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.
Monday, January 12, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
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
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)