Tobaski

WEDNESDAY

For Tobaski I knew I wanted to celebrate it upcountry. There was nothing wrong with last year, celebrating it in Kombo, but I realized that not only was this my last Tobaski I did not have a lot of village pictures let alone ones where they slaughter a ram. A disadvantage of living in the city I guess. I visited Kelly before, back in March, for a weekend and so I asked if it would be fine to visit again only this time a little longer and during a Muslim holiday. He asked his host-family whether it was all right and when he was down in Kombo for his 30th birthday celebration he told me it was o.k. Tobaski was on the following Friday.

The festival itself is only called Tobaski in Senegal and The Gambia. Everywhere else it is called Eid-Ul-Adha. It is the celebrations of their prophet Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son since Allah commanded it and on this day Muslims sacrifice a ram in remembrance of Abraham's faith in Allah.

My classes that I taught were both on Monday and Wednesdays, back to back. During the Monday lecture I told them that yes, there will be class this Wednesday but none the following Monday due to Tobaski. On Wednesday I showed up to my first class, Basic Statistics, which only about eight students were there. I taught permutations and combinations, which for most of the students were review. Since very few people where there in class and continuing to give new material was relatively useless for the last half-hour or so I held a General Q/A session which could act as a review session for them. Near the end one student raised his hand.

"Mr. Sheppard. Are you celebrating Tobaski?"
"I am. I'm celebrating it with a friend upcountry."
"Upcountry?"
"Yes."
"You haven't left yet? Transport is very difficult."
"I'll leave tomorrow. The first ferry."
"You're taking the ferry!"
At that moment I had gotten a little nervous with his anxiousness, as he continued, "Mr. Sheppard. There are people sleeping in line to get on the first ferry. Any ferry! Some won't make it for Tobaski."
I did not know that, but I hid my surprise and just said: "Well, we'll see what happens."

Between my Statistics class and my math class I had an hour break. This was enough time for me to go home, since it is on the way, and rest for a half-hour before leaving again to teach. When I got home I set my alarm to get a quick catnap. I slept through the alarm and woke up at the time class was supposed to start and I raced out the door, this being the first time I was ever late. On the way to the University I passed all my students walking away as they had waited five minutes before calling it good and leaving, and I was already ten minutes late. They asked if we should all go back, but I told them no and wished them a happy Tobaski.

After canceling my last class of the week I walked on to the Peace Corps office and asked the receptionist his point of view:

"Famara, how bad is the ferry terminal?"
"The ferry. Oh man, it is very hard. You're going upcountry?"
"Yeah. I was thinking of getting the first ferry tomorrow."
"The first ferry? Good luck, man."
Thanks…

When I reached the computer lab I found another surprise as Tatjana was in town. This was a surprise for a few reasons, as she lived upcountry and I thought most people would want to celebrate Tobaski in their home village, yet she was here, and she had to take the ferry to cross over; granted, from the other side.

"Hey, Tat! You're here for Tobaski?"
"No. I'm here just here for the day. Thinking of going back either tomorrow or on Friday."
"I'm thinking of leaving tomorrow. How was the ferry?"
"You're going upcountry?"
"Yeah, to Kelly's site"
"Oh! The ferry was packed! It wasn't so much coming into Kombo since I was going against the flow but on the Banjul side there were people lined up all the way to the bank which is near the Post Office." That distance was about a ten-minute walk, or about a kilometer. That was a long line!

My only hope was that I could think of was that our Foreign Affairs Identity Card had enough clout to bypass the line. I brought it up with Sarjo, our security officer, who did not give a definite answer but said I could give it a try.

Later that night I visited the Hostel and had another surprise as Erik was in town. This was more of a surprise then seeing Tatjana since Erik was usually at his site a lot more than the average volunteer, and was rare to see him out of his site, especially near a Muslim holiday. Tatjana was also there and we agreed to leave together tomorrow morning, but not the first ferry as both of us would rather leave later with someone else going with them then early by themselves.

While we sat and talked Erik told the story of how he arrived in Kombo. He was casually waiting at the side of the road for transport to come when a group of Swedish tourists drove by who thought he was either trapped or lost and picked him up. He made sure not to correct them, and got a free ride to Kombo on private transportation.

Wendy and Ed also were there at the Hostel and so us three went out to dinner at a local African restaurant that was down the block. The chairs were outside, the restaurant contained only three plastic tables, the entrance to the restaurant was just a room from the house, and the cooks were the family members cooking it next door in their kitchen.

I sat down and ate my Ox-Tail soup while listening to Wendy and Ed's stories. Both had worked in the medical field for a while; Wendy in the ER and Ed for a private ambulance service. They shared their stories of people calling in for an ambulance just to get a free ride or a bed for the night. The biggest surprise of the night was how the private ambulance workers got paid. Their pay each week was variable as it depended on how many trips they took and how long they took between each trip. This was illustrated with the following example: When they transferred a patient from one hospital to another the clock started when they arrived at the first hospital. After checking vitals and signing for the patient into their care they transferred the patient into the ambulance and radioed in "Patient in Transit" in which the clock stopped. Transport between hospitals was not timed. On arrival of the new hospital they again radioed in that they had arrived and the clock started up again as they transferred the patient from their care to the hospitals. After the transfer of care was completed they radioed back to headquarters that the patient was delivered. The total time of pickup and drop-off, excluding transport, had to be less than 34 minutes. Take the total time you were clocked for the week and divide that by the total number of drop-offs you did. If that number was more than 34 minutes your pay was deducted; if it was less, you got a pay raise for that week.

This had the unfortunate consequence of some medics signing for the patient into their care before they took vitals. After they transferred the patient into the ambulance and radioed in that they were in transit and the clock stopped it was only then they took vitals in the still parked vehicle. By protocol you are not supposed to sign for a patient into your care without doing a complete set of vitals. If the vitals are not good the patient is still in the care of the hospital and can be treated by them. Once you sign that form the patient is now in your care. On occasion some of the inefficient medics , according to the company, to save a few precious minutes, took their first set of vitals while still in the parked ambulance. With that comes the possibility that the patient might crash and you are forced to bring the patient back into the Emergency Room of the hospital that your van is still parked in the entrance of. All this so their pay would not get deducted for a few extra minutes.

Contrast this to another scenario: A patient, who has a record of calling in frivolous claims in order for that free meal and bed, calls in reporting an injury that is considered a trauma. By regulations the medic has to have the patient in a neck brace on arrival of the hospital, and by hospital regulations only a doctor is qualified to take off a neck brace. Now, despite the ER being busy, the medic will wait until a doctor arrives, assesses the patient, takes the neck brace off, and then proceeds to yell at the medic for wasting his time for this frivolous claim. Pay deduction or not, since they are on the clock, they will wait as long as it takes for a doctor to arrive, as they would rather get a pay deduction then have the possibility of being a defendant in a lawsuit since they had an unqualified person, either themselves or a nurse, take a neck brace off a trauma patient.

I learned a lot in those two hours.


THURSDAY

The next morning I got up at the usual time of 7:30 and took a shower, although 99% of the time when traveling upcountry I do not even bother since you will get exponentially dirtier then the day before just by traveling down the Gambian roads. However, that day my travels would consist of only the ferry and an hour's ride on paved roads.

I arrived at the office at a quarter to nine and Tatjana and Ed were already there. This being Friday meant we could get free transportation to Banjul if they went to go get the mail. However, as I was going upcountry, and even though Tatjana needed to go the post office, there was no way to bring back the mail and therefore no free transportation since no mail would be delivered back to the office. That problem was solved when we persuaded Ed to come along solely for bringing the mail back to the office, so Tatjana and I would not have to pay a total of 22 dalasi to get to the ferry terminal. As we passed Famara on the way out he made the comment, "Watch your wallet, and your glasses. It's a mad-house at the ferry terminal!" I had not seen the terminal yet but already began to dread what we would expect on arrival.

Ed did not carry a backpack with him, as he did not expect to be going anywhere that morning, and so he brought the entire out-box with him to bring back any letters Peace Corps might receive that day. Also in car was Samanka, another Peace Corps driver, who was also going upcountry but had a few errands to run in Banjul before catching the ferry. John let Samanka out where he wanted to go, and then parked the car a few blocks away from the Post Office. All three of us got out of the car and headed to the Post Office, but Tatjana and I lagged behind Ed who took off as if his it was the 2004 Summer Olympic Games. By the time Tatjana and I leisurely arrived at the entrance Ed came out and passed without saying more than five words, "Nothing. No mail. See you," as he walked back to the car as quickly as he left.

Tatjana's boyfriend, Jason, had visited a few weeks back and was intrigued about the local editor that was killed. The Gambian Government, despite heavy protests from journalists and editors from domestic and international sources, had passed a law back in December that would sentence jail terms for journalists found guilty of libel or sedition. One of the press law's leading critics, the editor of private newspaper The Point, was shot dead days after the law was passed. Throughout the capital area there were protests to find the murderer, but the police, due to government pressure, closed the case as unsolved. Back in the US Jason teaches Civics Class and wanted Tatjana to mail him current newspapers that dealt with the issue.

We finished mailing her items, bought a couple sandwiches wrapped in old newspapers, and walked towards the terminal. Most of the long lines that I heard about the day before were no longer there, but the cars stretched farther than what they were before. The end of the line of people was about two blocks away from the terminal.

We were about to just stand in line when someone came up from behind and said, "Here. Come! Crossing the ferry? We have canoe. Leave now!"
We asked the question, "How much?"

His response of "D25" caused us to look at each other questioning what the other person thought of the deal. Although it was five times more than the price of the ferry we were able to leave immediately and that made the best impression. With the long line behind us we accepted his deal and he showed us behind the buildings to the water's edge. There was a big canoe, fitting about 20 people, that was going to leave as soon as it was filled. One man bent down and lifted Tatjana onto his shoulders to carry her across the water to the canoe, so she would not get wet. Another man came up to me to do the same, but I told him to wait while I quickly got my camera out of my bag and took a picture of Tatjana being carried as getting one of myself was impossible. When we were safely on the canoe the two men that carried us asked for a tip. Tatjana had her money more accessible then I did and held out the first two bills she found, a ten and a 25. She offered them the ten, but the man on seeing there was a 25 in her hand said "No, the other one!" She was on a boat to go across the river that was going to leave in one minute as opposed to waiting in line for hours; she gave them the 25. That was the first time I was ever carried on someone's shoulders to get on a boat.



The long waits and dreaded ferry I had despaired on using turned into the most fun crossing I have had to date. As we crossed we ate the bean sandwiches we bought earlier and enjoyed the breeze and the occasional water splashing onto board as we traveled across the river. A half-hour later we were at the other side and was once again carried to the mainland. If I had thought about it I would have had Tatjana take a picture of me being carried out of water's way, but did not think of it.

Our canoe arrived at the north bank terminal the same time as the ferry that left before us. Granted, that was not the ferry we would have been on, but with hundreds of people now trying to get cars at the car park it was going to be hectic to say the least. I was going to Kuntair, a few villages before Kerewan, which was a major transportation hub, while Tatjana's village, Njaba Kunda, was between Kerewan and Farafenni which was the end of the line. If I wanted I could have ridden with her on a car to Farafenni, pay more for the ride but have company, and just get off early at Kuntair or I could ride in a separate car to Kerewan and get off at the same point but pay less; I choose the latter. As I looked for cars going to Kerewan Tatjana tried to find a car going to Farafenni. Ten minutes later we gave up, for strike number one

With that day being the equivalent of American Thanksgiving and with the problem that very few people in The Gambia have their own private vehicle, all the public transportation vehicles were full. It was a few minutes later that I realized I did not have a present to present to his family, as custom called for it when you arrive after a long absence. A packet of Kola nuts would be a welcomed thank-you gift to his family, as the people here are addicted to the caffeine-containing nut. I left Tatjana again to find some of these bitter tasting nuts. A local kid escorted me for a few dalasi and showed me where they were being sold at, which was a middle-aged man with a huge rice bag full of kola nuts in which he used a cheap scale with dead weights to measure either a half kilogram or one kilogram of weight depending on your liking. For D40 I bought a half-kilogram of this local favorite in which he wrapped them in a bag for me to take away. A few minutes later the same kid that showed me where the kola nut seller was found a vehicle going to Kerewan. I did not have enough time to find Tatjana again, but it really did not matter since she was not getting on this vehicle, so I paid the kid the spare change I had, four dalasi, and scrambled into the now filled up vehicle.

While I casually sat in my seat I watched other people act not so casual to get a seat. Arguments arose over items placed on an available spot, over whether another person could fit in that spot, once it was agreed upon someone could fit people were pushing to got into that spot, and the baby next to the spot on his mother lap started crying. What a way to start a trip! A little over an hour we arrived at Kuntair and I told the driver to stop, which caused some passengers surprise as this was a village and not a town. Does the toubob know what he is doing? Yes, he does. I tried to get out, but the van is too crowded and I had no choice but to kick my feet loose an occasion, kicking some passengers along with it.

At the edge of town and to the right of the road was Kelly's compound, being the last compound before Kuntair Senior Secondary School, in which he taught. I walked over to his compound and entered, to the delight of the four women that were there, but Kelly was nowhere in sight and his door was locked. Although I had been to Kuntair before, in March, I had forgotten who his host-mother was and judging by ages of the women I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the right one as two were the right age, with the other two being either too young or too old. I greeted one of the two I thought was his host-mother and she spoke English well enough that I could talk to her. The social blunder came when I greeted the other two women, who were sitting next to each other on the floor. One was an elder woman and the other was about the right age to be his host-mother, in fact, it was his host-mother. I asked both their names and Isatou laughed when I did not recognize her. In all, there was Isatou, his host-mother; Binta, his host-sister; another Binta, the elder woman; and Adama, his host-sister-in-law.

Kelly's combination to his house is written in roman numerals by the entrance, as are most volunteers. This helps for when you get trapped for a day and need to crash at someone's site; or if you are just depositing mail for them, as is the usual case. Gambians are taught roman numerals in school, but just because they are taught it does not mean they learned it. The opinion of most volunteers are that the chances of someone in the village knowing roman numerals, that those roman numerals are the combination to the lock, and how to use those numbers to open the padlock is slim enough for them not to worry about their stuff being stolen. I decoded the numerals and opened the lock, before dropping my bag inside, and closing it up again in search for Kelly.

The younger Binta told me that Omar, which is Kelly's Gambian name, was in Memeh, which is his nearest site-mate, Derek’s, home village. To get from Kuntair to Memeh you simply walk down the street two blocks, turn left, and go two kilometers straight down a dirt road. However, I had to find out what Derek's Gambian name was as the location to his compound within the village was a bit hazy in my memory and I would probably have to stop for directions. Binta helped me out in that department and reminded me that his name was Malik Njie, therefore, if I got lost in Memeh all I had to do was ask where Malik lived. If that did not work, or no one understood me, I could ask usual "Peace Corps, toubob, where does the toubob live?" which usually worked as a last resort.

The elder Binta and Isatou were telling me that Memeh was too far, as it was two kilometers away and this was the middle of the day. I assured them it was not that far and if Omar or Malik were not in I would come back to Kuntair. Nonetheless they were worried about the poor toubob walking in the hot sun.

Luckily, all the preparation of asking for names and worrying about asking for directions was deemed unnecessary as I recognized a tree on entering Memeh that stood next to Derek's compound. When I entered I greeted the family members that I saw and asked if Malik was in, as his door was open but no one was inside. His host-brother said they went to the river, and having nothing to do but wait for them I went inside his hut to grab and book and brought it out to read while I waited. That lasted ten seconds before coming around the corner was not only Derek, but Kelly and Heidi as well.

Those three collectively are known as "The Bermuda Triangle". They are the closest site mates to one another, both being two kilometers away from either side of Kuntair and Kelly. That explains the Triangle part. The Bermuda arises from the fact that when those three people get together and start talking their conversations get weirder, crazier, and raunchier. Strange things can happen in the Bermuda Triangle.

While I sat and talked to Heidi, Derek tried to fix his bike, but instead just gave up and took both wheels off and put in the corner of his hut despite the suggestions of Kelly saying he could fix it if only they had some pliers and wrench. Derek eventually gave in and the pliers appeared, but his host-father had the rest of his tools and he did not want to ask for them back, and so Kelly was forced also to give up trying to fix the bike.

Before I had left Kuntair, Binta had told me to remind Kelly that lunch was going to be at two o'clock, and I told him that as it was now approaching two. As Derek stayed at his compound, Kelly, Heidi and I traveled back to Kuntair with Kelly walking his bike along. At Kelly's hut they gave him his lunch inside his hut, which was unusual since Kelly always eats with his family. The meal consisted of a bowl of rice with vegetable toppings and hot sauce, which Heidi did not have much of, not because of the sauce but because of the rice as she does not like rice.

In his hut was a car battery and equipment for a small solar polar set up. The panels themselves were on the roof of his hut and provided enough energy to run his lights in his hut, the lights in his host-father hut, and whatever else he needed to run such as a small fan or CD player. In the nine months he had the solar panels the batteries were always kept charged; however, due to a week of cloudy weather, and the locusts blocking the sun, the battery could not recharge and were dead. The closest place to charge the car battery was in Heidi's village of Ker Jarga Jobe, so we strapped the car battery on the back of his bike with a rubber strap and started towards Ker Jarga, with Kelly again walking his bike as Heidi and I walked alongside.

The distance from Kuntair to Ker Jarga is about the same from Kuntair to Memeh, just in the opposite direction and along the main road so it seemed longer. It only took about 15 minutes before we arrived in her village, in which we dropped the battery off at a bidick with high hopes of picking it up the next day with it being charged. After dropping the battery off we walked over to her compound and she introduced us to her family, before she lent me her bike so Kelly and I could ride back to Kuntair.

When we had arrived back at his house and set the bikes out back in his fenced in backyard, we had just enough daylight to play a game:

Kelly asked me, "Chess or Cribbage?"
"I don't know how to play Cribbage."
Again he asked the same question, without deviating in tone or suggestion, "Chess or Cribbage?"
With having nothing to lose in learning a new game I responded, "Cribbage."

He went inside his hut and got his cribbage board, which was wooden and had the holes drilled into it in the pattern of the number 29. Between the two digits of the number there were five cards displayed painted on the board: Five of Hearts, Five of Diamonds, Jack of Clubs, Five of Spades and a Five of Clubs by itself. On seeing the board and the display of cards I asked the most obvious question, "What's so special about 29?"

"See, that's why I like this board. It makes you ask the obvious questions! 29 is the highest number of points you can get in one hand."

"So I take it that's the best hand?" I said while pointing to the displayed hand on the board, and before he could answer yes I continued the question, "How is that equal to 29?"

He smiled and nodded, acknowledging that the answer was not as simple as he had hoped, "That'll take some explaining."

For the next half-hour we played my first game of Cribbage with Kelly explaining each rule as it came up. After that, and a few more games later that weekend, I now know why the Five, Five, Five, Jack and Five combination is the best hand (if the suit of the last Five matches the Jack) and yields the maximum number of 29 points:

eight times 15 for two = 16 points
six pairs for two = 12 points
one for the matching jack = one point
total points = 29

As the game progressed and I am getting more accustomed to the scoring I began to wonder what the average expected value for the hand should be if you played the game long enough. I brought it up to Kelly who guessed around eight points. When I got back to Kombo, after the weekend of Tobaski, I did a quick search on the internet and it ended being a relatively unsolved problem, mostly because of the complex strategies involved of discarding and all the permutations thereof - but the overall consensus was it was around eight points.

After we had played two games, in which I had lost both, we called it quits due to lack of light and waited for dinner to be served. We did not have to wait for long for dinner was on its way, a big bowl of coos, which I had not had since the last time I visited, and before that the last time was during training. The only time I have coos in The Gambia is when I go upcountry and particularly to someone's site. This is the same millet that used to make me sick during training, but I have grown accustomed to the taste over the year.



While Binta, Isatou, Bubba, ate the coos from the bowl with their hands, Kelly and I joined in while using a spoon. The elder Binta did not join in for some reason and the father rarely ate with the family, or if he did it was minimal at best. While most of the family was present during dinner, there were two exceptions, Essa and Adama, who were nowhere to be found. One particular thing about the foodbowl that still confuses Kelly to this day is that they are adamant of returning Kelly's spoon to him if he accidentally leaves it out. This is the same family that if he forgets his flashlight, it goes missing for a while and the same holds true for matches. However, for the spoon it's back within an hour and he does not know why the spoon, of all objects, possesses this unique trait.

When dinner was completed we either watched Bubba do the whole preset routine of brewing attaya, or we watched Isatou get prepared to apply henna tattoo to herself. At one point she needed another hand and had Kelly help strip a piece of tape lengthwise as she placed it across her foot. She again asked Kelly to make another strip that she wrapped similarly around each toe, as these were the areas she did not want the tattoo to appear to create contrasts between light and dark patterns on her skin.

When all the tape was finished and she was pleased with the mental picture she had of the possible outcome she took a bowl of what looked like green powder and started mixing water with it. The water made the powder congealed and was now a dough like substance. While the flashlight was between her head and shoulder she rubbed the dough, a little dab at a time, on her foot making sure not to get any on the prayer mat she was using to sit on. When she was finished she wrapped each foot individually in a plastic bag, tied it, and put a sock over each foot as the foot had to be covered over-night in order for the Henna to appear dark enough for their liking.

Bubba then served us the first round of attaya, then a second, and then a third as was the custom. Since I had the full three rounds of this green tea, sugar, and mint in boiled water I did not get any sleep that night. The whole process itself is very distinctive, as one must pour the tea from one glass to another a half-dozen times to mix it up. The whole three-glass ritual could take an hour or more easily, as it did this night.

Essa and his wife, Adama, live in the Kombo region and Essa worked right across the road from the Faculty Building of the University. His knowledge of the English language is better then most Americans, as was illustrated when Kelly wanted to know the difference between "give me" and "get for me" in Pulaar. The whole conversation took place in English as both Kelly and Essa would go back in forth with trying to find the Pulaar word for the present-perfect-tense or the future-perfect-progressive of different verbs and actions, while using those phrases of verb tenses in their discussion. While Essa explained the logistics of using the future-perfect-progressive in the Pulaar language I scratched my brain trying to remember what they were in English! This Walking-Encyclopedia of English and Pulaar Grammar and Vocabulary made Kelly point out:

"If Essa lived here, I would be fluent in Pulaar by now! I can ask him all these intricate questions of changing tenses, and describing things in the future, past, or present. Sometimes in the market my host-mother has to 'translate' for me what the villagers are saying. She still uses Pulaar but knows which words I know and don't know and so phrases them a bit differently. I could learn so much from Essa regarding proper Pulaar grammar!"

The highlight of the evening came when the younger Binta had to use the latrine. There are only a few latrines available on this side of the village, which are located at the school next to their house. Kelly actually has one in his background, by Peace Corps policy, but no one uses it except for himself and his guests. As Binta was getting up to leave and grabbed the water container Bubba yelled back to her, in Pulaar, "Say ‘Hello’ to Yahyah for me!"

Yahyah Jammeh is the President of The Gambia and his tenth year of being President was this past July with the motto being "celebrating ten years of progress," yet everything is worse now then it was ten years ago. In the US, Reagan won the 1980 election partially because he asked the question "Are you better off then you were four years ago?" Imaging changing that to ten years, answering no, and still there is nothing you can do about it since all opponents suddenly disappear or die.

Yahyah will either be President-for-life, or it will take another coup to oust him out of power. There are small opposition parties scattered across the country but the villages they are headquartered in gets zero help from the government and actually have to pay more taxes, fines, bribes, to function, mainly because they are an opposition. Their electric power is non-existent, despite having power ten years ago; the water supply has dwindled and corruption is high. That along helps discourage opposition parties from even forming, the backlash the organization would have on their friends, families, and the community as a whole.

Bubba’s joke made the entire compound burst into laughter.


FRIDAY

The early morning had begun with Bubba creeping around the hut and yelling through the closed window, "Omar. Omar. Omar!" at which time both Kelly and I woke up from the light sleep we had at that early of the morning, and Kelly yelled from his bed, "Yes!"

"I need to borrow your broom."
"I am sleeping. Where is your broom?"
"I cannot find it."

Not wanting to continue this discussion any further he just announced, "It is there somewhere" and went back to bed. This was not the end, however, when a few minutes later Kelly heard his host-mother ask Bubba why he did not ask Omar for his broom. These occurrences of being woken up for something they have, but simply do not want to search for them, happens on a regular basis.

My favorite story that he told concerning this manner is about matches: He was asleep in his bed when Bubba yelled through the window, "Omar. Omar. Omar!"

"Yes!"
"We need matches."
"You have matches"
"We cannot find them."
"If I come outside and look, will I find them?"
"No"

He got out of bed, opened the door, took three steps and looked around. Without lifting a single object or taking another step, he pointed to the lost matches that were lying by the fire pit and announced "There's the matches!" Before anyone could say another word he turned around and went back to bed, closing the door behind him.

Before I had time to take a bucket bath breakfast was served, with the portions being small as we would be eating all day. The meal consisted of left over coos from the night before, and we sat down to finish it as Isatou still had her socks on over her feet from the night before to make sure the Henna tattoos turned out nice and dark. After the coos was finished I went to take a bath while Kelly tried to find the kaftan that he wore the year previous so I would have something to wear, as he already bought a new one for this year's celebration. I came out the back wearing a normal T-shirt and jeans, and the kaftan would fit on top, when Kelly handed me the old kaftan with an explanation, "It's old. Well, I mean it's old by a year, but only worn once. I bought a new one for this year." These kaftans are the traditional Muslim dresses that the men wear during prayers and celebrations.

We walked out of the hut together and into the compound to the happy exclamations of Essa:
"It is nice! These types of cloth they wear in Saudi Arabia. Very nice!"
"But we do not have to pray?"
"Oh no. You can just come and watch."
"Is it alright to take a few pictures?"
"Yes. Of course. You can take pictures at any time after the main prayer."
We then saw that none of the women in the compound were getting ready, "And the women are not allowed?"
"No, they are allowed. You will see women there praying. Most do not go, they choose not to go. They are very busy today preparing for the meals."
"Please let us know when it is not appropriate to take a picture."
"Yes, yes, of course. Anytime is ok."

Kelly and I, together with Essa, walked across the street to the other side of Kuntair and headed towards the mosque, which has been under construction for the past year and a half and still was not completed, despite the rush to have it done before Tobaski. Essa pointed out, "Now would be a good time to take a picture of the mosque, before the people start arriving." With a few minutes to spare we tried to judge angles, lighting, and other photographic qualities to get the best picture of the unfinished mosque.

Although the mosque was big enough to fit all the people in the village, it was not used for that day's ceremony since it was uncompleted, where instead they had their loudspeakers up on a work shed that was in front of the mosque, which served as a temporary structure for leading the prayers. The men slowly started to arrive with their prayer rugs, ranging in size from an individual size to family size and just like their kaftans had a rainbow spectrum full of colors, and they put them down on the ground in front of the work shed to claim their spot.

Not wanting to interfere with the ceremony we stayed behind the whole crowd and watched as a procession from the alakalo's compound continued until it reached the front of the people. The prayers continued, with the villagers bowing in unison when appropriate. After the main prayer was completed the alakalo gave a speech on what it meant to be a good Muslim. The speech itself was in Arabic, as custom called for it, but most of the villagers spoke Wollof, so it was translated again to Wollof for them to understand. To those amongst the crowd who only understood Pulaar they were in the same boat as we were, not understanding a single word, except they had the chance of maybe understanding a little bit of the Arabic as the Koran is memorized in the Arabic language, but the entire ceremony all sounded Greek to us.



The entire ceremony, with prayers, sermons, and ending remarks lasted not longer than half hour with everyone afterwards going to the alakalos compound to watch him slaughter his own ram. This is the usual custom, as it is consisted a bad omen if you slaughter your own ram before the one who led the main prayers slaughtered his. While I was in the front row observing the slaughter, Kelly and Essa were outside the compound talking to their friends, colleagues, and other villagers. When I came out of the compound after the slaughter they mentioned that a few of the students of the University were in town and recognized me, saying they had to take my class next year. If any of those students were one of my current ones I would have went to their compound to greet their families and join them in their celebrations, but they were all future students.



By now I had a reputation in my Basic Mathematics course, a remedial course that only non-science majors needed just as a requirement and do not have to continue with any other math courses. According to the students I have been teaching the class more material than course the science-students take, but I grade appropriately and fairly taking that into account. This has the outcome that most everyone in the course is learning more than what they should according to the syllabus, and are getting a decent grade for trying their best. As such, the students who have to take the course next year all know who I am because word spread from my current students, either positively or negatively.

When the slaughtering of the ram was completed and conversations ended we arrived back at his compound where Sulayman, Kelly’s host-father, brought out the ram from out back. The custom for sharing the meat is one-third for your family, one-third to friends, and one-third to the poor. With this mind Kelly made the comment: "You could walk around the village with just a spoon in your hand and be full all day!"

Sulayman nominated an extended family member to do the immolation and he came into the compound knife in hand, but first a small square hole had to be dug for the spilt blood. When the hole was finished, the ram was held down by two men, one at its hind and the other holding its neck down as he prepared to slaughter it. Beforehand we had asked Essa whether taking any pictures of the sacrifice would either be offensive or ruin the sacrosanctity of the moment, but when he replied in the negative we stood there, cameras in hand, taking pictures to capture the event.



As we waited for the muscles spasms to stop, the women served us bread with butter and coffee for the wait, while in the meantime Essa showed off the ram to his young daughter and let her pet the dying animal. After the ram had died and all muscle spasms ceased Sulayman dragged the carcass around the house to prepare for the skinning. For the next hour Kelly and I stood, still in our kaftans, as we watched him skin and gut the lifeless ram. Each organ that was to be eaten was placed in bucket of water to be cleaned and cooked later that day, while the inedible organs were thrown away into the fields. Only two such organs were deemed uneatable, the penis itself (the testicles would be eaten), and a gland that would cause the recipient who ate it to fall asleep. Sulayman threw those two organs for the chickens and other small livestock to eat, while he concentrated on removing and cleaning the small and large intestines. The only incident that caused our stomachs to stir a bit, as he was working on the ram's stomach, was watching him drain the intestines as he had to stretch and squeeze the manure, and partially digested food, out a few inches at a time. At one point in the process the pressure was too much between his fingers and the intestines and the organ partially exploded spraying the contents on his shirt and pants. After the initial reaction, from all of us, we both told him "mas", which meant 'sorry' in the same sense as someone would say if their friend walked in a mud puddle.


One of Kelly's majors in college was biology and he showed me with interest and delight the different organs, their purpose, and significant differences from humans. It is crazy what one forget from freshman level biology, as I found myself asking him the basic question "What's the difference between the kidneys and liver, again?" For completeness sake, the kidneys are responsible for proper water and electrolyte balance, as well as filtering the blood of metabolic waste, while the liver is responsible for secretion of bile, and the metabolism of carbohydrates, fats, and proteins. Not only are the not similar, they do not even fall in the same organ system, as the liver is part of the digestive system and the kidneys are part of the excretory system. Everyday I find myself either learning new things or recovering lost knowledge that I should have retained.

As we were discussing the purposes of the organs laid out on an old prayer rug, or floating in the bucket of water, Sulyaman started on the actual stomach. After separating it from the hanging animal he and another villager carried it a few feet away to another mat to dissect it, as we were going to eat that organ as well. When they cut the stomach opened it was full of grass at all stages of digestion, in which they threw the grass into the fields and cut the stomach up into pieces, which they threw in the bucket of water in order for them to be cleaned. The stomach is similar to the brain in at least one regard as it has a fractal characteristic in dimension, all folded up to try an increase surface area for either digestion or cell capacity, depending on the organ.

When the gutting was completed, we changed out of our kaftans and waited for the meat to be cooked. As we sat, either chatting or reading, they offered us the delicacies of prime organs, as we were the guests of the compound. Both of us had an unwritten drive to see who can eat the most different types of organs, all of them if possible. Before the main dish was prepared they served us, and we ate, bits of lungs and liver to munch on, and the freshest set of ribs I ever had, from live animal to on your plate in less than two hours!

Throughout the day we ate like kings, eating rice topped with meat of variable tastes and textures, while neighbors and friends dropped off food and plates all day as well. By the time the day ended we had eaten almost every type of meat you could, ranging from kidneys, lungs, liver, and stomach, to sets of ribs, intestines, tongue, heart, and even one we even did not recognize and so asked Binta what it was. Her response? "I don't even want to know!"

After the late lunch Kelly, Essa and I sat outside the compound watching the kids come by asking for salibo. These are small treats you give to the kids, like American Halloween, but instead of kids dressed like witches and superheroes saying "trick or treat" you have kids dressed in their best outfits offering prayers for you to have a long life in exchange for a piece of candy. Knowing this would occur Kelly bought a whole bag of sweets a few days beforehand and was giving one each to every kid. The candy, which they call "minties" are actually just methanol cough drops, but the children love them, as they would often disappear in the crowd and reappear hoping to get another minty.



While passing out candy and generally enjoying the afternoon, a swarm of locusts appeared overhead that was just the right number to be impressed by them but just few enough not to show up on film. Only a few landed in the trees across the road, while the majority did not stop and just hovered overhead before continuing their route of destruction.

As the day would progress the number of children coming up asking for salibo would increase exponentially, and so to avoid the mad rush of kids we left towards Heidi's village of Ker Jarga to pick up Kelly's car battery that he left the previous night to be recharged. Heidi was dressed up in her traditional completo, the women's equivalent to the men's kaftan but more colorful and full of patterns, that is also donned with a matching head wrap, and she did the full 360 to show it off. The Gambian women like to dress up and so if a completo was bought, as oppose to being made at the tailor, they would purposely leave the tag on to prove that it was new and not an old dress.

Despite the fact of going to Ker Jarga for the secondary reason of escaping the children in Kuntari asking for salibo, the village children here also stopped and asked for salibo, although somewhat less. She let Kelly give one piece of candy each to them, although if you do not have a lot of candy you could give a few to every group of kids who carry only one bag around for them all to share.

While we were relaxing and lying down for being full of meat, just like Thanksgiving, we started talking about mazes. Kelly pointed out that if you always keep one hand on the inside part of the outside wall you will always solve the maze, this meaning that once you enter a maze you stick your hand on a wall and never take it off you will eventually come to the end. Although hesitant at first about the theory, Heidi and I tested it with a few crossword puzzles that were lying around that we pretended to be mazes and were able to solve every one using that method. When I got back to Kombo and searched it on the Internet I found it was a mathematically true statement having its roots and proof in an area called Graph Theory, which is important in Computer Science for searching databases. The statement for mazes is mathematically identical to what is called depth-first-search, in which you continue the current path as far as possible before backtracking to the last choice. My last required mathematics course in college was a course on Graph Theory, but we did not cover the equivalence of depth-first-search to mazes. If we had I probably would have been more interested since I now saw a real-life application. Although I do not want to retake the math course again to relive the mathematics I do now want to go back to the Black Hills Maze in Rapid City, South Dakota, to test the theory. I spent three hours one summer trying to crack that maze while on family vacation and eventually had to climb under a wall to do so! Now I can put my hand on a wall at the very beginning and walk my way to the end with confidence!

When the peanuts we were eating as snacks had finished, and all possible mazes tested for a counterexample, we headed out to get the battery back from the bidick. The battery was charged and he gave Kelly a discount of D15, from the usual price of D50 to D35, since he knew his host-father; however, we had the suspicion it was actually D30 but he wanted us to think he was giving us a good deal, when in fact he was getting more than his usual profit. We made no further inquiries into the matter, though, and considered it a dead subject.

After we arrived back in Kuntair, tested if his battery was charged, and set up the light system, it was time for dinner. This consisted of more meat, organs, rice, and for dessert three-rounds of attaya, so therefore no sleep.

SATURDAY
We started the day playing Cribbage sitting on a bench inside the compound. Friends and family would stop by and watch us lay down cards, count in a weird pattern, and move our pegs in what seemed to be in a random fashion. Most Gambian children only know how to play "Crazy Eights" and it's only with great effort to teach them other games more complicated. Forget poker, rummy, or even blackjack, let alone Cribbage! A year ago, though, Doug and I had some success teaching his former-host-brother a playing-card version of Memory. With three games of Cribbage played, and the village people watching over our shoulders, I managed to win one game.



Between our second and third game we paused to watch Isatou cook the head of the ram on an open fire while its legs were spread across the dirt near the charcoal. Last year at this time Kelly went to open his food bowl for lunch the day after Tobaski and was surprised to find a cooked ram's head looking right back at him. He knew what was coming this year and told me so we were both prepared, although despite cooking it they never served it to us while we were there. They might have chopped up the head meat and served us the meat in the food bowl, but an entire head never did appear despite both of us wishing it would for it would be a good picture.

This being one of those relaxing days after a holiday, unlike the day after Thanksgiving, for the next few hours we just sat and read while having the day go by. At the beginning of his service Kelly started making a list of all the books he had read while being country, with the ultimate goal of reaching 200 by the close of service. Since some of those books on his list are thousand-page masterpieces, such as Atlas Shrugged, Moby Dick, and Les Miserables, his actual number will be a little less at around 150, but his knowledge of classic literature will be considerably more. In the four days I spent at his site he started and finished Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" and completed half of Michael Crichton's "Jurassic World" (which implied he actually finished "Jurassic Park" and was on "The Lost World" by the time I left). In the city I have to make a concentrated effort to sit down and read for leisure, while upcountry volunteers that is all they do some days!

During a break we had from reading Heidi showed up since she also had nothing to do today in her village and decided to visit Kuntair. Now having three people doing nothing we went to Memeh to get a fourth, Derek. It was in Derek's hut that he showed us pictures and videos he had taken the day before of the locust storm that visited Memeh and dropped down to visit. While we were two kilometers away when the locusts came and did not have a single one land, Derek unfortunately had the entire swarm land in his own backyard. Although this was not good for his crops, as all were eaten and destroyed, it did make for an excellent video. The video he shot looked like enemy bombers coming towards the camera, with the best music that would fit would be Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries", which was made famous in "Apocalypse Now." If you heard the music you could picture helicopters flying overhead, the General ordering his soldiers to advance, and bombs exploding in the distance. The locusts on that video reminded me of that song, with the way they acted and flew passed the camera.

While we sat in his backyard assessing the damage done the day before another swarm of locusts came, though not an order close of magnitude received the previous day. Derek brought out his binoculars and the cloud in the distance turned into individual insects through the lenses. Within a half hour they had arrived and skipped over Derek's backyard, as nothing was left, and continued to the next compound over. The men in the streets took off their shirts and whirled them around in the air to kill either the locusts that were disturbing their fields or just themselves. The cat in Derek's backyard pounced in the air to catch a few and only was able to eat the sole one it injured which fell to the ground.

The excitement of the day flew away as quickly as it arrived. With nothing else to watch, other than the cat eating its only victim, all eyes fell on Derek's dog, or mutt, as he called it, since it was one of the ugliest and dirtiest dogs any of us has ever seen since arriving in country. If the dirtiness did not bother you the nipping at your heels would.

Derek kicked the dog away from his heels. "I've been telling my family I would give him a bath but haven't done it yet. In fact I was actually going to do it today, even got the bucket of water ready but got lazy."

Having nothing to do, Kelly, both annoyed a little by Derek's laziness and bored enough actually to volunteer said, "Here. Just give me the bucket, I'll do it"

Derek brought the bucket of water from the latrine area to where we were sitting and as Kelly held the dog in the bucket, Heidi poured the shampoo, and Derek poured the water to rinse. The water in the bucket turned completely brown and we used almost half the bottle of shampoo with the net result of Derek saying "He's just going to play in the dirt again," as we finished. We let the dog go and he ran off to play in the dirt.

We talked some more before calling it a day and for Kelly and I to head back to Kuntair and Heidi to Ker Jarga. As we were heading out Heidi wanted to see the dog again, and while standing in the middle of the compound asked, "Where's your dog?" I looked around and it was right in front of her, taking a nap. You could not have recognized it! It was fully white, and did not look like the same dog that we put in the bucket an hour earlier. When we petted it goodbye, it purred like a kitten, which confused us a bit.

A half-hour later Kelly and I were sitting down on a bench in his compound playing a game of chess, while Heidi rode her bike back to her site. During the game children would come up asking for salibo, as they would for next couple of days, and Kelly would reach inside his candy bag and respond to their pleas by giving them a piece of candy each. This gave me enough time to play a few tricks on him, such as taking his King or his Queen. I made sure not do something which was not blaringly obvious, such as moving a single pawn one space, but something which he would notice right away, or in a few minutes of thinking. The game itself ended when I became greedy and took a pawn, which allowed him to sneak in and checkmate me. We reversed the play a few turns to see what would happen if he did not take the pawn, and in that scenario he still won.

It was getting dark so we headed inside for the night, when Kelly's phone rang. A member of our group, Kate Jorgensen, was getting married to her Gambian fiancé on Monday at noon and wanted to invite Kelly to the wedding. He knew about the wedding only a week before, when she told him about it, but she did not have an exact time and only knew it was on a Monday. This bit of information about the time changed his plans a little, as instead of leaving on Monday, as originally thought, he would leave with me the following day to make sure he was in Kombo by noon Monday.

Heidi was also thinking of leaving on Monday for Kombo to be prepared for her Reconnect Conference, in which volunteers who are six-months into service go back to training village and have workshops of how to improve training and how their service is going so far to date. The Conference itself is held upcountry, on the other side of the river, and usually takes three to four days. With that in mind most volunteers come down to Kombo beforehand a few days, and some stay afterwards also. Kelly called Heidi up to tell her he was leaving the next day and invited Heidi to do the same in which she agreed, as any reason is a good reason to come to Kombo.

On some days Kelly and Derek go to Banjul just for the day, which completely shocks their host-families. The transportation costs alone is less than $2 roundtrip but for their families this could be an entire day wage, just on transportation to have a day-out-of-town - a luxury most villagers cannot afford.

It was agreed on that the next morning we would all meet at Kelly's house and leave from there.


SUNDAY

The first thing Binta asked for when we woke up the following morning was our dirty laundry. Since I was headed home that day I did not give her my dirty clothes, but Kelly gave her his entire dirty-laundry bag. After breakfast was served and eaten we played a few games of chess to pass the time away while waiting for Heidi to show up. M'Linda, the next nearest site mate to Kelly passed Heidi, was coming into either Heidi's village or Kelly's village later in the day but the exact time, or location, was uncertain. If she went first to Heidi's village she would receive the message that Heidi was going to Kombo and had the choice of heading back home, but if she went straight to Kuntair we would have to phone Heidi to inform her that M'Linda was here so Heidi knew not to wait for her any longer.

The first game played was a game of regular chess in which he won the game but I won the redo match, in which the last few moves are taken back and played over again. The second game was my choice, so I suggested a game of Warped Chess, a version I particularly like as your pieces can move off the sides of the board and reappear on the other side like Pac-Man. Some interesting consequences are that you could move your pawn on the right hand side of the board and it would cause a check on the left hand side by a piece being able to warp through the sides. In essence, it's like wrapping the chessboard on the surface of a cylinder and it makes for some interesting situations! I lost at my own game.

When both games were finished and all redoes that were suggested played, M'Linda showed up. As she had not stopped in Ker Jarga Kelly had to text Heidi saying that M'Linda showed up here, in which Heidi replied back saying she would come as soon as her laundry was done as it was her laundry as well. Within ten minutes after calling Heidi, Derek arrived and a half-hour later Heidi. We talked inside the house for a few hours, just passing time away.

At two o'clock Isatou announced it was lunch time and Kelly, Derek, and I brought out spoons to eat out of the foodbowl and M'Linda and Heidi stayed inside the hut and continued talking as they had already eaten. When lunch was finished and an extra hour passed Derek pointed out that since we were going to Kombo we should at least wait outside near the road, as we all heard cars passing all day and could have gotten on any one of them.

The actual act of stating the obvious got us motivated, as apparently Derek was the first to realize that we missed a half-day's worth of cars passing the village. At around three o'clock we brought out all our bags to the road and sat at the bantaba to wait for a car. A few cars came and went but all were full or nearly so, an empty car even passed with everyone just staring at it and no one realized we should have flagged it down until it had already passed!

One hour later, no cars.
Two hours later, no cars.
Three.
Four.
Five.
We gave up.

The sun was about to set and the chances of not only getting transportation this late but even catching the ferry once arriving in Banjul would be next to impossible. M'Linda and Derek were a good sport and waited the five hours with us on the side of the road, but when we announced we gave up, they went in opposite directions their respective villages and houses. Our plan had now changed to just sleep the night in Kelly's hut and get the first car we could the very next morning. Heidi would be staying the night as going back to her village and coming back early the next morning seemed redundant.

We again opened Kelly's combination lock to his house and set our bags inside. Bubba, his host-brother came in and just sat listening to our conversations. After a while he asked Kelly, quite out of the blue:

"Omar. Would you rather be white or black?"
Realizing the sensitivity of the subject he responded, "I would rather be black."
"Why? White is good!"
"White is not good. You get called 'toubob,' children ask for money. It is not good. Should we trade skin?"
"Ok."
"Ok I will get the scissors and will cut down your arms and legs and then cut down my arm and legs, and you know what?"
"What?"
"I would only have enough skin to cover my face, my legs and arms. You are small and I'm big. The rest of me would be white, but I have enough skin for all of you."
"I do not want it"
"Why"
"I want to stay black"
"Why?"
"Because God gave me this skin. I want to keep it."
"That is good. Tell you what. You keep your skin and I will keep mine. You keep what God gave you and I keep what God gave me."
"That is good."
"Good. We are now both happy."

That conversation was the most philosophical discussion I've heard in The Gambia amongst The Gambians. Granted, I had not heard many since it rarely comes up in my conversations back in the city, but for a ten-year old to first ask that question, refute the answer given, and then liked the way his skin was, was kind of comforting.

I learned a little bit about Bubba and the Muslim culture that weekend as well. He told me he was ten years old but is actually eleven, as his birthday was in mid-January and had already passed, but no one celebrates birthdays here - except Mohammad's birthday (analogous to Christian's Christmas). What would Gambians think if you explained in America, and elsewhere in the world, there is huge party just for you once a year?


MONDAY

For the first time that Kelly could remember in his service, he set his alarm. It woke everyone up at the early time of five thirty in the morning, where the stars were still up. Never mind showers, or even bucket baths, as we just got up, and walked out the door to wait for a vehicle. The five-hour wait the previous day seemed like an eternity when we waited for at most five minutes this morning for a car to pass that had room for three people. The cars were traveling before six in the morning for two reasons, that it takes about an hour to reach Barra, the ferry terminal, and that the first ferry across to Banjul left at seven in the morning.

The only disadvantage for leaving early? It's cold! We were in the back of the ghelli-ghelli shivering along with the Gambians. Despite what you may think of living in Africa, it does get cold here. However, like most things, temperature is relative, as the temperature of that blistering cold morning was a cool seventy-five degrees! We are used to temperatures in the high 80s or more everyday and some days in the 90s or 100s, and during the summer months you could burn your feet going to the latrine outside. When bugs got in volunteers' huts during the summer they sometimes throw them on the cement in the direction of the latrine and watch them burn up and in some occasions, depending on the type of bug and the temperature of the cement, combust. In other words, seventy-five was a cool temperature for us, and in fact a bit on the cold side.

The first ferry across the River Gambia to Banjul left at seven o'clock, and we arrived fifteen minutes late but it was still docked. We gave Kelly our money so he could just buy three tickets and save a few precious seconds, but as we are running down the ramp we slowed down and gave up when we saw the ferry was already moving, and so we would have to wait for another ferry, at least an hour's wait away.

We waited at the edge of the terminal watching the other ferry cross from the other side, which at times did not even seem like it was moving due to the distance involved. It eventually arrived and for the first time since going on my first Cross-Country-Trek over a year ago we purposely got seats on the inside cabin. The reason for not doing so is that if you stand by the exit area you can be the first one off and also the first one to get transportation to where you were going. Since there is always transportation out of Banjul there was no need to rush, and we relaxed sitting on the seats enjoying the early ocean breeze.

After the ferry finished crossing, and we got a ghelli-ghelli out of Banjul we stopped at Westfield for some breakfast, this being around ten o'clock now. This afforded Kelly just enough time to eat his breakfast before heading to the Hostel to take a shower, change, and be back in Westfield by noon for the wedding. The place we ate at was a small one-man circus on the side of the road. Imagine a picnic table that the far corner of it is full of eggs, bread, coffee, condensed milk, sugar, mayonnaise, and the sort, while a gas burner sat on the ground beside him. This was only my second time at this one-man-shop and my first time eating here, despite living only a few kilometers away. Technically I am the closest volunteer to this place but the upcountry volunteers been here more times than I have.

The sandwich we had for breakfast was a half-loaf of local bread with fried eggs in the middle, which they call the whole ensemble an omelet. The drink of the day consisted of coffee that had enough semi-sweet condensed milk to feel the affects the rest of the day. If any of us were not awake beforehand the coffee sure woke us up!

At the Westfield junction we tried to get a taxi to go back to the Peace Corps Office and Hostel but were unsuccessful. While walking to the Garage Park, where the cars dropped people arriving in Westfield, a car picked us up and dropped Heidi and I off at the Office while Kelly went to the Hostel to get ready for Kate's wedding.

Heidi and I walked into the office, dropped our bags, and relaxed in the chairs as we check our latest e-mail and news. My trip upcountry for Tobaski was completed.