The Second Gambian Experience Part One (Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man... What's In A Name ?)

Photo's from the top:-

Haddy and Fatou N'jai.
Relaxing at Cape Point Hotel
Swimming pool at Cape Point Hotel.
It's pouring down and I want you in...
Mum, you said I needed a wash...

So… We’re through the madness of just trying to get your cases through the throng of those who want to carry it for you (for money-what else ?) and we’re in the car and moving out of the airport towards Fagikunda.
It’s a different car from last time.
Last time Haddy borrowed her cousin Pa’s spare one but this time it’s a white Peugeot and we’re making good time.
Actually it’s only about twenty minutes to Haddy’s place from the airport but there are puddles everywhere and she tells me about the rain which has come down so hard that they apparently lost five compounds washed out in the village as they were made of clay bricks and not the usual breezeblocks.
Now that is heavy rain, but then this is the rainy season and I suppose I’m going to have to get used to it…
Wish I could get used to the humidity though ?
It’s bad enough in England but it’s ten times worse here and the fact that I’ve been up all night isn’t helping at all because I’m definitely beginning to flag somewhat and I’m definitely going to need an early night.
Still, we get parked up outside the compound and I’m immediately accosted and greeted by some who remember me from last time…
Blimey ! There seem to be hundreds of them, but then a face I know…
And with a big grin on her face Mariama just jumps up at me and I give her a huge hug, swinging her around while she hangs on for dear life and then I am in and safe behind the compound walls for a few minutes at least.
The twins are there, Sainabou is there, Neighbour Ida is there…
I give them all a big hug.
It seems like old times.

I’ve flown in on a public holiday.
Apparently the President has been doing the rounds and so there have been processions past his podium all day with the result that there is absolutely nothing open that you need… Like a bank for instance.
The Gambian currency is what our banks in England call a ‘closed currency’ which means that you can’t get any dalasi in England and so I need a bank to change some of my travellers cheques because I have nothing else so all those who turn up at the compound to beg for money because they have heard I’m coming back are out of luck.
I try and explain about travellers cheques and getting them cashed but I might just as well be talking quantum physics to this lot and so Haddy has to try and do it.
I recognise a couple of the beggars from my last trip but as Haddy says, If you give them five dalasi then they will ask why they can’t have ten so don’t bother and let her deal with it.
The thing is, as Haddy emphatically says… They are fit adults and they could probably find jobs should they want to ?
It is a brutal realisation that the argument is the same one we use about dole scroungers in England.
The difference being that here there is no dole and so they exist on the handouts of others and one particular bloke at the local petrol station gets up Haddy’s nose so much that she actually gets out of the car to berate him while all the time he’s gesturing to me in the back saying that I should pay him money because I’m white and rich or rich and white…
Well I’ve got news for you mate…
I’m white and that’s it.
Rich, as far as money goes, is beyond me.
Anyway, she’s having a right go at him for being rude and impolite, and also because he doesn’t look as if he’s in any way disabled or ill and he doesn’t look too poor either compared to some of the locals down her way who don’t even have two beans to rub together but who are going to get by if it kills them to do so.
These people have a fierce pride here that I picked up on when I arrived on my first trip but I didn’t really see in action and if somebody is prepared to try then they are given a fair bit of respect and support even if they should fail, but those who just beg are, depending on their obvious circumstances, mostly given a couple of dalasi if they are not taking the mick.
Those like the guy at the petrol station are just told not to be so lazy and to get a job if they want money ?
I wonder where I’ve heard that before ?
The heat and the humidity are beginning to get to me.
It is thirty four degrees outside and thirty two degrees of humidity and the rain is falling.
You can’t move without the sweat pouring out of you and because this is the rainy season the mosquitoes are out in force.
There are only so many cold showers you can take in the day when the water keeps being turned off and the electric the same.
I don’t know how they work these things but Haddy’s area of Fajikunda keeps having their power cut off and yet other areas manage to keep theirs all the time.
It’s annoying as it also cuts her two electric fans off.

It pours down with rain that night and on into the morning and then I’m told that we’re off to a naming ceremony again this afternoon.
This is a serious case of déjà vu because exactly the same thing happened to me the last time I was here.
So, with a warning not to take anything too valuable with me just in case some of the local youth are tempted, we set off down the street. I’ve got my camera tied in a little camera case on my belt and that isn’t moving. This time I want it with me as I lost out on a few natural pic’s last time through not having it with me.
I must remember to ask Haddy why I should beware this time when she never mentioned it last time I was here ?
Am I a target because I’ve come back and so far seem to be accepted as a person and not just a tourist by some of the locals…
Who knows ?
Anyway, the rain has stopped so down the road we go.
As we get to the compound Haddy tells me that I will be sitting with the guys as usual.
Usual ?
I’ve only ever done this once before in my life and that felt a bit weird to my western ways with no women involved so I don’t really think of it as usual to me, however to them it’s perfectly normal.
I’m introduced to a whole bunch of guys, two of whom are holding Djembes (That’s a type of drum for those who haven’t a clue ?) and another is boiling the small kettle on an even smaller charcoal burner while the reggae blares from somebody’s sound system in the background.
The same questions are asked as last time.
Where do I live ? Is it near London ? Do I like The Gambia ? Was it right I’d been before ? How did I know Haddy ? and the first cup of delicious mint tea is passed to me…
Now you’re talking.
The two guys whose names I remember are Moses and Lamin.
Moses was a really nice guy whom I’d never met before and he was holding a djembe that he passed back to Lamin as the conversation progressed, and then started praising his friend';s dexterity on the drum.
Lamin is altogether quieter and knows what he wants to say but it’s what he says and the way he says it that makes the difference.
I know Lamin.
I’ve never met him before in my life before that day, but I know him.
Apart from the fact that he’s a musician that they think quite highly of, and I just write a bit we could almost be the same person a continent apart.
I know this man.
I’ve known him all my life even though we’d never met.
I’m not a fisherman but I’ll try and get the meaning of what I’m trying to impart here a little bit easier to understand.
I am told by people who go fishing that the art of a good session is in going with a friend who appreciates silence and doesn’t want to talk all the time, and yet you can ask any question needed with just the one word should you need to, and whole conversations can be accomplished within a couple of words maybe a couple of hours apart.
Lamin has that quality and I’m certain it’s in him and to be honest I could sit there for hours and listen to him and we wouldn’t need to physically speak...
(Yeah, I know… I’m going a bit ‘weird’ on you, but it’s not really so just try and understand) It’s a quality I recognise pretty much immediately.
Call it strange, call it weird, call it whatever you like, but it’s there and there’s nothing whatsoever I can do about it.
So we start conversing and musically and lyrically this guy knows his stuff.
In a world full of pretenders Lamin is the real deal.
He doesn’t just know his stuff, he ‘feels’ it and that’s how I know him, and hopefully he knows me.
We don’t need any more than that.
The conversation has probably lost everybody else so we just look at each other and smile and slowly between the pair of us we bring it back to the general, it’s so much easier if everybody is involved. This is a family party after all.
Haddy comes over bearing a little tiny one and this time I ask the name and whether I can get a picture ?
Yes, she says, and poses with little’un whose given name is Fatou N'jai…
So thank you Fatou.
Thank you for allowing me to come to your special naming day party because I met you and you’re special because you represent the future when hopefully you will not make the mistakes of the past, and because were it not for you I might not have met Lamin.
I have to admit the guy making the tea is an absolute artist. Those four foot pourings from the kettle or glass held at the top of his upraised arm into the second glass are being accomplished without spilling a drop and he’s been making it, handing it around (Most of us have finished our second glasses already) since I sat down.
It has been a really nice afternoon and when Haddy ‘rescues’ me I’m in two minds as to ask for longer but knowing her there is probably a reason behind it so I stand and make my apologies for having to leave them, shaking hands all around and having to promise that I’ll be back to finish any and all still extant conversations which I’ll happily do.
No problem.
Apparently the girls are going out and so she’s going back to the compound…
We’ll also have something to eat.
Food ?
I’d forgotten all about that but I suddenly realise I’m hungry so lead on MacDuff…

It takes all of three days to get anything cashed at the bank and when I finally manage I immediately decide to have a spend up in one of the supermarkets.
I bought a couple of packs of ‘minced cow meat’ (That’s beef to you) some oregano and basil, tomato paste, olive oil, a few tins of tomatoes and some spaghetti for me to make the family a proper spaghetti bolognaise.
This is going to be interesting as there are no chillis in it and I’ve not eaten much in The Gambia that doesn’t have a chilli or two hidden in it somewhere and I’ve certainly never cooked it on a charcoal burner before…
This is going to be interesting… But when we get back the girls have cooked something for us anyway so into the freezer it goes for tomorrow.

The following day we head out to Cape Point to use the hotel’s swimming pool, which, for a small payment of 200 dalasi (about a fiver) I can apparently do.
The purchase of a pool ticket also entitles us to 100 dalasi off the price of a meal if we eat or order in the poolside restaurant so that is something else we take advantage of.
When we get there we are met by a guy who takes us through to see the manager.
Apparently Haddy’s ‘sort of’ adopted daughter Awa works at the hotel (adopted daughter… That’s new ?) so if you can imagine me in jeans, t-shirt and bandana walking into reception where all these besuited hard geezers are sitting…
The President of Guinea has been staying there and is just checking out (It’s a posh hotel) hence the hard men and they are looking at me like I’m some sort of freak…
(Which I’m happy to admit to anyway).
The one thing I don’t look like is a tourist.
I just look different and they can’t seem to get their heads round it.
Oh well, that’s their problem.
We just sit and order a coffee until the manager is free which he is within fifteen minutes.
Apparently Haddy’s ‘adopted’ daughter is married and is doing really well at the hotel according to the manager who doesn’t look like the sort of guy to indulge in flannel, so I think you can take that as a given.
We have a little chat and he asks us if we’d like to be shown around the hotel as neither of us have been here before ?
Then he makes an internal call and guess who our guide is… Not only that, we are going to start the tour at the suite the President was staying in, which is, to say the least, quite luxurious.
Now think of two floors, lounges, small kitchen and television room downstairs, two double bedrooms upstairs and bathrooms everywhere…
Yep, it’s definitely quite posh and I can understand why they felt a President would happily stay in it.
I would have, had I got the money to spend.
We end up meeting and greeting far more staff than I can remember the names of and finally the tour is up and Awa goes back to work and we go to the pool.
While I’m swimming I start feeling that irritating tickle at the back of my throat and I know that I’m going down with a cold.
Bugger !
That’s the last thing I need in this humidity.
Still, the fried king prawn with salad (twice) takes me somewhere else for about half an hour but I can now feel the beginnings of a sore throat and my nose is beginning to snuffle…
Sod it !
At five pm ‘Tufa comes over to pick us up and now we have another problem…
Apparently President Jammeh is in the area officially again to open a new police station and so all the traffic is being squeezed down two lanes on the same side of the carriageway… and it’s rush hour.
Great !
A twenty minute drive that takes two hours and by the time we get back we’re both knackered and I’m beginning to suffer from a cold which in this humidity is more than just a pain in the arse, it’s downright uncomfortable.
Oh well, no cooking for me tonight, either.
Then the electricity goes off and we’re looking for candles to actually light the compound so that people can actually see in front of their noses while the rain that had started halfway through our journey back from the hotel looks like it’s come back for good.
The following day my cold is beginning to come out and in the rain and sweltering humidity I actually feel quite awful.
It rains all day.
Because she’s been playing outside in the street Mariama has got a little dusty and so she digs out a large plastic tub and in her one piece swimsuit in the middle of the loudest, thunderingest and lightningest storm you can imagine, proceeds to soap herself up while the rainwater fills the tub in minutes.
This is definitely not a summer shower.
As soon as her mum realises what she is doing she is called in but singing away to herself quite happily and poking her tongue out at me she either doesn’t hear a word or doesn’t want to hear a word and carries on as if nothing untoward is occurring.
She’s mad that girl…
Totally barmy.

The Second Gambian Experience (A Prologue).

Well, here we are again, back from The Gambia with a second set of adventures, a rotten cold and a severe case of what the locals call ‘Banjul Belly’ and believe me, you really don’t want to know what that does to you but I can tell you this…
It ain’t nice.
But before we go flying off to warmer (and much wetter) climes here are two public service announcement concerning Gatwick Airport.

I arrived at 3.00am. Not my favourite time of day but then I had to get my car into one of the carparks and the directions weren't brilliant by any means but I found it eventually and took their courtesy coach to the airport.
At that time in the morning there's not a lot of activity on the check in desks so I just kept looking at the Monarch one and finally, at about 5.00am a young lady sits down and starts taking off her jacket so immediately I move into position and ask when I can check my luggage ?
About 6.00am, the young lady says in what sounds like a charming French accent.
So I asked her if there was any chance she could just weigh me now so I know how much I have to jettison before I fly, bearing in mind what the queues are going to be like later ?
Certainly, she said. Just put the big one on and... 'Oh no... That's perfectly alright, and now the hand luggage ?
That's a little over. Take out a couple of kilo's and switch them to the big case and you'll be perfect...'
I dump the small one into the hand baggage basket to check for size and she grins as it drops straight down...
Thanks very much says I, immediately moving out of the way to leave her in peace while I make the necessary luggage adjustments.
An hour later I'm back at her desk.
Any chance yet ?
Apparently my flight is delayed by 30 mins and so no, not yet, but if I just hang on a mo' she will make a telephone call...
Ok, no problem, she'll take them now.
Brilliant !
I can actually go to the loo without trying to manoevre a 20kilo suitcase in with me.

Now try this...

You know what ?
I’ve discovered why you get those signs everywhere.
You know the ones… Those things that say you cannot argue and cannot be rude to the staff even though they’re talking complete bollocks and lying through their teeth because otherwise they won’t let you do what you’ve paid for, waited for, queued for, argued for and all the rest, and that if you do, they can have you arrested and charged...
You’ve only got to hang out at Gatwick Airport for any length of time to work out the reason.
It’s ‘cause some of the people they and the airlines employ are so fucking crap at their jobs that they have to tell you lies to justify their complete and utter shiteness at doing the job in the first place.
I had to spend five and a half hours there from 3.00am in the morning to 8.30am and you would not believe the arguments I overheard, all of which sounded perfectly reasonable to me, between members of the public who only want to travel, and airport and airline staff who seem to have been taught a method of deliberately making your flight an absolute misery.
Consider this for a moment…
A guy is arguing loudly with a Chinese looking bloke in an airline uniform whose command of the English language is about as good as it gets when one has caught the boat train from Beijing…
Anyway, this ‘argumentative’ bloke has booked his flight online through the net and he has it all written down on three or four sheets of paper that he’s printed off and which basically says that yes, he has booked a seat with extra leg room for his wife who wears a neckbrace and who cannot sit properly and all this has been confirmed and what is more, he has got it all written down and printed off in writing.
Ol’ Chino’ on the other hand is telling the guy that the seat with all the extra leg room has been taken by another passenger this morning and that this particular airline don’t use 747’s anymore (which they did when the booking was made) and so therefore the guy’s wife is totally bolloxed because there is only one seat suitable and someone else has been given it and it cannot now be changed.
‘Course, matey boy with the wife with a bad back is beginning to swear a bit now because this supercilious, condescending and patronising twat, whose English is about as good as my totally non-existent Chinese is getting really pissed off with being called a fucking useless twat, which I might point out, he undoubtedly is.
I mean, face it… The guy has been hired as a flak-catcher, and he’s crap at it.
He couldn’t even catch a cold.
After all, it’s not the passenger’s fault that the company have changed the bloody aeroplane after he’s booked the flight, paid the excess charge for his wife’s comfort, got his letters confirming it all, and all done in good faith but in the last two months since the booking was taken the company have changed the aeroplane and now want to weasel out of any and all contracts and agreements because they managed to overlook his booking and what is more, he’s got all the paperwork to prove it.
So was it really necessary to call security to have the bloke and his disabled wife carted off into the ubiquitous little room where they will probably be warned if not charged for his so called abusive behaviour which was actually not abusive but truthful ?
Even calling a fucking useless little twat, a fucking useless little twat is not abusive if there can be shown any honesty in the comment and Christ almighty… You’d have had a difficult job proving that there wasn’t in this case.
Hey Guys… If you employ competent staff who can actually speak and understand English as opposed to these fuckin’ useless morons who don’t and who weasel out of any and all responsibility for doing their jobs properly, then take it from me this shit doesn’t happen. But if you are going to employ useless fuckwits who cannot even understand the language of the country that they are actually supposed to be working in, then no amount of signs on walls and no amount of warnings, arrests or anything else for that matter is going to make one fucking iota’s difference to the problem and make the travelling public less abusive.

Face it. When your service is that shite you deserve problems (actually you deserve to go bust and the sooner the better).
and whilst I understand the need for security you just make problems for yourselves.
Was it really necessary for me to take my boots off three times to go through the scanners and metal detectors ?
Surely once is enough ?
Twice possibly if the staff get the ribbon in the wrong place for the queues (It happened to me) but three fucking times ?
And as for their ludicrous twenty kilo baggage allowance ?
You’ve had long enough to sort it out.
Everybody else has, so why not Gatwick ?
So there you have it.
The complete contrast between the way I was treated on the Monarch desk and the way this other guy and his wife were treated on a different flight, and I overheard about four more 'horrors' while I was waiting for my flight to be called.
To be honest I hope the lass on the Monarch desk was in the majority but I do seriously have my doubts.
I could tell you the other four problems also but what would be the point apart from to highlight a problem that we already know exists ?
Those signs go up because service is either crap or non-existent, and that's a fact.
It's what the useless hide behind.

So... twenty minutes late we fly out of Gatwick and I'm off to The Gambia again.
Six hour flights take six hours and that time does not go quickly but at least I've got an aisle seat so I can move my legs occaisionally.
I've done the duty free so there's a bottle of brandy for Haddy and a bottle of Jamesons for me plus a ten pack of Amber Leaf tobacco which I know is going to be eaten up as presents to some of the locals but what the hell ! They were all so nice to me last time I was there so I don't really mind in the least.
Aeroplane food is an aquired taste and I'm not the greatest fan but it's hot and the coffee is reasonable so I just settle down with my poetry book that I'm finally going to get to review now that Rhythms Of The World is over and done with.
Actually I'm lucky in that the book holds my attention and I'm still reading and re-reading bits when the 'fasten your seatbelts' sign comes up as we are about to land.
Christ ! Look at all that water...
Haddy told me it had been raining there (We're slap bang in the middle of their rainy season) but I wasn't prepared for that.
This is The Gambia in Africa for God's sake.
It's one of the fallacies that people in the west don't cotton onto that some African countries do get quite a lot of rainfall and The Gambia is one of them.
All we tend to see are pictures of starving kids from the Sub-Saharan regions, but that ain't Africa, that's just part of Africa.
It is definitely a continent of extremes.
But we're down and awaiting the coach from the plane to the terminal which is maybe 75 metres away, and then we're through immigration and awaiting luggage retrieval.
An official looking bloke taps me on the shoulder and tells me that there is a beautiful young lady waiting for me and I have to admit I looked but could see nobody even resembling his description.
At last my case appears and I walk through into the heat of the Gambian afternoon and there she is... and 'Tufa, bless him, my Chelsea mad driver from the last trip.
It feels strange... It's like coming home.

Here's a few pic's to look at of the 'Absolutely Feral' sounding N.P.W./Chris Ripple X-perience...

Before I post any sort of comment whatsoever... Thank You Sarah and Herby for taking the pic's, and everybody else who keeps sending them along...
Cheers people. We appreciate it.

So... What was it like then ?
Difficult to describe, but two people stopped me afterwards and the younger one said
'Hey mate... They never said they was havin' punk bands on... Wish we'd known earlier 'cos we only caught the last three numbers...'

And the older one said, and I quote... 'Bloody Hell ! You lot were absolutely feral... The programme said it was going to be short and sharp but fuck me, that was something else...'

Oh well... We made an impression.

Actually, I'm laughing at both quotes because if either of them only knew the problems we faced on the day then they might have guessed why ?
The Stage's P.A. arrived at 12.45am... Three quarters of an hour after the stage was supposed to start and then took 15 mins to put together for the first act so we were immediately an hour late starting.
Of course things just go from bad to worse after that, with hordes of fans turning up an hour early to see the artists they're interested in...

The N.P.W. has of course, double booked the day.
Not his fault, but Pete Doherty is playing his re-sheduled date at The Albert Hall and he's got tickets, so we're not just being hassled by punters, but by an increasingly agitated 'Wolf' as time is dragging on.
We'd got through three quarters of the set when he ran for his taxi and so we finished it accapella style.
It was, as they say, something of an X-perience...
Having said that, it was also hugely enjoyable... And we got a heckler...
Some sad drunken fuckwit who decided he was going to invade the stage and did until I manhandled him off, security kept an eye on him from that point on and the next thing we know he's arguing with them and I lost touch after that.

We did get a recording of the gig but the sound is all over the place.
The N.P.W.'s guitar drowns the vocals totally, which is a drag but it'll get posted somewhere, I promise.
I'm now crossing my fingers for the film of the event, but I'm not running about today... Just trying to chill a bit and catch up on my sleep.

Anyway, just enjoy the pic's for now.
Ps. Who's gonna win the best stage clothing competition then ?
Were we colour coordinated or what ?
Yes, we were the men (and woman) in black...
A bit more Johnny Cash than Tommy Lee Jones if you get my drift ?
(You can work it out... It ain't rocket science).

Maybe it was more like rocket science bearing in mind the amount of people who have stopped and asked me ?
Ok, here 'tis...
This is (nearly) a quote from a Johnny Cash song.

'But just as a reminder of the ones that are held back
Up front... there ought to be some guys (a man) in black...'

As The N.P.W. put it... We did what it said on the tin.
One chord, and the scream...
Some will ask what politics has to do with poetry or music ?
The answer comes from The Nuzz...
Get a life. Get real ! Your generation's on vacation...

Pps. If you want to check out the complete action from the two days then click on google and punch up chrisrippleparnassus and you should get my myspace page.
Click on my pic's and you're in. They're all labelled as to what and where.

There is also, I have discovered, a small review if you punch up Chris Ripple into Google and then click onto BBC-Beds, Herts and Bucks-Entertainment-I love the(Rhythms of the World) which looks as if it might have something to do with a band named The Pocket Gods. Check it out. Hawkwind crossed with W.B.Yeats ? That was us. Joy T. gets a mention about her solo set too.

Ok... The Programmes are out... It's Rhythms Of The World 2008.

I'm so far behind on posting stuff that it'll have to go in out of order as 'Rhythms Of The World' is upon us once more, and there have been a few last minute hiccups as usual, so I've spent all my free time trying to help sort them out.

Anyway, check out the billing on the old flyer...
Not bad, eh ?
Even if I do say it myself.
(And there's me sharing a festival date with the first 'Bobby And The Midnites' drummer... Who'da thought it ?)

WARNING NOTICE.

Ok, that's yer warning.

THE N.P.W/Chris Ripple X-perience hit The Arcadeclectic Stage at about 4.15 pm on Saturday July 12th...
And we're feeling quite good about it.

There are four of us all told, with maybe a couple more guest backing vocalists if they don't bottle out before the event, but I won't embarrass them by naming them (yet).

The official lineup is as follows:-
The Nuzz Prowlin' Wolf-Guitar.
Chris Ripple-Vocals and Percussion.
Joy T.Chance-Backing Vocals and Percussion
Grant Meaby-Backing Vocals and Percussion.

For anyone who has seen me on and off musically in the last (It's nearly twenty... I won't lie about it) few years, I have to say that this lineup is closer to the early nineties KOCAINE aggregate but is much more 'stripped down' soundwise, and with chorussy bits as well.
I adapted one old Johnny Cash number that I was working on, for me and The Nuzz' and the rest just seemed to fall into place around it, and then when Joy and Grant came on board the possibilities became endless.
How long we last together is anybody's guess as we are all pretty distinctive, personality wise, but we are at least 'planning' another 'biggish' gig somewhere in the Stevenage area later on in the year ?

Me working with Nuzz ? There are no differences creative or musical whatsoever.
The guy is just amazing, and the ideas just seem to flow out of him...
I've always said he's my musical blood brother and I've always meant it.
Joy T. I worked with in our (retired for a bit) Jazz/Poetry band, Bass Relief, up until the early part of this year, and she is still my preferred co-star or co-compere at any gig I do.
Grant, of course, is my colleague from Parnassus Performance when the local poetry outfit does one of it's periodical gigs, and is getting a worthy reputation locally in his own 'write'. (Sorry... Couldn't resist it).

The beauty of the four of us working together is that three of us can write for the 'band' and arrange it how it's heard in their own head without the usual arguments over who does what, and then give it to da' Nuzz to kick it about a bit before revving it up, speeding it up and taking it off somewhere else entirely...
Strangely enough, it all seems to make sense to us, although what audiences make of it is another matter entirely ?

Check out The N.P.W's Blog if you are in any way into Politics and Punk and how it affects us all to this day.
http://www.nuzzprowlinwolf.blogspot.com/

The Gambian Experience Part Twelve (Goodbye and Hello...) From January 2008.

Photo's from the top :-











The twins
Best friends (Mariama & Ida)
Mariama
I wish the graffitti advertised a better player...
The British High Commission (which was just down the road).
Hotel pool bar.


My last complete day is spent at the poolside at the hotel and I'm not moving.
No running about today, I've done all that.
All my stuff is packed at the hotel ready to go apart from a towel and swimming cozzie. There is some still at Haddy's so I'll be staying there tonight, driving to the hotel first thing in the morning for a final 'idiot' check, but that idea is cancelled and instead of going to the airport via the tourist coach, 'Tufa is going to take me instead.
I'm due at the airport at three in the afternoon for a six o'clock flight out and it's due in midnight at Gatwick... An hour to pick up luggage and get through customs and I should be on the road at about one in the morning...
But that's in the future, I've got one day that I've managed to keep for myself
and do nothing but laze... and drink... and eat... and swim... and lie in the sun...
and laze...
Actually the drinking is mainly black coffee as opposed to beer.
It's weird in that it's the same price for either.
30 dalasi buys either.
Haddy joins me for lunch and a laze poolside afterward.
One thing about Haddy, she doesn't swim.
None of the family do.
They'll paddle in about one foot of water, but actual swimming is beyond them.
I've tried to get her in the pool and to teach her the basics but so far she has resisted it.
She did come in the sea with me when I crunched my knee, but just wanted to sit in the shallows so I'm not going to push it, but I wish she would try...
You never know when you are really going to need it ?

God !
I'm going to be sad to leave...
Eleven days... That's all it was.
I've done enough and not enough...
It's definitely not long enough but the money has run out now.
I'd had to pull another hundred out of the cash machine so I'm now 'running on empty' as far as money goes.
Still, that's the sign of a good break.
I've done the trips I wanted apart from going to visit Haddy's relatives in Senegal.
That would have cost an arm and a leg so we decided to put it off (thankfully).
There are only so many friends and relatives I can meet at any one time so maybe next time ?
And there definitely will be a next time.
It occurs to me as I'm writing that I've basically left out all reference to my fellow travellers and the things that they got up to, but in all honesty I tended to see so little of them.
If we weren't eating or I was swimming then I was down in the village as opposed to the hotel...
Yeah, I know...
There's always one 'weirdo' and this trip I was it, so what can I tell anyone wishing to learn what they can do if they were to come here for a break ?

First things first... It's hot.
I have red hair or what there is left of it and so I burn pretty easy, but I just kept the factor 15 on for the first couple of days and always at that midday period then dropped to factor 5 after two in the afternoon.
That seemed to work for me, but I'd brought a couple of denim shirts along and they're long sleeved so most of the time I just wore them as a jacket over a t-shirt.
The other thing is that apart from poolside, I don't do shorts.
Give me my pair of jeans and I'm ok with a pair of flip-flops for my feet and a bandana for my head.
It's either that or a hat and I have to be honest...
I hate those baseball'y cap things.
I know I wear one for work, but that's for some vague sort of protection.
A bandana is a much better head covering and I've been wearing mine longer than Johnny Depp ever has...
There are a couple of Dutch guys who have been here before and they come for the bird watching of which The Gambia is a favourite destination.
If you are into birds who live near water then where I stayed was no problem and you're less than twenty five miles from the River Gambia anyway so there's a few types to choose from... Songbirds, waders, just make your choice and 'voila' !
The jungle type ?
Then I guess Sindola is going to be perfect.
Anyway, it seems like a 'twitcher's paradise'.
All the rest of the Brit's on my flight only came for seven days so I lost them for the latter part of my break.
There seem to be a lot of 'Missionary' types from Scandinavia and Canada and the odd charity worker staying at The African Village, but apart from the Italian group we met on the Roots trip, there does not seem to be too many Europeans here.
Thankfully, the usual pompous and arrogant Germans that hit Iberia or Italy seem to have given the country a wide berth...
Probably not enough here for the family to do ?
Fishermen seem to be reasonably well catered for also... There is always something about to go on for them.
The restaurants seem ok, too.
There are quite a few around the Bakau area and I've heard nothing but good from those who like getting around by bicycle which you can rent pretty cheaply from the shop within the hotel grounds.
My one disappointment has been trying to get on the internet.
I've managed to do it a couple of times on Haddy's but never managed it on my laptop.
Most of the hotels claim internet access but the server needs to be up and running for that to work, and unfortunately, like the water situation, it goes off occasionally...
Gambian television is a bit strange.
They have their own 'soaps' and series and they all have a moral aspect to the story.
People get murdered so people get hung...
That's a bit weird, especially if the story contains a family member.
The radio is usually tuned to the usual pop, reggae, ragga, and hip-hop with quite a few African acts among them but usually only those who play those styles of music.
I'd love to present a 'folk-rock-blues-jazz-world-country' programme...
That would be so cool.
All the kids love their modern stuff but the rock end of it is sadly lacking.
Haddy loves her Elvis, but there's precious little here and even things like Coldplay who are now one of the largest acts in the world seem scarce.
We did get Lady Madonna by The Beatles quite a lot though...
No Strawberry Fields however.

Poor old Sainabou's tooth has developed an abcess so it's medicine time as soon as we get back to Haddy's in the evening.
As soon as we get back Saina', Mariama, Haddy and myself walk up to the end of the road to see the pharmacist and see if we can get something to help.
The girls have already eaten so Haddy and I are getting takeaways tonight.
Strange thing about their pharmacies...
They have a nurse or doctor attached in a separate room like a surgery for emergencies.
Sainabou is classed as one with her tooth so we are able to get some antibiotics for her.
Poor thing. My heart goes out to her.
It hurts !
I know because I've had it.
As soon as we got her medicine, Saina' and Mariama head back home while Haddy and I wait for a takeaway which is quite reasonably priced.
Certainly cheap compared to England.
I went for curried chicken with chips.
Now I don't like to criticize, but...
Gambian chips or fries or whatever you want to call them ?
To keep them hot they put 'em in foil...
NO !
Yes, unfortunately...
Not only that but they don't fry them for long beforehand either.
A brown crispied outside on the ol' chip seems to be beyond any cook here (apart from in the hotels and a couple of restaurants) and instead
of a reasonable chip you end up with an unreasonable sog...'
That is a public health warning.
They're definitely chips but also so soggy as to be rendered back into potato.
I only did it as a change from the rice, and the curry was one of those quickly done all curry powder and no spice jobs.
I ate it but don't think I'll be having it again.
The Gambian dishes which I've usually had are far superior.

After we've eaten I take myself off to Haddy's room for a little music while she sticks her head into the latest 'soap' on the tele'...
It is at this point that Ebrima calls to see if I'm coming over to say goodbye ?
Yes mate, I was just having a blast of a sixties compilation...
So off I go again and as soon as I arrive the cup of chinese mint tea is handed to me.
After I've drunk and given Ebrima my tobacco to share among his friends, we get down to serious business.
What are my plans for returning ?
I outline them, including my possibility of doing a gig or two to raise money for the local youth club and maybe the girls schools as well at the end of the year ?
Maybe November, Somewhere round about then ?
One of the guys on the periphery says why don't I wait until February and get them endorsed by The President for his Independence Day celebrations ?
What !
I really dunno 'bout that...
Seems a bit 'official' to me ?
I don't tend to get on with too many government officials for some reason ?
Besides, I don't want to use any Gambian money whatsoever because they really don't have any so I'm not really taking that bit in at the moment, but Haddy and I will discuss it and it's not beyond the realms of possibility so we'll just have to see ?
There is no doubt that the 'live' scene is usually confined to hotels, restaurants and tourists, but we'll see about that as well ?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained as they say.
They all seem quite pleased with my answer, anyway.

Apparently the guys from 'Geneva' have been having a chat about me and have decided that I am getting an 'African' name...
Well... I certainly didn't see that one coming.
Craftily, while the main man is out of earshot, they tell me what name they have decided upon.
Ebrima !
Same as...
When Ebrima returned I asked him if he'd known the name I was to be given and he said no, he wasn't party to the decision.
You're going to either laugh or cry then... And I told him...
Laugh ?
I thought he'd never stop.
Then they told me that I was to be 'THE' Ebrima' as opposed to Ebrima and that they would be lifting a glass at midnight for my safe touchdown in England.
Wow !
I feel deeply moved by their generous gesture and wish I had longer to give them but time waits for no man and this trip is now over.
These guys have all become my friends and I will miss them.
One of the guys suggests I use the name to post stuff on the net...
Hmmmm... Conceivably he has a point.
I'm going to have to think this thing through pretty carefully before I do something like that but I have to admit the prospect is intriguing ?
I could certainly use him to...
Oh come on... I'm not giving it away right now but an idea has just gatecrashed the brain cells...
I could have a lot of fun with that.
You're just going to have to hang on a bit longer until I'm ready but I think I've got a handle on what I want to do ?
I know what the tag line is going to be anyway...
I reckon the guys'll be pleased too.
When I finally got back to Haddy's it was half past one in the morning...
I think we had us a marathon tonight ?
She laughed at my discomfort and embarrassment at the door.
It's The Gambia...
It has a different set of parameters than the two I'm used to...
I'm getting there, but I'm definitely not quite there yet.

The following day I'm up early but I still miss the girls leaving for school.
They'll be back about half past two in the afternoon so I might get to say goodbye...
Just.
I asked 'Tufa to drive me to the hotel so I could have a last swim because officially I'm still booked in.
Haddy is going to join me later on and stay for lunch about midday and then it's going to be all rush...
Haddy rings me to tell me she can't make lunch.
Apparently people are still calling round to tell her that she did the right thing in
'reminding' the politicians to thank the local youths who cleared the patch of ground for the political meeting.
See... That's the thing you forget.
That not everybody has a telephone and it takes a while for things to get round.
It feels like a lifetime ago to me but it's very real and right now to the people living here.
It was regrettable that they needed reminding.
I decide to cancel lunch and they can pick me up whenever it's convenient, which they do an hour later...
Haddy has found a couple of pine nuts on the ground and stuck them in a bag for Ousman with his name on it and a little message... Something along the lines of 'since he was so lazy she'd taken pity on him and didn't want him to starve...'
because he's off shift until this afternoon.
It's funny how I keep singing that old Dr Feelgood classic 'She's a wind-up' in my head when she does something like that.
Shame I won't be able to say goodbye.
It's my last trip from Bakau to Fagikunda and I try to take in everything along the road.
The High Commission, the Army barracks, the dodgy 'dog-leg' bend, the mosque, which seems oversubscribed with crowds outside blocking the road to traffic, the hole at the end of the road and pulling up outside 'Geneva' in front of the guys...
Something to eat and then I have a couple of hours before I have to be at the airport.
The girls arrive home just in time...
God ! I hate goodbyes.
Mariama gave me a hug and then burst into tears before crying into her Mum's shoulder.
Hassanatou, Housainatou and Sainabou follow suit with a hug and so does neighbour Ida who is also sobbing now...
They all wave me off from the gate.
When we get to the airport I find I'm in my flight's check-in time and I have to go straight through to departures...
Jeezus, that was an unkind cut.
No time to even say thank you to Haddy Donicia...
Doni', it was great...
I'm so glad you invited me out there to see your country and I wish I had more time to give it and see it.
One quick hug from Haddy and a handshake from 'Tufa, my young goalkeeping friend and yes, when I come back I'll bring you the gloves, I promise.
I gave Haddy all my dalasi and now I can't get a drink and it's bloody hot...
No change there, then.
I also get stopped by security and am asked what's in my suitcase ?
No change there, either.
I must have a lucky face...
What's the betting...
No, it doesn't bear thinking about.
I'm going to miss them all terribly and that's a fact but with a little work and a little saving up, I'll be back.

We are early into Gatwick but the plane has not been allocated a parking spot so we still have to wait on board for another half hour cancelling out the time we made and then it's Customs...
Guess what ?
Yep... You got it.
I went through the red light because I know I'm going to get stopped for having too much tobacco, so what the fuck !
Go through the red and declare it.
Ok, you can go through my suitcase...
That's baobab...
No it's not heroin and no its not cocaine you div', it's baobab... All you have to do is taste it, look...
(pokes finger through hole in plastic bag and licks off resulting white powder...)
It's baobab... Just taste it for God's sake !
Oh shit !
The usual 'little' room.
I don't think this is gonna be over very quickly... In fact this could get quite strange.
I know what it is, I packed it. It's baobab you fucking plonker !
Can't you get someone who's heard of it ?
It's monkey bread, baobab, it grows in pods on trees and I pounded this myself...
Are they all fucking idiots ?
Actually, no they are not.
The boss bloke comes in and says 'Right... What you got, then ?'
Baobab.
'Baobab ?'
Yeah, baobab.
He sticks his finger through the side of the plastic bag and licks off the white powder...
'yes, that's baobab... Is that it ?'
Yeah, apart from the tobacco...
'How much over ?'
Eight packets.
'Go on mate... If that's it ?'
That's it, nothing else. I always get stopped so I went through red...
'Quite right too... You must have an honest face... Far to go ?'
Hertfordshire.
'Off you go then... Goodnight'.
G'night.
And I was off...
An honest face and I get the one Customs and Excise bloke who's never heard of baobab ?
I might have known...
It's England.
I got home at 3.15am and collapsed into bed after accepting my scolding from Cozmic and Stella cats.
And that was it...
The first Gambian trip or my first Gambian trip was over.

The Gambian Experience Part Eleven. Don't Let That Deal Go Down... La Mer (The Penultimate Night...). From January 2008.

Photo's from the top:-

An expensive 'piece of cloth'.
'Tufa.
Haddy.
Me.

Everything started getting a little bit hectic round about now.
Rush, rush, rush...
Seems like it was all I did ?
It's not really true...
The reality was that I had a last day to come but I didn't trust that to feel unrushed either so I wanted to make every minute count.
I finally met Haddy's son Amadou also.
Amadou goes to Senior Secondary School and stays with his stepmother's family at present.
Haddy would like him to work a bit harder at school but Amadou has that teenage itch and so is causing Haddy a few worries but he seems a nice enough lad.
He has other plans and they include a girlfriend so he will not be coming with us to the restaurant tonight.
So... It looks like it's just the girls, 'Tufa, Haddy and me, then ?

Sainabou's toothache seems to be approaching critical mass right now and it's 500 dalasi a visit to the dentist. I'd give her the money but my spending has gone over budget as it is and I daren't until my last day.
Sometimes you do these trips abroad and find things you just have to buy...
I was no exception.
The street traders at the hotel had been trying to get me to buy something/anything from them since I'd arrived but apart from a baby kora with seven strings as opposed to the proper twenty three, and yes, I know it's touristy, but I can get a vague tune and rhythm from it so it can be used onstage or for recording, so there !
plus the CD's and DVD's I'd not bought a lot, and then one day one of them brought along this painting on cloth, an abstract painting of drummers in a group and I sort of did a double take when I saw it.
Trouble was, it was nearly four feet long with a three feet drop.
Now that is big by picture standards for an ordinary English house, but then I figured that since I hadn't got anything on the wall over the hi-fi and sound system stuff in the lounge...
Maybe ?
But could I get them down in price ?
That was the burning issue as everybody wants a bargain and so long as we're both happy with the outcome then let's see what we can do ?
The first day I'd just looked, trying to keep my avaricious eyes behind the shades...
I wanted that picture but I wasn't about to let them know how much ?
Second time I saw it they'd hung it over a wall so it was displayed for all to see so I stopped and admired it, as you do...
On the way out it was still there so we stopped and admired it again.
I'd asked Haddy to stay out of the bargaining until the end when she could converse with them in their own language to 'seal the deal' and so I did the 'touristy' thing and kept admiring it until they'd come down 400 dalasi...
Now let's see if they'll drop the other 400 ?
No, not yet, come on, let's go...
Let them wonder whether I'm for real ?
Ah... The 'psychology' of street trading...
It's the same everywhere you go, from English markets and boot fairs to The Gambia's street traders... It's the same everywhere.
I am for real.
I want the thing but I still reckon 1000 dalasi is too much for a few daubs of black paint on a light pink cloth even though I love what the artist has done with their daubs...
Right... let's go for it on our next time past them.
They open with a thou', I counter with 300. It's a piece of cloth after all...
It's cheap... It's 'touristy...'
No...
Yes, it is... I couldn't possibly pay all that money for a piece of cloth...
800 dalasi.
No, too much... (To Haddy...) Do they think I'm silly ?
So she started up and it dropped to 750.
Now we're cooking.
Offer them 500 and let's see ?
Screams of laughter from their side and a couple of shaking heads...
Ok, we're going to have to go (looks at Haddy's watch and gestures to entrance where 'Tufa is waiting with the car...)
Ok, offer them 600 but tell them it's final 'cos I can't possibly go any more than that...
They could take 650 but they wouldn't make any commission and they'd be forever street traders and...
Ok ! Tell them 650 and it's a done deal and they can still pay the artist and take their commission and pay for their pitch at the hotel and buy clothes for their families and all the rest...
Pay the man.
They seem pleased they got 650 dalasi and it's 50 more than I'd wanted to pay, but I don't begrudge it.
I like that picture.
Besides, as an ex-market trader myself of fourteen years standing, I like keeping my hand in.
So that's where the extra money went...
Unfortunately for Saina'.

The restaurant we've chosen is one of the local recommended ones and specialises in fish dishes which is fine by me.
La Mer... (Beyond the sea...) Oh come on... Don't go all George Benson'y on me... The Bobby Darin and Errol Garner versions are much better in my opinion, but the restaurant is one hundred yards from the hotel entrance and is walking distance...
Through the sandy dust admittedly, but walking distance nevertheless.
It is also on a small clifftop just 'Beyond the sea', so...
Everybody is dressing up for this one.
Even 'Tufa and I are wearing real shirts as opposed to the usual football shirt or
t-shirt.
It's still too hot for my balding red headed pate, even at 6.00 in the evening so I'm going to be bandana'd up anyway.
I think the nice clean black Grateful Dead one this evening...
You might as well wear your 'Colours' if you are going out.
We get a couple of tables pushed together outside overlooking the sea for the seven of us and order up.
Everyone is drinking fruit juice or coca cola except me who's doing the local beer.
Before we go any further let me clear up something for the record.
Moslems don't drink alcohol...
In the West maybe it's a bit different ?
Haddy's children are all Moslem and they have been brought up in the religion of their father as opposed to their mother (who's a Christian).
It would seem this tradition is common to most families I met while I was out there.
Anyway, the drinks arrive and I promptly order another beer.
I'm thirsty.
So we sit and chat as 'families' do, while waiting for our food to arrive.
Now I can't speak for the others because I didn't eat their food, but when it arrived
it was quite impressive.
There didn't seem to be any shaving of sizes on the portions, and taste wise, mine was great.
I had a fish dish with garlic, Gambian rice, which has kidney beans and chopped chilli in it and a green salad with a mushroom in garlic starter.
You know what it's like...
You order these things up never having tried it before, and half the time you are disappointed...
Not this time.
The food was great.
Haddy had a prawn something or other and everyone else wanted chicken of some description but we all seemed to enjoy what we'd ordered.
Then it was 'sweet' time.
Everybody wanted ice creams of some description and looking at the size of them I just thought I won't bother, but if somebody doesn't manage to finish theirs I could certainly help them out...
Which I managed to do... Three times.
To put it mildly, I was 'stuffed'.
Ok, black coffee to finish and that's it...
Maybe another black coffee and a brandy as an aid to digestion ?
Good idea.
I'm still stuffed.
When we asked for the bill the owner's wife came out for the money and didn't bother with any change which I thought was ok until Haddy told me that our two waiters were unlikely to see any of the tip and she was going to say and do something about it...
Whoops !
Ok, calm down, I'll sort this with money as there is no reason for a stand up and knockdown fight if the food is that good, as when I come back I'd still like to eat there because of the food, but...
So I gave the waiters two hundred dalasi each for their trouble.
It had to be done surrepticiously because somebody had their eye on us, but I think we managed it.
Now personally I'm inclined to Haddy's view that it was completely out of order, but I don't speak the language and Haddy can be a little firebrand when she wants to be
so admittedly I took the 'easy' way out.
The thing nobody counts on are things like these where you can redress the balance somewhat.
So yes, the food is great, the service is good and the owner's wife is greedy...
That's the review for the English speaking world.
The whole meal including my four beers and brandy came to less than 4000 dalasi all in.
That's less than ninety five quid English or one hundred and ninety American dollars for a meal including drinks for seven people. (The American rate has bettered since I've been back and the English rate has gone down).
But we learned for next time.
Looks like 'Tufa is going to have to stop at one of the country's few cash machines
(Visa only) for my last two days as I'm nearly out.
Bummer !

The Gambian Experience Part Ten (A Few Random Thoughts Before I Leave...). From January 2008.

Ah, random...
Anything and everything in any order whatsoever...
The important and the trivial, the minutae of everyday life, the mundanity of everyday life, the challenge of everyday life, the difference between one day and another and everything else that ever wanted to rear it's pretty or ugly head...

Photo's from the top are as follows:-

The 'Dead Heads' reach The Gambia.
On the beach.
View into hotel dining room.
Hotel cat.
Hotel swimming pool.
Hotel view toward reception from pool. The pool bar is behind the plant.
View down to fish market with Atlantic Ocean in the background.
Shops shot. Road to Bakau.
Road to Banjul with cattle crossing the road.
Shop shot in Serra Kunda (I think).
The dustiest bit of the road Haddy lives on.
Shot taken from 'Geneva' looking uptown. Ebrima is the first character from the right (wearing green) looking down the 'T' of the T-junction.
Driving uptown from Haddy's (Who's in the rearview, then ?).


Part One. The Coolest, Saddest Thing...

You know what the coolest thing was ? The coolest thing of all ?
Me and Mariama (aged 8) walking hand in hand for about half a mile to the main road shops at 10.30pm in pitch darkness except for our little hand torch to see the potholes, picking up the order and walking back again.
That was the coolest thing of all.
Hell ! I could take you places in England where anybody doing that would never even see a policeman before they'd been 'murdered' by the local population...
How sad is that ?
Mariama and me...
Adult and child, hand in hand...
Ain't that the way it's supposed to be ?
You know... The adult holding the child's hand to keep them safe ?
The child holding the adult's hand to feel safe ?
C'mon... Tell me that isn't true ?
I guess when it comes right down to it that we Westerners have lost a lot of what constitutes 'soul' and I don't believe it's possible to get it back...
It's just gone forever.
How can a society that vindictive, venal and self important ever learn to trust again ?
It can't...
Easy as that.

Yeah... So that was the coolest thing.
I talked to Haddy about it and how I felt and she was amazed.
You know what she said ?
She said that Mariama was holding my hand to make sure I didn't fall into any potholes... It wouldn't have looked good for Gambian tourism if I'd fallen down a hole in a Gambian road so Mariama was just being 'responsible...'
I told you she was a wind-up.
But see... That's what adult's or eldest children do here...
They take 'responsibility'.
And younger children for the lowly humble tourista ?
It would seem so.
But thinking about it after the event I still felt good about it.
It felt right.
It felt natural.
In the name of any and all the Gods...
WHAT HAVE WE LOST ?


Part Two. The Guys From 'Geneva'.

Haddy's compound gets a lot of sun but the gated wall is on the side that doesn't catch it so it usually gets a few of the local guys sitting leaning against her wall
on the outside because it is one of the few places around that gives a little shade.
The local guys call it 'Geneva' after the cooler Swiss town.
Why Geneva and not any other snowy city I never did find out ? but they sit and they talk and they pass around the mint tea and they put the village, the country and the world to rights while they are there.
Of course it's not quite a first come first sit sort of situation because there is definitely a 'pecking order' but for the life of me I haven't worked it out yet.
Probably because 'Tufa always parks the car there when he's picking me or us up and we are usually in a rush.
I have worked out one thing however...
There is the time and then there is Gambian time.
They are not always the same.
Gambian time is a little more laid back...
A bit like Rock'n'Roll time back in England and the guys from 'Geneva' are definitely on Gambian time.
I have to admit I still find it strange that no women are involved at all.
That is a serious culture shock.
I've never had any trouble with the equal pay for equal job women's rights issue and have actively supported it (while taking the mick out of it when I'm on stage which gives me the best of both worlds), but seriously tho' folks...
Yeah... I am in favour of it broadly speaking, as well as being quite used to it within my own circle.
There are still a few little anomilies that need sorting out but in the main, yeah...
So getting to grips with this Gambian society requires a total change in one's thought processes and I have to say the boys from 'Geneva' aren't doing a lot to help the matter, because they just 'are'.
I mean they're not misogynists by any stretch of the imagination...
These guys like women.
But a woman's place in Gambian society is not the same as a man's and that is a fact.
I'm playing no sides on this one as I can sort of see it from both sides but I'll make a little wager just for fun...
In thirty years time the women in The Gambia will be a dominant force in Gambian politics.
The world is changing and with the internet being instant and all knowing,
it is only a matter of time.
Well, that's what I reckon, anyway.
Not that this bothers the guys from 'Geneva' who are passing around the cup of mint tea again.

Part Three. Naming The Baby.

I'd been in The Gambia for three days when I was invited to a baby's naming ceremony.
Now this sort of celebration occurs after the infant has reached the ripe old age of one week old and is, I suppose, the equivalent of an English Christening.
I have to be honest about this...
I was not expecting it and it took me by surprise a little, but Haddy insisted we go so off we trouped, down the road in the other direction, to where the ceremony was being held.
Think barbecue with fish and lots of fruit and vegetables, oh, and the usual cliques...
Keep that thought in your head as the women prepare the food while talking up a storm and the guys just sit and chat amongst themselves, occasionally rising to great another guest, and all the while the younger children are playing and running around noisily as children tend to do, but these children have their what in England we would call their Sunday best clothes on.
Today is special for the youngest one there and they and the adults have dressed to do them honour.
I sat down with the 'guy's' after being introduced as Haddy's visitor from England.
It was a lovely start to the day.

Part Four. Roads, Beaches, Hotels and Shops.

Roads in The Gambia are not particularly brilliant unless you stick to the main ones.
These are reasonably safe to drive on unless of course there is any other traffic upon them which is pretty much all the time.
You want to know what it is like ?
Ok, think stereotypical Italian driver... Too fast, don't look when pulling out and always use the horn as opposed to the brakes when something is in the way 'cos they are much more important than the poor sod who's in their way...
Got that ?
Right, now add a penchant for braking in the middle of the road to pick up passengers and you've got your typical Gambian car driver...
It's quite scary and in all honesty it is probably something you need to observe for a while before you put your life on the line attempting to do it for yourself.
The roads themselves do have the odd pothole in and they also have large holes where the municipal workers have dug down to put in something like pipework and then the money has run out...
Trouble is they don't put barriers around the hole so should you see one, for God's sake remember it's there because you might not see it in the dark.
We had one at the corner of the street with the main road... It was six feet deep.
I saw a car being pulled out of it one morning... It just had it's front down the hole and it's back wheels in the air. If it didn't look so comical I wouldn't have laughed. One of the guys from 'Geneva' tells me later that the guy misjudged the turn...
You're telling me he misjudged it... He didn't even come close.

Taxis, which are quite reasonable fare wise, or a type of minicab which stops and picks you up like a bus is the norm' here if you don't have a bicycle or a car, although I have to admit that when you are driving it is quite scary to see a bicycle coming straight towards your car bonnet.
These minicabby things have people on the outside too if there is no room inside so when overtaking try not to take somebody's limb with you 'cos that will definitely hang you up on your journey.
Then there are those who just wish to cross the road...
I would imagine it's something you have to get used to


The beaches on the part of the coast that I'm closest to are clean and sandy with the odd rocky outcrop or two jutting out into the sea. Devon and parts of Cornwall is probably the closest way of describing it if I remember rightly.
The sea is warm and blue but...
The submerged rocks are a bit of a problem if you are unaware they are there.
Now I like swimming...
Sea or pool ? It's all one to me, but ever since I took off the front of my right shin at Clacton when I was about twelve on a submerged rock, I've been aware of the danger these things pose.
The Gambian coast is pretty much the same.
Look out for them or you'll come unstuck as I did.
I stood up in about four feet of water and promptly tripped over the small one onto a larger one which gave my knee a right bruising.
Thankfully it didn't break the skin but it hurt like hell for about three days afterward.

Haddy and I went to the supermarket to get some food and drink for the family. Thankfully we had 'Tufa as a driver because a fifty kilogram bag of rice is a fair old weight to drag or carry.
The supermarket is a bit like our local branch of 'Netto' in England, and it also sells beer... Well it's a lager type really but who's quibling ?
Forget the racking, just pile it high and sell it.
It is a strange thing to be in a country where alcohol is not sold by the majority of food shops because they are Moslem.
The only problem I have with that are that the vast majority of take-aways don't sell it either, but the hotels and restaurants catering for tourists do, so...
Oh well, when in Rome and all that.
The smaller shops are a bit more 'specialist' and by the looks of them, a lot poorer and you can see a lot of these all along the main road.
Actually we are quite lucky where Haddy lives in that the local bread shop for our breakfast baguettes is literally over the road and the street vendors supply the fillings (well done fried fish usually, or a couple of fried balls of dough with a bit of mayonnaisse as well).
The fried fish is fine by me but I'll pass on the fried dough balls thanks very much.
I went for a swim one morning a couple of hours after eating one and sank...
So that's a word to the wise.

The hotel that I'm staying in is named The African Village Hotel and it is at Bakau,
about three miles away from Fagikunda.
The grounds are laid out as in a stereotypical African village with grass topped chalets and a couple of building blocks of which I am in one, with steps at the back taking you straight down to the sandy beach.
The room isn't bad with two single beds, a table, wardrobe and separate toilet and shower facilities. The usual holiday room. I could rent a television but since the one in the bar is continually tuned to Al Jazeera or football as my trip coincides with The African Nations Cup there is always something to watch.
It is probably fair to say that anybody wishing to change the channel to anything else would probably have provoked a revolution within the hotel.
The 'a la carte' food is uniformly good to excellent and with the fish dishes being local, that is what I usually went for, although breakfast was a bit strange until you got used to it. Loads of fruit, bread and cheese, chicken salami (Moslems don't do pork), hard boiled eggs and very occasionally a fried egg (which I'm not allowed to eat anymore depending on the oil it's fried in) and gallons of coffee, fruit juice or tea with a real teabag.
The staff are all helpful and polite and I seem to get on well with all of them, as does Haddy when she turns up to turf me out of the pool for another 'adventure'.
I don't know whether it's common to all the tourist hotels but mine had entertainment every night.
It ranged between proper African dancing to Reggae and all points in between.
The dancers are all good, let me state that upfront.
The problem is that you can never be sure from one act to another whether anything changes ?
Some of the musical acts are really good and occasionally the staff get the 'know' upfront so they help us out.
I mean they work there so they should know, but most of them have finished their shifts a few hours ago, but when they know who's on and they know they're good then there's a battle to change shifts so they can see them also.
We got the 'nod' on a reggae band.
They were only a three piece and at times very 'Lovers Rock'y' but bloody hell were they good or what ?
As we'd had the nod in advance we asked the girls if they wanted to come up that night and they seemed to be up for it so we took over the tables closest to where the group was appearing for a meal and as soon as 'Tufa appeared with the girls, we had the front row...
No Woman, No Cry, Redemption Song, Get up stand up... All the Bob Marley stuff was there, but done in such a light acoustic style that they basically transcended the original article.
Good little band...
I'd have booked them.
The girls enjoyed them, too.
They were happily singing along to pretty near every song they played.
A definitely good night.
The hotel has two cats which wander around begging as much as they can from the diners at any meal.
They are there to keep the obvious pests away.
I gave one a piece of my curried fish once to see what it would do ?
My old Cozmic cat at home seems to like a bit of curry although his taste is really chicken cooked any way you like including curried but let's see what happens...
Ok, the cat ate the fish, stretched, licked it's whiskers and paws and padded off toward the swimming pool where it stuck its neck over the edge and proceeded to drink...
It probably had the equivalent of a cat's couple of pints of beer, then it wandered off to another couple to try and beg some more...
I like the cats. They seem to make the place more homely.

There's a family shot above which has been previously posted on a couple of sites...
Meet the first 'Dead Heads' in The Gambia.
According to The 'Deads own site map, most of Africa is unconquered territory but not any more...
Haddy got into them while she was working over in England, mainly through me playing them in what we termed our mobile office (an unmarked Ford Transit) and is now seriously into some of the songs as opposed to the jamming side of the band.
Then of course she played them to the girls...
That's definitely the way to do it.
No stupid 'aging hippie' or 'boring old fart' remarks 'cos these kids just took them on by music alone.
They weren't party to the press or the hype or the image or anything else that the media trot out.
They came in innocence and stayed around for the music.
Cool !