My thoughts against a royal wedding...

A typical classroom in Gambia.  Taken by me as I visited on trek with my NGO.

Somewhere in a vault with glass cases, in a castle that stands as a remembrance to the world as the height of imperialism, is a bunch of ornate golden silverware referred to as the crown jewels.  I have seen this absurd spectacle complete with a massive golden royal punch bowl. 

I watched a few minutes of the royal wedding.  The TV was in a hollowed out shack across from my work.  I ordered a small bread and egg sandwich for a whopping 23 dalasi (75cents) and as it was being made on a dirty gas burner I thought of the golden punch bowl and what a disconnect with reality this spectacle represents!

And say you were to sell that punch bowl.  Well no one ever would because of its history and tradition.  But with the price of gold, if you were you could fund teachers and food programs that could boost the welfare of 100,000 kids in Africa at least.  I live in a country where the adult literacy rate is 40%, it is maybe 1/5 of that in the villages.  I live in a country where people have trouble affording food and there is a time consistently called “the Hungry Season.” Most of my friends are surviving off no vegetables, coos, and onion sauce because there is not enough water for a garden.   You get the idea that this is an impoverished country.

Our country also happens to be a former British colony.  Slavery as a foundation, this land was looted and plundered of people and wealth, and now it is forced to learn English and has practically been abandoned by the first world.  So here are my thoughts on a royal wedding, you cannot embrace the only the parts you like about the past and throw the others away.  The royal wedding stands as a symbol of tradition, but only the tradition that can be locked away like a golden punch bowl and presented as royalty at opportune times.  But the counties that were invaded and imperialized are not saved or cherished they are thrown away. 

So please royal family, sell your punch bowl to balance the damage you have done to cultures and peoples around the world, in the name of humility and progress.  Get married, but donate the multi-millions of your family fortunes to balance out the ancient serfdom on which those fortunes were founded.  This may only mean you drive BMW instead of a Rolls Royce, or the dress costs less but is still as beautiful.  Because if you really want to embrace tradition and the past in a true light, you can’t just have a beautiful spectacle, you would need to invite some of the small naked children from across my street to run up and down the aisles of Westminster Abby kicking trash as they would soccer balls.  

WMD - Weapons of Mass Diarrhea

I am still visiting my village family and it is a true joy, but I think I will intersperse humor with serious things.

My little sister Bosay offering me a WMD. One that she has partially munched : )

(my1000 things list) Experiences of culture that Americans must hear about, both serious and funny:

1. Perhaps 90% of women here have no pleasure during sex.  Essentially, most women here have a ceremony at an early age similar to the coming of age manhood circumcision ceremonies.  Some practice partial circumcision where just the clitoris is removed, others have the entire outer labia removed.  This is a practice that men from the outside like me do not get to hear much about, but my good friend Ian who has been here for almost three years has written a little on FGM- Female Genital Mutilation and has put some light on to this negative and oppressive practice. 

http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/what-are-reasons-behind-fgm.html

Fatu and Malik attempting to retrieve a ripe mango from our family's tree that I often sit under.

2.  Mangos = WMDs Weapons of Mass Diarrhea.  With the arrival of mango season, everyone can eat all the mangos they can dream of. But… take your average Gambian who eats practically no fiber between rice, fish, and the occasional boiled onion and then feed them 5-10 fiber loaded mangos a day and….well you get the idea.  The mangos here are wonderful here in fragrance and taste every one is a true joy.

One of the many jellys to wash on shore

3.  Bobbing in the ocean on a deserted African beach with friends you haven’t seen in months.  This Easter weekend, I had a wonderful time vacationing down to Yundum and Gunjur to spend time with friends who were celebrating both easter and a birthday. I had the most wonderful time easting an easter meal, holding and petting the rabbits which were available in large quantities from the homes I visited, and journeying to a deserted beach to relax and swim.  Jellyfish are now starting to abound though

.

4. Defending yourself in a language that sounds like Klingon.  Yes, the deep H sounds give you a sound like you are hacking in your throat and the short syllabic vowels sound like I am about to return fire on Captain Kirk, but usually I am telling bumpsters, hustlers, scammers, and merchants that they are trying to steal, swindle, or overcharge me and that I know what is up.  My best example was a tirade that I responded with when someone came to a crowded van and after asking for money from everyone looked at me and in a condescending tone said hey tubob.  Before he said another word I challenged him to a Kilngon duel.  “Bul ma def tubob.  Yow fognga tubob yip amna halis bubuddi wy yow hammullo. Yow hammullo ma. Balla ma wy duma la jox dara.” Which translates to, “don’t white skin me.  You think all tubobs have tons of money, but you don’t know.  You don’t know me.  Forgive me, I will not give you anything.”  This ended the battle immediately, it is hard to explain how responses like this come about, but I think it is an overflow of frustration of being thought of as rich and ignorant 24/7 and then having to be prepared constantly to defend myself.

Final example, the other day a seemingly well meaning man comes up to me and says it is good to see me again, and asks me how I am doing.  I look sheepishly because I am constantly forgetting all of the hundreds of people I meet.  He sees this and asks “Oh, you don’t remember me?  How is the hotel?” Such anger came to me in that moment wondering how many tourists he catches with that line.  I am often tired of the continual cultural isolation and lack of intimacy that comes with white skin here.  I simply shook my head, looked at him and said in Wolof “You don’t know me!” and walked away. 

A local Cashew farmer with a knock off Obama hat

5. Obama Obsession.  It is hard to explain the love for Barack Obama here.  There is a certain love and passion here that drives a healthy part of the economy.  Obama bags, fabric, hats. rugs, skirts, and even a new brand green tea with a picture of the continent of Africa and then in big letters OBAMA over it.  I have seen so many logos and pictures of him on knock off merchandise I know just find it creative to see where his name or face will show up next.

A five day old baby goat near my family's house.

6. Cruelty towards animals.  Please look at and read another post here by Ian, but the way they treat animals is horrible here, and shows a lack of empathy in realizing suffering outside the human race. http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/why-are-gambians-cruel-to-animals.html

7. Dancing to lady playing a large hollow gourd like drum with shotgun shells on her fingers.  Absolutely magical.  I have a video of this dance that I am trying to upload.

8. The love and affection the mothers show their children here.

9. Polygamy.  I have had many answers to this question from the attempt at a rational explanation.  There is a belief here that there are far more women than men in the world because that is the natural birth rate.  Really there are more women than men here because many men leave to try and work in the city or abroad.  But another good report has been given by Ian who spent much of his time upcountry. 

http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/why-do-gambians-tend-to-marry-more-than.html

10. Feeling at home in Africa.  After almost four months.  Countless hours studying language and culture, assembling my house, learning about cashews, and making friends both foreign and domestic, this place finally feels like home.  I went on trek again last week.  I danced and made many connections with local cashew farmers.  I am finally starting to work in a meaningful way. Also, my body has finally adjusted to the chemistry of the local water. 

Thank you for reading; I am trying to bring more enlightening posts to you about the culture of West Africa.  My friend Ian is leaving the Gambia soon after three years of hard work, please read his posts (above) as he has much knowledge on these difficult subjects.

Thank You,

Alexander Kent 

A False Swollen Husk Named “Desire”

Act one: My work

I took this picture shortly before munching

 Meet the Cashew Apple.  My work for the next two years will at least vaguely orbit this strange fruit that very few people know about.  Every cashew you have ever consumed has had an apple attached to it at one point in its life.   For reasons that I don’t fully understand even as a biology major, the “cashew apple” is a false fruit and is really a swollen husk at the base of the cashew.   I in theory have been charged with writing a manual on the “best practices” of what this husk can be used for. 
 Interesting facts about the Cashew Tree that I have compiled to be affixed to napkins at a charity dinner in Washington, no joke:

The Tree

Native to Brazil, the Portuguese planted it in India in the 1600’s.

There it spread through Asia and eventually Africa.

A bark paste ground in water is used for the cure of ringworm.

The boiled leaf extract is used as a mouth wash.

The water-resistant wood is used for boats and ferries.

The resin is used as an expectorant, cough remedy and insect repellent.

Fibers from the leaves can be used to strengthen fishing lines and nets.

The Nut

In the poison ivy family, the inner shell has same allergenic phenolic resins.

 The cashew’s shell has a liquid that is an important industrial material with 200+ patents.

Obtaining the nut requires four processing steps steaming, cutting, roasting, and finally peeling.

The cashew kernel is a rich source of fat (46 percent) and protein (18 percent).

It has 1000’s of culinary uses.

It is estimated that 60% of cashews are consumed as salted nuts.

The Apple

Not a true fruit, it is really a swollen husk with the seed at its base.

The cashew apple contains five times more vitamin C than an orange.

A single glass of cashew juice meets an adult’s daily requirement of vitamin C

It is used for curing scurvy and diarrhea, and is effective in preventing cholera.

The apple contains considerable amounts calcium, iron and phosphorous.

It is also used to cure neurological pain and rheumatism.

It is a first-class source of energy.

It can also be made into jams, juices, preserves, spirits, wine and dried fruit.

Cashew wine is made in many countries; it is light yellow and contains 6-12% alcohol.

Only 6% of cashew apple production is exploited as there is currently only a market for the nut.

This was taken at a trek I did with IRD in the North Bank.  This is the house and family of some prominent cashew farmers we're hoping to help

     There are a few strange obstacles that both the apple and the nut create. Interestingly the shell and inside of the cashew has resins identical to those in the poison ivy family, and if you were to eat the nut without proper roasting you would be very sick. Most of my Peace Corps friends have had at least a small breakout from being in the village around the nut and its leaking poisonous resin. I seem to be one of the lucky 15%-30% of people who have no allergic reaction to poison ivy resin as I have handled the nut with no ill effects.  The apple if washed properly does not have the resin and is good for eating although some similar chemistry means that you may easily become allergic, and that many who are not allergic to either have a high chance of developing the allergy with exposure. 
      This presents a complex processing problem for the nut, the difficulty of getting the shell off and a need to destroy the resin, requires every nut to be steamed to soften the shell, hand shelled, roasted to destroy the chemicals on the skin, and then a final hand peeling of the skin from the nut.  Every cashew you've eaten has had to go through this labor intensive process with people hand shelling and peeling the nut!   

      The apple is strange, it is a soft juice filled sac and the flavor varies from apple to apple as there are many varieties and colors from red to yellow to orange.  Many taste like a sour warhead leaving the mouth dry and puckered.  Some though are very sweet and high in sugar.  All seem to be very healthy for you, and are so numerous during cashew season that they rot on the ground full of uneaten energy, nutrients, and vitamins. 

       This is where more problems arise; the apple is incredibly perishable and starts to ferment within a day of leaving the tree.  This means that unless you want to make wine out of it immediate refrigeration (Not possible as there isn't stable electricity even in the city) or drying is required.  Many of the non-Muslims here juice the cashew apple and let the wild yeasts already present turn it to wine in a matter of days. 

     So in my early weeks here I have been immersed in small business manuals, cashew processing equipment, and cashew apple ideas all in hopes of benefiting local associations of cashew growers here in the Gambia.  Much of the work in cashew apples is upcoming, for now I have been assisting in writing processing contracts between villages and suppliers and visiting local farmers.  Most of the purpose now is in getting cashew processing equipment distributed to some key villages in hopes that it will dramatically increase local employment and value for their cashew nuts, as most farmers just sell the unprocessed nut to Senegalese exporters.

Despite the appearance of busyness, it is all very slow, the Gambian way demands it.  In order to do business in the Gambia, you must do the following with your fellow cashew farmer or worker if you don’t you will not be respected.

Making a plan with a local mason who works for the association of cashew growers.  We have plans there for a steaming, roasting, peeling, cutting, drying, and storage room. We will give them all of this equipment once they build this processing center from mud bricks.  

Steps to Making Business Partnerships in the Gambia

Say you’ll arrive at 9 and arrive at 10

10am: Talk for an hour about how the family is and things vaguely related to business

11am: Go in the field and do “work” for perhaps two hours or until someone says “The sun is too hot”

1pm: Sit around for an hour waiting for lunch to be cooked over an open flame

2pm: Everyone, farmers and IRD staff eats lunch out of one giant bowl

2:30pm: Finish lunch, start brewing tea.

2:30-3: Discuss business

3-5pm: Drink tea in the shade of a large mango tree and joke about almost nothing in particular.  Large portions of time are spent in silence, and great humor is achieved from tricking the new guy (Me) with peculiar and fast Wolof slang.

5pm: Go back to hut or lodge for the night

Total work for an 8hr day = 2hrs or less

         This pace of work is very frustrating to someone fresh from America and is finally starting to instill in me the belief of altered time expectations.  Here Gambian days = American hours and American days = Gambian weeks.  So I may be doing interesting work, but I am spending much time sitting… and sitting…and waiting for the Gambia to catch up with me.  Occasionally I will pick up a juicy swollen husk and imbibe my daily allotment of vitamin C and then continue to wait for the green tea to brew in a small kettle.  

Act 2: “It is Nice to be Nice”

Well roaming the streets of the Gambia, I often see strange wild creatures:  The feral dog, the feral cat, the trash eating goats, the “zombie sheep” with tattered wool hanging off in frizzing lumps, the city vultures, and finally the most fearsome predator… the Bumpster.  In case you do not know here is the definition of a bumpster.

Palm wine, created by the  Christian population in the villages
of The Gambia.  Sealed in used motor oil jugs as a timeless
indicator of quality.  I let this concoction enter my mouth only to
 confirm it tastes like it was brewed in a hyena gut.

Bumpster:  Native to the Gambia, the Bumpster is a young Gambian man who makes his living feeding off tourists.  Bumpsters come out during the European tourist months of December-May and spend exorbitant amounts of time working out on the beach in hopes of attracting attention, they often take on the looks of Rastafarians with dreds and a love of reggae.  With perfectly chiseled bodies, two full grown bumpster (its own plural or its alternate a rasta of bumpsteri) can take down small families of seasonally nesting tourists with their friendly advances such as “Hey boss lady how are you?” and “It’s nice to be nice.”


 If you see a bumpster do not make eye contact.  Mumble appropriate responses as silence will anger them, but and do not engage. 

A bumpster serves two purposes, to either be your personal tour guide in return for money, food, hotel stays, and promises of a trip back to Europe. OR He will provide sexual services to aging European women who have arrived in Gambia to exploit the young men for the equivalent of pennies of European currency.   Interestingly, here is one of the few places in the world were the sex trade is reversed in the favor of female sex tourism.  It is a huge industry here, and everywhere you go you see aging or elderly European women arm in arm on the beach with well built 25 year old Gambian men.   This is just one of the more direct and obscene ways that the local people and culture is exploited by the first world.

 Bumpsters come out mostly just during tourist season and then go back to the village to work the farm or visit with their families.  They are however an intense annoyance to us Peace Corps volunteers as they are incredibly aggressive in trying to make “friends” with both men and women and there is no way they have of knowing we are often as broke as they are.

Unknowingly, tourists come and may pay these men maybe 10 Euros to help them.  They do not realize that even this in an astronomical sum in Gambia and keeps the beaches thick with hopeful tour guide or nighttime suitors.  A good description of Bumpsters and their commonly heard pick up lines can be found on the blog post below.

http://www.travelblog.org/Africa/Gambia/Western-Division/Kololi/blog-257082.html

Baby stares at chicken

On a previous post I commented about how I was text stalked by a girl who was to be my host sister in a family that I was visiting, until she starting texting me things like (exact quote)  “cant stand my filling to u am dying inside” Eventually when her sirens cries went unengaged she sent me a nasty “dont worry I will never tell you that again ok bye” and then stopped all together.  I have since avoided her with the knowledge of impending doom that tells me my suburb village is way too small to not run into her someday soon. I believe so much of the immediate “I love you”s have their roots in a few things   

 1.  The fact that people are starved for personal contact in a society where you don’t hug and a hand shake consisted of applying the pressure you would lift a used diaper with. 
2. Men and women do not interact in a meaningful way.  Men stay with men and women with women. 
3. The biggest of them.  Some of them have the dreaded disease called TV in their house.  Here they believe from a horrible concoction of rebroadcast soap operas that saying “I love you” and lets have intimate physical contact right after meeting is the proper course of action if you actually engage in meaningful conversation with the opposite sex.

This is very frustrating.  It is interesting how this society functions, out in the open, no physical contact and modest dress.  Behind closed doors the starvation for physical contact leads some (still unclear how many) to desire or engage in constant meaningless sexual intimacy. This has been related to me by other volunteers who live in these homes.  One even said, there is a belief among many men here, that if they do not have constant access to sex, that they will die.  This has been justified as one of the reasons for needing more than one wife that if one is sick, gone, very pregnant, etc. that another one is needed to satisfy a man’s constant desire.  Once again let me reiterate that due their skewed view of globalized culture and the reason some Europeans come here (sex trade” as mentioned above) there is a view that us foreigners are way more sexually charged than the men here and the false assumptions are walling me off from an entire gender in many ways. 

* A father offered me his daughter today for marriage sight unseen and then mentioned that I could still have one back in America if I wanted. 

Act 3: My House

This is where I get to my house, it is in a poorer suburb of the city and is really like the fourth part of a quadplex building of which I get three rooms.  I have finally almost finished making it homey.  I have hung an indoor clothes line for shirts, built a book shelf, table and clothes cubby with a cheap saw, concrete blocks and plywood, and taken a door off its hinges and put it up on blocks for a large “food table” I have three rooms, and am finally starting to make it livable.

Main room, I have a small backyard on the left and a front door on the right. I made the book shelf and there is a comfy chair off the picture to the left. There are two rooms on either side.

My kitchen.  The table or right is my door put up on blocks and the other I made with blocks and plywood. The fridge is ancient and decrepit and found for 40 dollars.  

Bedroom, foam block on the floor and dressing shelves on right. (also made)

1000 Things that must be seen to believed:  10 things hurting the culture in the Gambia

10. Tourists, with English that just gets louder if the person does not understand, their limitless funds and complete apathy towards culture continually bitters many in the city towards the presence of foreigners.

9. Bob Marley:  I am still trying to figure this one out.  His music is everywhere, and many teens have abandoned culture and religion to go “Rasta” I don’t know if it is for better or for worse, but there is little creativity in this movement and it seems to be a tape replaying from decades ago (Literally, they use old tape players here and CDs are just becoming affordable).  It feels more like culture left behind then culture being reborn.

8.  Knock offs.  There are Armani tee shirts here and plastic Rolex watches.  I can’t think of a worse way to be introduced to global consumerism.

7. Our used stuff: When we donate it, it does not get given away many times as we expect, it ends up getting sold.  Almost as sad as knock offs is that there are heaps of cloths in piles based on quality in the streets, you rummage through them and the pay 50 cents to 3 dollars based on how ripped or stained the shirt is, but it is sad and intense to see.

6. Cheap Nigerian films: “Passionate Envy”, “Sexy Game”, and “Forbidden Powder” are three titles that I saw at random today. These borderline home videos that mimic western values of money and sexuality are everywhere, and further mindless and pointless drama.  I will write more on this and get a picture of some of the ridiculous posters.

5. Bumpsters, (see above) both exploiting tourists and being exploited by them, with little work this is becoming a legitimate profession when very few people have work.

4. TV in all forms, as mentioned I love when the power goes out (about 50% of the time it’s off) because I can actually talk to people. If not, I go into a house, sit, and watch with everyone these horrible soap operas.

3. “India a Love Story”  Everyone watches it, and all I have to do is ask “Tonight, the television has Maya (the main character)?” in Wolof and people will excitedly tell me when it is coming on.   It is a Brazilian soap that mimics Indian bollywood (Indian soap opera) done in Portuguese, dubbed in bad English, and broadcast in Gambia.   The language barrier means someone is usually there translating what is happening but it is the worst soap to plague the land.

2. The internet, across the street is the “Global Midia Café” (YES they misspelled it in big painted letters on the sign, for the most part when one is used to a phonetic language, spelling in English does not matter).  People sit here day after day discovering dating sites and facebook on ancient used computers.  Many people come here and having never used a keyboard peck away for hours at these sites.

1.  Arnold Schwarzenegger:  Large muscles and a taste for action, his movies are everywhere on the street for roughly 25 cents and the other day I saw him staring at me from a box containing a DVD player.  His smiling face obviously approved of the cheap knock off electronics located within.  He is destroying this culture with bazookas and the buzzing 20 dollar DVD players on which he is watched.

I want to clarify want may come off.  What still remains here in the city is much happiness.  The problems of poverty and disease must be solved but not at the price of consumerism.  The people here work less as mentioned above, but seem to be happier due to keeping in contact with friends and family constantly.  They are always welcoming for the most part and seem very relaxed.  So much of my resistance to culture is in the city, I see how their attempt at mimicry is destroying their cultural roots, and from my time in the village, they seem much happier with less.  I am afraid that convincing them they need more in the ways listed above really is less.

Spend the day in peace

A man makes a bowl for pounding coos with his son. I took this on the same trek.

*this is now my favorite parting Wolof phrase: Nyu endoo chi jaama

My Rebellion Against Cool, and the Part You Don’t Want to Hear

It is sad, I believe that Wolof is actually losing words due to its emersion into French and English word such as excited seems to have been replaced by the French word bik and I can’t get a good approximation for the word enjoy.   The best I can do is say that when I do it makes me happy.  Any word I would want to use would probably be the English word enjoy itself, which is where many descriptive are being taken over by English and French.  I think it is the excitement of taking new and replacing it with old, but it is sad that what I am learning is more or a French/Wolof hybrid then anything. 

Which is where I get to my rebellion against “Cool”

The  family that lives across from me in my "renters compound"
Isatu and Omar, it was incredible to see how terrified he was of
me at first having never seen a person of white skin before

In the city, formal greetings like how are you?, Do you have peace?, how are the home people (family)? Are replaced with Nakam which is a slang that essentially is “how are you having?” probably similar to how’s it going in English, the worst part is that the response is “Mangi cool” which is literally “I am cool” Everyone uses this in the city. If you are under 40 you say Nakam and mangi cool, and while I am through trying to stop people from calling me hey “tubob” (hey white skin) as a horrible ignorance.  I am refusing to say “cool” and am going as far as to have long conversations in Wolof about how in America it is not as culturally interesting to call something "cool" as you may think, it seems like the cultural mimicry is off the charts and no one understands my war against cool.

It is like a  symbol to me of all the culture that is being lost.  As the city speeds things up and distorts culture, the loss of beautiful and unique greetings in place of essentially “yo dude you cool?” “Yeah man I’m cool.” Is the saddest thing I have found here. 

Conversations with people are often started by my refusal to say cool, I often respond with more classic culturally sensitive responses even mangi fine (I am fine) I will use sometimes if forced to, but it is like they are bent on using it they’ll respond yangi coo (you cool) if I don’t say it, to which I’ll say a different  non cool based response… and thus the standoffs in the cultural greeting battleground are sometimes long.

Ok, now the part you do not want to hear.

There is not much wildlife left in the Gambia.  There are not many trees left in the Gambia.  That is most of the reason why I am here.  There are very high rates of population density and all the trees get cut down for field clearing or firewood.  Aside from the cultivation of fruit trees, there is now nothing to protect against dust storms, floods, and erosion because the once thick forest no longer holds the earth in place.  Because there is no habitat and a strong desire to kill things, there is no longer elephants, lions, giraffes, or the symbolic creatures of Africa here (I mean, we get a couple species of monkey hyenas and a few hippos, but in the scope of what once was the loss is immense). 

This is the view when you first walk into my new place, my
house is that open door on the right. I have three small rooms
in there. More pictures soon.

The city is not a city.  It is a bizarre melting pot where traditional African culture that we think of as still existing in huts gets blended with the globalized culture and soap opera cinema.  In the market clothes from America meant to be given away as free are often resold by street vendors.  In the streets chuck Norris, Steven Segal, Bruce Lee, and Jackie Chan movies are everywhere.  This means the conceptions of Americans are that we all have money and guns, and that we love fornication more than anyone on this planet and as a side note the children will yell at people of Asian descent, “hey show us kung fu!” It is like a virgin culture is opening its eyes to the horrors of globalized culture and it is not realizing that it is getting swept away.  Everything new has one if not 20 symbols of our local shoe brands on them and there is one traffic light.  There are no addresses, to get somewhere you say to a cab driver Africell building or traffic light.

In the villages there is lack of education, lack of medicine, lack of nutrition, and hunger.  I am still traveling to the villages, and it is something that I wish everyone in America could see to believe because it would change your life.

This is right out in front of my house. On trash day (anyday), the trash man
comes in his garbage truck (this donkey cart) and takes trash away on the back
of it. The trash service may be subject to number of flies bothering said donkey.

Enough of that for now, I will end on a relatively light note.

20 Experiences of Traffic and Gambian Life in the city.

20 will come at the very end

19. Men and women are not really friends here.  It is strange school yard rules that if you associate with the opposite sex it must mean you are out for a romantic encounter.  I have learned this cultural miscommunication the hard way.

18. I have seen a boy with one leg ride a bike.  It was a humbling experience to see him struggle in the sand trying to get started at first while trying to balance a crutch

17. To them America is the place where money grows on trees.  One man was visibly angry when I told him I was from America.  He said in all seriousness that if he was in America he wouldn’t waste it and would get rich selling drugs.  I was also pushed in the back yesterday by a man who then started screaming “Where’s the money?” in my face as loud as he could. To the credit of everyone, some people came and apologized to me on his behalf who saw this happen on the street.

16.  People own large vans that are falling apart.  They are the heart of Gambian transpiration.  We call these Gellys.  They can take you anywhere, but if a Gelly is full people ride on the roof.

15. If you need to transport a goat you can hog tie it to the roof and strap it down.  This is not an uncommon sight.

14. Gellys will break down in the middle of the country.  Sometimes they do not have matching wheels, suspension, or sometimes they have a tree branch tied together to hold together a broken axel.  I cringe because I can hear the dying, out of tune engines asking to be put out of their misery.

13.  To navigate the streets, drivers (mostly taxis here) use a complex system of echo communication with their horn for there are no traffic signs, signals, or laws (besides the one traffic light of course).

12. 1 short beep is “hey I’m here and I will hit you”

11. 1 long beep is “I am in the process of hitting your car and/or donkey cart… sorry”

10. 2 short beeps is “Need a ride? I am free.” 

9. Progressive short beeps is, “I am crossing the intersection.”  There are no traffic signs, so cars inch out until they are so much into the intersection that other cars must stop.

8. 2 short beeps can also mean “I will stop for you go ahead and cross”

7. Do not say “Taxi” because they will charge you a “town trip” which means you tell them where you want to go and then negotiate the price. This takes awhile and if you do not agree either you walk away or he will drive off.  Everyone gets around using “five fives” which means taxi drivers drive in large circles and you get on with others.  Every road is 5 dalasi so every time he makes a turn it goes up 5 dalasi.  Using this method you can get from one end of town to the other for roughly 25 cents.

6. I have the same conversation 1000 times a day in wolof.  After greeting my fellow taxi riders they are fascinated I can speak Wolof, I proceed to say the following usually in some order and sometimes before they ask the question.  My name is Momodu Ngom.  Yes I know it is a Seerer last name but I cannot speak Seerer.  I came here 3 months ago and have been studying Wolof every day.  I live in Manjai Kunda.  No I do not hear Mandinka.  No I do not have a wife.  I do not want a wife here.  I do not want two wives here (ok this one is made up).  I want to plant cashews for the people of the Gambia.  I will live here two years.  What did you say, I only hear slow Wolof not fast Wolof.  I cannot understand Wolof slang.  Oh that’s Mandinka, I told you I only speak Wolof.  I know you are Mandinka and I will study it as soon as I am done learning Wolof. 

5. Sadly I am learning Wolof slang to help me navigate the city.  Some I do not fully understand.  The most mystifying and complex slang is the greeting “naka sedugeda” naka is how are …. But sedugida is still a mystery to me.  It has been explained to me as an inside joke in the Gambia but no one can explain it in English to me.  It was hinted that it is possibly asking someone how their man parts are functioning but not in an obscene way.  You cannot use this greeting with someone older than you or women of course, and the appropriate response is “mungay dala” which is “it is floating” This comes off to me as funny, obscene, and bizarre and another example of the large cultural gap I fail to grasp on a daily basis. (I have since confirmed that this is asking someone about their private parts, I had to insult a few people on accident before I learned this is not an appropriate greeting, it must have been very funny to the person who taught it to me, didn’t explain what it meant, and then chuckled to know I would insult people with it). 

4. Sometimes, I feel worse here for the dogs than I do the people.  Often mangy, flee ridden, and three legged, they are all of one breed now a mutt mix of continual street breeding.  Their ears are torn away and missing from fighting, they are a skinny, scared, and tired brown bags of fur and bones.  They look very unhappy and occasionally rabid.  I cannot pet them either to show my sorrow for obvious reasons.

3. I am tired of bargaining.  Everything is marked up for bargaining, even the “fixed price things.” I just want to pay the sticker price… I go up to the register and to save my Peace Corps living allowance I must explain in Wolof every time that I would like a “poor tubob” discount and then offer them… and counter offer them.  I am very tired of it.

2. To be positive I will finish it off with some good things.  Here, you greet everyone still (once I get to know a family or a person the “cool” greeting is done away with.  As much as possible you ask them how they are and how their family, wife, and kids are doing. This gives a sense of lingering community that is hard to translate to American individualism.

1. Life moves slower.  People love to sit in each other’s presence for hours in silence and drink dark green tea and sugar concoctions called ataya.  It makes me ok with relaxing and letting everything slowly fall into place.

Finally

20. the number of dollars needed to feed a starving family of perhaps 10 for 3 months and is 1/3 the price of the pair of new shoes, jacket, video game, or sunglasses you were about to buy.

I will write much on my job next post as I am just getting the hang of it.