Banks

I may possibly have previously alluded that Gambian time is different.  On the second day of our arrival we filled in the numerous forms, index cards and proofs of identity needed to open a bank account. Everything, four or five times, with signatures, photocopies of passports, two photographs per person, and yet more signatures, all closely supervised by the VSO accountant. On the second day we filled in more forms, this time to a personal, not business, account.  So here we are, four weeks later, several more pieces of card duly signed and still no account.  As we will be living in the back of beyond, the nearest bank over thirty five miles away, along the most amazing pot holed roads ever to be seen, VSO took pity and gave us two months allowance.  Well that is they gave us a cheque.

Carefully clutching this pristine sheet for the sum of D9040 we went to the bank on Friday afternoon – a mistake as everything stops at lunchtime.  Banks are actually pretty much like the British ones – on the surface - clean, air conditioned, waiting area and queues.  Fifteenth in line I was chilled.  By the time I had waited for half an hour and four or five people had seen their long lost friend and joined them in front of us I was feeling decidedly peckish. Each customer chatted to all the cashiers, at length, greeting and meeting and hand shaking before getting down to business. 

Eventually I made it to the counter and there any suggestion of parity changed.  Behind the counter were wedges of notes, tables and desks like a junkyard, thirty or so people wandering aimlessly and a strange contraption. Needing at least four pairs of eyes to make it work the metal mechanism rotated squeakily to count dalasi notes. Problematic because of varying thickness, density, dishevelment and general grottiness of the paper the machine couldn’t cope, each batch had to be placed in the machine four times and then re counted by hand before being placed in a paper collar.  Slow laborious writing and then they were placed onto a tower, which the great train robbers would be pleased to snatch.  No security just mountains of cash.  When I eventually received my stash it was 4 centimetres thick – yes I measured it.

Clearly, in order to recover, the only answer was to go to the nearest bar for lunch.  Here we bumped into another couple of volunteers and sat with a local larger and cheesy meat pie – absolutely delicious.

The mosque across the road was full to capacity.  Call to prayer. Men in traditional dress swarmed to every available space and a group formed on the steps of ‘Brian Special Barbing’.  I watched as they laid their mats, stood hips touching, like a tin of sardines, moving with the grace, elegance and precision of the Olympic gym team, bending, kneeling and bowing as one.  Twenty minutes later and they disappeared from wherever they came, calm and peace restored.

A question for you.  What is essential to equip a house?  VSO have given us £80 to buy everything we need.  What would be on your list?