3rd May - Fansu's Beach

What a day it's been! We've been subjected to the full force of
Gambian friendship and hospitality, and seen some amazing things.
Fansu knew about a few things going on today, and boy, did he get us
involved. It's been a real Michael Palin day.

We got up fairly late and walked with Fansu along the beach and up the
track to his house, a small breeze-block building with a corrugated
roof, while he fetched some mosquito nets. Then we caught a bush-taxi,
a tatty minibus, along the road to the village centre. We were hoping
to use the web café, but it was shut for a while as the line wasn't
working, so we were taken to Fansu's family compound. The families
here live together, in individual buildings around a central yard,
typically two wives to one husband, plus any grandparents, brothers,
sisters etc, but in Fansu's case his father died, so it's all a bit
complicated.

We were introduced to the family, then Fansu got word that the
internet café was open again, so we went to post the last 3 days'
blogs. All 3 computers there were sharing a single modem line, so it
was not particularly quick, and took about half an hour for us to do
what we wanted to do. So apologies for the lack of photos in the last
few days, hopefully we'll put that right when we get a better
connection.

We walked back to the compound, where we were to form the reception
committee for 4 English teachers, who will be teaching at one of the
schools here for 6 weeks. They were all youngish women from the
Huddersfield area, and their visit had been arranged by some English
people living locally here. So by the time they arrived, there were
about a dozen or so English people in the compound, plus all manner of
local children who'd wandered in and found us very amusing. Fansu had
set up a little suite of rooms in the compound for the teachers, which
was rather nice, although they were going to have to share double
beds.

The whole entourage of us two, the four teachers, the five or so
English expats, Tony and the two Spanish fireman/cyclists, plus Fansu,
some of his family, and all manner of young children, headed up to
look around the school. It's something approximating a primary school,
with about 800 pupils; I was quite surprised to see about two thirds
seemed to be girls, but one of the entourage explained to me that more
girls are born than boys in this country. We arrived at breaktime, and
as we walked through the dust yard, we swept along a great crowd of
children who were very excited to see us. The younger ones were
holding our hands. We went to meet the headmaster, who gave an
introduction to the school for the benefit of the teachers, then we
went for a tour of each class.

The classes are taught in sizes of around 30 to a teacher, but because
they don't have enough teachers, the children go in shifts. Each
classroom has glassless, barred windows, plus a corrugated roof
(asbestos in the main building), a blackboard and a variety of
different desks. The children are well disciplined, wearing uniform,
and each class in turn stood up to receive us and recited a greeting,
in English. (The local language is about 75% Mandingo, plus some Wolof
and a few others, but all the children learn English in school. We've
been trying to learn some greetings in Mandingo, but it doesn't come
naturally.) I took plenty of photos as we walked around. At one of the
younger classes, as I was standing outside, one of the children stuck
her hand through the window to shake mine, and soon all her classmates
were trying to shake my hand! After a while I just stuck my hands
through the bars so the children could touch my arms; I felt a bit
like Princess Diana. Isn't it nice to be popular?

The school was set up with a computer suite about 4 years ago, by a
Scottish couple, but as time's progressed it's proven tricky to keep
their systems working and up-to-date. They still have the facility,
but it was clear that it could do with a refresher. They want to make
sure each child has access to learning about computing. If only one UK
company donated a handful of old computers, and shipped them over
here, it would make such a difference – it seems such a shame.

They also have a small library, which had a very varied selection of
books, including a 1999 edition of Land Rover Monthly magazine. And
that's about it. No hall, no canteen, no gym, just a big dust
playground. It's quite ironic that the children here all regard school
as such a privilege and treat it so seriously. I took photos of
various classes, plus the children singing, one way in which they
learn which is probably different to most UK classes. This was the
point at which I started to wish I'd brought my big camera along
today, instead of the compact one.

Nicki compared the Gambian school to the one she taught at in the
Liberian refugee camp in Ghana. She said the children in Gambia are
much better behaved, the classes were more organised, and the school
seemed slightly less poverty-stricken, as all the children had clean,
matching school uniforms. However, the Liberian library was better
organised and stocked.

We left the school and went back to Fansu's family compound, with a
slightly different set of children in tow, including some in school
uniform! The community is very much a community here, with children
able to roam around at will, and get together in the street or the
compounds to play; it's almost like one huge extended family, and the
children mix so much with each other. Of course, a group of white
people in town was quite a novelty, so we always had a huge number of
children around us, sitting or climbing on us, playing with us, or
holding our hands as we walked around.

The Gambian hospitality meant that several great plates of rice with
fish & vegetables were brought out, and we were given spoons to share
a bowl amongst five or six of us. The Gambian custom is to eat with
your fingers, and some of the Gambians squeezed together handfuls of
the best bits and put them on our spoons. Not having grown up with
quite the same populations of bugs as they have here, we were a bit
wary of that, but hopefully we'll get used to it. The food is quite
spicy, and sometimes it's tricky to identify exactly what you're
eating, so I suspect two of the teachers will go back home a little
thinner than they are now. We were also given some of the local,
strong, sweet tea, in shot glasses, which I'm quite partial to.

Nothing in Africa is rushed, so we sat around and chatted for some
time, before our next appointment: one of Fansu's friends who works
for him at the beach had a baby daughter a week ago, and today was the
baby's naming ceremony. And we were invited!

We went along to another compound, where dozens of people were sitting
around, chatting, eating and listening to music. We were introduced to
all manner of folk, but it was a little tricky trying to remember who
was related to who! Presently we were invited to go inside one of the
huts in the compound, which was decorated and full of people, plus the
new baby! Straight away Nicki was offered the baby to hold, and after
a while she was passed around from hand to hand, so we all had a
chance to hold her, while she slept soundly. We'd asked whether it was
appropriate to give a present, and Fansu suggested we gave a small
amount of money, as did the other guests. The baby's grandmother
pinned the notes to her dress. All the families were dressed in
lovely, bright, decorative clothing for the special occasion.

Suddenly a drum struck up from another room, and in came the
grandmothers and aunts, singing traditional African songs and beating
out a mean rhythm on a plastic container. They danced around and sang,
and of course everybody (apart from us) knew the words. The small room
was full of people, going in and out, dancing and singing, and the
noise was tremendous, but the baby didn't waken, even when it was my
turn to hold her! We were given a tasty drink of Baobab juice (a large
and distinctive tree), with banana, cooked rice and cocoa. It was
almost a meal in itself.

After a while, we left the room as the festivities continued and other
people crowded in to pay their respects to the baby. We sat in the
compound for a while, and before long, more plates of food appeared.
No spoons this time so we had to eat with our hands; given that we'd
spent most of the day being mauled by grubby children, this didn't
seem a great idea! We washed in water from a kettle, although Nicki
decided abstinence was probably the best approach at this stage. This
time, instead of fish, which is pretty much a local staple, we got
some sheep meat along with the rice and veg. As well as the families
and children, the compounds host wandering herds of goats and sheep,
plus resident chickens, which pick up all the leftovers. This family
also had a well, from which we could see people fetching water.

Mango trees abound here, although it's not quite mango season here,
but one of the family fetched a long pole and knocked some mangoes out
of a tree, which we ate, getting covered in mango in the process. The
fruits were very tasty, if not quite ripe. We washed our hands in well
water, which by this time had a film of mutton juice floating on the
top, again challenging our Western hygiene tolerances, although I've
had no ill effects so far!

The final excitement of the day was that the school was hosting a big
event in the afternoon: a traditional Wolof Zimba dance. We walked
along and paid 10p each to get in; the children paid 4p. A traditional
African drum band was playing in the middle of a big square, and
school children of all shapes and sizes were seated and standing
around the edge, watching, chatting and playing. We sat down and
various children climbed on to our laps. The drumming was effortlessly
good; the drummers were playing complex beats, but were very well in
sync with each other as they moved to and from different rhythms.

After a while, the children got quite excited, as a lion appeared.
Strictly speaking, it was a man dressed up as a lion, with a lively
costume and vibrant face paint. He danced around the arena, and scared
the children a bit. The dancing was very varied; at some points he
danced frantically, sometimes he prowled around; sometimes he didn't
do very much at all. A while later he was joined by another dancer,
then another, until about 8 dancers were present: a couple of animals,
2 men dressed as women, a fat man, a "sheriff" (looking a bit like the
lion, but with "sheriff" written on his costume), and goodness knows
what else. The dancing was lengthy and not closely choreographed, but
very entertaining. Given the audience, it was quite suggestive at
times. At one point one of the dancers shouted out something in
Mandingo (or was it Wolof?) which made all the children laugh; one
child translated it for Nicki, and it was a little on the crude side!

As I walked around the perimeter, the lion caught up with me, mimed at
me for a while, with me not really sure what to do, making me rather
nervous, then took my hand at walked me up to the front with the
drummers. In front of about 200 young children, he then started to
dance in front of me, and expected me to dance back! What could I do
other than throw myself into it, imitating what he was doing as best I
could. I think I did quite a reasonable job, considering, and
certainly the kids were very enthusiastic about my performance. I'm
not quite sure that Nicki sees it the same way though. One by one, the
other westerners in the audience, the teachers and Nicki, were pulled
up by the dancers and had to perform. One of the teachers, Kirsty, was
very well into it and did a great job.

As the dance progressed, the dancers started chasing the children, who
scattered in all directions, and then the adults, some of whom they
dragged into the arena, danced with, and generally terrified,
particularly the women! I'm not sure if they were acting out a story,
but if they were I couldn't follow it, although to be fair, I never
can.

My friend the lion kept catching my eye and making odd theatrical
faces at me, which was a trifle un-nerving, as anybody who's ever been
winked at by a wide-eyed, brightly painted Wolof man in a lion costume
will know only too well. He also sent round a young boy who said the
lion asked him to ask me to write my email address on a piece of
paper. I think I'm being stalked by a Wolof Zimba lion.

The whole dance went on for about 2 or 3 hours, and the children,
although not constantly engrossed by it, seemed very entertained. We
left and went back to the compound, where we were surrounded by even
more children than previously, and were climbed all over. Finally, as
it got dark, we caught the Bush Taxi back along the road and walked
along the beach back to our camp. Dinner this evening, hand-prepared
over the open fire as before, was a big chunk of ladyfish marinated in
a very tasty sauce.

Almo sodu diala – "good night" in Mandingo.

What a day it's been! We've been subjected to the full force of
Gambian friendship and hospitality, and seen some amazing things.
Fansu knew about a few things going on today, and boy, did he get us
involved. It's been a real Michael Palin day.

We got up fairly late and walked with Fansu along the beach and up the
track to his house, a small breeze-block building with a corrugated
roof, while he fetched some mosquito nets. Then we caught a bush-taxi,
a tatty minibus, along the road to the village centre. We were hoping
to use the web café, but it was shut for a while as the line wasn't
working, so we were taken to Fansu's family compound. The families
here live together, in individual buildings around a central yard,
typically two wives to one husband, plus any grandparents, brothers,
sisters etc, but in Fansu's case his father died, so it's all a bit
complicated.

We were introduced to the family, then Fansu got word that the
internet café was open again, so we went to post the last 3 days'
blogs. All 3 computers there were sharing a single modem line, so it
was not particularly quick, and took about half an hour for us to do
what we wanted to do. So apologies for the lack of photos in the last
few days, hopefully we'll put that right when we get a better
connection.

We walked back to the compound, where we were to form the reception
committee for 4 English teachers, who will be teaching at one of the
schools here for 6 weeks. They were all youngish women from the
Huddersfield area, and their visit had been arranged by some English
people living locally here. So by the time they arrived, there were
about a dozen or so English people in the compound, plus all manner of
local children who'd wandered in and found us very amusing. Fansu had
set up a little suite of rooms in the compound for the teachers, which
was rather nice, although they were going to have to share double
beds.

The whole entourage of us two, the four teachers, the five or so
English expats, Tony and the two Spanish fireman/cyclists, plus Fansu,
some of his family, and all manner of young children, headed up to
look around the school. It's something approximating a primary school,
with about 800 pupils; I was quite surprised to see about two thirds
seemed to be girls, but one of the entourage explained to me that more
girls are born than boys in this country. We arrived at breaktime, and
as we walked through the dust yard, we swept along a great crowd of
children who were very excited to see us. The younger ones were
holding our hands. We went to meet the headmaster, who gave an
introduction to the school for the benefit of the teachers, then we
went for a tour of each class.

The classes are taught in sizes of around 30 to a teacher, but because
they don't have enough teachers, the children go in shifts. Each
classroom has glassless, barred windows, plus a corrugated roof
(asbestos in the main building), a blackboard and a variety of
different desks. The children are well disciplined, wearing uniform,
and each class in turn stood up to receive us and recited a greeting,
in English. (The local language is about 75% Mandingo, plus some Wolof
and a few others, but all the children learn English in school. We've
been trying to learn some greetings in Mandingo, but it doesn't come
naturally.) I took plenty of photos as we walked around. At one of the
younger classes, as I was standing outside, one of the children stuck
her hand through the window to shake mine, and soon all her classmates
were trying to shake my hand! After a while I just stuck my hands
through the bars so the children could touch my arms; I felt a bit
like Princess Diana. Isn't it nice to be popular?

The school was set up with a computer suite about 4 years ago, by a
Scottish couple, but as time's progressed it's proven tricky to keep
their systems working and up-to-date. They still have the facility,
but it was clear that it could do with a refresher. They want to make
sure each child has access to learning about computing. If only one UK
company donated a handful of old computers, and shipped them over
here, it would make such a difference – it seems such a shame.

They also have a small library, which had a very varied selection of
books, including a 1999 edition of Land Rover Monthly magazine. And
that's about it. No hall, no canteen, no gym, just a big dust
playground. It's quite ironic that the children here all regard school
as such a privilege and treat it so seriously. I took photos of
various classes, plus the children singing, one way in which they
learn which is probably different to most UK classes. This was the
point at which I started to wish I'd brought my big camera along
today, instead of the compact one.

Nicki compared the Gambian school to the one she taught at in the
Liberian refugee camp in Ghana. She said the children in Gambia are
much better behaved, the classes were more organised, and the school
seemed slightly less poverty-stricken, as all the children had clean,
matching school uniforms. However, the Liberian library was better
organised and stocked.

We left the school and went back to Fansu's family compound, with a
slightly different set of children in tow, including some in school
uniform! The community is very much a community here, with children
able to roam around at will, and get together in the street or the
compounds to play; it's almost like one huge extended family, and the
children mix so much with each other. Of course, a group of white
people in town was quite a novelty, so we always had a huge number of
children around us, sitting or climbing on us, playing with us, or
holding our hands as we walked around.

The Gambian hospitality meant that several great plates of rice with
fish & vegetables were brought out, and we were given spoons to share
a bowl amongst five or six of us. The Gambian custom is to eat with
your fingers, and some of the Gambians squeezed together handfuls of
the best bits and put them on our spoons. Not having grown up with
quite the same populations of bugs as they have here, we were a bit
wary of that, but hopefully we'll get used to it. The food is quite
spicy, and sometimes it's tricky to identify exactly what you're
eating, so I suspect two of the teachers will go back home a little
thinner than they are now. We were also given some of the local,
strong, sweet tea, in shot glasses, which I'm quite partial to.

Nothing in Africa is rushed, so we sat around and chatted for some
time, before our next appointment: one of Fansu's friends who works
for him at the beach had a baby daughter a week ago, and today was the
baby's naming ceremony. And we were invited!

We went along to another compound, where dozens of people were sitting
around, chatting, eating and listening to music. We were introduced to
all manner of folk, but it was a little tricky trying to remember who
was related to who! Presently we were invited to go inside one of the
huts in the compound, which was decorated and full of people, plus the
new baby! Straight away Nicki was offered the baby to hold, and after
a while she was passed around from hand to hand, so we all had a
chance to hold her, while she slept soundly. We'd asked whether it was
appropriate to give a present, and Fansu suggested we gave a small
amount of money, as did the other guests. The baby's grandmother
pinned the notes to her dress. All the families were dressed in
lovely, bright, decorative clothing for the special occasion.

Suddenly a drum struck up from another room, and in came the
grandmothers and aunts, singing traditional African songs and beating
out a mean rhythm on a plastic container. They danced around and sang,
and of course everybody (apart from us) knew the words. The small room
was full of people, going in and out, dancing and singing, and the
noise was tremendous, but the baby didn't waken, even when it was my
turn to hold her! We were given a tasty drink of Baobab juice (a large
and distinctive tree), with banana, cooked rice and cocoa. It was
almost a meal in itself.

After a while, we left the room as the festivities continued and other
people crowded in to pay their respects to the baby. We sat in the
compound for a while, and before long, more plates of food appeared.
No spoons this time so we had to eat with our hands; given that we'd
spent most of the day being mauled by grubby children, this didn't
seem a great idea! We washed in water from a kettle, although Nicki
decided abstinence was probably the best approach at this stage. This
time, instead of fish, which is pretty much a local staple, we got
some sheep meat along with the rice and veg. As well as the families
and children, the compounds host wandering herds of goats and sheep,
plus resident chickens, which pick up all the leftovers. This family
also had a well, from which we could see people fetching water.

Mango trees abound here, although it's not quite mango season here,
but one of the family fetched a long pole and knocked some mangoes out
of a tree, which we ate, getting covered in mango in the process. The
fruits were very tasty, if not quite ripe. We washed our hands in well
water, which by this time had a film of mutton juice floating on the
top, again challenging our Western hygiene tolerances, although I've
had no ill effects so far!

The final excitement of the day was that the school was hosting a big
event in the afternoon: a traditional Wolof Zimba dance. We walked
along and paid 10p each to get in; the children paid 4p. A traditional
African drum band was playing in the middle of a big square, and
school children of all shapes and sizes were seated and standing
around the edge, watching, chatting and playing. We sat down and
various children climbed on to our laps. The drumming was effortlessly
good; the drummers were playing complex beats, but were very well in
sync with each other as they moved to and from different rhythms.

After a while, the children got quite excited, as a lion appeared.
Strictly speaking, it was a man dressed up as a lion, with a lively
costume and vibrant face paint. He danced around the arena, and scared
the children a bit. The dancing was very varied; at some points he
danced frantically, sometimes he prowled around; sometimes he didn't
do very much at all. A while later he was joined by another dancer,
then another, until about 8 dancers were present: a couple of animals,
2 men dressed as women, a fat man, a "sheriff" (looking a bit like the
lion, but with "sheriff" written on his costume), and goodness knows
what else. The dancing was lengthy and not closely choreographed, but
very entertaining. Given the audience, it was quite suggestive at
times. At one point one of the dancers shouted out something in
Mandingo (or was it Wolof?) which made all the children laugh; one
child translated it for Nicki, and it was a little on the crude side!

As I walked around the perimeter, the lion caught up with me, mimed at
me for a while, with me not really sure what to do, making me rather
nervous, then took my hand at walked me up to the front with the
drummers. In front of about 200 young children, he then started to
dance in front of me, and expected me to dance back! What could I do
other than throw myself into it, imitating what he was doing as best I
could. I think I did quite a reasonable job, considering, and
certainly the kids were very enthusiastic about my performance. I'm
not quite sure that Nicki sees it the same way though. One by one, the
other westerners in the audience, the teachers and Nicki, were pulled
up by the dancers and had to perform. One of the teachers, Kirsty, was
very well into it and did a great job.

As the dance progressed, the dancers started chasing the children, who
scattered in all directions, and then the adults, some of whom they
dragged into the arena, danced with, and generally terrified,
particularly the women! I'm not sure if they were acting out a story,
but if they were I couldn't follow it, although to be fair, I never
can.

My friend the lion kept catching my eye and making odd theatrical
faces at me, which was a trifle un-nerving, as anybody who's ever been
winked at by a wide-eyed, brightly painted Wolof man in a lion costume
will know only too well. He also sent round a young boy who said the
lion asked him to ask me to write my email address on a piece of
paper. I think I'm being stalked by a Wolof Zimba lion.

The whole dance went on for about 2 or 3 hours, and the children,
although not constantly engrossed by it, seemed very entertained. We
left and went back to the compound, where we were surrounded by even
more children than previously, and were climbed all over. Finally, as
it got dark, we caught the Bush Taxi back along the road and walked
along the beach back to our camp. Dinner this evening, hand-prepared
over the open fire as before, was a big chunk of ladyfish marinated in
a very tasty sauce.

Almo sodu diala – "good night" in Mandingo.