Visitors

I’ve just spent two fabulous weeks with my family who came over to visit. This being The Gambia there were some fantastic high points and some pretty difficult low points too. Week One. Liam and Lauren came out to stay and after a couple of days by the swimming pool, we travelled up country to Jang Jang Bureh for a two day excursion. LOW POINT - The first night we spent at a small lodge by the river which I’d seen ‘under renovation’ a few months earlier. Unfortunately, the place was in a worse state than when I first saw it complete with ants in the beds, toilets that hadn’t flushed for months and in my room a random pair of boxer shorts hanging on a nail in the shower. HIGH POINT – Lauren and I sitting in shade of a tree watching Liam swimming with the local boys in the river.

To Baboon Island the next day. LOW POINT - We had to be at the pick-up point (1 hour away) by noon but a sudden announcement by the president’s office put a stop to that. Saturday morning was declared ‘set setal’ which means that no shops open and no traffic is allowed on the roads to ensure that everyone is busy cleaning the area around their compounds. (No refuse collection system here). So at 1pm we were able to get on our way taking an overpriced taxi followed by overpriced boat over to the south bank. HIGH POINT – We got there safely, we didn’t miss the boat trip, we saw chimps and hippos, we ate fantastic food and the accommodation was superb. HIGH AND LOW POINT ALL IN ONE – Green colobus monkey stealing a bottle of Fanta from our table at Lamin Lodge.

Week Two. My amazing mum, Glad who is old enough to be in a bath chair, came out to visit with my sister Caroline and brother-in-law Pascuale. HIGH POINT – Going to visit the ladies of Mandina Ba who presented us all with a set of traditional Gambian clothes and bestowed on Glad the title ‘Grandmother of the Village’.

LOW POINT – bumsters! Typical conversation with a taxi driver.
You need a taxi? No thanks
Why not? Because we’re walking
Where? None of your business
Take a taxi We don’t want to
Taxi is quicker We want to walk
It’s too hot to walk WE DON’T NEED A TAXI!!!

After a couple of weeks of dealing with the bumsters I am ashamed to say that I lost it on a couple of
occasions.

My advice:- If you’re thinking of coming to the Gambia please do - it’s a fantastic place but avoid the tourist areas.

Gambians are very resourceful people. They could teach us a thing or two about recycling. Tin cans are made into toy cars (sardine for the body and two small evaporated milk tins for the wheels). Plastic bottles are filled with wanjo juice (delicious) and sold to thirsty travellers but I have been particularly impressed with the many uses for used tyres. Infinitely inventive. I am trying to be as thoughtful as the locals when it comes to throwing out rubbish but missed a trick yesterday. The handle on my saucepan snapped and automatically I threw the two bits into the rubbish and dumped them at the end of the road. Later I realised that any Gambian worth his/her salt could have made a new handle out of wood and restored it to a useful kitchen implement. It could still happen as the local kids will often open up the plastic bags that have been thrown out to see if there is anything worth salvaging. This also allows the goats, chickens and dogs to eat up the bits of food and vegetable peelings further reducing the pile of rubbish. When set setal comes around (monthly burn up) the rubbish pile at the end of our road is much reduced.

Three acts of kindness in less than 10 minutes

I stopped into the local shop for bits and pieces this evening only to find myself spending more than the cash I had on me (no chip and pin here to fall back on). Samba, the owner was more than happy to let me take the goods and pay later although he has only met me once or twice. Two minutes later I was pushing my bike across the garage forecourt (flat tyre) when a group of 6 young lads all sharing a food bowl invite me to join them for rice, bitter tomato and fish. Quick splosh of water on the hands and I’m in there. As I leave, still pushing my bike a guy on the other side of the road who has a tyre repair business notices the flat tyre, calls me over. He has an airline and has the correct pressure in the tyre – tested by a swift kick, in no time. Gambians really are the most thoughtful, helpful people. Thanks guys.

I wasn’t sure how I would like Christmas away from my family and friends and the typical December weather of the UK. I had received a few cards and parcels of presents from home (thanks to Lozzy and Andrea) and even had some Christmas tree decorations hanging up. We had had the VSO Christmas party complete with mince pies, carols and Santa Claus but no holiday, festive feeling was coming though. The temperature still in the high 20s and being in a mainly Muslim country made it really difficult to think of Christmas at all. So when 25th December arrived I thought of my family back home and imagined them getting ready for the big celebration but did not feel one bit homesick.
I spent the weekend at a lodge near the beach at Kartong in the south of The Gambia. It was going to be a relaxing, lazing on the beach sort of weekend with the odd glass of wine in the evening. I was there with friends and found the rest of the guests easy company.
About lunchtime myself and Lynn drove out with Geri, our host, to find an internet connection so that we could skype our families. There was no reception for mobile phones etc at the lodge. We were both sitting in the car, laptops at the ready and when the magical little lines appeared and we both shouted ‘stop!!’
Two skype conversations going on at the same time in one car was not going to work, so I jumped out and settled down by a wall in a deserted, dusty lane. I had just started to chat with my sister when out of the corner of my eye I could see two boys, full of curiosity approaching me. They were closely followed by another two or three boys, who called out to several others. Boys being boys they wanted to get in on the action so I let them see my sister and mum on the screen and boys being boys they soon took over. All that my family could see on that Christmas Day’s skype session was a screen full of faces shouting, “Happy Christmas England” "Hello Caroline, Hello Gladys" and “Buy me bicycle”. Our conversation was completely hijacked but it gave a real flavour The Gambia and it was lovely to be able to share it with my family back home.
Hope you all had a good Christmas and that lots of lovely things happen for you in 2011.

Goats on the side of the road are no rare sight in the Gambia. But the month of November has seen a huge increase in their numbers due to Tabaski - the big Muslim festival of the year, celebrating the story of Abraham being summoned by Allah to sacrifice his first born son. Just as the deed was about to be completed, Allah seeing Abraham’s devotion told him to save his son and sacrifice a ram instead. Buying a ram can be an expensive purchase – up to 5,000 dalasi for a big beast – about £140 but even more difficult that buying the ram is getting it home.

Rams are not known for their ability to walk to heel on a lead. They will push and pull for all their worth to get away from their new owner. One poor man so exasperated trying to walk his ram home flipped it onto its back, tied its legs together and hired a man and wheelbarrow (no man and van here). A very undignified final journey.

Me and my motorbike - a Love/Hate relationship

OK, so motorbike training last week had its good points and its bad points. I was able to start the thing and balance well. I found I could change through the gears and not stall the bike or fall off. I love the feeling of being on the open road with no traffic, goats, children, chickens, dogs, donkeys etc. to make me have to think about the mechanics of the beast. It’s fantastic to be independent and be able to get to places like beautiful beaches off the beaten track without having to walk miles in the sweltering heat and I’m really happy that I have cracked a new skill at my age. On the down side - it scares me to death. I fell off five times – nothing serious – and found it really difficult to manoeuvre round corners at slow speeds. I didn’t succeed at the downhill exercises and if it wasn’t for Sal my trainer I would have given up on the Thursday. On the emotional/psychological side, I am on two wheels, not strapped in feeling vulnerable as a soft boiled egg in the middle of the traffic in The Gambia.

This is a place where cars do not need MOT certificates, indicators have been replaced by horns hooting at everything that moves and overtaking mirrors are a thing of the past.

I’m sure that as I get more used to the red devil – YAMAHA AG 100 for anyone who is interested – I will learn to conquer my fears but at the moment I’m wondering if I will ride it at all. Old dog – new tricks! - photos to follow.

I had a particularly restless night last night due mainly to the fact that I start my motor bike lessons tomorrow. The worries are:
Will I roast to death in the helmet and jacket?
Will I have to ride along Kairaba Avenue (the equivalent to Marble Arch)?
Will I fall off?
After considering all these options my concentration shifted to the various noises coming into the bedroom from outside. It struck me as a kind of African trifle with many different levels of noise that continued all through the night.
At the bottom end were the hundreds and thousands of bull frogs with their deep resonating croak.
Then you have the dogs which bark to each other all night long.
In the middle are the various insects and grasshoppers which sit in trees making a constant chirruping noise reminiscing of old western movies.
The cockerels of course, have to join in with the conversation as do the birds as dawn approaches.
And finally at around 5am the Imam calls the faithful to prayer through his very efficient PA system.
I lay there remembering with fondness the double-glazed UPVC perfectly fitted windows of my little bungalow in Poole. Where one silent, gentle movement of the handle would eradicate all noise forever.
The next thing I knew it was morning and the African trifle had somehow lulled me off to sleep.