(2003-10-14) Description

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After seven weeks, I’m settling in. Things aren’t new anymore. Things are, however, still very different from home.

I think most of us VSO Volunteers and NetCorp Interns had hoped to be able to mix in with the culture, forget who we are (to an extent) and really mesh with the cultures that we’re immersed in.

I realize that this is not possible.

Not only am I constantly stared and yelled at the in the streets because of my skin colour, there are certain aspects of the culture that I’m never going to be able to understand. Another factor that’s working against me is the fact that I’m only here for six months. No one really completely settles anywhere in six months, regardless of where they are. Six months only allows me to see the tip of the iceberg… allows me to see the differences in the culture, but not the reasons behind their actions.

It’s as though I am looking through a window. Walking through the streets, I’m never totally accepted because I look different. They know I’m not from The Gambia. They know that I’m here either to work or to vacation (most think it’s because of a vacation, so I’m often offered CDs, wood carvings, hats, bananas, nuts, or batik). I get stared at by small children, and some even cry. I get called “toubab” (“white person”) by young and old. The other day as I was walking through the village where I live, I was called “White Man” in a not-so-friendly way. Yesterday, I was grabbed violently by a man who kept saying, “I love you.” Those have been the only two openly negative actions towards me.

People are automatically interested in me because of my skin colour. Although this is a society with strong emphasis on greetings, people often greet me (always in the most friendly ways) because I am a toubab.

I have learned some greetings in one of the local African languages (called “Mandinka”) and now try to stay away from English so that they will know that I’m not a tourist. Not only does this give me a lot of respect from the people that I say the greetings to, but it makes me feel as though I’m making an effort to blend in a little more. I’m making efforts to be as Gambian as possible.

I introduce myself to Gambians as “Alimatou,” which is my Gambian name. My surname is “Bah” which is a name from a tribe known as “Fula.” People are always impressed that I have a Gambian name, and they always say, “Oh! ‘Alimatou,’ you are a Gambian now!” And I say yes, that I’ve lived here for two months, and I am Gambian. They like that.

I’ve been able to make some friends who I speak to almost every day. I have a tailor named Bax who I’ve hired to make me several pairs of pants, each costing less than $3 Cdn. I’ve got people in my compound (kind of like a mini subdivision) that come to visit me (children and men, mostly). I’ve got other volunteer friends who keep me company and who I can laugh with.

I go to the vegetable market every day and eat fresh vegetables and fruit. Eggplants, squash, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, mangos, watermelon, pineapple, coriander, ginger, garlic and onions are usually what I’ve got to choose from. There aren’t many green vegetables, sadly. I miss mushrooms, which are impossible to find here unless you buy them out of a can.

My days begin at 6.30am. I eat oatmeal for breakfast, and slowly get ready to leave the house. I walk for ten minutes through the village of Bakau, and greet lots of people on my way out. I stand by the side of the road, and look out over the ocean and watch people in their fishing boats leaving for the day. There are children in uniforms going to school, there are businessmen and women in either African or Western clothing. There are people opening their vegetable stands, people with wheelbarrows full of peanuts or oranges… everyone starts early in the day.

Sometimes the bush taxies (which are a little bit bigger than minivans, and have as many seats in them as possible- mostly poorly welded to the floor) are constant, and sometimes it takes an hour for me to find one going into the capital city (Banjul) where I work that’s not stuffed with people.

I pay the five dalasi (D20 to $1 Cdn) fare when we cross the bridge into the capital (it’s on an island). The whole ride takes about 20 minutes.

My mornings are spent teaching. I’m teaching basic computer skills to women who have hardly used (if used at all) a computer when there is power. When there is no electricity, which is very frequent, I teach typing on old typewriters.

At 11am, I walk to my other job, as a Systems Coordinator. The walk is about 10 minutes, and I usually end up having a conversation with a local for most of it. If I’m left alone, I’m yelled at again (“Toubab! Toubab!”). Before I sit down at my computer, I greet everyone in the office, which can take anywhere from 30 seconds to ten minutes. They ask about my morning, they ask about my weekend, we speak about the weather. The main difference between us Western people asking and the Gambians asking is that the Gambians actually seem to care. Although everyone asks the same questions, people seem genuine; nothing’s automatic. There is no “hinicetoseeyouagainthanksforcominghowsthemorning.”

At about 4pm, I’m done working and usually head home. I’ve decided to take French lessons, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays will be attending class for two hours before going home.

I stop by my favourite grocer, who not only gives me a fair price, but also gives me free fruit (oranges, grapefruit, bananas or mangos). I go home, cook dinner (I’m nearly vegan here- I don’t drink any milk and only eat eggs when absolutely necessary), read for a couple of hours and go to sleep between 9-10pm.

I have a cleaning lady who comes in three times a week and does my dishes and laundry, cleans my floors and tidies up the house. Her name is Fatou (which is the most common female’s name here), and she’s great. I don’t mind having a maid (besides the obvious reasons), because I know that I’m helping her by giving her a job. She’s got a husband who’s in jail and a child.

I’ve read over a dozen books in a little over six weeks. I have a lot of spare time. The pace in Africa is much slower than at home. Everything takes twice as long (if you’re lucky)… but it’s nice. I realize that there’s not always a need to do things quickly.

There are lots of different bugs in my home. I found a cockroach nest under my kitchen sink the other night, and within ten minutes I had breathed in too much Raid and there were nearly 20 dead cockroaches on my floor.

The temperature usually ranges from 28-45 degrees. The nights are supposed to be cooling off in November, but right now, the nights are hotter because we’re in between the Rainy Season and the Dry Season. This means that it’s humid, but it won’t rain. The rain usually cools the air. It’s very uncomfortable right now, but it usually only lasts until November, where the temperature drops down to about 15 degrees at night.

Surrounding me is Sahara desert sand, the Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of species of birds (I especially hate the roosters that crow too much), Palm trees and the friendliest, hardest working people I’ve ever met in my life. It’s beautiful.