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!
