The Temperature Drops

Getting across the river.

January already, time flies when you’re having fun and it’s nearly over. According to all reports there’s an epidemic of the January blues back in the UK. I put it down to short days and miserable weather. Thankfully it hasn’t spread south, the sun is still shining and the days are still twelve hours plus. I did have to take drastic measures one morning last week and had to don a sweatshirt and I’ve taken to wearing night clothes in bed so no more full moons here in Brikama.


Daily life plods on as normal. I still haven’t got used to cooking individual portions so my bean and veg soup/stew lasted a whole week and my bean burger mixture stretched out for five days. Being a tight northerner I couldn’t bear to throw it out. Just as well I’m in the house on my own as I seem to have OD’d on beans. We did have a treat last night though one of the Peace Corp girls got a food parcel from the States so we all dined on a Mexican delight. Mr Touray has also been sharing his garden produce, so far we’ve had bananas, oranges, papaya and tomatoes, things are looking up.

I’m still learning something new every day. Not doing too well with the language though, I think my brain is slowly converting to scrambled egg. I did find out that instead of going for your haircut you go to get your hair reduced. At least I’ll know what to ask for next time. I wonder if they’ll be able to reduce the grey as well.

One of my students recently invited me to a football tournament and introduced me to all his coaching colleagues, made me out to be some sort of celebrity. I felt like crawling under the table when he plonked me next to Gambia’s first international footballer (Biri,Biri age 64), must have thought we had age in common. One of the young players came up to ask me which team I supported and when I said I didn’t really have a team he suggested that I should support Arsenal. When I asked him why he said it was because I looked like Arsene Wegner. My celebrity status soon deteriorated after that.

June’s tip for the week – If you start to resemble ageing football managers seriously consider plastic surgery.

School Al-fresco

Food and Festivities

Sorry blog but I have neglected you just lately. First there was the trek Up Country and then Christmas was upon us. I’ll start with the trek.


Part of my job is to observe students on their teaching practices out in their schools and offer advice and support along the way. Our merry team of four plus driver set off one fine Sunday morning, only two hours late (typical for African time) and headed inland to region five. Six hours later we were there. What I thought was a nice bronze tan seemed to disappear down the plughole, which was to be the pattern for the following five days. We were really out in the sticks careering down dirt paths more suited for donkey carts and constantly covered in a layer of dust. It was a magical mystery tour only our leader gave the impression he knew where we were going. Nobody knew where we would stay each night or what we would eat but typical Gambian hospitality never let us down teachers made room for us in their meagre accommodation and always shared their food bowls with us. Not everybody’s cup of tea (I can see my mother’s face now). Sometimes a spoon would be available but generally it was right hands in, left hands being used for the other end. This was the real Gambia/Africa. People had very little but were willing to share, puts our materialistic society to shame. We visited a variety of schools all making the best they could from limited resources. One nursery classroom ended up doing their lessons under the mango tree as there was no room in the school. We did think that our tour might have to be cut short as our esteemed leader caught malaria but he was very noble and over our evening meal he declared that if he should die in the night we should just fling his body in the back and carry on with the observations. The next morning he made a miraculous recovery, I put it down to the African version of man flu. There is not an awful lot of big wildlife around in Gambia, I think it was all eaten years ago. One of the student teachers did surprise me when he said he had to pedal home quickly before it got dark so that the wolves didn’t get him. Even I knew Africa did not have wolves, I asked him to describe these wolves and it turns out that they were a sandy colour, covered in black spots with large salivating jaws to which I concluded that they were hyenas, he agreed that they were a special kind of wolf. Needless to say we kept the door of our digs tightly closed that night. Home safely a week later, I’ve never been so pleased to see a flushing loo.

All hands in

The school kitchen

Village Life



Then it was time to start our Xmas celebrations which started with our VSO BBQ, topped off with carols, pass the parcel, our very own skinny secret santa and stuffing flown in from the UK, a distinct lack of gravy though. Then it was my turn to climb onto that big white bird and head home for the festivities. I left in 35C and arrived in Gatwick -5C. Luckily my very loving hubby was waiting with coats, gloves and hats as a sweatshirt and flip flops didn’t seem to stave off hypothermia, funny that! The excitement started on the plane. Getting my little food parcel was better than opening presents on Christmas day. I peeled off the wrapping on my hot container and there staring up at me was a portion of broccoli and gravy – ‘orgasmic’. It got even better, there was little packs of cheese, cake and chocolates, little things please little minds. Christmas as my son would say was awesome, fun, friends and family all topped off with a mountain of food smothered in gravy. It had to end and it was back to Gatwick, a more civilised farewell over a cup of costa coffee this time and a cuddle over the security barrier. Six hours later I was back in my other life being driven by a taxi driver who had to hot wire the car to get it going, welcome back to Africa. Luckily the girls dragged me out that evening so there was no time to do any mopping around. We saw the new year in with an awesome style of Jola dancing. A guy covered in grass with a spike sticking out of his head which he planted into the ground and spun around like a whirling dervish. The prototype for break dancing I think. Like most people back to work on Monday – What will 2011 hold in store for us all?

 A chilly but beautiful Cumbria - what a contrast!

Our New Year's Eve Whirling Dervish

June’s tip for the week – Don’t wear flip flops when it is -5C

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.