by Anne
Rothwell
The sand
was soft and warm underfoot, but we gradually edged nearer and nearer to the
sea until we were paddling in several inches of water, in order to escape the
touts on the beach, who didn't seem to like getting their trousers wet. The
water felt silky and warm against our skin.
Set back
at intervals along the beach were occasional beach bars - basic huts, each of
which had a rough menu on a board set several feet in front of it, close to
where people were walking. There seemed little to choose between them, each
having fish, usually ladyfish, jumbofish and prawns.
We
approached one to read it and a figure magically appeared, offering to provide
us with a wonderful meal. We agreed to come that evening and gave him our order
for jumbofish as he needed to buy it from the market.
At the
appointed time, we set off along the beach with our torch - strange how
different the beach looks on a cloudy, moonless night. As we approached our
chosen bar, we were met by a boy who told us that the owner had had to go to
visit his mother who was sick and he led us next door. As we sat down, the
original owner, now irate, shot out, shouting that we'd promised to eat with
him. Not a very nice trick to try to poach a customer, but all was soon
forgiven as we went back to the original place and the two were soon talking
and laughing together.
All the
bars had fronts which were open to the ocean, but we hadn't bargained for the
gusty wind which had sprung up, so we had to go to a sheltered spot behind,
where we sat on a bench overlooking stacks of rubbish - very romantic! A boy
was despatched to the nearest shop, about half a mile away, to bring us a beer,
while the man did his cooking inside on a fire on the floor. When it was ready,
we went inside through the smoke and sat at a small table. The hurricane lamps,
which that morning he'd assured us he possessed, were candles on saucers
covered by bottomless plastic water bottles. Two foil parcels were lifted on to
the plates in front of us and, on undoing one, he managed to spill some of the
boiling juices onto Marven's trousers. We immediately threw the newly acquired
beer over it and the hapless boy was sent for some more.
The fish
had been cooked with onions, tomatoes and other vegetables and was the best
I've ever tasted. Altogether, an unforgettable evening!
First
published in VISA issue 70 (Dec 2006)
by Anne
Rothwell
We
followed Emmanuel along the dirt road, walking with the slow easy gait we had
developed since arriving in Africa, due to the relentless heat. A handsome
weaverbird looked down at us from a tree before flying off across our path in a
flash of vivid yellow.
"Toubab (white man)," called the children, running out from all
directions. They did not ask for sweets or money, but followed us up the road
with big watermelon smiles.
Emmanuel
was our room-boy at the hotel and we had promised to visit his family on his
day off. When we reached their compound, we admired the sleek pigs which were
rooting round the yard. Then we entered the house, pausing to become accustomed
to the loss of bright sunlight. On two sagging cast-iron beds, the family sat
in two polite rows.
Emmanuel
motioned us to a bench against the opposite wall. We sat, watched shyly by
several pairs of curious brown eyes. As I began rummaging through my bag, the
children slowly approached, dropping their reserve when I produced some sweets.
I lifted a toddler onto my lap where he inspected and pulled at my strange
white skin. After a while, Emmanuel beckoned. He led us down a passage to a
room leading off it. We sat on the bed which he, at the age of twenty-one,
shared with two brothers. A rail at the bottom of the bed held the few clean
and neat clothes that he and his brothers shared. Above were the rough exposed
timbers of the roof structure.
A brightly
coloured poster of the infant Jesus with Mary and Joseph dominated the room.
His family were among the Christian minority, most Gambians being Muslim. On
another wall was a list of ten neatly hand-written rules for football: 'Always
pass the ball cleanly', ‘Kick the ball into touch, not your opponent’.
He and one
other brother were the only ones working and looking after the other fifteen
members of the household, but as they also had the pigs, they were relatively
affluent. As if to prove this, he sent a younger sibling off to the shop. He
returned five minutes later with two opened bottles of Coke which he handed to
us, mine with a pink plastic cup. We didn't dare to offend them by offering to
pay. When we felt we'd stayed long enough to be courteous, but not long enough
to outstay our welcome, we rose. Emmanuel accompanied us out to the road,
surrounded by much waving and smiling from his family. I hoped the T-shirts we
planned to give him would help show some appreciation for their hospitality.
First
published in VISA issue 69A (October 2006)
by Maxine Bates
The Gambia was never a destination I'd considered before, but three Mensans wanted guaranteed sunshine for an Easter holiday and it appealed being half the price of The Caribbean with no jet lag as West Africa is on the same time zone as the UK. The only disadvantage is having to take malaria tablets as The Gambia is considered a high risk malarial area, though we didn't see many mosquitoes travelling in the dry season. But better to be safe than sorry!
The Gambia is approx. six hours flying time from the UK and situated on the west coast of Africa surrounded by Senegal. The River Gambia, from where the country acquires its name, flows from the capital Banjul 200 miles inland to Georgetown. The Gambia is considered a third world country, hence tourism is still developing. Agriculture, forestry and fisheries are the main source of income with nearly 85% of the population working within this sector. The number of tourists visiting The Gambia has been increasing each year and the government are trying to encourage the growth of hotels and other services.
The main resorts are Kololi and Kotu. We stayed at the Palm Grove Hotel at Banjul Beach, which is not really a resort but situated on the Banjul Highway midway between the capital and beach resorts. The bedrooms were spacious with a large lounge area with satellite TV and mosquito nets over the beds. The grounds were pleasant with wood carvings produced by local craftsmen and the private beach overlooked a lagoon with free canoes and surfboards.
Stepping out of any hotel means being hassled by the local 'bumsters' who want to be friendly and extract money from you by giving you directions, taking you to their family shop, finding you a taxi, etc. You do not feel threatened as if you are going to be pickpocketed or similar, but the 'bumsters' can invade your space and the continual questioning can become very tiresome after a few days. "What's your name?" "Is this your first visit to The Gambia?" "How long are your staying?" "What's your occupation?" "Would you like a Gambian husband?" (!!!)
We took several excursions organised by JMC and all were very good. The orientation tour took us into Banjul to climb Arch 22 for wonderful views of the city and river as well as a visit to a batik factory, handicraft market (lots of hassle from the vendors!) and to stroke Charlie the crocodile at the sacred pool. The "Roots" trip included a cruise along the river to the village where the book/film was based. We met the village chief - surprisingly a female - and lots of children who wanted to hold our hands. We were told the school would appreciate pens, books and sweets, but to pass them on to the guide for distribution to avoid rioting amongst the youngsters and getting scratched in the chaos! There was also chance to visit the poignant small museum depicting the slave trade and to spend a short while on James Island where prisoners were kept awaiting transportation to the New World. We briefly spotted dolphins swimming next to our boat and the crew worked hard to keep us supplied with a buffet lunch, snacks and drinks.
One day we hired an official guide and taxi driver from outside our hotel to take us to the Bijilo Nature Reserve. These guides are easily identifiable wearing a brown uniform with an OTC (Official Tourist Guide) badge. For only a few dalasis an hour they are excellent value and deter the 'bumsters'. (£1 = approx. 25 dalasis) Entrance to the nature reserve cost only 20 dalasis per person and for me, as a monkey lover, this was excellent value as we got chance to hand feed wild velvet monkeys. After walking amongst the trees for nearly an hour we were beginning to give up hope of seeing any wildlife when suddenly we were surrounded by approx. 50 monkeys of all sizes. A wonderful experience! Our guide, William, also pointed out various birds and let us borrow his binoculars for closer inspection. The Gambia is well known for birdwatching.
Evening excursions were the best way to leave the hotel without the hassle. "Bushwackers" was an organised bar crawl around Kololi including an energetic African dance show, an English karaoke bar (presumably for the homesick!), a free tequila slammer in a Mexican bar and two nightclubs. Our final evening was memorable taking a sunset cruise through mangroves, whilst listening to a traditional musician on deck, to famous Lamin Lodge. Many of the locals we met were called Lamin, which is the name regularly given to the first born male. The lodge is built on wooden stilts and we dined on a sumptuous buffet of lady fish, tender pork, oyster sauce and much more. After the meal there was another display of African dancing with chance to participate! On the coach journey back to our hotel we passed night markets which were a hive of activity, presumably because the temperatures had dropped from 100 F. We also went through the only set of traffic lights in the country!
I would recommend The Gambia for an unusual winter sunshine holiday and a taste of Africa. It is a poor country yet the people always have a smile for you. Visit before it becomes a tourist trap.
First published in VISA issue 46 (summer 2002).
