CCM

The low moaning eventually penetrated the cacophony of chatter and gabble to stir attention to the cow in the midst of the education offices.  A strange sight to see, a cloven beast, cajoled to move through the carefully cleaned and tended sand eventually to be tethered by a tree.  “Domo” murmured the ever-helpful Caddy.  “Hmmm” say I knowingly, Mandinka eluding me yet again.

Next a machete wielding and corrugated iron carrying gentleman wanders past.  I turned to see the sharpened blade flying through the air and massive slabs of meat being thrown across the yard.  I chose not to look too carefully as dinner was bubbling in the three legged cauldrons over open fires, but delicious smells, the flock of vultures and the lone horn left abandoned told the story.

The region is in the midst of inspection. Wherever I am, in whatever part of the world, I cannot get away from the damned things. 125 big wigs have descended on the island wanting sustenance and shelter for 4 days. The office of no work has suddenly pulled out all the stops and constructed a dining hall and cafeteria in two weeks.  I jest not, from digging the foundations to laying the tablecloths in a mere few days. Job demarcation abandoned, senior education officers carry chairs, wash dishes, principal officers cut up lists of who will sleep where and post them on doors.  Food is stacked to the gunnels in the director’s office, onions, tinned chicken spam (???), tea, sugar and fizzy drinks.  The place is a hive of industry.

Our job?  Besides cleaning chairs, pasting banners and typing lists we are to take the minutes of the meeting and type the final report.

The inspection takes on an almost European flavour with meetings and discussions starting on time and running to an agenda.  Then the day of school visits, those poor embassies of education chosen by ballot, team leaders pulling names from a hat amid laughter and good humour for those who have far to travel.

And then there’s the firing squad.  Head teachers dragged in to answer for their misdoings in front of the entire committee, strapping Gambians turn to shrivelling wrecks as the Minister and Permanent Secretary blast questions at them and threaten to dock pay.  It has been known for tears to ensue.  And then after…….they are clapped on the back with “how are you brother?  How’s the family?”  Sometimes this country is beyond my comprehension.

It surprises me, and doubtless you, to know that I am a Very Important Person, indeed a veritable V.I.P.  Not only do I receive gold embossed thick velum envelopes with heavily crested invitations to The British High Commission parties but today I was greeted, by name (Hawa Darboe) by The Minister of Education.  How cool is that?