subscribe. Now that I know that maybe we can get a better connection.
Bekelek (Until next time)

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Aug 31-Sept 2








Aug 31-Sept 2
We slept in Sunday morning after our long trip and had a breakfast of taapalaapa (baguettes) and Nescafe. The house is very nice. There are second and third story balconies and then a rooftop veranda up on a fourth story. Yamai and Awa began our orientation that morning and we met Mohammed (our house manager from Sierra Leone) and Hatabu, our logistics coordinator. Mohammed and Hatabu showed us around town and makes sure that our house is in good shape and pick up our food. Awa, our language teacher from the Peace Corps gave us our first language and culture lesson. Baboucarr will be returning to teach us after he recovers from a foot injury. _
Before orientation that morning Femi called a contact of his to the house to change some money. In typical Femi style, he said “let me drink my coffee” and made him wait outside in the courtyard. After the appropriate time, Femi called him in and negotiated the price for an exchange rate. If you know the rate people it is much cheaper to work with someone on the street rather than going to a bank. Femi made the first deal for us and introduced his contact to us to change money in the future.
Later in the day Hatabu took us around town and we explored the town and our neighborhood a little bit, and rested until dinner. The Peace Corp Volunteers were supposed to join us for dinner, but it has been postponed each day. The current plan is Wednesday night. Although the little kids all call us toubab (white person), we don’t seem to be the typical tourists. It is not the tourist season, and we are not in the touristy areas, and we are learning Wolof so people in the markets like to talk to us and seem to know that we are students without any money. Most people assume that we are PCVs. On our walk we stopped by Chef Omar’s Kitchen, a little shack with good cheap food, which I’m sure we will frequent once classes begin.
Orientation and relaxation occupied the rest of the day. In the afternoon we had a language lesson outside in the shade with attaya. Attaya is a strong sugary black tea that is served in small glasses. Mohamed brewed it on a gas burner outside, through a process of aerating (pouring ) the tea and re-boiling until it was ready. It takes a long time to make attaya, and we were told that it takes time to watch before you can make it appropriately (I think that I can make it). Attaya is prepared usually during the hottest time of the day when it is too hot to be out in the sun. Most Gambians take to the shade during these hours. It is a time of relaxation that American culture lacks. As the locals say, “Gambia no problems.”
Jamie and I met a guy our age named Ade. He cuts hair and rents DVDs in a little “barbing salon” down the street from us. I went into his shop because there was a sign posted for piano lessons. He tried to help me get into contact with the teacher, but he didn’t answer his phone. On the walk back we met two guys who invited us to a football game, but the rain hit, so we went into our compound.
We woke up Monday morning to another language lesson and a cultural lesson. In the morning we went to the town Kachikally to the crocodile pool. The pool is a traditional sacred place that brings fertility. A woman might bathe in the water of the pool to bring fertility. I touched a crocodile and saw a big monitor lizard. After that we went to the Bakau market. It was full of bustle and a confusion of smells. Again lunch and a time to relax. In the afternoon an older woman named Aunty Kumba came to talk to us about marriage and Gambian (tribal and Muslim) family structure. It is common for Muslim men to have more than one wife. Gambian culture is patriarchal and respect is very important. If there is any conflict the family elder is called in. Extended families live together in big communes, and decisions are generally made communally. The group is far more important than the individual in Gambian culture.
Renee and I were hanging out on the street with Mohamed, and we ran into “L-boy”, a local kid who she knew from last time. He and his little friend climbed a mango tree and threw a fruit to us. There are mango trees everywhere. We walked by the football field and some of the streets in our neighborhood. There are a few bitiks one our street where you can get drinks and food. When buying soda you return an empty glass bottle to get another drink. We should adopt that practice here. Renee and I walked down to Ade and I asked about the teacher again. There were some kids outside of the shop, and we played talked to them. Renee said “Feecal” (dance) and she danced with them. Renee went back to the house while I waited. I met the teacher, Chris (Yinka) from Nigeria. He was educated in the west and seems to be doing well for himself and teaches piano out of the Methodist church around the corner on the side. I hope to work with him in giving lessons. As is typical, it rained in the late afternoon and night.
We took a cab to Bakau to visit Baboucarr to visit him and his family. He leg is healing in good time, and we stayed in his compound pretty late. His wife offered us rice with fish balls and water that we ate from a communal bowl. We finished it off with pound cake. Dinner was served earlier at our compound, but we could not turn down the offer. Ramadan also began this night with the new moon, and most people were praying in the mosques. Baboucarr is not fasting yet because of his injury. He is a very respected man in his community, and teaches language for us, Juniata’s spring program, VSOs and the PCVs (and he does everything else). It was late and difficult to catch a cab in that area, so he called his friend to come pick up five of us. That is over the legal limit for a cab, and the back roads to our house are bad, but because Baboucarr asked him to take us, he did. We were temporarily stuck in a watery ditch near our house, but we made it out.
Again dinner and bed. A word about meals…I cannot remember what we have had every night, but so far it has been characterized by rice, chicken, or a beef sauce with salads. Root crops such as carrots and cassava. Edit by Renee: We have had the opportunity to eat some of the most popular meals in The Gambia. A personal favorite is Benachin, which literally means “one dish”. It is a seasoned rice with protein, beef, chicken, or fish. We also have eaten domoda, which is a peanut sauce over protein, vegetables, and plain rice.
Morning breakfast and coffee. Renee taught our language lesson on Tuesday and then Awa took us to the Serrekunda market, the biggest in The Gambia. I bought some fabric to have a bag made and bought two shirts. Lots of us bought fabric. Awa bought a few things, including a stick to chew on that is good for the teeth. She maneuvered through the mud in his heels and beautiful attire with no problem. It is typical for a Gambian woman to visit the market every day.
Before lunch I went to the Bitik for a fruit cocktail soda (locally made soda). After lunch we went to the American embassy to hear about security concerns. There are very few. As the Gambians say, “It is nice to be nice.” Afterwards a police official came to our house to talk about laws. He said basically that there are no problems. The cops didn’t tell us, but other did, if the police give us any trouble, we should tell them that we are with St. Mary’s, where his excellency Jammeh received his honorary degree.
In the evening we bought a pompeter (potato) sandwich to share before dinner. It is prepared on taapalaapa with boiled potatoes, Gambian (warm) mayonnaise and a Gambian brand spice called Jumbo. We ate it on the fourth story.
After a dinner of beef curry, rice and mangoes, Renees friend Iman (from Sierra Lionne) came by. He is a tailor, and took measurements to make a bag for me, clothing for Renee, and a shirt for Jamie. He will make other things for us later when we come by his shop. He is a friend of Mohomed, and always makes clothing for St. Mary’s students. He gave us an open invitation for a potato dish at his house.
Later in the evening, we went to the Julbrew factory, with a bar out front for a beer. They had Nigerian reality tv playing on the flatscreen. On the way back we were caught in the rain. While walking back in the dark I said Salaamalakum to an older man in the dark. Renee was wearing a head scarf, and the combination of the dark, her headscarf, (and I’m told) my accent made the man ask us if we were Muslims. We said no, but that we are PCVs.
Right now I am sitting in the living room with everyone and typing this letter. The internet is currently not functioning. Power goes on and off.
Be Beneen Yoon (until next time)