A White Wedding 26th November 2009

It must be six o’clock because the bloody alarm has just gone off…
I didn’t sleep that well and I’m knackered.
I think I’ve had about eight hours in the last forty eight and it’s not doing me any favours…
The butterflies in my stomach have just turned into a longing for it all to be over and done with.
Still… that’s probably a bit unfair ?
Please let it all go off without a hitch.
‘Tufa is supposed to be picking us up outside the hotel at eight which means a seriously early breakfast before showering and climbing into my suit.
Thirty minutes later there is still no sign of him but the traffic is appallingly heavy so I ring Haddy just in case, but she assures me he’s on his way…
Guess we’ll just have to wait then ?
We spend the time outside with the hotel’s security guys and a few of the locals who have small shop type outlets in the vicinity.
Ousman’s not about as he’s got the later shift, and all the guys say he’s got to see this, so please wear it when we come back to the hotel tonight.
They all seem to be impressed with the suits so that’s a plus until one guy asks if it’s a Muslim wedding, and am I here to convert because I’m wearing Muslim clothes ?
S’funny… Everybody in the country wears this type of get up apart from the obvious tourists, including Pa and he’s a Christian, so I just tell him my wife picked them and in that I’ll defer to her, but no, it isn’t a Muslim wedding and whilst I’m happy to believe, it isn’t a Christian one either.
He seems to think I should be one or the other and I suppose I could have told him I was a Buddhist or a Pagan or any damn thing but I just tell him that fundamentalists in any religion let everybody down and if Tony Blair and George W. Bush consider themselves Christians then to please leave me out ‘cause I’m definitely not one of them, and thankfully that seems to do the trick and he leaves us to it.
Finally, after what seems an eternity of butterflies in my stomach and chain smoking like a good’un, ‘Tufa turns up and we’re off.
I realise that I didn’t remind Haddy about the rings because they are safer at her place and then realised I can’t do anything about it anyway.
If she forgets them we’ll have to borrow a couple, it’s as easy as that.
Finally we’ve arrived back at the Justice Registry and I’m rolling cigarettes like mad now.
A five minute wait and she’s here… and she looks absolutely stunning.




A simple white top with purple braiding on the front, a pretty headdress and trousers that definitely fit her… and she’s remembered the rings…
Which I immediately pass over to Pat for safe keeping.
Mariama and Ida look absolutely beautiful in their matching cream bridesmaids outfits with their small headdresses.






Can I relax now ?
Can I hell !
It’s never going to happen. Well it might ? But not necessarily today.
We wait upstairs for the affair to begin.





Pat is taking pictures of all and sundry with three different cameras, we’ve got the official Justice Registry guy doing it too, plus a lad who’s videoing proceedings for Batch, our official photographer, who has to wait downstairs as he’s on the official guy’s patch as it were.
One of the things I do notice is that I’m the only white guy marrying a black girl.
All the others are black guys marrying white women.
I wonder what the percentage is ?
I’ll ask somebody later.
The service is short and we all get our lines right (Aren’t cue cards a good idea ?)





so nobody makes a mistake, and after our vows and the rings and witnessing and kissing the bride (I really liked that bit) we’re off downstairs for more pictures and to wait for the cars that are taking us all out to Fatou at Leybato Sunrise, Sanyang.
Oh wow ! There’s loads of women downstairs that I recognise from the village and only one twin. The other must be with Sainabou and Fatou out at Leybato doing women’s stuff… like food…




There are a few outside that I didn’t expect.
Jally from the village and Badu from the market and quite a few that I recognise but can’t put names to, but they are all happy for Haddy and me, and that’s the main thing.
We are all family here.
Ebrima’s stepfather, who has three wives himself, has forsaken the mosque to be with us today but then he was one I expected.




I’m going to have to ask Haddy how she made the cut as far as those who are coming to the reception or wedding breakfast or whatever it’s called in The Gambia, because I haven’t the faintest idea ?
We’ve managed to cram everybody into two cars and an enormous people carrier and we only have one stop to make on the way to pick up Haddy’s son Amadou who couldn’t make it to the ceremony.
It’s a fair old ride to Sanyang from Banjul but there is method in the madness as you’ll find out later.

A White Wedding Minus Two 24th November 2009

Strange…
You’d think the closer I got to the wedding the more tense and stressed I’d be, but after the last eight months it’s all going away, dissipating in the sun and the friends I’d made in The Gambia ?

The journey out was uneventful.
The usual drive down to Gatwick in the early hours followed by the interminable wait for the flight to be called and all the while drinking enough Costa black coffee, which is horrible by the way and also Costa fortune, especially at airports, to try and keep the caffeine levels up to keep me awake.
Trouble is, it just makes me want to piss.
Brother Pat turned up after the flight had been called, after staying in the Hilton across the road so we did actually manage to get seats together on the flight.
He tried a couple of times to stick the barbs in but thankfully packed it in after one warning shot.
Shit !
I’m tense enough before a flight that slapping down my younger brother seemed a reasonable solution to stress busting.
Thankfully he heeded the warning and from that moment the needling stopped.
I really don’t know why he bothers ?
Maybe he thinks he has to compete…
Who knows ?
But it’s puerile, facile and all the rest, so hopefully it will stay hidden away ?
Haddy won’t put up with it anyway, and she knows I have a short fuse when it comes to that sort of thing so it’s best it goes.
The flight was ok.
Six hours of shite on the flight’s entertainment system so I didn’t bother.
I needed sleep, but try as I might it didn’t happen.
I got close but then they brought round dinner, so go figure ?
We finally got in and through customs and immigration and I tapped some dickhead on the shoulder as we went through and told him to do up the zips on his backpack or he was going to lose his wallet which was hanging out of it but as usual I just got told to mind my own…
Suit yourself sunshine… Fucked if I care what happens to it ?
There she is…
And ‘Tufa, and the bloke who lives in the village and works at the airport…
Jeez… A real welcoming committee…
Well, it’s finally happening.
Bring it on !

We spend the next three hours eating and trying on clothes.
My wedding suit is white and Pat has also got one the same which I had no knowledge of as he’s packed a thin polyester number for the wedding, but no, we’re both going African apparently for the ceremony.
The other bits we need we can pick up from Banjul market tomorrow.
Finally, hours later than everybody else, we check into the hotel…
And all the staff seem to know why we’re there, too…
The word has definitely gone around.

I have a nine o’clock appointment with Haddy at the Justice Registry in Banjul on the following day to go through some forms and then on to see Pa whose car we are borrowing, and then we’re just going to mooch around looking for the things we need.





So get this…
There we are, the four of us, me, Haddy, Brother Pat and ‘Tufa walking down the main drag of Banjul which is absolutely teeming with people, and one of ‘Tufa’s mates taps him up and asks him if that idiot is with us ?
What idiot ?



The complete fucking moron who is walking gaily along taking pictures of all and sundry with an unzipped backpack on his back…
My idiot brother.
Nice one !





Here we are in the middle of what can only be described as Bandit Country and the stupid sod hasn’t taken in anything I’ve previously said.
Doh !
Listening with your ears shut and your mouth open is not something I’d recommend in a country, no, scotch that, in a continent that you’ve never taken a single step in before yesterday.
God help us !
At least when ‘Tufa pointed it out to him he was suitably chastened and moved it to his front, but honestly…
Why do I bother ?
We saw Hadim and Badu in the market, and the lady who sold me my blue elephant shirt back in March, and blow me, she recognises me, as does little ‘Messi’s dad.
Apparently his little lad is still listening to the music and songs playing in his head and still dancing everywhere.
I reckon he’ll grow up wanting to be a musician ?
Aaaaahhhh… Truth to tell I’m glad to be back.
We bought hats to complete our wedding outfits from the main market and that did us,
although trying to explain why I will not wear anything with red piping on it seemed to flummox the guy until I spat on the ground and made the ‘evil eye’ sign and said Manchester United…
He got it then.
Rummaged for a couple of minutes and came out with a pack with light blue piping...
Now you’re talking.
So now it’s back to the hotel for a bit of relaxation by the pool before we're picked up by 'Tufa for a meal at Haddy's later in the evening before the big day tomorrow.
Guess what ?
Hey Pat... Look at the food in the pot.
That's sweet potato, that's cassava, that's cabbage, the snot coloured thing is bitter tomato and don't touch that red thing 'cos it's a chilli and it'll be hotter than the fires of hell...
So without taking a blind bit of notice of anything I said, Mr Know-it-all forks up the red one and happily sticks it in his mouth...
What a dickhead !
He'll learn... The hard way perhaps, but he'll learn...
Oh what fun.

The More We Walk Together Love, The Better We'll Agree (Cropredy 2009 Part Two)

The Buzzcocks were playing before Steve Winwood on the Thursday night.
Haddy and I had leisurely unpacked everything and sorted out the tent's innards, stuck some food on and eaten it and then hit the festival with Annie, whose other half Shakey, had opted for the pub along with the vast majority of our lot.

The three of us finally get in to the site for the act before The Buzzcocks and head for our usual spot, which is already occupied so we re-site a little further back than normal but it’s no problem really.



The whole crowd are wondering about The Buzzcocks as this is the first time ever that anything remotely resembling a punk band excepting maybe 3 Daft Monkeys who are more punk folk and who were on last year, and who I’ve actually put on myself and supported, have ever played Cropredy, so everybody is looking forward to it…
Some with expectations of brilliance (They have been getting good reviews for their gigs recently) and some with total trepidation as punk is and was definitely not their scene, but I’m here to say that Messrs Diggle and Co blew a storming set which was definitely just what the doctor ordered.
I will freely admit that they were never my favourite band back then, but bloody hell ! Did they go for it or what ?
Haddy’s out of her chair and bouncing up and down with the rest of the fifteen thousand odd bodies…
Definitely a bracing start to our festival and midway through the set we get ‘phone calls to say the majority of the rest of our gang are at the top of the crowd and in deference to James who is only five, will stay there and meet us back at the tents when the night is over.



The Buzzcocks finally hit their last number and they are off and gone to resounding applause from the crowd.
Definitely a left field booking success for the predominantly folkie bunch from Fairport.
I’m seriously impressed.
Annie quite liked them anyway, but it’s my first time seeing them live.
They came, they played and they conquered and they definitely made a few friends that night.
Good on ‘em.
Now it’s time for Steve Winwood…
Now this is no secret but I’m actually old enough to remember him from the days of The Spencer Davis Group, let alone Traffic, Blind Faith and the solo years.
He’s always been someone that as a musician I’ve admired, but more from a distance.
I own a couple of Spencer Davis albums, about six Traffic albums, Blind Faith and a couple of solo’s and even an oddball outfit named ‘Go’ with Japanese percussion maestro Stomu Yamash’ta is in the old vinyl collection somewhere, and I have the distinct feeling that he’s going to do a form of Winwood’s hits from here, there and everywhere tonight ?
He’s finishing the night so there’s no point in doing all new stuff as most of the crowd would just walk as it’s getting distinctly chilly round about now.



Hey !
What can you say ?
He’s bloody majestic !
All the well known tracks are included, but not ‘Hole In My Shoe’ and thank the Lord for that.
Forty Thousand Headmen, Can’t Find My Way Home, Keep On Running and a great cover of the Blues Brothers Gimme Some Lovin’
(Only joking… I know it’s a Spencer Davis Track sung by Stevie… But everybody seems to know The Blues Brothers version… Is there anybody who hasn’t seen that film ?)
A couple of tracks from his solo years and a couple of new ones and as he hits his encore we decide to move to avoid the crush when he finishes…
Annie thinks he’s a bit jazzy, but it’s just that basic Hammond sound that he gets from his organ and so it’s me and Haddy for Winwood, and Annie for the Buzzcocks as far as favourites from Thursday night are concerned.
We’re on field seven at the back of the stage and it’s a bit of a trek over the canal and round the bend to the field, but we’re all buzzing from the Buzzcocks and Steve Winwood so it’s not a problem.
Get back, have a snack and a warm drink and get your head down for the following day…
Hmmm… The look on Haddy’s face as she crawls into the tent for her first night under canvas is a right picture…



It’s cold and it’s damp (well it would be, we’re in the middle of a field in Oxfordshire) and we’re both awake and she’s freezing and it’s three o’clock in the morning…
Snuggle up closer, change positions, get up and make a cup of tea, leg it to the loo’s and back, snuggle down again…
I’m going to get her a ‘hoodie’ of some description tomorrow, as warm ears and head usually equals warmer body.
It worked for me a couple of years ago when I forgot my leather jacket.
When I wake it’s morning and past eight o’clock which is unusual for me as I usually wake there at about six when the church bells chime, but at least I feel I’ve had a rest so I crawl out and attempt to start breakfast…
Cook tomatoes, veggie bacon rashers and fried egg on two doorsteps with steaming cup of tea…
That’ll set us up.
Miss Grumpy sticks her head out of the tent…



The smell of fried food has got to her and she’s definitely happier with that in her stomach, and the sky is looking good, too…
It could be warming up ?
I bloody hope so.
It was quite damp and chilly last night.
First things first after breakfast…
Hit the queue (and I mean queue) for the showers…
She’s nicked my t-shirt that my brother sent me from the U.S.A. but I don’t mind because she looks better in it than I do.



The only two acts I’m really interested in today are John Jorgenson who used to be in The Hellecasters with Jerry Donahue and obviously Richard Thompson who’s topping the bill and ending the night, so as soon as we can, we dump our stuff on site in our usual spot and leave Annie to guard them as she’s happy doing her knitting (Totally Rock’n’Roll is our Annie) and listening to all the folkie acts.
Seeing as it’s Haddy’s first time here, we are going walkabout around the village so that she can get some photographs of the places that she’s seen on some of the cd sleeves.
We’ll be back for John Jorgenson though… I definitely want to catch him.







We had a lovely walk round without any pressure or rush, taking pictures left, right and centre.
The weather held quite well, and it seems to be getting warmer by the hour so that’s a bonus.
We bought the hoodie so now she should be ok for tonight, and a couple more bits and bobs besides, and then it was time to make our way back for another pit stop before we hit the site for Jorgenson.
It’s definitely getting warmer.
Because he’s predominantly instrumental I think I was the only one out of our bunch who appreciated J.J. ?



He was a bit ‘jazzy’ for everybody else, but then as Haddy pointed out, he is definitely a master of his instrument.
Sod it ! Lets go shopping on site.
I want that Richard Thompson box set and let’s see what other music there is going cheap ?
A couple of Tim Buckley’s, a Beach Boys and a Box set ain’t a bad add to the collection, and Haddy hit the t-shirt tent for a Fairport Cropredy 2009 top and a child’s size Cropredy 2009 sleeveless for Mariama back in The Gambia…
Yep… We are definitely doing ok.
Now I’m going to enjoy a Guinness… Or maybe two or three ?
I rarely drink these days because I always need the car, so being safe on site is a definite bonus and I can have a couple of beers.
Haddy doesn’t drink anything stronger than brandy ??????
In fact apart from the occasional brandy, I’ve never known her to drink alcohol, although she did taste a drop of my Bushmills when I took a bottle to The Gambia and pronounced it ‘alright’, so she’s on the tonic water which she enjoys anyway and although I couldn’t find it last night, I know I’ve a flask full of tequila somewhere in the boot of the car just in case it gets chilly tonight ?
I’ll find it when I nip back to make up some rolls for later.

Right. Flask found and rolls made and back to the site to stuff them and then wait for Mr Thompson.
We’re all looking forward to his set and he certainly doesn’t disappoint.









He’s playing acoustic and solo and his very dry humoured introductions and songs completely captivate Haddy who pronounces him the best thing she’s ever heard…
That’s a bonus.



Then he brings on his daughter Kami, and they duet for a while before he storms the final few numbers.
If Stevie Winwood was majestic what’s the adjective to describe Richard Thompson ?
Absolutely fucking brilliant might come close but it’s not close enough ?
Knockout !
Maybe ?
The best I’ve seen him in years and how can anything top that ?
Right… Let’s get back to the tent and warm up with those bowls of chilli that I’d prepared earlier before settling down for the night…

It’s Saturday… Fairport day… and it didn’t rain in Richard’s set as it traditionally does…
Hmmm…
Showers or boot fair ?
Showers win out so it’s back to queueing I’m afraid, but we’re closer to the front this time…







Hit the site as soon as they open it at half past ten and get comfortable…
It’s Richard Digance time and now we’ve got a whole bunch of nutters doing the Digance Bog-Roll Morris…



You have to see it to believe it !
Haddy is in absolute hysterics at this point.









Well… She’s never been to an English Folk Music Festival before, so what do you expect ?







We’re all wondering what Nik Kershaw is going to be like as he’s on soon but the next highlight is definitely Dreadzone.
Reggae and rap and a bit political and definitely danceable to the max…
Nice one guys, and perfect for the middle of the afternoon.
Nik Kershaw is a surprise… Albeit a pleasant one.









I wasn’t looking forward to him but a couple of our younger members were, and he’s got a nice line in self-deprecating humour.
I actually enjoyed him, so that was a bonus.









Fairport Convention hit the stage at nine and they’re going to play us out to the end and they hit the stage running.
This isn’t a band that’s feeling tired, this is a band that’s still got something relevant to say.



Haddy’s finally seeing a band that has given her and her family out in The Gambia a lot of pleasure musically, and they don’t disappoint her (or anyone else for that matter) but at round about ten after they’ve been on an hour, they wind down their set and make an introduction…
Now I did say at the beginning of this piece that I’m writing, that there was a special guest and we, and by that I mean pretty much the whole crowd, are on tenterhooks, because we just don’t know what is going to happen ?
The guy is virtually coming out of a self-imposed musical exile that he sent himself into and while it is fair to say that pretty much everybody here is on his side, world events have a nasty habit of informing opinion and world events have definitely interfered with this guy’s life, but they introduce him anyway…
Ladies and gentlemen please give a warm Cropredy welcome to Mr Yusuf Islam…
And the first thing he gets is a five minute standing ovation.
The former Cat Stevens, now Yusuf Islam is playing his first festival date in thirty odd, years.
They’ve got Pat Donaldson back too, so the usual suspects are all on stage from the time of his classic hits.
Everybody is screaming for the hits but he has no intention of playing them as that part of his life is over. Two new numbers, one from his first Islamic release and one from his new one and two oldie album tracks.
He ended with Peace Train.



It was a perfect mini-set and the crowd rises as one to cheer him…
Amazing !
You just had to be there, I guess ?
Haddy, although not a Muslim herself but coming from a Muslim country is virtually moved to tears, but I have to say the majority of the crowd, even this old cynic, felt it too…
Amazing !
And then we’re back with Fairport who storm into the next portion of the set finally hitting Matty Groves and then encoring with Meet On The Ledge and Haddy is singing along with all the rest, but then she knows these songs…
Now she’s seen them performed and she wants more.





Fairport have a habit of doing that.
It’s disarming, but you always want to come back.
We’ve bounced and danced our socks off…
We’re all going to sleep well tonight, before the journey home tomorrow.
In Haddy’s opinion Richard Thompson is a musician who obviously sits at God’s right hand…
You can tell she was reasonably impressed, can’t you ?
And Fairport ?
Well, they were Fairport and she wants to come back next year to see them again.
As for Mr Islam ?
Well she’s got something to tell ‘Lamin the Drum’ when she finally returns, as Lamin is the Cat Stevens fan back in Fagikunda, and the fact that she’s seen him perform and the obvious love from the crowd toward a Muslim performer is something that Lamin is going to relish.
He’s always said that musicians are different to ordinary people and a different set of rules apply, so that this Muslim vs Christian (Or America) war that seems to have erupted around the world would never have occurred if people learned that music is more important and can inform politics and not the other way round.
I like Lamin, he’s a cool dude… smart too (and an absolutely amazing drummer).


When we return home we’ve got things to do…
The house needs new carpets throughout, and a lot of stuff needs throwing out that has accumulated over the years because things are going to change in November…
Unfortunately while we are waiting for the carpets to be delivered, Haddy trips while going upstairs and manages to twist her ankle and scald her leg at the same time…
Her break is going to have to be cut short, but it can’t be helped…
I’ll be seeing her again in November when we’re finally tying the knot and getting married…

Walk Awhile, Walk Awhile, Walk Awhile With Me... (Cropredy 2009 Part One)

Photo's from the top:-

Outside Jo's studio.
Haddy and Jo.
Jim, Vicki and Haddy
outside the Hare and
Hounds at Wardington.
Me and Madame at same.
From the left-Annie,
Mickey Windows, Jim,
Vicki in distance in
white hat, Liz and Haddy.
Haddy queueing for armbands
with James in stripey shirt
(the others had all nipped
off to the loo...)





She made it !
Finally… After having to pay our government twice because the bastards refused point blank to actually carry out any checks on me which they could and should quite easily have done to see if I was the person I think I am, or even say I am ?
Or am I somebody else ?
I dunno… But I’ve had to pay twice to get her the visa to get here so referring to that bunch of corrupt and grasping slimeballs without swearing or calling them names is probably going to be impossible ?
She’s managed to miss Rhythms of the World (which is all over on the myspace site or will be when I finish it) because of it, but Cropredy falls just right and she’s here with two weeks to spare and I’m literally over the moon…
This is going to be one really happy time for the pair of us, and to be honest it couldn’t come soon enough.

The last time we’d seen each other there were tears at the airport in Banjul when I left The Gambia, and now we’ve got tears at Gatwick when she’d finally got through immigration control and now we’ve got just under a two hour drive but it’s after midnight as J.J.Cale once wrote, and so we might just let it all hang out and make it home through the cones in maybe an hour and a bit ?
Not that I’m admitting to breaking the speed limit but if those bloody variable speed signs are still working at this time of night then somebody at Thames Valley Plod needs their bloody head examining.
I reckon they just leave them on because they can’t be arsed to turn them off ?

Acclimatising… That’s what we call it.
Getting used to being in a different place and hopefully having the time to just settle in slowly without any pressure.
It’s great !
A meet the parents trip and a couple of do’s at weekends including a trip to my friend Jo’s art studio just to get into the swing of things and a couple of weeks later we’re off together to Haddy’s first ever British folk festival date.
See… The thing is, I’ve been going for years and have rung her near the end of the festival for three years running, and she, being the music lover that she is, has even imported a few Fairport Convention albums into The Gambia where her youngest daughter has taken on their version of Brilliancy Medley/Cherokee Shuffle and actually folk danced it from start to finish.
Ok, it’s more like an African version of Riverdance(ing) but when Mariama and her friend Ida get into it with a couple of their young friends it is fast, furious and frenetic with no holds barred and no quarter given.
You either keep up until the end, or drop exhausted under foot ?
Those are the only two options.


And so here we are, ready to go…
It’s eight o’clock on Thursday morning and the M25 and A41 are beckoning.
It’s going to be her first ever time sleeping in a tent, too…
That’s going to be interesting.
But everything has been checked over and packed and hopefully we’ve left nothing to chance.
She has always wondered why I go to these things ?
Working at them and performing at them she understands, but actually going as a punter is something else again.
These sorts of thing don’t tend to occur in The Gambia but to be honest, they have the talent so there is really no reason why they couldn’t ?
The plan is we all, and there are a few of us, meet up at The Hare and Hounds at Wardington which is the next village to Cropredy at 10.30, but that’s never going to happen as the traffic is going to get worse the closer we get, and if the A361 is jammed as usual then we’ve got no chance.
We text Annie and Shakey as soon as we get on the M40 but they’re about to come off it so we’re about 20 miles behind them and we’re ok for time, until they send a text back to say the 361 is jammed…
No change there, then.
So we’re stuck on the A361 for about three quarters of an hour but finally we’re through and there’s the pub…
And there’s Jim and Vicki, and Annie and Shakey, and Liz, James and Mickey Windows… and then there’s us...
Only another dozen or so to go, then ?
At just past midday we’ve all arrived and have been suitably watered and our cars are now numbered to try and keep us together through the festival traffic.
It’s a good idea which we’ve used for years, and sometimes the Banbury police actually let us stay in convoy rather than splitting us in the middle.
I’m not criticising them, they try their best, which is in complete contrast to most forces throughout the country who seem not to care one iota, but it’s nice to know that they do try.
Maybe it’s because most of them seem to enjoy the weekend as much as most of the punters, and I’m not even going to mention the overtime ?
Who knows ?
They are probably the most helpful police I have ever come across at any festival anywhere, and that is worth a fair bit, believe me.
Another two and a half hours and we’re on site and the tents are up…
Yay !
We’re only four rows of cars from the toilets and showers…
That is a serious bonus.
Karen isn’t here this year as she’s been feeling ill recently and didn’t want to chance it, but Rob’ is, and so the lagers and hot dogs are doing the rounds as soon as is convenient and the general plan is…
Alcohol…
More alcohol…
And probably even more alcohol…
And there’s always the festival ?
Looks like it’s the Cricket Club after we’ve all got our armbands, and then we’ll start pairing off between alcohol and festival.
Buzzcocks, Steve Winwood, John Jorgenson, Richard Thompson, Fairport, and a very special guest who shall remain nameless for the moment, here we come…
The weekend starts here…
And the queueing starts now.

The Girl With The English Hair

Ida with the drum and Mariama with the shakers having a workout
after school in the compound.


You never know how things are going to be received or perceived when you do stuff on stage ?
After all, My most requested item dates back to 1994 and is a totally irresponsible
take on MacDonalds and drugs straight from the newspaper headlines.
So you can imagine my surprise when I started doing this thing about Mariama and her drum and finding out I'd got a 'hit' poem ?
Pleased ? Definitely.
Gobsmacked ? Totally.

So if you're in the vicinity and I'm doing a gig, you might get to hear this one done live ?


The Girl With The English Hair

Her homework is done so it’s now time to play
Another drum and percussion workout today
But the magazine’s picture just won’t go away
She undoes her braids as if she hadn’t a care
And says ‘Look… It’s turned into English hair…’

Punks with Mohican’s… A book illustration
A nineteen seventies fashion hardly a new innovation
Here in the village it’s somewhat of a sensation
A nine year old child causing people to stare
And say ‘Look… It’s the girl with the English hair’

She dares to be different she follows her star
A nine year old girl with no problems so far
But the problems are coming and they’ll put up the bar
Her society is structured some would call it unfair
It means nothing to the girl with the English hair

“I’ll be a musician… I know I’m a girl
The best drummer in Africa or maybe the World ?”
The odds are against her and life can be cruel
But one thing I know and I have to be fair
Don’t bet against the girl with the English hair


Chris Ripple. April 20th 2009.

The Fourth Gambian Experience Part Two (It's Stranger Than Known...)

Apparently there are two nursing mothers now ?
Apart from Ida with Omar, Pussy has had another four kittens that live on a cushion in the kitchen area with the result that she is always underfoot because she is always hungry unless she’s nursing them.
Mariama has already started causing problems with the drum she received for her birthday and has had it taken from her because otherwise nothing will ever get done at home including the washing up and her homework.
It now resides in Haddy’s bedroom and Mariama can only play it after her homework has been completed.
Apart from that she’s doing ok with it, but she really has to learn that she must do her homework first and that seven o’clock in the morning is certainly not the time to start playing it.
She’ll learn, I’m sure.
I’ve also given her a couple of books on drums and music.
The music one has pictures of musicians in, and mid 1970’s punks with Mohican styled hairdo’s are the thing that catches her eye.
‘What’s that ?’ she’d asked me, referring to the haircut, and so I’d told her…
The following day she’d undone all her braids much to her sisters disgust, as one of them has to put them in again and it takes hours, and given herself a Mohican which certainly got her noticed outside the compound.
The problem is, she’s revelling in it and now she’s become ‘the girl with the English hair…’
I can definitely foresee problems ahead.

It’s now Friday morning…
Haddy is seeing relatives off back to Senegal which involves an early morning trip to Banjul to catch the ferry over the water to Barra and then over the border, which means I’m having a late breakfast with the girls, who won’t be going to school this Friday because of examinations, so it’s beans in baguette for breakfast from the roadside market down the road as opposed to making anything myself and so when I’ve eaten and had that most important second cup of tea, I’ve just picked up the notebooks and gone outside to lean against the wall and write, leaving the twins and Sainabou in the compound…
They are already busy sorting out dinner for later.
I’m told it’s ‘Tou’, but I’m none the wiser as that’s a totally new one on me ?
Mariama’s year is not involved in school examinations and so, much to her annoyance, she’s had to go to school.

I’ve been there about five minutes and not really had anything specific to write, just confining it to ramblings and doodles when there is an almighty great clanging sound from the street to my right and shouts and screams and cries and yells, none of which I understand…
I understand what happened though.
Turns out one of the little ones from two compounds away had decided to cross the road without looking properly and had been sideswiped by a taxi.
I hope she’s ok as she’s a happy and friendly little soul, but she’s been picked up in another taxi and is off to hospital immediately with her Mum so there’s no hanging about waiting for an ambulance.
All anybody else can do now is wait for news.

To use a figure of speech, this is a ‘Cool place to sit’, here on the roadside, even though it’s bloody hot and if I even move a muscle I’m going to be in direct sunlight and get burnt to a crisp, but where I currently am is in the only bit of shade that side of the road possesses and I’m totally sunscreened up, which is the best I can do topside and my jeans are covering my legs…
The problem is feet.
If you spray them with sunscreen then it gets all over the inside of your sandal/slipper or whatever footwear you are using, and as soon as you walk a pace then you wipe off the top layer anyway but I’ll keep spraying every time I move…
It just seems safer that way ?
Getting burnt is painful anyway but burnt feet hurt like hell, so I’m being seriously careful.
The beauty of sitting here is the fact that anyone who wants to come up and greet me can do so without disturbing what is going on in the compound.
The two little’uns from over the road are coming over every five minutes to shake my hand and wish me good morning, so I’m quite aware that a bit of peace and quiet to write in is more than likely beyond me ?
I’ve tried, but it’s been sporadic.
The thing is, time when you are not really doing anything, seems to shoot past and it seems it’s only minutes later when the infants start coming home from school.
Some singly, but most in groups of twos, threes or fours ?
Some hold hands and some hold waists but they are a happy bunch and the vast majority of lads stop on their way past to shake hands or high five it with the toubab who is trying his best to write, while all the girls stop and shake hands and curtsey with their ‘Hi, how are you’s ?’ and the reply ‘I’m good, how are you’ ?
‘Fine’, and it is done.
These kids are so polite.
It’s like going back into another age.
It certainly doesn’t happen in the UK.
It couldn’t anyway…
You only have to speak to a child over there and some interfering social worker will have you charged with any amount of bullshit...
And as for taking a child’s picture ?
You could go to prison for that…
Even if it’s your own ?
The lunatics have definitely taken over the asylum.

Mariama and Ida have just appeared, so that means the juniors are now out and it’s past two o’clock.
One little girl has just enquired if I’m having to do homework for school too, because she always sees me writing ?
I guess it must look like that to some of the youngsters, especially as notebooks and pens and pencils are at a premium over here ?
It’s late afternoon when Haddy returns.
I’ve had a lazy day doing pretty much nothing and it looks like I might have a few more of those coming up ?
The little lass from down the road is back home with a couple of plasters and she’s ok…
A little bit battered and bruised, but no real harm done, which is certainly a relief.
Mariama has just discovered after doing her homework that Fatou has taken her drum out to the beach bar and so she can’t play it.
This has definitely not gone down too well, and words have been exchanged over the ‘phone including Mariama calling her eldest sister a thief…
As soon as Fatou returns Mariama goes for her, but it’s like an elephant swatting a gnat and she gets slapped from pillar to post all the while screaming that her sister is a thief, but she won’t back off or back down, she just stands there while Fatou batters her.
Finally, Haddy stops it and takes the drum.
A tearful Mariama is told never to call her sister a thief and an angry Fatou is told that she has to ask Mariama’s permission before she touches the drum in future, and she is certainly not allowed to take it to the beach any more without permission.
Neither of them seem overly happy with the decision but Haddy is in no mood for arguing, and so the decision is final and a form of peace breaks out.
I’m not sure it will last ?
I think the outcome is right, though…
It is Mariama’s drum and not the family’s drum.
I think Fatou should have asked.

The following day there is a women’s meeting in the compound.
It’s all to do with women’s general health and because Haddy is diabetic, she feels a responsibility of trying to keep her friends and neighbours completely checked out for all manner of ailments.
This involves a small monetary collection every week to enable them all to be checked over for all manner of things at the local clinic and as far as I can see, is a damn fine idea.
Tomorrow we’re back visiting bereaved relatives…
I’m not actually sure how much more visiting bereaved relatives I can take ?
Nothing seems to get resolved and we just sit there, although there is something going on which Haddy is getting annoyed about.
The problem is, she says there isn’t.
Trouble is… I know her better than that.
There is, but she doesn’t want to tell me or else she’s worried about telling me…
It’s one or the other ?
She has to go back again in the evening for a supposedly three hour visit which I’ve managed to beg off, but finally gets back in the early hours…
Exhausted.
So I put my foot down…
No more visits, they’ll have to do without her or she’s going to be off sick with stress and all manner of complications…
Tomorrow she’s not going, and that’s bloody that !
They can do without her for a day or two, and if they can’t then they’d best think of what happens if she’s taken ill because they couldn’t have her then ?

It’s taken a week but I’ve finally got her to myself for a day, so hopefully I’ll find out what’s going on, but the best laid plans of mice and men and all that…
It just doesn’t work as expected and we get caught up in the bank for an hour and three quarters trying to change some travellers cheques.
Sod’s law says that the day I finally get her to myself is the only day during the week when I’m fifth in the queue to change them at an average time of fifteen minutes per person and to make matters worse we’re seen by a trainee who forgets to deduct the bank’s commission and so more frantic telephone calls between the bank and me to get me back there so they can rectify their mistake, and this is after we’ve ‘escaped’ to Ocean Bay out at Cape Point for a relaxing day by the pool…
OH… BOLLOCKS !
It’s never ending…
If it’s not her being rung by relatives every five minutes then it’s me being rung by the bank…
Whatever happened to chilling out ?
Whatever happened to a holiday ?
A seriously pissed off me returns from the bank (again) and forgets to spray on any sunscreen…
See ?
That is what stress can do to you…
Sunburn fucking hurts.
Stupid stupid stupid…
We see Awa, Haddy’s daughter, and Mr Kamara the manager, who tells me that I’m looking a lot better, healthier and much more relaxed than I was in November…
I dunno about that, but it is nice to know ?
I don’t feel it though.
I feel decidedly rough.
This time I decide to change what I usually eat and go for the grilled Ladyfish with a mild salsa served with courgettes and green beans which is absolutely delicious…
Certainly up there with the prawns in citrus salsa which I usually eat when I’m at Ocean Bay.
That was the last thing I was actually going to be tasting for a little while.
When we got back to the compound I was feeling decidedly ill so I went to bed with Aftersun all over my back and soon began feeling worse with a sore throat and the usual runny nose…
This is not funny.
Summer colds are usually an absolute pain but summer colds when you have nothing much of your own to occupy yourself between nose blows are even worse…
The following day we’re due at Banjul to see Uncle Pa and some of the Afro Manding’ guys in the craft market and ‘Tufa has to try and sort out his driving licence so I try and make an effort…
Pilled up to the rafters with cold remedies and lemony Beechams sachets with extra vitamin C.
If it works then all well and good ?

Another day gone pear shaped…
The guy ‘Tufa has to see about his licence is out, as is Pa, and so we just hit the market where I order a Tama…
Ok… A Dun Dun then…
No ?
You’re going to have to get up to date with these things if you’re going to read this stuff, you know ?
A Talking Drum.
That’s the one where you hang it off your arm, beating it with the fingers of the arm it’s hanging off and a beater held in the other hand.
It’s where Tama (who make drum kits) got their name from, and it will be delivered to the compound tomorrow.
But I don’t know whether to give it to Mariama or to keep it for myself ?

Next day we’re back at Leybato with Fatou…
I’ve managed to piece together what is going on and I’m not a happy bunny, so Haddy and I are deep in conversation until a couple of lads from the next bar challenge us to a game of football.
That will have to wait as The Gambian under 17’s football squad is playing Algeria at lunchtime in the play offs for the semi-final of the Under 17’s African Nations Cup and from what I’ve seen of them so far, the ‘Young Scorpions’ have a reasonable chance of winning it.
These lads actually play as a team and have a fair bit of skill, so supporting them in their endeavour is actually a pleasure.
Getting any food out of the kitchen while the match is on though, is an impossibility…
Some things are much more important.
But finally The Young Scorpions beat Algeria 2-0 so they’re now through to the semi-finals and we can finally eat…
Football on the sand is something that you see other idiots doing, and which you immediately think ‘I can do better than that…’
Forget it !
It is one of the most strenuous tasks I’ve ever attempted… And I was trying to be the goalkeeper…
One. The sand slows you down all the time, and
Two. The sand is actually red hot and so burns your feet if you’re not used to it, and
Three. After five minutes you are totally knackered and tackling anybody for the ball
is more like an attempt on their lives rather than anything remotely related to sportsmanship or a game…
We all ended up screaming hysterically with laughter and I ended up buying both teams drinks…
Which I didn’t mind because it had been a bit of a laugh.
We got stopped by the ‘Immigration Patrol’ on the way back.
That was a first…
For me anyway.
Apparently there are a few people coming into the country who are not wanted…
It’s amazing really isn’t it ?
All that way to one of the poorest countries in Africa and they are suffering the same problems as the U.K…
Illegal immigrants and drugs.
Funny old world, isn’t it ?

I’d also finally unlocked the Haddy problem.
All the relatives had made their decision (without involving Haddy) that she was going to be the one to look after her Mum’s bereaved sister.
This has gone down like the proverbial bucket of cold sick at a birthday party and now she’s gone off on one…
Big time.
Absolutely not !
That was her answer.
People seem to forget when it’s convenient that she has already had to farm out her son to his stepmother’s family, the twins need money for university and courses as their schooling is now over, but Mariama’s still has to be paid for.
The shops she’s having built are only half finished as her money ran out, and there’s not enough room to swing a mouse in the compound, let alone poor old Pussy and they reckon they are foisting another one on Haddy ?
Where’s the money coming from to support that ?
No chance !
She’s having none of it.
The woman has a son in the U.S.A. and nobody has spoken to him yet, but Haddy is emphatic…
Regardless of what anybody else says, it’s not going to happen and as far as she’s concerned, that is that.
Needless to say, that decision has not gone down too well with the rest of the family who have just expected their youngest member (as opposed to the eldest) to put up and shut up…
Now it’s all out in the open I can understand her reticence, but she’s off again to another family meeting and she’s booked a taxi for the return journey in advance.
She will definitely not be staying to argue the point.

I’m finally getting to cook a meal this time out and have chosen to do an easy one…
I’m doing a Spaghetti Bolognese for about a dozen people.
Now the thing is…
Men don’t cook in The Gambia.
Cooking is a function that is done by women and so my attempts to co-opt the family in my attempt to make it are causing some incredulousness in the local male population and some laughter in the female…
Buggered if I care ?
I’ve got the bits, three platefuls of minced cow meat from the supermarket, enough tins of tomatoes to support an ordinary family for a week, tomato puree, basil, oregano, olive oil, onions and garlic…
Oh yes… I’ve got what I need…
The only thing now remaining is a crash course on how to cook it on a charcoal burner ?
I’ll let Haddy, and Sainabou, who is watching me like a hawk, do the onions and garlic chopping as they have a natural ability with the stuff that I can only dream of, and as for cooking the spaghetti over charcoal ?
That becomes their province as well, as Sainabou promises me it won’t stick to the pan while we await the thickening of the Bolognese sauce…
That girl certainly knows her onions… and a fair bit more besides when it comes to cookery.
Spaghetti is hard enough to cook right when you know your cooker, but when you don’t it is always quite hard to avoid a soggy mass…
It came out perfectly.
And the Bolognese didn’t turn out too badly, either.
Ho hum… What was that about male cooks ?
Family, neighbours who’d smelt it cooking, they all turned up and stuffed themselves to the gills…
I was gobsmacked, but the word had got around that I was ‘attempting to cook’ and so there was a lot of good natured ribbing about men’s abilities on that score…
Final result: Chris one and doubter’s nil and that’ll do nicely for me.
We even had to muscle in and get a small plate for Pussy who’d been looking forward to it as eagerly as any other gannet in the family or she’d have missed out totally.
There wasn’t even enough left for her to lick out the bowl before it got washed…
Now that must be regarded as a success ?
The electrics and the water have both gone off so there’s no television, it’s down to a battery operated computer to keep the sounds going.

First thing in the morning we’re off to Banjul to see if we can find some suitable material for a handmade shirt for me.
I’m looking for black which seems to be in short supply for what I want it for, but we do find a great black, white and faun piece which I’m quite pleased with, so we go for that.
Unfortunately we also get news that one of Pa’s sons has been killed in a car crash the previous evening and another is in intensive care…
This is now getting serious so we return to the compound feeling quite crushed and when we get there, I find my camera which I wear on my hip, has also been crushed whilst we were on the bus and is now broken…
One of the twins is going to take the Friday afternoon health meeting as I’m just staying at Haddy’s side and there is no way I’m leaving it.
That night we’re back with the family but Haddy’s Mum’s sister has heard from her son in the U.S.A. and he’s told her she’s not going anywhere, she’s staying where she is and he’ll send her money monthly, so there’s no pressure on Haddy anymore…
Just an innate sadness right now.

The following day is The President’s clean up day so we’re hanging around the compound, not that any of us want to do anything…
We all seem to be suffering right now, but tomorrow we’re going back to Leybato with Fatou.
Maybe a day on the beach will bring a few smiles, who knows ?
That evening we take the material for the shirt to the tailors, who promise me the finished article in 24 hours.
Blimey ! That quick.
Well, we tried… The family hit the beach and the kids hit the sea and we had a happy but muted day.
When we returned I had a brand new shirt waiting for me.
Brilliant !
I love it.
I’m definitely going to have to get hand made shirts in the future.
So much had happened in the two weeks I’d been there, and I’d certainly seen a different part of The Gambia.
Mariama is going to look after my Tama for me while I’m not there, and has my permission to play it or give it to one of her friends to play, but it is not to be taken out of the compound without my express permission.
I’m going to miss them all when I return…
Haddy is supposed to be coming to stay with me this summer.
Hopefully it will be a little happier than this trip to The Gambia ?

The Fourth Gambian Experience Part One. (Eight Miles High... And When You Touchdown...)

Photo's from the top:-

Haddy.

Omar and Mum Ida.

Pussy's new family (again).

Pussy.

2x Omar

So…
It’s the middle of February and I’m literally freezing my tits off at work because it’s so cold and I’ve got no protection against it apart from yet another layer of clothing which is beginning to cause me grief as moving is becoming difficult.
Everything I can buy thermal wise, I’ve got.
Socks, underwear, shirts, plus thick sweaters and when I say I’ve got everything, I mean everything.
But… According to my erstwhile and so called manager I have to wear the Council’s sodding green uniform jacket over the top of everything topside and it won’t fit over a fleece lined leather jacket which is definitely the warmest thing I possess and which he, in his undoubted wisdom, has decreed I cannot wear over the green jacket.
Of course if it fitted me the other way round I would have done it but it doesn’t and because my job involves walking and not driving about on a quadbike or somesuch vehicle, I apparently, do not qualify for any of the Council’s cold weather clothing.
It is apparently ok for me to keel over with hypothermia which I’ve managed to do twice previously and which he knows about, but actually taking serious notice of what is a life or death problem for me would seem to be beyond him.
It wouldn’t be so bad if they actually implemented their own Council’s rules and regulations regarding staff health as supplied to all members of staff in the handbook we are all given when we join as opposed to just paying lip service to it, but that is only done when it is convenient for them…
Fuck everyone else !
You know what their reason was for not allowing me the clothing ?
If they give it to me then everyone might want some ?
Yep !
That was it… The official reason.
I’ve had fifty two years of getting used to what I could do, and three years since the heart attack to get used to what I now can’t do, and despite me telling them about it (as I am supposed to do according to their own staff handbook) when anything affects my health, their idea of my health and safety is to ignore it totally because it is not convenient for them…
Health and safety ?
Yeah, right !
And that’s not even including the fact that they’ve decided that I’ve got to start work a half hour before anyone else because somebody else made a mistake and when I complained about it as the job I’d already done had to be repeated for a second day running, the whole thing got dumped on me because a colleague had recently been promoted and decided NOT to back me up.
Colleague…
I use the word loosely.
Telling the truth wouldn’t have hurt him and it might even have done the bloody department some good, but it’s so much easier to dump on someone else… Isn’t it ?
Now the pills I have to take to survive are kicking back.
One is fighting another in the early hours and is causing me serious aggravation.
You can fool them for maybe a couple of days if you can shovel food in at the right times but the constancy of having to do it on a weekly basis is making me ill with cramps and knots that seem to twist your stomach into agonies that those uncaring bastards couldn’t even dream about.
Oh well… What goes around comes around, as they say…
But I do have eleven days holiday to come which has to be taken before the end of March, and so with that in mind I wandered into the local travel agents thinking maybe I can afford another week away with Haddy in The Gambia ?


Maria, the blonde girl behind the counter, immediately looks up while she’s serving another customer, excuses herself, and asks me if I’ve come in about The Gambia again and when I say yes, asks me to ‘Hang on until she’s finished with her customer because she thinks she’s got some very good news for me…?’
Sounds ok to me so I’ll hang on…
It was definitely worth the fifteen minute wait.
As soon as she’s finished packing them off to Mexico or the Dominican Republic or wherever it was they ended up going to she’s on the ‘phone to check prices, asks if it’s the usual flight only ? and then tells me that she can get me over there for three hundred and twenty four quid for fourteen days…
HOW MUCH ?
It was six hundred and something for seven days in November when we went out to do the gigs.
We check the calendar…
What with weekends and all, if I fly out on the seventeenth of March I can fit the fourteen day break into my eleven days.
Great !
Step outside to ring Haddy who immediately says yes.
Now all I have to do is book the time off at work.
The following day they let me take an early lunch break and I shoot off down the town to book it. Done.
I’m going.


When Joy and I flew out back in November she had been in touch with a guy named Mark who runs a charity organisation named Roots Nursery thinking that it might have something to do with the Roots Nursery School at Fajikunda ?
It doesn’t.
There are a lot of Roots Nursery charities apparently, most of whom are capitalising on the book by Alex Haley, and let’s face it, it did put The Gambia on the map, but the one Mark looks after is in Albreda and Juffreh where Alex Haley’s Kunta Kinte ancestor is reckoned to have come from, and I’d visited it with Haddy on my first trip out.
There are some photo’s attached further back in the blog in 2008 if you want to go back that far ?
So I rang Mark and found out that he was flying on the same day as me but his team of three were only going to be out there for seven days.
We can however, meet up at Gatwick before the flight which is the usual 7.50am-ish job.
It’s a horrible time to fly in one respect, as having to get to Gatwick for that time in the morning with the earlier check in times, means leaving home at about 2.30am if you want a clear run on the M.25 ?
If you leave it until later and the early morning work traffic has started then one accident on the M.25 could blow out your holiday so it’s a good idea to get there and hang about for the extra hour rather than rush it.
Oh well, at least there were no problems at Gatwick apart from me being two kilos over the baggage limit…
To be honest I’d cut down and cut down but I’d got all Mariama’s drumming cd’s, a couple of bits for Haddy and some clothes for the girls and Amadou and I couldn’t cut anymore so I paid the excess but I did manage to blag myself an aisle seat on the flight.
20 kilos is a very light allowance anyway and damn near every other airport has a 30 kilo baggage allowance, but not our wonderful Gatwick however.
They’re still stuck in the dark ages.
I’m stopped at the passport control stop and search as usual, and as usual they go through the electrics in the luggage…
Yes, it’s a laptop… That’s a minidisk recorder… They’re the extension speakers for the minidisk or the computer… That wire connects to this, that wire connects to that, I’ll fire the mutha’ up so you can listen if you like ?
No ? Ok, thank you…
I only had to take my boots off twice this time so that was a plus but finally I’m in departures and buying the usual duty free.
Some tobacco for Ebrima and Lamin and a bottle of brandy for Haddy and that’s it…
Find a strong black coffee to help keep me awake for the next crucial couple of hours until I’m on the plane, and text Mark to say that I’m here.
Thirty minutes later he rings and says they’re in MacDonalds, second table to the left and we meet and greet…
The more I do this stuff, the more I realise that there really are some selfless people in this world who will put themselves out to help others if they can, and Mark and his two companions all fit the bill.
They raise money in England to help a small community of people a couple of thousand miles away and they do it because they want to and they have the abilities to do so.
My mate Bernie http://www.morewriting.co.uk/user/306 who writes a pretty nifty set of words himself, and who has been an aid worker in Africa reckons that Africa’s problems can only be solved by the Africans.
I would agree with that but sometimes people only need a sort of leg-up to the next rung on the ladder and that is what Mark and his team are supplying.
The leg-up… and whichever set of Gods you believe in, thank him or them for those who get off their arses and actually do something worthwhile to help.
And all this from one holiday and a paid trip to the village on a package holiday ?
You’ve got to have some sort of admiration for somebody as selfless as that.
It’s just a shame that governments of countries don’t feel the same way about it.
Oh yeah, they’ll donate money in aid to poorer countries if they think they might get something out of it, but in general terms the real work is done by people like Mark who do actually make a difference by going into a community and finding out what they actually need as opposed to the money going into some scheme that might benefit somebody if you’re lucky but looks really good on paper.
The village of Albreda is on the river and is in a severe malarial zone and so apart from anything else, they are supplying one thousand mosquito nets for all the schoolchildren of the village.
Anybody who hasn’t visited anywhere where Malaria is a serious problem wouldn’t have a clue as to why that is so important but Malaria is a killer disease and it could be eradicated, but only if people start with the basics and the basics are literally a mosquito net costing about two and a half to three pounds, English.
Less than twenty cigarettes.
So I’m asking… Is it not worth that to save a child’s life or to save them from what can be a terribly debilitating disease ?
I know what my answer is, but you’ll all have to think about your own ?
Anyway, let’s cut the sermon because I’m sure you really don’t want to read it ?
We get our seats on the plane, I’m in the middle and they’re right at the back so that’s a good excuse for a walkabout for all four of us.
The batteries on the computer died before I had a chance to show them the photo’s and there was a really crap movie starring Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman titled ‘Australia’ which couldn’t decide if it wanted to be ‘Red River’ (Or ‘Lonesome Dove’ for those in their twenties and thirties) or ‘Pearl Harbour’ and all set in the land of Oz…
(That’s Oz as in Oz-tralia, mate).
Christ ! You could have made three good films for what they must have spent on
that one…
Or even sponsored a few of the starving kids around the world for a few
years ?
Face it, if they’d done that then the makers might have ended up with a better return on their investment ?
I got pulled over at Banjul for the first time and they went through the luggage.
I think they were looking for mobile phones if I got the gist of the woman being searched next to me ?
But I’m clean, I’ve got the two allowed only and that’s that.
Which meant I managed to miss saying goodbye to Mark and his crew, but I can text him later on when we get in…
Except there isn’t a we…
‘Tufa is there to greet me as usual, but there’s no Haddy.
‘Tufa tells me what’s going on while we’re driving back to the compound.
Apparently, Haddy’s elder sister’s husband had just died of cancer earlier that morning and so she was with the family and she will see me later on, but closer to tonight.
I was told about six pm but she finally turned up at eleven looking completely exhausted.
Had I been looked after ?
Of course…
I’d turned up at the gate and the guys had grabbed my case to take in and that was it, hugs from Mariama, the twins, Sainabou, Little Ida, Neighbour Ida, Ida’s Mum… The works.
Oh yes, I’d been looked after, fed, the lot.
Eldest daughter Fatou who I’d known in England had returned from her new beach bar at about eight…
What new beach bar ?
Things were definitely happening around the compound, and then finally Haddy had got back and started to explain to me the workings of a family vigil.
It’s not with the body but with the bereaved, and the whole extended family turn up and eat and drink them out of house and home.
That’s a brutally frank way of putting it because whatever money the family have left after a breadwinner (In this case) has died, is frittered away on food and drink leaving the poor bereaved soul worse off money wise than before, and then the extended immediate family decide who is to take in the bereaved or are they to stay in their own compound or house, whatever ?
After having it explained, I have to admit that it’s a system that doesn’t sit too well with me.
What a waste.
But here in The Gambia it is the tradition in both Muslim and Christian households, the only difference being that the Muslims end it in twenty five days and the Christians in forty.
Forty days ?
Believe it.
Haddy explains that she has other people staying as well for some of the family’s relatives were in Senegal and they’ve come over to be here at this sad time.
Hey… Slow down… Go To Bed… I was up all night last night, had a six hour flight and I’m not sure I can manage another all-nighter ?
Come on, love… I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted, try and get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning…