the unfortunate ramblings of some fortunate happenings

The 1st day of October through the 9th day

Good Afternoon.

I might have made the claim that this entry was to be “enthralling if not beguiling (although the difference between those words is so trivial it’s not of much use to use them both).” That claim is for the most part false, but you are free to disagree.

Last week was a week of expectation. I was in expectation for my trip upcountry to Soma with Mod Talla Cesssay. Mod Talla is a teacher who is studying at the UTG on a grant from the government. His wife, who is also a teacher, and his kids live in Soma. He is in the Kombo area to study and is staying at his father’s compound. He invited me to join him in Soma for Koriteh. I was very excited and honored to go. We were supposed to meet Monday morning to discuss the trip, but then we were to meet in the afternoon. I skipped class because of this. Then Tuesday we were supposed to meet. “Gambia maybe time” Then Wednesday, the Koriteh day came around. I was still in Kanifing.

On Koriteh I woke up put on my white caftan on. I’ve been told that the caftan is glowing. It is made with an intricately woven white fabric, and the tailor that rents space in Awa’s compound sewed it and made embroidery across the top. In a previous entry I wrote about the importance of a new outfit on Koriteh. Everyone was dressed in their very best, and looked fantastic. There were bright colors, elaborate patterns and lots of long fabric.

Music is not to be played during the month of Ramadan, so Koriteh is also a day of noise and excitement. Mohamed set up extension cords so that the speakers of his stereo could be played out on the street. In the morning we listened to music from Sierra Leon (as Mohamed is from Sierra Leon), Gambia, Senegal, and of course from the US of A. This was Mohamed’s much awaited and talked of attaya party. He brewed the sugary caffeinated concoction and passed the small cups of it around until we were all sufficiently filled with the tooth rotting tea. People talk of giving up cigarettes and attaya. It is not particularly addicting, just strong sugary black tea, but the process of making it is a long one. And it is not to be enjoyed alone. They are giving up the long social process of brewing the tea, and presumably spending their newly begotten time doing more productive things. Attaya is productive enough for me.

Because I was not yet sure of my plans with Mod Talla, I went with Renee, Annie and Erika to Baboucar Jallow’s compound in Bakau. The girls cooked a big pot of spaghetti to bring to the festivities, and I brought myself. We played with the kids at the compound for a while and sat and talked under the tree for a while before eating. Renee brought her djembe, so naturally the kids were infatuated with it. We all played a few beats, and then one of the women in the compound asked me if I could sing, so as you would expect, I had to sing. Eventually, the kids led by Padudu escorted me around the corner of the compound to Kachikally to see the crocodiles. We walked through the main gate and the guy said to the kids (and me), “Acha!” Acha is a term usually used to make the scraggly, mangy, hungry, downtrodden dogs go away. We went in the other way where some of the elders were sitting, and they recognized that the kids were from Boboucar’s compound. We walked in to see the crocodiles, which I have seen before. I saw three this time. A man there said not to touch the crocodile that was out of the pool because she was a female and she is aggressive. I wasn’t planning on touching it. It’s not surprising that the females are aggressive though. I also saw the matriarch of the crocodile pool. She was enormous, and hanging out in a drainage pipe.

I went back to the compound for a while and resumed the festivities. Some of the women in the compound were selling ebe outside to passersbys in the neighborhood. I asked what it was so, Baboucar’s father, the head of the compound told someone to get me a bowl and serve me some. It was very good, a spicy fish stew with potatoes and cassava.

It was time for the feast to begin. The spaghetti was served out, individual dishes to us, one to Mohamed (Boboucar’s little son), one to his father, and some big plates for everyone else. Traditionally, food is served and eaten on a big platter. Everyone sits around the platter and eats from their section of the plate. If you want a piece of food on the other side, you should ask, as it is rude to eat from outside of your section. We ate with spoons, but many people eat with their right hand. The right hand it used for eating and for taking food from someone, because the left is used for wiping oneself after excretion.

Isn’t that appetizing? Afterwards we had a very nice rice and chicken dish. After eating and talking some more, all of us but Renee returned to Kanifing. Mohamed’s attaya party was still going on, and we drank some more tea and watched people walk by. There were a lot of children wandering the streets that evening. It was kind of like Halloween except the kids looked nice, they weren’t saying “trick or treat,” and it wasn’t yet dark. They were asking for salibu, a charity that is given out to kids on this day.

People either give out Dalasi coins, mintis (mints), or a larger bill to the group leader. Dinner was spent at Lamin’s house, one of our neighbors.

I found out mid day that the car Mod Talla and I were supposed to take up country was dysfunctional or broken or something. Just as well.

On Sunday we returned to Kachikally for our naming ceremony. We were all given Gambian names before, but the ceremony was saved until after Koriteh. There was lots of dancing and singing and drumming, all led by a group of women who are barren, their children died, or they are widows. The women banded together to support each other through song and dance and they are regularly hired for ceremonies. We all danced, albeit horribly, and were given our names. Lots of the people of Bakau came to watch the naming ceremony, including the people from Boboucar’s compound. The kids from the Jallow residence all sat on our laps to watch. The other kids stood. After the ceremony Gambian animal crackers and Coca-Cola was distributed to all of the people watching and involved. It was a very nice time. I did have a fever during all of this, so that made it slightly less enjoyable.

Afterwards, we had a great feast at Aji Aya Bah Nursery school run by Yahar Jallow. Awa, Boboucar, Mohamed and the teachers from the school all joined us for the post ceremony feast. We had baobob and wanjo to drink, and a wonderful beef rice and vegetable dish. It was finished off with watermelon and a cous desert. It was the best meal that I have had in the Gambia. Again I was feeling sick, and I wanted to leave directly after eating, but no matter.

Yahar is a retired and well travelled teacher who founded this nursery school in 2001. Nursery schools in the Gambia are very expensive, especially for the good ones. She opened her school as an outreach program for the children of Bakau. It costs 500 Dalasis ($25) per trimester when most schools are in the 1000 Dalasi range. Yahar explained to us that her retirement mission is provide affordable education to the people of her town, and that she will teach until the day that she dies. This school is funded by friends abroad as well as, I suspect, by her.

I then went home and slept the day away.

Classes resumed this week. On Tuesday, despite my fever, I went on an Environmental Management field trip to the National Environmental Agency in Banjul. We were greeted by some very competent people who had some very good things to say. And expectedly as university students we had things to ask. The UTG students especially had probing questions to ask about lack of enforcement and lack of publicizing of environmental issues. The people defended themselves and pointed to the outlets that they use. The radio is a big venue. Environmental documents are made public, but since they are produced in English it is only available to the educated.

One of the women at the NEA stressed the importance of education in changing people’s perceptions about the environment. The NEA is working to put environmental education into the school curriculum so that with the next generation, environmental attitudes can be changed. Hopefully that works. The problem they said, for all of their endeavors are that the funding is not available. I’m sure even in the United States environmental organizations receive far too little funding.

One of the acts that we read, NEMA, states that environmental inspectors have the authority to enter and inspect any property without a warrant. That is a lot of power. I asked a certain person at the NEA a question, and I asked this person in specific for a specific reason. For political reasons, however, I shouldn’t get into why I asked him. The question I will disclose. It was “Based on the amount of power given to the inspectors, has there been any abuse of that power?” The answer of course was “No.”

Today is Thursday and my plan was to find out about the price of shipping a djembe to the USA and to volunteer at the YMCA. I ended up not volunteering at the YMCA because Karamou, who I work with, was playing in a concert in Dakar, Senegal or maybe he was back. I don’t know. He is very talented kora player though.

Gampost told me that it would cost 5000 D to ship. Far too expensive. DHL was 20,466 and with a 15% discount 17, 396. Preposterous. UPS was 14, 978. We’ll see what happens. I don’t even want to pay 5000. The UPS man gave me the phone number of his friend who works at Red Coat at the airport. They are far cheaper generally, so hopefully I can get a deal.

When I was making my way into Westfield to check the price at UPS, school was letting out, so there were kids everywhere. I got in the back of a cab with some kids. There was a man in the front seat of the cab drinking Guinness who seemed very happy to see me. After I started talking to the kids he said that I was a good man because I like kids and he likes kids. Then when we stopped I went to the boot to get my djembe out of the car. The trunk latch was acting up, so the driver had to help me out. The drunkard in the front seat decided to get out too. This time he didn’t seem too happy with me. He started yelling that I was a racist and told me to go back to my country. This drew a lot of attention. Some people started to come around as if to keep the drunken man away. Drunkards are not accepted in this culture, and if a family member is a drunk, you try to keep it a secret, or at least you don’t greet them in public. He got back in the cab and started yelling going down the road.


Good Morning,

Nathan