The Harvest

I have never been part of a harvest before and its that time of year in Sami Koto. About 1 month ago people started pulling peanuts out of the ground, but that was less of a harvest than just another step in processing them. Now that all the peanuts are up the real harvest has started in the millet fields. The millet stands about 8 or 9 feet tall and has been drying out since the last rains well over a month ago. Every morning around 630   all the males leave the compound on the donkey cart. When they arrive at the fields, they walk through and knock down all the stalks they plan to harvest for the day. Our family is working with our neighbors, the Keita's. So all the men spend 2 days working one of their fields, and then 2 days working one of our fields. The work in the field is divided by age. All of us in our 20s and 30s will cut the grains off the stalks. When you fill your non cutting hand up, everyone makes a pile on the ground. Then all the kids will pick it up and carry it through the field to a shade tree. Under the tree is a big tarp made of rice bags. All the grain is stacked there, where the oldest men from each  compound sit on the ground tying all the stalks into bundles. Everyone moves pretty quick at least early in the day. The men are walking and cutting and the boys are almost running to move the grain before it piles up in the field. Though everyone is moving, there is a lot more joking and talking than there was while pulling peanuts. Around noon or one when all the during is done everyone moves under the tree to finish tying. Someone will go tie the donkeys to the carts and walk them over. We load each cart with about 40 bundles, and each day we have around 90 bundles. When all the millet is up, we parade home on the carts, on bikes, and on foot. Everyone arrives home and stacks the bundles on the donkey house to dry in the sun before its put up for the year. Whichever compound gets the harvest that day will serve lunch to all who worked, and everyone rests til tomorrow.

Barnum

On Tuesday evening (dates irrelevant) as I was walking by my dads hut he said to me: Tomorrow, we are going to greet a visitor. He doesn't ask much of me so I said sure, I'll be there. He told me the name of the village and the name of the man hosting the visitor. The host cones by our compound quite often to say hi, so I was happy to be returning the favor. My dad also let me know the guest was from Germany, which I took to mean as a Gambian who had found work in Germany.
I got up extra early Wednesday morning, and made a point to come outside before 7 30 to let my dad know I was up and ready. At 8 he said let's go, so I pulled out my bike as he strapped a chicken across his handlebars to give to his friend. On the way I considered things like do I have enough water, what would I be doing at home right now, and how long do I have to stay. The usual considerations when someone else asks you to do something. I figured none of the answers mattered too much as I could handle anything for one day. When we pulled in, I saw a pair of white legs standing across the compound. I thought oh, I guess the guy from Germany brought a friend too. But as it turned out he WAS the visitor from Germany. He was married to a woman from the village, and it wasn't the first time he had been to visit, as my dad knew his name, Barnum. After they served us breakfast, I sat down with him and talked for almost two hours while my dad waited as a patient observer of the conversation. Its the spot I'm usually in, and had assumed I would be in again. Then my dad gave me the signal, and we departed with an invitation to come back and stay the whole day.

Culture

When coming to Gambia I knew the first and only  thing to learn was its culture. We were actually given a book called Gambian culture, and there is a lot of cultural information in the Gambia travel guide. But the hard part is finding the meaning in all those words. Its impossible to know what is written because it was observed at one point in time, and what is written because at every hour of every day it is ingrained in everyone.
One paragraph in the book might mention drinking attaya. It is green tea and sugar brewed over coals, and it is everywhere you go in town. People sitting, drinking attaya and chatting.  You could write a whole book about it. The next paragraph might mention seeing hippos in the river. While that may be a possibility, it involves alot of money for a boat ride to a specific place where you might see one. Hardly as important as attaya.
Now that I have been here for a while, I could probably tell even less about the culture, as the more i learn the more I realize I don't know. Its not what you plan for or anticipate, its the things which just are.
When I went to Japan, I didn't do any real studying on the culture. I had a free pass with Zabeth and her friends who have already done the work of figuring things out there. After three weeks there I felt like I could go back and read the guidebooks, and maybe begin to understand a little bit more. Having a point of reference made watching Mr. Baseball just as insightful as visiting the Imperial Palace.
What has meant the most to me about realizing what culture is- aside from getting three dinner plates on holidays, or smoking cigars indoors in Japan- is realizing my own culture. Sometimes I just want to be inside reading a book for three hours. That doesn't make me a bad person or volunteer, its just part of me and the culture I come from. There's no harm in being myself.