Christmas Cheer

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you. Whatever you are doing, enjoy it all with family and friends in love and appreciation! I’m already looking forward to Christmas 2012 but in the meantime……………..

It’s Christmas eve and I woke up this morning in my “Christmas treat” hotel (the Hibiscus in Brufut) to a chill in the air. It is December after all!  However it was not cold enough to prevent me from eating breakfast outdoors, at the pool’s edge. My usual breakfast here begins with fresh fruit salad wrapped in a pancake with a locally made fruit juice, rich in vitamin C, called wongo. I’m developing a taste for it mixed with ginger. Afterwards Fatu, head of table service, brings two poached eggs, tomato and a small amount of bacon with fresh tapalata bread cut into small rounds. I always save a little of the bread to eat with the delicious runny African honey. A small pot of tea rounds off a meal that staves off all signs of hunger until the evening.

Life here is certainly different to the rather Spartan existence in Soma. The hotel garden is gorgeous and evident wherever guests roam. The tall trees and beautiful bougainvilleas attract delightful small birds, some no bigger than wrens but with such bright coloured plumage. Sadly they are too quick to photograph.

The food is marvellous. As well as mouth-watering breakfasts, the lunch and evening dinner menus are irresistible. I especially recommend the butterfish in lime and capers or sticky chicken. The puddings look great too but I never have any room for one. Perhaps today I’ll just have a pudding and skip the main course altogether!

It won’t surprise those of you who have been following my blog which hotel facility I’ve been looking forward to the most. In fact after 5 hours on the road, plus an additional hour or two catching up with Lucy in a Fajara restaurant, I rushed into my room, dropped my backpack and charged into the bathroom. After a minute or two, I realised, too late, that there was no internal latch on the door.  I could not get out!  As I wondered what to do I became aware of my handbag, still on my shoulder. Luckily in my haste I had kept it with me so I sat down on the tiled floor, lifted the bag onto my lap and searched for my mobile phone while red sand poured out of my shoes into two neat piles on either side. I confidently connected up my lap top to the internet, and Googled the hotel for their phone number.  No joy! Suddenly my assured  euphoria as a techno whiz, fell away and once again I crumpled into “One old lady locked in the lavatory”. I plotted two further courses of action. One: send email to hotel reception, marked Urgent, Help Needed ….and two, the more traditional method of opening the window louvers and calling­­­­­­­ out. As the window faces the boundary wall there was no certainty of success but I still I gave it a try, calling clearly but without panic.

After about six calls (and ashamedly increasing panic) along the lines of “If you can hear me, would you please help” I heard the warm tones of a soft Irish voice. My rescuer, followed instructions to get into my room, locate the bathroom and open the door. He then disappeared too quickly for me to thank properly, obviously thinking I was either embarrassed or mad! Only later did I learn that he was a reporter from The Guardian!  Oh dear! The next humiliation was to report to reception and explain the rather odd email they were about to open. At least we all had a good laugh.

Another lone patron of the Hibiscus has been Mira, a Spiritual Teacher from Germany who is only a few years younger than me. We ate together a few times and despite being of very different character types, found we got on very well. Well enough to chance venturing out for a day or two together. I showed Mira how to travel cheaply as a local rather than a tourist and taught her a few useful phrases in Mandinka.

In return she showed me how to march mile upon mile along the hot beach, climb through thorny bracken, venture through “jungle” dodging creepers and warding off wild monkeys! We also walked along a narrow cliff top path ridiculously close to the edge until we were thrown out of the Nature Reserve by a guide for not coming in through the main gate and paying, like “normal” people.

The days with Mira were exhausting but never dull and she did indeed have the restorative positive energy of her profession. One fantastic evening we went with Sue, Hibiscus proprieter, to a concert in Fajara. The main performer was an extraordinarily talented half Gambian/half English singer called Sohna. She also played the Calabash, accompanied by her father and a wonderfully gifted drummer of only eleven years.  In the foyer of the theatre a local artist was holding an exhibition of his work and accepted Mira’s invitation to bring some pieces down to the hotel a few days later. Lawrence is a Nigerian and his work is absolutely stunning. Mira immediately bought two fabric paintings as it was her last day here but I decided to wait until well into the New Year. I would like to see the full range of his work and take time in choosing. That seems most indulgent. This treat is not yet over and I am already planning the next one.

Tomorrow will be Christmas Day but I will not be spending it at the hotel. Catherine and Mary (Kombos based VSO friends) have planed together as much a full Christmas dinner as circumstances will allow. Yesterday the three of us shopped at a place I never knew existed and could only dream of in Soma. Near the tourist area of Senegambia is Maroun’s Supermarket where we could buy frozen vegetables, cranberry sauce, sage and onion stuffing, cheese and ice cream. Visiting friends and family have already supplied Christmas puds and table crackers. The turkey “problem” will be resolved by Aladdin’s Restaurant who have agreed to supply 6 roasted chickens fresh from the spit. Of course there have been the extra problems associated with Christmas. The more usual issue of insufficient  chairs to seat all ten of us as well as the more unusual one of buying a large bottle of gas, getting it home without a car and connecting it up to the free standing oven without an explosion.

I hope your Christmas goes with a bang – and ours doesn’t!

Every good wish for a happy time now and in the year to come.

With much love.

Three Women in a Boat (and other vehicles)

On Sunday, Lucy Ellie and I planned a day’s visit to Farafenni, north of the River Gambia where we could meet up with three friends living and working in Kerewan and do some unusual Christmas shopping.

The journey, we estimated, would take about two hours, so we set off at 9a.m. beginning with the ten minute walk down to the Soma gely-gely park. Even this part of the journey took twice the time expected as we met many teachers we know, walking towards us on their way to Mansa Konko for training, despite it being a Sunday. In typical Gambian style we were greeted warmly, making an excellent start to our day. Eventually we got to the gely gelies but decided upon a Sept Plas (7 seater) instead, as it was just about to leave.  The driver shot off at high speed which was both alarming and uncomfortable due to the uneven road surface. There was nothing we could do except anticipate each successive bump and brace ourselves, all the while wishing we had not chosen to sit at the very back. Miraculously, we got to the river in one piece. We swiftly paid the driver and headed off.

Manoeuvring our way through the crowds along the quay side bitiks, we found the ferry ticket “office” somewhere in the middle. Luckily Lucy knew where and what it was: a rectangular hole about 50 cms by 40 cms, at shin height, below a boarded up window in the side of a building. Lucy is tall and so had to crouch down  very low and tip her head to one side to purchase three ferry tickets from a man, seated in an almost basement room.. It looked so bizarre, I felt we had all been suddenly “flue powdered” into Diagon Alley (Harry Potter). Our tickets cost only D5 each, about 9p. When we got to the water’s edge we could see that the ferry was stationary on the far bank. We had time for breakfast! Ellie spotted a stall nearby where a woman was serving egg tapalata: two hard boiled eggs with mayonnaise, dusted with hot red pepper in half soft baguette type bread. One bite into the deliciously fresh ingredients made us realize just how hungry we were but half way through we stopped. There, just a few metres away was a boatman, encouraging would-be passengers to pay an extra D10 to get into his motor powered long boat avoiding the long wait for the ferry. A few men had already boarded by climbing gingerly over the planks which made for bench style seating and settling in the middle of the boat. We were encouraged not to venture so far but to sit near the driver himself on a plank/seat designed for three. This was too good an offer to refuse and so easy! All we had to do was carefully climb aboard, move a little to our right and sit down. As the boat filled to capacity with about 20 passengers, the driver, Lamin, asked whether the two younger women with me were married. This is not an uncommon approach here. I assumed a captain’s prerogative (as we were aboard a vessel) and immediately “married” off both friends, imaginatively speaking. Lamin expressed regret, saying he really did need a well paid wife!  I explained that VSO volunteers did not meet this criterion.

In the middle of a more easy going conversation, Lamin pulled on the chord to start the engine and gently turned the boat around to start the crossing. The boat sat very low in the water and just as I realised how wide and deep The River Gambia is, I noticed that the other passengers, all Gambian men, were each wearing a life jacket. I looked down under the seat for ours. Not only were there no life jackets, there was no floor. The hull of the boat was exposed, save for about 40 cms of water sloshing to the rhythm of the engine. The life vests must have been issued on entry! A lesson for next time! All we could do on this occasion was finish our tapalata breakfast and cross our fingers. The crossing only took 15 minutes or so and soon we were at the north bank. Once on the other side, the boat was berthed, bow in, due to limited space! This meant that our easy boarding was more than compensated by a challenging disembarkation. Lucy put her back pack on securely and Ellie and I wore our bags like satchels, the straps around our necks and under one arm. We began to climb over the planks, positioning our hands and feet with care but after only a matter of seconds we risked losing our balance and had to pause. The men in front of us were in a rush and went lumbering off, making the boat rock alarmingly. We waited, holding onto the side. When everything settled down, we continued our exit, climbing on and over the seats, sometimes using the narrow piece of wood around the side of the boat as a purchase point for our feet. All the while the absence of the floor allowed us a view of the water filled hull. One slip risked possible injury and the certainty of feet and trousers in a very unpleasant condition for the rest of the day.

But we made it and went on to enjoy a wonderful day. However we made the decision to return home by ferry!

During our time in Farrafeni we all took a donkey cart trip to the Lumo market. Poor donkey! There were 6 of us plus the driver. Together we made a considerable load. We paid only D3 each for the trip. Quite a bargain! Throughout the journey the driver kept shouting instructions, not actually fully understood by any of us, but along the lines of “everybody back” or “everybody move up” according to the terrain, the poor donkey was trying to cross. And so we travelled; shuffling repeatedly up and down the cart which balanced on only two wheels, positioned midway. The cart also juddered as it rolled along but that was due to all the giggling on board!

When we eventually got near to the riverside for the trip back, late in the afternoon, we saw that the ferry was in, so we hurried to buy our tickets and sped down to the docking area. Too late!  The ferry was 10 metres out. Lucy’s long legs had made her the first to arrive at the water’s edge and she dejectedly turned to us, her beautiful face in a frown. Suddenly we heard much shouting from the rear of the ferry. “Which one of us do you choose?” called a cheeky young man in the centre of a line of other ferry deck hands.

“You must choose” the others chorused. “Choose!”.

The ferry was reversing! Lucy laughed and replied that it just was not possible to select one man from such a kind lot.

We jumped aboard and crossed in no time.

Helen of Troy may have set the precedent but turning the Farrafeni Ferry is no mean feat.

It’s not that easy to say either!

A Rather Batty Week

Mr Jeng is very tall and slim with a ready smile and a calm air of authority. Only Quentin Blake could do him justice and draw him with any accuracy.

A highly respected and long serving head teacher, Mr Jeng was recently moved to Pakali Nding Lower Basic School. much in need of his expertise. This morning for the third time in recent weeks I had the pleasure of visiting the school to help draft the School Development Plan.

Each time I go I am collected by Mr Jeng in his car, an old, dark green Seat Toledo which has certainly seen better days but which is still reliable. Never-the-less there is something disquieting about sitting next to such a respected member of the community and watching him “hot wire” the engine to get it started. 

We began the journey alone but soon gained two passengers who had been on the two hour walk to Pakali Nding. This was the morning’s return trip ! As is the custom, Mr Jeng simply pulled the car over and the women jumped in. Everyone exchanged greetings and off we went until we got to their destination at a corner shop. Outside stood a forlorn woman, dispatched by her family to buy the hundred weight bag of rice which lay at her feet. Much to her joy, the boot of the Toledo was opened and with great effort she, Mr Jeng and I managed to lift the bag inside. A short drive brought us to her compound where her husband sat under the mango tree!  I wish we could “hot wire” some of the men here!

Like all Lower Basic Schools (primary phase) the school comprises a number of buildings which resemble in their dimension, typical UK “mobile” units. Of course in most other aspects they are vastly different, for example there is no glass in the windows, just large metal grilles. The roof, like most roofs here, is made from corrugated iron, as it is cheap and so effective in withstanding both the hot sun and heavy rains. Inside there is scant equipment save for a blackboard and double desks with attached benches.

All buildings are arranged around courtyard style areas, swept clean so that the red sandy soil provides an easy conduit across the site.  The trees that grow here and there provide much needed shade. Each is surrounded by a circle of small rocks, painted white. A similar boarder runs along the front of the office, creating a garden area for flowering shrubs. A larger garden area has been set aside at the rear to grow vegetables to supplement the basic staples that make up school lunch.

With the exception of the kitchen and the library, the buildings are all classrooms, including the one which also accommodates Mr Jeng’s office, squeezed in between the two upper classes.

We started our day in here, with fresh bread which needed neither butter nor filling and had it with tea in plastic mugs, without milk but with an unbelievable amount of sugar. To work we sat at my small laptop computer, the pair of us perched on a child’s triple wooden bench as there are no chairs for guests. After an hour or two Mr Jeng invited me to see some of the buildings which can no longer be used due to their poor state of repair. Sadly one of these is the library which had more bats (mammal variety) than books. The noise inside was alarming. The roof was truly infested! If further proof were needed it was in the form of a thick coating of white bat droppings on the piles of rotting books. The walls too were streaked from ceiling to floor.

The detail in the School Development Plan to “Renovate the Library” came suddenly into sharp focus. Without ridding the building of bats first, these plans would not get off the ground. The bats had to go! This was the only part of the plan that required financial support, as community help would ensure the building was cleaned at no cost. Like other VSO volunteers in similar circumstances, I was happy to help if the price was right!  Luckily it was, and a local carpenter with children at the school, agreed to pull down the ceiling the very next day.

With these arrangements made and much of the office work done, we happily set off back to the office, arranging to meet again in a few days time.

 By coincidence I spent the intervening day with another head teacher who told me how his extensive office and library block had been similarly infested.

A large man with only one eye, he retold the story of the Battle of the Bats in graphic detail!

Unlike Mr Jeng, he did not feel the need to call in a workman. He simply removed some of the ceiling here and there along the considerable run of the building and sent an army of children up with sticks. Gleefully he described how the battle raged until eventually the victorious army was able to rake up the vanquished into bags and dump them over the fence.

Does anyone actually know Quentin Blake? There is so much material here!

The final part of this “batty” story is that having sorted the stock in his splendid newly refurbished and pest free library, the second head teacher found he has many books he no longer needs. Better still he is happy to pass them on to Mr. Jeng.