heledd in gambia

24^th March

Children here need worming regularly, and  I think I need to buy more worming tablets, so while my friends sit on the beach, I have to catch bush taxis up to the Brikama – Banjul highway. The taxi to the traffic lights had a door that would not close, and no handle inside, so I had to try and hold the door shut by gripping the recess where the handle should have been.

Once at theWestfieldtaxi rank, there was total madness. Yellow taxis, green taxis, bush taxis come from all directions, parking anywhere they want. Arguments about drivers jumping the queue clash with every driver shouting out their destination and honking horns.

The main ‘pavement’ is a series of slabs over a storm drain, each with a metal handle just waiting to trip up the unaware. I curse and wish I had brought Ebrima with me. Since breaking my leg last year, I stumble and fall very easily. There are gaps in the storm drain covers, the ‘pavement’ proper slopes towards the very busy highway, and at the back of the storm drains various small stalls sell everything from peeled oranges, pirated videos, second hand clothes, to second hand car parts. (Most of the cars scrapped in the rest ofEuropeseem to end up inAfrica). Cars park everywhere, making it necessary to either walk on the road, or try and squeeze into a gap between two parked cars. I’d have taken a photograph but was too terrified of losing concentration and stumbling into the speeding traffic.

Anyway, the worming tablets were bought and I made my way back toSenegambia(and a beer) when I saw a marquee outside ‘Wishes’ toy shop. ‘Car BootSale! it said. ‘Stop!! Stop!! ‘ I yelled at the driver, hastily paid my seven dalasis (about 14 pence and went to have a look. Ooh!! I love car boot sales. I might be able to get myself a new (second hand) dress  … or a pair of sandals, or something for the house. What I found was even better. Two small Ikea children’s tables, plus five chairs (ok one was broken but they didn’t charge for it). I can finally get rid of one of the huge ugly tables in Nursery One. I walk back toSenegambia, very hot and happy, and have a well deserved beer in Yasminas.

The children have a long way to walk to the nearest primary school. At the moment they are in temporary accommodation, with volunteer teachers. There is community land available, and we have finally got a sponsor willing to build a school. So eager is everyone to start work that the land has already been cleared

The whole village is very excited. But before building work can begin, we must hold a ‘Blessing’ to ensure the success of the venture. All the village elders are there, including the Alkaloo, or Head of the Village, and the Imam. We also bring the nursery children along. Everyone prays, speeches are made, the children sing, then everyone prays again and cola nuts are handed out. Have you ever tried cola nuts?? Don’t bother!! They are very popular here, and I can’t imagine why.

OurUKvisitors took one nibble and tried to hide the rest in their pockets. I took a few nibbles on behalf of the sponsors who were not able to be there, and slipped the rest to the hand of a three year old.

Today is Commonwealth Day. All the children come in their
various ethnic clothes and bring food traditional to their groups.

We have Fula, Mandinka, Manjargo, Wollof , Jola and Caroninka at our school.

I wore my hastily
made Welsh costume. Everyone was amazed at the tall black hat (made out of
cardboard and bin liners).

The teachers prepared ‘mashed potatoes’ for themselves and
the visitors. This is not ‘mashed potato’,  as we know it, but involved half a sack of
potatos, a 3.5 kgtub of mayo, a tray and a half of eggs, ‘Jimbo’ a seasoning cube and onions. Wealso had baobab juice which is lovely.
Baobab mixed with condensed milk, sugar (lots of) coconut and bananas.

Traditionally, the children must share their food with their
teachers, and I was amazed at how the teachers took a decent sized portion from
each child, and then settled down to their own mashed potato and baobab juice.

Later, the whole village was invited and we had singing and
dancing to some local drummers.

Yesterday, when I went to feed Jeni the donkey, I noticed
swarms of bees entering Ebrima’s house through the cracks in the door. We both
had a look, but he didn’t open his door. ‘Hmm. Perhaps they will go away later’
he said

By last night, a big swarm had settled just under his door
frame, and inside the house.

‘How you going to get rid of them?’ I asked.

‘Hmm. Maybe they will go away later’ he said. ‘But do you
know, these bees are from the bush. It’s not easy to get them. They know me
now, and will not harm me. But if a stranger comes, they will attack him. Even
the President, he has bees at his home at Kanilai.

I fed Jeni the donkey, and Iggypop the cockerel and the hens.
The parrot watched from my shoulder. Iggypop
regards Libby, my Senegalese parrot  as a rival cockerel, and warns her off with
his crowing.

I got some palm fruit, to see if she would like it. This is
supposed to be a staple diet of African Greys, but Libby was not impressed.

Later, I went down to Sanyang to watch the wrestling. It
was really good. Every time one of the wrestlers did a particularly good move,
they would dance around the arena, and the women would sing and dance. Really
more like a concert than a wrestling match, but I enjoyed being a tourist for the
day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTmTP5cSGIk&feature=youtu.be

Ok. A bit late. I just got a bit behind.

My donkey needs a harness, and Hassan the donkey driver has
promised to make me one out of rice sacks.

I go down, and watch him patiently sewing the sacks and flat
rope together. His children help him. One of his wives offers me fresh ground
nuts, and I eat them while watching Hassan.

Then I go to the nearby school, to see how the work is going
ahead on the wall. They are all volunteers, and so far the wall has taken two
years to build, but now it’s almost finished.

I go back to Hassan, and enjoy watching him stitch the
harness. It’s very peaceful there on his shady veranda.  I once asked Hassan how many children he had, but he didn’t know the number, so he had to name them all. I counted ten, but he counted nine.

Then I get an irate phone call from Dai ‘do you know it’s Christmas Day?? Where are you?’Oh dear! I had forgotten. I return and we go down the Senegambia
strip for a drink. A group of boys pass with an Agugu. It’s a traditional
masquerade that comes only at Christmastime. They sing and dance and are very
excited. I think Agugu has something to do with dead spirits, and I’m not sure
either why he always comes at Chrsitmas, because most of the children are
Muslim. I give them 10 dalasis, and they are well pleased.

Later, on the way home, I buy Affra for us and security.
Affra is just grilled meat, with onions, cooked out in the open.

So that was my Christmas lunch – Affra. All in all, not a
bad day.

I’m down the school for the first time today. My friend
visited two weeks ago and said it was chaos. They must have heard I was back
because everything is tidy and orderly today. I had to walk the two miles, as
my quad wont start. Maimuna, the head teacher, discusses the new children in
the nursery and we decide to go to Hassan, the donkey driver to ask why his
children aren’t in school after he made such a fuss to get them enrolled.

He’s not there, so we visit the mum of one of our pupils,
who volunteers to carry water for the school. Her husband died last month, and
it is the custom here that she has to stay indoors for four months. Four months
in a tiny home without electricity, water, reading materials and only a bed for
furniture! It would drive me mad! She is obviously in great distress. Her
husband was an only child and an orphan himself, so the help she could normally
expect from his family is unavailable. She cannot support her own children from
the market stall she has because she is not allowed out, and even worse, she is
pregnant, and due to give birth in January. Maimuna says the community will all
help, and I say I will try and find a sponsor for her 7 year old son.

Maimuna and I walk back to the school and notice a little
purple bundle lying across the path. It’s a child from our school! Little
Maimuna Daffeh has collapsed with malaria, and is barely conscious on the path,
her little bottle of juice lying be her side. We carry her quickly to her home.
The picture is a reconstruction of how we found her.

Later in the day I get my parrot back from the lady who has
been looking after her while I was away. I notice the family eying her warily
as she sits on my finger. ‘Um’ I say ‘Was she aggressive?’ They apparently took
turns to clean her cage as no one wanted to do it. I still think she doesn’t
deserve the nickname of ‘Psycho’, though, that everyone except me calls her.

The next day I called on Maimuna with some liquid paracetamol
and milk. She was already much better after visiting the clinic

For once in my life I step off the plane at Banjul, and don’t get a rush of elation. I went home to see my daughter’s twins safely delivered. They are all well now, but I’m going to miss watching them grow up.

I cheer up a little and watch the palm trees and exotic vegetation from the taxi. It was still the rainy season when I left, and everything is much dryer now. Ladies are busy carrying firewood on their heads, babies on their backs. We arrive at the chaos of Brusubi turntable. There are bush taxis and donkey carts, colourful market stalls selling everything from local vegetables to mobile phones. Crowds of people bargaining and arguing or greeting each other and I think Yes!! I’m home! West Africa is the best place in the whole world!!