A Peace Corps Volunteer in The Gambia

A Year in Tanjeh, West Coast Region: 2010 – 2011

2011-12-27T01:52:00.000-08:00

Leaving Sarre Alfa

On June 16^th, 2010, I moved from Sarre Alfa in Upper River Region to Tanjeh in West Coast Region. The Peace Corps car arrived to load up my things in the late afternoon. I had expected the loading of the vehicle to take hours, but with all my host-brothers and host-sisters helping it took only a few minutes. I bid an emotional farewell to my host-family and drove away from the village where I had spent two years of my life. The driver, a Christian Gambian, blared gospel music on the radio all the way to the coast and sang along at the top of his lungs.

A Bridge I Could Not Cross

At one point we came to the newly built bridge connecting the south bank road to Janjanbury Island. Though the bridge was finished, a man in military uniform stopped us. He explained that no one was allowed to cross the bridge until His Excellency The President had crossed it at an upcoming opening ceremony. He told us to use the small ferry that rested on the other bank. This ferry was essentially a slab of metal, capable of fitting two cars, with a cable running through it that was secured on either bank. You pulled the ferry across by hauling on the cable. So we walked across the bridge, pulled the empty ferry to our side, loaded the Peace Corps car on, then pulled the ferry back to the Janjanbury bank. The soldier watched us from the bridge with a bored expression. This whole process took almost an hour. Right as we off-loaded the Peace Corps car from the ferry, a government vehicle with tinted windows went flying over the bridge, cruising from one bank to the other in five minutes. The soldier simply saluted.

Comparisons

I went from living in a small, Fula village located 200 miles from the coast to living in a huge, Mandinka town located right on the coast AND I went from living in a small, thatch-roofed hut to living in a two-room corrugate-roofed house. Though I still had no running water or electricity, I had a well right next to my house and a tap that was periodically turned on right outside my compound; no more crowded village pumps for me! There were also many shops selling everything I needed and a large market right up the road; no more 30km bike rides to Basse to get oatmeal for me!

My host-family in Tanjeh was almost the exact opposite of my host-family in Sarre Alfa. Mamasamba Cham, my host-father in Sarre Alfa, was a subsistence farmer with two wives and 12 children. He sometimes worked as a mason, but was otherwise uneducated and had no regular income. Almami Jammeh, my host-father in Tanjeh, was the Village Development Committee chairman. He had one wife, Bintou, and no children. He was well educated, spoke English, and had a regular income. Bintou, his wife, was also educated and had a regular income from her work at a Credit Union in the Tanjeh fish market. Almami Jammeh was a talkative man, who loved listening to the radio and was determined to one-day travel to America. Bintou Jammeh was a large, strong woman who was almost always laughing and working. She had a radiant smile and spoke very good English.

The Jammehs of Tanjeh

Almami and Bintou lived together in a long, corrugate-roofed compound; one end of which was my house. Bintou raised sheep and maintained a large, walled-in garden that she shared with other village women. The compound was surrounded by an incomplete concrete wall, which primarily served as a perch for birds and prowling cats. Covering the space between the wall and the house were hundreds of concrete bricks, lined up perfectly to dry in the sun. Bintou explained that she had been accumulating the bricks in order to build a second house. Judging by the tall grass that was growing from some of the bricks, I guessed they had been there for a long time. Other than the garden, the only greenery that existed in the compound was several mango trees and palm trees. One of the mango trees leaned directly over the wall of my backyard, near my pit latrine. During the rainy season I would often go out in my yard and find several mangos resting on the ground. I did not sleep outside for fear that one of these falling mangos would hit me.

Though Almami and Bintou had no children of their own, they housed several children who were distantly related to them. Almami shared his compound with his parents, who would often sit outside under the covered front of the compound and play with or berate the children. Almami and Bintou also hosted a teenage girl named Fatou Fatty, who helped Bintou with all the cooking and cleaning and also worked in the Tanjeh fish market. Fatou and Bintou were like sisters and would always banter and laugh together: much of the time about me. Needless to say, it was rarely quiet in the compound.

A Large School in a Large Town

If I was not in the Jammeh’s compound or working at the Peace Corps office in Kombo, then I was usually working at the Tanjeh Lower Basic School, which was located further into the town. Like the Jammeh’s compound, it was surrounded by an incomplete wall that encompassed eight classroom blocks containing 22 classrooms, a tap, a medical building, and a teacher’s building. Two enormous mango trees stood in the Northeast corner of the campus and loomed over the nearby classrooms. Otherwise the school grounds were composed of a soft, deep sand that was difficult to walk on, much less ride a bike on. During the one year that I spent at the school, I put together a school library. When I first arrived, I was shown three store rooms: the first was a large classroom filled with broken desks and other furniture, the second was filled with old boxes of donated books, and the third contained more boxes of donated books buried below many donated school desks. I enlisted the 5^th grade class to help me clear out the first room of all the broken desks and furniture. We disturbed the homes of many large geckos, which went darting out of the long-unopened windows. The room had a panelled ceiling and a solid floor so I decided to use it as the library. I dug through the pile of old furniture and salvaged whatever good wood and shelving I could find. I used a hammer and nails to repair the shelves and even built a new shelf out of an old, wooden beehive frame.

The Secrets Held in Donated Books

Over a two-month period, I slowly moved the old boxes of donated books to the library, unpacked them, arranged them, and shelved them. I found entertainment in the secrets the books held. Many of them had old dedications penned on the inside covers: “happy birthday Jimmy, 1974,” and so on. Written across the top of a particularly old book, I found a catchy rhyme; “if this book should come to roam, box it’s ears and send it home.” I found many other things while sifting through the pages of different books; a shopping list, a love note, several playing cards, and flattened insects from strange lands. Unfortunately, many of the books had been eaten through by termites or ruined by moisture. I found that termites could consume the entire inside of a book while leaving the covers intact. It was interesting to see what books they ate (Catherine Cookson, Danielle Steel) and what books they spared (Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck). The best book I found while sifting through the boxes was a 1944 encyclopaedia, with hand-drawn illustrations of rivers, mountains, birds, and insects.

Riding With Sand and Fish

On days when I needed to do work at the Peace Corps office in Kombo, I would leave the Jammeh’s compound and bike along the main road to the fish market. This road was smoothly paved and conducted a lot of traffic, much different from the almost impassable road that I travelled on near Sarre Alfa. While riding to the Tanjeh fish market, I would frequently be passed by large trucks carrying sand from the Kartong sand quarry to construction sites in Kombo. On top of the sand these trucks carried sat several men with shovels, whose job it was to load and unload the sand. I would sometimes see a single digger on the side of the road, leaning on his shovel and waiting for a passing sand truck to pick him up for a days work.

The Tanjeh fish market was always bustling with men and women hawking, bartering, and selling everything from fish to music cassettes. The fisherman, who were all Senegalese, would beach their boats near the market and get mobbed by men wading through the waves to help unload the fish. The fish would either be bought by women who would then transport them into the city to sell at a higher price or frozen on ice in a Taiwanese built ice-factory and stored to be sold later. Cats, dogs, and birds roamed everywhere and the stench was unlike anything I have ever smelled before. I would chain my bike to a post in the market and board one of the geles (public vans) leaving for Kombo. Unfortunately, these were the same geles taken by all the women who loaded up fish to sell in the Serekunda market. Many a time I sat next to a woman holding a basket of fish or had fish juice drip down on me from the baskets of fish piled on the roof of the gele. Invariably I would arrive in Kombo reeking of fish, which would subsequently cause many of the Peace Corps office staff to give me funny looks when I arrived for work.

Running in Paradise

Living near the beach did have its advantages, especially for a runner like me. After a long day at the Peace Corps office or at the Tanjeh school, I would come home, throw on my running shows, and make for the coast along a sandy trail that cut through the farm fields between the main road and the ocean. After descending a short cliff and glimpsing a spectacular view of the wide, blue ocean over palm trees, I would find myself running near the waves. I would round a few bends in the coast and then make my way along miles and miles of flat, empty beach. Aside from the occasional tourist bar, cattle herder, or fisherman, I would be the only one around. With the sun set painting the sky orange, the waves crashing next to me, the birds hovering above me, and the wind in my face, I could not imagine being anywhere better.

These are the memories of my life in Tanjeh that I will cherish. Eating and laughing with Bintou and Fatou, while trying not to sniffle too much from the spicy food. Listening to the cacophony of frogs at night during the rainy season. Waking to the smell of the sea and listening to the wind as it crackled through the leaves of the palm trees. Though I was only there for a short time, I will never forget it.

Thoughts on “Our Grandmothers’ Drums” by Mark Hudson

2011-12-27T01:47:00.000-08:00

A Painful First Reading

Before departing for The Gambia to begin my Peace Corps adventures in June 2008, I ordered and read “Our Grandmothers’ Drums” by Mark Hudson. Peace Corps/The Gambia had listed it as recommended reading. Since I had my wisdom teeth removed shortly before my departure, the book offered a welcome distraction from the pain I was experiencing. I remember that Hudson portrayed The Gambia as a hot, dry place that was full of talkative, hard-working women and lazy men. This book provided my first encounters with the words “Ataya tea” and “toubob.” I do not remember if the book left me feeling discouraged or encouraged about the next two years of my life, but I do remember being struck by Hudson’s beautiful descriptions of the landscape, the people, and the customs of The Gambia.

The Facts

The full title of the book is; “Our Grandmothers’ Drums: A Portrait of Rural African Life and Culture.” It was first published in 1989 and is the first book that Mark Hudson wrote. It won The Thomas Cook Travel Book Award and The Somerset Maugham Award. Mark Hudson has now written three other books: “Coming Back Brockens” (1994), “The Music in my Head” (1998), and “Titian, the Last Days” (2009). In “Our Grandmothers’ Drums,” Hudson reflects on the thoughts and experiences he had while spending 14 months in Dulaba, a Mandinka village in the West Coast Region of The Gambia, in the mid-1980s. He stays at an MRC facility and integrates into the community, forming close bonds with a women’s kafo (group). He describes in-depth the daily routines of Gambian people, their customs (particularly a women’s circumcision ceremony), their work, their relationships, and their music.

Thoughts Upon Re-Reading

Late in April 2011, with three years of Peace Corps service in The Gambia under my belt and my departure looming, I decided to pick up “Our Grandmothers’ Drums” again. There are few books that I have ever re-read, but I felt I would appreciate Hudson’s work more after having lived in The Gambia myself. I was not disappointed. Hudson does an excellent job of recounting the world around him and I enjoyed his descriptions of the customs, people, animals, and weather of The Gambia. He portrays well the frustrations and joys that many foreigners experience when integrating into Gambia culture.

With more than ten years stretching between Hudson’s time in The Gambia and mine, it was interesting to see what had changed and what had stayed the same. Hudson describes a village of depravity, where even oil and tomato sauce were hard to get. I spent two years living much farther up-country than Hudson did and my host-family had no difficulty with buying bread, oil, tomato sauce, and other staples from the local shops. The value of the Dalasi has also gone down over time, since many of the prices that Hudson lists seem very cheap to me. In The Gambia I lived in, everyone had cell phones (even my host-father, who was a farmer). Other than these few things, The Gambia Hudson describes sounds remarkably similar to the one I experienced. Foreigners are still called “toubob.” The women continue to toil in the fields while the men lie on bantabas (beds) and sleep away the day. The heat is still oppressive and the bush is still magnificent, green, and full of life. Beautiful birds still call and swoop among the tall baobab trees that often stand within or just outside the villages. The women still sing their songs and drum and dance, even after working in the fields all day. There is a beauty in The Gambia, and it’s people and their customs, that few visitors get to see and Mark Hudson has captured it well in this book.

Chapter Titles

A Woman Has No Place To Stay

A Woman Of Substance

The Golden Chain

The Season Of Generation

Mind Your Business, Save Your Life

The Big People Of God

The Language Of The Griots

Days Of The Harvest

A Sealed Place

The Crocodile

Sona

The Elephant Head

The World Of Glass

The Bush Of Men

Night Arrows

Ndeysan, The Moon And Stars!

Bird Watching in The Gambia

2011-06-23T09:53:00.000-07:00

Ironically, I was enrolled in an Ornithology course when I received the news that I would be going to The Gambia as a Peace Corps volunteer. After looking up The Gambia, since I had no idea where it was at that point, I learned that bird watching comprises a sizable part of The Gambia’s tourism. I promptly ordered “Birds of The Gambia and Senegal” by Clive Barlow and Tim Wacher, with illustrations by Tony Disley, which is a fantastic field guide.

Bird watching became a regular pastime for me during the three years I spent in The Gambia. What follows is a collection of observations and reflections on the many times I went wondering through the bush with a pair of binoculars. Please note that I am not an Ornithologist and I am not an expert on Gambian birds.

The best places to go bird watching were typically along the river or in any area near water. Open fields and village gardens were my favorite spots. The best times were in the early morning and late evening.

Fun fact: birds are quite similar to human beings.

(1) Birds, like humans, are highly aware of their appearance. They spend hours grooming and bathing in order to appear healthy and attractive.

(2) Birds, like humans, are highly social and can communicate. They use their voices to raise alarms, attract mates, and even to identify their offspring or relatives.

(3) Birds, like humans, have highly varied forms of communication; each species essentially speaks a different “language.”

(4) Male and female birds, like humans, tend to share the responsibility of raising their young.

(5) Male and female birds, like humans, tend to form monogamous breeding or life-long pairs, though they are not always sexually faithful.

Some observations and reflections on the birds I’ve seen in The Gambia.

Pelicans: There are two species but the Pink-backed Pelican is the most notable. They are huge birds and tend to nest up in Kiang near Tendaba. Dozens of them will nest in a single tree, which is an amazing sight.

Hamerkops: Duck-sized, brown birds that hang out near the river or fish for frogs in puddles on the up-country roads. They have long, thin feathers that extend from the backs of their heads, resembling the shape of a hammer. They build huge nests in dead trees by the river that they often re-use every year.

Hamerkop: www.valdosta.edu

Cattle Egrets: These slim, white birds are about a foot tall and are always hanging out with cattle. More impressive is the Great-white Egret, a tall, slim bird that can be seen from miles away.

Vultures: Hooded Vultures can be found all over The Gambia, sometimes gliding miles up in the sky. They are some of the largest birds in The Gambia and tend to gather in big groups in trees or on the ground. Seeing vultures circling over a market is a sure sign that meat is available. A notable figure is the Palm-nut Vulture; which is black and white with a red eye-ring. It is a “vegetarian vulture,” feeding almost exclusively on palm nuts.

Pied Crows: Large, black crows that appear to be wearing white undershirts. They can be found all over The Gambia, though they favor the coastal regions. While displaying, male Crows make a strange croaking sound and spread their wings out like they are balancing on a high wire.

Pied Crow: www.theanimalagency.com

Raptors: There are many different types of eagles, hawks, and falcons in The Gambia. I was not good at identifying them, though one of the most striking was the Fish Eagle: a large, majestic bird that lives along the river. It is the “bald eagle” of The Gambia. One raptor I frequently noticed while up-country was the Shikra. It is a small, hawk-life bird with a grey back and black-and-brown striped under-parts. They have sharp talons, long legs, and bright red eyes.

Shikra: www.kazakhstanbirdtours.com

Guineafowl: Helmeted Guineafowl are chicken sized birds with a creaky, metallic call: almost like a rusty spring on a truck. They are all black with white spots and a white head. Their feathers are fun to collect.

Four-banded Sandgrouse: A small, tan bird that blends in perfectly with the dried grass that covers the farm fields in the dry season. While I was running through the fields, these Sandgrouse would often give me a heart attack as they exploded out of the grass along the side of the path I was running on.

African Jacanas: Small water birds with enormous feet. They have a blue patch running across the top of their bill, as if someone ran a paintbrush down the front of their face. Jacanas can be found in almost any pond or swamp in The Gambia.

African Jacana: en.wikipedia.org

Plovers: Spur-winged Plovers are small birds that stand on tall, thin legs. They have black heads with bright white cheeks. They are very territorial and will raise a racket if you get too close for their comfort. The Wattled Plover is a similar bird that frequently hangs out on the edges of the river. They are brown and display a long, yellow wattle that hangs down from the base of their beaks.

Spur-winged Plover: www.kenyabirds.org.uk

Doves: The African Mourning Dove and the Vinaceous Dove are the most common Doves in The Gambia. They strut around on the ground and hang out on telephone wires. They have a funny call that sounds like a high-pitched cat’s purr. The Namaqua Dove is more common up-country and is a smaller, thinner, darker dove. The Speckled Pigeon can be found in the coastal regions and is unmistakable with its brown-and-white patterning and red eye-ring. These doves like to perch on the corrugated roofs of houses and flirt with each other by repeatedly flying up and landing together, causing a huge racket.

Senegal Coucals: Crow sized birds with brown wings, white bellies, black tails, black caps, and red eyes. They hang around in trees and forage on the ground, industriously sifting through grass while walking forward. They have a loud “wo wo wo wo” call that starts fast and then decreases in rapidity. They make this call while pointing their heads down and inflating their throats.

Senegal Coucal: www.stuartelsom.co.uk

Piapiacs: Large, black birds that resemble Crows but are thinner with larger bills and longer tails. They forage on the ground in large groups, usually near water and often near animals. You can sometimes see one of these birds perched on the back of a nearby goat or cow, keeping watch. The animals don’t seem to mind them and the Piapiac will stay perched even as the animal moves around, giving the impression that the bird is riding the animal.

Nightjars: Very hard to spot, due to the fact that they blend in perfectly with the undergrowth in the fields. In breeding season, Standard-winged Nightjar males grow insanely long, bare feathers off each wing that are only feathered at the tips.

Standard-winged Nightjar: www.worldbirdinfo.net

Swallows: Small and thinly built birds with sharp wings and forked tails. These features make them expert fliers. Swallows tend to perch in groups on telephone wires and fly high up in the air, looping and diving as they catch insects. They are orange and blue, though the different species wear these colors in different combinations. In Tanjeh I would often see Swallows flying low over the road, quickly dodging cars and pedestrians, seemingly for fun though I assume they were hunting insects.

Green Wood Hoopoes: Thin birds that appear to be black from a distance but are actually iridescent green. They have long bills and long tails with white-striped outer bars. They are some of the noisiest birds in The Gambia. They travel in groups and emit a shrill, laughing call that they combine together into a cacophonous chorus while bowing back and forth together on a single perch. It’s quite the spectacle. They are very good at perching on the sides of trees or walls, resembling magnets on a refrigerator.

Green Wood Hoopoe: www.florafaunafieldtours.com

Kingfishers: Small birds with disproportionately large bills. There are many different species in The Gambia, but the most notable is the Pied Kingfisher. They have a white belly with a black belt and a black-and-white speckled back, as well as a huge, black bill. They frequently hang out on telephone wires or tree branches over water, looking for fish. When feeding, they fly out over the water and hover in place before dropping straight down to catch a fish. They can hover perfectly in place for up to 30 seconds. It’s incredible. While in Fatoto I once caught an injured Malachite Kingfisher. It was small but covered with beautiful iridescent-blue stripes and it displayed an impressive crest of striped green-and-blue feathers.

Malachite Kingfisher: Ian Haight

Rollers: Dove sized birds with large heads, beautiful wing patches, and long tail hairs. Blue-bellied Rollers are blue and black with white heads. They are frequently found in the coastal area. They have two long tail hairs, giving them a deeply forked tail. When flying they show off brilliantly iridescent-blue wing patches. The Abyssinian Roller is uniform blue with a brown back and white eye-stripe. These Rollers are very common up-country; frequently perching on telephone wires or on lone-standing coos stalks in a cleared field. They are very aggressive and territorial, and have a grating, dry call. I was once dive-bombed by one while on a run through the fields. They get their name from their awesome flight displays. The males will fly high up into the sky and then fall while steering back and forth in a rolling, flipping display that is very fast and amazing to see. The Broad-billed Roller is purple and brown and tends to live close to the river. Broad-billed Rollers lack the tail hairs that the other two species have.

Abyssinian Roller: ignacioyufera.photoshelter.com

Bee-eaters: Fantastically colored little birds. They tend to be green but also have combinations of red, blue, orange, yellow, black, and white depending on the species. They all have a black stripe across their eye, like they are wearing bandit masks.

Little Bee-eaters: www.realbirder.com

Senegal Parrots: Short, grey-headed parrots with yellow bellies and short tails. In Janjanbury I saw the same Parrot sitting and foraging on the same tree every day at around the same time. Apparently they are creatures of habit.

Turacos: Some of the most splendid birds in The Gambia. There are two species. Violet Turacos are all purple with bright red wing tips. However, the only Turaco I can claim to have seen is the Green Turaco. I spotted it once while in Abuko nature reserve. It is mottled green with a big Mohawk and the same bright red wing tips.

Green Turaco: www.britannica.com

Western Grey Plaintain-eaters: One of the larger and more common birds in The Gambia. They tend to be dark grey with yellow bills and sport long feathers off the backs of their heads: giving the impression that they have dreadlocks. They have a high, barking call that they often emit during flight.

Western Grey Plaintain-eater: ibc.lynxeds.com

Hornbills: There are many kinds of Hornbills in The Gambia. The most common is the Red-billed Hornbill. They are the smallest of the Hornbills and are all white with black-patterned wings. They have long, curved orangey-red bills that tend to be yellow at the base. They have a high-pitched, squeaky call that they emit while perched high up in trees. They forage on the ground, sifting through dirt and leaves for ants and other insects. They have a unique flight pattern that consists of a few rapid wing beats and then a smooth fall with the wings tucked in, followed by an upwards glide as they extend their wings out. They fly in a sort of sin-wave pattern, smoothly rising and falling. The African Grey Hornbill is slightly larger than the Red-billed Hornbill and is much darker: typically grey and black all over. They emit the same high-pitched, squeaky call while also puffing their wings out and tilting their heads back and forth in a dance. The largest of the Hornbills is the Abyssinian Ground Hornbill. This is a huge, all-black Hornbill with a red wattle. It struts around on the ground and I have only ever seen it in Kiang from the window of a car. They are capable of flying, showing off bright white wing tips while in flight.

Red-billed Hornbill: www.underwater.org

Common Bulbuls: Small, greyish-black birds with small crests and dark eyes. They can be found all over The Gambia and have a high pitched “to-trick or to-treat” call. They usually hang around in pairs or groups and are very vocal, especially early in the morning.

Robin-chats: The White-crowned Robin-chat and the Snowy-crowned Robin-chat are two very similar birds. They both have bright orange belly’s that extend back and become orange tail-bars. They have black backs and white crowns on their heads. The White-crowned Robin-chat is larger and has a mottled-white crown and black cap that extends all the way down its neck. The Snowy-crowned Robin-chat has an orange collar around its neck and an all-white crown.

Snowy-crowned Robin-chat: birding-paradigms.blogspot.com

Grey-backed Camaropteras: Tiny little fellows with white bellies, greyish backs, and brownish-green wings. They have a short, thin tail that they keep pointed sharply up in the air. They tend to forage on the ground, dexterously hopping back and forth between branches and the ground while emitting a short “zbbzeee” call, almost like they are suppressing a sneeze.

Beautiful Sunbirds: There are many different Sunbirds in The Gambia. They tend to resemble humming birds because they are small, thin, fast moving, and iridescently colored. The most common species is the Beautiful Sunbird. While the females and immature males have plain white bellies with grey backs and caps, the breeding males are extravagant. They are iridescent green with a belt across their belly that is yellow near their wings and red at the center. When the sun hits them at the right angle they show off an incredible shiny-green color. The breeding males also grow two long tail-hairs that extend back from the center of their tail.

Beautiful Sunbird: www.flickr.com

Yellow-crowned Gonoleks: Pigeon sized birds that have bright red bellies, black backs and tails, and yellow crowns. They can be found all over The Gambia and are easy to hear but hard to spot. They have a quick, loud “eyu-we-eyu” call that almost sounds like someone whistling for your attention. This call is closely followed by two clicking sounds. However, two different birds make the whistles and the clicks. The clicks are a response from one bird to the first birds whistle. It is done so perfectly that you can hardly notice.

Yellow-crowned Gonolek: www.izibirds.com

Yellow-billed Oxpeckers: Small, brown birds that have yellow bills with red tips. They forage on the ground and also perch on the sides of cows and donkeys to feed on the insects that hang around the animals. They have also been known to excise existing wounds in the animals’ hides. This is most likely why cows and donkeys tend to swat at the Oxpeckers to get them off their backs.

Starlings: Some of the most common birds in The Gambia. You can see Long-tailed Glossy Starlings and Greater Blue-eared Glossy Starlings almost anywhere in The Gambia. They are medium sized, iridescent-blue birds with dark faces and high-pitched, squeaky calls. The Long-tailed Glossy Starling has a long tail and wide wings, whereas the Greater Blue-eared Glossy Starling has a shorter tail and more pointed wings. Starlings tend to hang out in groups and forage on the ground. Their calls are a fixture of Tendaba Camp in Kiang.

Long-tailed Glossy Starling: Ian Haight

Northern Red Bishops: Small, puffy, red and brown birds that are commonly seen during the rainy season. The males and females have pale-brown bellies and speckled-brown backs. However, during the rainy season the males put on a bright red coat with a black mask and black belly. Village boys once told me that Fulas call them “flying tomatoes.” Gambians do not like these birds because they eat the coos off the stalks in the fields. Towards the end of the rainy season, villagers will send their children off to the fields to bang on drums and make noise in order to scare the Red Bishops and Weavers away from the coos and maize. The Northern Red Bishop males have a bizarre display where they fly using short bursts of wing beats, keeping their bodies vertical while emitting a series of chirps. On other occasions I have seen males go darting after females, chasing them in an incredibly acrobatic fashion: like two cars on a roller coaster rail.

Northern Red Bishop: www.aultimaurcudenoe.com

Weavers: Another one of the most common birds in The Gambia. They are easy to identify by their typically yellow color and dark green or black heads. Weavers tend to mass together in large groups, chirping and calling out loudly; creating a cacophonous racket. Telling the differences between the many different kinds of Weavers is very challenging. This is not helped by the fact that groups and colonies of Weavers can contain many different species. Village Weavers and Yellow-backed Weavers are the most common kinds. They look very similar; though Village Weavers tend to have red eyes and a black head with a brown patch on the back while Yellow-backed Weavers have much clearer and simpler black mask. During the rainy season the Weavers gather in huge colonies on trees, sometimes right in the center of villages. They make so much noise that some villages have the young men try to scare the Weavers away. The birds weave incredibly elaborate nests out of grass, sticks, and whatever else they can find. The nests resemble large, stomach shaped baskets with the entrance hole on the bottom. The males weave the nests, often while hanging up-side-down and simultaneously emitting loud calls. The males must prepare the nests so that the females can inspect them. A female will only mate with a male and lay her eggs in his nest if she thinks it is a good looking nest, so there’s a lot of pressure on the male birds to weave a good looking home. During the first weeks of the rainy season you can sit and watch the male Weavers as they fly down in large groups to the ground, rip up long blades of grass, and fly back up into the trees to begin weaving their nests.

Village Weaver: Ian Haight

Village Weaver nest: Ian Haight

Red-billed Firefinches: Firefinches are some of the smallest birds in The Gambia. They tend to be a dull, uniform red color though the females are browner. They forage on the ground in small groups, never standing still for more than a millisecond. Firefinches are constantly emitting soft little chirps, flicking their tails, hopping around, and looking around: like they are perpetually nervous. That being said, they are also some of the tamest birds in The Gambia. You can walk right up to them and they will not move or fly away until you are almost within arms reach of them.

Red-cheeked Cordon-bleu: These little birds are the same shape and size as Firefinches, but they have brown backs, light brown bellies, and are otherwise baby blue. The males have bright red cheeks, giving the impression that they are very embarrassed. Cordon-bleus tend to mingle with Firefinches and are just as tolerant of human proximity.

Red-cheeked Cordon-bleu: en.wikipedia.org

Those are only a few of the Gambian birds I wanted to make note of. There are so many birds that are not mentioned here. Even after three years of bird watching, there are also still many birds that I never saw or only saw on one or two occasions. If you are curious about any of these birds or would like to see more photos, please visit the websites listed near the photos in this blog entry. If you ever find yourself in The Gambia, I strongly encourage you to grab a pair of binoculars and go out for a walk. There are birds everywhere and you will almost always see something amazing.

A DAY IN MY VILLAGE LIFE (SARRE ALFA, 2008 - 2010)

2011-06-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

At 5:30am the prayer call comes through my hut’s thatch roof. This call is blasted through a megaphone (powered by a car battery) attached to the roof of the large mosque in the center of the village. Other prayer call recordings soon erupt from the smaller mosques, creating a cacophony that echoes over the village. It is a strangely soothing sound.

The Gambia is full of sounds. My alarm clock goes off at 6:15am. The bamboo bed frame creaks as I sit up. I hear the sharp “to trick or to treat” calls of the Grey Bulbuls in a tree outside, roosters crowing, donkeys braying, children crying, and goats wailing. Maimuna, the first wife in the family I live with, is already up and using a mortar and pestle to pound coos to make porridge for breakfast. I un-tuck my mosquito net and flip it up over the plastic tarp that I have tied above it to protect my bed from the dust that falls from the thatch roof. I go into my back yard to the pit latrine. The sun has not yet risen, but there is just enough light to see by. A smell of smoke fills the air, coming from the cooking fire in my host-family’s cooking-hut. I dress and walk out of my front door to greet Maimuna and whoever else is around. Greeting people is an important thing to do in Gambian village life.

I use my gas stove to heat water for tea and oatmeal. I mix powdered milk into the tea, as well as sugar; which I serve out of a container zipped inside two zip-lock bags to keep ants out of it. I would sometimes have a supply of cinnamon to add to the oatmeal. Otherwise I eat corn flakes or cook up eggs, depending on what’s available. I listen to BBC radio and eat, then wash my dishes outside using an old sponge and a kettle of water.

With a full stomach, I throw on my ratty gardening shoes; tying rubber bands around the toes to keep the detached soles from flopping around. I grab a plastic bucket, on which there is a bike tire patch covering up a small crack, and head outside. I cross the compound (a ring of thatch roof huts connected by a straw fence and concrete wall) and walk around the cooking hut to where my garden is. It is a five square meter space surrounded on three sides by chicken wire nailed to several posts dug into the ground. The fourth side consists of the concrete wall that runs along one side of my compound. I fetch buckets of water out of a large, blue, plastic waste bin that I keep in one corner of the garden. I had bought the bin in Basse and rode the 30km back to my site with it tied to the back of my bicycle; quite a sight. I had filled the bin the previous evening with about six buckets of water, which is how much I usually needed to water the whole garden. An old plastic chocolate spread container with holes punched into it serves as my watering can.

At its peak, my garden had four beds and a few tree saplings. I found that cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes, and cilantro grew well. Zucchini, bananas, pumpkins, and lettuce on the other hand, did not grow so well.

Before

After

After watering, I close and tie shut the gate, then check the fence to ensure that the various goats, donkeys, and sheep that roam the village cannot break in. Chickens, however, were unavoidable pests. They frequently flew over the inappropriately named “chicken wire” and scratched up the fertilizer in my garden beds in their search for insects.

I walk back to my hut, take off my garden-dust covered work clothes, take a bucket bath, and put on my chalk-dust covered teaching clothes; dust is a constant thing in Africa. I pack my books and teaching aids in a backpack, take my bike outside, and lock my hut. I roll up my left pant leg so that it won’t catch on the bike chain. I have already had a local tailor fix several rips in my school pants. I set off for school, riding first through the sandy streets of Sarre Alfa. Coos fences stand tall on both sides of the road and children run everywhere. I pass the village pump, then the women’s gardens, and finally reach the road. I cross a bridge over a small stream where cattle are often grazing.

I pass many of my students on the road, walking along with their torn and faded blue uniforms. I greet them with “good morning,” switching out of village Fula mode and into school English mode. The few students who are riding on bikes peddle crazily in an effort to keep up with me. At the top of the road is Suduwol village and Suduwol Basic Cycle School (BCS).

I live in Sarre Alfa, a Fula village, and teach in Suduwol, a Sarahulle village. These two villages are one kilometer apart and consist of entirely different languages and cultures. The classrooms of Suduwol BCS (grades 1 to 9) are filled with students who either speak Sarahulle, Mandinka, or Fula. English is the only unifying language between them, but they do not speak it very well.

The school consists of four long buildings, each containing about four rowed classrooms and a few small offices in between. Two sit right in line with each other, constituting the southern border of the school grounds. The gap between these two classroom blocks used to serve as a path for cattle herders and women walking to the fields, until the head teacher and I fenced it using large logs and barbed wire. The third block sits parallel to the first two, lying lazily along the middle of the school grounds, with the fourth block stretching perpendicularly behind it. Like many schools in The Gambia, Suduwol BCS was constructed by World Bank. You can tell from its characteristic structure, as well as the white and grey painted buildings. Only three of the four classroom blocks are regularly used. Every classroom is equipped with old blackboards, and equally old desks and benches. The newer teachers’ quarters are also located on the school grounds. They are nice, two-room apartments with separate pit latrines. There are also two functioning water pumps; one near the classrooms and one near the teachers’ quarters.

During my two years at Suduwol BCS the school grounds changed considerably, which I attribute entirely to the head teacher I worked with. He and I repainted every blackboard in the school and used wire or nails to fix many of the desks and benches. We started a school tree nursery and out-planted over 30 mango and cashew tree saplings around the school grounds. The school garden was re-fenced and an impressive amount of garden beds and banana trees were planted in it. We used large logs and barbed wire to fence off the gap between the southernmost classrooms and we fenced the entire western side of the school grounds. At one point, the EU arrived and renovated the teachers’ quarters; adding open patios, new tiles, and repainting. WFP provided money and materials to build a school kitchen near the center of the grounds. The EU then returned and installed a solar powered water tower that fed water to three taps on the grounds; one near the classrooms, one in the garden, and one near the teachers’ quarters.

2008

2010

Upon arriving at school, I open up the large, green, iron door of my office. I park my bike in a small back room, which is full of dust and cobwebs and bats that hang from the ceiling. I then open up the library, which resides in the large classroom next to my office. Like every classroom in the school, its high corrugate roof rests on thick concrete walls that have small holes punched in on one side and large, un-closable, iron-barred windows on the other. With no air conditioning or electricity in the school, these openings are necessary for air and light. The small holes look as if the masons accidently left out every other brick when constructing the building. In the late afternoons, bats sometimes begin flying around the roof beams of the classrooms. At the end of the rainy season the classrooms fill with large frogs and centipedes, which crawl in searching for moisture and shelter from the sun. They always, eventually, dry out and die, and the school’s toothless caretaker sweeps their carcasses out of the classrooms every morning. During the hot season, the corrugate roof cracks and bangs as it absorbs the heat from the sun. The strong winds outside pick up dust from the surrounding fields and fill the classrooms with it. After a single windy night, some of the regularly used classrooms have so much dust accumulated on the desks that it looks as if they have not been opened in decades.

I make sure that a number of books are stacked on the front desks for students to read during their library period or during break, then return to my office to prepare for my classes. I review my schedule for the day, laying out whatever teaching aids I need. I make sure I have chalk, though I often just have to use whatever little, leftover nubs I can find. I walk over to the head teacher’s office to sign my name in the “teacher register” book. I greet Pateh Jallow, the head teacher. Pateh is a young looking man, with a natural smile and a head that is constantly bent forward, as if he is intensely focusing on whatever is in front of him. He is one of the most honest and hardest working Gambians that I have ever met. He has already been in his office since 6:30am.

Just before 8am, a student begins ringing the school bell and all the other students begin flooding into their classrooms, pushing and jabbing each other as they squeeze through the doors. I pick up my attendance register, a thin blue book with an overly complicated information table in it, and walk to the grade nine classroom. When I arrive, every student’s attention is drawn to me; they never get over the fact that I am the only white man in the school, let alone in the entire district of villages. I open up with “good morning grade nine!” and they shout back, in unison, while rising to stand; “goo moourning saar!” I tell them the date and any announcements I need to make. I have them sit, which they do while again shouting in unison; “thang yoou saar!” I begin calling the 35 names on the register, which I can recite by memory. I am amazed at how quickly I have come to know the faces, names, and personalities of my students. There’s Muhammed Kieta; the rebel without a cause, Bilali Danjo; the class clown, Yaya Baldeh; the athlete, Mariama Jawo and Mariama Sanneh; the ones who answer every question I ask, Mamadou Baldeh; the shy but smart student, and so on. There are five “Muhammed”s in the class and seven students with the last name “Sissoko,” but every one of them is unique to me.

After marking the register, I begin teaching my classes; switching between the 7^th, 8^th, and 9^th grade classrooms depending on my schedule. In the Gambian school system, it is the teachers that rotate. The students have to sit on combination benches and desks connected by iron frames for the whole day. The wood benches are hard and uncomfortable and so the students fidget constantly. They mostly sit two to a desk, but sometimes three or even four students have to cram onto one. The screws that are supposed to connect the wooden bench and desktops to the metal frames are often missing. Therefore, students often fall to the floor while still on their benches or catapult their desktops up by leaning on them in the wrong place. Despite all this, the students soldier on. They bravely place their torn up notebooks on the desks and try to write, though their pens often die (if they have pens to begin with). Many of the students carry razor blades, which they use to sharpen their pencils. The walls are usually bare, but I have endeavoured, along with the other teachers, to cover them with posters and other teaching aids. However, the wind, leaking roofs, and insects make it hard to keep things up on the walls. The blackboards present further challenges. Even after repainting them, there are still rough patches that eat away at the chalk. The teachers and I all know where the rough spots are and purposefully avoid them, sometimes leaving large gaps in a sentence or paragraph.

“Teaching,” in The Gambia, for me, usually involves writing notes on the board and elaborating on them while students copy it all down. I do my best to speak very slowly and use the simplest words possible, since the students’ English comprehension is low. I often ask easy “yes or no” or “true or false” questions. With every lesson, I try to include some kind of activity where students can come to the board and write or stick up teaching aids. While all this sounds simple and obvious, it was entirely novel to my students. What Gambian students are used to is rote learning; where the teacher shouts a sentence at the students and has them repeat it back several times before moving on to the next sentence.

My bizarre, interactive teaching methods made classroom management tricky. My students were not used to a white teacher, nor were they used to a teacher who constantly asked them questions. They also quickly learned that I would not use beating and kneeling as a form of punishment, as their other teachers did. However, after my first term I managed to earn their respect. When I first started my service, I was afraid to even walk into a classroom. By the second term, I looked forward to it.

After five 35-minute periods, the bell is rung for lunch. I retreat back to my office to prepare for my afternoon classes and gather more chalk. I then join the other teachers as they sit outside the teachers’ room and await the teacher’s lunch bowl. Suduwol BCS received WFP food as part of a school feeding program that was supposed to motivate parents to send their children to school. WFP regularly sent bags of rice, chickpeas, salt, cans of oil, and a little money to provide school lunches. The food is to be provided to the students without charge and not to the teachers. However, Suduwol BCS school charges 50 bututs (half a Dalasi or about 2 cents) per day, which is then used to buy onions, fish, and other things to add to the food. Each day, three women cook up the food in huge cauldrons over open fires in a smoke filled, abandoned classroom. They fill big silver bowls with rice, a little sauce, and hand one bowl out for six children to eat from. The teachers also take a bowl. While this all sounds unjust, no children are left starving. In fact, many students prefer to buy bean sandwiches for five Dalasi, rather than pay the half a Dalasi it takes to get a food bowl. There is always food left over, so the teachers are not taking food away from students. After a few months, I caved in and began eating with the teachers. I ate WFP lunch for almost two years. Don’t worry I plan on making a massive donation to WFP in the future. However, during my second year the financial crisis hit and WFP stopped delivering food to Suduwol BCS, since it was not a “high needs” site.

The teachers and I sit around the lunch bowl and eat with our hands. However, after burning my fingers on the hot food a few times, I began carrying a spoon to school. My first year of service coincided with the US presidential elections. Obama and McCain. During this time the teachers always brought a radio to lunch and all they talked about was politics. Since I was American, they listened to my opinions as if I knew Obama personally. In the Peace Corps I am free to talk about US politics, but I suddenly made sure to have food in my mouth or to quickly finish eating if the teachers began talking about Gambian politics. After the elections, the teachers usually spent the lunch period joking with each other, discussing football games, and complaining about the heat or the wind.

After lunch, I continue teaching while rotating between classrooms. During the hot season, the afternoon is always the most gruelling time of the day. The air temperature sometimes reaches 115°F, driving me to constantly sweat. The students are exhausted, sitting in the hot classrooms. The chalk dust sticks to my skin as I write on and erase the board. I often retreat to my office after each lesson to guzzle down water and then return to continue teaching. I usually bring four nalgenes full of filtered water to school and empty them all by the end of the day.

At around 1:30pm, the morning shift ends. All the students pile out of the classrooms and dash for the school pump. They crowd around the pump, pushing and shoving each other for access to the thin stream of water coming out of the spigot. They need the water to perform ablutions in preparation for afternoon prayers. I have never seen such chaos. Children pushing each other, washing their hands, hitting each other, washing their feet, kicking each other, washing their mouths, screaming at each other, washing their faces, and then retreating. All this insanity is followed by almost perfect silence as the students set up their little prayer mats in neat rows under the shade of a large tree and stand facing Mecca in the East. The school Ustas (Islamic teacher) leads the prayer and all the students repeatedly bow and kneel in unison. Occasionally a few students jostle each other, especially if there are two or three jammed on a single prayer mat. Otherwise, the only sounds are the calls of the prayer leader. Once prayer is over, the chaos resumes as all the students snatch up their prayer mats and run for home.

At this point the school’s afternoon shift starts. Since many schools in The Gambia are short of teachers, they adopt a two-shift system where some grades come in the morning and the other grades come in the afternoon. While this system allows class sizes to stay small, it puts the local teachers under an enormous amount of pressure. Double shift teachers teach from 8am to 6pm with only a few breaks, and they then spend their evenings preparing for the next day. I chose not to teach in the afternoon. I do not envy the double shift teachers. Instead, I spend my after school hours grading homework, tutoring students and teachers or running club meetings. Grading homework is always entertaining because it requires me to collect the ratty note books that the students have and scour through them in search of my homework assignments, which are written in the most random places. My students obviously copy off each other. However, since so few students even try to do the homework, I just let it slide. However, once I started giving out stickers to students that had no homework errors, the homework completion rate markedly increased.

The school library is an endless source of work for me. After cleaning it out, reorganizing it, and decorating it, I set about finding ways to make it useful. To my surprise, students and teachers began visiting the library after school to read and study. I began tutoring the few teachers who were brave enough to approach me and say that they did not understand a certain subject or problem. However, my favourite afterschool activity is my library club. Initially, I recruited the strongest readers in the grade 8 and 9 classes, keeping the genders equal. I led group readings, had the students use drawings to make book reports, started regular vocabulary tests, and conducted simple art projects to keep the meetings fun and to decorate the library. The club grew in size and I started including grade 7 students. It is amazing to see what these students are capable of when they realize that they do not have to be afraid of being creative. The whole group once came to me and asked if they could put on a “drama.” I helped them adapt one of their favourite short stories into a two-scene play and we performed it for the whole school. We have our meetings every Wednesday and it has become my favourite time of the week.

I also host afterschool science lessons for the grade nine students, who will soon be taking the national standardized test (the Gambia Basic Education Certificate Examination or GaBECE). I use these afternoon classes to conduct the more complicated labs that I do not have the time to do during the day. We mix vinegar and baking soda to observe acid base reactions, make string phones, and act out circulation using a role-play.

These various afterschool activities often keep me at school up to 5 or 6pm. After making sure that I am ready for the next day, I close up the library, retrieve my bike, and close up my office. Quite often the sun is already low in the sky, shining over the sandy football field that is just next to the school. Young men from Suduwol village play football on the field in the evenings and I always pause to watch their silhouetted forms dive, run, and jump. While biking home I feel exhausted and burned out, but these feelings are always alleviated when I bike into my village compound. Every day upon my arrival, without fail, my two youngest host-sisters, Kadijatou (4 yrs) and Amie-Baby (2 yrs), run at me screaming with joy as if I have been gone for years. The two of them hug my knees and almost knock me over every time.

After dropping off my bag and parking my bike behind my hut, I again change into my gardening clothes and walk to the well with my two buckets. The well is located close to my hut, but walking to it is another story. I have to walk out of and around my compounds fence in a capital G like pattern to reach the well, making it quite a long way to travel with two buckets filled with water. When my garden was at its peak, I hauled 14 buckets of water over this distance afterschool every day. I used four buckets for the four garden beds, two buckets for the trees, six buckets to fill the big blue bin for the next morning, and two for my evening and next morning bucket baths. I fetch this water out of a deep, open well that has a rickety pulley mounted over it. A rough rope runs through the pulley with two plastic containers called “bidongs” tied to both ends. As one bidong is pulled up, the other falls and fills. Holes cut into their sides ensure that they sink and fill quickly. They invariably also have small cracks in them, so you lose a good amount of water before you actually pull one bidong all the way up. The pulley makes such a high-pitched shrieking sound that my ears often ring after pulling up just one bidong; it takes two bidongs to fill one bucket. Needless to say, I had some impressive callouses and decent upper body strength by the time I was done with my garden. As tiring as all this is, I really enjoy it. On days when I was running late, I could watch the sun set over the wall on one side of my garden, which was always beautiful.

Believe it or not, after all of this water hauling I sometimes go running. After my first three months of service, I started going out on long distance runs. They were a great way for me to relieve stress, escape my village, and explore the surrounding bush; which is extensive and beautiful. Running has always been an addiction of mine, but it went to a whole new level in The Gambia. I have three different running routes, all of which lead out of the village and into the farm fields or wilderness. I get dive bombed by Abyssinian Rollers and scare grouse, which explode out from the underbrush unexpectedly. One time I saw a family of warthogs cross my path. Another time I frightened an old fisherman who was riding a bike back from some unknown stream. A white man was the last thing I think he expected to see while riding home from a day of fishing.

After watering and running, I return home exhausted. If I have any Gatorade powder or Cliff bars stored up from care-packages, I sit in front of the small fan that I have rigged up to a car battery and wolf it all down. It is amazing how good Gatorade and a Cliff bar can taste after a long day of teaching, watering, and running. I take a bucket bath and sit at my desk for the rest of the evening. Sometimes a few students come over for tutoring, which I enjoy doing. However, on some nights I had to turn them away. Sometimes I take out the small backpacking guitar that I managed to buy off another volunteer and play a few songs. This draws Kadijatou and the other compound children into my hut, where they dance and laugh.

During my second year I began tutoring an older woman named Isatou, who wanted to learn to speak English. It was challenging at first (I had never realized how complicated English is as a language), but she put a lot of effort into it. She was a literate woman from Senegal, which made tutoring her easier. After a while she began bringing food with her sometimes. She made the most amazing Senegalese dishes; salads, pastas, and rice porridge with bananas in it. She ended up becoming a very good friend of mine.

At around 8:30pm sharp, every evening, Maimuna (the 1^st wife) or Baby (the 2^nd wife) brings the dinner bowl to my door. I take it outside, place it next to Mamasamba’s dinner bowl, and wait for him to return from evening prayers. When Mamasamba arrives we tuck into dinner, which is “lachiri e poinche;” coos with watery groundnut sauce. Picture a bowl full of what looks like soft sand; this is coos. Picture another bowl full of what looks like rust colored water; this is the sauce. Mix the two together and that was dinner, for two years of my life. I learned that if I mixed it with just the right proportions, I could make it feel like I was eating mashed potatoes. I also learned that if I bought beans in Basse or fish in Suduwol, they would add them to the sauce. Every once and while Maimuna makes “hako;” leaf sauce, a salty green paste that I find delicious. One night, I made the mistake of dancing for joy when Hako was served and so the family now demands that I dance every time Hako is ever served. During dinner I eat with my right hand, as all Gambians do. Every now and then I would break out my spoon, in response to which Mamasamba would say; “A niamugol America hande;” “you are eating like an American today.” I have always considered myself to be a fast eater, but Mamasamba always eats faster. It is incredible.

I sit outside with Mamasamba and the rest of the family for the rest of the night. Omar, my oldest host brother, sometimes brews “ataya;” a super concentrated green tea, and shares it around. I practice my Fula with Mamasamba and ask him about his life and family. I bring out my binoculars to show Mamasamba the moon or we look through my bird book and he teaches me the Fula names for a lot of the birds. With no city lights, the stars are dazzling. I sit and stare and I often see shooting stars. As exhaustion overwhelms me, I bid everyone goodnight and go back to my hut. I close and lock the corrugated doors and tuck my mosquito net around my bed. I read with my headlamp and set my alarm. If it is hot season I set up the fan next to my bed or I move my bed and mosquito net outside in my back yard. I fall asleep to the sounds of the crickets and the wind rustling the trees. A donkey brays somewhere in the distance and sets off a number of other donkeys in the village. Villagers walk by my fence, speaking in rushed Fula to each other. It is the same Gambian melody of sounds that I will later wake up to, with the arrival of another busy day.

HOW ARE TRADITIONAL AND CULTURAL PRACTICES REPRESENTED IN MODERN GAMBIAN SOCIETY?

2011-05-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

Since July of 2008 I have been living and working in The Gambia. I have learned a lot about Gambian culture. Over my next few blog entries I aim to explore my knowledge by answering a few questions. However, I want to stress that I am not an expert in any of these topics. I also have no desire to offend anyone or belittle their beliefs or culture. These are simply my crazy thoughts and opinions.

Despite the influences of Islam and western culture, there are many Gambian traditions that are still practiced. Some examples can be seen in the way Gambians use jujus, the way they speak to each other, and the way they eat their meals.

Gambians maintain their traditional belief in jujus; ordinary or special objects that have magical powers. A typical juju is prepared by a village marabout, who writes certain verses from the Koran on slips of paper and sows them into a leather pouch. These leather jujus can be worn on strings around your neck, arms, wrist, waist, ankles, etc... Jujus can grant a person almost anything; good health, invincibility, good fortune, attraction, and even impenetrability. Gambians are firm believers that some jujus can make you impenetrable to bullets and knives. Jujus can also be used for bad intentions; such as bringing a hex or bad luck upon a person. There are even special jujus that counteract the bad jujus.

Jujus are commonly worn by new-born babies and pregnant women, though most men and women also wear them. It is impossible to tell what a juju is for simply be looking at it, and most people will not tell you. Other jujus are confined in silver rings, which men and women wear. Young babies are often given small, silver bracelets that are supposed to bring the child wealth and good health. Jujus are also hung over the entrances of houses and compounds to ward off evil. However, it is their incorporation into modern culture that I find most entertaining. Many taxis and geles have a variety of decorations that I have been told are actually jujus. Taxis will often hang a severed cow tail off the back of their cab to prevent them from hitting valuable animals. They will also hang a single, small child’s sandal off the back or front of their vehicle to prevent them from hitting children. Many geles are decorated with Koranic verses and images, which are supposed to bring good luck. I have even noticed that some drivers have leather jujus added to their shift sticks or steering wheels, no doubt to prevent accidents or technical problems; such as a “no flat tires” juju.

Traditional practices can also be seen in the way that Gambians speak to each other. Greeting is a very important aspect of Gambian culture. Local village elders will sometimes take five or ten minutes just to greet each other, asking rapid questions and answers. They always answer in the affirmative or say that everything is fine, even if things are clearly not fine. Only once the requisite greetings have been done will they admit that they are sick or mourning. A person that does not take the time to greet another person, even a stranger, is considered rude. Most of the tribal languages are designed around greetings. For example, the Fula phrase “Jam tan,” meaning “peace only,” is used to respond to every greeting question. Mandinka and Wollof have more elaborate questions and responses, but two people meeting will always exchange them. Gambians even do this when speaking English, using “fine” or “they are fine” or “it is fine” to answer questions like “how are you?” “how is your family?” “how is the morning?” “how is the work?” “how are the children?” and so on. These questions are almost direct translations of the greetings they exchange in their local languages.

Greeting has become fully immersed in Gambian cell phone culture. In many instances, Gambians will call up friends and relatives just to exchange the typical greetings and then hang up. They most often do this when they only have a small amount of phone credit left that they want to use up. They will just begin calling people, even people they have not spoken to in ages, greet them and then hang up. This is considered a polite and respectful thing to do. Though text messaging has yet to catch on with most Gambians, they will also send out texts saying things like; “I am extending many greetings to you and your family.”

Many Gambians continue to use traditional proverbs in their day to day conversations. Some of them barely make sense to me; such as “the donkey will fear it’s own shadow.” Others are clearer, such as; “no matter how long a log sits in a river, it will never become a crocodile.” This proverb is often applied in Peace Corps to make it clear that a volunteer’s integration can only go so far. My personal favourites relate to celebrations and events. At a wedding, you may hear someone say to the newly weds; “may your bed always be dirty.” This is a way of wishing a couple a long and happy marriage with many children, who will play on their bed and always make it dirty.

No matter how much more prevalent western culture becomes in The Gambia, its rigid individualism will never conquer the traditionally social aspects of Gambian culture. Even in the urban center of Kombo, you will still see complete strangers greeting each other politely and making jokes about each others family name or tribe. At any time you may be invited over to join in a meal, even if you are a complete stranger to the people who are inviting you to eat. Inviting someone to join you at the food bowl is polite and expected. Most people politely refuse, saying they are full (even when they’re not), but every once in a while a person might join in for a few mouthfuls. No one complains or says anything. Last time I checked, I didn’t see any people at restaurants or bars in America asking me to come and have some food off their plate. While in village a volunteer can walk into almost any compound, even if they’ve never been there before, and join in for lunch or dinner as if he or she were part of the family.

The traditional Gambian way of eating food has also persevered. Most Gambian children grow up eating with their right hand out of a communal food bowl that is placed on the ground. This habit stays with them for their entire lives. I have seen business men in downtown Banjul stop at street side vendors on their way to work, where they order up rice or coos porridge, put the bowl on the ground, throw their tie over their shoulder and dig in, stopping only to invite other people to join them. The Gambian staff at the Peace Corps office are the same way. Sheriff, our General Services Officer, will take his lunch bowl outside every day, plop it down on the ground by the guard’s gazebo and eat with all the guards.

Even while I am travelling around the overly developed parts of Banjul or the tourist strip of Senegambia, it is these wonderful, little traditions and customs that remind me that I am in The Gambia.

WHAT TRADITIONAL CEREMONIES ARE STILL PRACTICED IN THE GAMBIA?

2011-05-18T17:57:00.000-07:00

There are many traditional ceremonies that Gambians still practice; most notably wedding ceremonies, funerals, and naming ceremonies. Each tribe within The Gambia conducts these ceremonies and celebrations in their own way. Let’s look at wedding ceremonies first. Most marriages are still arranged, though the bride and groom might have a little say in the matter. In all cases, the groom’s family must pay a bride-price to the bride’s family, which is negotiated over a long period of meetings. The groom must build a new hut or room for his new wife so that she can move into his compound. At Fula weddings, the wife is dressed up in a blue, tie-dyed fabric that she wears over her head for several days. At the wedding she sits and is joined by her husband for the ceremony. There is then a lot of drumming and singing as a whole parade escorts the new wife to her husband’s compound, where lots of food is eaten. Though it is a happy event, the wife is usually crying throughout the ceremony, most likely because she is leaving her former home and family. However, after all these dramatics, the wife typically returns to her host family’s compound and will sometimes take up to a year or more to complete the move into her husband’s compound.

Funerals are grand events where the mourning family must host and feed the many friends and relatives that travel down to pay their respects to the deceased. Though these travellers often make a monetary contribution to the mourning family, funerals invariably end up costing the bereaved family a great deal of money. Upon discovering that someone has died, the women all gather and wail and tear at their clothes dramatically. They continue to do this at the funeral, while the men bath and prepare the body for burial. The body must be buried within 24 hours of death, which means that things happen very quickly. On several occasions, I have seen a departed car ferry turn around in order to pick up a car transporting a body being transported for burial. The body is typically buried facing East and many prayers are said for the soul of the departed. The family will convene to mourn and pray for the deceased on the first day, third day, seventh day, and fortieth day after burial.

Naming ceremonies are also grand and rather expensive events. When a new Gambian child is born, it is not given a name straight away. Mandinka’s typically wait up to a week before naming a newborn. All of the extended family and village acquaintances are invited to a compound for the naming ceremony, where prayers are said and snacks are given out. A little money is usually collected from the guests and everyone visits the mother to see the newborn child. The mother is then called out and made to kneel on a mat. A man pretends to shave her head using a razor while he prays. The same man then uses a razor to really shave any hair off the baby’s head. The name of the child is then announced, and a sheep or a goat is slaughtered. The village women then frantically begin preparing the food, while simultaneously dancing, singing, and arguing. The men sit and talk while brewing attaya tea.

Naming ceremonies are even conducted for new Peace Corps volunteers in the training villages, minus the goat slaughtering. The name I was given was Ousman, whom I’m told was a sort of King Arthur character; a great warrior and king who pulled a sword out of a stone. Most volunteers then take on the family name of their host-families. During training I was Ousman Jawo. At my original site, I went by Ousman Cham or Mr. Cham for two years. At my ten month extension site I was known as Ousman Jammeh or Mr. Jammeh.

There is a lot of information in a Gambian family name. Most Gambians can tell what tribe you are from, what language you speak, and even what region you are from simply from your name. Jawo, Baldeh, Sissoko, and Bah are typically Fula names. Fofana, Darboe, and Drammeh are typically Mandinka names. Touray, Dumbuya, and Cham are typically Wollof names. Jammeh, Jabang, and Gibba are typically Jola names. Wollofs are usually from the western coast regions, Fulas live in the upper river regions, and mandinkas dominate the central river regions. However, being a small country, you can find Fulas, Mandinkas, Wollofs, and Jolas almost anywhere in The Gambia.

Every name and culture has a joke mate. Fulas and Jolas often joke that they do not get along. Chams and Sowes, Baldehs and Jallows, and many others are known to be joke mates. If a person with the name Jallow meets a person with the name Bah or Baldeh, even if they are complete strangers, they will begin joking with each other. They will make comments like “Oh, Baldehs are very bad,” “Baldehs like eating too much,” “Baldehs are always lazy.” I firmly believe that it is these kinds of joking relationships that have reduced tensions and tribal conflicts in The Gambia.

Circumcision ceremonies, both for boys and girls, are still practiced in traditional ways. In Mandinka villages, the young boys are grouped together and taken to a secluded shelter in the bush where they are circumcised. They are then given about a week to recover, during which time they do not leave the secluded shelter. They are fed and cared for while they heal. Meanwhile, spirits called Kankorans descend upon the village. These are usually young men decked out in leaves, bark, fabric or rags that dance around emitting high-pitched screams and wielding two machetes. During the day they are harmless, though children often run away from them and even adults will go indoors when they pass by. Day time Kankorans are usually escorted by boys with drums who collect money from passersby. It is at night that the dangerous Kankorans come out. On these nights a man walks through the village, warning everyone to stay inside during the night. The Kankoran can be heard dancing, screaming, and banging his machetes together all night. Gambians believe that if you are out at night and a Kankoran finds you, it will kill you. They also believe that some Kankorans can fly and will make a woman infertile if she ever looks upon them. The purpose of these Kankorans is to protect the circumcised boys while they heal. It is believed that the boys are vulnerable and may be possessed by evil witches or wizards. Therefore, the Kankorans prowl around at night in order to scare off any witches or wizards that may have bad intentions.

HOW HAS ISLAM INFLUENCED GAMBIAN RURAL DEVELOPMENT?

2011-05-18T17:37:00.000-07:00

Whether Islam has influenced Gambian rural development in a positive or negative way is hard to say. Since I primarily worked in schools, I will stick to considering Islam’s influence on education development work. I will start by looking at what Islam sometimes hinders. Many government schools often experience low enrolment due to competition with Quranic schools. In Quranic schools, children simply learn to recite the Holy Quran by memory. This involves constant, brainless repetition guided by a teacher with a rod. If students get a passage wrong, they are usually beaten. Despite these poor teaching practices, most students eventually learn to recite the entire Holy Quran by memory. However, if you ask children to explain what they are chanting in their own language, they will most likely not be able to answer you.

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These children memorize immense amounts of Arabic that they do not even understand. This same concept and practice exists in government schools. Especially in the early grades, an “English language” lesson typically involves a teacher with a stick shouting “this is a cat” over and over again until the children can say it. This is why a lot of children greet me by saying “Howare –oo- fine!” Children will also ask me “what is your name?” After I tell them “my name is Ousman,” they usually respond with “Ousman, what is your name?” Obviously they have no idea what they are saying or learning. English is as much a mystery to them as Arabic. This makes teaching math, science, and the other subjects very challenging.

Further confusion is caused by Quranic schools on the subject of handwriting. Since most children start in Quranic schools, the standard they learn for writing and reading is to go from right to left. This makes teaching them that Enlgish goes the other way, from left to right, very confusing for them.

The final thing is that women tend to be repressed in Islam and Quranic schools are no exception. Girls are not expected to participate or excel. As with the rote learning, this mentality is reflected in the government schools. Girls are often too timid to participate in lessons and they are not encouraged to do well in school.

Islam has also had a positive influence on education in rural areas. Some of my best students in URR were girls from Muslim families, so Islam cannot be entirely blamed for girls’ tendency to fall behind in school. While Quranic schools compete with government schools for attendance, this competition leads to an overall increase in the percent of village children attending school. Many Quranic schools have also begun to recruit trained teachers who incorporate other subjects into their lessons, such as math and science. Many students in Quranic schools finish their studies and carry on in government schools.

Parents tend to be more willing to put their children in school if it is a Quranic school. Studying the Quran encourages literacy and hugely develops the children’s abilities to memorize information. Many villages receive funding from other Muslim countries to better their Quranic schools. Quranic knowledge is also applied to settle village disputes and to discourage devious behaviour.

Overall, I think that Islam has not majorly hampered education development work in The Gambia. In fact, it has provided assistance is some key areas; most notably in increasing school attendance. Islam is a central part of Gambian culture and nothing will ever change that and nothing ever should.

HOW IS WESTERN CULTURE EXPRESSED IN GAMBIAN SOCEITY?

2011-04-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

PICTURES (top to bottom)

1. Curtains made from Raggedy Anne Doll fabric.

2. Sunny (in a burka) and I (dressed as a Rasta) at a Halloween party.

3. Edrima Baldeh, a village boy wearing Dolce and Gabana.

4. Kadi Cham dressed up for Kortieh.

5. Two village men look at images on a cell phone.

6. Mamadou-Hawa dressed up for Koriteh.

7. A knock-off Red Bull drink.

Since July of 2008 I have been living and working in The Gambia. I have learned a lot about Gambian culture. Over my next few blog entries I aim to explore my knowledge by answering a few questions. However, I want to stress that I am not an expert in any of these topics. I also have no desire to offend anyone or belittle their beliefs or culture. These are simply my thoughts and opinions.

Most Gambians are crazy about America. To them it is the land of plenty, where everyone is wealthy and no one works. These impressions no doubt stem from tourists; the white foreigners that Gambians typically see. Tourists come to relax and spend money on vacation. However, Gambians assume that tourists behave the same way when they are back in America.

Their belief that all tourists come from America stems from a skewed sense of geography. Most tourists in The Gambia come from Holland, France, Spain, England, and Taiwan. However, several Gambians that I have talked to were convinced that the UK, Europe, and Canada were all just parts of America. When I show them a world map and try to explain the differences, they mostly just gape at how small The Gambia looks or express surprise upon seeing that Jamaica is an island. To a Gambian, all white people come from a magical place called “Toubabidou” or “the land of the white people,” which encompasses all of the Americas, Europe, and any other places that tourists usually come from..

Besides tourists, the most abundant reference to western culture that Gambians encounter is media; especially music, movies, and BBC radio. Therefore, it’s no small wonder that many Gambians think of America as a place full of wealthy people, romantic lovers, armies fighting off aliens, and talking animals. Admittedly, that perception is not that far from the truth. On the same note, many Americans think that Africa is full of lions, massai warriors, mangos, and crazy diseases.

From my observations, western culture is reflected in Gambian behaviour, dress, media, and property. For one thing, some Gambians are Rastas. While Rastafarianism is not entirely a western phenomenon, Gambians at least treat it as such. The Rastas often heckle the visiting tourists and do all they can to get hired as guides or companions. Visages of Bob Marley are everywhere; on shirts, car stickers, painted on walls, and on jewellery. Some Rastas have also taken on the Ghetto gangster look as portrayed by rappers like Tupac, 50 Cent, Eminem, and Akon. Shirts and stickers depicting these rappers are popular, though fellow volunteers have found that most Gambians are not as familiar with the music performed by these rappers as you might think. Bob Marley is the one exception. I often hear children walking along the village paths singing “buffalo soldier” and “no woman no cry.”

Some Gambian adolescents wear low slung, baggy jeans with large, untied shoes. They don the Yankees hats and point the bills off to the side. I’m sure most of them have never even heard of baseball before. They even wear the big, plastic diamond studded necklaces shaped like dollar signs or guns. However, this type of dress is much more common in the urban centers than it is in the rural villages. Young Gambian girls also tend to exhibit Western fashions; tight jeans, lots of make-up, fake hair, and tight shirts. Though it is a Muslim culture, a lot of young women wear fairly revealing clothing. Older women, however, dress more traditionally and conservatively. There are also many Gambian men and women who dress professionally; leather shows, striped suits and skirts, ties, scarves, and high heels. One common source of western clothing for Gambians is “fukagi.” These are vendors that sell donated clothes in big piles on the side of the road. Old jeans, faded shirts, and ridiculous ties are all sold for very cheap prices.

Ultimately, it is the movies, music, and cell phones that take the cake as far as the effects of Western culture go. Many street vendors sell cheap, compilation DVDs packaged in cardboard. These include Bruce Willis collections, full seasons of TV shows on one disc, Nigerian films, and wrestling films. Music cassette tapes are sold by travelling vendors in car parks. Local musicians, such as Jallibah, are the most popular. There is a lot of reggae music too; including adaptations of Christmas carols and many other cover songs in Mandinka, Fula, and Wollof.

The most prosperous industry in The Gambia lies in mobile phones. When I first arrived, there were two cell phone companies; Africell and Gamcell. Over the three years that I have lived here, two more companies have exploded onto the scene; Comium and Qcell. These companies use special services, events funding, and holidays to compete with each other. They market phones and have even started providing wireless internet services. You can buy cell phone credit in almost any shop, even in the more remote villages. Credit is sold in the form of little scratch cards with a code that you text in and then your chip is funded. My host-father, an illiterate farmer in a rural village, owned two cell phones.

Before the arrival of cell phones, most villages had a single land line that ran to a “telecenter.” Volunteers would have to visit these telecenters and arrange call times to speak with friends and family. The telecenters have since gone out of business, but they have been replaced with cell phone charging centers. Though cell phones can now be used all over the country, electricity has yet to reach most of the up-country villages. Shop owners use generators and solar setups to charge cell phones for 5 Dalasi (20 cents) a pop.

Food has also been influenced by western culture, especially in the urban areas. This is no doubt due to tourism. Kombo, on the coast, is full of beach bars, Lebanese fast food stands, and restaurants. Chinese food, Indian food, and Italian food are all available near the tourist strips. The Lebanese butcheries sell pizzas, cheese burgers, chwarmas, and French fries. None of it tastes quite like the real thing, but after a few months most volunteers learn to lower their standards.

The “Fukaji” clothes are not the only Western products that are recycled or donated to The Gambia. Old movie banners, like the huge ones they hang on the sides of buildings in New York city, are used as truck covers. I have walked by freight trucks that had a “Finding Nemo,” “iPhone,” or “Spiderman 2” banner tied down over their load. In the rainy season, my old host family wrapped their firewood in a banner for the movie “Closer.” One time, my school hosted a DJ to play music for a sports day event. This DJ stationed his speakers in the middle of the field and rigged up a tent over them. While helping tie it down, I looked up to find Ben Affleck staring down at me through a red leather mask; the tent was made out of a movie banner for “Daredevil.” I also visited a school where the computer lab curtains were made out of cloth sheets meant to make Raggedy Anne dolls.

Western architecture can also be seen in the urban areas of The Gambia. While Banjul does not have any sky scrapers, there are several multi-story office buildings with glass paned fronts and fancy lobbies. In the villages on the outskirts of Kombo, you can sometimes see Spanish or Italian style villas standing up amongst the corrugated and thatch roofed huts. These were most likely built by Gambians who were able to get a relative overseas to work and earn money.

As you can see, western culture has had a significant impact on Gambian society and life. However, many traditional Gambian beliefs and behaviours are also very much alive and present.

WHY ARE GAMBIANS CRUEL TO ANIMALS?

2011-04-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

PICTURES (top to bottom)

1. Ugly sheep - photo taken by Sunny Utterback.

2. Sheep bagged and stacked on top of a gele - photo taken by Sarah Cohn.

3. Boy on a donkey.

4. Donkeys in a village - photo taken by Etienne Marquoise.

5. A cow by a village pump and trough - photo taken by Kelsey Lyle

6. Chickens on the back of a bike - photo taken by Kelsey Lyle

7. A sheep on a village road - photo taken by Devin Armstrong

8. A dead cow in a field - photo taken by Devin Armstrong

As an American, I was initially shocked by the beatings. During my first year, a fellow volunteer described it to me as a sequential system; the men beat the women, the women beat the children, and the children beat the animals or each other. In most Gambian villages, it is the children that are in charge of the animals. Since the children are small, they often just beat the animals with sticks to scare them off or to get them to move. The result of this is a perpetual fear of children, and humans in general, amongst even the most large and fierce animals. A large number of wild, mangy, mean looking dogs often roamed my village. My heart-rate would quicken in panic if I saw a pack of these dogs approaching, but as soon as some small child yelled “acha!” the dogs would flea with their tails between their legs. I have also watched a child of maybe 10 years grab a huge, adult bull by the horns and drag it over to a wooden stake to be tied up. The only explanation for this that I can think of is that the bull was so used to being beaten and moved by small children as a calf that it does not realize that its own strength now far surpasses that of the child.

The treatment of donkeys is surprisingly bad. Gambians use donkeys to pull carts, to pull ploughs, to carry water, to carry luggage, and to carry people. However, they do not use proper bridals or hitches. They rig the carts to the donkeys using rough ropes that rub away at the donkey’s skin and create large sores. They often position the donkey too close to the cart so that the cart continually bangs the donkey’s backside. This creates a big rash above the donkey’s tail. I have even seen donkeys that have lost their tails to constant banging by the carts. For steering and control, the donkey drivers usually tie a rope around the donkey’s lower jaw. This rope cuts up the tongue and lips of the animal, which probably makes eating and drinking painful for the animal. Additionally, children only provide the most minimal amounts of food and water for the donkeys. Some Gambians beat the donkeys mercilessly with sticks, whips, and ropes when they are driving carts or herding them. Not surprisingly, donkeys do not have a very long life span. When a donkey dies, the owner simply dumps the body outside of the village and begins searching for a new donkey.

Horses are also used for labour, though they are not as common as donkeys. Some Gambians use proper bridals and hitches on their horses. However, especially during the dry season, most horses become malnourished, sick, and weak. When the rains arrive, the horses are taken straight out to the fields to begin ploughing before they have had a chance to regain their weight and strength. Many older horses do not survive the early ploughing period. Dogs are the only other useful, non-edible animals that Gambians tend to raise. They use dogs for safety in their compounds and often tie them up in their fields overnight to scare off any wild pigs or other animals that might eat their crops.

Most other animals are raised for food; doves, chickens, ducks, guinea fowl, rabbits, goats, sheep, and cows. Gambians tend to apportion more value and care for these animals. Women often give left over rice to the chickens and goats. The goats and sheep are corralled and fed during the rainy season, then left to roam free to look for food during the dry season. If drivers accidently hit a chicken, goat or other valuable animal, they will stop, find out who owns the animal, and pay for it. Muslims will not eat animals that were killed accidently; they will only eat meat from animals that were killed according to custom. Gambians usually use pieces of coloured cloth to denote ownership, though sometimes they just miraculously know. My host father could look at two almost identical goats and list their owners without a second glance.

Cows are by far the most highly valued animals. The number of cows a family owns is a clear indicator of their wealth. Some families will refuse to slaughter or sell their cows for fear of appearing poorer. The Fulas are traditionally the cow herders. Many Fula families will tie down their herds in front of their houses, like they’re showing off their wealth. I suppose some American families behave similarly by parking all their cars outside their garage.

Overall, the only reason I can think of for the relatively poor treatment of animals in The Gambia is that animals are very abundant. If one dies, it is easy to get a new one. Goats, sheep, donkeys, chickens, and cows are abundant. However, they can be expensive. As far as I know, the value of animals can be placed along a scale; chickens (150 Dalasi or $6), sheep (2000D or $80), goats (3000D or $120), donkeys (5000D or $200), horses (8000D or $320), and cows (up to 18,000D or $720). At these values, especially for donkeys, one would think that a subsistence farmer would take better care of his donkeys. However, many of the animals are also very hardy and can take a beating when it is given. Unfortunately, this results in a rather rough life for animals in The Gambia.

WHAT ARE THE REASONS BEHIND FGM?

2011-04-20T08:59:00.000-07:00

Why do Gambians tend to marry more than one wife?

2011-04-19T05:50:00.000-07:00

PICTURES (top to bottom)

1. Maimuna, Baby, and many of the children in the Cham compound.

2. Baby is Jenaba, Amie, Amie-Baby, and Mamadou-Hawa.

3. Most of the Cham children.

4. Maimuna and Baby (Mamasamba's two wives) with Amie and Jenaba.

5. Eating lunch with the children.

The practice of polygamy can be attributed, in part, to Islam. The Prophet Muhammed had eleven wives (Khadijah, Saudah, Ayesha, Hafsah, Zainab, Ume Salma, a second Zainab, Javeria, Ramla Ume-Habibah, Safia, and Maimoona) but in his teachings he calls men to take no more than four wives. Interestingly, Gambian women often take on similar names to the wives of Muhammed; Kadijatou, Isatou, Hafisatou, Jenaba, Oumie, Salimatou, Rama, Safia, and Maimuna.

However, polygamy was most likely practiced in West Africa before the arrival of Islam. In ancient times, the taking of more than one wife may have been necessary for the continued prosperity of a family. In a subsistence farming culture, families need as many children as they can get to conquer the shear mountain of daily labor that farming requires. Malaria, diarrhoea, and other ailments are also very common in The Gambia and they can be lethal to children and pregnant women. In ancient times, having multiple wives bearing many children increased the chances that a man’s family would survive to the next generation. Having multiple wives also ensured that the family had extra care-givers, in case one mother died during child birth or from disease.

Is it practical or is it not? Even today, a majority of Gambians continue to be subsistence farmers. The lack or modern farm tools, such as tractors and harvesters, means that most farm work is done by hand. In this respect, having large families is still practical. However, as far as ensuring survival against diseases such as Malaria and diarrhoea is concerned, polygamy is no longer practical. Though these diseases continue to be lethal, the use of bed nets, insecticides, and better attention to hygiene have decreased the annual death toll. In fact, a major problem facing The Gambia today is over-population. The Gambia has one of the highest fertility rates in the world; about five children per woman. It is currently one of the most densely populated countries in Africa; with only about 10,000 square kilometers of habitable land (about twice the size of Delaware) and a population approaching 2 million. My former host-father had 13 children and three wives. He told me that most of his nine older brothers and sisters had more children than he did. This means that just two generations of his family could probably form a small village of their own.

Polygamy can also lead to divorce, which is permitted by Islam. A common cause for divorces is conflict between co-wives. More often than not, the many wives of a single man will not get along. The men seem to react to spousal conflicts in different ways. Some men will take the side of one of the two wives and beat the other wife in order to settle the argument. In my experience, my host father simply ignored the fighting. He often acted as if nothing unusual was going on and let his wives settle the dispute themselves. Divorce, it seems, is only used in the most extreme cases. Indeed, my host-father had divorced his first wife because she did not get along with his second wife.

Polygamy, like Islam, is an integral part of Gambian culture. Young men tend to model their elders, who had many wives. Having many wives and children is also a sign of wealth and good fortune. An abundance of children is also a sort of retirement plan for parents, who expect their children to care and provide for them when they are too old to do the farming themselves.

Why do Gambians pray five times a day?

2011-04-10T08:50:00.000-07:00

PICTURES (top to bottom)

1. Tobaski prayers in Tanji 2011.

2. Remains of a camouflaged animist village in Dogon, Mali 2010.

3. An elderly village woman in Sarre Alfa 2010.

4. Mamasamba, my old host-father in Sarre Alfa 2010.

5. A boy sitting on a prayer mat in Sarre Alfa 2010.

6. Woman at Koriteh prayer in Sarre Alfa, 2010.

7. The large mosque in the center of Sarre Alfa.

8. - 9. Men at Koriteh prayer in Sarre Alfa, 2010.

10. A mud mosque in Dogon, Mali, 2010.

Why do Gambians pray five times a day? Well, it’s because most Gambians are Muslims. Muslims pray five times a day because it was commanded by Allah. According to the Holy Koran, from what I know, The Prophet Muhammed was transfigured and rode on a gryphon that took him up through the seven skies to speak with Allah. Muhammed was first commanded by Allah to pray something like 500 times a day. However, on the way back down, Muhammed ran into the spirit of Ebrima (Abraham), who asked Muhammed; “what did Allah command you to do?” After Muhammed related Allah’s command, Abraham instructed Muhammed to go back to Allah and ask him to reduce the number of prayers. This process was repeated several times until Allah reduced his command to five prayers a day. They are; Fajir (~5:30am), Tisubaar (~1:30pm), Takusaan (~5:00pm), Futuro (~7:30pm), and Geeye (~8:30pm).

Is it Islam or is it not? Back when few people had clocks or a watch, listening for the mosque prayer calls was probably a way for people to gauge time. It was the same with the ringing of church bells in early European cities. One can see that the prayer times were framed around typical daily routines. Islam developed in a hot, dry, desert environment. The first prayer motivates people to wake up early (Fajir at ~5:30am) and work until ~1:30pm (Tisubaar), when the sun gets hot. The last prayer is a clear precursor to hitting the sack. Perhaps these were Allah’s intensions.

I used to think that Muslims said the same set of prayers every time they prayed, but I have now learned that different combinations of prayers are recited during each prayer time, and that it varies by the time of year. There are also exact rules about what to do when you miss prayer times and how to pray on a day when you are travelling. Why are most Gambians Muslim? It’s most likely because Islam was instituted long ago and because it conforms well to the ideals and traditions of Africans. I have surmised from my little historical knowledge of West Africa that Islam was probably introduced by the Fulani, a powerful tribe that once ruled over much of this part of the world. In some cases Islam was violently imposed; such as in the Dogon in Mali, where animists fled to the more elevated cliffs and built camouflaged villages to hide from Muslim invaders. Today, Islam is the most commonly practiced religion in West Africa and The Gambia is no exception. Every Gambian village that I have seen has a mosque at its center; much like how every hill town in rural Italy has a church at its center.

Is it practical or is it not? Though I have said that Islam may have been imposed, I think that it appealed to Gambians in several ways. The structured, daily prayers conform well to the typical village routines. Gambians were used to frequently worshipping all-powerful beings, as well as many deceased or living human and animal figures. Islam requires frequent worship to an all-powerful being; Allah, as well as Muhammed and many other prophets (including Jesus, whom they call Isa). Islam bestows power and respect to elder men, which is a key aspect of traditional Gambian culture. I’m sure there are many other reasons that I am ignorant of. Ultimately, Islam is well instituted in their culture and the daily prayers conform well to the routine nature of village life.

Christianity is also practiced in The Gambia, though not nearly as widely as Islam. This is probably because Islam was introduced in West Africa before Christianity. Since Islam is the religion of Gambian elders, Gambian children are raised as Muslims and attend Madrassas (Koranic schools) or Daras (where they chant the Holy Koran around an evening fire with the village Imam). Even children who attended Christian missionary schools tend to grow up to be Muslims. I have met several Muslim teachers and co-workers who attended Christian schools. They made the choice to stick with the religion of their families, which I think is the right thing to do.

Unfortunately, Gambians who convert to Christianity or another religion are sometimes cast out by their family and even their community. Therefore, Christian Gambians tend to live together in villages or in certain districts of urban centers. You can almost always tell when you’re in a Christian village or neighbourhood when you see pigs roaming the streets; Muslims do not raise pigs because they do not eat pork. Christianity can even be tribally specific; the Manjago tribe is a largely Christian tribe. You can recognize Manjagos by their names; such as Mendy and Gomez, and they are almost always Christians. Gambian Christians and Muslims, however, are in no way segregated. In fact, they are very accepting of each other and of all other religions. I have found that The Gambia has a uniquely open minded and accepting take on religion, where people can believe what they choose to believe. In this way, I think that The Gambia serves as an excellent model for other countries all over the world.

Feb 2011 - Moving the stodge, my Tanji library, and a return to URR

2011-02-17T07:07:00.000-08:00

PICTURES (from top to bottom)

1. Truck load of groundnuts on the Banjul-Barra Ferry.

2. - 7. The Cham children.

8. A road I used to go running on.

9. Omar and I.

10. - 11. Munny (coos porridge).

12. - 13. Goats and the bath tub by my old hut.

14. Attaya.

15. - 19. Teachers, students, and the library at Suduwol Basic Cycle school.

20. At the boarder to Kantora, the last district in The Gambia.

21. - 25. Members of the Cham household.

26. Sunny on the raod to Sarre Alfa.

27. - 33. On the road to and in Basse. Rise Porridge, Amadou and driver and I, Sunny's birthday.

34. - 39. Moving the stodge.

40. Old and new 5 Dalasi bills

41. - 52. Tanji market, my library at Tanji Lower Basic school, and my compound in Tanji.

53. - 56. Moving the stodge.

SUMMARY

After returning from my trip to Dakar in the middle of January, I got right back to work at the Peace Corps office and at my school in Tanji. Sunny was still away in India, eating delicious food, riding elephants, and attending her friend’s wedding. I continued to work on the library at my school and travelled up to the office to attend various Grant Committee and Volunteer Advisory Committee meetings. Sunny returned from her trip at the beginning of February and visited me for a little while. I signed up for and sat through the Foreign Service Officer’s test in early February and was invited to a pot-luck hosted by the embassy. With all my work at school and the approaching FSOT, I had no idea that Super Bowl Sunday was approaching. I did not get to watch the game, though other volunteers got together in Fajara and stayed up late to watch it. This last weekend I travelled back up country to visit my former site in Suduwol and my former host family in Sarre Alfa. It had been 8 months since I left. It was really good to see a lot of my students, teachers, and friends again. Sunny tagged along so that I could show her what my old site had been like. I was happy to see that most of my projects have lasted (such as the school libraries and clubs), though others had not (such as my garden). Related pictures are posted above. I just received a new camera, since my old one had finally had enough of Africa and decided to stop working. Expanded stories are below. Thanks, again, to anyone taking the time to read over this!

EXPANDED

My work at Tanji Lower Basic school continues to be exciting, though the amount of time that I spend at the school is no where near as consistent or as abundant as the time I used to dedicate to Suduwol Basic Cycle school. However, I have made significant progress with the school library. All of the books have now been catalogued and organized. I used cardboard signs and colored tape labels to indicate book categories. I brought a hammer and nails to school and made an additional book shelf out of wood planks taken from broken desks. I pulled together a gang of students to bring newer desks and chairs into the library. I continue to use insecticide spray to keep the termites at bay, but it now seems like the tide has turned in my favour in this ongoing battle against these tiny, book eating monsters.

Near the end of January, a desk official from the Peace Corps Washington office paid a visit to The Gambia Western Region volunteers and graced my new library with her presence. She seemed impressed and it was good for me to receive feedback from an experienced PC official (who was also a returned PC volunteer). I recently had a meeting with the teachers of the four grade 5 sections at Tanji Lower Basic school and we have implemented a “library period” into their weekly schedules. My aim to is just get books into the hands of students and help them to start reading through them!

I took the Foreign Service Officers Test in early February. It was hosted by our local embassy, which made it very convenient to take. There were some technical difficulties; the internet cut out a few times, but at least the power stayed on. Overall, I thought the test went smoothly.

This last weekend, I decided to travel to Upper River Region to visit my old school in Suduwol and stay with my old host family in Sarre Alfa. On the Thursday before the trip, I travelled up to Fajara to attend a pot luck dinner hosted by the embassy, which my fellow Peace Corps Volunteer Leaders and I had been invited to. It was really nice to meet the embassy staff, as well as other Americans working in The Gambia. The food was amazing. I fear we made fools of ourselves by sticking around and wrapping up a lot of the left over food in tin foil and slipping it all into our bags to take back to the other hungry volunteers at the PC transit house.

On Friday morning I woke early and made it to the first ferry. While jostling through the crowd to walk onto the ferry, I caught site of a man named Amadou. Amadou is a set-plaus and van driver that I used to frequently ride with between Basse and Barra. During my second year I had loaned him a large amount of money, which he had yet to pay back to me. He looked a little surprised to see me, though we greeted each other amicably and I managed to get a seat in his set plaus. He did not ask me for the fare, so I deducted the usual 300 Dalasi cost of the ride from what he owed me and we agreed to try to work off the rest of the money in the future.

I reached Basse in the early afternoon and walked out of the town. Though it had been 8 months since I left, I had visited Basse more recently on treks and for Halloween. I met up with Sunny and other VSO and TOSTAN volunteers at a local restaurant run by a Nigerian. It was Sunny’s birthday, so I produced a large plate of brownies that I had made in Fajara and smuggled up to Basse. The brownies were swiftly consumed by all the volunteers and I made my way to the Basse transit house. I spent that afternoon piecing together a functioning bike from the various spare and abandoned parts that were at the house. I managed to compiled a bike that only had two good gears and one good break, but that was enough for me. I rode into town and bought a few gifts for the Chams (my former host-family); fabric and yarn for Maimuna, a sharp knife for Baby, Kola nuts for Mamasamba, Attaya and sugar for Omar, beans and minties for the children. While shopping around town, I ran into a former grade 9 student of mine, as well as the host father of a now returned volunteer that I had often visited, and a teacher from the Sarre Alfa Lower Basic school. I spent the evening with Sunny, packing and preparing for our trip up-country.

On Saturday morning, Sunny and I loaded up our bikes and headed out. We stopped in down-town Basse to get breakfast. I went to Komo, a lady who sells Munny (coos porridge) and gosse gerte (rice porridge with groundnuts, sugar, and sour milk) out of large plastic buckets on the side of the road. After eating, Sunny and I set out for Sarre Alfa. It was a windy, dry day, but we managed to cover the 25 kilometers to Sarre Alfa in just under two hours. The road had recently been flattened by a Senegalese paving company, so the ride was much smoother than I remember it being in the past. I had forgotten to call the Chams that morning, so we caught them a little by surprise; Maimuna had been doing laundry and Mamasamba had been waiting on the road for my arrival. Either way, the children went crazy and Maimuna clapped and danced. They had not yet prepared my old hut for our arrival. The Chams quickly opened up the hut and swept it out. They are now using it as storage for their groundnuts and coos. However, they put a straw mattress on the floor for us. The walls and roof looked a little run down, though the murals I had painted on the walls were still visible. The back yard fence was falling down, so we did not have much privacy. My tire swing had been taken down, but the bath tub was still there. I gave out my gifts to the Chams and talked to them in my now rusty Fula. I learned that a lot of the children had gone through the usual cold season illnesses, but were all better now. Mamasamba had also made a trip to Basse to have a cataract in his left eye removed. Beyond there, village life seems to have continued on as usual for them. Mamasamba had harvested a good amount of rice, coos, and groundnuts from his fields and sold off some of it. Maimuna and Baby continue to cook and care for all the children. Mamasamba and Omar are now looking for mason work, though there has not been much to find. Sunny and I bathed and ate lunch with the Chams (we had some excellent Domadaa).

We then walked around the village. They had recently re-painted the village mosque, which looked really impressive. I visited the local shop that I often went to and got two free Fanta’s from the Mauritanian owner, Mutaar. The shop that Mutaar ran was the one that I always bought eggs, bread, sugar, and powdered milk from. It was also where I would often go after my long afternoon runs to get a bag of cold water from the small fridge he ran in the corner of the shop. We walked to the Sarre Alfa Lower Basic school and peaked in the windows of the library that I had helped put back together. It looked like it was still being used, which I was happy to see. We also walked over to visit Isatou Bah, a Senegalese woman whom I had tutored in English for almost a year. It was really nice to see her again.

Sunny and I then got back on our bikes and rode up to Suduwol, where I found a lot of the teachers that I had worked with sitting outside the teacher’s quarters. We sat and chatted with them and I asked about how things were going at the school. They walked us down to the library that I had spent so much time in and opened it up for me. I was very impressed with what I saw. The books were still organized in their cabinets and there were many more posters on the walls. Another teacher, Mr. Sanneh, was continuing to run my library club and hosting weekly vocabulary tests and spelling games. Some students had written “thank you Mr. Cham” letters and pasted them on the wall, which I found to be overly flattering of me. The teachers who showed me the library, Mr. Ceesay and Mr. Dukuray, also took me by the school garden, which looked really good. They had several garden beds going and lots of big banana trees. Sunny and I stayed at the school and talked with Mr. Ceesay, and other students who had come by, while Mr. Ceesay made Attaya. I met Mr. Ceesay’s wife and his 2 year old son.

As evening approached, Sunny and I biked back to Sarre Alfa and decided that we would clean out the bath tub and fill it up. We swept out the leaves and fetched about ten buckets of water, all while the Chams watched us and remarked on how crazy we were. We put on bathing suits and sat in the tub, which was fun but it eventually got too cold outside for it to be comfortable. We ate a dinner of coos and groundnut sauce with the Chams. Istaou Bah brought over a big bowl of salad with onions and vinegar. It was quite delicious. We slept on the straw mattress and I prayed that no mice had yet found their way into the hut to eat into the bags of the rice and groundnuts that were around us!

On Sunday morning we woke up feeling stiff but well rested. We ate munny (coos porridge) with the Chams. Isatou Bah again brought us a bowl of food; this time it was gosse (rice porridge) that had bananas mashed into it. It tasted like banana custard; amazing. After eating we biked back to the school in Suduwol. There I met with the head teacher, Mr. Badgie (who had been the deputy head back when I taught at the school). I had Mr. Badgie fill out a “volunteer site suggestion form” so that Suduwol could be considered for another volunteer. Though there have now been four volunteers that have served at this site, I still think that it could be a good site for education volunteers, because there are many schools in the surrounding area. That being said, Suduwol Basic Cycle school seems to be doing quite well on its own now. With the form done, we bid our farewells to the teachers and biked back to Sarre Alfa.

I had learned that Mr. Jobe, the former deputy head teacher at the Sarre Alfa Lower Basic school (whom I had worked with on the library there), was now a head teacher at a smaller school in a village called Medina Samato; located behind Sarre Alfa. I had thought that this was the village that I had often run out to, through the various farm fields behind Sarre Alfa. Sunny and I biked out into these hot, barren, sandy fields but found that the village I had been thinking of was actually called Diagubu. We gave up on finding the village. We did some bird watching while in the fields and got a good look at some Abyssinian Rollers. We returned to Sarre Alfa, packed our bags, and waited for lunch. I sat with all the children and took silly pictures with them until my camera’s battery died. Maimuna sat and sowed while Baby prepared lunch. We had benechin with fish and cassava, which was really good. After lunch, we loaded up our bikes and said goodbye to the Chams. We stopped by Isatou’s compound to bid her farewell and thank her for all the wonderful food she had brought us. We then hit the road. Having the wind at our backs and more down-hill portions made the journey back quick and easy. Right before reaching Basse, we ran into four Kankorans (men dressed in leaves and bark carrying two machetes, which villagers believe to be protective spirits). We made it past them without incident and rested at the Basse transit house. I biked out to the market to buy vegetables for dinner and again ran into some former students of mine. We made a fantastic pasta dinner at the house and shared it with a few other volunteers who were in town.

At 6am on Monday morning I said good bye to Sunny and walked through the cold darkness to the Basse car park with two other volunteers. We rode a set plaus back to Barra and made very good time. We hopped on the ferry and before I knew it I was back in Kombo. I stopped off at the PC office to repack and check my mail. I went to over to MRC to play ultimate Frisbee, as I usually do on Mondays. I returned to my site in the evening and ate a quiet dinner with Bintou and Almami. I told them about my trip to upper river region and caught up with events in Tanji. I slept very well that night, after my long weekend journey.

I now have three months left. I’m beginning to harden out my post-PC plans and I’m getting excited to see my family and friends again. If you took the time to read through this, I thank you.

ON THE ROAD

2011-01-17T08:37:00.000-08:00

You see amazing things while you’re on the road in The Gambia. I’ve done my fair share of travelling, either on my bike or in a vehicle. You come to appreciate your legs when walking and biking become your primary modes of transport. While up-country, I once went for a month without once getting into or riding on a motorized vehicle. I’ve ridden my bike over every type of terrain imaginable; dusty and rocky roads where the earth is so red it looks like you’re on Mars, roads made of sand so fine it’s like a beach, paved roads with pot holes the size of craters, and muddy roads so thick and flooded that you can swim in the puddles.

I came to love the moments, in the rainy season, when I rode my bike along the road with the bright red earth below, the luscious green bush on both sides, and the clear blue ski above; such a blast of color and life that it’s hard to take in with just two eyes. Sometimes a bird would break free from the underbrush and fly right beside me. Just for a moment, a split second, the bird and I travel together, eyeing each other as well as the road ahead. A Red-billed Horn Bill once flew just ahead of me for almost two kilometers; simply watching me and flying from puddle to puddle on the road as I made my slow way either through or around them.

It’s hard to think which substrate is better; sand or mud. Sand will kill your momentum and make you tail whip like your driving a car on slick ice. On the other hand, mud flies up off your tires, painting the bike, as well as you, the same color as the road. Despite the relentless heat, the rough roads, the copious insects, and the careening geles, it’s fair to say that I’ve had many a happy moment while riding my bike; so long as I had the wind in my face and the road ahead of me.

Riding in cars is a different story. While in a car I usually read, sleep, or drown out the world with music. I’ve spent many an hour contemplating the world as it flew by outside the window of a gele or set-plaus (seven passenger car). I was once in a car that drove by a farm field that was being cleared by burning. High above flew hundreds of different birds, wheeling and diving to catch all the insects fleeing the flames.

While driving down the coastal road, the gele I was in got stuck behind a large sand truck carrying sand up to Banjul from Kartong. I watched as small amounts of sand fell from the back of the truck and formed wavy clouds on the road. The sand danced along the pavement like mist over water till is dissipated and passed under the gele.

Most of the time, road travel is comical. I admire the decorations on the vehicles; Modonna stickers, prayers, discarded Halloween and Christmas decorations, the red and golden hangings you often see at Chinese restaurants, pictures of Imams and stickers with slogans such as “Allah is one.” The proverbs they paint on the sides of the vehicles offer an ironic view of the lack of literacy in the country; “No heart feelings” and “No justice for the poor.” It makes you want to get a marker and correct them.

I once rode a bush-taxi (van) with an “aparante” (who rides along and shouts the destination of the vehicle, as well as collects the travel fare) clad in flip-flops. This aparante proceeded to loose one of his flip-flops as he was running to catch up with the van after it had picked up a passenger. Everyone shouted for the driver to stop and the aparante went back to retrieve his flip-flop.
One time, in a taxi, I was wedged between two large women in the back and one wanted to get out. The taxi door, however, would not open. The driver tried reaching over to help but to know avail. He then moved to open his own door, but found it to be locked as well. We all seemed to be trapped in the taxi, which would have been funny if it had not been boiling hot. The driver eventually climbed out of his window and managed to get the doors open from the outside.
There’s never a dull moment when you’re on the road in Africa.

Five days in Dakar, Senegal

2011-01-15T06:46:00.000-08:00

Photos (from top to bottom)

1. Cows on a turn-table island. Classic Africa.

2. - 6. Hiking up to the statue in Dakar.

7. - 9. Hiking up to the lighthouse in Dakar.

10. and 11. Playing pool and bowling in Dakar.

12. A Dakar car park.

13. A crazy fabric shop in Dakar.

14. Bartering in a Dakar market. Typing numbers on a calculator helped us break through the language barrier.

15. In a gele in Dakar.

16. The hotel we stayed at.

17. Sunny on the beach.

18. An art gallery security guard working really hard.

19. The roof of a market in Dakar.

20. - 22. Downtown Dakar.

23. - 28. On the road to Dakar.

Sunny was recently invited to a wedding in India. However, like most everywhere in the world, you can’t go to India without a visa and you can’t get visas for India in The Gambia. Therefore, I accompanied Sunny as she traveled up to Dakar, Senegal, for five days so that she could apply for and receive said visa. Below is an account of our adventures and above are photos that I managed to take. We had a fantastic time in the city that is often called “the capital of West Africa.” We ate as many French pastries as we could afford and hiked all around the city. We visited the hectic markets and tried our best to barter in French. We relaxed on the beach, visited an African art gallery, and ate a lot of ice cream. The time really seemed to fly by!

We had a smooth journey from Banjul to Dakar. We rode a taxi to the Banjul-to-Barra ferry at 6am on Sunday morning and it was so cold that I had to put on a fleece jacket. After cramming ourselves in a gele and riding for about half an hour, we found ourselves at the Gambia-Senegal boarder. Once our passports were checked, we rode on the backs of Motorinos to the Senegalese car park. Believe it or not, this was my first time on a motorized, two-wheeled vehicle. Scooters are surprisingly more stable than I thought they were, though I was glad that the one I was riding on was so rickety that it couldn’t go faster than 10 mph. We then rode in a set-plaus for six hours and finally arrived in Dakar. It was interesting to see the passing landscape change from farm fields to salt flats to baobab fields to suburban towns and finally to the sprawling city of Dakar. We found our hotel easily and dropped our things in the room. We went out to dinner in a northern part of the city and Sunny was almost instantly pick-pocheted. Luckily, she was smart and had not been carrying a large amount of money or anything else important. However, we learned that you have to be EXTRA careful in larger cities, like Dakar. It seemed our trip was not off to the best of starts.

On Monday we made our way into downtown Dakar and had a much better day. We ate some delicious pastries from a shop close to the hotel (where we continued to go to get breakfast the rest of the time we were there). Sunny filled out the paper work for her visa to India and then we hit the larger markets. I was amazed to see things like cross walks and parking meters. We enjoyed visiting the markets, though the venders can be overwhelming and the language barrier made things a little frustrating. However, I was surprised by the number of Fulas I encountered (or at least the number of people that knew a little bit of Fula). We returned to our hotel in the late afternoon and ran into three other volunteers from The Gambia, who just happened to be traveling through. It’s a small part of the world.

On Tuesday we tried to find our way onto a nearby island that has been preserved as a national park. However, the ferry to the island and the national park office were no longer where the city guides said they were and we eventually gave up. Instead, we found a nice beach to relax on and spent the afternoon swimming and reading. That day on the beach left us starving and so we went to a Senegalese cuisine restaurant downtown that was stupendous. We also found a great ice cream shop nearby (which we also visited a few more times before we left).

We spent yet another day in downtown Dakar on Wednesday. After visiting an African art gallery we stumbled across an Italian imports grocery store, where I went crazy pointing out all the cookies and snacks that I had always loved when I lived in Rome. We spent a long time in the afternoon visiting fabric venders and then returned to the hotel. That night we went out to a nearby mall, where we went bowling and played pool. It almost seemed like we were back in the US.

We made our last trip into downtown Dakar on Thursday morning and returned to our hotel after lunch. We spent the afternoon walking, first to a lighthouse situated on a hill near our hotel, and then a little further to the huge statue of a man, woman, and child that Senegal recently erected near the lighthouse on the coast. The statue was impressive and the hill we climbed to reach it offered an amazing view of the city. It was quite windy and we enjoyed watching a group of children as they played in the wind and marveled at the little, tiny cars that went whizzing along on the roads far below. That night we went to a Vietnamese restaurant that was delicious.

Early Friday morning, I said good bye to Sunny and took a taxi back to the Dakar car park. I rode a set plaus to the border and crossed back into The Gambia. Though I had to wait for the ferry for a while (as always), I got through Banjul and back to Tanjeh by 6pm. I had brought pears and a pine-apple back with me, which my host-family and I enjoyed at dinner that night. Meanwhile, Sunny packed up her own things and went back downtown to pick up her visa. She managed to make it to the airport and began her journey to India. I must admit that while I greatly enjoyed Dakar, I was immensely relieved to be back in The Gambia, where things are a little calmer and I speak a language that is understood by most other people around me. As when I returned from Mali in October 2009 and when I returned from the US in 2010, I realized that The Gambia really has, in some ways, started to feel like a home to me. Never-the-less, this is a home that I will be leaving in only a few months! I’m glad I was finally able to visit Dakar; though it only took me two and a half years to get around to it.

MOON LIGHT

2011-01-03T03:44:00.000-08:00

The river by evening light.

Mamasamba on his bantaba.

Full moons bring my village to life. The orb shines brightly; painting the night-time world with silver light, so bright you can see your shadow. The children run everywhere, dancing and singing in the luminous darkness. The men walk to the mosque without their flashlights and greet each other by name. Later in the night, Maimuna sits outside on a mat on the ground, diligently watching over her five sleeping children sprawled out on the mat beside her. She whips a fan around every few seconds to keep the mosquitoes away and sings to herself softly. I lie nearby with Mamasamba on a bantaba in front of my hut. I’m looking at the giant, looming mango trees, each leaf painted by the moon light. The trees tower over us, huge and still. I go inside and get my binoculars to look at the moon. It is so bright and clear that I can count the craters and make out the face of “the man in the moon.” Mamasamba asks me “hodum waddataa?” meaning “what are you doing?” I hand him the binoculars and tell him, in Fula, to look at the moon. He awkwardly places the binoculars against his face and looks through with one eye, though there are two eye holes. He smiles and tries to hold the binoculars steady in his huge, calloused hands. “It’s sun light reflecting off the moon,” I say to him in English, knowing he won’t understand me. He puts down the binoculars after a while and turns to look at me. “Allah ko mawdo” he says; “God is great.” I like his explanation better.

RAIN

2011-01-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

Rain at school.

Rain in my training village.

The rain falls heavily, pummelling the tarmac beneath my feet. A thin sheath of water has formed on the road, as if it was all wrapped in clear plastic. Drops dance around as they join the layer of water on the road. Water flows off the tarmac in thick torrents, cutting long gutters in the red mud that the tarmac sits upon. The drops fall so straight that I scarcely need to squint my eyes. My clothes are soaked through and my long pants stick to my knees and thighs as I walk. All around me people run for shelter; women holding colourful arrays of cloth over their heads, men running hunched over as if they are avoiding gun fire. In the past, rain caused the same level of panic in me; I would run home in order to prevent my clothes and backpack from getting soaked, pull my laundry off the line outside, bring my bike in before the chain got wet. Now, however, I have learned to carry a rain cover for my backpack, to hang my laundry inside, and to keep my bike in a corner of my hut with the chain well oiled.

Children dance and play in the rain, their wet skin shining, even in the over-cast light. On a dry day, these same children would heckle me, shouting “Mr. Jammeh!” if they were my students in school or “toubab,” meaning “white man,” if they assumed I was a tourist. In these situations, a single wave, nod or response is not satisfactory, fore they will continue shouting “helloooooo,” “howaryoufine,” or “give me your minty” until you are out of ear shot. Sometimes I greet them in Fula, which surprises them enough to make them stop and sometimes even reply back politely. More often, though, I lower my head and quicken by pace, feeling both the relief of escaping them and the shame of being flustered by a band of small children. Today, thankfully, the children are more interested in the puddles.

I am the only one walking on the road. People look up as I pass by, but they do not hold the usual, long stare. They are more concerned about the rain and the wind and the rivers forming on the side of the road. The children laugh while the adults yell at them to come in, out of the rain. I, for once, am not the center of attention. My rain cover is keeping the books and clothes in my backpack dry, and my warm hut awaits me further ahead in the village. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back to feel the rain dance across my face. I don’t have a single care in the world.

GOATS

2011-01-01T11:14:00.001-08:00

The fields in dry season.

The school during dry season.

The heat.

The pump during wet season.

The school during dry season.

The fields in dry season.

The pump during wet season.

The brightness and heat of the sun hits me as I walk out of the classroom, instantly forcing my face into a squint and causing sweat to run down my chin. In each hand I hold three oatmeal cans; improvised beakers for my science laboratory. I walk to the water pump in the middle of the school grounds, faltering and slipping on the soft sand. Where there was once grass, there is now only sand. It has not rained in months and the animals have eaten every single spot of green that is within their reach. It is dead silent outside, the kind of silence that can only be brought on by a hot season in West Africa or a heavy winter snow in New England. School is over and the students have all gone home to tend to their chores; the boys herding the cattle and other animals, the girls preparing food for dinner. I climb up on the concrete platform of the pump and place the cans below the spout, then begin cranking the hot, metal handle until a trickle of water flows out. I stop and wash a few cans while the water still runs, then crank the handle again to get more water flowing. I repeat this dance until all the cans have been rinsed. The metallic clanging of the pumps inner workings sound deafening in the silence, echoing off the surrounding classroom block walls.

As I stoop to pick up the rinsed cans, a wind picks up. The hot air tussles my hair and fills my shirt, offering no relief from the relentless heat. Other volunteers call these gusts “oven winds.” The wind moves on from me and rustles through the large Moringa trees that stand in a row near the pump. As I step down from the platform, a large branch from one of the trees snaps and falls to the ground in a shower of leaves and sand. I stare at the fallen branch in surprise, waiting for the afternoon silence to return. As I take my leave, I notice the school head teacher, Pateh Jallow, walking out from the classroom blocks. He carries books under his arm and walks with the determination of a man with much on his mind. He interrupts his pace to stare at the fallen branch, as I did. “Ooh,” he says with a smile appearing on his face, “the goats will be very happy today.”

December 2010: In-service training and more treks

2011-01-01T08:34:00.000-08:00

PICTURE (top to bottom)

1. to 3. The last few phase 2 treks.

4. to 8. In-service training "bug" making activity.

This December brought to a good and busy end a good and busy year. Unfortunately my camera has not been working well lately; I think it has gone through one too many bumpy, sandy back-pack rides around The Gambia! I therefore apologize for the lack of pictures above. I spent the first part of December working hard on the library at Tanji Lower Basic School. I emptied out a second store of books, which nearly doubled the size of the library. I had to raid a storage room full of broken desks to get wooden planks. Armed with a hammer, swiss-army knife saw, and nails, I fixed up several shelves and managed to fit all the books into them. We also finished up out last few Phase 2 treks. In mid-December the in-service training of the education group who I helped train over the summer began. It was really good to see all of them again after three months. We conducted a lot of technical sessions, as well as some fun ones; we had them build clay insects to display an interesting science and English activity. We also spent a day on the beach where I managed to get a sun burn … in December. Unfortunately the education program manager caught a flu about half way through the training, which gave me a little more work to do. The last few days of the week long training went well though, and it concluded the third and final phase of training for this education group. I stayed down in the Kombo area for Christmas, where I helped cook about 50 pancakes for a large Christmas brunch. I spent new years on the beach with a number of volunteers, where we sat and watched the fireworks being launched from the hotels across the bay.

This last year, 2010, was the second full year that I have spent in The Gambia. Needless to say, it was an exciting year. My parents visited, though they were hard to impress after spending about 14 years in Africa themselves. I concluded my work at Sarre Alfa and Suduwol and moved to Tanji, a village on the coast. My students sang fare-well songs and my host-family cooked a huge meal to see me off. I spent three months turning 22 new education trainees into hardened volunteers. They are all serving at their sites, integrating and training Gambian teachers. I have begun reorganizing a library at a school in Tanji and have already brought a few classes in for reading periods. Finally, I have met an amazing fellow volunteer who is somehow blind to my less-than-impressive appearance and awkward nature. We are enjoying trying to explain "dating" to her host-family. They are mostly shocked by the fact that I, despite being a man, usually cook and fetch water for her.

Who knows, now, what 2011 will bring? I only have four and half months left before I return from The Gambia, so this promises to be an exciting and eventful year. Thank you to all of you who have read or visited this blog over the years. I wish you all a happy new year!

Christmas, school supplies, and a wonderful woman.

2010-12-18T09:48:00.000-08:00

A wonderful woman contacted me a number of months ago stating that she had seen my blog and was interested in sending me some school supplies to use in Gambian schools. Though I pictured a small box, she actually filled up five 50 gallon containers, which were shipped over the Atlantic and have finally arrived. The above photos portray the unpacking and distribution of the supplies. My deepest and sincerest thanks go out to this woman and her husband. They have made it a truely wonderful Christmas for us education volunteers in The Gambia!

Tobaski in Tanji, 2010

2010-11-21T06:10:00.000-08:00

Pictures (from top to bottom)
1. My host-mother, Bintou, with two visiting students from Sweden.
2. Getting ready to slaughter the ram.
3. - 24. Pictures of people dressed up for and praying during Tobaski in Tanji.
25. My host-father, Almami, and I.

As with the last two Tobaski prayers that I have attended in The Gambia, no one was sure of exactly when this years prayer was going to be. Some people said on Monday, others on Tuesday, and still others on Wednesday. Therefore, I decided to take the entire first three days of the week off ..... just to be safe. The people of Tanji prayed on Tuesday and I once again found myself putting on my finest Gambian clothes. I accompanied my host-father, Almami, to the prayer grounds and took a lot of pictures as all the people gathered and then prayed together. Just like in Sarre Alfa, the people of Tanji prayed in a large field behind their mosque, where they could comfortably sit in the shade of the large mango trees that stand throughout the field. Everyone, from children to elders, was dressed in their very best! After the prayer I returned home, grabbed my cutting boards and knives, and set about helping my host-mother, Bintou, prepare lunch (cultural gender roles be damned!). The men killed and slaughtered a ram and soon we had more meat than we knew what to do with. I ate meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next three days. Thank goodness for floss, that's all I have to say.

For the first time since my arrival in Tanji almost four months ago, I found the Tanji fish market completely empty. Most of the fishermen are actually Senegalese, so they had returned to Senegal for the prayer day. It would seem that the sheep population afforded the fish a break, for once. However, only a few days later the market was bussling once again and I was back to eating fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though this was my first Tobaski in Tanji, it was my third (and last) one in The Gambia. No matter where I am next year, I will think back fondly on the memories of eating meat and dressing up for the prayer with my host-family.