the final hours

Postcard blue skies, a light breeze ripples over my bare arms as I sit by the swimming pool, listening to the birds chatter the rustle of the palms and admiring the athletic poses of the lizards as they bathe in the sun.  It is our last few hours in The Gambia before we return to the frozen sludge, which will mark London.

Christmas was extraordinary.  Tony and Anne arrived after a marathon 22 hour journey, removing tights and woollen socks, tired, white faced. We were overjoyed, the flight tracking and uncertainty of conditions at Gatwick soon to be forgotten.  I shed a tear for the millionth time these last few months.  Their arrival heralded the beginning of our holiday and the final stage of our adventure.

Anne is going to write about their time here, but it needs to be said that to share our last few days here with them was very very special.

A volunteer said that if she could have magical powers it would be to take a photograph with a blink.  I just wish to add audio.  So many sights and sounds to commit to memory, sunset on the beach on Christmas Eve, gaggles of children swarming, welcoming white toothed smiles, grubby hands placed in ours, elegant women walking, bundles balanced, children strapped to backs, roasting sun, gritty sand, corrugated iron fences, dark round houses, coconut palms with bottles perched to catch the ‘jungle juice’, bird song…………the list goes on and on.

I think I have written this all before, but the adventure from our first hand gripping journey from the airport to this very moment, assaults the senses and fills me with awe and respect for the people who live here. 

My two favourite sayings:

“It’s not easy, Hawa.”

“Nothing’s a problem in The Gambia.”  

Kombos Beach Hotel

Life here is certainly different. Were you not to venture outside the hotel grounds you might be anywhere in the world such is the anonymity and blandness of the hotel. Generic African woodcarvings and such other “African” bric a brac are the only reminders of what continent you are on. It is a very odd thing to be holidaying in a country you have lived in and, despite trying not to, it’s impossible not to view the tourists and wonder why they came to the Gambia. Moving from pool to TV lounge passing the British and German newsstand on the way many of them don’t seem to venture much into the world outside. 12 months ago I was them – not now. And such a pity because true they would get some low level hassle from vendors eager to make a living but a 10 minute walk away and you will be in the real Gambia that we have to come to love, the part where people ask “How is your morning?” because they care. Where you can eat for a quid or two, relax and soak up being somewhere different.



The hotel is fine – just that, fine. A formula hotel that adds to the “might be anywhere” feeling. 4 3 storey blocks of nice rooms, a restaurant, a bar, on the beach front set in beautiful grounds. They are doing us the room and breakfast for 30 pounds a night = a 50 percent reduction on pleading poverty. The guests, ah the guests. Mostly British or German and mostly overweight, I fear the Gambians must have a very jaundiced view of Europeans whose consumption appears slightly grotesque in such a poor country. There is however one really interesting character, a man straight from a Graham Greene novel. He can be found nightly at the bar dressed in a linen suit that has seen better days but still retains a certain touch of quality about it. He sips whisky and ice thoughtfully, often glancing at his watch as if he is expecting someone to arrive or something to happen. He punctuates this with wanders to the open areas to smoke Dunhill International which he does whilst gazing around before returning to his bar stool and watch gazing. He is slight, 50ish and has a tanned, weathered face that suggests he probably lives here now – I wonder what, or who, he is waiting for?


The change in diet has been welcomed and, along with a hot shower, food is definitely the thing we appreciate the most. Being able to eat salads, steaks, ice cream, of it is such a treat. It’s a shame really that before long they will all just seem normal again. The weather is glorious, the view over the Atlantic is wonderful and the noise of the sea is, always is evocative. Re-reading Treasure Island the setting is just perfect. How lovely to be able to read books in appropriate settings – what would your book and place be?

leaving the island

Leaving the island was hard, lots of tears all round, hard to believe

it was our home. And then the bus! Packed, I had to stand at the
front next to the driver ,so close to the windscreen the peak of my cap
was touching it! 6 hours in, legs aching and fantasizing about the
hotel in 2 hours and BANG - puncture. Have to wait for another vehicle
to arrive with spare wheel as we had given ours to a bus going the
other way. So, 10 hours later, check in and look forward to a steak or
some such only to find the hotel were having an "African Food Buffet
Night". Would you believe it? Sensing our disappointment the waiters
say, "go on try the African food, you will like it."   Really!!!!!

Anyway, had loads of salad, a buublebath a good sleep followed by a mega breakfast.
The Saturday before we left my local school, Sankulay Kunda, put on a programme for us, singing by the children, drummers, dancing, 2 hours of fantastic Gambian entertainment and a speech in which I (Bakary) was described by the headteacher to the children as "our father, our mentor, our teacher, our everything" I may have told you this already but it bears repeating as
am unlikely ever to receive such an introduction again - more tears. What a country, what people, what next?

10am on Monday, we have been away from the island for 26 hours and the “missing you texts” are coming in – it was hard to come here, hard to stay here and hard to leave, make sense of that if you can.

The Programme

We sat, in pride of place, as a faceless tree stamped and stomped towards us, accompanied by the steady impatient rhythm of the beating drums. Soothing words from Omar “It’s okay Hawa, it’s just our tradition”, as I pull back from the sharp machete gliding towards my face. Gathering money on the blade, the Konkuran (man dressed as tree with shielded face and branches attached) moved with athletic agility, backflipping his way around the gathered crowd about 150 strong. This was our leaving programme.

In true Gambian style no one had thought to tell us in advance of our leaving party. After rearranging a few bits we donned our finest gear, Pete his Tobaski attire and me the most beautiful, elaborately embroidered outfit from Mulai and we hopped onto the motorbike and for the final time, rode across the bridge to a nearby school.


We arrived at the appointed time, always a mistake, to find chairs and desks being arranged in a semi circle and two lads balanced precariously up a tree, hacking at branches of the neme tree. Guided to two plastic garden seats we take our place whilst various dignitaries and children come to greet and shake hands. Chatter, laughter, but no beginning to the programme in sight I am dispatched with a young girl as guide to ‘find the women teachers’.


Arriving at the teachers quarters I am enveloped in a bare breasted huge bear hug amid exclamations of my beauty(!) and taken into the small dark room these two teachers call home. There is no room for anything more than a double bed all space being taken by scattered clothes and bottles of lotions and potions of various shapes and sizes. Fatou and the Eustace, or Qu’ranic teacher, are mid ‘bath’ and, thrusting the baby to me, continue to make preparations to go out. Ample bodies are smoothed with oils, hair conditioned, wigs brushed, new clothes squeezed into, high heels slipped on and we are ready to return to the school.

We are heralded by the drums and singing and dancing of the local women. Amazing. They are dressed in a strange array, possibly even fancy dress, including a hat decorated with Disney figures. Gambian dancing is like no other - bum out and fast foot stamping are the order of the day and yet there still remains a grace, an elegance. The inevitable and I did my 10 second turn, red faced and heart thumping, but it was enough to please my audience.

Following instructions Pete and I are ushered into the head teachers office where we are given outfits of matching materials as befits such occasions. Emotional photos ensue and I feel pulled between these wonderful people, sights and events and the longing to hug my children. Powerful stuff.

thoughts and reflections

As a boy born in Sussex, raised until 6 in South East London, a 4 year stint in apartheid South Africa, a further spell in South East London, a year in Germany, 32 years in Cardiff I can now add the best part of a year in Janjangbureh to the list of places I have called home. And what a home it has been, more of which later. I have no doubt that all of my homes have had an influence on me, whether conscious or sub-conscious or possibly even unconscious! For example I understand from others that I have a slight South London accent and I am sure the impact of growing up in South Africa in the 60s had a major impact – not least on my knuckles which were regularly rapped at school – ah happy days! Perhaps even a little bit of Celtic charm has rubbed off and lurks somewhere beneath the brash cockney exterior.

 And so back to Janjangbureh. Living on an island, 10 kilometres by 3 kilometres, in the middle of an incredibly beautiful river in the far west of Africa was never on any plan, it sort of just happened. I'm still not sure how but I think that Jack Daniels and the Internet were the major culprits. Perhaps it goes to show that spontaneity outshines planning by megawatts, I have always thought this anyway although often it's just an excuse to be lazy. It would be easy to wax lyrical and make the whole island and the experience seem idyllic, however those of you who have followed our (progress?) will know that that wouldn't be an accurate reflection of our time here. In fact as a reflection it would be as distorted as one of those fairground mirrors that made you look short and fat.


Goodness knows there have been challenges and you will all be aware of them but lest you should be forgetting our bravery and ability to endure let me remind you of the days that: topped 50 degrees Celsius, the shower floor collapsed, the rat made its home in our house with the lizards, nightly invading insects, weevil infested flour, a diet of aubergines and onions, two tiny rooms so nowhere much to sulk, bucket showers with chickens, bucket showers with tadpoles, insect bites, snakes, malaria, impossibly sandy roads, power cuts, no plumbing, hand washing, boredom, pit latrines etc etc etc. All of this of course was made bearable by the availability of fags and alcohol. (The lesson here, should you ever get drunk and apply to VSO is to research these last two factors very carefully.) And yet here we are, near the end, and having seen off all of the above and the rainy season too. We are now beginning to ponder on those things that we will miss, my list is short, but no less important for that, and looks like this: people, new things and sun. For people you can read all that goes with them, the culture, the interdependence, the friendliness, the comradeship, the humility, the generosity and on and on. These people have had a profound effect on me, I know this is true, I can't quite explain how, I just know I feel different. I am not judging whether the change is for the better or worse. Perhaps that is for others to say, but for myself I am just filled with an enormous sense of admiration for the Gambian people and a tremendous pride in being able to call many of them friends. The sun, well in the middle of your winter I probably don't need to explain. The new things is just that, every day a new bird, a new animal, a new word to learn, a new food to taste, a new smell, a new custom, a new understanding, just so many new things, a wonderful, fulfilling bombardment that at times was overwhelming but in general was just incredible and amazing. For example a 10 k motorcycle to visit a school would likely reward me with a view of the savannah, baboons, monkeys, eagles, herons, vultures, donkeys, horses, sheep, goats, cattle, police check point, army check point, tarmac, gravel and sandy surfaces and even then I might only be half way – I hope you can see how it can all get overwhelming. Stopping the bike in middle of the bush and just sitting – absolute silence only broken by the cry of some unknown bird – amazing. There were many “I don't believe I am really here” moments.




I know when we get home many of you will ask “was it worth it?” This is a question we repeatedly ask ourselves, and the answer once varied from day to day but of late we have felt more positive. I should like to split the question into two parts; was it worth it for us? Was it worth it for the Gambia? The first is easy to answer now – YES. It was worth it because how can you not have learned from such an experience? We come back richer people in every sense except the financial one. The second is so much more difficult but, as I often do, I fall back on my “haven't made things worse” position. I don't believe much in “neutrality” it often seems an untenable position to me and in terms of relationships – which is what we have had with The Gambia - I think they are either positive or negative, never neutral. So I think and hope our relationship with this country, these people, our colleagues, neighbours and friends has been positive, the smiles seem genuine and are huge.


In terms of what we came here to do there is precious little to show, quite how we managed to spend the best part of a year without finding out our job I still don't know. However in our defence there are some extenuating circumstances. For instance a training that I developed in April was approved locally in May and funding approval sent for – still waiting for that. And so it is that things happen, or not, as the case may be and the wheel turns round and round ever so slowly but with a certain style and grace that you can't fail to admire. Speaking of wheels I should like to add my Yamaha 100 AG to the list of things I shall miss (I have a feeling this list may grow). My trusty steed has been just that, aside from one or two punctures the bike has been faultless taking everything that The Gambian roads can serve up and coping wonderfully.


I cannot possibly write this reflection without a special mention for our visitors. Jo, our daughter and husband to be Lester visited in August and Maria came in October. Both visits were so important to us, they gave us something to look forward to, something to enjoy at the time and something to remember. A massive, huge, big, giant thank you to all of them for the love and kindness they showed us and for giving up some of their time and money to share a little of our time here with us. Another big, big thanks goes to the City of Cardiff and more particularly the schools that took part in the appeal that was organised by the Court School. The response was overwhelming and, for those who don't know, 232 KG of pencils, rubber, sharpeners etc. arrived here in late October and we have just finished getting them out to the children in the schools. Thanks to Peter Owen for all his hard work, without him none of it would have happened. And as if that wasn't enough the Court School also raised the money to send the goods and the best part of 900 pounds to donate to projects here – wow! The money has been well spent on nursery buildings, school gates and other really useful infrastructure projects. I know this is becoming an Oscar type speech but I also need to thank my daughter Jo for raising funds to build a new classroom, dressed as a crocodile she ran a 10k and the children in her school raised more than 500 pounds. Thanks to, to Lester whose contribution has provided fencing and a well at the gardens here on the island. I am sure I have forgotten someone so please forgive me if it is you. Suffice to say that you all deserve a big thank you for the support you have shown us in our stay here, we couldn't have done it without you.


I need here to put in a moment that has just happened. I am writing this at 10:30 Monday 29th November, I just had my jacket on to leave on a school visit when news came through to the office that a young female pregnant headteacher, has just died, along with her baby. The atmosphere in the office has changed and all plans for the day have been put on hold. The funeral will be today at 5pm and most people at the office will attend. Death is never far away here, I don't know the cause of death but it is likely that it wouldn't have happened in the UK or possibly even here had she been near the hospital in the Kombos and not posted up-country. This is the first time I have seen the people here so affected by the news of a death – I suppose the double tragedy and the fact that she was here, in the office, on a course last week makes the news all the more shocking.


A little now on our compound where we live and share our lives with our landlord and protector, Mulai, his wife Ma and the five children who are there presently. This number changes as none of the children are their own – it's all very Gambian, but at the moment we have two boys, Seedy (13) Mulai Junior (6) and three girls, Ndela (8) Jarre (14) and Isatou (15). The compound is such a lovely place with them all there and the sound of children laughing must be one of the finest. I should like to bottle it in fact and be able to take a dose whenever I feel the need. Mulai guided and supported us through the difficult first few weeks and he and the family will certainly be missed. We could not have hoped for a warmer reception than the one we have received all year there. For our part we buy food for them whenever we shop, a onion or two, an aubergine, a packet of biscuits, just small things but always very much appreciated. In return, aside from the friendship, we receive frozen drinks, peanuts, peanut butter, eggs, and anything else that they may have a small surplus of.


OK – examples of the “new” I referred to earlier I have had 2 more today. Eventually got out to two schools. At the first I was taken into the village to fix their solar water pump! Those of you familiar with my general technical incompetence will know the futility of this, me, a water pump engineer, well it's new. Then – whilst at my second school I had a call from someone in the office wanting to borrow my bike to do a 30k ride. I agreed and they lent me theirs to get home. What's new, well riding a motorbike with no brakes – how is that for a first?


More thanks now: To our children Jack, Hannah, Ruth and Jo who have just been amazing throughout the planning and the placement and who are working, as I write, on a huge banner to welcome us home; to our good friends, Graham and Ron for always encouraging, taking us to Gatwick at 2 in the morning and managing our bank account in our absence. To Duncan for looking after my bike, to Rob for looking after my car, to Kath Owen for the regular supply of lovely letters and presents, to Jesnie for her amazing weekly e-mails, to Dave (Jock) Morgan for keeping an eye on the house, to Luc and Pete Owen for looking after our garden, to Lyn Hyde for counting the sleeps, to Josh Hyde for his lovely e-mails and kindness – well look, you get the picture, we are but your representatives here, the part of the team that made the journey but a team nonetheless – thank you all. Thanks for the support you have all provided and for helping us realise just what wonderful friends and family we have – we are indeed lucky people. AND NEXT?????????






Bakary Darboe, VSO, PCTT, Region 5 Education Directorate, Central River Region, Janjangbureh, The Gambia, West Africa.

The circle

As I sit here and peer through the small window that looks out on the field beside our house I realize that we have come full circle, the grasses now drying back, the earth parched beneath, the vivid greens of the rainy season well past to be replaced with the dust and sand once more. The mango tree is fruiting, not quite big enough or ripe enough but promises a good crop in the upcoming months.



It’s our last day on the island, this beautiful, friendly special place in the middle of the river and I’m glad we made it through to the end. There were undeniably moments when I so wanted to be back home, to hug my children or have a bath or need a jumper but they are already beginning to fade into the background as the prospect of leaving tomorrow looms like a multicoloured cloud of emotions.


It’s been a year of contrast and excitement, physical and mental challenges and extreme highs and lows. The reason for us being here has, at times, fallen into question but my thoughts on that too have come full circle, past the arc of ‘we should have just sent the money’, and, although the bar of achievement is very very low, I think both Bakary and I have somehow managed to stumble our way across to the finish line with the tiniest of tangible improvement. This, I am told, is the very best that we could hope to achieve in such a small time, the small drips from each volunteers’ input eventually forming a small rivulet and then into a stream which, in turn, affects change.


So I shall turn to packing up our wee home, deciding if there is anything worth returning and remove our batiks from the wall with mixed feelings before venturing out for our ‘programme’, the party that marks our farewell from the island and the beginning of our journey back to the UK.