Charlie the Friendly Crocodile

A few days ago, Mohammed planned to have us visit the Katchikali Crocodile Pool.  There are about 150 crocodiles living in a pool, which is rumored to have healing capabilities.  More specifically, it is believed that the crocodile pool can help bring fertility to women who are having trouble conceiving.  People continue to travel from around the Gambia to visit these crocs in hopes that they can cure any ailment one might face. 

Before entering the crocodile pool, there was a great little museum all about the history of Bakau (the town next to us.)  I learned about a variety of cultural practices, mostly centered around celebratory traditions involving masks and art.  There was also some information about African involvement in both of the world wars.  Because much of Africa was colonized during the world wars, African soldiers fought (or might have been drafted, it was unclear) for the Allies. 

As I approached the crocodiles, I noticed there was no protective barrier between us and them.  They were hanging out in the pool, and certainly didn’t seem to be on the prowl for human flesh, but I nonetheless would have preferred a clear glass wall.  But this did allow for us to get great views of the crocs. 

There is a particularly friendly crocodile named Charlie who I had the opportunity to pet.  His tail and back were quite dry and scaly (as one might expect) but his belly and paws (I’m not sure what to call crocodile hands) were very soft.  He let me shake his arm around and rub his belly.  Overall, a very positive experience with Charlie and the rest of the gang at Katchikali.

We then headed to Mama’s restaurant for dinner.  The food was great, but the place was mostly populated by Toubabs.  A rather intoxicated British man came up to our table and started chatting away about Americans.  He mentioned living in America, so I asked him whereabouts.  PORTSMOUTH NEW HAMPSHIRE.  I immediately told him I work at Strawbery Banke Museum, that I live on the seacoast etc.  I am perpetually reminded that the world is a very small place.      

   In other news, my charming sociology professor has taken to reminding me of all the flaws I have based on my gender, race and nationality.  He really hates America.  I’ve never felt so defensive of my country.  Not my favorite class, but certainly a way for me to understand America through a different perspective.  In one of my other classes with my favorite professor, we discussed how we understand groups of people we are unfamiliar with.  In doing so, we wrote a variety of sentences about our perspectives of Gambians and Americans, and shared them.  Some of the American adjectives included “time conscious” “free-thinking” “hard working” and my personal favorite “law-abiding”.  When my professor pointed out that the US has more incarcerated people than anywhere else in the world, the Gambian student ignored her and maintained that Americans are lawful people. 

          I will try to update this more frequently, but I am beginning to make the switch to Africa time- ndanka, ndanka, or slowly, slowly.  Ciao! 

Petting Charlie

More Charlie

Checkers&Baobab Juice

Back of a bush taxi...no personal space. 

Off to Kanilai

This past week has been packed with all sorts of field trips around the Gambia, and I continue to learn more and more about the culture.  Last Tuesday, we decided to go on the University trip to Kanilai, the birthplace of the president to partake in the celebrations there as a part of the week long Roots festival.  Basically, this week is dedicated to celebrating Gambian history.  Kanilai is about a two hour drive from Brikama, where our university is located (and Brikama is an hour from Jeshwang, where I live.)  We arrived at 9:30 am, which was the original departure time.  We were informed that there were some mechanical issues that would be sorted out as quickly as possible, but that we would no doubt be on the road soon.  Four and a half hours later, at 2:00 pm, we left. 

As we drove upcountry, I had lots of opportunity to observe rural Gambia.  The habitat is so dry, and everything has a reddish tinge from the sand.  Every town had two things- a house of worship (whether a church, mosque or both) and a meeting place, which I learned from one of my professors is called a bantibar.  This is a Mandinka word for meeting place.  Sometimes, a bantibar is a few benches under a big tree…other times it is a big open structure (the university bantibars remind me very much of a gazebo one would see in a public park in the states.)   Bantibars are used to socialize, where people go to chat and drink green tea.        

About an hour into our ride, the bus broke down.  We pulled over in this tiny upcountry town.  I walked over to a village girl who looked my age.  In my very broken Wolof I greeted her and asked her name etc.  She answered me and we had a lovely, albeit brief, conversation in Wolof.  She then told me she spoke English, thank goodness!  We discussed studying at the university, her family, her life in The Gambia and how she viewed the West.  I asked her if she liked to dance, and she smiled but replied with a firm no.  But she called the other children and women from the village over and before I knew it, there was a dancing circle!!!!   To my delight, there was a drummer, clapping and singing, as various members of the community jumped in the middle to show their moves.  Obviously, I could not contain myself with all the dancing and I had to jump in.  The children were so beautiful in their display, as were the women.  I had the pleasure of dancing with some of the mothers in the village who taught me some new moves!  BEST EXPERIENCE THUS FAR!  After about an hour, the bus was fixed and we had to say goodbye.   

About twenty minutes after our exit from the village, the bus broke down again.  We got on a bush taxi which shuttled us to Kanilai.  We arrived at a little after 6:00 pm, which was our anticipated time of departure according to our original itinerary.  There was nothing going on anymore in terms of festivities, we’d missed all the good stuff.  The president was scheduled to speak at some point that night, but it was unclear as to when that might happen and our caretaker encouraged us to turn around and come home.  So we hopped back on a bush taxi.  After about an hour, the bush taxi got a flat tire.  At this point, it was dark, in the middle of upcountry Gambia, after travelling and waiting all day, only to miss the festivities we were suppose to watch.  I wanted to cry.  But the kids in the village came over and we had a good time entertaining them and ourselves, so our spirits were lifted.

We returned to Brikama after what felt like hours.  We then jumped on a van to Jeshwang, where I promptly fell asleep.  When I was awoken near our house, it was 10:30 at night.  Exhausting day.  But I totally loved dancing with the Gambians I met upcountry, and playing with the children.  We also got to meet other Gambian students from the university and they included us in all activity for the day.  Overall, a great experience with the people of the Gambia…but an experience I never want to repeat.       

Our home in Jeshwang

Camel Riding, fantastic!

Dancing!

Watching the women and children!

We met the mayor of Banjul when we took a day trip to the capital city.

More Dancing

Just a few photos

A monkey at the Bajillo national park

Sitting on the beach, watching the bumsters work their game.

Women selling fish at the market.

Wood carving market in Brikama

Under a canopy in the Botanical gardens in Bakau

Toubab! Toubab!

For the past three weeks I have been settling into a Gambian routine and adjusting to life in West Africa.  The first week was an orientation week- learning how to use the bush taxis, regular taxis, and how to negotiate prices for everything, getting use to be called “toubab” “boss lady” “pretty lady” and everything else in between.  We also took trips to touristy places- Senegambia, the tourist district, the Bajillo Monkey park, camel riding etc.  The attention is unreal.  People literally just stare.  Some are smiling and greet you, but most just look…for a very long time.  Sometimes men try to hit on the females as they walk by, with calls of beauty and “I love you’s.”  Children almost always yell to us- they want a “mintie” or a pen, which is a result of British tourism.  Some Brits who are here on holiday carry candy or small toys and pens to give out to Gambian children as they walk around.   Since they are generally the only white people children see, they assume we also have treats for them.  It is tough to disappoint them.  But on a happier note, we frequently patronize the local corner store- only about three hundred yards from our compound (the Gambian words for house, because all houses have built up walls around them.)   The man who owns the shop is named Mustapha, and his children, as well as the other neighborhood children, have come to know us.  They just want us to play with them, which we do.  I recently introduced flying to them (picking up a child and spinning him or her around in the air) which has been both fun and exhausting.  They now come running to me with their arms up when they see me walking down the street.  I quite enjoy hanging out with the kids, but my energy never fully satisfies them. 

Classes at the university have been a bit more stressful than what I am accustomed too.  First off, the time is COMPLETELY negotiable.  All of the students arrive on the first day, and discuss when the class should be held.  Literally- thirty people talking about other classes they want to take, family and work commitments, and simple inconveniences they’d like to avoid.  The professor also discusses what would work better for him or her.  Then the time is changed.  So scheduling needless to say is challenging.  Also, there aren’t enough classrooms for all of the classes, so people end up having classes outside, in gazebos or in spaces meant to be storage areas.  One of my classes now takes places outdoors.  It isn’t too bad, but the West African sun is very hot.  The temperature is in the nineties every day with the sun beating down.  I drink at least 3 liters of water a day.  I have ended up taking five classes, which are all relatively standard, except for my sociology class.  My professor is crazy.  He also doesn’t like America.  He likes to remind me of my flaws as an American during his lectures.  I am taking this class mostly just to spite him at this point.  More on that later.

Also, it is completely socially acceptable to talk on your cell phone while the professor is lecturing.   Nobody shuts their phones off, so the ringtones just go off constantly.  Then the talking…which is loud and disruptive.  Texting is obviously totally fine as well.  In the US, I almost always shut off my phone completely so I am having a hard time concentrating while the students around me are blabbing away.   

I have met some nice folks at school.  In particular, I rode to the University with Lamin, who is an aspiring journalist here.  He covers development stories for the local newspaper…cool right?  He has interviewed a whole bunch of really interesting people who are working to improve living conditions in the Gambia, and has even interviewed the minister of justice.  I am impressed.  I also met a young woman named Odette in my aerobics class (at the national stadium, where I go to work out) who has been really friendly.  After the first day of class, she cranked up the stereo and danced.  I asked if I could join her and she was so much fun!!  I am also just generally impressed that she does the whole workout, which kicks my butt, with her entire body except for her face, covered.  Our room doesn’t have air conditioning and the temperature is in the nineties most days.  On days when I don’t have aerobics, I have been trying to run.  Running here is much harder than at home because the roads are made of sand, except for the highway.  I also command considerably more attention when I am unaccompanied which makes me a little nervous.

I have much more to write, so I will try to post tomorrow.  I intend on updating more frequently now that I am established here.   Ciao!