A Stranger Calls

Something got lost in the translation! Over here if you have a stranger come to stay it means visitor and my stranger was my daughter, Lisa, last week. So it only seemed polite to take a little time out and show her some of the pleasures of Gambia. This started with our beach weekend, very tranquil and relaxing. Well, that was when we eventually got there which involved a fifteen mile bike ride on a borrowed bike and my sit up and beg that is stuck in fifth gear. I think she realised that there would be exercise involved somewhere along the line. First day in I think it was a shock to the system. Mad dogs and Englishmen come to mind. While the locals were chilling under the mango tree we were doing an impression of the Tour de France. We did get a marriage proposal along the way though from a toothless policeman at a check point. He obviously thought he was a good catch but we couldn’t work out who the proposal was directed at. A few choice Mandinka words roughly translated to ‘ naff off’ and we were on our way again. Our tree house beckoned and we had beers and beach more or less to ourselves the whole weekend apart from the odd bumster who’s opening line taken  from the bumsters phrase book was ‘What is your nice name?’ Enough to make any girl swoon – not!

Our home in the trees

All to ouselves

Idyllic

The real Africa

Anyone for snails?

The second weekend was a little more hectic. We made our way inland on a hippo seeking mission to Janjanburgh. Took a whole day to get there using five different modes of transport and a couple of ferry crossings. I think the only thing we missed out was a donkey cart. We were well and truly into the real Africa, mud huts and thatched rooves everywhere, yet another eye opener. We stayed in the local education office which was wonderful apart from the loudest insect in the world that just happened to be calling for his lady friend just outside our window. I’m sure it must have been the size of a dinosaur to create such a racket. One of the local chaps ferried us up the river for the right price and another marriage proposal thrown in, this time it was aimed at Lisa, I’ve stopped kidding myself. We had a feast of wildlife. Mainly birds of every shape and colour, monkeys a huge monitor lizard and at our journeys end a couple of hippos. Well that’s what we think they were, two pairs of eyes, ears and nostrils snorting at us from a distance. Another black dot in my photographic escapades. Then it was back home on the never to be caught again ‘green bus’. It was packed and we ended up standing for six hours. I did get a seat at one stage but was eventually edged off by a bigger butt than mine and a chicken in a bag. I can only describe the journey as like being on one of those vibrating tables women pay a fortune to lie on in toning salons. Get your money back ladies, it doesn’t work! Then it was time for my stranger to go home – boo hoo!

June’s tip for the week – Don’t sit next to ladies with big posteriors and always wear a sports bra on African transport.

On the river

Tobaski

November and it’s still boiling in the daytime which made it seem very strange when I went to watch Man Utd play Man City and all the crowd were muffled up in coats, scarves and jackets. We also took one of the local kids with us who just happens to idolize Carlos Teves. Ever since that evening he has been walking around in + 30C heat with a pair of black woolly gloves on. As the half time whistle blew I just happened to glance around the room and discovered that mine was the only white face and female among a crowd of 200. Talk about being the white sheep!


Tradition has it that if you are going to be living in The Gambia for any period of time you get given a Gambian name. So one of the lovely ladies from the telephone company thought that it would be a nice idea to take her mother’s name which is Fatou ( I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment or not). Anyway Fatou it is! It has taken me three months to break this news to my darling hubby so to him I am no longer Two Bob but more endearingly named Fat Two Bob (I think he still loves me!).

What of Tobaski? I hear you ask. Well back in the U.K. we would know it as the Muslim festival of Eid. Everybody has been gearing up to it for weeks and saving their well earned dalasis to buy the sacrificial ram for the family compound. They have been tethered along the roadside fattening up for the special occasion. I walk past half a dozen on the way to work and mutter something like ‘If you only knew rammy boy!’ Hopefully nobody hears me. They don’t seem to have the same affection towards animals out here. I did think that I was mistaken the other day though when I saw a couple of kids caressing their ram but it wasn’t until I got closer and discovered they were prodding it to see how much meat was on its bones. Anyway yesterday was the last day to go ram shopping. It’s not like a turkey that you can stuff in a carrier bag and take home. It has been quite entertaining spotting the different methods of transporting your ram. There is the wheelbarrow method whereby you pick up its back legs and shove, you can actually tie its legs together and put it inside a wheelbarrow, strap it to the back of a motorcycle, tie it to the roof of a gelli or ram it into the boot of a car. They eventually get home one way or another and inevitably meet their maker as swiftly as possible. The lucky family then dine for a week on roast ram, ram salad, ram sandwiches, ram bubble and squeak and ramburgers. The list is endless I won’t ramble on anymore. You will be pleased to know that we did not slaughter a ram in our compound instead I ceremoniously took the carving knife to a swiss roll and dispatched it vey humanely.

June’s tip for the week – Don’t forget to remove your ram from the roof.

Ram's everywhere

Ram on the roof

Rammed in the boot!

The Swiss Roll gets it!

Words and Wigs

Time flies when you’re having fun. It doesn’t seem like two weeks since I last posted a blog. Now I’ve got to think of something really interesting to say. The truth is, now that I’m into a ‘normal’ work pattern exciting things don’t happen as frequently so it took much head scratching to get up and running. However, what is now quite normal to me will still seem alien to you.

Thought I’d post a picture of one of my classes, all happy and smiling. I’d obviously not started the lesson by then. Fast forward an hour and a half and they’re all drifting off into the land of nod. One of the tasks this week was to write a brief paragraph about themselves so that we could assess their writing ability. I had to titter at some of the spellings. Somebody loved to read ‘nobels’ (novels), one cheeky chappy enjoyed ‘creaking’ (cracking) jokes and one young lady’s most memorable time was her ‘weeding’ day (I don’t think I need to translate that one). The shop signs are just as comical we have one that sells ‘spear parts’ (spare parts). Or was it correct the first time, I haven’t actually been inside. There is also a video shop that advertises ‘A Closet for Elders’. We haven’t worked out whether or not it is somewhere you just sit down and have a rest, a cubicle to watch porno films or a special loo for incontinent customers. Maybe I’ll try it out one day as I’m sure they class me as an elder as I often get yelled at across the street ‘How are you boss lady!’

Our compound landlord, Mr Touray, who lives and breathes football, is also the manager of the teacher’s regional football team. Being very loyal tenants we went along and supported his team. We seemed to stick out like sore thumbs, toubabs and the only females there. We obviously brought them good luck as they won against all odds and survived a pitch invasion from a lost goat. You see I told you life was exciting.

Goat invasion

The West African women certainly put us drab westerners to shame when it comes to dressing up. They are always bright and colourful. I’ve been persuaded to have a Gambian dress made so I’ve bitten the bullet and spent the equivalent of £3 on material which is probably the most garish I could find, bright orange with black and yellow fish swimming around on it. Next step will be to visit the tailor and see what he can create. It should be ready just in time for ‘Tobaski’, the next Muslim festival. I’ve also entered a competition to win a ram (yes a male sheep), through my mobile phone operators. The tradition is to slaughter your ram in the street during Tobaski so the next blog entry has the potential of being very exciting. Going back to the lovely Gambian ladies, even the cleaners come to work looking very elegant and get changed into their work clothes when they arrive. This also means removing their wigs, which is all the fashion. When I entered the room last week I did think I was having another animal encounter and had discovered a huge bird eating spider sitting on the chair. Just as my bowels were about to evacuate I realised the cleaner was in the corner with a scarf on her head, my mind quickly put 2+2 together and realised where the creature originated.

June’s tip of the week – Never leave your wig unattended.

Blackboard and Chalk

Not quite Champneys

I’d forgotten how therapeutic it was, writing with chalk on a blackboard. Sometimes I get carried away and forget that there are 70 students behind me and I’m taking an eternity to write a vital bit of information on the board (well they think it is vital). Two weeks teaching big people done and I really like it, not as daunting as I thought it would be. It’s a little bit like being on the stage and so far I’ve managed to learn my words, make them titter at the right bits and give the impression that I know what I am talking about. It does occasionally turn into a Little Britain sketch with me playing Matt Lucas and one of the unfortunate students the Indian lady in the dieting club. I haven’t quite tuned in to the Gambian accent and usually have to ask what has been said three times until eventually I guess. We often get our wires crossed and I followed one guy to the loo the other day thinking he’d asked for a word in private but it was actually permission to go and urinate. I’ll learn!

Earlier on in the week we had an unpleasant smell wafting through the classroom window. After apologising to the class that it wasn’t a very sweaty English teacher I discovered that a sheep had decided to pop its clogs outside the classroom door, eventually it was hauled away. Smells seemed to be the theme of the day. While I was teaching one of the many stray dogs took refuge in our office and when I got there it smelt like it should have been dead but was alive and kicking and was promptly given its marching orders.

Having run over with one of my lessons the R.E teacher was waiting for the class. I popped out to apologise and said that he could use the English classroom. Some of the class started to leave and just as I was ushering them back to their seats he informed me that he only took the Christians. So without thinking, as I do most things, I stood on a chair and yelled ‘Muslims out, Christians in!’ It wasn’t until I got down that I thought that wasn’t a very politically correct thing to say. The next day I thought that Allah was wreaking his revenge when one of the students turned up with a machete. I thought my time had come and my heart missed a beat. I later found out that it was college cleaning day and it was his job to chop down the weeds – phew!

Continuing with the animal theme. A quick update on the croc encounter a few weeks ago. I will no longer be petting any friendly looking crocodiles. One of the dear creatures escaped took refuge in a nearby well and decided to snack on one of the local children. I saw one of my favourite insects for the first time. A praying mantis, much smaller in the flesh but exactly like the pictures in the books. A favourite in the feminist fraternity because she eats her husband after copulation. Not that I am advocating that we humans should do the same. I have also had my first mouse/mice around to visit. Rachel tells me she has been able to dispatch three by bombarding them with a shower of shoes but I think hers must be a different breed. Mine seems to be the Usain Bolt of the mouse kingdom. Smoke trails follow him as he zooms around the room. I think I’ll leave him to it.

June’s tip of the week- Never leave a dead sheep festering in the baking sun for more than two hours.

Local transport

Petunia the Praying mantis - where's the husband?

Victor and Veronica vulture - looking for nesting material outside the classroom. 

Two Bob

‘Two Bob’ – the latest term of endearment given to me by my hubby. The Oxford English dictionary might define it as originating from the Mandinka word – toubab, meaning white person. Isn’t he a sweetie or should I say sweaty! As well as work and preparing for the imminent arrival of the students my fellow volunteer, Rachel has had friend over from Oz so we took him around a few touristy areas. One eco-camp well within our budget called Tumani Tenda offered to teach us how to cook the local dish – Benechin. All prepared in one pot (see pics). I can just about remember what went in there even though the smoke was dulling my senses inside the sauna like hut.

                                                                   Working for my supper!

                                                                               The pot
The local restaurants in our busy little town are cheap and often more economical than cooking your own meal. They aren’t exactly in the Raymond Blanc league but our favourite has the choice of three dishes – omelette and chips, spaghetti with tomato sauce or beans with or without a smattering of goat meat. Omelette is usually off the menu so beans is often the best bet (just as well I’m living on my own). Our volunteers cookbook also gives us handy tips. I thought I’d pass on this info on how to kill and prepare a chicken should you ever need it (I don’t think I will).

‘Start by making a slit with a SHARP knife in the chicken‘s neck through the windpipe. This allows the chicken to die a somewhat quick and painless death. Remove the head. Next, dip the chicken in a pot of almost boiling water. This will allow you to pluck the chicken with the greatest of ease.’

I am now an expert in tie dyeing after having one lesson where I created a blue and green abstract patterned piece of cloth. I will be calling in at the local tailor to conjure up a shoulder bag, from which I’m sure the fashion houses of Paris will be clambering down to Gambia to steal my designs.

With no telly and very little electricity filling the evenings has been quite an effort, chatting with friends is one option, reading, a spot of yoga, sewing – yes I have made a peg bag and seat cover (Grandma Robinson would be proud of me), listening to the very posh man presenting the BBC’s world service between 8-9pm each night and of course there is also 'spot the insect’. A game that can be played alone or with friends. I have come to accept all the creepy crawlies that share my home. There’s no point sweeping them out or killing them otherwise word seems to get out and they march back in with a vengeance. The latest edition to the family is a 50p sized ‘thingy’ that looks rather prehistoric, runs sideways very quickly and has three inch long antennae. I usually give him/her a wide berth.

June’s tip for the week – NEVER walk into a room naked when someone is on the computer using Skype (Tom)!

Tranquility out on the river.

Candles and Dongles

I’ve never gone through so many candles! These constant power cuts have turned me into a proper Florence Nightingale or maybe more of a ‘Wee Willy Winkie’ wandering around the house like someone from a bygone age. As for dongles, I can hear you asking, no they are not something that you might find on the shelves of an Ann Summers shop, they are devices that you can plug into your laptop that allows you to access the internet from the comfort of your own home. It’s truly magic, modern technology, what will they think of next? They’ll be telling me that they’ve laid off all the carrier pigeons. Anyway, for somebody who according to my dear hubby is in charge of the purse that never opens has splashed out and bought one so I have been surfing the web from my own kitchen table.


Also braved my first haircut and true to form I didn’t go to the mega expensive western salons in the tourist area but nipped around the corner to the local ‘beauty salon’. I don’t think they really knew what to make of me but the decision was to tackle my wig with barbers clippers. I feared the worst! In the end after nearly each single hair was individually cut I walked out with a quite acceptable Junie Rob cut. At least I don’t make the kids cry anymore, well not the older ones!

New wig and friendly croc

This certainly is a young country. There are millions of kiddie winks everywhere. Quite the opposite to the UK’s aging population. Most of them at some stage of the day seem to pop their faces up to my mosquito screen on the door to check out the new ‘toubab’ and what strange things she might be up to in that house all on her own. I have tried a story reading session with some of the local clan, which they loved. Just looking at all the colourful pictures was mesmerising. Trying to get them to turn the pages carefully was a little more difficult. After visiting the local school with Mr Touray I can see why they appreciated the book. The classrooms were worse than I had anticipated. Very little furniture, holes in the floor, walls and roof and such a lack of colour. Where do you start? Well let’s look on the bright side, they’ll soon be speaking English with a Cumbrian accent.

The better off kids take in their own furniture

Turned into a tourist again on Sunday and visited the capital, Banjul, for the first time. Took lots of pics went up Arch 22 and viewed the River Gambia from afar. After lots of confrontations with bumsters we finished our day watching the fishermen bringing in their catches and then got totally confused as the fish were despatched to the shore and quickly sold to waiting punters. How they keep track of who gets paid for what I will never know but I’m sure that they have their fingers on the pulse. We also visited the local croc pool which is a bit of a tourist attraction but the crocs are fed well enough not to want to whizz around and take your arm off. No I didn’t really feel like a female version of Steve Erwin.

June’s tip for the week – If there is no toilet paper and you have no tissues to hand DO NOT use mosquito wipes!

One of the fishing fleet

The catch coming in

Arch 22 in Banjul

Also attended my first staff meeting and met the new crew, everybody was very nice but there’s no chance that I’ll remember all the names. I’ll blame the heat rather than age for addling my brain. I will never complain again about long staff meetings, this one lasted five hours. Mind you we did have lots to talk about the last point was whether or not the guys should be allowed to take more than one wife to the staff picnic. I think the answer was no or if they did they had to pay extra. Well I knew it was going to be different!  

No More Fasting!

The title is a little misleading, I wasn’t anyway but I take my hat off to all those who did. No eating or drinking during daylight hours for the whole month of Ramadam. At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore when stuffing my lunchtime sarnies and gallon of water needed to replace all the moisture pouring out of my leaky skin. Going to a watch Gambia play Namibia in the national stadium last week was very different not a soggy meat pie or a steaming cup of Bovril to be seen anywhere. The little lady selling cashew nuts managed to get rid of a few to the smattering of Christians and toubabs (white people) in the crowd.


I ventured into the college this week to meet my colleagues and find out where I would be working. A little different from UK colleges. There’s not many institutions that have donkeys and a herd of goats grazing in the grounds. Before starting to organise the classroom I had to chase out the stray dog that thought it would be a good place to shelter from the torrential downpours and midday heat. How we will fit 60 students (normal class size) onto 45 chairs, I’m not sure but I have been assured that it can be done. Looking forward to starting a new challenge – it will certainly be different and that’s what I signed up for.

I have been exploring the local area with a couple of my fellow volunteers Jane and Rachel. We set off on our push bikes down a potholed muddy track to a nearby village which lived up to expectations. Like the guidebook said it was very tranquil away from the hustle and bustle of town and a bird watchers paradise. On the way back we deviated to buy some local honey and got a little more than was bargained for. Just as we cycled into the compound the guys were slaughtering a cow under a tree ready for the feast the following day. I’m going to have to toughen up a bit because at the moment carrots are looking like the better option. Eventually we got our freshly squeezed honey and we were back on the road again a little bit more worldly wise.

We were invited for Koriteh lunch (Eid) by a colleague at the college and his wife and four girls plus numerous aunts and uncles. We shared a food bowl of noodles, potatoes and mutton all very tasty. I lied about turning vegetarian. To finish off the day we were dropped off at Kartong the most southerly village on the Gambian coastline, the next stop would be Senegal. Myself and Jane walked along the beach with not a ‘bumster’ in sight, followed only by two stray dogs and a donkey. We ended up at Boboi lodge, somewhere to stay in the dry season the tree houses looked a little leaky under threatening black skies. That will be a future adventure!

                                                            Our local baker and his oven

                                                                  One of the neighbours

My classroom is behind the goats somewhere

         The heavens are just about to open

Home Sweet Home

My new pad

Well what a nice surprise, a flushing loo and a cold shower, what more could a girl ask for! My new pad is a des res. I have my very own outside tap to do all my washing up and clothes washing, never again will I moan about my washing machine back home for taking too long and remind me again what is a dish washer?


Brikama is a busy little place it seems to be the transport hub for Gambia. You can catch a Geli Geli (minibus type thingy) to anywhere. Whenever you venture towards the market if you don’t have your wits about you, you could end up being stuffed on board with goats, chickens and the odd three piece suite and transported off to the back of beyond. Once you have negotiated the hustle and bustle of the Geli park the market traders hit you head on. Not being a natural shopper and used to Mr Sainsbury very kindly dropping off my groceries every week, having to bargain for everything from an umbrella to an egg is exhausting. I’d rather run a marathon any day! I’m sure it will get easier.

Our compound is a little oasis. Mr Touray is our guardian angel, caretaker, security guard, local teacher and keen gardener, he manages to keep the garden looking like a tropical paradise. We have lots of colourful birds visit and I will eventually learn their names but at the moment they fit into three categories; cute little ones, colourful medium sized ones and big loud ones that wake me in the morning when it’s the cockerels day off. We also have a few night visitors. I did think someone was breaking in the other night and just as my pounding heart was about to explode through my chest cavity I thought I’d better get up and confront the villain head on. When I looked out the window there were giant bats the size of pterodactyls flapping around in the mango tree and banging on the window. For one minute I thought I’d ended up in a scene from Jurassic Park 4.

State of the art cooking facilities

All smiles before we are shipped off to all corners.

Two Weeks Gone

We moved into the Big Brother house with relative ease. Six happy campers to fit into four rooms which meant four of us sharing and two getting the luxury of a room each. I organised the straws to draw the rooms and funnily enough myself and Vicky ended up with a room each. I can’t understand why they all thought I’d fixed it!

We tasted the real Gambia and visited a local village. Everybody welcomed us as we piled off the bus lots of smiling faces and handshakes in true Gambian style. We were introduced to the Alkalo (head of the village),the Imam and all the village elders. We meandered around their crops and gardens and finished with a mountain of food and hospitality. They were very apologetic as they couldn’t teach us to dance because of Ramadam, which was probably just as well because I think I would have needed a few bevvies before making a fool of myself.

Pounding the streets is best done at the crack of dawn. As the Imam calling everybody to prayer at 5o’clock and the local rooster are in competition at being my alarm clock I have had no problem getting up. The local mutts ignore me as I plod past, why did I bother getting my rabies jab I ask myself. I did get a bit worried when I saw two vultures watching me from the top of a lamppost. They seemed to be discussing whether or not I was dead. I never thought I would say it but it is a pleasure when the sun goes in.

Language training has been very brain aching. Fifty year old brains don’t seem to like learning new things. Anyway I thought I would do what my housemate Vicky does and practice my Mandinka with the people we meet in the street. My first encounter was with a guy who spoke Fula, the second was from Mauritania and the third guy only spoke Wollof. As you may have guessed I’m not yet fluent. I’m the first to be evicted from the Big Brother house. Tomorrow I head off for Brikama and my own pad so stay tuned.

Welcome to my washing machine

Meeting the Elders

The Hairdressers

The Ladies of the village

Everybody in

A loo with a view

Welcome to The Gambia

Here at last. Nik dropped me off, not everything went to plan. We did think that we could whisper sweet nothings across a table whilst consuming our last bacon butty together before I zoomed off into the vast blue yonder. Unfortunately it was not to be. The van was too high to get into the short stay car park so I was bundled out, landed on the tarmac, my back pack was hoisted into position and resembling Sherpa Tensing I fell into the departure lounge at terminal 1. I managed a pitiful wave through the glass door and watched Nik kangaroo off into the distance (I bet he was secretly pleased that I wasn’t there to nag him about being in the wrong gear). After spending ten minutes sitting on the loo crying my heart out I gave myself a good talking to and went in search of some familiar faces, I found them, funnily enough they were going through the same emotional turmoil that I seemed to be experiencing.
The plane wasn’t the most luxurious, Flintstones airlines comes to mind, at one point I thought we might have to flap our own arms to get air bound but we all arrived safely. Only one of our happy band lost their bags en route. The heat as we stepped on to the tarmac was something else – Who turned up the sun! After fending off all the ‘BUMSTERS’ ( a recognised term for chaps who try to extort money out of one by fair or foul means, I’m sure they’ll feature in future blogs), we bundled our bags into waiting VSO pickup trucks and headed for sanctuary. It wasn’t long before we were stopped, the army was out in full force all tooled up and looking rather scary. The reason for the delay soon became apparent. The president zoomed around the corner in his stretched hummer followed by a cavalcade of swish vehicles and instead of leaving in a hail of bullets packets of biscuits rained down on the crowds lining the streets. Phew, panic over. Welcome to The Gambia.
Life seems like a holiday at the moment we’re in a hotel with a pool, all very civilised. This will soon come to an end when we start our placements and are dotted around the country. The next couple of weeks involves settling in, learning about the culture and a new language (Mandinka), which will be a bit of a challenge as I am still coming to terms with the English language. Well until next time, I shall sign off, smother myself in mosquito repellent and climb under my mosquito net and hopefully drift off to sleep serenaded by the rain rattling on the tin roof on the other hand I may be kept up all night by yelping dogs, enthusiastic birds and the klunk of the fan that resembles something like a cat in a blender (sorry cat lovers). June xx

Not quite there yet!

No you're not seeing things, not quite there yet. Just thought I'd post a couple of pics to remind me what good old England looks like and of course some of the motley crew I used to work with.