Our Gambian Wedding

Dillon and my recognized union as partners in the form of a Gambian wedding has been 8 years in the making, felt right, and was nice while not having to confront a fear of legalized U.S. marriage. It was also slightly pushed on us from Dillon's Gambian family because they wanted to have an excuse for a party and to have their beloved Dillon married under the eyes of the village. The first step we took was finding wedding fabric we could agree on, and getting fitted at a tailor. Next, Dillon and I made a list of needed items to feed people for 2-3 days: compound residents, guests, village visitors. I would have been stressed, but we just  arranged a donkey cart to meet us in the nearest town, Garawol, to haul the goods back to Sami Koto: Palm oil, rice, mayonnaise, tea (attaya), sugar, evaporated milk, produce, huge tub of peanut butter, and some matching head wraps for the family. We also arranged with his host father to have a resident goat be slaughtered for the event, of which I watched in the main courtyard. The food was really good, and the women worked really hard in the heat of the day cooking all this food over a fire.

Dillon also had a meeting with his family about Mandinka wedding rituals and which one's we felt comfortable with. One tradition is where the bride is taken into the bush and washed by an elder and told the village secrets. This would have been super cool, however, I can't understand a lick of Mandinka and they would not allow any non village women translators to come with me. And I wasn't sure all what "washing" entailed. The second one is where the bride has to stay in her hut for a week after the wedding. After Dillon and I visited two other Gambian brides, I decided this wasn't my cup of tea. It was so hot, the brides were exhausted from guests in their room, and I was already going out on a limb here.

Slowly Dillon's friends, of whom I became really close to, started arriving to Sami Koto. The first day three Peace Corps lady friends showed up to help me during the time when I was to be alone with village women (Dillon and I weren't supposed to see each other) by translating, and helping me figure out what the hell is going on. The first day we all dyed our feet in -Dillon’s sister- Seedah's hut with henna dye. It was really cool looking! Then once it cooled off enough all the women got together and started drumming and dancing! Dill and I were still not supposed to see each other, so we slept separately that night. At  2am, I could hear music, so a few of us wandered to the center of the village where two other brides were sitting and watching a bush monster dance.. It was really bizarre, but also also quite beautiful. The next day was the actual marriage, I didn’t know of any plan or organizing of the event, things just happened when they did and not in any specific order. Me and my cohorts were ushered into the middle of the compound where Seedah braided my hair. She is the best in town. I think it was really hard for her because of the obvious difference in hair texture and it was her first time working with my hair type. After a few hours, I was rushed off with a bunch of Gambian women and Dillon’s mom's to a random compound. It was funny because I could tell they wanted to be careful with me and weren't sure how to go about changing me into my wedding clothes. They put on my skirt, shirt, (Dill's mom sewed for me) put jewelery on me and then as a final touch covered my head with a hot, thick material. The fabric was really nice, but also turned my skin blue, so we joked about my similarity to an avatar. I met the two other brides outside, and as a huge group of women we walked to all the compounds in the village. We would go to each man in the compound, usually the grandfathers, and would bow to them. They would give each bride 5 to 10 dalasai (money). This whole time I was tripping, holding on to the woman next to me because I can hardly see under the head garb. Then, to my surprise I am led to another compound where there are a bunch of curious on-lookers waiting to greet me, the other brides, and to get a look at the other American guests. This time period is traditionally when the grooms are to search the village, like an easter egg hunt, for their bride. Haha but this message was not relayed to my groom. I sat there with my good friends Beth, Alyssa, Lizzie, and Paige laughing and kind of sighing in relief that nothing crazy happened. The last part of the wedding was actually meeting up with Dillon. We all walked back to Dill's compound and met him, but first, I had to "bow" to all the father's and mother's of the compound. Everything is kind of a blur after that, but I do remember a lot of of guests, I mean a lot, came to our hut to congratulate us and then a day or two after Dillon and I made our rounds to the New and Old Sami in our wedding garb. People were really nice and wanted to talk to us and also were generous by giving us bags of peanuts, and money. 

The rest of the time that I was in Gambia, I always wore my wedding necklaces and noticed I was treated differently. Women would randomly grab and admire them, calling out MANYO (bride), and I think people just appreciated that we respected their marriage traditions. Our Gambian honey moon was spent appreciating Gambia's own Stone Circles - Wasu, visiting PC friend's villages, getting a 101 african beekeeping lesson at BeeCause, and lastly spending a few days at an eco-resort called Sandele! 

the Town Weeding

All the men weeding the town, just in front of our compound.


During the dry season, all of the unmarried men and women meet every Thursday morning to sweep the town. Its called Sate Fito- or town sweep. They tackle all the main streets, and a few side ones. The trash and leaves they sweep up will eventually blow back in by the time the next week rolls around, but thats okay. After breakfast someone will go through town with a whistle that notifies everybody to meet in the center of town and start work. The men carry rakes, and the women bring brooms, dustpans, and buckets to put the trash in. The men go first and rake everything into piles, then the women come behind, sweep up the piles and take them out of town. Since the rain started, all of the work has been on the farm, so no one was around and the tradition kind of dies down for a while. With the rains though, also come alot of weeds. So the edges of all the paths in town were grown over in grass. After all the fields are plowed, planted, and then weeded there is a little break from farming while plants mature and people gather their strength for the harvest. It also is a little time to catch back up on town chores. On this day all the men, married or not, went through the whole town weeding. Sate Baro it was called. It was the week before Tobaski, the biggest holiday here. We had a fresh town to celebrate on. Our compound is at the far end of town, once people reach our door they are done for the day. Consequently, the job is not always super thorough, but the town looks nice.

A New Roof

The old roof coming off

 My brother and uncle unrolling grass

The roof almost done

What it looked like inside

Just before the rainy season my dad had my brothers put a new roof on my hut. The old one seemed to me to be working just fine, but everyone who came over would mention that it was old and should be replaced. There was only one spot where water came in, but every time I left, lots of dust and stray grass would fall down on the floor. The roof is made from a thick, long grass. Its not the nice soft stuff that grows around town. It comes from the swamp and is pretty thick. After the harvest and rainy season are over, people will pass by the swamp as often as possible to cut a donkey cart full of grass and bring it home. They leave it out for a while, and then they start tying it together by braiding a long peice of bark through a handful of grass at a time. When they finish the grass lays out like a long rug, and then it gets rolled up and put on top of the donkey house until its reasy to be used. All of the thatched roof huts have to be replaced every few years, and there are a few others in my compound that seem worse off than mine. The rains werent very heavy last year, and so there wasnt as much grass available this year. Since Im the guest I got the new roof, while  others just got some patches. My unle and brother began by climbing up to the very top of my roof, then  they just start rolling the sheets of grass off and throwing it down. On the ground my uncles kids and my other brother roll it back up, and carry it off to use for something else. They peeled it all the way down the last few layers, and then they knocked the frames all over with a hammer to knock off all the termites and dust. Then one by one a fresh roll of grass gets thrown up and rolled out, until it reaches the top. The top point is then tied together and bound either with a bottomless bowl, or old tire. The alternative to these grass roofs is corrugate. The corrugate buildings get really hot during the day in the hot season, and I wondered why anybbody would want one. After seeing all the work it takes to replace a grass roof though, I understand.

Killer Goats

The above goats are muzzled and tied to the fence. They are muzzled with plastic cups, that have holes punched in each side and a string tied through the holes. They look kind of like the oxygen masks that are supposed to drop down on you in an airplane cabin. Most of the time all the masks are hanging in the women´s huts. When the women head to their oeanut field in the morning, they will take all their goats with them. They tie them up with these masks though to keep them from eating peanuts, corn, and millet as they make their way out to the field. Once they get out to the field they will tie them up near a patch of green grass and take the mask off, letting the sheep or goats graze while the women work in the field. During the dry season all of the animals are left to their own devices. When they wake up in the morning they all leave, and return slowly in the evening. The only help they get is a bucket of water when they get home, or congregate near the well. Once the crops are planted and start to come up, a village law goes into effect that all animals have to be tied up. If you find someone elses animal ranging free, you are suposed to corral them and take them to the alkalo (village mayor). The owner has to pay 25Dalasi to collect the animal. It seems to me most people avoid this fine and take the animal straight to the owner. There they often yell at the owner and tell them that next time its staright to the alkalo.

Tida's New Baby

While Zabeth and I were gone for some errands and a weekend in Basse a new baby was born in our compound. It is my dad’s son Sinjang Sanuwo and his wife Tida Fatty’s second baby. The first is a stout little girl about three years old named Fatou. Sinjang is actually not home right now. He came for last year’s rainy season, and then after the work was done returned to Senegal to work in a town called Kaolack. We came back from Basse on Saturday June 13^th, and the baby had arrived early that morning. It was a baby boy, born in our compound in the hut almost right across from mine. When a baby is born here it is not named right away. It is just called new boy, or new girl. Most people that come by and see it will also call it ugly and tell the mom to throw it away. It’s a superstition that if the baby is cherished or complimented that it will be taken away, so no one is offended by the back handed compliments. For one week the baby won’t have a name and the mother will sit in the room with the baby without leaving. During that week people are coming by to greet and hold the baby and check on the new mom. I personally liked to go and hold the baby after dinner and relaxing, the last thing before going in for the night. On the one week anniversary of the birth, there will be a naming ceremony which is a nice one day party. The elders come over and shave off all the baby’s hair and then it’s got a name. Since Tida’s new baby was born right before Ramadan and his naming ceremony fell during the fast,  the party would have been kind of subdued. So it is delayed until Sinjang comes home and the fast is over.  It still gets a name though and Tida still got dressed up to walk around the compound and village, introducing people to her new son Musa.

 Zabeth and I holding Musa, and Tida standing behind Fatou

Paige, my neighbor in Garawol came down to see the baby

 The baby, Musa Sanuwo

The Saint Louis Jazz Festival

On Tuesday night, May 20th or so Zabeth and I met up with my friends Alyssa and Lizzie in Farafenni so that Wednesday morning we could all catch a car together up to the town of Saint Louis in Northern Senegal. We joined a car leaving from the border around 9 am, and drove all day to reach St. Louis by around 6 that night. When we got in we checked into a small hostel, and were the second group out of 16 total volunteers to arrive. We grabbed space in a big room that had twelve single beds lined up wall to wall, and made our home for the next five nights. After cleaning up we all went straight out to check out the town. St. Louis was the capital of French West Africa until 1904, so it got alot of foreign interaction in it's day, and that's still the case today. The town is actually on a small island that sits right off the coast and is connected by bridge to a large city called N'Dar. As an international tourist destination, and historical site the town has restaurants, bars, full time electricity, shopping, pastries and coffee shops, and alot of amenities you expect to find in Ruidoso, but can be pretty surprising to see after a 9 hour car ride into the edge of the Sahara Desert. Logically we wasted no time indulging, and after quickly getting pizza and beer for dinner we made our way to the first, and only free, night of the festival. We watched a band called the Baobab Orchestra start at ten pm and play until midnight. When hearing that it was a festival, I initially expected a park, open air, tents, and all day music. The actual schedule though wasnt that hard to adapt to. Each night, one or two bands would play until midnight on a central stage. Then, the best part was that after the main show, there were several venues around town where you could catch jazz acts from midnight until 2am, and then another set from 2 to 4 am. After one night of staying out til 4, we quickly got in a habit of sleeping in and laying low during the day. We would rouse around 12, take a walk on the town to find some snacks, and then take an afternoon nap. We would get ready, go to dinner, and then drink some gin and tonic and play cards until the free shows started. We made certain to catch the main acts of the last two nights. The festival finale was an awesome show, worth both paying for and waiting five days to see. They were a french band, but played in English and were called Malted Milk. They played over the usual 12 stop time, and had the entire crowd up in fornt of the stage until 2 am on Sunday night. It was a great way to end the week, before we got up three hours later and caught a car back to Gambia.

 

Lizzie, Alyssa, and I having some coffee in the evening on the balcony of our hostel

 Getting my beard trimmed a the local coiuffuer

Playing cards and having a cocktail before we go out to see the festival

 With my buddies at the north end of the island

Me and Zabeth on the bridge

Neeto

The African Locust bean is my favorite tree. The particular one I like sits in a field about 100 yards from my compound and the edge of town. Its my favorite of the trees here because although its a giant, it still has tiny little leaves like a mesquite. It is starting to make fruit, which look like little ornaments. The stem of the fruit hangs down and the fruit itself is a perfect circle. After it fruits, it will produce seeds that look like mesquite bean pods, long slender shells full of beans. But, surrounding the seeds are this powdery yellow stuff called locally "Netto" the same as the tree. It is mixed with peanut butter and sugar for a snack. People say they know the rains are coming when the seeds are ready. In this particular tree are a wild hive of bees. On a branch about 3/4 of the way up the tree is a hole, and protruding from the hole is about ten combs that look just like ribs. The wind is picking up and making the bees mad, and just above the hive is a lizard sitting waiting to pick off errant bees.

My Dad's Gun

My host dads gun would definitely be right at home in an antique show. I thought it was some leftover artifact from a hunting expedition or World War. He loads black powder, rocks, bearings, or b.b.s and ignites it with a blasting cap that sets on top of the gun. I just learned that the gun is actually not a relic or hand me own, but rather hand made in a town north of the river. My dad just spent two days travelling there to get some parts replaced. He uses his gun on nights when the fish arent in season to still bring some protein to meals. While everyone else is eating dinner and getting ready to settle in, he is loading up and getting ready to go to the bush. He hunts for a grouse, or guinea fowl which is called a bush chicken or locally a wuolo. On a good night he brings home four or five, and they replace fish with our millet and peanut sauce the next day at lunch. He's always tired when I greet him on those mornings when he brings the birds out to show. He doesn't come home until the moon comes up and blows his cover. Then he eats dinner alone while the rest of us are getting to sleep.

My dad making bullets by placing his machete on a long metal rod, then hammering the machete to slice off a piece the size of a b.b.

My Dad Visits: A Travel Journal

Day 1: I felt really bad because I was an hour and a half late picking my dad up at the airport. The driver is a friend  who really wanted to be there to pick my dad up, but he had to take his brothers and sisters home from school before he could drive to the airport. We came to a small hotel on the beach and got right to catching up and smoking a cigar. Then we took a walk to get my bag from the Peace Corps house and stayed up talking some more while he unpacked. I neglected to put the mosquito net down when going to bed, and found a large population resting on the wall in the middle of the night.

Day 2: I brought my dad some breakfast, but he slept til 11 and wasn’t in the mood for food anyways. We left the beach and walked up to see the Peace Corps office. He got to meet the Country Director and a few other really nice people. As we were leaving the deputy chief invited us to ride with her down to the Peace Corps house to look around. We had a slice of carrot cake and club soda then went back to the beach and smoked two more cigars. We walked down the beach a bit and then got ready and went out to dinner with my friends Beth, Lizzie, and Alyssa.

Day 3: My dad slept in again while I had coffee and breakfast. When he finally rose we packed our bags for the trip the next day out of Kombo, leaving his big suitcase behind. We left the beach and had a local lunch, my dads first Gambian food was rice and peanut sauce. We walked to the countries best bookstore and drank a cappuccino on the beach. It was too early for dinner so we went to another beachside spot and watched the fishing boats going out. Then we went back to our hotel and met a small group of volunteers. We smoked cigars while the sun went down. We dropped my dad’s bag at the Peace Corps house then walked into a small neighborhood and met Alyssa for another local dinner of beans and cassava. Then we went and found sweet rolls for dessert.

Day 4: We took a cab to the bus station and got out of Kombo. We rode halfway up the country to the town of Soma, took a cab to the river and crossed on the ferry, then took another cab up to the town of Farafenni. We found a guesthouse called Eddie’s. There were two volunteers drinking soda, and we sat with them and cooled off from travel. Then we had lunch and came back and spent the afternoon smoking cigars in the courtyard. At night, Stephen and Rebecca came over and we visited with them. Then Stephen took us out and we walked around exploring Farafenni. We got bean sandwiches on hot fresh bread for dinner, and ate them in the dark sitting on the road.

Day 5: We were up close to seven and at the bus station to leave Farafenni by 8. We got off at Wassu and walked a few kilometers to the riverside town of Kuntaur. A boat from Baboon Island National Park picked us up shortly after noon. We rode back to their camp, and when we got there had juice and lunch, while the administrator told us about the Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Project. After lunch we went out on a boat ride  and saw baboons, chimps, a few crocodiles, and some hippos, and a lot of birds. After the boat ride we sat on the porch of the camp. We had dinner and chatted with another guest. My dad excused us to go up to our tent, where we sat outside on the lawn chairs smoking cigars and looking out at the night sky and the river Gambia.

Day 6: The camp brought us hot water at 7 am, and we had coffee and then went out on a walk to look at birds. We came back, had breakfast, and then caught the same boat back to Kuntaur. When we got to town, we took a donkey cart to Wassu, moved into a vehicle, and drove to the ferry crossing in Janjanbureh. There we caught a bus to Basse. We walked to the house and smoked a cigar, then my friend Lamin Sorra came over to greet my dad. We cleaned up and enjoyed having power and internet, and I made eggs and instant potatoes for dinner.

Day 7: We went to the car park and asked for a ride to Garawol . The vehicle wasn’t ready, but waiting in the car park in the few hours was really enjoyable because I had my dad with me. We rode to my village and everyone came out to meet us. Some of my favorite people in the village came by to greet my dad, and then my family let us relax in the backyard for most of the night.

Day 8: My dad and I rode up to see Garawol and buy a bag of rice. Then we came back and got to relax a little before a big group of women from the village came by to greet and dance for my dad. After the dance we rode with my uncle Salung to the riverside to watch him fish and relax a little. When we came back my dad gave my host dad some gifts from America and we spent the evening in the backyard.

Day 9: I took my dad on a big bike ride to Fatoto. I wanted him to meet my favorite people from the maket, Hawa and Bakary. We drank some cold water and ate some bread. On the way home we stopped and climbed a hill that looked out over the nearby villages. I use the hill for its phone service and it was special to be up there with my dad instead of being up there to call him. When we got home my dad fell asleep and then lunch came. In the afternoon we just went outside and sat under the shade tree. We packed up to leave early the next morning and all my host mothers brought peanuts to the room for my dad to take home.

Day 10: We left my village dark and early around 5:15. We rode to Paige’s house in Garawol and left our bikes then all went to catch a vehicle together. We made Basse around 8am and were the first group on the bus back to Kombo. We made it in aroun 3 pm and I left my dad drinking coffee to go retrieve his bags and hail a cab to drive us to Kartong. We changed cabs three times, but were delivered to our resort at dinner time. As soon as we arrived they showed us to our room and took our dinner order. There was a man sitting in the dining room with his shirt off getting a massage. My dad saw that, and then the room we were given, and agreed this place would suffice. We cleaned up for dinner, and the electrical socket caught on fire.

Day 11: We had breakfast and coffee, then went to the beach and got some sun. Our only chore was to come back and have lunch. My dad smoked a cigar while laying in the hammock. Around 5 we went down and walked the beach for a while. Then it was time to go to dinner. A very nice British lady named Pavanne came over and said hi to us, as did the owner of the resort. It turned out that the night watchman was also the masseuse.

Day 12: After breakfast and coffee we went to the beach. There were four or five other guests there as well. An hour in the sun and we went back to the room and relaxed before lunch with some more hammock and cigar time for my dad. We went back to the dining room in the afternoon and my dad had a really nice talk with Pavanne. That carried the day into the night and it was time for dinner, reading, and relaxing.

Day 13: Another coffee and breakfast morning, then to the beach for a dose of Vitamin D. It was more melancholy today as the trip was ending. It wasn’t just the three days in the resort that were a vacation, it was the whole time my dad was here. The resort was nice enough to let us spend the whole day in our room while waiting for the evening flight departure. So after lunch and some hammock time we both packed up, and walked back down to the restaurant. The taxi came around 5 pm, and the staff on hand at the resort all lined up on the sidewalk to wave us goodbye. I got out of the cab and walked my dad into the airport and said goodbye.

The SheepHerders

are pretty awesome. They are a group of three young guys from Senegal. They are from the Fula tribe which has a tradition of herding, albeit cows rather than sheep. These three guys move a large herd, and they are not the only ones in business. I wouldn’t have known any difference between one herd and the next, but since this group arrived in our compound I have seen two or three other groups out and about. I definitely recognize that they are different from the guys camping in our compound. When they come to a new village they approach the chief and ask if the village can accommodate them for a few days before they move on, our alkaloo directed them to our home. They sleep out on our communal bench under a big shade tree. At night they build a raging fire and cozy up next to it. Each morning they take the herd out and spend the day grazing them on all the land they can reach, not returning back home until night. One in the group actually speaks Mandinka, but I don’t ask him any questions. All of the knowledge I have about the herders I have from local opinion. It has taught me more about the prejudice people hold towards the unfamiliar more than anything factual about the herding. I have heard that these guys are outlawed in Senegal because the sheep destroy too much land so they’ve gone rogue in Gambia. While its probably true the sheep consume a lot of vegetation, there is a lot of local livestock that are happily performing the same destruction. I have also heard that these guys will assimilate (steal) local sheep and maybe even assimilate some other dry goods they find out and about. I can’t imagine though that living on the move and relying on new villages to house and feed you that these guys would be interested in taking anything from their hosts. All I have seen is that the local people come up to them wanting to buy animals, not demanding something they are missing. They only had a few nights in our compound, but each night I watched their fire, and I didn't need to talk to them at all to know I really liked them.

One of the shephards with a prized product

My Sister Bintu

is not actually my sister for two reasons. First, she is my dad's sisters daughter which would make her my cousin. My dad's sister is quite old and feels more like a grandma around the compound than an aunt. Second, she is not her biological daughter. When a woman is unable to have babies -or more specifically a daughter- a closely related friend or family member will offer to let you raise one of their children if they have others to help around the house. a daughter will help her mother do all the work in running the compound like cooking, pounding grain, fetching water and firewood, and field work. So Bintu came to my aunt as a young girl. She is somewhere around the age of 20 now, and is married to a guy my age named Ensa. He is the best English speaker in the village, but works half of the year in Senegal until farm work starts during the rainy season, They were married in the mosque last year, and the big ceremony was planed for this upcoming dry season. She got pregnant sometime after they were married and so she had to begin working this rainy season carrying a baby. The pregnancy was not very easy, and before Ensa went to Senegal he took her to the big hospital in Basse where she was treated for malaria. After he left she made another trip and was treated for anemia.
When a husband is not around his brothers and friends will all take care to look in on his bride. People just come by to chat and see if any help is needed, or if they can pass anything along to the husband. Since I was friends with Ensa, and Bintu was my sister it was really no chore for me to spend a little extra time with her. I went out with her a few days to weed and plant her peanut field, but we really connected on the cloudy days when rain was imminent and no one went to work. I would take my book into the hut she and my grandma/aunt share and sit across from them reading, napping and chatting until the rain would come and I'd leave to shut my windows and doors and wait out the storm.
In the last week of September I decided to make a trip to Kombo to welcome Malcolm back when he returned to the Gambia after going home for a few weeks. It was a small vacation, but I didnt feel bad about leaving. I took time to hang out with my sister, and I was taking time to come hang out with another friend. I spent four days in town. On the morning I got up to head to the bus station to come home I got a text message that said my sister had given birth the night before, but after delivering the baby died on her way to the hospital in Basse.

Bintu's Baby

My sister's baby boy survived the birth, but I think he was still around two months premature. His father Ensa came back from Senegal the next day and care of the baby immediately went to his mother. When a baby is born it spends one week inside the home, before it comes out on the seventh day and is given a name. On that day the mother and baby will just sit around outside and people will come by to greet them. Ensa and his mother Camisa rotated shifts in the babies room for the first week heating up bottles of formula and feeding the baby. The baby slept throughout the day and woke up about 5 pm to stay awake until around 5 am the following morning, so both Ensa and Camisa were pretty tired. When the week was up, the bay came out and was named Sarjo after the head of Ensa's compound. When a baby loses a parent it also picks up the name Tunko. So the boy was Tunko Sarjo Jallow. For the first week I went at least once a day to say hello and sit for a while. During the second week another woman from my compound began to breastfeed Sarjo. Every night after dinner, my aunt, younger sister and I would grab a flashlight and walk across the village to Tunko's compound and sit with him for about 15 minutes while he fed. He even started making occasional trips into our compound during the day to see his other grandma.
In early November I was out one morning stacking peanuts with the same aunt who breastfeeds the baby. It was afternoon, but not quite lunch time or time to go home. I was taking a break and my aunt told me to get up and let's go home. I noticed that everyone else was headed home too. I thought maybe the pumps were on and everyone was going home to get water. Something was definitely happening, and when I got back to the village I found out that a young boy from the new Sami had just died. His father was the bread baker and we had become friends earlier in the year, so I really made a point to attend the funeral that evening.
The funeral took place at dusk and it was dark when I got home. My aunt was sitting next to my house and before I could go inside she said my name. I walked over to her and she told me "Tunko has died". We immediately went right over to his compound and people were already gathered there. It was dark, but after praying he was taken to the graveyard and his father laid him in the ground right next to his mother.
I walked home late and the day had put everyone in a pretty somber mood. I went inside to eat dinner and get ready for bed. Before I could get there the sound of crying in the village brought everybody back outside of their huts to the middle of the compound. My dad and uncle went out to find out what was going on. My sister came running into the compound a few minutes later and told us the news. There was a mother of six from another compound who had never recovered from the birth of her last baby. She passed away and was the third death in our village in one day. Nobody hurried back inside to sleep, we all just sat outside together in silence.

The American Holidays

Coincide with the end of the rainy season here. That means crops are harvested and there is plenty of food. Temperatures are cooling down enough to cover up at night, and trees are losing their leaves. Its enough to give you some holiday spirit, though the fact that no one else is making any holiday plans means the actual days can sneak up and right by you without ever noticing it.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving there was a small get together in Basse. I didnt consider going, until the day of when I talked to somebody there and thought about how it might be nice to be with people, eating alot, and enjoying the day like Im used to. So on Thanksgiving day I told my family it was a holiday, and took off on my bike to meet Malcolm for a holiday ride. We took a big loop around the area -one we had done before- a little slower though and talking about home and people we know a little bit more.
By the time Christmas came around I considered taking a vacation to Senegal and completely foregoing the holiday to visit some people from my village who were working there. Im glad I didnt make it though. Selina -whom I came here with and lives an hour down the road- invited me over to her house. She had Malcolm and Alicia, who used to live in our area too, over as well. On Christmas day I met Malcolm on the road and we rode to Selinas in the late afternoon. Her and Alicia were in the backyard getting dinner ready. On her clothesline hung a picture of a Christmas tree, one of a bicycle for me, and one of Black and Mild cigars for Malcolm. We sat outside talking and keeping an eye on the food as the sun went down. Then two of Selinas local friends came over, and she served us all dinner. We had beef, macaroni salad, stuffing and potatos for dinner. Everything was either expensive or imported. I was full after one plate but ate until I had three. Then the six of us laid out on a mat in the backyard talking and looking at the sky.
I really enjoyed Christmas because it was small, but still felt like a holiday because we got together. It was also neat because her host family got to be part of the celebration and wish us all a Merry Christmas without having to do anything out of the ordinary. A few days later a volunteer from Soma called and said he wanted to come visit. I told him to come for the next holiday, New Years, and invited Malcolm and Paige - a close volunteer who lives in Alicias old town- and told them to come over too. I let my family know I wanted to have guests. They were thrilled and showed it by cooking a huge dinner of rice, green sauce and fish for New Years. Then we all sat outside drinking attaya and hot sweetened condensed milk until a couple hours past when we would all normally go to bed. Then me and my guests went in to my hut and sat around on the floor talking until the last of our watches said it was 2015.

 Our Christmas Presents

Selina working on dinner

Fatoto Lumooto

Every Sunday morning I load up my bike and ride about 40 minutes east to the town of Fatoto. Its the last sizable town in Gambia, and every week it hosts a market or lumoo. There are two roads that get me there, one winds through the woods and brings you along the riverside. The other was is due north out of Sami Koto through Garawol, and then a left onto the main highway. The town of Fatoto also has a police department, high school, and a ferry crossing.
On a normal day you can get most things in town which means rice, oil, peanuts, attaya, sugar, batteries, lamps, soap, and maybe some onions. Lumoo days bring mobile phone and radio sellers. Used clothing, fabric and soccer jerseys are available. There is jewelry and makeup, soccer balls, cleats and flip flops. This is also the day to buy iron cookware. Vegetable sellers bring all their produce, and in each corner in town women are selling bananas, beans, and pancettos. Although my list never includes some of these special items, its the only day I go to do my shopping.
Malcolm and I started meeting up here on our first Sunday in the villages. On the first day we were quickly overwhelmed and looked around and left. We went down to the river side and sat for the afternoon. Sitting by the river has become a full day activity in itself, as has being a part of the lumoo. I leave the house early to bike ride, read, write, or call Zabeth while its still early. When I arrive at the lumoo around noon I park my bike at a tailor's- Bakary Camara. Its next to a small shop that serves hot water for coffee. After greeting the tailor and having a snack I move up to the produce to buy peanut butter. I greet most of the women  selling and move on to buy coffee and powdered milk for the week. I always make at least one lap around greeting the people from my village and picking up anything else that comes up.
After the shopping is done I walk up and sit with another tailor I know. Hes in 12th grade and speaks good English and lets me sit inside of his shop for the afternoon. I'll get up when the market starts to shut down around 5. Then reverse my lap saying bye to the produce sellers, then the shop keeper that serves coffee, and on to Bakary before buying tea and sugar to take back to my family from the market. Then I get on my bike and try to ride home in time for dinner.

This van is parked in front if the vegetable stand and is loading up sellers and  their goods to travel back to Basse.