Top 5 Gambian Moments: September 2015

September was fast and furious.  Somehow, an entire month flew by without anything too remarkable happening, but, as always, it was not without a few of those little moments worth sharing.  Here’s what:

5) Rain, Rain, Go Away

We were lucky to have a long, successful rainy season.  Throughout the summer, the grounds soaked up buckets of water, which we’re all waiting with baited breath to see the fruits of when harvest time comes in the next couple of months.  As the rain starts winding down, it’s typical for the last weeks to bring the heaviest downpours and the strongest winds.  This year was no exception. Rain pelted down and gusts of wind blew strong. Some villages, such as Sibanore, my friend Jess’ region, even had entire compounds destroyed--flattened entirely--by the powerful storms. Keeping up with the whims of Mother Nature proves both mentally and physically exhausting and many locals, myself included, felt ready for rainy season to pass. Although I was, at times, a bit grateful for the weather, as it meant nightly breezes and saving me the labor of hauling in water for my garden, I was also pretty tired of all my clothes hanging heavy with the damp dog dander stench of must, of my hut being temporarily transformed into a homeless shelter for armies of insects capable of drilling through both wall and floor, and of my entire body serving as a veritable petri dish for all the wonderful varieties of skin infections that are the oozing red cherries on top of this stiflingly humid African sundae.  

My compound pre-flood. (My house is the white one on the left)

As I’ve mentioned before, the weather dictates so much in a society that lives mostly out of doors.  Bad roads mean less travel, which in turn means less produce available at the markets. In America, people avoid driving in the rain, even armed with our paved roads and windshield wipers, but when your main method of transport is a donkey cart, a heavy rain holds the power to immobilize a community for days at a time.  So, while the water is appreciated and definitely needed for the crops to grow and the dry, brittle bush to flourish into luscious greens, I’m looking very much forward to the skies closing up and the sun shining for long enough to grant us all a blissfully dry pair of underwear and an infection-free fall. 

4) Mid-service Milestone!

Alibatou, Binta and Hawa 

The second week of September marked time for all members of my batch to reconvene in Massembeh at the Peace Corps camps for our mid-service training.  Here, we spent a few days reviewing what we’ve been doing at site, learning a few new tips and tricks of the trade, and exchanging ideas with admin on various pros and cons of Peace Corps The Gambia.  That was all fine and well, but my favorite part of Massembeh will forever be a woman named Alibatou, who cooks and cares for us like we are her own, and even attended a group workout session I led which she kicked and punched her way through while remaining seated entirely on the floor. 

After the conclusion of the program, I hitched a ride with staff and a few fellow PCVs on the big bus back to Kombo.  I had some things to deal with regarding my “secret project” and also wanted to squeeze in a visit to the doctor for a one-year checkup.  All went well, although I did have to make my way back to site on public trans, which, after being spoiled with A/C and a reasonable degree of personal space, required an immediate adjustment of expectations and a serious increase in patience. 

3) Market Mania

A couple of PCVs from down country decided to come up and pay Tim and I a visit.  Since we are so close (a 10k bike ride away) to one of the largest lumos, or markets, in the country, we all decided to take advantage of the Saturday and spend the afternoon wandering the alleys of nearby Brikamaba.  One thing not taken into consideration, however, was that this weekend was the last lumo before the big holiday of Tobaski.  Much like one would be wise to avoid a local supermarket on Thanksgiving morning, we too would have been wise to have at least prepared ourselves for the crowded insanity of the market on this particular Saturday. 
Thankfully, our guests were understanding and patient, knowing all too well what happens when large numbers of Gambians gather in confined spaces, but even so, it proved a lot to take in.  Donkey and horse carts pushed their way throughout thick masses of people, puddles of mud and who knows what else splashed up in their wake.  Layers of women fought for first dibs at vegetable stands, and people everywhere were passionately exercising their right to bargain for new fabric which would be sewed into clothes for the big celebration.  All annoyances and near-death experiences aside, we enjoyed ourselves as we soaked up the sights, sounds and spirit of the day.  I ate a slice of fresh coconut and probably the best bean sandwich to date, and then we all sat chatting in the shade of a gas station awning well into the afternoon before parting ways and heading back to our respective villages. 

2) Tobaski: The Sequel

Scientist Falie, chasing baby chickens.

As I’ve passed my one-year mark, the holidays and celebrations have slowly become more familiar.  This year, I was happy to spend Tobaski, the most important Islamic holiday which pays homage to the story of Abraham and Isaac, with my family for the second time; I was able to relax a bit more as I spent less time wide-eyed asking hundreds of questions, and more time just soaking in the holiday.  In addition to wearing new clothes and getting dressed to the nines, families able to afford it also slaughter a ram.  My compound, having both a father and one mother with a job, was blessed enough to have a big fat ram to celebrate with.  However, due to some unfortunate circumstances, this was not without difficulty.  What happened, you ask?  Well, this year I learned of the very specific restrictions put on The Tobaski Ram.  We had our animal in the compound for months ahead of time, but only weeks prior to the holiday, our family friend noticed something unusual about one of the ram’s eyes.  A few very scientific experiments were carried out (little brother ran at him with a stick from both sides then followed up with a slow, comedic circling of its head with a flip flop) and it was confirmed—our precious ram was blind in one eye.  Everyone was devastated; naïve and confused, I asked why this was such a disaster.  Apparently, if you kill a ram for a wedding or a naming ceremony, it can be deaf, blind, or even full-blown retarded, but the Tobaski ram, serving to symbolize a person’s unwavering dedication to Allah, cannot have so much as a hangnail.  So, thus began a mad dash to find a new, unblemished ram.  They decided to kill Ol' One-Eye for my second mother’s naming ceremony, then managed to secure another animal just in the nick of time. 

The Replacement, hiding out.

On the day of Tobaski, following the slaughter and prayer, Hawa and Batchi called me over and gifted me a portion of the meat.  They had also offered it to me last year, but as a newbie to village life, I was hesitant and also slightly horrified at the prospect of being handed a bowl full of raw hairy sheep carcass.  This year, however, time in Africa has taught me that when someone gives you meat—raw, cooked, hairy or otherwise—you take it. And so began an episode of Iron Chef, Gambia…secret ingredient: Ram! I cleaned up the meat, marinated it in a spicy chipotle and lime-garlic concoction; I sauteed some onions with okra, then simmered the meat in the hot peppery broth.  I washed up some raw cabbage leaves, scattered them in a circle around a big plate, and put a bowl of meat in the center.  I presented it to my host father, instructing him to place a piece of meat inside of the cabbage and roll it up Korean-style.  He loved the concept, but, as per usual, insisted I "like peppay too much"; Hawa raved that my “toubab meat was delicious” and the kids, although they ate everything, thought that it was beyond hilarious that I served raw cabbage. 

Kadijatou getting "eyeshadow hair"

The rest of the day was spent relaxing until later in the evening when all the women and children put on their smartest outfits and makeup and went around the village asking for salibo, or small tokens of money, as is the holiday tradition.  I sat on a floor mat completely covered in babies, and handed out little candies to the kids like it was Trick-or-Treat.  My belly full and my body tired from the weight of infants, I retired to my hut and slept the bittersweet rest of knowing I had just experienced my last Tobaski in The Gambia. 

1) Trek Time

As fall unfolds, so has the groundwork for Leadership Trek, a project I am heading along with two other PCVs.  This project is focused on working with grade ten students in six different schools. We will gauge their English, leadership and team building skills through a variety of classes during a one-day workshop.  Upon completion of the workshop, we will choose two boys and two girl students along with a teacher who proved themselves most worthy to attend a week long program called Camp GLOW at the PC facility in Massembeh.  Here, they will focus on learning about gender equality and on the importance of working together to help Gambia
reach its fullest potential.  Although the workshops are only one day, so much planning goes into bringing them to fruition, and we’ve kept busy the last couple of weeks getting the proverbial ball rolling. We wrote a grant in order to obtain funding, completed the curriculum we will use for the classes during the program, and the last week of September, we set out with our own four-wheel drive PC vehicle and held meetings with the headmasters each of the six schools to inform them of our plans and to arrange for their help in organizing the logistics of the final event.  It went as smoothly as could be expected and we were all amazed at how productive a day could be when not at the mercy of public transportation.  Our next trek to follow up and drop off supplies is coming soon, and as each small step is accomplished, my nerves calm, allowing excitement for the big day to sneak in bit by bit.