A The President

His Excellency Sheik Professor Alhagie Doctor Yahya AJJ Jammeh …….. otherwise known as the President of The Gambia.  Each year he goes on a tour of the country ‘discussion with the people’. This year the bridge was to be officially opened.

The event is surrounded with excitement, building up over weeks.  Families give D300 each, the equivalent of £25, a fortune in this neck of the woods, to ensure there is food and entertainment for all.

We wore the uniform.  

Called aserbe (no idea on the spelling) groups of people all buy a selected fabric and have clothes made. The president’s favourite colour is said to be green. I claim no credit for the choice of target concentric circles, strategically placed in my case, but Pete, Phil and I duly dressed and, looking like the numpties, ventured out onto the streets.

The Janjanbureh population had quadrupled overnight.  People, men, women, youths, children and babies everywhere, milled about, sporting their finest attire.  Official cars sped back and fore with military police flaunting their weaponry, waving guns haphazardly and occasionally saluting.  Officials threw five dalasi notes through sun roofs for the local children to dive for, a lethal scrum of trampled limbs and grazed knees.

Excitement bubbled as sirens blared, engines roared and drums beat out their steady rhythm as people rushed to gain the best view.  Cheers erupted each time the ferry docked but in true Gambian style it took a while (about 2 hours) for the white limosine to arrive.  Placed strategically on the step of the local bitik we stood to see.  A white robed, black faced individual stood waving majestically and, as I waved, our eyes locked.  ‘Strange how people do that’ thinks I, ‘it was like he was looking straight at me’.  Thereupon a hefty uniformed man appeared with a box of 24 packets of orange cream biscuits.  ‘These are for you - from the president – he likes your clothes’.

It’s not everyone who can say they have been given a gift from the President of The Gambia.

Basse

We’ve been on trek again, 100 km further up country to a town called Basse.  Large by African standards, it’s bustling and busy with an assortment of nationalities and languages and numerous shops and stall holders all selling the same.  The centre of a junction of roads leading to Senegal, Guinea Bissau it has become a trading stage post. 

Our job was to research the contribution of unqualified teachers, which are numerous, an NUT and VSO project.  Pete and I travelled out into the bush, across rivers, luxuriating in being driven, to different schools where we were to interview teachers. Welcomed by all, the questionnaire received a variety of reactions. Some gave the look of ‘I can’t imagine what you’re talking about’ other articulate individuals were confident to talk about the rewards and hardship of their employment.

The scenery could be English, but without hill or dale.  Vibrant green trees amidst fields of growing shoots, streams and rivers idling their way, fences, wild flowers, birds singing.  There remain, however, for those with sharp eyes, tell tale signs that remind us we are in Africa. Palm trees reach tall to the sky, climbed by the intrepid to tap palm wine, a foul concoction not to be recommended.  Peeping in the distance the roofs of the mud round houses with their thatched patterns and points, the well, surrounded by children pumping and chattering, the corrugated iron fences. 

Huge, intricately built termite mounds, the size of several people, litter fields like abstract free form sculptures, oxen pull ploughs back and for across the turf whilst men and women bend over, Steve Davis backed, wielding iron age implements to dig and hoe and plant and weed.  Children help while some mind babies sitting under trees. Cart pulling donkeys, urged by stick wielding youths, carry loads towards their destinations.

A time of industry for all.

A tribute

Most of you reading this will already know what an extraordinary school I work in at home – The Court Special School, Cardiff. This blog is by way of an overdue tribute to all those who work at, with, or are connected in other ways to the school. This blog was prompted by events of the 26^th June 2010, more of which later, but as I said this “thank you” was already overdue. So here goes – Thanks to you all, for everything you have done, through encouraging actions and kind words, for all of those things that have made it possible for us to be here in The Gambia today. I cannot name names, the list would be too long but there isn't a single person there who hasn't made a significant contribution in their own way. I am proud to call you all colleagues and friends.

26^th June 2010 – Fund Raising Day

It started as a simple request for a few basic classroom supplies to help the schools here. Then The Court School became involved and they don't do anything by halves – especially drink! The project blossomed into many schools in Cardiff participating and the collection of things to send became so large that transport costs were prohibitive. If you have joined the dots you will already know what the fund raising was for. Details of the event are not completely known to me but I understand they included; bike sale, face painting, finger printing by the police, chest waxing (honest) bottle stall and so on – wow! Its a small school but as always it has been big on effort and our commitment is that no one's effort will have been wasted. I will use a future blog to say more about how we put the resources to use so for now once again – Abaraka Baake   (Thank you very much.)

Bakary Darboe (VSO) Janjangbureh.

The long awaited rains

It begins with a sudden drop in temperature.  Oh the relief as the prickly heat and unsightly bumps begin to abate.  The harmattan picks up with a howl, testing the builders’ skills, banging doors and creaking joists. Then the light show.  Dry lightning, illuminates the skies in a myriad of colours from white through yellow and pink to a subtle mauve, making night disappear like an enhanced daylight photograph.  Next the crashing thunder, crackling irregular drum rolls resonate through the sky, assaulting our senses. Finally the rain crashes on the corrugated roof like a waterfall from heaven. 

Equidistant, deep divots form beneath the metal undulations as though the gardener is getting ready for bulb planting. Rivulets become streams as the onslaught continues.  The hot earth, baked dry by month upon month of sun, releases its warmth as it absorbs the moisture until it can absorb no more.  Puddles form, children dance, animals are washed and the world looses its yellowing, aging dust to reveal a beautiful assortment of freshly painted greens.  Shoots appear where no self-respecting plant could be expected to set down a root and the landscape changes over night.

It’s a magical time to be in The Gambia

Ten things that make me smile

1.    Children’s imagination.  This is not the land of Tomy or Fisher Price.  Instead we have the pull-along (an old gerry can, complete with cut section for storage, and rope from left over fabric from the tailors), the rocking horse (a springy tree branch), the music centre (any form of anything), hoola hoop (old bike tyre), climbing frame (metal structure to the water tower), slide (sloping drainage ditch with added water), swimming pool and diving board (jetty into river) added to space and relaxed parents.

2.    Transport.  This ranges from the luxury air conditioned 4 x 4 through the car and gelli to donkey and cart but my favourite has been an old woman towed in a wheel barrow attached to the back of a motor bike.

3.    Starlings.  Beautiful metallic purple blue wings glisten in the sun.

4.    Greetings.  There’s nothing quite like the welcome we receive in the schools that know us.  Shouts and squeals of delight from the children and warm handshakes from the adults.  Smiles all round.

5.    Food.  The delight of discovering something new in the market.  Yesterday Pete found carrots.  We held them, smelt them and mused over recipies before eventually making carrot and lentil Bolognese.  They were fantastic.

6.    Contact from home.  In all its’ forms is just amazing.  Emails are copied and pasted to read and digest later, letters re read and re read, comments on the blog or flickr noted and phone calls to our mobiles change the mood of the day.

7.    Lizards.  Amazing colours and patterns we know them so well they are getting personalities of their own.  The ‘jumpers’ in the pit latrine, so called because they startle as they bang their tails against the roof.  Then there’s the little fellow who lives under our fridge, occasionally popping out to grab an insect, the two behind the cupboard that copulate freely and noisily and of course there is ‘stubby’ who frequents the local bar, yellow headed, purple body and a stump where his yellow tail should be.

8.    Motorbike.  No I’m not a convert but it is great getting off.

9.    Animals.  Chickens, chicks, ducks, ducklings, sheep, lambs, goats, kids, donkeys, horses, foals, are all a daily part of life.  Free to wander wherever they get up to amazing tricks, look sweet or just generally make me laugh.  What’s a baby baboon called?

10.  Pete.  At the risk of being sloppy he is just amazing.

A Happy Hawa

So whilst Baks was up to his usual tricks I was bone juddering my way 55km along the dirt track to Kudang.  An hour and forty minutes later I arrived, not looking my most beautiful, at the Upper Basic School for a workshop.  Breakfast first, some sand covered dough with mashed sardines swallowed down (by some) with the strangest tea ever tasted.  Oh how my Dad would groan.  No tea pot and boiling water here.  Oh no.  Served in a plastic bucket the tepid ready over sugared liquid is transferred by dipped cups.

For the next few hours I found myself teaching twenty teachers how to sing Tommy Thumb, Here We go Round the Mango tree and how to tell children a story without using books.  I love the way all tunes and songs get ‘Africanized’ here, rhythms change for, of course, the beating drums pervade all. 

Workshop finished for the day, teachers waved off with their smiles and travelling money I walk to the village Lumo.  A bit like a farmers market most big villages have a lumo each week.  Palm leaves cover the makeshift shelters, so low that I stoop to peer at the small piles of onions, chillies and sorrel leaves which is all there is on offer this time of year.  Small children follow me, badgering me to buy an ice, a small plastic bag of frozen coloured water at D2.  I do.  It’s cold and wet and yummy. 

Behind the food are the stalls packed with multi-patterned fabrics in a myriad of hues and shades, cheap crazy coloured beads, scrubbing brushes, washers, talcum powder, children’s toys, oversized shoes, indeed everything you may or may not want (except chocolate and cheese and and and) all pervaded with the smell of slightly rotting smoked fish and plastic bags.

I negotiated material buying for a hand sewn skirt, my next project to distract me from the World Cup, and full of pride, ice and good humour trek my way back to my trusted steed for the bone juddering return home.

A good day for Hawa.

A good day for Baks

It all started as normal with a short journey to the office for an early morning chat and a cigarette. This is a familiar routine and not unlike home. Then, via one or two short stops at other schools, I arrive at my destination school some 15 km away. A joyous ride in the cool 30 degrees of the morning, the rains have dampened down the dirt roads so I no longer arrive orange. A big troop of baboons cross my path about half way – we eye each other cautiously as they scamper away to fade magically into the bush. The birds, with colours even I can see, whirl overhead and all is well, it's a good start.

I arrive at the school, customary warm welcome, hand shakes from those nearby and the double clasped hand gesture that is used to welcome you from a distance- its nice to wanted. Pre-arranged I venture into a Year 1 class to observe the lesson. Its simple enough, make a table of food likes and dislikes. Some pupils have books, some have pencils or stubs that once were pencils, some have both. I sit next to boy who was at a table on his own. I speak to him, no reply. I try again to be informed by the teacher that he cannot/does not speak. I help him with the work whilst circulating and helping others – all smiles and gratitude. The mute boy finishes his work and is very, very proud, I know, I could see it in his eyes. My eyes were close to filling with tears. Sentimental I know but there it is. Good day continues. Children are breaking now for breakfast and I ask the Head Teacher if I can buy a roll. He says “I will go for you.” He gets on push-bike to cycle a round 4 km to bring me back some food – no question of payment, Then he disappears to return with some tea to wash down my breakfast.

 

After this I spend time in the nursery casually interacting with the children, I get paid for this! Eventually time to leave for home, ride home via the new bridge so no waiting for the ferry in the hot sun. Drink a bottle of near ice cold squash and look forward to dinner. A good day for Baks.