1/5/05
WEDNESDAY
JANUARY 5, 2005
The next morning, as we were packing up to head to Kombo Courtney offered us a suggestion. If we were hungry for bean sandwiches there should some ladies down the path. One of them, Isatou, is a good friend of hers and if we should run into her we should greet her and buy our sandwiches from her. We thank her for the suggestion and headed out down the path towards Brikama. We passed the sign, now on our left, the water pump on our right, and the water tower before reaching back into Brikama a half hour later.
At the entrance to the city we saw some random bean sandwich ladies, picked one at random and ordered our breakfast. As we were sitting at the entrance to the bidick, with the ladies sitting outside with us, we started to chat. I casually ask her what her name was, in which she replied, “Isatou.” We had, by coincidence, gone exactly to the same lady that Courtney wanted us to go.
Further down the road was a sign that any other day I would have passed without a second notice, but Dave had his eyes out and noticed the name “Holland” on the sign. The Netherlands had a few projects set up in The Gambia and this sign proudly declared the country of “Holland” with the flag of Netherlands. Despite being from the city of Holland, we nonetheless took a picture of it.
When we were approaching the car park a man yelled from behind me, I turned around and recognized Mr. Fye who had worked with Peace Corps for years during training for the education group and is a headmaster of a Senior Secondary School upcountry. Unfortunately, on my part, I couldn’t remember all that then and so my conversation with his was brief; but I knew I recognized him and that he helped with training, but his name was lost at the moment.
After the brief meeting we found a car going to Banjul. Although we were not heading to Banjul it was cheaper to get in this vehicle and pay the partial price to drop us off early then to get a direct route. All those in the car going to Banjul paid the usual eleven dalasi while Dave and I, and a few others, just paid Westfield fare of five each. Five dalasi for what usually would be a half-hour trip, but that day it took upwards of an hour due to traffic. At Westfield, passed the Photopia business where I usually had my pictures developed, we told the driver we wanted to get off. He had to continue driving for a while since parking right near those businesses are illegal and there’s a specific spot those vans could park at. Having missed my usual junction by a few blocks I decided to risk it and just walk straight anyway down a road I never been on but should lead straight to a road I did know. We got lost going to my house in my own neighborhood, but once we found the Taiwanese Embassy I knew my location.
Between the main street in Kombo, where all the businesses are and which was the street we missed by a few blocks, and the street that the University is on is a secondary dirt road which is my main street. I do not technically live on the street, but two blocks off. Although I lived less than a hundred feet away from the University’s road I nonetheless had to backtrack and go out of my way to get on it. I live on a corner in the middle of a dead end next to church that wakes me up on Sunday mornings.
When we approached the entrance, as we were about to enter, the red-painted metal door sprung open and Kristen and Iven walked out. In the compound that I live in, there also lives another Peace Corps volunteer, Mary Ann; a shipping contractor, Edward, along with his replacement Thomas; and two Norwegian Peace Corps volunteers, Kristen and Oyvend. Although they are technically called Peace Corps it has no affiliation with American Peace Corps. Kristen and Oyvend come from different parts of Norway and are going to school to study music theory and music performance, with Kristen in vocals and Oyvend with percussion. Their organization, called “Fredskorpset” in Norwegian and “Peace Corps” in English, has three different sectors depending on your age. The main program, for those aged 23-35, they were too young to qualify having only turned 23 while being here. They instead enlisted in the Youth Program (18-25), which sent them to The Gambia to study African music. They had invited both Mary Ann and I a few times to their concerts and we had a great time enjoying both their signing and drumming. Iven, who we were now shaking hands with at the entrance, is Kristen’s boyfriend who was visiting for a few weeks.
I introduced Dave to both of them while she introduced Iven to Dave before they headed out to where they were going and we headed inside. When you enter the gate you see two small apartments to your left and a main house to your right in which I live in neither one of them. Mary Ann lives nearest to the gate and is occasionally woken up by my pounding on the door to get in late at night when the guard is asleep, while Kristen and Oyvend live together in the other apartment a few feet away. In the main house lives Edward, who is only here for a few months until his shipping company can find a permanent replacement, which ended up being Thomas. In order to get to my house you must turn right, as if your going to the main house, and then cut through a small enclosed hallway cutting through the space between the garage, which they don’t use for vehicles but for spare appliances, and the wall separating the compound from the church. When you are through the hallway you turn left and my house is the second apartment on your right, with the first apartment being empty and only occupied when the landlady decides to relax here before going home for the day.
The keys to most volunteers’ houses in Kombo are reminiscent of 17th century skeleton keys. They are big, bulky, and don’t quite fit into the lock. Each time I want to lock or unlock the door I have to kick the door at the bottom for the key to snap into place so that it can turn.
My house consists of one room, a bedroom, and a hallway that acts like a kitchen connecting the bedroom to the bathroom. When water is running, I have running water; when the power is on, I have electricity. This has a disadvantage sometimes of just leisurely reading and the power goes out for the night, or in the middle of a shower and the water stops. For the first scenario I usually just call it a night and for the latter I finish with the water I previously stored in four buckets. Although having water and power is considered good, it does cause a headache in those situations. I would rather have no power, no water and know with certainty I won’t have it, then for NAWEC [National Water and Electricity Corporation] to tease us with uncertainty.
After we dropped our bags down I gave Dave the grand tour, which lasted all of thirty seconds. There is a door connecting the bathroom to the hallway, but it never shuts. There is also a drape you can pull separating the bedroom from the hallway, which I never have pull closed since I had no use to. Now, when company is here and you want to take a shower or use the bathroom you should, and do, close the drape and then either keep the door closed with your foot, if you are going to the bathroom, or drag one of the buckets of water over to keep it shut. I took a shower first before going outside to read while waiting for Dave. He came out a few moments later.
“Mike, did you know you have a handle for your shower head?”
“I do?” My showerhead was one that you held while taking your shower.
“Yeah! I was taking a shower and realizing what a pain it was and so I looked up. There’s a handle, so I just put it in and you have an actual shower now.”
“Wow, I do!” I had lived in that house for almost six months and never noticed the handle that I could place the showerhead on. I walked inside the bathroom, and there it was, about a foot higher than my head it was attached to the wall. I now had an actual shower to use!
We walked down the dead end road, turned left to the secondary dirt road that led perpendicular to the main dirt road in which we turned right. Follow the dirt road for a few blocks and you’re now on the paved road that the old hostel used to be on. If you turn left on the road for three more blocks you arrive on Karaiba Avenue, the busiest street in The Gambia, and the main street for businesses, in which the Peace Corps Office is one of them.
A few months back, Jordan and I dropped Joe off at the airport for him to go home from finishing his service. After he had left, we walked around the airport parking lot trying to get a free ride back and save $10 between the two of us. A Canadian couple was nice enough to let us ride with them, up until the traffic light, which was only three blocks away from the Peace Corps Office. Throughout the drive they told us they’ve been here permanently for over 15 years and have seen the development that has happened. Kariaba Avenue, now the busiest in the country was non-existent fifteen years ago. It was not even a dirt road. The government put down a water pipe going through the fields to Serrekuda. The path the pipe went along became a footpath and then a dirt road, named Pipeline. A few years later they paved the road and businesses started to grow on it. Within five years of the formation of Pipeline the traffic was busy enough on the intersection that the first, and only, traffic light in the country had to be installed to control the flow.
The Peace Corps Office is guarded around the clock with security and there is only a small walkway you can use to get in, which is between the guard station and the six-inch-diameter metal rod they open and close to let the vehicles through. While we were at the guard station asking what the procedures were for visitors, as I had forgotten whether it was at this station or at the receptionists inside they had to log into, Alison came up to me. She lives near Basse and came into country the same time I did, as she was in our group but is a health volunteer. Our group was the last group to have both education and health together.
“Mike, I’m sorry” with her head down in mock sorrow and looking up with puppy-dog eyes to get the full affect.
“For what?”
“We had to cut the lock.”
“What lock?”
“For the package money.”
“I gave the key to Ed.”
“Yes, but somehow it got upcountry.”
“What? How?”
“We don’t know, and then they lost it.”
“So you had to cut the lock.”
“Yeap, and…”
“…and?”
“we lost eleven package slips.”
“Oh boy.”
“I’ll buy you a new lock. In fact, I have too since that was the only way Mustapha would cut it, if I promised I would buy a new one.”
I hadn’t even reached the building and already had work to do. The lock wasn’t a big thing; it just kept the money relatively safe. The package slips weren’t big either, just caused a little headache. The actual packages themselves were safe in the Post Office, we just had to ask them to cross-reference everything again for us to find out which 11 hadn’t been picked up in a while.
Once inside the office I introduced Dave to Famara and he showed him what forms Dave had to sign as a visitor and gave him a visitors badge to wear at all times while in the building. At the computer lab I asked if anyone was going to Omar’s for lunch, in which a few responded in the affirmative but in a half-hour or so. Dave wasn’t allowed to use the computers and so, after a little tour of outside and of the volunteer lounge, we gave Famara back the badge and exited the building.
The next building over is an Internet Café, which for D30 you can use for an hour. We both checked our e-mails while afterwards I sat and read a magazine as he finished replying. I paid for the both of us, since he had yet to get Dalasi, and we went back across the street to Omars where a few people were eating already. There was Alexei, who I last met at Christmas, Matt Selinske, and Nate Kettle. Alexei was recapping the baseball game we had at Kharafi during Christmas:
“My dad was playing outfield. He was yelling ‘Strike Out!’ over and over again. I yelled back ‘Watch this, old man, I’ll hit a home run right to you!’ He replied, ‘We’ll see who’s old when you can’t see the ball coming!’. I hit a home-run right at him! That shut him up!”
Alexei and his dad get along great and the teasing and mocking were all in fun.
The other two people, Matt and Nate, were both from Alexei’s group. Matt was the one I went to Georgetown with, along with Kelly. Nate lives in Fass, on the Central River Division, and is one of the best Wolof speakers in the country. There is another volunteer, M’Linda which can speak just as well and they have their individual strengths. M’Linda can speak more conversationally and the flow is better. Nate has better vocabulary and knows the Wolof words for strange things. For instance, take your right hand and make a tight fist. There is a piece of skin by your pinkie that hangs out from your palm. I have no idea what the English word for that piece of skin is, but Nate knows the Wolof word for it.
We talked for a little bit, and ordered our meals when Kate and Doug arrived making it a total of seven people. Dave asked the usual illness and sickness questions which each one giving his or her spiel and trying to upstage the last volunteer.
The only thing we had planned for today was the Rotary Club meeting. Other than that it was free sailing. Dave wanted me to put his camera in my mailbox, so he wouldn’t have to carry it around, and so as he waited outside I went inside the office compound to put the camera in the box. Upon exiting I noticed Mustapha was about to leave.
“Mustapha, where are you going?”
“To the hostel.”
“My friend is here, can we get a ride with you?”
“Sure.”
I waved Dave to come inside the compound and explained we had a free ride to the Hostel, which was on the way to the beach. I got in the front seat and Dave in back for the five-minute ride down the street. The new hostel has a very strict policy that nobody except for volunteers or immediate family members are allowed even inside the premises. During New Year’s the American Ambassador asked the Peace Corps Country Directory for a personal favor of having a volunteer take his teenage son out with other volunteers for New Years Celebration. Although he was the son of the American Ambassador, and it was a personal request from the Ambassador himself, he was not allowed inside the gate.
Dave and I rode with Mustapha and walked in
The guard asked “Who’s this?”
“This is Dave”
“Is he a volunteer?”
“Yes”
“Which site?”
“Basse”
There is Dave in country that lived in Basse, who is rarely down in Kombo so I figured I played it safe. However, inside the hostel I ran into Greta, who is married to the Dave who lives in Basse. We all knew the in’s and out’s of policies and how to get around them.
“Greta, if Kex asks, this is your husband, Dave”
“OK”
Inside there were just three people, Greta, Cheeta and Wendy. I wanted to introduce Dave to them all but he just stood in the doorway not wanting to get in trouble for being in the Hostel. Within a minute of arriving we left to head to Laybatos, the beach restaurant. On the way there we passed Sarah Grimm and her younger sister Christy, who her entire family was visiting for a month. At this moment the Fishbowl apartment was just two blocks away. Despite Sarah telling us no one was there I still wanted to show Dave where it was and with the hope that someone might have come home in the few minutes since they passed, so he could check out the inside. No such luck.
We walked for a few more blocks to Laybato’s, located on the beach. The restaurant is a nice vacation for volunteers, but due to increases of prices the number of volunteers visiting the establishment has dwindled. When I first entered country you could get a full vegetable pizza for only D45. Now, after almost two years it has tripled n price to D135. The outside has a relaxed atmosphere, comprised of a dozen hammocks and a half-dozen tables seating five that one may choose from. After five minutes of waiting for a waiter to come by I went inside to order our drinks. Inside the main hut, which the bar was located was Tatjana sitting in the corner. Her boyfriend was visiting and was actually leaving that night. They were relaxing for their last day before heading off to the airport.
Originally I wanted to bring Dave to the “Come Inn”, the hangout restaurant for volunteers. When most visitors come they invite the volunteers along to a meal and the Come Inn and the visitor can meet other volunteers and hear more stories and see that it’s not as isolated as one thinks. However, Laybatos was right by the water and a good break from the travels so far. It was quite by accident that another volunteer should happen to be there, as it wasn’t even the weekend but the middle of the week.
I called Dave over to the bar and we sat while talking to Jason and Tatjana. Jason was a Civic teacher in the US and was particularly interested in the editor that was killed, but was broad enough to talk about other interests. The following is Tatjana’s recollection of what we talked about:
--
yeah, I can remember an interesting discussion about worms and different types of diseases here.... and giligili rides..... and bumsters. jason was very much amazed by the complete lack of driving signs and meandering donkeys in the road. basically every part of gambian life was new to him.... but the worms that take a week to come out of the skin disturbed him the most.
--
As they took their last stroll on the beach together we left to go to Senegambia to go to the Rotary meeting. We obtained a taxi right at the entrance of Laybatos and paid him the D50 to bring us to Senegambia. We had a choice of either that or walking the half kilometers for a local taxi for D5, but we took the tourist route.
At Senegambia we had enough time to check out the location of the monkey park, but not enter it. We did, however, get a picture of Dave doing the monkey pose near the monkey-crossing sign. Walking back we crossed the sign posting for taxis going to Banjul or other places. Even Dave, being in country just a few days, but knowing transportation costs knew these were outrageous prices. Three hundred dalasi to go to Banjul and come back! I could get you there, round trip, for fewer than thirty. Granted, some tourists want this expensive trip for a variety of different reasons. Either they think that’s the normal price, don’t know how far Banjul is (and for the distance it’s not a bad price in American terms), or are afraid or nervous on taking Public Transportation.
We had an hour to kill before the meeting and we spent that hour laying by the pool and checking out the general vicinity. I never knew the hotel had a life-size chess board or even an observatory for astronomy, which unfortunately was closed.
We sat reminiscing about college, telling stories about Freshman year, how we didn’t even know we were from Holland until the very last night, and the past few years and how things have changed. From struggling to solve calculus problems freshman year to struggling to finding careers. Our biggest worry then was midterms and finals, now it’s bills and paying off student loans.
Down the stairs of the main building to the hotel was the conference room that would hold the meeting. Another woman was waiting to enter. Only a half-hour late the meeting started. The men, and women, took their seats around the table while Dave and I sat in the back part. A log book was passed around for the visitors to sign, and I looked through it to see if any other Peace Corps volunteers had attended a Rotary Meeting recently. Vickie and Mirlene were the only two that I found. We both signed our name, got our drink, and waited the meeting to begin. Dave told me later it was not like the rotary meetings in the US, this one was dry and spoke mostly of business and finances. The meetings in the US are livelier as those business aspects are taking care of earlier by the officers.
At the end of the meeting Dave gave a little presentation presenting the Holland Rotary flag to them in exchange for a flag of their own. While he presented them with the flag I took a snapshot so he could bring those back his club in Holland. They didn’t have a flag on hand in return and promised to mail one to either Dave in the US or me here in Banjul. To date, I haven’t received it on my end and I doubt Dave has either on his.
We took a taxi back to the Peace Corps Office, to get his camera, and walked back to my house for the night.
JANUARY 5, 2005
The next morning, as we were packing up to head to Kombo Courtney offered us a suggestion. If we were hungry for bean sandwiches there should some ladies down the path. One of them, Isatou, is a good friend of hers and if we should run into her we should greet her and buy our sandwiches from her. We thank her for the suggestion and headed out down the path towards Brikama. We passed the sign, now on our left, the water pump on our right, and the water tower before reaching back into Brikama a half hour later.
At the entrance to the city we saw some random bean sandwich ladies, picked one at random and ordered our breakfast. As we were sitting at the entrance to the bidick, with the ladies sitting outside with us, we started to chat. I casually ask her what her name was, in which she replied, “Isatou.” We had, by coincidence, gone exactly to the same lady that Courtney wanted us to go.
Further down the road was a sign that any other day I would have passed without a second notice, but Dave had his eyes out and noticed the name “Holland” on the sign. The Netherlands had a few projects set up in The Gambia and this sign proudly declared the country of “Holland” with the flag of Netherlands. Despite being from the city of Holland, we nonetheless took a picture of it.
When we were approaching the car park a man yelled from behind me, I turned around and recognized Mr. Fye who had worked with Peace Corps for years during training for the education group and is a headmaster of a Senior Secondary School upcountry. Unfortunately, on my part, I couldn’t remember all that then and so my conversation with his was brief; but I knew I recognized him and that he helped with training, but his name was lost at the moment.
After the brief meeting we found a car going to Banjul. Although we were not heading to Banjul it was cheaper to get in this vehicle and pay the partial price to drop us off early then to get a direct route. All those in the car going to Banjul paid the usual eleven dalasi while Dave and I, and a few others, just paid Westfield fare of five each. Five dalasi for what usually would be a half-hour trip, but that day it took upwards of an hour due to traffic. At Westfield, passed the Photopia business where I usually had my pictures developed, we told the driver we wanted to get off. He had to continue driving for a while since parking right near those businesses are illegal and there’s a specific spot those vans could park at. Having missed my usual junction by a few blocks I decided to risk it and just walk straight anyway down a road I never been on but should lead straight to a road I did know. We got lost going to my house in my own neighborhood, but once we found the Taiwanese Embassy I knew my location.
Between the main street in Kombo, where all the businesses are and which was the street we missed by a few blocks, and the street that the University is on is a secondary dirt road which is my main street. I do not technically live on the street, but two blocks off. Although I lived less than a hundred feet away from the University’s road I nonetheless had to backtrack and go out of my way to get on it. I live on a corner in the middle of a dead end next to church that wakes me up on Sunday mornings.
When we approached the entrance, as we were about to enter, the red-painted metal door sprung open and Kristen and Iven walked out. In the compound that I live in, there also lives another Peace Corps volunteer, Mary Ann; a shipping contractor, Edward, along with his replacement Thomas; and two Norwegian Peace Corps volunteers, Kristen and Oyvend. Although they are technically called Peace Corps it has no affiliation with American Peace Corps. Kristen and Oyvend come from different parts of Norway and are going to school to study music theory and music performance, with Kristen in vocals and Oyvend with percussion. Their organization, called “Fredskorpset” in Norwegian and “Peace Corps” in English, has three different sectors depending on your age. The main program, for those aged 23-35, they were too young to qualify having only turned 23 while being here. They instead enlisted in the Youth Program (18-25), which sent them to The Gambia to study African music. They had invited both Mary Ann and I a few times to their concerts and we had a great time enjoying both their signing and drumming. Iven, who we were now shaking hands with at the entrance, is Kristen’s boyfriend who was visiting for a few weeks.
I introduced Dave to both of them while she introduced Iven to Dave before they headed out to where they were going and we headed inside. When you enter the gate you see two small apartments to your left and a main house to your right in which I live in neither one of them. Mary Ann lives nearest to the gate and is occasionally woken up by my pounding on the door to get in late at night when the guard is asleep, while Kristen and Oyvend live together in the other apartment a few feet away. In the main house lives Edward, who is only here for a few months until his shipping company can find a permanent replacement, which ended up being Thomas. In order to get to my house you must turn right, as if your going to the main house, and then cut through a small enclosed hallway cutting through the space between the garage, which they don’t use for vehicles but for spare appliances, and the wall separating the compound from the church. When you are through the hallway you turn left and my house is the second apartment on your right, with the first apartment being empty and only occupied when the landlady decides to relax here before going home for the day.
The keys to most volunteers’ houses in Kombo are reminiscent of 17th century skeleton keys. They are big, bulky, and don’t quite fit into the lock. Each time I want to lock or unlock the door I have to kick the door at the bottom for the key to snap into place so that it can turn.
My house consists of one room, a bedroom, and a hallway that acts like a kitchen connecting the bedroom to the bathroom. When water is running, I have running water; when the power is on, I have electricity. This has a disadvantage sometimes of just leisurely reading and the power goes out for the night, or in the middle of a shower and the water stops. For the first scenario I usually just call it a night and for the latter I finish with the water I previously stored in four buckets. Although having water and power is considered good, it does cause a headache in those situations. I would rather have no power, no water and know with certainty I won’t have it, then for NAWEC [National Water and Electricity Corporation] to tease us with uncertainty.
After we dropped our bags down I gave Dave the grand tour, which lasted all of thirty seconds. There is a door connecting the bathroom to the hallway, but it never shuts. There is also a drape you can pull separating the bedroom from the hallway, which I never have pull closed since I had no use to. Now, when company is here and you want to take a shower or use the bathroom you should, and do, close the drape and then either keep the door closed with your foot, if you are going to the bathroom, or drag one of the buckets of water over to keep it shut. I took a shower first before going outside to read while waiting for Dave. He came out a few moments later.
“Mike, did you know you have a handle for your shower head?”
“I do?” My showerhead was one that you held while taking your shower.
“Yeah! I was taking a shower and realizing what a pain it was and so I looked up. There’s a handle, so I just put it in and you have an actual shower now.”
“Wow, I do!” I had lived in that house for almost six months and never noticed the handle that I could place the showerhead on. I walked inside the bathroom, and there it was, about a foot higher than my head it was attached to the wall. I now had an actual shower to use!
We walked down the dead end road, turned left to the secondary dirt road that led perpendicular to the main dirt road in which we turned right. Follow the dirt road for a few blocks and you’re now on the paved road that the old hostel used to be on. If you turn left on the road for three more blocks you arrive on Karaiba Avenue, the busiest street in The Gambia, and the main street for businesses, in which the Peace Corps Office is one of them.
A few months back, Jordan and I dropped Joe off at the airport for him to go home from finishing his service. After he had left, we walked around the airport parking lot trying to get a free ride back and save $10 between the two of us. A Canadian couple was nice enough to let us ride with them, up until the traffic light, which was only three blocks away from the Peace Corps Office. Throughout the drive they told us they’ve been here permanently for over 15 years and have seen the development that has happened. Kariaba Avenue, now the busiest in the country was non-existent fifteen years ago. It was not even a dirt road. The government put down a water pipe going through the fields to Serrekuda. The path the pipe went along became a footpath and then a dirt road, named Pipeline. A few years later they paved the road and businesses started to grow on it. Within five years of the formation of Pipeline the traffic was busy enough on the intersection that the first, and only, traffic light in the country had to be installed to control the flow.
The Peace Corps Office is guarded around the clock with security and there is only a small walkway you can use to get in, which is between the guard station and the six-inch-diameter metal rod they open and close to let the vehicles through. While we were at the guard station asking what the procedures were for visitors, as I had forgotten whether it was at this station or at the receptionists inside they had to log into, Alison came up to me. She lives near Basse and came into country the same time I did, as she was in our group but is a health volunteer. Our group was the last group to have both education and health together.
“Mike, I’m sorry” with her head down in mock sorrow and looking up with puppy-dog eyes to get the full affect.
“For what?”
“We had to cut the lock.”
“What lock?”
“For the package money.”
“I gave the key to Ed.”
“Yes, but somehow it got upcountry.”
“What? How?”
“We don’t know, and then they lost it.”
“So you had to cut the lock.”
“Yeap, and…”
“…and?”
“we lost eleven package slips.”
“Oh boy.”
“I’ll buy you a new lock. In fact, I have too since that was the only way Mustapha would cut it, if I promised I would buy a new one.”
I hadn’t even reached the building and already had work to do. The lock wasn’t a big thing; it just kept the money relatively safe. The package slips weren’t big either, just caused a little headache. The actual packages themselves were safe in the Post Office, we just had to ask them to cross-reference everything again for us to find out which 11 hadn’t been picked up in a while.
Once inside the office I introduced Dave to Famara and he showed him what forms Dave had to sign as a visitor and gave him a visitors badge to wear at all times while in the building. At the computer lab I asked if anyone was going to Omar’s for lunch, in which a few responded in the affirmative but in a half-hour or so. Dave wasn’t allowed to use the computers and so, after a little tour of outside and of the volunteer lounge, we gave Famara back the badge and exited the building.
The next building over is an Internet Café, which for D30 you can use for an hour. We both checked our e-mails while afterwards I sat and read a magazine as he finished replying. I paid for the both of us, since he had yet to get Dalasi, and we went back across the street to Omars where a few people were eating already. There was Alexei, who I last met at Christmas, Matt Selinske, and Nate Kettle. Alexei was recapping the baseball game we had at Kharafi during Christmas:
“My dad was playing outfield. He was yelling ‘Strike Out!’ over and over again. I yelled back ‘Watch this, old man, I’ll hit a home run right to you!’ He replied, ‘We’ll see who’s old when you can’t see the ball coming!’. I hit a home-run right at him! That shut him up!”
Alexei and his dad get along great and the teasing and mocking were all in fun.
The other two people, Matt and Nate, were both from Alexei’s group. Matt was the one I went to Georgetown with, along with Kelly. Nate lives in Fass, on the Central River Division, and is one of the best Wolof speakers in the country. There is another volunteer, M’Linda which can speak just as well and they have their individual strengths. M’Linda can speak more conversationally and the flow is better. Nate has better vocabulary and knows the Wolof words for strange things. For instance, take your right hand and make a tight fist. There is a piece of skin by your pinkie that hangs out from your palm. I have no idea what the English word for that piece of skin is, but Nate knows the Wolof word for it.
We talked for a little bit, and ordered our meals when Kate and Doug arrived making it a total of seven people. Dave asked the usual illness and sickness questions which each one giving his or her spiel and trying to upstage the last volunteer.
The only thing we had planned for today was the Rotary Club meeting. Other than that it was free sailing. Dave wanted me to put his camera in my mailbox, so he wouldn’t have to carry it around, and so as he waited outside I went inside the office compound to put the camera in the box. Upon exiting I noticed Mustapha was about to leave.
“Mustapha, where are you going?”
“To the hostel.”
“My friend is here, can we get a ride with you?”
“Sure.”
I waved Dave to come inside the compound and explained we had a free ride to the Hostel, which was on the way to the beach. I got in the front seat and Dave in back for the five-minute ride down the street. The new hostel has a very strict policy that nobody except for volunteers or immediate family members are allowed even inside the premises. During New Year’s the American Ambassador asked the Peace Corps Country Directory for a personal favor of having a volunteer take his teenage son out with other volunteers for New Years Celebration. Although he was the son of the American Ambassador, and it was a personal request from the Ambassador himself, he was not allowed inside the gate.
Dave and I rode with Mustapha and walked in
The guard asked “Who’s this?”
“This is Dave”
“Is he a volunteer?”
“Yes”
“Which site?”
“Basse”
There is Dave in country that lived in Basse, who is rarely down in Kombo so I figured I played it safe. However, inside the hostel I ran into Greta, who is married to the Dave who lives in Basse. We all knew the in’s and out’s of policies and how to get around them.
“Greta, if Kex asks, this is your husband, Dave”
“OK”
Inside there were just three people, Greta, Cheeta and Wendy. I wanted to introduce Dave to them all but he just stood in the doorway not wanting to get in trouble for being in the Hostel. Within a minute of arriving we left to head to Laybatos, the beach restaurant. On the way there we passed Sarah Grimm and her younger sister Christy, who her entire family was visiting for a month. At this moment the Fishbowl apartment was just two blocks away. Despite Sarah telling us no one was there I still wanted to show Dave where it was and with the hope that someone might have come home in the few minutes since they passed, so he could check out the inside. No such luck.
We walked for a few more blocks to Laybato’s, located on the beach. The restaurant is a nice vacation for volunteers, but due to increases of prices the number of volunteers visiting the establishment has dwindled. When I first entered country you could get a full vegetable pizza for only D45. Now, after almost two years it has tripled n price to D135. The outside has a relaxed atmosphere, comprised of a dozen hammocks and a half-dozen tables seating five that one may choose from. After five minutes of waiting for a waiter to come by I went inside to order our drinks. Inside the main hut, which the bar was located was Tatjana sitting in the corner. Her boyfriend was visiting and was actually leaving that night. They were relaxing for their last day before heading off to the airport.
Originally I wanted to bring Dave to the “Come Inn”, the hangout restaurant for volunteers. When most visitors come they invite the volunteers along to a meal and the Come Inn and the visitor can meet other volunteers and hear more stories and see that it’s not as isolated as one thinks. However, Laybatos was right by the water and a good break from the travels so far. It was quite by accident that another volunteer should happen to be there, as it wasn’t even the weekend but the middle of the week.
I called Dave over to the bar and we sat while talking to Jason and Tatjana. Jason was a Civic teacher in the US and was particularly interested in the editor that was killed, but was broad enough to talk about other interests. The following is Tatjana’s recollection of what we talked about:
--
yeah, I can remember an interesting discussion about worms and different types of diseases here.... and giligili rides..... and bumsters. jason was very much amazed by the complete lack of driving signs and meandering donkeys in the road. basically every part of gambian life was new to him.... but the worms that take a week to come out of the skin disturbed him the most.
--
As they took their last stroll on the beach together we left to go to Senegambia to go to the Rotary meeting. We obtained a taxi right at the entrance of Laybatos and paid him the D50 to bring us to Senegambia. We had a choice of either that or walking the half kilometers for a local taxi for D5, but we took the tourist route.
At Senegambia we had enough time to check out the location of the monkey park, but not enter it. We did, however, get a picture of Dave doing the monkey pose near the monkey-crossing sign. Walking back we crossed the sign posting for taxis going to Banjul or other places. Even Dave, being in country just a few days, but knowing transportation costs knew these were outrageous prices. Three hundred dalasi to go to Banjul and come back! I could get you there, round trip, for fewer than thirty. Granted, some tourists want this expensive trip for a variety of different reasons. Either they think that’s the normal price, don’t know how far Banjul is (and for the distance it’s not a bad price in American terms), or are afraid or nervous on taking Public Transportation.
We had an hour to kill before the meeting and we spent that hour laying by the pool and checking out the general vicinity. I never knew the hotel had a life-size chess board or even an observatory for astronomy, which unfortunately was closed.
We sat reminiscing about college, telling stories about Freshman year, how we didn’t even know we were from Holland until the very last night, and the past few years and how things have changed. From struggling to solve calculus problems freshman year to struggling to finding careers. Our biggest worry then was midterms and finals, now it’s bills and paying off student loans.
Down the stairs of the main building to the hotel was the conference room that would hold the meeting. Another woman was waiting to enter. Only a half-hour late the meeting started. The men, and women, took their seats around the table while Dave and I sat in the back part. A log book was passed around for the visitors to sign, and I looked through it to see if any other Peace Corps volunteers had attended a Rotary Meeting recently. Vickie and Mirlene were the only two that I found. We both signed our name, got our drink, and waited the meeting to begin. Dave told me later it was not like the rotary meetings in the US, this one was dry and spoke mostly of business and finances. The meetings in the US are livelier as those business aspects are taking care of earlier by the officers.
At the end of the meeting Dave gave a little presentation presenting the Holland Rotary flag to them in exchange for a flag of their own. While he presented them with the flag I took a snapshot so he could bring those back his club in Holland. They didn’t have a flag on hand in return and promised to mail one to either Dave in the US or me here in Banjul. To date, I haven’t received it on my end and I doubt Dave has either on his.
We took a taxi back to the Peace Corps Office, to get his camera, and walked back to my house for the night.
posted by Mike | 5:41 PM
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