1/6/05
THURSDAY
JANUARY 6, 2005
I wanted to show Dave the usual place where I get my breakfast. It was just an ordinary bidick a few blocks away, which also doubled as a telecenter called “Barry’s Telecenter.” The location was perfect for them, being in the intersection of two secondary dirt roads, and they received a larger-than-normal amount of customers because of that. Only two guys, Alagie and Amadou, who start each day at five in the morning and end at one in the morning every morning, run the business. For most of the day they are working side-by-side, each one serving every-other customer. During the morning and late afternoon they are extremely busy making sandwiches. Most bidicks in town the fresh bread only arrives once in the day, in the morning. This business is doing so well that they get two fresh shipments, once in the morning, around seven, and another one twelve hours later. I have become a regular customer that, other than greeting them in the morning, I do not have say another word and I get my breakfast: a loaf of bread with potatos, eggs, mayonnaise, and a dash of Maggi spice. The added spice is just from a bouillon cube, and advertisements for Maggi can be found all over West Africa. Every morning I pay them twelve dalasi for their sandwich and eat it on the way to the office, or back home, depending on the schedule for the day.
Dave waited for me to run back home to get more money, as I forgot I had to pay for two people for the rest of the day. Arriving back at “Barry’s Telecenter” Dave had already paid for the sandwiches and was waiting on the half-decayed bench outside. Total bill for two sandwiches was less than a dollar.
Although people were interested the previous day in going to Abuko, the past twenty-four hours had changed some minds. When we arrived at the office only Nate, Tatjana and Andrea were there. Tatjana and Andrea had already seen Abuko during training, a fortunate circumstance which we did not have the opportunity. That left only Nate.
“Nate, do you want to go to Abuko?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Now. Well, in five minutes or so if you want to come.”
“Ah, Ok”
We got another person! Nate’s father was coming into town in a few days and Abuko was one of the Nature reserves he wanted to show him. Nate agreed to come along so the next time he would know how to get there while showing his father. Nate’s Wolof is one of the best in the country and he’s been compiling a database of proverbs and sayings in Wolof, along with jokes. His compilation is already over 4,000 general words; not to mention specific words relating to food, body parts, house, clothing, etc which he put separately for easy access. My favorite was that if you don’t believe someone you could say (in wolof) “Agreement over swollen testicles is only reached when the pants are dropped.” Its English equivalent? “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
From the office us three got a local taxi to Westfield and then grabbed a gelli-gelli going to Brikama, which Abuko would be a drop off. Throughout the half-hour ride Nate was talking to the passengers, with a few turning their heads trying to get a look at this toubob who speaks their local language. He explained who we were and why Dave only spoke English and me only “tutti rek” (small only). The day before I had called Scott explaining the one extra we had and if he would still be willing to be our guide. Scott said he would be there in the late morning, around 11 am, and we should just tell the guards to get him when we arrived.
The guard at the entrance of the park knew who Scott was, or more correctly, who Mussa Sanneh was; but he was in a meeting still and wouldn’t be out until later. Nate threw in some of his Wollof, while I showed my Peace Corps ID and we got in as a resident. Dave had to pay twice as much.
Walking across the park, we stayed on the trail and hadn’t seen any monkeys yet. We arrived at the “Charles Darwin Nature Reserve” and were able to see crocodiles in the distance, along with a few varieties of birds. Some bird watchers from Europe had the long camera lens to zoom in as close as possible and get a picture of the Speckled Thick-Knee or Northern-Carmine Bee-eater. We just pointed, clicked our cameras and said, “cool birds!”
Continuing around the park we passed the dens where the hyenas were located and a few of captive monkeys. Most of the monkeys that were caged were female. The male monkeys, still wild, would sometimes just come out of the wild and sit by the fence for hours.
Halfway through the park a man came up to us and tried to be our guide. He took us ten feet over to some more caged up monkeys, told some story and then asked for small donation. It was just a ploy to get some free handouts. Even the craftsmen selling wooden items and souvenirs in the middle of the park said they made their own stuff and that it would be good price. I found out later by Scott that some of them actually do make their own crafts, but when they tried selling you a bracelet for thirty dalasi where you know you can get it for five elsewhere you know their “good price” is “good for me price.”
We never did run into Scott, but we did see a lot monkeys, which was just as good. I promised Dave he was guaranteed to see monkeys. I never made it to Abuko before, but if this somehow failed I would have taken him to the small monkey park we just saw the entrance too yesterday. I’ve been to that place twice and you can even play small games with the monkeys there’s so many. A month previous Doug ’taught’ the monkeys a game of copying his drawings in the sand with a stick. He would draw a straight then, they would copy. Back and forth.
At the exit we got more vendors trying to sell their woodcarvings, or half rotten fruits and vegetables. We said no to all of them and crossed the street to get a ride back to Westfield.
We dropped Nate off at Westfield while we continued to Banjul. The entrance to Banjul is towered by the Arch 22. The arch was built for, and commemorates, Jammeh’s bloodless coup to the presidency on July 22, 1994. Technically speaking, it was not a coup. At the time Jammeh was a 29 year old lieutenant who was burdened by finances, like the rest of his comrades, due to lack of payments. The protest he organized was announced as a coup and the president at the time, President Jawara, fled to an American naval ship docked off shore Banjul. Seeing no one was in power when he entered the Presidential Palace Jammeh took control. For a few years after the government was military and it wasn’t until, due to outside persuasion from other countries, a democratic election did Jammeh get elected President by a vote.
We got off near the entrance to the city and went up the arch. The four supporting columns are big enough that one of them has a stairs and the other an elevator. Like most things, there is a fee to get in. D15 if you’re a resident, D50 if you’re a tourist. The guard wanted to charge me the tourist price.
“I am not a tourist!”
“You live here?”
“Yes. I live in Kombo. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.”
“So you act like a guide?”
“Yes. I know Banjul. I know the Arch. I am not paying a tourist price.”
It went back and forth for a few minutes before he granted me the dollar discount. Dave still had to pay the tourist price. The stairs were a spiral staircase. The first floor we could get off was a museum and gift shop. It was poorly lit, had little items, and the check out girl was nowhere to be found. We continued up the stairs to the second floor. This had a very small restaurant, where you could get cold soft drinks for five times what they’re worth. Across the restaurant is the walkway between the two arches, where you could relax and watch the city drive by around you. We continued one more flight to the next, and last, flight. It consisted of more museum items; some obviously fake (after living here you recognize immediately what’s for the tourists). In the corner they even had the steel chair that Jammeh had sat on when he took control of the country, with a picture of the moment above on the wall.
On either side of the museum were two sets of stairs that led to the viewing area. The space was only big enough for five people maximum. Looking through one, southward, you saw the cars entering Banjul along its only highway and the cars exited the city. In front of the Arch is a huge roundabout, with a statue commemorating the bloodless coup, which all traffic have to circle around to get either in or out of the city. The statue is a military soldier holding a baby, signifying that we are safe in the hands of the military.
Looking north you look down upon the entire city, an island. In the far distance you can see the ferries shuffling back and forth from Banjul to the north bank. Only three buildings are dominant in that view. The Grand Mosque, located two blocks away from the Arch, towers over all the other buildings. The next is the radio antenna halfway across town that acts as a good indicator for directions when lost. The third, to the far end of town, was the Central Bank. The Central Statistics, where I worked for six months, was located on the top floor of that building, floor number five, before the offices were moved to Westfield.
After the Arch we walked all the way across Banjul to go to Ali Baba’s, my usual place for lunch in Banjul. I ordered a banana-milk shake. The whole place stopped when this one woman walked in wearing a skin-tight red dress. That never happened before! I was especially shocked because this was a Muslim country and most women pride themselves by not showing off, as is the custom for the religion. In strict muslim countries the women must be completely covered, with seeing through a veil. Maybe this woman was Christian, or a non-practising muslim, but it sure caused a stir! All conversations within the restaurant ceased until she left. In the US, this might have caused a few turned heads but nothing out of the ordinary. Here, in The Gambia, this was the equivalent of seeing a flying elephant down Time’s Square.
Some of the women volunteers don’t understand why the women have to cover up because it is the men who feel ashamed of looking or feeling desire. “They should just not look!” one female volunteer said, “why is it the women’s fault if the men can’t control themselves!”
During the meal Dave had to take his daily malaria pill. However, he accidentally dropped it and gave up searching for it after a few seconds.
“I don’t think the five-second rule applies here.”
“Yeah. Well, we’d have the five-minute rule.”
His point was that The Gambia was dirtier than in the US and he wouldn’t stick anything in his mouth that was on the floor for even a second. After living here, and knowing how dirty things can truly get, having something lying on the floor for five seconds is nothing. We eat peanuts off the ground while walking. Once you’ve eaten goat intestines with your hands, taking a pill off the ground pales in comparison.
After lunch as we walked down the dirty streets of Banjul I heard my name being called. It was Sarjo, the security officer in charge of Peace Corps. He was sitting inside a telecenter and Dave and I went inside to talk. Sarjo and I have a teasing relationship and each trying to ‘arrest’ the other one.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
“I’m on vacation. This is Dave, my friend, from the US.”
“No, no. No vacation for you.”
“It seems like you’re on vacation.”
“Yes, I can have vacation; but you, no. You must go to the post office.”
“Actually that’s where we’re going right now. Well, to the market behind it.”
“You’re showing him the market.”
“Yes, I figured he would like it.”
To Dave, “Don’t trust this boy. He is a criminal!”
“I’ll arrest you!”
“Get out of here!”
We continued along behind the post office to the market. At one stall we both saw a thinking-man statue that obviously stood out from all the rest. There was some character in the statue, some quality absent from the others - as if the maker added a little personal touch to it. Whatever it was, it was just enough to make it unique. I told Dave if he wasn’t going to buy it I would. He bought it so I took a picture of it with the seller holding it so I would have a reference to go back to in six months. His first offer was D1500. Thirty dollars! We got him down to D1200 which included more smaller statues as well.
After we bought the item, and wrapped it up in his bag we exited the market to head back to Kombo. We got in the local buses going to Westfield and then another one going to Bakau. Usually they would stop a few blocks away from Laybatos and we would just walk, but it turned shortly, because of construction, and went on towards Bakau. We got off and got on yet another vehicle, which ended up being the same one we got off on and continued down the route and got dropped off right on the corner.
Before we left Banjul, though, we tried calling Rebecca a few times, using multiple telecenters. Finally, on the third try Dave got through and was able to tell her we would be leaving the next day.
At Laybatos for dinner again we ran into Matt, Alexei and Nate (a different one than before). We had dinner consisting of vegetable pizzas. While we ate Dave went to the counter and bought a paper-made journal to give to Rebecca. The journals were locally made and all proceeds go to school children in the greater Banjul area. Also at the counter they could exchange money, so he gave me $60 so far for all that I’ve paid for since arriving in The Gambia.
After dinner we left and then went shopping for Rebecca. At St. Mary’s he bought a bottle of wine and now needed a box to put it in. Near the entrance / exit were a stack of boxes so we tried each one individually until we found one that box of the wine and book fit into and headed back home to get a few hours of sleep.
JANUARY 6, 2005
I wanted to show Dave the usual place where I get my breakfast. It was just an ordinary bidick a few blocks away, which also doubled as a telecenter called “Barry’s Telecenter.” The location was perfect for them, being in the intersection of two secondary dirt roads, and they received a larger-than-normal amount of customers because of that. Only two guys, Alagie and Amadou, who start each day at five in the morning and end at one in the morning every morning, run the business. For most of the day they are working side-by-side, each one serving every-other customer. During the morning and late afternoon they are extremely busy making sandwiches. Most bidicks in town the fresh bread only arrives once in the day, in the morning. This business is doing so well that they get two fresh shipments, once in the morning, around seven, and another one twelve hours later. I have become a regular customer that, other than greeting them in the morning, I do not have say another word and I get my breakfast: a loaf of bread with potatos, eggs, mayonnaise, and a dash of Maggi spice. The added spice is just from a bouillon cube, and advertisements for Maggi can be found all over West Africa. Every morning I pay them twelve dalasi for their sandwich and eat it on the way to the office, or back home, depending on the schedule for the day.
Dave waited for me to run back home to get more money, as I forgot I had to pay for two people for the rest of the day. Arriving back at “Barry’s Telecenter” Dave had already paid for the sandwiches and was waiting on the half-decayed bench outside. Total bill for two sandwiches was less than a dollar.
Although people were interested the previous day in going to Abuko, the past twenty-four hours had changed some minds. When we arrived at the office only Nate, Tatjana and Andrea were there. Tatjana and Andrea had already seen Abuko during training, a fortunate circumstance which we did not have the opportunity. That left only Nate.
“Nate, do you want to go to Abuko?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Now. Well, in five minutes or so if you want to come.”
“Ah, Ok”
We got another person! Nate’s father was coming into town in a few days and Abuko was one of the Nature reserves he wanted to show him. Nate agreed to come along so the next time he would know how to get there while showing his father. Nate’s Wolof is one of the best in the country and he’s been compiling a database of proverbs and sayings in Wolof, along with jokes. His compilation is already over 4,000 general words; not to mention specific words relating to food, body parts, house, clothing, etc which he put separately for easy access. My favorite was that if you don’t believe someone you could say (in wolof) “Agreement over swollen testicles is only reached when the pants are dropped.” Its English equivalent? “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
From the office us three got a local taxi to Westfield and then grabbed a gelli-gelli going to Brikama, which Abuko would be a drop off. Throughout the half-hour ride Nate was talking to the passengers, with a few turning their heads trying to get a look at this toubob who speaks their local language. He explained who we were and why Dave only spoke English and me only “tutti rek” (small only). The day before I had called Scott explaining the one extra we had and if he would still be willing to be our guide. Scott said he would be there in the late morning, around 11 am, and we should just tell the guards to get him when we arrived.
The guard at the entrance of the park knew who Scott was, or more correctly, who Mussa Sanneh was; but he was in a meeting still and wouldn’t be out until later. Nate threw in some of his Wollof, while I showed my Peace Corps ID and we got in as a resident. Dave had to pay twice as much.
Walking across the park, we stayed on the trail and hadn’t seen any monkeys yet. We arrived at the “Charles Darwin Nature Reserve” and were able to see crocodiles in the distance, along with a few varieties of birds. Some bird watchers from Europe had the long camera lens to zoom in as close as possible and get a picture of the Speckled Thick-Knee or Northern-Carmine Bee-eater. We just pointed, clicked our cameras and said, “cool birds!”
Continuing around the park we passed the dens where the hyenas were located and a few of captive monkeys. Most of the monkeys that were caged were female. The male monkeys, still wild, would sometimes just come out of the wild and sit by the fence for hours.
Halfway through the park a man came up to us and tried to be our guide. He took us ten feet over to some more caged up monkeys, told some story and then asked for small donation. It was just a ploy to get some free handouts. Even the craftsmen selling wooden items and souvenirs in the middle of the park said they made their own stuff and that it would be good price. I found out later by Scott that some of them actually do make their own crafts, but when they tried selling you a bracelet for thirty dalasi where you know you can get it for five elsewhere you know their “good price” is “good for me price.”
We never did run into Scott, but we did see a lot monkeys, which was just as good. I promised Dave he was guaranteed to see monkeys. I never made it to Abuko before, but if this somehow failed I would have taken him to the small monkey park we just saw the entrance too yesterday. I’ve been to that place twice and you can even play small games with the monkeys there’s so many. A month previous Doug ’taught’ the monkeys a game of copying his drawings in the sand with a stick. He would draw a straight then, they would copy. Back and forth.
At the exit we got more vendors trying to sell their woodcarvings, or half rotten fruits and vegetables. We said no to all of them and crossed the street to get a ride back to Westfield.
We dropped Nate off at Westfield while we continued to Banjul. The entrance to Banjul is towered by the Arch 22. The arch was built for, and commemorates, Jammeh’s bloodless coup to the presidency on July 22, 1994. Technically speaking, it was not a coup. At the time Jammeh was a 29 year old lieutenant who was burdened by finances, like the rest of his comrades, due to lack of payments. The protest he organized was announced as a coup and the president at the time, President Jawara, fled to an American naval ship docked off shore Banjul. Seeing no one was in power when he entered the Presidential Palace Jammeh took control. For a few years after the government was military and it wasn’t until, due to outside persuasion from other countries, a democratic election did Jammeh get elected President by a vote.
We got off near the entrance to the city and went up the arch. The four supporting columns are big enough that one of them has a stairs and the other an elevator. Like most things, there is a fee to get in. D15 if you’re a resident, D50 if you’re a tourist. The guard wanted to charge me the tourist price.
“I am not a tourist!”
“You live here?”
“Yes. I live in Kombo. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.”
“So you act like a guide?”
“Yes. I know Banjul. I know the Arch. I am not paying a tourist price.”
It went back and forth for a few minutes before he granted me the dollar discount. Dave still had to pay the tourist price. The stairs were a spiral staircase. The first floor we could get off was a museum and gift shop. It was poorly lit, had little items, and the check out girl was nowhere to be found. We continued up the stairs to the second floor. This had a very small restaurant, where you could get cold soft drinks for five times what they’re worth. Across the restaurant is the walkway between the two arches, where you could relax and watch the city drive by around you. We continued one more flight to the next, and last, flight. It consisted of more museum items; some obviously fake (after living here you recognize immediately what’s for the tourists). In the corner they even had the steel chair that Jammeh had sat on when he took control of the country, with a picture of the moment above on the wall.
On either side of the museum were two sets of stairs that led to the viewing area. The space was only big enough for five people maximum. Looking through one, southward, you saw the cars entering Banjul along its only highway and the cars exited the city. In front of the Arch is a huge roundabout, with a statue commemorating the bloodless coup, which all traffic have to circle around to get either in or out of the city. The statue is a military soldier holding a baby, signifying that we are safe in the hands of the military.
Looking north you look down upon the entire city, an island. In the far distance you can see the ferries shuffling back and forth from Banjul to the north bank. Only three buildings are dominant in that view. The Grand Mosque, located two blocks away from the Arch, towers over all the other buildings. The next is the radio antenna halfway across town that acts as a good indicator for directions when lost. The third, to the far end of town, was the Central Bank. The Central Statistics, where I worked for six months, was located on the top floor of that building, floor number five, before the offices were moved to Westfield.
After the Arch we walked all the way across Banjul to go to Ali Baba’s, my usual place for lunch in Banjul. I ordered a banana-milk shake. The whole place stopped when this one woman walked in wearing a skin-tight red dress. That never happened before! I was especially shocked because this was a Muslim country and most women pride themselves by not showing off, as is the custom for the religion. In strict muslim countries the women must be completely covered, with seeing through a veil. Maybe this woman was Christian, or a non-practising muslim, but it sure caused a stir! All conversations within the restaurant ceased until she left. In the US, this might have caused a few turned heads but nothing out of the ordinary. Here, in The Gambia, this was the equivalent of seeing a flying elephant down Time’s Square.
Some of the women volunteers don’t understand why the women have to cover up because it is the men who feel ashamed of looking or feeling desire. “They should just not look!” one female volunteer said, “why is it the women’s fault if the men can’t control themselves!”
During the meal Dave had to take his daily malaria pill. However, he accidentally dropped it and gave up searching for it after a few seconds.
“I don’t think the five-second rule applies here.”
“Yeah. Well, we’d have the five-minute rule.”
His point was that The Gambia was dirtier than in the US and he wouldn’t stick anything in his mouth that was on the floor for even a second. After living here, and knowing how dirty things can truly get, having something lying on the floor for five seconds is nothing. We eat peanuts off the ground while walking. Once you’ve eaten goat intestines with your hands, taking a pill off the ground pales in comparison.
After lunch as we walked down the dirty streets of Banjul I heard my name being called. It was Sarjo, the security officer in charge of Peace Corps. He was sitting inside a telecenter and Dave and I went inside to talk. Sarjo and I have a teasing relationship and each trying to ‘arrest’ the other one.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
“I’m on vacation. This is Dave, my friend, from the US.”
“No, no. No vacation for you.”
“It seems like you’re on vacation.”
“Yes, I can have vacation; but you, no. You must go to the post office.”
“Actually that’s where we’re going right now. Well, to the market behind it.”
“You’re showing him the market.”
“Yes, I figured he would like it.”
To Dave, “Don’t trust this boy. He is a criminal!”
“I’ll arrest you!”
“Get out of here!”
We continued along behind the post office to the market. At one stall we both saw a thinking-man statue that obviously stood out from all the rest. There was some character in the statue, some quality absent from the others - as if the maker added a little personal touch to it. Whatever it was, it was just enough to make it unique. I told Dave if he wasn’t going to buy it I would. He bought it so I took a picture of it with the seller holding it so I would have a reference to go back to in six months. His first offer was D1500. Thirty dollars! We got him down to D1200 which included more smaller statues as well.
After we bought the item, and wrapped it up in his bag we exited the market to head back to Kombo. We got in the local buses going to Westfield and then another one going to Bakau. Usually they would stop a few blocks away from Laybatos and we would just walk, but it turned shortly, because of construction, and went on towards Bakau. We got off and got on yet another vehicle, which ended up being the same one we got off on and continued down the route and got dropped off right on the corner.
Before we left Banjul, though, we tried calling Rebecca a few times, using multiple telecenters. Finally, on the third try Dave got through and was able to tell her we would be leaving the next day.
At Laybatos for dinner again we ran into Matt, Alexei and Nate (a different one than before). We had dinner consisting of vegetable pizzas. While we ate Dave went to the counter and bought a paper-made journal to give to Rebecca. The journals were locally made and all proceeds go to school children in the greater Banjul area. Also at the counter they could exchange money, so he gave me $60 so far for all that I’ve paid for since arriving in The Gambia.
After dinner we left and then went shopping for Rebecca. At St. Mary’s he bought a bottle of wine and now needed a box to put it in. Near the entrance / exit were a stack of boxes so we tried each one individually until we found one that box of the wine and book fit into and headed back home to get a few hours of sleep.
posted by Mike | 5:53 PM
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