At Home in the World

Get Updates at www.growingupglobal.net

2009-09-14T21:22:00.003-05:00

Hello to visitors to this site. If you'd like to learn about our stay in the Gambia in 2007, please read the archival blog entries here. For info on my book Growing Up Global: Raising Children to Be At Home in the World, please go to http://www.growingupglobal.net/.

Thanks for stopping by!

Our Post-Gambia Picture from Main Line Today magazine (with photo albums from the trip)

2007-10-26T09:56:00.000-05:00

Dear Reader,

2007-10-26T09:46:00.001-05:00

Thank you for visiting. This blog follows the wonderful experience my family had in West Africa during January - March 30, 2007. If you'd like to learn more about that, please go to the archival pages on this blog from those dates.

Right now I am busy working on my forthcoming book about raising children with a global perspective, to feel "at home in the world," particularly utilizing the resources in their home community.

I hope to start blogging more regularly again soon. In the meantime, if you'd like to share any of your family's experiences in gaining a global perspective, or have any favorite traditions or foreign family-friendly films or other material you'd like to share for my book, I'd love to hear about it! Write me at: homatav@gmail.com. Thanks!!

Juicy Inspiration

2007-05-10T05:07:00.000-05:00

Today I ran into Whole Foods to pick up a sandwich and decided to splurge and get an exotic drink – maybe an iced green tea with ginger and ginseng. What a surprise to find “Adina” brand Hibiscus Lemon Cooler “Bissap”. Bissap was our favorite drink and favorite “ice” (popsicle) in the Gambia! I even brought a bag of the dried flowers back with me in my suitcase to make my own bissap in the U.S.

Sophia was with me and we both let out a surprised cheer amidst the serious lunch crowd. After grabbing a bottle she noted the “Gambian lady” on the label carrying the hibiscus flowers on a bucket on her head. I scanned all the interesting information on the label: “Our brilliant red hibiscus is sourced through women’s cooperatives in Senegal.” (Gambia’s borders lie within Senegal and they share the same culture(s).) And all the ingredients were pure and yummy.

The other side of the label told a great story:
“Oumi is out picking hibiscus blossoms when she hears the first drumbeat. The festival begins tonight and she’s going to make Bissap, the national drink of Senegal, for the whole village. Oumi blends the hibiscus infusion with a squeeze of lemon and hands a glass to her grandmother. “Mmm!” she exclaims, “it make me feel like dancing!”
Gathered from around the world our recipes have been passed on from generation to generation using the wisdom of native plants.
Adina is committed to working with small farmers and spreading the vision of fair trade practices.
Free downloads at www.adinamusic.com!
At Adina we believe that juice and music should tango… That is why we created Adina Music for you to explore the rhythms of the world and give artists a Fair Share.
Adina means LIFE!!”

I bought out the supply of three bottles I found in their fridge and got a deal, because, sadly, the product is being discontinued at my Whole Foods store. The company shares its own interesting story on their website: www.adinaworld.com. It was great fun bringing home this surprise to Layla, Anisa and Alex and we had it as a treat with dinner. Now that we’re back, we keep running into products that have a connection – though never this strong – with our experiences in Africa, like the mini-skirt L & A liked at American Eagle made with the type of eyelet material found in traditional Gambian fabric stores.

More than anything, it made our day to see one of our favorite things from Africa packaged so nicely at our local store, reminding us of the creative people who bring our world closer together – whether it’s through juice or mini-skirts or documentaries. It tasted good, too.

Lives Well Lived

2007-04-25T11:48:00.000-05:00

After a day like yesterday I am reminded again how fortunate my children are to be part of a public school community that goes to great lengths – with support from monumental volunteer efforts – to inspire, inform and enlighten our children to follow their dreams and reach way beyond themselves. It was the culminating day in a year-long themed program called Lives Well Lived. A talented group putting in huge effort pulled this off seamlessly. It’s the kind of program that makes me really appreciate living in America, where my children can benefit from this kind of inspired energy, where there are abundant individuals who have been able to pursue their dreams in such diverse forms, and where people feel honored to take time out to talk to kids about it. (And to top it off, other volunteers supplied a beautiful luncheon and hospitality, stimulating an environment for the speakers, staff and volunteers to get to know each others’ life work and interests.)

I was originally going to write a THANK YOU note to the organizers, but I decided instead I’d shout it from the rooftops – and this blog is the closest thing I have to that.

“In its 8th year, the T/E Middle School PTO sponsors a series of year-long programs to expose students to extraordinary examples of the human spirit who live among us and allow students to draw their own conclusions about choices and behaviors in their own lives” (from the brochure, available at http://www.tesd.k12.pa.us/tems/lwl.pdf). I participated as one of the 40+ speakers invited to share my experiences around this year’s theme ‘Imagine That – “Dare to Dream! Live Your Dream!”’

Other speakers ranged from authors and bakers to scientists, veterinarians, conductors, athletes, international volunteers, local TV personalities, yogis, and an ultra-marathoner, who recently ran the Sahara Desert (and who also blogged the experience for philly.com).

The kids were noticeably moved by many of the presentations and I felt an excitement in the air throughout the school, all day long. Most importantly, I heard both girls and boys express that the day had actually “inspired” them.

Returning

2007-04-12T10:56:00.000-05:00

We’ve been home five days and I can’t bring myself to write my thoughts about returning from our long journey. Mainly, it’s because I’m not sure what they are. In many ways we’re just picking up right where we left off: school started on Monday; we froze outside watching a girls’ softball game that same evening; Sophia re-joined her tiny ballerinas’ class at the Y on Tuesday, and now I drive a mini-van.

In other ways it’s like we’ve descended from another planet. I went to Costco on my first day back (am I crazy?!) where acquaintances I ran into were talking about how tired they were from the grueling trip back from Orlando or Hilton Head for Spring Break and I couldn’t bring myself to say “well, if you think that’s bad, I just returned from Africa…for 3 months…alone with my children…”

Things seem sort of same-old, same-old – until any of us open our mouths to talk. Like when Sophia rolls her “L’s” with a slight Gambian accent and casually mentions how there is no electricity in her schoollll in Africa -- “but we don’t need it, because there’s lots of sunshine” – or when Anisa clarifies points about everyday life to baffled classmates who can’t believe she lived in Africa and she’s actually home in one piece.

I can see the new perspective in the kids – mostly in unexpected places. On last night’s American Idol they gave a preview of their “Idol Gives Back” show, with Simon in Africa. Layla and Anisa perked up to see this, and then reacted: 1) why do they just say Simon and Ryan went to Africa, and not the actual country they were in? and 2) the school uniforms the needy girls were wearing actually looked pretty nice and new, not like what we had seen at the public school; so the “neediness” seems very relative.

I’m going to try to process the transition back and then write more for this blog. For now, it’s all too fresh to know what to make of the return home. But I know this: as wonderful as the trip was, it is nice to be back home.

De-Parting Thoughts

2007-04-01T11:05:00.000-05:00

It’s 1:45 a.m. and I have just finished packing. I feel too wound up to sleep. So I’m in bed, under the mosquito net, with Sophia fast asleep next to me, trying to sort through my thoughts as we embark on our final day during this “Long Stay in Africa,” as the Inquirer calls it.

The feeling that most strongly rises to the top is gratitude. For the past week I have been carrying this thought foremost in my mind – and am constantly amazed by the good fortune we have encountered at every step of this trip. None of us got really sick; we have always felt safe; the kids had excellent school experiences; our volunteer efforts were profoundly meaningful to us and we have found ways to sustain some of the work; we’ve met so many amazing people that I need to organize my notes to list all of them; we’ve made some truly close friends; and we’ve learned so much about this corner of the world that we are just starting to realize how much we don’t know.

A whole tome about gratitude needs to be written to begin to describe the patient, forgiving, wise, and generous hospitality of Sherry and Bozorg and the family who facilitated every aspect of the care and comfort for us boisterous girls.

I’m also grateful for writing this blog. Philly.com and all your comments (to the blog and especially, the countless ones directly to me) gave me the impetus to force myself to sit down and write my take on the sights, sounds, and feelings evoked each day in this different & not-so-different place. Once I’m home, I hope to really-actually-no kidding keep up this momentum and take my book to the next step. (Any comments or thoughts on that are WELCOME.)

As we were in the thick of packing this afternoon, Layla approached me with a serious question: “When do you think we can come back?” They can’t wait – but next time, we’re coming with daddy!

We’ll be home in about one week (after a long stop-over in England and France) and I’ll keep up with the blog for a while to record our transition back. I look forward to seeing many of you then, and will miss so many of you across the ocean.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Recognized

2007-03-30T17:32:00.000-05:00

Sophia at the school's neighborhood well. She's with some of the
many neighborhood kids we've gotten to know.

Earlier today I experienced something amazing. As I drove through the area near the house after dropping off Sophia at school, I waved to what seemed like a hundred children on their way to the school where I’ve been volunteering. I knew them, and they called out my name as we passed each other. No more “toubob, toubob” (“white person, white person”). We have a relationship. It felt like a going-away present.

Madame Speaker

2007-03-30T14:25:00.000-05:00

Me with the Speaker of the House, the Honorable Fatoumata Jahumpa Ceesay
and MP member, Seiko Susso, who arranged the meeting.

Madame Speaker

On Wednesday I had the honor of spending about an hour with the Gambia’s Speaker of the Parliament (House), Fatoumata Jahumpa Ceesay. She’s set the record for many firsts in her country, starting with being the first woman to be deputy mayor of Banjul in 1989. There have been other female Acting Speakers of the House, but she’s the first permanent one. This is a Presidential appointment in the Gambia and Mrs. Jahumpa Ceesay cited a long list of initiatives that President Jammeh has taken to advance women, from appointing more female cabinet secretaries to making primary education for girls free of charge for the first time in the nation’s history.

She spent twenty years working in journalism and as an activist for women and children’s rights. Today, she’s considered one of the best managers of the work of the House, where the membership is comprised of 49 men and 5 women. She’s passionate about her mission and also is a grandmother, like our own American first female Speaker of the House.

Gatekeeper

2007-03-29T09:35:00.000-05:00

Pa Calipha and his bow and arrow from Guinnea Bissau. He told me that in some areas of his country, locals fear the bow and arrow more than the gun

We will miss Pa Calipha. He is the respected, regal statured, 75-year old watchman living at our compound.

When I began to drive here, I reflexively reached above the windshield visor for the garage door opener (I think I’ve seen one house in the country with a garage). Then I remembered I need to honk the horn twice and within a few minutes, Pa Calipha is there to open the gate.

My girls and I communicate with him using basic greetings in Wolof or English and the universal “Salam-Aleikum.” Beyond this we use sign language. He speaks his native Fula and learned Wolof after arriving in the Gambia.

Pa Calipha is from Guinea Bissau, a former Portuguese colony, where he was a farmer and trader and also was among those fighting for independence. He is from a chief class that might have seemed a threat to the ruling party after independence; so, twenty years ago he came to live in the Gambia. He lost his three brothers in the independence war. He says this makes the prospect of returning to his hometown too painful to consider, in spite of the fact that in his own country he would be much better off, as he would have land, and importantly, family.

Adviser-Healer-Guide-Counselor

Throughout the day we see men and women of all ages seeking out Pa Calipha. He’s not quite a marabout (according to himself) but he has studied the Quran, he interprets dreams, advises about peoples’ present and future and gives out traditional prescriptions involving various charms, similar to my previous posting about “Stones in the Road.” He also described how he prays for peoples’ particular problems, particularly legal ones. I asked if he knew how effective the prayers and charms have been, and he said: “Too many cases have worked for me to count them.”

Great Big Love

2007-03-28T06:40:00.000-05:00

Wife 1 and Wife 2, who "get along like sisters."

Polygamy is a common and accepted practice here. If I mention that it is illegal in the United States, I’m usually met with looks of surprise or bewilderment. A New York Times article on March 23, “In Secret, Polygamy Follows Africans to N.Y.,” (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/23/nyregion/23polygamy.html) even mentions a Gambian. The issue came to the forefront with the tragic Bronx fire involving members of a Malian family where polygamy was practiced.

Aside from traditional cultural practices, polygamy is justified by a verse in the Quran which states that it is acceptable to have more than one wife, if they can all be treated equally. To western eyes, perhaps hundreds of years ago, when there was a shortage of men (due, for example, to wars and long journeys) and women had no way of fending for themselves, polygamy could be justified. In this era, I think the verse is a challenge even to many believers: it seems impossible to treat multiple wives equally. A wise person could say “why don’t you walk from the U.S. to Africa” or “walk to the moon.” But you know full well that it is logically not possible to do either of these – just like it is not possible to treat multiple wives equally. I advocate cultural diversity and preservation, but I also believe that there is a limit to acceptable traditional practices that affect human lives, like female genital mutilation (also very common in the Gambia) and polygamy.

Past-Present-Polygamy

I’ve come across some interesting examples of accomplished women who tell me they have no problem being the second wife.

The Gambian deputy head mistress of the primary school where we volunteer is a second wife (I’ll call her W2). I met the first wife (W1), who sells food at the school, thanks to arrangements made by W2. W2 described that she could never have had children and continued in her career, if it weren’t for the assistance of W1, who wet-nursed W2’s children and cared for them while she went to work. So, while W2 earned income to feed the family, W1 took care of the domestic side. The husband, incidentally, was not even mentioned in this arrangement. After decades of living together, these women have found a way to get along, and perhaps it’s easier without involving him too much.

Another example is that of a few educated European women. In some ways, it’s seen on anthropologic terms: this is an age-old practice, so don’t try to change native culture. One Northern European woman described her situation to me: “Like so many European women, I wanted a career, and by the time I was ready for a family, it was hard to find a compatible man; I was set in my ways and wanted to remain independent. By marrying a man I love who already has a wife to care for him on a daily basis (in a rural area), I can remain in town, have children, and we can see each other on weekends. And I don’t have so many domestic responsibilities. This is an ideal situation for me, and my children are part of a large immediate and extended family.”

I digested this perspective for days. I couldn’t believe that I knew a modern, European woman who seemed perfectly happy being the “weekend wife.”

Not So Easy

These are a few examples of people who tell me they are happy in the moment with their living arrangement. It’s really about that: a living arrangement. It’s not as much about a fulfilling marriage. My African friends have told me that it cannot be a fulfilling marriage in the modern sense of the word. It’s a necessity, due to poverty, and to a lesser extent, tradition. The European example goes back to a living arrangement, and is a definite exception. Among the successful African businesswomen I know, they say “no way” will they stand their husbands taking another wife.

One of the biggest problems I see with the practice (especially in the urban areas) is the fact that there are no boundaries for married men. If they have the material resources to pay a “bride price” (brides are essentially bought), then any girl over the age of 13 or 14 is fair game, regardless of the man’s age. (I spoke with a man in his 70’s who is ready to “take another wife,” the younger the better, and obviously, she must be able to bear children.) It’s also easier to “discard” a wife who doesn’t produce children or fulfill her husband in other ways. Whereas in the west, married men would have clandestine affairs riddled by guilt, here, it is possible to be out in the open with multiple families. Some even consider this more pious, as it gives a man more opportunity to father additional children.

Then there are the health implications, like the spread of STD’s. Having multiple wives increases the spread of HIV and AIDS. Domestic abuse is correlated with a household with multiple wives. There is much frustration, rivalry, and limited resources to feed everyone, so it’s easiest to take out aggravations on the many women and children in the home compound. At the school where I volunteer, every child I asked said that they see their fathers or uncles hitting their mothers and other female family members.

There is much policy and academic research on this subject and it is very complex and emotional. This blog entry – longer than my usual ones – can not treat this subject in depth, but it’s such an important phenomenon in this environment that I needed to write a little about it.

One organization based in Washington, DC, the Tahirih Justice Center, helps women who are fleeing various forms of persecution in their home countries. It started with the asylum case of Fauziya Kasinga of Togo, fleeing forced female genital mutilation, and helped to set legal precedent for women to gain asylum due to gender-based persecution. Since then the Center has helped hundreds of women from around the world. You can find out more at: http://www.tahirih.org/.

Eco-Inspiration

2007-03-27T07:18:00.000-05:00

Circular design of the new beach-front resort under construction south of Banjul. The entire project is created based on sustainable development principles.

Alfred - "the man who makes our dreams reality" - the project manager; with Maurice & Geri, in front of the "Queen of the Mangrove" giant heron, the symbol of Sandale Bay

When Alex was coming to visit us, he flew next to an English gentleman who is pouring his heart into turning an ecological dream into a reality. Maurice could easily be spending his time in retirement and rest, but he and his life partner have decided to dedicate their material resources and personal energy into creating an eco-tourism resort that embodies beauty and tranquility with state-of-the-art engineering and sound use of local renewable resources. The result is their soon-to-be-opened Sandale Bay Eco-Retreat at the southern tip of the Gambia’s coast.

Maurice invited our whole family to visit their labor of love under construction, and they’ve been good friends to us since our third week here.

Not Just Environmental

The eco-resort isn’t just good for the environment. It’s good for the whole community. Profits will be shared with the local village. Everything from food to furnishings and building bricks are sourced from local, low-impact materials, creating opportunities for skills training and income generation. About 70 percent of the employees will come from the local community and assistance will be provided for villagers to start their own businesses. At the end of the 25-year lease, the entire resort is given back to the community from which it was built. The place already has begun serving as an international training center for eco-tourism, international development, and even hosts yoga retreats and inter-faith meetings.

After about ten years in the Gambia (where they run another hotel, the Safari Garden, which is a hang-out for lots of interesting people visiting or staying in the country) Maurice and Geri also work actively in other organizations for Gambian development. They have become experts in how to work best in the local environment and culture. They also are great examples of how to not lose idealism while making the world a better place.

Gambia – No Problem

2007-03-26T20:35:00.000-05:00

Some of the guys (and kids) push-starting the car

The Gambia’s motto is “Africa’s Smiling Coast.” I also often hear “Gambia – No Problem.” As our days in Africa are winding down, it occurs to me that there is much behind these slogans.

On Thursday, the mottos rang so true, as twice on the road the Pathfinder wouldn’t start, and people all around – as if emerging from the woodwork – came out to help. The car needed to be push-started with some muscle and some finesse, so lots of guys came to the rescue to push and the first time, a driver for a bank, and the second time, a taxi driver, stopped everything to make sure I was safely back on the road. As I thanked people during the process I repeatedly heard “no problem” and “Gambia – No Problem.”

I kept thinking “What a great place to have your car break-down.” This is another example of the local strengths. These people who helped me may not have had great means, but their generous spirit shines through. Everyone pulls together and no one is left stranded.

Fashionistas

2007-03-24T09:03:00.000-05:00

Chan with me wearing the dress she had made for me, at the wedding

The first day I met Ida and Chan, after the Parliamentary opening, next to my car

When I attended the opening of Parliament, two women in the audience caught my eye: they were dressed strikingly, with gorgeous hair and make-up capping their elegant ensembles. Then, as I was going back to my car after the program, I saw the two of them walking past my car. I called out to them, and we started talking. Since that day, we have become friends.

Chan and Ida are two of the most prominent fashion designers and dressmakers in the country. They are savvy businesswomen with a thriving clientele and employ scores of tailors and others to support their businesses. When I went to the Youssou N’dor concert, it was their designs in the fashion show. They also do the clothing for women in prominent positions, like first ladies and Ambassadors, throughout West Africa, with their signature Sene-Gambian style.

I’ve been most impressed by how genuine they both have been. Ida apprenticed under Chan for two years and then started her own business. (Chan is a family friend, and was the first dressmaker in the country to have her own shop separate from her home, over twenty years ago)They both loved sewing as teens, made their own clothes and would give or sell them to friends. I tried to understand how the now-competitors preserve their relationship. They both spoke with me (separately and together) as if it was totally natural. On some projects, like decorating the Parliament hall, they act as partners. They are dear friends and that is the most important thing. Ida even named her first child, a daughter, after Chan.

I’ve been wanting a local dress. Before I even mentioned this to Chan, she suggested, one day at her home (where the door is always open and friends are constantly in and out), that she wanted to make me something. She’s the one who invited us to the wedding a few weeks ago and I needed something formal to wear. She had a very special hand-died fabric from Mali that she wanted to use and we talked about the potential design for about 90 seconds. However much I insisted, she would not allow me to pay for the dress. The result far surpassed my expectations and I can’t wait to wear it to something fancy in Philly. More than that, it’s a great memento of a new, dear friend, and the qualities of elegance and generosity that she embodies in so many ways.

Micro-Entrepreneurs

2007-03-23T05:59:00.000-05:00

Isatou Jatta, entrepreneur, and Foday Bojang, VISACA Loan Officer

The girls and I had some African dresses made in time for our Baha’i and Persian New Year (which falls on the first day of spring) by a friend at the Brikama market. In order to try on the dresses we needed to leave the tailor’s alley and were led to an unmarked office across from the market where we could close a door to try on the pieces (no mirror, though, we acted as each other’s mirrors).

As we emerged from the room we were introduced to the people whose office we occupied. It turned out this was the local VISACA branch. VISACA is the Village Savings and Credit Association. This is the Gambian non-profit that works with micro-enterprises for finance, credit and savings.

Micro-finance is an important force in economic development in poor communities all over the world, and the VISACA is part of that movement. This past year’s Nobel Peace Prize winner, Muhammad Yunus of Bangladesh, is a pioneer in micro-credit and finance. Eighteen years ago I worked on this issue in Kenya.

Layla and Anisa waited patiently with our Gambian friend from the market while I spoke to a woman who had come in to deposit her savings from the month. She is a baobab ice vendor at the military barracks near the airport and began her business just over three years ago. With the loan officer translating her Mandinka into English, she said that her life has noticeably improved since starting her business. She sells each ice for 1 dalassi, or about 3.5 cents. If she’s lucky, she’ll make $2 per day. At the barracks she rents a fridge in which to freeze her treats. She hopes that in the not-too-distant future she will be able to take out a loan from VISACA so that she can pay to get her home set-up for electricity to make the ices in her own home. This would allow her to spend more time with her family, and be able to expand her business. (Wiring for electricity at her home will cost about 50,000 dalassis, or just under $2,000 – that’s a lot of ices to be sold!)

Roots Tour

2007-03-22T13:32:00.000-05:00

Outside the museum of slavery

Approaching James Island by boat. This island is about 20% of its original size, as it is sinking in the river.

"Cute Kids; Several Tourists: Welcome. To Roots. Nursery. School. We are Seeking. For Donations. To Complete our Store. And. To Complete Our Toilet. Thank you. Very Much."

On Monday I had Layla and Anisa play hooky from school for what should have been the ultimate educational experience: the Roots tour. We’ve generally avoided the tourist scene in the Gambia, but the big exception we’ve been planning is “Roots” – comprised of traveling from the Atlantic Ocean port of Banjul up the Gambia River by boat to the village of Juffure, traced by Alex Haley as Kunta Kinte’s home, and then to James Island, the last spot in Africa that newly captured slaves would be brutally held before being shipped to America.

Getting There:

Getting there was its own minor journey. After considerable car trouble, we left the Pathfinder at the side of a major road and got in to the next taxi which dropped us at the port gates. The girls and I panted through the shipyards to a large boat that was just ready to leave the dock as we waved it down (itself an experience!). From there we had a lovely ride about two hours up river: enough time to catch our breath, relax, read, and enjoy the scenery around the immense, fabled river. While Layla was reading a surreal high-tech thriller, I had Roots (Layla finished it last week), and Anisa thumbed through The Rough Guide to the Gambia.

As she read, Anisa would periodically let out a small gasp, then a comment like “that is so mean.” The Rough Guide described the Roots experience as “rather overrated” and warned we might be “frustrated.” Based on her experiences of most other things in the country, Anisa thought this sounded too harsh. But the moment we hit land at the village, we saw what the Rough Guide was describing.

Tourist Trap:

As we descended the boat, local “bumsters” (guys mostly in their 20’s who are in the business of befriending tourists) began asking us our names and country of origin, with the transparent goal of securing a “gift” from the tourists (or, ultimately, starting a relationship that might lead to a ticket to Europe or the US). Heading down the dock to the monument for the slaves, the crowd got bigger. Children were grabbing our hands, mothers with small children thrust them upon us to have us take the child’s picture for a fee, and others were hawking school supplies and lollipops so that the tourists he could give them to the schoolchildren (and most likely, re-sell them over and over). It gets so bad that tour operators have someone to “shoo” away these people, but they are ignored.

Then we walked in the village toward the National Museum of Slavery, which the guide told us “you have ten minutes and five seconds to look inside.” On the way we passed two pre-schools in which children had been set up outside to sing for the tourists. In front of them was a large donation box and another large bag to place non-cash gifts, like school supplies. Photos with the kids were extra. After a twenty minute break to buy drinks (twice the amount of time for the museum), we headed toward the compound home of Kunte Kinte’s purported descendents.

An elderly woman sat under a canopy with the tourists around her while the guide described the TV mini-series and passed around yellowed photos of LeVar Burton as Kunta Kinte. For a donation we were welcome to take a picture with the descendant. Then we walked to another compound, accompanied by the crowd hounding for money and shouts of “toubob, toubob” (“white person, white person”) where another elderly woman was sitting under a canopy. She was the first female chief in the village and for another donation we could have a picture with her. The final stop was to the craft market for memorabilia. At one point Layla and Anisa both commented that this was the first place we’ve been in the country where we didn’t see anyone working on anything.

Alternative Guilt Trip:

If anyone is going to travel specifically to the Gambia for a Roots Tour – what some consider a pilgrimage – they should be aware of how commercialized this experience has become. Don’t come with a tour group (we actually didn’t know we were – we went on our own to an independently-operated boat and found a busload of British and Dutch tourists already on board); travel in the later afternoon when the tours have finished; and camp the night in the village so you can meet authentic people. Rough Guide has some suggestions for doing this.

This tour has not always been like this. I visited fifteen years ago, and other locals who had done the tour even just a few years ago did not experience so much harassment.

All of this might be a natural outgrowth of years of tourism among poverty. If you were very poor and saw people who had enough money to take an exotic vacation, wouldn’t you rush to them and do your best to extract whatever you could? Maybe. But perhaps if a meaningful experience were to be set up, utilizing rich aspects of the local culture, like the singing story-teller griots described in Roots and still very much alive today; or dramatic presentations on the life of the village then and now; or dancing and music from the Mandinka tradition; or some interactive demonstrations of the harrowing experience of being stolen from one’s home and loved ones and the ensuing brutality, a great deal more understanding and goodwill (not to mention economic development) could be generated. It’s unfortunate that most of those tourists were eager to leave the village, and probably will not return for that tour.

Preserving and presenting a somewhat more authentic experience for foreign tourists may not be as easy, but it would be worth it. Many local jobs could be generated, as well as long-term ties among those touched by the experience.

Remembering slavery and contributing to the sustainable development of a region where the legacy of slavery is still alive should be among the lasting effects of the Roots journey, not the feeling of wanting to flee a harassing experience. These are two very different types of “guilt trips.”

McMansions

2007-03-20T06:51:00.001-05:00

All around the suburban area outside Banjul near where we stay, we see a construction boom. Big, impressive, Romanesque, Moroccan or California-style stucco houses seem to be sprouting up everywhere behind high walls. Gambian friends have commented that many of these houses are being built for Gambians who have gone abroad (especially to America) to work. Local salaries rarely fund that kind of construction. It doesn’t really matter what kind of work they do abroad. Even if it’s what we consider menial labor in the U.S., enterprising immigrants are able to save enough that when they return home they will be kings of their new castles. Another sign of this phenomenon are the numerous Western Union billboards, encouraging people to use their company to send back the money that is made abroad. Foreign remittances form an important fuel for growing the local economy.

Power Crusade

2007-03-18T05:07:00.000-05:00

Kathryn donating blood for hospital patient last summer

Hospital director, Mr. Kebba Badjie, next to drying bedsheets and washing buckets, with the hospital building in the background

A few days before leaving for the Gambia, my girls and I met the 20 year old daughter of a fellow Chester County Fund for Women and Girls’ Board member. Kathryn Cunningham, a pre-med student at U. Penn had spent the summer in the Gambia – so the unlikely connection was exciting to both the Cunningham’s and my family.

My girls and I were expecting to have a nice chat with an interesting local resident who could fill us in on details of her experience in West Africa. But Kathryn was on a mission. After volunteering at one of the four major hospitals in the country, she came home determined to find a way to supply the Sulayman Jungkung General Hospital with a continuous source of power.

The Problem:

While the hospital serves about 20,000 patients per year, has a total staff of about 200 people and was built just four years ago, it has a power supply just ten hours per day. Limited government funds pay for fuel to run two generators five hours during the daytime and five hours at night (maximum).

This means that surgeries can be performed two days per week. Refrigeration is intermittent, so live vaccines, blood and certain medicines can not be stored. Incubation for premature infants is unavailable. And there is no continuous running water. Without the running water supply, proper hygiene at all levels is compromised, from laundering bedsheets, towels and gowns of medical personnel, to cleaning used instruments. Also, the temperature of the village of Bwiam, about 60 miles south of Banjul (and a world away), is even hotter than where I’m staying near the coast, so inside temperatures can exceed 100 degrees. With 60-80 percent of the patients inflicted with fever from malaria, relief from the heat would mean so much, as would quick diagnosis, which is only possible during the hours there is power.

Power-Up Gambia

When Kathryn returned from her life-changing summer experience at the hospital – where she donated her own blood to keep a hemorrhaging woman alive after a stillbirth, helped deliver babies, and watched a 3.5 pound full-term infant die due to lack of an incubator – she knew she had to do something. In just a few months’ time she has built a fundraising campaign and organization called Power-Up Gambia to be able to supply enough solar panels (or other appropriate forms of power) for a continuous supply of power to the hospital. She’s recruited a capable and committed Board of Directors, a strong technical team and is talking to anyone and everyone with government, business or familial connections that could lead to helping raise an adequate level of funds (about $300,000).

She’s also gotten agreement from the Delaware Community Foundation to serve as the non-profit fiscal agent. Such community foundations usually exclusively fund local projects; Kathryn’s a local resident and gotten them to see the need for supporting something in Africa. This means that US donors can receive a tax deduction and that a professional, experienced organization will manage the financial end of the project. It takes creativity, profound commitment and chutzpah to build this sort of momentum.

Since I’ve arrived in the Gambia, I receive emails from Kathryn a few times a week, asking if I can check on a detail, or meet someone, or find someone who can provide the information, and I’m more than happy to do so. Along with her questions, she usually reports on some exciting development, like getting their website on-line: http://www.powerupgambia.org/; or holding a launch event where Gambia’s former US Ambassador, George Haley, brother of Alex Haley, traveled from Washington to attend; or receiving strong interest from the local Rotary Club or associates of a former US President for the project.

The Skeptics

I’ve encountered a number of people locally who meet this project skeptically. There are so many needs in the country, why focus on that? It’s common to have inadequate electricity. She’s just a 20 year-old girl, what can she do? This is a government-run hospital, how can they ensure the funds will be used appropriately, or why support a government institution? And, importantly, how can she be sure that the solar panels or other electricity source will be maintained over the years and properly used?

Local expat’s are the most skeptical. They’ve seen so much money go down the drain, and perhaps settled in Africa because they themselves were idealistic and young years ago, like Kathryn herself. Some of their concerns are legitimate, but Kathryn and her organization are aware of these concerns and trying to learn from the mistakes of the past. So, they are doing all they can to safeguard, without losing zeal and hope.

Next Steps

Having traveled to the hospital and talked to lots of people in the country about this, I’m convinced that this is a more than worthwhile effort. If the 24/7 power they aspire to will save even just 100 lives per year, it also will instill hope in residents of that region, and possibly create greater goodwill between Gambians and Americans.

Among other ancillary initiatives, they’re also starting a pen pals program, to link children in the Gambia and the US.

Browse around http://www.powerupgambia.org/. And if you would like to contribute, you can send a tax-deductible gift to the Delaware Community Foundation on-line, or mail it to PO Box 1636; Wilmington, DE 19899. On the memo line write Sulayman Jungkung General Hospital Project, or SJGH Project.

I’d love to know what you think about this…

Glad-Handing

2007-03-16T13:21:00.001-05:00

My girls reminded me today how much I’ve changed in being protective toward them. First, we shake everyone’s hands – everyone’s – wherever we go. There’s no barrier of class or race or gender or what they just finished handling; it’s the first, basic common courtesy. Sophia (3) even knows, thanks to the good examples of other young children, that she is expected to shake hands with anyone we meet. The first couple weeks I carried hand wipes or hand sanitizer with me (to use discreetly after hand shaking). But I haven’t had wipes or sanitizer in my purse in months. We haven’t gotten sick, either. I think we’re all stronger for it…

Convenience Boutik

2007-03-16T08:51:00.000-05:00

Babukar in his well stocked boutik

Across from the Marina International School sits the most efficiently packed convenience store (the African version of a “bodega”) I’ve ever seen. In the space of a good sized powder room you can buy all your grocery essentials, school supplies, local and imported junk food (Anisa likes the Kool-Aid Jammers and pink bubble gum she now calls “blow ups”), phone cards and too many other things to list here. Merchandise is packed wall-to-wall, all the way to the ceiling, several rows deep so only the shopkeeper can help customers.

The proprietor, Babukar, is known by all the kids at school. He even makes fresh sandwiches to order. Chocolate or sweetened condensed milk on a warm tapalapa bread (like a French baguette) costs 5D (about $0.15) for a 9-inch piece, and a “pirty” sandwich - corned chicken, lettuce, mayo, ketchup, and an egg if you want, costs about $0.90 for an 18 inch tapalapa. These local “boutiks” are on almost every block, in every neighborhood – though maybe not as elaborate as Babukar’s.

Women selling their prepared foods around the school pick-up line create lots of competition for Babukar’s boutique. Wan-Jo Ices (hibiscus flower juice popsicle in a baggie – Layla and Sophia’s favorite); the “mango thing” made with unripe mangos mixed with dried and ground local hot peppers and salt and sugar; ebbe – spicy crab and various fishes, cassava, and palm oil (a definite acquired taste, but a local favorite) – also served in a plastic baggie; and various cut-up fruits like mangos, lemons and local “caba” (sweet and sour, no English translation for this) made to order with sugar, Jumbo (flavor-enhancer like a bouillon cube – a staple in almost all cooking here) and/or hot pepper are all popular. It all makes a bag of potato chips seem quite boring.

No Bullets

2007-03-15T22:08:00.001-05:00

Sorry that bullet points don’t come through when the blog text uploads. There should be lots of bullet points to follow the interview with the Ambassador.

Conversation with the American Ambassador – Part II

2007-03-15T05:40:00.000-05:00

Photo from Gambia Government website, September 2004: First official meeting between Ambassador Joseph Stafford and Gambian President Jammeh:

www.statehouse.gm/new-usambass-credence.htm

Ambassador Stafford stated that his biggest challenge is “to take the array of US interests here: democracy and human rights, economic cooperation, military cooperation, humanitarian assistance, combating HIV/AIDS, public diplomacy, counterterrorism” and be able to devote adequate attention to these difference interests. The Embassy employs a small team of both Americans and Gambians who do their best to carry out programs around the various priorities.

US Policy Priorities:

“First and foremost is promoting democracy and respect for human rights. [This is] linked importantly to other interests.” They do this by maintaining a dialogue with key stakeholders: the host government, civil society and human rights activists. Sometimes they’ll host a reception and speech on international human rights day, or organize and support a reception for journalists, or serve as election monitors.
Promoting economic development and strengthening economic cooperation. This takes the form of generally encouraging trade and US investment here. The Africa Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) encourages exports from the Gambia and the region to the US. Peace Corps is woven in to the economic development work as well. Since the 1960’s they have continuously provided technical and other assistance at the grassroots level.
Aid: Since the early-mid 1990s (since the most recent coup d’etat) there is no resident bilateral mission in the Gambia, but the programs continue on a smaller scale locally through the regional office in Accra, Ghana. The funded programs are:
Self-help programs at the grassroots (no elaboration on what these are).
Democracy-related programs, like the training for journalists.
HIV/AIDS – working with local NGO’s to provide publicity for prevention; assistance in offering voluntary counseling and testing.
Seminars for exporters on AGOA rules.
Scholarships for 700-800 (cumulative over the past few years) high school girls to pay public school fees.
Refugee assistance.
School feeding program through Catholic Relief Services, one of the most important partner organizations with the American aid program.
Food Aid, which has been suspended this year because of graver emergency situations elsewhere.

US Military provides training to Gambian military officers in the US and offers construction funding for the Gambian army and surplus office furnishings and medical equipment, as well as an HIV prevention program (remember the soldier in the condom billboard?!).

Conversation with the American Ambassador – Part I

2007-03-14T15:58:00.001-05:00

On Monday I was notified that the State Department in Washington had approved my request and to interview the American Ambassador to the Gambia for my blog, and that I could come in the following day (yesterday). I had met Ambassador Joseph Stafford at an event a few weeks earlier and he offered for me to come in and speak with him about any questions I had, but it would have to be off the record until approval was received. Because I wanted to share the outcome of our discussion, I waited until it could be official. We were joined at the interview by Ms. Pat Alsupp, the Deputy Chief of Mission.

Ambassador Stafford grew up in Oklahoma and has been serving in the Foreign Service for almost thirty years, with posts mainly in North Africa. According to his official bio, he spent 1979 in Tehran at the US Embassy (the year American hostages were taken) as a Consular officer. As a result of his postings in places like Mauritania and Algeria he speaks classical Arabic. This is his second position in Sub-Saharan Africa, following his previous post as Deputy Chief of Mission in Abidjan, Cote D’Ivoire.

General Impressions of the Gambia:

The Ambassador observed first that this is a country with a great deal of religious tolerance, a sense of stability and social peace, and that it has avoided the social turmoil found throughout West Africa. It’s got hospitable people, a fascinating cultural and ethnic mosaic, and is making progress in terms of development. The Gambian Government is accessible to him and to the Embassy in general. To top it off, it’s a “pretty agreeable” place to live.

Public Diplomacy:

The issue of public diplomacy has taken prominence in recent years following rising anti-American sentiment with the current war in Iraq, so the effort to reach out and win the “hearts and minds” campaign for the US is an important one.

He feels the Gambia “is a fertile environment for public diplomacy” and that there is “a reservoir of pro-US feeling.” This is due to a combination of admiration for US democratic institutions, economic strength and technology, along with the sheer number of Gambians who have lived or studied in the US.

The type of work that is carried out to advance public diplomacy takes a number of forms, primarily:
Addressing high school and university students about American policy in Africa. Various Embassy officials give these talks at least once per month.
Outreach to the Muslim community, by hosting a dinner at the Ambassador’s residence to break the Ramadan fast, consulting with religious leaders, distributing information on the life of the Muslim community in the US at various receptions, and promoting travel by religious leaders for first-hand exposure to the US through various educational exchanges.
Connecting the African with the African-American community. This is done primarily by holding programs for Black History Month. This year the Embassy hosted the screening of the 2-Part PBS documentary “African American Lives” at the “American Corner” at the Gambian National Library in which 35-40 people attended. The “Roots” connection also is important in this regard. Every other year a “Roots Festival” has been held in the Gambia (not sponsored by the US Embassy or US Government), in which hundreds of African-Americans visit the Gambia and engage in grassroots assistance. These travelers serve as informal goodwill ambassadors and when the Embassy does “come across these delegations [they’ll] include them in representational events that [they] host.”
Peace Corps presence: there are about 100 Peace Corps volunteers that serve as representatives of the US (unofficially) at the village level throughout the Gambia. Their consistent and important role in creating a positive image of Americans abroad cannot be overstated.

The US government-sponsored development programs also play a role in public diplomacy and will be included in the continuation of the interview in tomorrow’s blog.

Common-Wealth

2007-03-13T05:45:00.000-05:00

Girls sharing their meals and enjoying the party

Yesterday at public elementary schools across the Gambia, Commonwealth Day was celebrated, to commemorate the shared heritage of former British colonies ranging from the Gambia to India and Canada. At the Lower Basic School where we regularly tutor, the children wore their best clothes instead of the usual uniforms and packed small pots of food for the main activity of the day – eating.

All classes had been suspended for the festivities, which began with an all-school assembly. The children lined up by class in the courtyard in full sun proctored by an adult carrying a light stick, ready to strike anyone who got unruly.

After the student body was led in a collective recitation of the Quran, another teacher lectured on the significance of Commonwealth Day: “Do not think that today is just about feasting and having a party. We need to think about the children in other Commonwealth countries. Some are hungry, in refugee camps, without parents. … How are they feeling? … They are not so happy like we are. …”

I was struck that these are among the children whom Americans and Europeans might refer to when telling their own kids “eat your dinner; remember the hungry children in Africa…” Yet, in their own setting these kids are considered lucky and remember those less fortunate than they are.

The real party began when the food pots were unpacked from their cloth wrappings. The children heartily dug in to their variations on spiced chicken or fish and rice, and even local oysters and french fries along with salad and mayonnaise (I learned that many parents are pressured to prepare these nice dishes so as not to embarrass their kids by bringing meager foods – sort of like the pressure we feel in the States from our kids to keep up with their classmates’ fashion or toys). They stayed in their classrooms to eat, assembled in small, usually boisterous, groups of 3-5 kids. Some didn’t bring pots of food, but there was plenty to go around. In the local style, no one brought utensils or plates, but ate the saucy foods with their fingers and shared everything in the communal bowls. The teachers did not bring food, as the children with the best dishes set aside ample portions of their foods for the teachers to eat, out of their own large communal bowls.

Nothing else had been planned for their festivities – no craft activities, no games, no entertainment. No one missed any of those; and it was the most contented school party I’ve ever seen.

Wedding Party

2007-03-12T05:32:00.000-05:00

Younger girls surrounding the bride and groom

Yesterday I reflected on the virtue of generosity and that night I was struck by it on many levels at a wedding reception that Layla, Anisa and I attended. We were invited by a new friend of mine who helped organize parts of the wedding and who is related to the wedding party -- two prominent families in Gambian society. The girls were excited to attend the bash and get dressed up. I did not even know the names of the attractive bride and groom but we were still very much welcomed to their elaborate party.

After dinner, drumming and dancing, we noticed that women were singing loudly over the couple and guests were lined up to throw money onto cloths encircling the bride and groom. But alongside this commotion was another, more surprising occurrence. Women of more humble appearance were asking us for money. Layla and I both had brought small purses with us, and were quite uncomfortable with this begging within the private party. I asked my friend, “Why are these people asking for money at the wedding?” She replied, “These are the beggars that come to all our celebrations.”

So, we learned that among Senegalese and Gambians of all classes of society, during the big events like weddings there is an expectation that all kinds of people will attend, be fed, and among those who need it most (or who ask most persistently), money will be given out – no one is denied. My friend had packed her stylish gold clutch purse with stacks of crisp, small bills to hand out to these people. We also learned that for the most part, those who are welcomed to these events are not “average” street beggars. They are the griots described in Alex Haley’s book Roots.

When the first griot approached us to sing a story while waving her hand at me clutching 25 dalassi notes (28 dalassis per one US dollar), I was confused. This particular woman was someone I had met earlier in the week, modern, and not one seeming to need to ask for any money. But Layla was excited. She had just finished reading Roots and was the most familiar with this ancient custom where the older generation memorizes the stories of families and the village’s heritage and passes this knowledge along to specifically appointed children to continue the tradition. (Stories also can be made up. In my case, she learned my name and started singing about it.)

Layla didn’t think there were any griots left. But we learned that there are all kinds of people calling themselves griots – from the seemingly high-class, clad in lots of gold, to those of much more humble means. As we were leaving the hotel’s circular driveway, two women we recognized as among the best dancers at the party, desperately waved us down for a ride. We let them in and as we drove and chatted, they described that they, too, are griots. These independent women in their 30’s looked more like disco divas, not the bearers of an ancient tradition, showing the girls and me that the ancient and modern co-exist wherever we look.

Meaning

2007-03-11T06:06:00.000-05:00

The past few blog entries have been observations about stuff -- t-shirts and shoes, housewares and cars. I find that being in a new and different place, my senses are heightened, to take in as much as I can, knowing I’m here for a short time. So, I switch, between focusing on the stuff, to the more intangible, or spiritual side of life in West Africa.

While this is the time for Lent, it’s also the period of fasting** in the Baha’i Faith. So, it’s a time to slow down, do with less, and reflect inwardly. It’s been doubly interesting to experience this daily exercise here, as I’m in an environment where fasting – both for Muslims and Christians – is not so unusual as it is in the U.S. Fasting is one of the shared physical-spiritual experiences in most parts of the world. It is a very personal practice, but if the subject comes up with someone here, deep understanding and respect is displayed. Fasting creates a bridge between believers of various faiths that reinforces our common humanity.

I’m increasingly struck by the seamless weaving of spiritual practices, in general, in this society. The weakness of Africa may be its poverty, but one of its strengths is its detachment (generally) from material excess. If anyone has anything, it is shared. On one hand, this creates less incentive to amass wealth and makes substantive investments difficult to make. On the other hand, few people starve (though many might be malnourished), and generosity is built into the acquiring of anything – from a piece of bread to sharing a ride if there is room in your car.

My husband thinks that one of the qualities the world can learn from Africa is patience. In so many ways, patience and generosity are virtues associated with material things, but they also are profoundly spiritual, and it shows how closely associated the spiritual and material can be…just like fasting does.

**from sunrise to sunset for 19 days, ending on the first day of Spring, the Baha’i New Year

Through the Sahara for a Good Cause

2007-03-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

Pink Trabant after a 4,200 mile trip

Land Rover - one of the fanciest cars in the Challenge

A little after we arrived in the Gambia, cars covered with lots of sponsors’ logos at varying stages of disrepair had also arrived in the country. These had all made it through the Plymouth-Banjul Challenge. This road-trip starts in southern England and makes its way through the Sahara desert to end up finally in the Gambia. This year 191 vehicles completed the roughly three-week journey. The official website http://www.plymouth-banjul.co.uk/ says that the cars shouldn’t be bought for more than 100 pounds (about $200). Once the autos arrive, they are auctioned off for charity in the Gambia at the National Stadium.

The last of the auctions took place on Sunday. The local hosts of the events associated with the Challenge are wonderful people that I’ve gotten to know. They’re dedicated to doing so many good things for and with the Gambians. The proceeds of the auctions benefit the Association for Small-Scale Enterprises in Tourism (promoting local entrepreneurial efforts and sustainable development) and the Gambian National Olympic Committee. This year they raised over 6 million Dalassis (over $214,000), with over 20 million Dalassis since the race began, making it one of the most successful non-governmental fundraisers in the country.

The motto for the Challenge is: “No Money. No Worries. No Problem.” The drivers range from “highly professional” to what’s affectionately known as “petrol heads.” The cars are fun to see on the street, covered with all kinds of wacky logos and probably attached to an incredible adventure story – if only they could talk. I’ve seen some with hand-painted tallies on the side doors with: “# of Breakdowns” and “# of Repairs.” There have been London taxis, fire engines, ice cream trucks, an ambulance, a 30-seater bus, and a range of 4-wheel drive vehicles as well as tiny compact cars (including the Eastern European Trabant, which I had never heard of before this). This is one of the wackiest fundraisers I’ve heard of, involving the most diverse – and unlikely – people for some great causes, meeting face-to-face and, in the end, learning about each other’s cultures and becoming friends.

Where All That Stuff Ends Up – Part II

2007-03-07T06:51:00.000-05:00

Piles of stuff to sort through from US department stores

Back home, I love finding something great under a sign that reads “Take an extra 50% off the already reduced price” AND I can use the 15% off bonus coupon. All those pieces that don’t sell at the rock bottom price in the mall end up at the outlets or TJ Maxx and its cousins. But what happens when they don’t sell after that?

Thanks to enterprising local businesspeople, there are whole shops dedicated to purchasing containers’ full of the things that didn’t sell in the U.S. and Europe. Furniture, bed linens, home decor, backpacks, suitcases, costume jewelry, with labels from Macy’s, JC Penney, Kohl’s and even Bloomingdale’s are among the “finds” around Banjul. Store owners aren’t making particular orders for specific items or brands. Like the used clothing business, they buy in “bundles” by weight, trusting that customers will be found for any of the things they can bring into the country – and they seem to be. If you see something you like, snatch it up…quick.

In the Land Where All that Stuff Ends Up

2007-03-06T07:43:00.000-05:00

Happy Used Shoe Seller - Note his T-Shirt says Norfolk Public Schools

Teen-agers trying to fit in the perfect pair of shoes

Picking through t-shirt and bra selection

Did you ever wonder what happens to all those things that don’t get sold at the Goodwill store? Or, do all those tons of bags of donations actually make it to the charity shop??

If you come to a local market in Africa, it looks like many of those cast-offs end up for sale here. Everything from used shoes and underwear to stuffed animals gets compacted with machines into bales and shipped here by the ton.

Wherever I go, men are in T-shirts emblazoned with signs of everyday American life, from “Norfolk Public Schools” to “Coastal Heating and Ventilation,” and “Legg Mason Walk for Life.” One day I just started writing down the logos on all the used t-shirts I saw people wearing and my kids like to point out some of their favorites, like “Franklin & Marshall Volleyball Boosters.”

In the labyrinthine market area of Banjul I saw a large warehouse with nothing but stacks of compressed bales of used clothing, and in the town of Brikama a friend of mine knows the used-shoe mogul. As we chatted with him, so many people stopped by to see if the new 25 kg bales of shoes had been opened yet, as each bundle contains such a hodge-podge of styles and sizes, along with a few gems that everyone wants – kids shoes and sneakers are the most popular.

In the used clothing business, the best margins are in shoes. A 25 kg bundle sells wholesale for 2450D, or about $87.50. Each bundle contains about 35 pairs, which each sell in the market for at least 100D, or $3.57. So, there’s about $1 profit per pair. Even compared to selling new Chinese items on the market, more money is made selling these “donations” for a profit than with the super-cheap Asian goods. As we hung out with our friend in his shoe shop drinking the local currant & berry soda, Vimto, I even found a pair of decent Bally pumps I considered for myself.

Parliamentary Opening

2007-03-05T08:12:00.000-05:00

Me posing with grassroots organizers after the official Parliamentary opening

On Friday I received one of about 250 invitations to attend the official opening of the Parliament, officiated by the “His Excellency the President, Doctor AlHajji Yahyah A.J.J. Jammeh”. After almost being kicked out by a zealous security guard who saw me taking a picture of the Justices in white English-style powder wigs ceremoniously entering the building – “but no one told me I could not take a photo!” – I made it in with the rest of the party loyalists, diplomatic corps and a few local journalists, plus the surprise late entry by the team from CNN International, there to cover the President’s miracle curative powers, with this event added-on.

State of the Union:

Other than the formal entry of the various branches of government, the President’s speech was the highlight of the program. Similar to a State of the Union address, he outlined points by key areas such as agriculture, energy, healthcare, the environment, communications, education and justice. Within five minutes of his opening, he began to talk about donors, starting with Japanese contributions. The Gambian economy is said to be largely donor driven (i.e., foreign charitable assistance fuels investment) and this upbeat address manifested that phenomenon.

In the foreign affairs section, he drove home the benefits of “South-South cooperation …within a framework of mutual respect … and non-interference … irrespective of size …We’ll maintain our sovereignty at any cost. We will not be colonized a second time.” Folks watching this at home on TV reported some of the key foreign diplomats were shown dozing during this part of the address.

Everyone seemed to perk up in the warm room when the prepared talk ended and the President spoke off-the-cuff. This was the chance to hear the young, ambitious and energetic national chief say what he really had on his mind to the new Parliament: “Nation-building is a collective responsibility. [It calls for] hard work, sacrifice, and absolute honesty…unity of the country regardless of divergences…irresponsibly divergent views leading to a lack of development is unacceptable…” Then, “before the election you told the people promises that even the devil cannot fulfill. Take care of the people that elected you. … Don’t forget them…You have only five years to serve them….”

When the speech ended we were greeted outside by the energy of multiple groups of drummers and dancers, several camera crews and official cars lined up on a red carpet to pick up their VIP’s. Even the driver sent for me walked up to me inside the security gate, as the chief of security comes from his home village. It felt like a party lots of people could enjoy.

Blood on My Shoes

2007-03-02T07:03:00.000-05:00

Sophia inspecting remains of the toad

As soon as I saw so much dried red blood on the heels of my platform slip-ons (the best kind of open-toed shoes to wear in this sandy environment), the scene of the killing became clear to me.

The night before, walking to our cottage, I noticed stepping on something substantive and crunchy. At that spot, shaded by the small bamboo grove from the twinkling stars and half-moon light, I thought it must have been a piece of a branch or a flower bud – like one of the large hibiscus that surround the path. No, in the daylight it became clear: I had decidedly splattered an innocent toad with my clunky shoes. It lay on the path as if in mid-hop, but with guts strewn around it and small ants climbing aboard to claim the meat. With the morning light to retrace last night’s steps, I followed the trail of the poor creature’s insides that had been unknowingly dragged along, all the way to the entrance of the cottage, where, mercifully, we remove our shoes.

When I first saw the splattered blood on my shoes I instinctively shrieked. But with my daughter around, I composed myself and went to clean the shoes. Then, when I was overcome (temporarily) with nausea by the realization of my crime and the sight of all that dried blood, I could no longer face my weapon to clean it. Fortunately, someone else was around to help me clean the blood off my shoes. When I was back home around noon, the reptile had been flicked off the path and lay in the same ready-to-hop position, but was already petrified.

Stones in the Road

2007-03-01T12:14:00.000-05:00

Special offering that will not be obvious to the uninitiated

Yesterday after dropping Sophia off at school with my brother-in-law, he suddenly stopped the car and reversed it a few yards. Since we were on the dirt back road short-cut I thought maybe something had gone wrong with the car, or maybe there was a new construction project to know about, as they seem to be popping up everywhere.

I never would have imagined what he was going to point out to me: a scattering of stones, a piece of paper and some other litter placed in the center of the intersection of three dirt roads. From my vantage point, the stones looked like mule dung or simply random stones, along with some litter– nothing unusual. But, upon closer view, these were all the same size,round, and placed in a definite pattern, exactly at the center of the junction. Alongside them was a letter, with other small items scattered among these.

We were witnessing an old West African custom. When someone has a particular dilemma, problem or question, they might go to the marabout (village holy man, thought to possibly have magic powers) who would prescribe a special remedy and an offering. The offerings typically take the form of what we saw, or they can get more elaborate, like demanding the bone of a particular animal, all to fulfill a long-cherished wish or solve a difficult problem. But with cars passing over them and kids playing in the road, the offering was gone by the next day. If Bozorg had just blinked or looked away at the moment we were passing, we would have missed this sighting completely.

These ancient customs continue alongside personal and community commitments to Islam (around 90% of the population) and to a smaller extent, Christianity, as well as modernization. It’s what reminds me that so many things can appear to be like the rest of the world (e.g., religion, globalization of consumer items), but here will always take on a special African quality that gives it a unique, almost magical flavor.

THE Headline

2007-02-27T16:05:00.000-05:00

[Top Headline in The Gambia’s Daily Observer www.observer.gm on Wednesday, February 21, 2007, reflecting international reaction to the top news story since our arrival (Please Note: This is not intended as my own opinion but the entire Daily Observer story, verbatim.)]:

Jammeh Aids Cure Real…Sky News** is Wrong

Sky News’s report on the President’s herbal cure for HIV was full of misinformation, lies and absurdities. Sky’s Africa correspondent, Emma Hurd, questioned the efficacy of the President’s cure on the apocryphal grounds that there was no evidence for it. This is an obvious falsity because patients were treated after having been diagnosed first by a qualified medical practitioner. And the results were also clinically confirmed by qualified medical personnel. The marked increase in the CD4 counts of the patients could not have been cooked up even by the most imaginative enthusiast.

It was simply out of churlish cynicism that the Sky report dared to suggest that the President and our Department of Health would put our lives at risk by concocting a bogus remedy. The idea that few in the country dare doubt the cure is quite simply based on ignorance.

One should therefore wonder why Sky News manufactured false information to discredit the God-given cure for Aids, which President Jammeh has already adequately demonstrated. It is false for Emma Hurd to claim that the U.N. has warned of the dangerous consequences of President Jammeh’s curative gifts. Which UN organization has made this statement? It was not mentioned in the Sky news report. The WHO is the UN organ responsible for health and this organization has not yet made any pronouncement on the matter. The Sky news statement is therefore false. The report is definitely written with a view to damage and not to authenticate. This is the cheapest form of reporting, not expected from Sky news. President Jammeh’s claim that he has treated dozens of Gambians with traditional medicine, succeeding where modern medical science has failed, is a living truth. There is ample evidence based on western scientific verification methods, through laboratory tests conducted by medical professors at the faculty of Medicine, Cheikh Anta Diop University, Dakar, Senegal, that patients who were tested Hiv positive prior to commencement of treatment were again tested after the treatment and the results showed that the virus became undetectable. That is to say the virus can no longer be seen, which in layman’s language and to the patients affected, the disease has been conquered. What other proofs are people still asking for? President Jammeh does not have to convince anyone that he has been given the gift and knowledge to cure Aids. And he does not have to explain to anyone the secret of this gift and knowledge to cure Aids.

The statement by Fadzai Gwarazimba, the UNDP coordinator in the Gambia,^^ quoted by Emma Hurd, is irresponsible and most unexpected from a UNDP resident representative as her statement is not based on any perceived sexual behaviour pattern by people of this country. In fact her statement is not only absurd but infantile, as it assumes that once the cure for aids has been found, there would be increased promiscuity. This is poor reasoning.

Gambians and all other people of hope should welcome this development in our country. Africans should be proud that an African is using African knowledge to cure the diseases and ailments of people, no matter what race. President Jammeh will cure anyone with Aids, be he black or white, because his knowledge is a gift to humanity at large. We must wake up to the fact that the pharmaceutical industry, who control the major seats of power around the world will not be happy with President Jammeh’s gift and knowledge to cure Aids, as there are billions of dollars attached to research, to find a western medicine to cure Aids and to sell existing and ineffective drugs to fight Aids. Indeed this little country called The Gambia with its gifted leader has now become the biggest threat to the interests of the multi-national drug companies, who may even have shares in Sky news. We would therefore not be surprised that Emma Hurd is promoting the interests of the multi-national drug companies, who hide behind the name of western medicine to peddle their useless drugs.

Gambians and many more people will continue to go to President Jammeh to be cured of the disease that is de-populating most countries in Africa today. The people who were cured are living evidence of President Jammeh’s success.

**Sky News is a popular British news service, after BBC.
^^After this story was published, the UNDP representative was deported from the Gambia.

Female Lawyers Association of the Gambia – Launching a FLAG-ship

2007-02-26T08:02:00.000-05:00

Female Lawyers Organizing Board

“It is justice, not charity, that is wanting in the world” (remarks of Gambian female judge).

On Friday evening I was invited to attend an elegant event in a posh hotel with some of the best-dressed women in the Gambia, who also happen to be brilliant and savvy. This was the launch of the Female Lawyers Association of the Gambia (FLAG). I’ve been involved with various initiatives advocating women’s rights and currently serve on the Board for the Chester County Fund for Women and Girls (http://www.ccwomenandgirls.org/) helping women’s lives locally. The Chester County, PA Fund is an active member of the international Women’s Funding Network, so it was a great place to share common experiences.

The Gambian event served as a demonstration of two important, but contradictory trends I’ve been observing: on one hand, women hold an impressive share of the seats of power, and on the other end of the spectrum, many Gambian men are openly polygamous, female genital mutilation is commonly practiced, and the majority of women generally remain much less educated, poorly paid, and stuck in traditional, back-breaking roles.

Among the notable women in attendance were the nation’s Vice President, the Secretaries of State for Communications, and for Education, the President of the Gambian Bar Association, members of the Supreme Court, the immediate past Speaker of the Parliament (the current Speaker also is a woman, but was not in attendance), and many prominent female attorneys who are active in their field and also in a variety of businesses in the country and throughout Africa. Also noteworthy was the attendance of prominent men, mostly there to lend quiet support. From husbands who lead some of the most notable banks, communications organizations, consultancies and businesses in the country to the Chief Justice, judges, and senior members of the Bar, there to support their female colleagues. The U.S. Ambassador attended, sitting without any special VIP status in the audience – like the other men, silently supportive.

I kept thinking that if I had just landed and gone straight to that event, not knowing anything else about the country or the rest of Africa, I would think “This place is like a paradise! The people are so poised, eloquent, elegant, educated, concerned and wanting to be of service to their nation. Everyone seems genuinely friendly, interested in each other, and there is such a high degree of warmth and human connection. And to top it off, the weather is perfect; the food is good and the atmosphere gorgeously appointed.” What more could one want?”

I also was impressed by the frankness of the comments, even among the nation’s most visible leaders. For example, the Chief Justice (a man) said: “It’s about time [for the female lawyers to organized in this way.] Our heritage as West Africans is of matrilinear inheritance … Let us face reality, ours is a polygamous society… We must think about the women … come up with a good set of laws. We want to be counted as a nation with women who are dynamic, women who can make us proud…”

Then, the Vice President, who also serves as the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs and has worked on women’s development for many years, challenged the group in a lengthy and impassioned speech: “Men should realize that if women are troubled, they are not free themselves…. The most important development in the world is the empowerment of women.” She talked about harsh realities that society doesn’t want to admit to, like marital rape and other instances of domestic violence. “We hide behind religion, tradition and culture to justify our actions.” She acknowledged that the government can declare certain rights, but the real test is how these will be carried out in daily life – starting with the ways we socialize our children, with double standards shown boys versus girls.

The vision of the FLAG organization is: “to procure changes to the laws of The Gambia for the protection and wellbeing of women and children in respect of the elimination of violence against them, freedom of expression and education thus enabling women’s potential for contribution to effective participation in the development process of the country.” They will accomplish this through various activities involving research, advocacy, free legal advice offered through mobile legal aid clinics, networking with like-minded organizations, and providing an open forum for discussion of matters affecting women and children.

After the speeches and official launch of the organization, a most interesting thing occurred: the senior (male) member of the Bar Association stood up and pledged 10,000 dalassis (about the equivalent of $360, but a very large sum for here). This started a process where so many others stood up and offered generous pledges, ranging from 1,000 to 50,000D. Even for the most seasoned individuals in the audience, this impromptu fundraising of several hundred thousand dalassis and in-kind donations like free air-time on the radio took everyone by surprise.

Now that FLAG is off to such a great start, the big test will be the staying-power and the impact such a capable and high-minded group can make.

Hardship Myths

2007-02-23T07:31:00.000-05:00

Grocery Store: Peanut Butter & Jelly Aisle

I’ve had some responses of concern that maybe I am exposing my children to too much squalor and hardship – pushing them to have a “Third World” experience. I want to clarify a few points about our living conditions. This is not so much to defend against those who think things might be “disgusting” (that word has been used a few times), but more to clarify that we are not sacrificing martyrs toiling in the belly of Africa. Granted, this is the life of privilege, and we are well aware of that; but frankly, we also have that in the U.S. and so do most of the people reading along on the blog.

The days start with a lovely sit-down breakfast, with either eggs or porridge or French toast made with the local baguette called “tapalapa” or even whole-wheat pancakes along with seasonal fruit (papaya, oranges, grapefruit) and great coffee. Sherry and Bozorg wake up extra early to prepare all of this themselves. We continue to be well-fed for the rest of the day.

There are various competing grocery stores not too far from home, carrying all variety of products: Arab juices, Chinese sauces and trinkets for the kids, Japanese soup mixes, Indian ready-made foods, American cereals, French jams, Vietnamese rice, Thai peanut sauce, English Cadbury’s chocolates (along with Belgian, German, and American chocolates and candies), and the list goes on. As I do at home, I have steered clear of buying Pringles and Snickers, but they’re available here. In one of the groceries, they get a good deal of their supply from Costco in the US, one of the small home goods shops specializes in Ikea stuff, another has house wares from JC Penney and similar department stores. For buying toiletries, it’s so convenient it’s almost boring, as the store shelves are dominated by American brands like Colgate, Pantene, Noxema and Always. Of course, if you want a much more authentic African experience, you can purchase yours in open-air markets where their brands are usually either Arabic or Chinese.

If you enjoy shopping in Dollar Stores, there’s plenty for you here. From more upscale grocery stores to the market stalls there is an abundance of usually-Chinese made stuff that you might find in a Dollar Store – and maybe even cheaper. They’re part of the selection everywhere. Granted if you have a specific item in mind, it might be harder to find – like cream cheese, which the rest of the world calls “Philadelphia”– but it makes the conquest, or the process, that much more fun.

There are lovely restaurants here, too. Mostly they cater to Europeans or the more adventuring Americans. We have eaten out just a few times – much less than if we were in Philly. One of the really positive things I have noticed about our kids here is that they are well aware that with the amount we spend for a family meal in a restaurant -- with prices comparable to or less than US restaurant costs – we could probably feed a local family for a year. One day Sophia (age 3) and I went out to the beach and I offered to get her food at the restaurant on the beach. “No, no mommy. Let’s just go home and eat what we have there.” Even she didn’t feel quite right to spend the money unnecessarily.

So, yes, we are extremely privileged and fortunate and we are not suffering when it comes to food, shelter and many other things. Such conveniences are not available in village settings, or to the average Gambian – and these are some of the happiest people around. But if you’re coming from a US income level and are used to a certain standard, you won’t be completely deprived. The global economy reaches all of us…

Old Woman

2007-02-22T08:45:00.000-05:00

Friends from the village

One unexpected visitor this past weekend in the village was Yai-Siet Badjie. Yai-Siet roughly means “Old Woman” in Wolof. Noone knows her age or will even try to guess it. On her national i.d. card under her age, it says “old woman.” She was talkative and funny, and even spontaneously danced for us. She took off her headscarf – a rarity – and showed me her full head of white hair. I found out after she left us that she serves as the village funny-person. This is not a clown, but someone who goes around to make people laugh and this is now her vocation. Through their hardships and daily routine, she lightens things up. If you don’t have a TV to entertain you, this is where to get your laughs.

Speaking through a translator (my brother-in-law) she told us some of the highlights of her life, starting with her happy childhood. She says she was so hefty that everyone called her “tourist,” as all tourists are quite well fed. She lost all this weight after having her 10 children, feeding them and keeping them alive. At one point in her life she was a uniformed police officer and later was a traditional dancer for foreigners. She says she earned so much money dancing she couldn’t even count it. Back in the day, she fell in love with two different men. Her father wouldn’t allow her to marry either of them, as they were not of their village or Jola tribe. In their tradition, which continues today, the father “owns” his children and has every say about their futures until they marry. As she explained: “This is the tradition and it will continue until the end of the world.”

So, with the first man her father arranged, she had five children, and then he died. Then, as is the custom, she was given to marry her husband’s brother and she bore another five children. Then he died. After all this bad luck with men, she vowed to “retire” from ever being with another man, and has stayed true to this promise for many decades since. Her own daughters had gone to the metropolis of Dakar, Senegal to work, but when it was time for them to marry, the family arranged the marriages and have been back in their village ever since.

One of her sons is in the military and has served in Darfur as a peacekeeper. He is back now, living at the army barracks. All but one of her sons has gone through school (probably through the sixth grade), but none of the daughters did. The son who did not complete elementary school eventually became the village chief. Trying to get at what her actual age might be, I asked her what the age of her oldest child was. She replied: “I don’t know my own age, you think I’d know how old my child is?!”

I also asked her what did she think was the biggest difference between now and when she grew up (I was thinking she might talk about pre-independence and about technological change). She responded without hesitation: “Now the girls in town (the village) are all getting pregnant so young; before we never were.” As she sees it, they “hook up” at schools with other kids or even with the adults there. She described there is much promiscuity as well as rape. She also said that in the early days there was less sickness, though she wouldn’t call any of the disease people have now AIDS. Then she described a village ceremony when an NGO came with great fanfare distributing condoms. “They threw me a whole box of them and I threw it right back at them. What do you think I’m going to do with these condoms?” In all our conversation, the only word I understood without a translator was “condom.”

Peace Corps Volunteers

2007-02-21T07:41:00.000-05:00

Erika and Josh

Sara in her Tabaski dress

The first time I gave a thought to this tiny country in Africa was when my college roommate from Pasadena, California had been accepted to Peace Corps in the Gambia. Twenty years later I’ve met old friends of my UCLA pal in this nation where everyone seems to be no more than 1-2 degrees of separation away. Currently in the Gambia there are 90 Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs – I don’t know what the official acronym is, but I’ll use this). We met three of them this weekend up-country.

In some ways, these recent college-grad volunteers were everything you’d think a PCV should be: “roughing it” without electricity or running water, learning the local culture and speaking the language (Mandinka or Fula or Jola or Wolof, depending on the location), developing close bonds with their host family or community, carrying out meaningful work for their local community, good-natured, wanting to make a difference in the world. The similarities pretty much stopped there, as each of the three possessed such a different background and perspective, making the persona of the PCV come much more alive through their diversity. It fascinated me that they each had different “favorite” things about their time in Africa, but all shared their biggest challenge: re-adjustment. What will life be like when they return home so changed, but the people around them have not changed, and really have no idea what they’ve been through?

ERIKA:
I was first in contact with Erika, as she works in the regional hospital that I needed to visit for a project I was looking into (more on that in a later post). She is a native of Northern Idaho and was a computer programmer for a municipal police department in Washington State. In the Gambia she developed a database for managing the large regional hospital’s caseload. She loves her “Gambian family” like her own family. She is a devout Catholic and they are Muslims, which gives her a whole different respect for the religion than she ever thought she could have. She hopes she can go home and dispel some of the myths that prevail in the US around Muslims. After a two year term, she’s down to her last month of service.

JOSH:
Josh graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in East Asian History and additional studies in Spanish – very useful for working in the West African bush, where he is an agro-forestry worker (?!). A girlfriend convinced him to go to Philadelphia with her after graduation, where they broke up a week later. In his nonchalant way, he explained how this was the best thing that happened to him. He started working for Americorps in North Philly with Habitat for Humanity, and the Peace Corps position came through. He accepted to go to the Gambia, though he didn’t know anything about the country, other than its location. He now lives less than half a mile from the Senegalese Casamance border, where there has been a civil war for many years. Josh reassures: “but if they didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t even know there was a border there, let alone a civil war.” During his brief Peace Corps training period Josh learned skills he’s trying out in his village, from making soap out of local ingredients (but the marketing was not successful) to beekeeping (still going), introducing soy beans (a failure: the variety would work well in Ohio, but not in this climate), and most recently, on reforestation for the timber industry and on cultivating orchards of mango, cashew and avocado (this seems to be going well). He wants to pursue these areas when he returns to the US and applies to grad schools.

SARA:
Sara comes to Africa from Appalachian Kentucky, near the Tennessee border. She was a Robinson Scholar, receiving a full-ride to the University of Kentucky and is the first person in her family to attend university. Both of her parents are truck drivers. Sara says “My mom is my best friend.” Her family encouraged her to stick it out in rural Africa: “After a few months I thought maybe I should go back home, but my family really helped me to stay. My mom and sister write me letters every week and support me so much.” Sara teaches computers and helps in the library at the rural elementary, middle and upper schools: “Since there is no electricity most of the time, I find other ways to be useful; that’s how the library work started.” She had just returned from a two-week vacation in Mauritania, where she “hung out in the desert and ate camel meat and just talked to local people. Even meeting the Europeans was a highlight of my trip, as we don’t see many of them where I come from, either.” When we met her, she arrived wearing a bright locally made dress: “all the women in my village got these made to match for Tabaski [a major celebratory Islamic holiday]; today when I walked out of my hut my “sister-in-law” was also wearing hers.”

Up-Country Weekend

2007-02-20T07:50:00.000-05:00

New friends up-country

Sophia awaits lunch preparation by Mrs. Jallo

Late last night we returned from spending two days away. Just 2.5 hours away by car, half the route was paved and the other half was a bumpy and dusty and being-built road (which really isn’t that bad: the driver needs to pay careful attention to the potholes and construction detours and the conversation is either curtailed because of all the energy it takes to talk over the noise of the rocky road, or we simply need to talk louder!). In some ways it felt like another world, in others, we jumped right in to the routine and felt at home.

We knew we were heading to rustic conditions, similar to camping, and we were fortunate to have a roof over our heads, mattresses to lay on, and places to hang the mosquito nets. We decided to forego taking city food and eat whatever the locals ate. We did, however, take plates and cups, as the local custom is for everyone to eat from one big bowl or drink from one cup. We had a busy program with the kids. We were taking workbooks for a literacy and moral education program to a group of middle-school aged girls from the village. They were the children of friends of friends; so, when we arrived, they were waiting for us and eager to begin the class.

The family at the center we visited prepared wonderful meals for us both days. This was a big splurge for them, as the meal, a typical Gambian favorite dish, called “benechin” included fish, vegetables and rice, cooked slowly together over a fire. The family’s meal might have been plain rice and salt on a typical day. This was like a feast for them. We have eaten benechin (and domoda the second day, which is a peanut-sauce stew, another Gambian specialty) many times since our arrival and like it. My girls, however, aren’t used to seeing little whole fish in the pot -- eyes, bones and all (benechin can be made with any kind of fish or other meat). While Layla said she was “scared” of this fish and it was “the boniest fish I’ve ever seen in my life;” her cousin Amelia, who has grown up here, said “I couldn’t get enough; I even chomped on the bones.”

Even for our almost-Gambian cousin, this was a very different environment. But, overall, each of the girls really adapted to the environment. The first day was marked by probably the hottest weather we’ve ever encountered in our lives, where about five minutes outside in the mid-day sun and dry air was about anyone could take. So, we simply spent more time in the ample shade of the cashew trees, or indoors, which, even without a/c, was significantly cooler than outside. There was no ice or cold drinks, as there was no refrigerator on site (or any other electric powered appliances). On the second day our host got everyone baobab ices (the popsicles in the plastic baggies) which were doubly appreciated, and we drank lots of room-temperature bottled water. For showers, we had our choice of a bucket bath or using the disposable hospital wipes my sister-in-law packed for us “just in case.”

The girls chose the latter option, since termites had chewed through the door of the room in which they would bathe, and “no way” were they going to get undressed having another girl stand guard at the door. The latrines in a separate enclosure also took getting used to. As Amelia said, “we got lots of exercise; going to the bathroom was great for developing our leg muscles.”

Despite these minor adjustments, the girls really had a good, memorable time. Our hosts had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure our comfort, including outfitting one of the latrines with a toilet-like fitting, covering the windows of the cabin with new curtains, getting the solar-panels to pump water to the sink and to turn on a light bulb in the cabin where we were to sleep, and of course, making special food for us.

Before we arrived, the girls dreaded “being bored” in the village and wanted to stay at home as there were some parties of classmates this weekend. I was relieved to realize that once we set out for the trip, and especially, after meeting the other kids their age, my girls no longer used the B-word (boring) and took things with a good sense of humor. So soon after arriving they made friends with the local girls and also felt useful with the class. They realized that the girls their age had a reading level closer to a second-grade level. Just a couple hours into their program with them, they began to see results: the local girls began picking up the pace of their reading and were able to answer more questions and engage in more discussion. By the end of the weekend, they were developing skits together and teaching each other songs. Friendships were developed which made it difficult to leave – we didn’t take off until over two hours later than we had planned.

Another very positive experience was meeting three Peace Corps volunteers posted in the vicinity. They set a great example of embracing life in the relatively primitive environment. More to come about them and a few other aspects of the weekend in the next post

Dancing to Youssou N'Dour

2007-02-20T07:49:00.000-05:00

Youssou N’Dour-In Style

2007-02-17T12:48:00.000-05:00

It is 3:45 a.m. as I write this and we’ve just come home from the Gala Night for the Gambian Independence Day celebration, featuring international icon and UNICEF cultural amabassador, Youssou N’Dour. We live just over a mile away from the venue and until a moment ago I could still hear the music blaring from the concert.

One of the platinum sponsors, a non-governmental healthcare organization, had two extra tickets that they offered to us and I was delighted to have the chance to hear Youssou in a more intimate concert. (This was a benefit for “Operation Save a Baby” and “Women Empowerment”.) We thought we wouldn’t go too early for the dinner and program, so we arrived close to 10 pm for what was advertised to start at 8 pm. Dinner was served close to midnight and was followed by a few warm-up bands, by the young woman who sings and raps the jingles for mobile phone operator, performing all their campaign commercials, then power point videos on large screens about the two big sponsors, the telephone company and the cell phone operator.

These were followed by a fashion show of two local designers, with 30-40 different dresses modeled by all shapes and sizes of gorgeous women. This was fitting with the setting. I have never seen such an array of styles, bling, and formalwear worn by both men and women. The women in particular were stunning. The range of hairstyles could fill a book, the gowns (90% were in long evening dresses and most of these were in the West African style) had so much pizzazz, and nothing was spared on accessories (including matching shoes and headdresses) or make-up. In comparison, with my black flouncy beaded silk blouse and black skirt, moderate heels and the fanciest jewelry I brought with me for the trip, I looked like such a plain Jane. But it was a smorgasbord for people-watching.

Finally, at 1:55 a.m. the headliner came on. I expected loud cheering, whistles, the usual build-up for a super-star, but it did not happen. I don’t think it was because the crowd was too sleepy. They just don’t do that. It seemed to be more like a homecoming. Youssou N’Dour is a Senegalese of the Wolof ethnic group. Wolof is the dominant local language spoken around Banjul, and while he has hits in French and other languages, the entire concert was in Wolof. About half the audience of about 1,200 people came to the front of the stage and danced and sang along, enjoying the pop-flavored traditional music and the large band in the background, playing instruments ranging from the traditional kora and African drums to the electrical guitar and keyboards.

Youssou N’dour’s music appeals to audiences across all ages, economic levels and ethnic backgrounds. He will give two more concerts this weekend for Independence Day, both filling the national stadium.

Now it’s past 4 a.m. and I must get up in about two hours as we are going up-country for the weekend…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Anthem

2007-02-16T08:18:00.000-05:00

This weekend is Independence Day weekend in the Gambia. It is the 42d year since Independence. Monday is a national holiday. We’re celebrating by going up-country with the kids, for a more rustic experience. I thought this would be a good opportunity to share the Gambian national anthem lyrics with you. If you Google it, you can also hear it sung. My favorite is when the 3-year olds in Sophia’s class begin their song medley with this:

For The Gambia, our homeland
We strive and work and pray,
That all may live in unity,
Freedom and peace each day.
Let justice guide our actions
Towards the common good,
And join our diverse peoples
To prove man's brotherhood.
We pledge our firm allegiance,
Our promise we renew;
Keep us, great God of nations,
To The Gambia ever true.

Healing Powers

2007-02-15T07:51:00.000-05:00

The woman I met in the Brikama market selling medicinal herbs and helping with healing

Selling traditional herbs for healing and health

Here in the Gambia, the idea of choosing what type of healthcare one wants takes on a totally new life. There are neighborhood clinics, diagnostic centers, one large hospital in the capital, several regional hospitals outside the urban area run by the government, and of course, traditional healers. The country’s President continues to make national and international news as he is shown healing AIDS and asthma patients using traditional herbs and faith.

I was fascinated during a trip to the regional market in Brikama to spend some time speaking with a woman who trades in traditional herbs. I found out that women’s work is to supply the herbs (women are the “gatherers,” after all) and sell it on the market. Men do the healing. This particular elderly woman, estimated to be around 70 years old (few people know their exact age) sometimes also takes on “man’s work” and gets into the practice of healing. To supplement the work of the herbs, most people, particularly children and new-borns, wear beads or bones or stones in the form of a necklace or belt, known as jou-jou’s to ward off evil spirits.

In the photo, the herbs she is sitting with in her area of the market are (in Mandinka language), from left to right:
* Konkutu-mandingo: used for chest problems (probably breathing, asthma issues). This, as with the others, is boiled in water and drunk like a tea. It tastes extremely bitter, so it is advisable to add sugar.
* Kinkiliba: for stomach and general body care as a preventive medicine.
* Jamba-Kataw: these big leaves are used for blood adjustment, which means those people with conditions like anemia (very frequent here) should take this.

There was no local consensus over whether or not these actually work, but the general opinion is that since the elders endorse it, the herbs should be taken. With all the advances in modern medicine and the introduction of various providers (often supported by outside donor or voluntary agencies), she doesn’t think this has adversely affected her business. People still buy the herbs at the same frequency they did years ago. Nonetheless, her income is miniscule. She earns 10-12 Dalassis per day, or 30 – 40 CENTS per day. With this sum, she buys rice and food to feed ten people in her compound. She explained that her husband died many years ago and so she supports the family (I could not ascertain if others in her family help out, but I suspect they do, at least to some extent).

Then, a few stalls away from her patch on the ground, we came upon a marabout, a traditional healer (and sometimes, a spiritual leader). This particular one did not command the level of respect that many village marabouts do. In fact many of the women selling groundnuts nearby treated him as if he were crazy, and wanted him to stay away from them. The man was demonstrating that he drinks BATTERY FLUID and various other toxic acids. As a result, his tongue is dyed completely black, he has few teeth remaining, and they also are black, and he had a wide-eyed look of someone high on something illegal (but I’m not sure what!). Our Gambian guide, the respected trader, tried to convince me the guy is the “real deal” with real powers, but ladies selling the groundnut seemed to have a good deal of logic and wisdom on their side. Most marabouts command considerable respect and carry an almost noble air. This one did not, and I was advised to not publish his photo, for fear of offending the more respected marabouts in communities all over the country.

The Great Baobab

2007-02-14T08:48:00.000-05:00

Harvesting the fruit of the great Baobab tree

The Baobab has shed its leaves in the dry season but it is still a favorit gathering place for friends.

Tasty Baobab fruit sold in the market

One of the most powerful symbols of the Gambian landscape is the majestic baobab tree. The massive tree lives for centuries and is believed by locals to have a spiritual power. The baobab looks like it stands upside-down, and has been replanted, as the branches resemble roots. To me, the actual roots look like a bulging, complex system of veins. Since it is the dry season now, the huge trees are devoid of leaves, but they have a unique fruit. The picture above shows a resourceful boy who has climbed to the top of a baobab to gather the velvety, brown, ripe pods. Yesterday I tried the baobab fruit for the first time in the market, where it is sold out of large barrels in rough pieces, with the pod taken off.
With a Gambian friend who owns a shop in a busy market and a wonderful American friend who introduced us, we simply picked off one of the loose white pieces from the barrel and popped it into our mouths. It tastes sour and a bit creamy, with a big pit in the center, and some say it's like a warm sherbet. I was stunned to find out that this is the source of tartaric acid (as in cream of tartar). As if the fruit weren't enough use from the tree, some of the trees contain water in their trunks which can be tapped during dry season, and the bark can be used to make rope. The baobab also provides a home to many of the country's famous array of birds.
Layla happened to try a baobab ice at school yesterday for the first time and really liked it. [These are like popsicles, but the frozen juice is simply sealed in a small (about the size of a small fist) plastic bag and they're carried around and sucked on.]

PS: Happy Valentine's Day! Here's something to ponder: "When you love, let it be with a ray of infinite love!" (from the Baha'i writings)

Books on my nightstand: I

2007-02-13T13:36:00.000-05:00

I’m about two-thirds through Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town, by Paul Theroux. It’s a thought-provoking travelogue by a prolific writer who’s put off returning to Africa for 30+ years, when he was a Peace Corps volunteer and then a university instructor in East Africa. As he sees it, the Africa he returns to is more cynical, disease-ridden, chaotic, tree-less, and barely hanging on, compared to what he remembers in the hope-filled days of new independence, but it still holds an almost mystical magic for him. His run-ins and observations of the do-gooders in the aid community are particularly interesting to me.

He is bitterly critical of those well-funded aid workers who keep their distance from what’s going on through their shiny white Land Rovers with signage of their international organizations blazoned on their sides. He points out that with so much money poured into African economies through various grandiose programs, why haven’t the Africans (in places like Malawi and Zambia) stepped in and taken matters into their own hands to sustain the projects? Where is the positive benefit from all these programs and funds? Would it be better in the long-term if they just leave? It seemed that almost every aid worker refused to give Mr. Theroux a ride in their comfortable vehicles – even when he most desperately needed it – so his disdain toward them and their detached form of charity only increases.

He records many social and cultural observations that resemble what we’re seeing, from the double-edged sword of the tourism industry to markets flooded with well-intentioned second-hand clothing that was meant as a donation to the needy but ended up in a trader’s hands, for sale in piles at local markets (this is the clothing he chose to wear on the trip to stay inconspicuous).

His reunions with old friends and colleagues from his time in Africa in the 1960’s, as well as with other sincere Africans he randomly meets, are the most heartening. These encounters are the most authentic, sometimes humorous, and also, tragic. They seem to tell the flip-side of the African story. The one where the hope lies.

WHAT?!

2007-02-12T08:16:00.000-05:00

This weekend I posted (actually, my dear husband posted for me, since low bandwidth in the Gambia makes it hard to upload info onto the internet) the photo of the billboard showing the soldier and the condom. It’s just before the “Dreamgirls” entry with the Bratz cake, in case you missed it, and is titled “Funded by the US Department of Defense”. The first time we saw that we said “what?!”, stopped, turned around and looked at it again. Imagine driving down Lancaster Ave or Roosevelt Blvd. (or…insert your most traveled street here) and seeing that as one of the most prominent (among very few) signs. It also shows how prevalent the issue of AIDS in Africa is, even in a country with a comparably lower incidence of the disease. What was your reaction to this sign and the US Department of Defense funding of it?

Here in local news, every night we watch the President curing AIDS and asthma patients with secret herbs and the Quran. This is making international news. I’ll share more on that tomorrow...

"Dreamgirls"

2007-02-10T11:48:00.000-05:00

Not So Far From Home:

Besides a dial-up internet connection, and 24-hour news on CNN and Al-Jazeera, there are so many ways to remind us of our connected world here. Last night we watched the movie “Dreamgirls,” via a good-quality pirated DVD – the only possible way to see new movies in this part of the world. Purchasing the movie cost just under $5.

Today, my sis-in-law Sherry is busy working on a flurry of cake orders. She holds a B.S. from the University of Virginia and went to dental school at the University of Maryland. After having children she discovered her talent at making cakes – hence, her home-based Sweet Tooth Bakery. Since yesterday she finished nine cakes. Many of them are requests for characters ranging from Snow White to Kim Possible and the Power Rangers. The most popular, by far, is the BRATZ cake.

Bratz now outsell Barbie worldwide, and come complete with bedroom eyes and whory outfits. Their motto is: “We have a passion for fashion.” So, every little girl who can afford it in the Gambia, wants a Bratz cake for her birthday. This particular cake she just finished is for a Lebanese girl whose parents are strict Muslims and whose mother is covered from head to foot, but her daughter “wants nothing but the blond Bratz character for her birthday!”

Funded by the US Department of Defense

2007-02-10T11:36:00.000-05:00

"The soldier protects the nation and the condom protects the soldier." Funded by the US Department of Defense. A sign outside a Gambian military compound.

“Crowds of Pupils But Little Else in African Schools”

2007-02-09T07:56:00.000-05:00

A 12/30/06 NY Times article “Crowds of Pupils But Little Else in African Schools” by Sharon LeFraniere – in spite of the article’s title – offers hope about the state of schools in Sub-Saharan Africa. Though she’s reporting from Mali, the piece closely describes what we see in the neighborhood public school. Enrollments are way up and kids who had to leave school are coming back. Families place importance on their children’s education. Governments and international agencies have returned to recognizing the need for greater attention to primary schools, after a decade-plus of neglecting them. At the same time, there are few if any teaching resources; what seems like a miniscule amount ($1 per month or term) remains an out of reach fee for many families (in countries like the Gambia and many others, there is a small school fee, even for a government school); teachers are paid next to nothing; the school no longer has funds to offer meals or transportation, so children are left hungry and tired while in class; and many kids in advanced grades still cannot read. With the fastest growing segment of the population under-15 (and the fastest population growth rate in the world), the challenges of providing adequate primary education will only grow.

Islam’s Influence on the School

2007-02-08T07:24:00.000-05:00

First grade girls in scarves

Prime location for afternoon prayer

Assembling for an afternoon prayer

One of the most important factors I saw influencing the very life of the school is Islam. As locals have told me, just two generations ago, Islam was observed in a more relaxed, more African form, and was not so ingrained in the everyday practices of the entire population. With large infusions of aid, construction of mosques at every turn, and religious education from good friends like Libya, Saudi Arabia, and increasingly, Iran, various brands of fanatic or fundamentalist Islam seem to be gaining momentum. I saw it everywhere in the neighborhood school, in very tangible ways.

More than half the girls in the first grade class were wearing head scarves. These are 6-8 year olds. Until recently, even in Arab countries the little girls did not cover themselves. This is the influence of fundamentalist clergy (the extreme case of this is Taliban policy) combined with social pressure. During class and break time little girls would awkwardly adjust their mis-fitting headscarves, even though some of them seemed to treat their scarves as a form of a dress-up costume.

When I was correcting the handwriting and mis-formed numbers, I noticed that so many of the children were writing “backwards,” from right to left. This is when I put my hand on theirs to show them how to properly form their words and numbers. Later, a respected educator told me that the preponderance of such errors is due to the intense training so many of the kids are getting at the Islamic schools, where pupils are copying the Quran (in Arabic, from right to left) – even if they don’t understand it. This training starts early and has a strong impact on the kids.

A third example of Islam’s influence was the odd half of an empty 50-lb burlap or plastic rice bag I saw so many of the children carrying with them to school. At the 1:45 break I realized what they were. The majority of the school population had assembled in the back dirt courtyard of the school, under the shade of a few large trees, for the communal prayer. The site of the hundreds of kids with those improvised prayer rugs, and joined at the front by the local imam who teaches Islamic studies (Quran memorization) at the school, both fascinated and shocked me. This is a public school, where church is supposed to be separated from state. But Quran lessons and communal prayer don’t seem to fall under that rule.

While the US is deploying its resources fighting a war on terror, cutting its international aid programs, and watching American Idol, Islam and the Middle Eastern regimes are focusing on the future battles and winning the hearts and minds of the youngest Africans.

African Public School Day 2 – No Experience Necessary

2007-02-07T07:41:00.000-05:00

Sixth grade class of George Sambou I worked with.

African Public School Day 2 – No Experience Necessary

We spent another day at the local public school and each of us had very different experiences.

Anisa, age 11:
Anisa started off more timidly when we first arrived at the school, so the teacher she was with had her continue to grade papers and take a more passive role. At the 11:30 break she was practically begging me to leave, but I thought she seemed fine, so I told her to stick it out. Before bedtime tonight I got a better picture of her urgency to leave. Throughout the day, the young teacher she was with continuously used a piece of plastic piping to hit children if they misbehaved, gave an incorrect answer, arrived late, spoke when they should have been quiet, or anything else deemed out of line. This was so difficult for her to sit by and watch, and now she doesn’t want to go back.

Layla, age 13:
Layla must have done a good job teaching yesterday, because again, she was shown the lessons at the start of each class and proceeded to teach them. When I peeked in to see how she was doing in the afternoon, the class was doing art. With no materials to work with, she was teaching them how to make a mural with the pieces of chalk given to her at the start of class and the kids were having great fun expressing themselves on the board. Earlier, she had them playing chalkboard races to reinforce the new lesson and review past math concepts – none of which seemed to have been adequately grasped by the kids.

Me:
I was asked by one of the more outgoing teachers if I would join his 6th grade class, ranging in age from 11-15 (see yesterday’s blog entry for explanation of wide age variation in a class). When I got there, I learned that his subjects were science and “population and family life.” I’m no good at explaining electromagnetism, so I took on family life, and had about 3 minutes to look at the United Nations teachers’ guide on the chapter about adolescence. I had no idea if culturally it was o.k. to talk about subjects like the many physical changes in a mixed group of boys and girls, or sex, or how much they would even understand my English. It turned out that nothing was taboo – perhaps a result of AIDS education campaigns over so many years.

After one of the skits the kids did to demonstrate their grasp of the topic, the issue of domestic violence came up. To my great surprise, 100% of all the sixth graders (about 150 kids) raised their hand when asked if they have ever seen their father beat their mother, or if they’ve ever seen a girl be hit or beaten by another boy or man. (It was later explained to me that in Islam, this practice is not forbidden.) So, I took it on as my duty to try to show how such men are actually weak men, not strong ones, and maybe they can’t change their parents’ generation, but they could start with themselves. A few of the more outspoken boys raised their hands perplexed: “How is it that a man who strikes a woman is weak?” After some discussion and with the help of the capable and enlightened young teacher, we made some good progress on this fundamental issue. Then, I took it to the level of nations: imagine if a large country like America (they never say U.S.) were to throw bombs on the Gambia. The Gambia is a small and peaceful country, growing its groundnuts and fruits, taking care of its family. If America threw bombs on this innocent country, would that show its strength? Would you admire it? Would it show intelligence? Of course not…

It felt good to see something click in so many of the kids today. I feel it’s necessary to challenge them on assumptions that perpetuate hurt in their society – and I don’t believe that practices that harm women can be justified as “cultural,” worth preserving. I wonder how much of the discussion actually will make a lasting impression on these kids, and on how they respect their own bodies, and each other.

African Public School Day 1 – Every Child Left Behind?

2007-02-06T08:37:00.000-05:00

Layla teaching her class; teacher is returning assignment books.

Anisa and her class. The man to her right is the teacher, Mr. Jatta.

Anisa grading assignments in her classroom.

I’ve come straight to the computer while the dust and heat are still fresh on my clothes. I want to be able to capture some of the colliding impressions from spending half the day at the local public school with my two older daughters. We’re tired and thirsty, but we’re also happy; this has been among the most meaningful few hours we’ve spent – ever. We had planned to stay about two hours helping in some way at the school about half a mile from the house, then head to the beach and relax, and possibly go back a couple hours another day this week. We ended up spending close to four hours and committing to coming back the next two days while Layla and Anisa don’t have classes, and forgot about the beach. They’ve even agreed to arrive tomorrow first thing in the morning – a big statement for my daughters who love to sleep in when they aren’t required to be at school. I can’t imagine they would have agreed to spend so many hours in a “service project” if they hadn’t experienced today first-hand.

The school could not have been more different from what they have seen in suburban US, or in their privileged African private school. No electricity, no toilets, no running water, no crayons, no pens, no extra anything, no well-packed backpacks, children in ill-fitting used shoes and dirty, worn-out uniforms. Not enough pencils to go around. Not enough food. Few children fluent in English, but the lessons are in English. Underpaid, overworked, tired teachers doing the best they know how. And this is one of the “better” public schools.

Originally, Layla, Anisa and I were going to take the Reading Stars program used by a wonderful organization, Greater Philadelphia Cares (www.gpcares.com) to tutor girls in literacy. But when we realized the materials have been donated only for Philadelphia schools and they are not only expensive to buy but also very bulky to ship, we decided we’d just arrive here and see where we could be useful. (This served as a good lesson in the use of appropriate technology and the limits of programs that work well in the US but might not be suitable elsewhere.) So, after a previous visit and tour to the public school in the Bijilo neighborhood/village where we live, today we walked in to the deputy director’s office and asked her to place us wherever we might be useful.

This was easy. Each class is packed with over 40 kids and one teacher, so it seemed everyone needed help. She placed us with some of her better teachers, and each of us went to a different classroom. Layla, 13, arrived in a class of 3rd graders, was shown the lesson about adding fractions and told “please teach this” while the teacher sat on the sidelines. So, on her first day, Layla – with no prior experience – taught math, reading and a science lesson until school let out at 1:45. Anisa, 11, served as a helper in another 3d grade class. It turned out that some of the kids were her age (many repeat grades, or miss so much school that they are years behind where they should be), but they all seemed so much younger, as they are physically much smaller, shyer and less advanced academically. So she corrected papers and worked with the kids who made errors on their math and writing lessons. For tomorrow, she’d like to offer suggestions about how the grammar unit could be better explained.

I helped a first grade teacher, Mrs. Bojang, who spent over two hours having kids copy a table she wrote on the board about counting by ten’s – if they had a pencil. There are no photocopied worksheets, so much time is spent copying into flimsy workbooks. The children sat patiently until their turn was called to come to the front of the room for her to write the blank table in their books to fill in. Without me there helping make more tables, it could have taken over two hours until they could even begin writing their lesson.

With the exception of about eight kids in the class, most seemed to have no idea what they were doing. They could not write verbatim the lesson on the blackboard in front of them. They seemed to make no connection between the assignment Mrs. Bojang had explained and the letters, symbols and numbers they were expected to write down. To one girl who made no progress on her work, the teacher yelled in her face: “you are a worthless girl. You never do your work.” And regarding several of the boys who seemed baffled, she just said “they don’t know anything. Their families are illiterate and they only come to school sometimes.” With so many children in the class, she needed to choose with which kids it was worth spending time on, and on a few, it seemed she needed to take out some frustration.

For each child that got about five minutes of individualized attention, the quality of their work changed dramatically. When it seemed they didn’t understand my English, I held my hand over their hand with the pencil to show them the correct way to write their letters and numbers. It was clear they were not used to such attention. Every kid in this school walks to school, some from as far as 3-4 miles away, and, as was explained to me, many are hungry during the school day. As early as age 4-5 (or younger) children are on their own at home, as the mothers leave early for work or market. The government used to provide two meals a day in the schools, but now, they say this is too expensive, so their kitchen is locked up and no more meals are given out at school. A sizable percentage of children are too hungry and tired to concentrate at school.

Within a very short time it was easy to spot so much talent and potential among these kids. But without the resources and support, do they have any chance of obtaining an adequate education, harnessing their talents, or – dare I even ask – competing in a global economy? A discussion Anisa and I had later today touched on being “born lucky.” Standing alongside these gems really forces us to think about this age-old question: why are some people born into nurturing homes and provided with great schools and a warm comfortable bed at night, and others can only dream about it?

Driving to My Heart’s Content

2007-02-05T11:41:00.000-05:00

Typical urban street scene in the Gambia

Like many of my US contemporaries, I’ve been driving since I was sixteen, with some hiatus in college. And now, with my own family, so much of our together time is spent in the car. Consequently, our vehicles are fully-loaded for family enjoyment: maximum number of cup holders, good music, snacks, a few New Yorkers stashed behind the driver’s seat for times I’m waiting in the car for someone; but I’ve refused all requests for a DVD player.

After about one month of not driving, this weekend I tried it here for the first time. I waited until after Alex left, so that I could look forward to something new, and with my 16-year old nephew to guide me, got behind the wheel of a 20+ year old, 2-door, Nissan Pathfinder 4WD, no power steering, stick shift, good A/C, poor radio, seat belts in the front seat, but not in the back, gas meter doesn’t work, and no cup holders. It’s a slice of heaven and freedom.

Another sign of my sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s generosity is making this car available for me and trusting me with it. They’ve updated the insurance. I pay for gas. (Without the gauge we just estimate how far we’ve gone and how much one tank of gas takes us). They’ve also prepped me on how to behave at frequent security checkpoints: act calm, be ready with i.d. and insurance card, know where the fire extinguisher is kept, and have a small amount of cash ready just in case someone seems irritable and would want to detain me.

The real reason I didn’t start driving right when I got here is that it scared me a little. Security checks are nothing compared with the frequent wanderers onto the road: goats, cows, children with their mothers or on their own, groups of pedestrians out for a stroll enjoying the newly-paved street or highway, bicycles, donkey carts, stalled cars, speeding cars driving on the wrong side of the road passing slow cars, bumpy unpaved paths off the main streets which make up the vast majority of roads in the country, and vans full of passengers loading and unloading people anywhere they need along the side of the road. The amount of activity one needs to look out for on the paved roads makes Manhattan driving feel like a country stroll. This is compounded by the fact that my car here is not as responsive as the late-model cars I’m used to driving in the US, nor are the other, mostly patched-up cars sharing the road. Also, many of the (few) traffic lights were installed just last year, so there is a very different driving culture here.

Driving in an African city presents a great opportunity to learn about local customs and economy: who goes out on Saturday night versus a Sunday morning; what do the donkeys pull; how many large trucks are on the road and what sort of commerce are they transporting; how busy are the street-side markets and how many children do women have alongside them. It’s also shown me that the people here are generally kind, forgiving, not cursing and I haven’t seen any incidences of road rage – just relax and let the goats pass.

Trankil Montessori School

2007-02-02T07:59:00.000-05:00

Sophia’s weekdays here (except for when daddy has been visiting – unfortunately he leaves today L) are structured around her pre-school schedule at the only Montessori program in the country. It’s located in the neighborhood of “Trankil” – spelled like this to reflect the French pronunciation of “tranquil” – in the school director’s impressive sunshine-yellow stucco home (on a dirt road). The first classroom has around twenty 5-10 year olds, with a couple of blond European children and the rest African; and the second classroom (on the other side of the house) is for the 3-4 year olds – Sophia’s age. All the children in this class are African, and two are of mixed Dutch-African and German-African descent. One little girl is South African.

Many spoke no English before coming to this school, and they all seem to get along swimmingly. At Sophia’s pre-school on Philadelphia’s Main Line, she is one of the few non-blonds in her class. Here she is the only “white” person in her class, and the beauty is that no one seems to notice or care.

This is known as the more structured pre-school in the country. Like all other school children in the Gambia, these pupils wear uniforms – sown by a local tailor, all uniforms are custom-made for each child. They arrive by 8 a.m. and dismiss at 2 p.m., everyday. They pack their lunches, which they eat at 11:30 and don’t have a snack before this. From 8-10:30 the little ones do traditional Montessori seat “work.” Afterwards, it’s songs and movement. Sophia enjoyed the fact that she knew all the songs (though some were slightly different, British and African versions) like “If You’re Happy and You Know It,” “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” and “Old MacDonald.” One totally new song for her, at the beginning of their long medley of about 12 songs, was the Gambian national anthem. It’s a wonderful song for any nation: about unity, justice, peace and diversity. I’ll get the words for another post. Also new was the recitation of today’s date: every child stands up and recites “Today is Thursday, the first of February, 2007” before they form a circle for songs.

While this is a school for relatively privileged children, it has no electricity. We sat observing in the classroom decorated with pictures of nature, musical notes, and children taped to the walls; and children sitting at little sets of locally-made wooden tables and chairs. During the quiet seat work time I thought that the lights were off in order to maintain the peaceful calm; but the dignified school director informed me that “no, we have no electricity here. When we need it, we use a generator.” So, during a sunny day, in a shady room, there is no need to turn on lights. This is perfectly normal; no one has a problem with this.

By 11 a.m. these adorable kids line up, shortest to tallest, to run outside. They are affectionate, with kids putting their arms around each other – especially looking out for the new girl, and picking hibiscus flowers for their teachers and classmates, some of which are for “baking birthday cakes” (a plastic bowl filled with sand, covered in the bright red flowers). While she was terrified at the thought of going to a school in this new environment, the adults and the children put her at ease and now she feels quite at home in her new school.

Convoy

2007-02-01T12:09:00.000-05:00

Heading home after spending a lovely day exploring an eco-tourism resort (more on that in an upcoming blog entry), the four of us – dusty and hot – in the back seat fall in and out of sleep. Suddenly, we are awakened from our half nap by shocking sirens – the first I’ve heard in the Gambia – and speeding cars. Ours quickly pulls to the side of the road; so do all the other “regular” cars on the street. From the distance I can make out two bodies perched over each car with a siren (about four of them); as they get closer, I see the men on the vehicles are carrying machine guns. Then, a brand-new, extra-large black Infiniti SUV approaches, followed by another Land Rover with sirens and armed guards, and this is followed by a black Hummer stretch-limo + pick-up bed in the back of the limo. Then, another armed car + siren; and a final black Hummer, and then a whole slew of speeding, sirened, cars with ominous-looking young, armed men over their rooftops, driving wildly on both sides of the road.

We’ve just witnessed the President’s convoy. Later in the evening I heard that people and livestock crossing the street, and others in cars that didn’t pull over quickly enough, have been killed by past convoys.

The massive armed convoy belies the fact that this is a tiny and peaceful country. One historic detail that might explain such an entourage: this President was a sergeant in the army and a bodyguard of the previous President, when he staged a successful coup to oust the head of state, in 1994. He was less than 30 years old at the time, and made the Guinness Book of World Records as the youngest head of state in the world. Others within the military ranks – as recently as last month – have tried to oust the current President.

Enjoying Ashoura

2007-01-31T12:39:00.000-05:00

The Tamba family with a few neighborhood children and the rooster offered as a gift

Sophia joining in the play with the makeshift bus made from an old fridge

Yesterday the Islamic New Year (Ashoura) was observed as a public holiday in the Gambia. While international news showed Shi'ih Muslims marking the days beating their skins raw in mourning for the martyrdom who they consider as Muhammad's successor, nearly 1400 years ago by the Sunnis, the Sunni's celebrate. Here, observers wore their best gowns and robes and visited friends. We also took advantage of the day off and set out to visit some of our family's long-time Gambian friends.

We started the day visiting Mr. Demba Tamba and family, whom I wrote about earlier in this blog. We stayed about an hour, discussing various things, among them the beautiful rooster in their yard – full-bodied, black, with turquoise feathers in its tail. As we were leaving the compound, his wife made an incredible gesture: she held the rooster by its feet and offered it to me! She said that she had been wanting to find us an adequate gift and now that she knew I liked this, they insisted that we take it. I held back a shriek when the rooster was thrust toward me, and once I re-gained composure, I was overwhelmed by their generosity. This family relies on the eggs, chicks, and even the use droppings for fertilizer for their daily existence. The closest analogy to our life would be to offer your new plasma-HD TV to a visitor. My brother-in-law explained in Wolof to Mrs. Tamba that we were very honored by her gift, but we would be out all day and couldn't keep the rooster, but perhaps we could take a picture of their family with the rooster?

Then we drove about 30 minutes from their village, through newly paved roads, bumpy sand paths, and alleys that become creeks and rapids during rainy season – all crowded with people enjoying the day off—to the Badjie family's. He is a school teacher and "only has four children." Sophia enjoyed playing with the 20+ kids from the neighborhood in their makeshift car/ship/truck/airplane. This was made of a discarded horizontal freezer shell, with wooden stools inside it for seats; at its front a hole had been made that fit a bamboo twig through it and that twig held a round plastic lid with a hole through its middle for the stick to create a steering wheel. When Sophia wanted to play with the kids first they all left their ship (they have probably never played with a non-African child), then, when they saw she was ok and wanted to play with them, they stormed back in and it was great fun.

Meanwhile, a visiting Swedish doctor, Charlotte, had contacted some mutual friends and wanted to meet the local Baha'is. So we picked her up from her hotel to have her join us for lunch at a simple and lovely fish restaurant on the beach – complete with hammocks between the tables and the beach and Peace Corps Volunteers a few yards off on the beach. Charlotte was volunteering for the week at a primary health center with a team of 30 Swedish physicians. Ironically, during lunch on the beach in the Gambia on an Islamic holiday, I learned more about Sweden than I have ever known in my life.

She happily joined us for one more home visit and then we stopped at our home to clean up a bit (especially Sophia, who seemed to have been rolling in the dust) before heading to our dinner invitation. We were the guests of a family that have lived in the Gambia since 1970; they grow their own vegetables, fruits, poultry, and even make their golden honey. It seemed that every variety of food was served to us – all fresh and home-made. They had invited a wonderful mix of Gambian and diverse American friends. For almost 40 years, their home has been a meeting place of peoples of all backgrounds and points of view.

New Minister of Parliament

2007-01-29T18:59:00.000-05:00

Last weekend before our (now) dear friends Marian and Allan (above, at right) returned home to England, one of their closest Gambian friends, Mr. Seikou Susso (left) came to visit. Accompanied by his secretary, Mr. Tamba Saho (third from left), he traveled about 220 miles, which took 20 hours on public transportation, including crossing three rivers and various security checkpoints from his home village in western Gambia. (Seated second from left is my brother-in-law Bozorg Tavangar.)

14 years ago when Marian and Allan first moved to the Gambia, they befriended a hard-working young man employed at their hotel – Seikou. Over the years Seikou assisted them in building a home and a life in their new country. And in turn, the couple helped mobilize support for an undersupplied and undersupported clinic in Seikou's home district which serves about 30,000 people. (About 80 percent of the clinic's patients have malaria.) The impetus of their support got Seiko involved in the public welfare of his village, through desperately needed healthcare and education initiatives.

Over the years since their friendship, Seikou channeled his new-found confidence, skills, know-how and connections in service to his village and district. With the government's decentralization of decision-making for village development, Seiko got involved in helping organize and register village development committees, women's groups, microenterprise projects and HIV workshops, among others. He eventually entered politics in the most interior district of the country, working his way up from a municipal counselor in his village. He continued to take on more responsibility with various issues and groups impacting local development, to get him where he is today.

He was distinguished in this election as the only unopposed candidate for Gambian Parliament outside of the President's own home district. (N.B: On Thursday, the President's party, of which Seiko also is a member, won 42 out of 46 seats.) This is Seiko's first term as a Minister of Parliament (MP). Now that Seiko is going to take on this important role, he must move his wife and children to Banjul. His wife is a prominent woman of their region in her own right: her father is the area chief and she is the deputy head of the area school.

Per local custom, people from his home area will be calling on him to personally assist them. With his limited government income he will be expected to respond to any and all constituent requests, from paying for medicines to assisting with fees for a wedding or burial. In its own way, this is the country's social security system: whoever has resources must share them with whoever needs them. This generous custom is like a double-edged sword. Some are discouraged from striving for personal wealth, as their motivation is cut when they think of the prospect of having to give so much of it away. And when there is a naming ceremony, death, marriage, birth or other festival, he also is expected to make the long trek home and offer additional contribution. But Seiko shrugs off what appears to a westerner as a burden: "as a politician, the people put you there, so I have a responsibility. Sometimes people even have to take out a debt in order to help out" he explained. And, as a junior MP, he has to "give out even more."

Asked about some of his biggest concerns and agenda items moving forward in his new role, Seiko responded: "How can I get access to international funding to support the needs of my village and my country?"

International donors form a major part of the Gambia's economic landscape and Seiko has seen the power of private assistance through Marian and Allan's contributions and mobilization of their friends back home. One elderly friend of theirs contributed ten pounds (just under $20) and this paid for malaria medication for 100 children.

(Currently I'm trying to find a good non-profit organization that could effectively manage donations from any interested US friends. If you'd like more information, email me and I can let you know what course of action can be taken.)

If the Gambia's House of Parliament is filled with individuals like Seiko, and if he can maintain his strong sense of responsibility for the well-being of his country, I think there is much to be hopeful about here.

Daddy’s Here!

2007-01-29T18:58:00.000-05:00

Oh joy of joys…Thanks to the miracles of internet fare competition, charter airlines catering to European tourists, and of course, the credit card, my dear husband has arrived in the Gambia. With about 24 hours notice (since the time we got the letter from school announcing the holiday was being moved to that very week) he scrambled to get work and home in order and searched dozens of competitive airfare websites to find a way to be with us while the girls are out of school. He managed to purchase boxes of pencils, crayons and other goodies for some of the schools we’re helping at, gifts for Gambian friends and even a printer for a long-time American friend here.

This has all come so fast -- I didn’t know until a few hours before he was leaving that he actually was able to find a palatable airfare -- but it is really wonderful to have our family back in tact. Sophia won’t leave his side and is singing most of the time again, and Layla and Anisa seem to bicker less. While he’s here everyone’s on vacation and we’re doing tourist-y things, like going to the beach more, visiting family friends, and checking out venues with cultural music performers and some eco-tourism facilities.

I have to remind myself to enjoy the moment and not think about the fact that he’s only here for one week, until Friday. The cup is half full…it’s all good…

Besides saying something about our own family dynamics, I think this sudden travel plan also shows that if you want to get to Africa, it’s possible. This “dark continent” doesn’t have to be so far away when we all live in One World.

Trouble Connecting

2007-01-26T10:41:00.000-05:00

(Note: I wrote this 48 hours ago, and we feel so much better – the sun is shining and our internet is back up; but it does give a glimpse into some ups-and-downs of staying in a new and very different place…)

It's been almost two weeks that we are in Africa and some of the frustrations of this very different life are affecting us. I tried unsuccessfully for about six hours to send a few emails, make a couple phone calls that were repeatedly disconnected, then ran out of credit on the mobile phone, and walked back and forth on the sandy path between the cottage and the laundry area to wash the sheets Sophia soiled last night (to her credit, her first accident since we left home).

Anisa is almost recovered from her sadness of last night, where she lamented the strange feeling of living behind a closed gate that opens into a world of "poor people" and eager young men insisting on shaking your hand then asking/demanding "[what is] you-a name, you-a country"; a school climate that's rougher than she's every seen in suburbia; the oddity of maids in the house – and the color line that goes with it; older sibling and cousins that exclude her; missing her school and especially, missing her daddy. These are all perceptions of an 11-year old. Her cousins are very nice to her and her school is as good as can be found. Some of the adjustment is to a British teaching style, versus an American – we're still figuring out what that actually means. And it really is a strange feeling to be taught all your life about racial equality and then come to Africa to see that there is a longer way to go than could ever have been imagined. And how much of it is cultural? Or economic? Or ethnic? Or education levels? Or… We're also trying to get our heads around the depth of poverty around us – and we might never be able to.

And Sophia is just love-sick for her daddy that is not yet with us. She cries for him on regular intervals, about four times per day. Layla, of all of us, seems fine – too fine. As I wrote to my mother, it seems Layla is Teflon and Anisa is Velcro.

Noone will get used to not having daddy here (although his brother is making Herculean efforts to making Sophia laugh, plays hide-and-seek with her and peels her an orange to fascinate her, with one thin, long, spiral piece of peel – a snake – she can play with), but the rest is all about adjustment to a very foreign place. My experience of living overseas is that no matter how wonderful the people you are with, it takes some time for it to feel like home, so there are inevitable ups and downs. The challenge is to find that place of contentment on the inside that ultimately leads to ease with what's on the outside. So, whether it's with the internet or with the people and the culture, we need to be more forgiving of ourselves and our environment, in order that we won't have so much…trouble connecting.

2 More Days Off

2007-01-24T08:02:00.000-05:00

It's mid-day on Wednesday and we have just learned that the country will most probably also close all offices on Monday and Tuesday to observe the Islamic New Year. Due to the Lunar calendar, no one knows until (what I consider) the last minute which days are holidays and which days are not. So, now, the surprise 5-day weekend will extend to one week!

Elections – We Get a Snow Day

2007-01-24T07:50:00.000-05:00

3 house staff in the morning

Mariama's dress reads:
"Jammeh for Stability. Jammeh for Presiden."

Last night on the 8 pm local news we found out that due to the Parliamentary elections that were most probably going to be on Thursday (and now we find, they are), public schools and offices will be closed on Wednesday (to prepare), Thursday (for the actual election) and Friday (for the results). The kids rejoiced like it was a snow day. And we adults are figuring out what to do for a warm 5-day weekend. It may not be safe to be out too much, as crowds of cheering supporters might storm the streets or police patrols might closely monitor whoever is out. Because of the unexpected days off, our private schools' winter/mid-term break also has been suddenly moved -- to this week and next week (now, the plans we were making for a week off in February had to be scrapped at a moment's notice).

Why three days off for a mid-term election? It turns out that citizens must travel to their home provinces to vote. Even though this is a small country, infrastructure difficulties call for many hours to travel a few hundred kilometers. More organized candidates provide transport by bus for their constituents to get home, but not all get this benefit.

Foreign embassy staff and some of the other international organizations' staff based here are busy preparing to serve as election monitors, to ensure as transparent a process as possible.
There are even festive dresses to come out for the elections, in celebration of the President or the political party. The attached picture of Mariama, the long-time, hard-working, kind, and cheerful maid at our home, shows her in a dress celebrating President Jammeh, which she has worn specially for these days. The next picture is of her with the rest of the house staff (Awa and Fatou), arriving to work in their beautiful gowns – an everyday occurrence.

In the garden of thy heart

2007-01-23T06:59:00.000-05:00

Flower Garden at the Sunday School

This was our second week going to Gambian Sunday school. The class we attended is held outside, under the shade of the mango trees (no fruit now, it's off-season). In Sophia's group there are about 20 children between the ages of 3-8. Layla and Anisa also joined a class of middle schoolers. An able and patient young man, Sylvester, teaches the younger children simultaneously in Wolof and English. He first checks them for cleanliness and reminds them of this important virtue multiple times; they sing various songs (mostly in English – I'm not sure if that is for our benefit or they always do this); then take turns sharing a prayer they have memorized. Today they were each given a precious piece of 8.5 x 11 inch white paper and they were to draw a picture of a garden. Afterward, he (and I, the de facto adult helper) would write the quotation the children were learning for each one of them at the top of the page: "In the garden of thy heart, plant naught but the rose of love." As the papers were being passed around, excitement grew, then each child got their own pencil, and turned around off their plastic resin chair to use the seat as their desk.

But Sylvester hadn't counted on the fact that these kids are a bit young to actually draw a garden and then color it in. So, we ended up drawing each individual child's garden as fast as we could, and all the kids waited patiently for their paper to be returned so they could color in their flowers. There were enough crayons for each of the kids to have about one in their possession at a time, and I didn't see anyone fighting over scarce crayons. As you'll see in the photo, they all colored in their pictures carefully – following in an obedient Gambian manner. Sophia's was very different from the rest – exerting her American independence, perhaps.

Once the lesson was completed, trays with colorful plastic mugs of sweet, milky tea were passed around along with bread and butter sandwiches. For some of these kids, this would be their first meal of the day, around noontime.

Something really amazing to Sophia was the fact that these children would go off, one at a time, and relieve themselves behind a nearby bush, or tree, or not really behind anything at all. Even the girls made it look easy. Of course, she wanted to do the same thing (she is 3), but doesn't quite know how to do this, so I had to run after her as she was pulling her pants down and trying to squat right next to the class as their crayons were being distributed. I draw the line at how "local" she can be. There are toilets nearby, and if she really wants to go natural, there is a wall that has begun to be built that she could go behind. In the end she decided that if she can't go next to the class, she could wait until later.

Despite the many differences that this brief experience between young children showed us, in the end, the experience with these kids was so positive and memorable, and above all, unifying. In some small way, a "rose of love" really was planted.

Dusty

2007-01-21T01:45:00.000-05:00

Dust-covered streets

Layla in the back of the Pajero. Notice the dust on the tire -- it had recently been changed.

This is the “dry and cool” season in the Gambia -- winter. Outside it’s at least 90 degrees at mid-day, very sunny, and dusty dry. In the morning when it’s time to go to school locals feel very cold with the temperature hovering around 75. My girls and I think that’s refreshing.

The Harmatan – the southerly wind that brings dust from the Sahara during dry season and creates a blanket effect – has begun. The heat penetrates but doesn’t escape. This used to take place in March-April, but this year it happened much earlier. As soon as the hot, humid weather ended, the Harmatan started, so it’s been a continuous hot weather pattern.

In practical terms, this means that we stay indoors at mid-day; our throats feel coated with dust after a few hours out (solved by water or hard candy); inside the house floors, furniture and knick-knacks quickly get coated in dust; clothes are coated in sand-dust when the kids come home from school (e.g., their white socks are red-brown when they arrive); walking paths and the tennis court are dust-covered; and all those flip-flops we brought to Africa have stayed in the suitcase. After a couple of hours running errands with Auntie Sherry and me, Sophia’s dress had a film of dirt on it. When I washed her hair last night, the water from rinsing the shampoo out was literally brown. A shower at the end of the day is more appreciated (and necessary) than it’s ever been.

With all this dust I can almost picture the desert gobbling up once-fertile lands as the earth continues to heat up. On the bright side, though, the mosquitoes – malaria carriers – don’t have much room to breed.

Refugees Everywhere

2007-01-19T14:06:00.000-05:00

Homa with Rosaline Idowu, UNHCR Regional Representative

On Wednesday I was sitting under the shade at a nice café across from the American Embassy with some time to wait for friends to pick me up. As I was looking around, I noticed a distinguished African woman at a nearby table.

I normally would not approach a lone diner, but something told me it was alright. And it was. I took four pages of notes and learned so much from Mrs. Roseline Idowu. She is the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) Regional Representative, based in Dakar, Senegal, originally from Nigeria. She oversees matters for tens of thousands of refugees from five nations in West Africa that have been going through various civil wars. While we in the US are just getting our heads around the crisis in Darfur, northeast Africa, for the past two decades this region has experienced civil wars in Liberia, Sierra Leone, Guinea Bissau, Togo, and in the Casamance region of Senegal.

The problems of refugees are staggering. No one knows how many there actually are, as many don’t make it to a UN camp (only those who register at a camp are counted among the statistics). At one point, as many as 150,000 individuals were being served at various camps throughout the region. Conflicts I have never heard of, like that between northern and southern Togo following the death of its President-for-Life 2.5 years ago generated 25,000 refugees fleeing to Benin in a short period, and this past August the low intensity conflict in Southern Senegal saw 5,000 seek refuge in the tiny Gambia.

The UN provides non-food items like blankets, mats, and cooking pots through its regional stockpile in Ghana, for this region. It arranges for medical facilities and for police to provide a measure of safety. Anywhere they have a presence they partner with local non-governmental organizations to provide on-the-ground assistance. She described their operation as: “We work like an accordion, according to the member states’ interests and demands.” So, they are responsive not only to the humanitarian pressures of horrific civil conflicts, but also to the agendas set forth by delegates in New York.

The life of the refugees is “dysfunctional” and “de-humanizing.” Family structures break-down when many people (women and men) sleep under a tent, when they have to stand in a line for rations to feed their families, fathers lose all authority, and no one knows when they’ll go back home or what they’ll return to. For women in particular – from traditional (often Muslim) societies operating with age-old rules of conduct – the threat of domestic and community violence grows, and they must suddenly take charge of all matters for their families. As Mrs. Idowu described “She’s suddenly swimming in the deep end.”

One benefit of traditional African society in the refugee equation is the fact that often times the same ethnic group lives across various national borders. For example, members of the Jola ethnic group live in Senegal, Guinea Bissua and the Gambia. If one can get away to other Jolas across the border, he will be treated like family, and those who already have little but live in relative peace will share whatever they have.

When asked about the biggest challenge she sees, Mrs. Idowu answered with little hesitation: “globalization.” Conflicts eventually end, but then what will young, idle people do? There are fewer jobs for them and then they become economic refugees, with no way to make a living. When they try to return to their post-conflict home, what do they return to? With no capital and devastated infrastructure, how can they make a living? Also, those that stayed behind to brave the circumstances do not welcome with open arms the returning refugees, adding to the challenges.

Just as it felt too overwhelming to bear, Mrs. Idoku shared the “bright light” of her work:

“When I see the results of our care and maintenance: young people acquire skills to go back and cope with life. Women gain safety and self-sufficiency. Children are able to go to school and with education they can do so much more…”

President cures patients

2007-01-18T07:43:00.000-05:00

(Top story this week in the Daily Observer (www.observer.gm) – Gambia’s official newspaper, with the largest circulation in the country. This was the main headline on Monday and on Tuesday this had a story plus two pages of pictures in the centerfold. This was also covered on TV news. All the text is verbatim from the newspaper; none of my opinions are included here. Jammeh is the President of the Gambia:)

“JAMMEH CURES PATIENTS AT RVTH”

“The curative power of the Holy Qur’an and traditional medicine were yesterday put to effect at the Accident and Emergency Unit and the Private Ward of the Royal Victoria Teaching Hospital (RVTH) by President Yahya Jammeh.

Jammeh combined both the spiritual power of curing and traditional medicine to alleviate the suffering at the emergency unit, as well as restore the health of patients in critical conditions. The process was so effective that patients responded to the healing techniques within a short span of time. His medicinal application was simply the Holy Qur’an combined with a few traditional herbs.

The curative power of the Gambian leader left many mesmerized and stunned, including his entourage, doctors, nurses, patients and other staff of RVTH. It was his second consecutive day at the hospital, after attending to the patients on Saturday.

[The President told journalists:]

“…I believe in two things. If somebody is sick and you cannot cure the person with the Holy Qur’an, the person is certainly going to die. And it would not take 24 hours. There is no disease in this world that you cannot cure using the Qur’an and some natural herbs that are existing either in the forest and/or at our homes.”

American Idol in the Gambia

2007-01-17T22:53:00.000-05:00

Today after school my girls and their cousins were thrilled to sit down at 5 pm and watch the premier of American Idol via Dubai TV carried on the Gambia satellite cable TV company. Lounging on the couch, the six of them were enjoying people making fools of themselves, singing off key and watching Simon cringe at them, when all of a sudden, the screen went blank. We had our electricity, but the satellite company that supplies the feed lost their electricity. So, until their generators went on, there was no TV, and that’s why there was no American Idol premier in the Gambia.

Visit to Mr. Demba Tambo

2007-01-16T22:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, just before sunset, with my brother-in-law Bozorg, and two British friends, Marion and Allen -- who lived in the Gambia for 6 years until 3 years ago -- we drove out into a village to visit Mr. Demba Tambo. Demba Tambo is known as a very honorable and respected man. He is a French teacher (he grew up on the border with Senegal) in a public school, as well as a farmer, active father, community leader, and member of the national governing body of the Baha’is of the Gambia. He owns a plot of land on which he farms sorghum and has built his home out of mud bricks, piece by piece, with his own hands. He has four children of his own and many neighboring children came to visit while we were there. Marion and Allen are sincere and close friends of Mr. Tambo’s and they showed each other the greatest mutual respect.

When we arrived – for Sophia’s first village visit – Marion instructed us to shake hands with everyone we saw…don’t worry about germs. So we all did -- even Sophia. This broke the ice for her with the other children. Marion had brought sweets for all and had the children (about 15, with the neighbors) line up to take their turn for one. Sophia was happy to line up too (for candy!), and was about the twelfth in the queue. For the ride home, it was pitch dark, the stars were out in full force, and the ride made us laugh like a bumpy roller coaster.

There were many things that struck me about Mr. Tambo. Among them:
* He was caring for the children while his wife was in town (shopping at the market or working, I’m not sure which).
* His standard of living is relatively good, with his own plot of land, but by our standards he lives in abject poverty: mud floors, thatched roof, no electricity, tattered clothing, a piece of corrugated tin on the side of the house to support it.
* His bearing showed great dignity. The only thing he asked of his friends from England was if they were able to get hold of the Virtues book he has been looking for, so he can proceed with his children’s moral education classes. He didn’t ask for anything for himself.

1st set of photos from Gambia

2007-01-15T10:38:00.000-05:00

1st day to school in Gambia with cousins

Sophia's new school friends

On campus with the new classmates

Teens getting snacks before school

Morning Sounds

2007-01-15T09:31:00.000-05:00

Before going to bed the first night here, Aunty Sherry told Sophia to expect to hear lots of different sounds at night and in the early morning, as she goes to sleep under her mosquito net (Sophia’s has pretty little flowers, from when her cousin Amelia slept in the little bed, so we call it the “princess net”). Here’s some of what we have heard:

Our (2) dogs bark every time any car approaches (behind a gate). The little dog barks the loudest. They also bark when the wind blows.
Nine cats in the back of the house;
Various birds;
Chickens;
Rooster;
Bats – sometimes loud and moaning;
Rats - though not so many;
Monkeys;
Pigs from outside the gate;
Discotheque down the street (the live music on Saturday night felt like it was coming from down the hall); and
Call to prayer from the mosque down the street.

Monday – First Day of School

2007-01-15T09:00:00.000-05:00

Sunday night was filled with anticipation: final try-on’s and fittings of the Marina International School uniforms, early showers, organizing backpacks, setting alarm clocks for 6:30 a.m. The uniform is nothing like I imagined – it’s much more cheerful. Boys and girls wear the same top: a blue and white tie-dyed shirt (like a Hawaiian summer shirt) with a white cotton Marina school logo patch sewn on the left chest, and for girls, a knee-length full-pleated royal blue skirt (boys wear blue pants). Everyone wears black, traditional school shoes and white socks.

We arrived just after 8 a.m. to meet the school director and get the girls settled. I was amused to find that the teen-agers would not walk in to school with their parents and they always ask their parents to drop them a bit farther from the entrance so they are not seen to be dropped off by mummy or daddy. One group of older students was hanging around across the street of the school (also not paved, made of sand, very dusty) at a food stand set up by local women living in the compound facing the school.

While this school is based on a Cambridge British curriculum, it is really a Gambian school (there is also an American school nearby). 90% of the students are Gambian-African and so are most of the staff. The school director is a lovely, gentle, petite woman of Caribbean-Chinese descent, who grew up in England and was a director of an international school in Germany prior to the Gambia. She exudes capability, but also warmth. The academic director is an exuberant and friendly British man, who was previously at an international school in Thailand. He was informal in his own version of a tie-dyed African shirt, but also conveyed his dedication to the school and the kids. Many staff are African. We met the honors French instructor, an African wearing a tailored three-piece suit. One physical education teacher is Danish, the other Gambian. Anisa’s “Form 1” (6^th grade) team leader is a warm and elegant Indian woman, wearing a striking pink and green sari; Mrs. Ansari immediately took Anisa to her classroom and made her feel at ease.

On our way out of the school and our initial meeting, I wanted to take a quick look around the grounds. I spotted both of my girls. Layla was walking with her cousin Amelia (they’ll be in the same class) and three other African girls, to buy a math instrument set from the school store. Anisa was in the distance in the sports fields, already changed for her p.e. class and starting a jog with her classmates. They purchase a snack at mid-day and come home for their lunch/supper, the big meal of the day, at 3 pm. I can’t wait to hear how the day went.

(Pictures forthcoming under separate file.)

The First 48 hours – What I Know

2007-01-15T08:59:00.000-05:00

Here’s some of what we’ve learned in the first 2 days in the

Gambia

It’s hotter than we thought it would be
The water (for drinking) is better than we thought it would be
It’s dustier than we thought it would be – it’s dry season and they’re not kidding. (And when it’s rainy season I’m told the whole place is inundated with water and moisture, with 100% humidity from July through late October.)
Most roads are not paved. So, paths that are driven on are made of sand or soft red dirt – I’m not sure of the difference.
Most women we have seen are strikingly beautiful and are dressed in traditional, long, brightly colored, multi-patterned West African dress and headscarf. These dresses look formal but they are worn through all manner of work, everyday.
Electricity service, gasoline and everything that isn’t grown here are more expensive than in US.
Electricity service is available only in limited locations. We’re in one of them.
Many “nice” houses and businesses are located where there is no electricity – just down the road from us. They generally get their power from generators run by gasoline (which is about 50% more expensive than what we pay in US).
While English is the official language, few local people actually speak fluent English, particularly the vast majority of laborers and unskilled workers.
The pressure to stay within traditional Muslim-African clan structure is intense. Young people who want to follow new ideas will lose all family support (and usually, food, shelter, work) if they dare to stray from this network.
White rice, all imported, is the staple food. It is eaten three meals per day, if it can be accessed.
There is lots of bird watching here. We saw an egret next to the pool yesterday.
It’s papaya season, not mango season.
When it is windy (or slightly breezy) we lose internet connection. Phone (land) lines are consistently down or scratchy.
I’ll keep adding to this list. It’s what I can think of for now.

Dilemma for a Saturday

2007-01-13T16:03:00.000-05:00

For our first full day in the Gambia, my brother-in-law and family are invited to a naming ceremony. This is an age-old tradition embedded in West Africa’s social fabric. No one tries to choose baby names during pregnancy, as this is considered very bad luck.

A double-edged honor is being bestowed on our family, as the baby is being named after my 16-year old nephew. He’s taking both his first and last name. While this implies a measure of respect to the family, it also comes with the expectation that the person whom the baby is named after will pay the child’s school fees, buy him new clothes for festivals, and even care for him whenever the family drops him off at their home. And, in this case, there is a moral dilemma. The father of the baby (I’ll call him Lamin, the most typical local name), a long-time friend of my brother-in-law’s, is a member of the Baha'i Faith, but this is the naming ceremony for the first baby of Lamin’s second wife. Taking a second wife violates Baha'i law, and also goes against one of the Faith’s central principles, the equality of women and men. At the same time, respect for cultural diversity is another important belief. So a fine line must be walked between standing up for principle and respecting local customs.

The act of taking a second wife is so engrained in traditional Gambian society, that it is something most families take pride in. As it was explained to me, the first wife is usually an arranged marriage and the second is usually someone the groom chooses for himself. With so many men taking as many as four wives, this practice has become integral to this region’s social and economic life: the wives represent labor at home, on the farm, and of course, they bear children. The more prosperous you are, the more wives you can “take.”

So, there is a very real dilemma for Saturday. Lamin’s family thinks they are giving an honor to my nephew by naming his child after him, but the hope was that he would know better than to take a second wife. On the other hand, this is a crucial part of the social system here. How can real, systemic change take place when such practices and inequalities perpetuate, even among those who embrace more progressive principles? We decided that the two more crucial members of the family will attend the ceremony and offer a gift that would benefit the child’s education. Sometimes, change needs to come slowly, through a relationship of trust and friendship.

Arrival in Banjul – Kids’ View

2007-01-13T15:35:00.000-05:00

The first thing the kids noticed as we began to descend was the bright shining sun and how suddenly hot it got – even in the plane. We arrived in late afternoon wearing several layers of shirts, jackets, and sweaters. The British charter flight was very strict about excess baggage, so we re-packed our bags, left some things behind at our wonderful cousins’ home in England, and wore our heaviest sneakers and multiple layers of clothing on the plane, with a light extra bag on board to discard them into.

Drummers, dancers, and colorful men on stilts were greeting the tourists before they boarded the hotel busses, but the girls were content to hear them over the fence by the car pick-up for the locals. Anyway, Sophia was a little afraid of the idea of masked men in stilts, but excited about the prospect of sitting in her uncles’ pick-up (inside the cab) without a car seat (it had been thrown in the back of the truck – it almost seemed silly to have brought it along).

The girls commented on the vegetation, but the two things that grabbed their attention most were the ubiquitous cell phone billboards lining the road from the airport, and the many people gathered in groups along the side of the road, conducting their business, but stopping to wave hello at our pick-up truck. “I’m so excited; everyone is waving and smiling to us…” This was a very good beginning.

Arrival in Banjul!

2007-01-13T15:15:00.000-05:00

Banjul airport as we stepped down from the plane

Iranian plane at the airport

Today we finally arrived in Africa. From the sky our approach to the West was greeted by unlimited stretches of undulating Sahara sands, and after we started the descent and hit the ground, we saw tall brown bush grass, red earth, palm trees, and… an airplane from the Islamic Republic of Iran.

My family is originally Iranian, and in my entire adult life I have never seen an Iranian airplane, due to the U.S. embargo on Iran since the 1979 Revolution. So it took me aback to have an image of Iran be the first man-made thing I saw upon hitting African soil. This drives home an important trend that remains unknown to most Americans outside of the intelligence community: the influence of countries like Iran and other “enemies” of America, all over Africa. They are making a big effort to win the “hearts and minds” campaign.

Coming home from the airport we saw a small amusement park under construction by the Libyan government's investment agency, and once at home, the TV was switched on to a fast-paced, high-gloss, 24-hour news channel – Al Jazeera in English, featuring the venerable British anchor, David Frost.

But this isn’t what my kids noticed. That’s in the next entry…

(Pictures forthcoming -- I'm having trouble uploading images due to the weaker connection to the internet -- but I'm lucky to have a connection in the home!!)

Conveniences I Already Miss

2007-01-11T09:56:00.000-05:00

In order to type and send the last post, I needed to brave the blustery British winter weather and come to the lovely neighborhood library in Henleaze, Bristol to use the internet. I got a one hour slot and am surrounded by middle aged people slowly checking their email. In the middle of this process, Anisa informs me that Sophia needs to go potty. "Well, fine, take her." "But there's no bathroom in the library," she answers.

So, we bundle up and go outside, cross the street to the Waitrose grocery store and find our way to the unisex loo in the back of the store. But, we're quickly back and now my internet session is up and there is a queue waiting for my spot at the computer!

En Route in UK: We Make the Headlines!!

2007-01-11T09:35:00.000-05:00

On Sunday night we set out for our big journey, with a stop for a few days in England. This allows us to visit with cousins, adjust to the time difference to hit the ground running in the Gambia, and to make one of the two times per week flights into Banjul (Tuesdays were booked, so we'll take Friday's flight). We were several hours delayed in Newark and no one at Continental would tell us why. Fortunately, my cousin called and told us the problem: the airport in Bristol had shut down to repair the tarmac. So, when our flight did finally arrive in Bristol, we were the FIRST FLIGHT on the newly repaired runway. This airport has never had such an emergency, so it was big news when the first flight dared to touch down on the questionable tarmac (it was being inspected for arrival as our flight circled overhead). The landing was fine; a non-event -- fortunately. But, the media loved the potential for disaster. Swarms of newscrews awaited us. Upon my exit from customs and baggage claim, a BBC Radio microphone was stuck in my face with a nice reporter asking: "weren't you afraid to be teh first flight to touch down after the emergency closing of the airport?" Fortunately, as a passenger with no access to media, I wasn't afraid at all and conveyed all the calm and enthusiasm I could muster after the trans-Atlantic flight with 3 kids and 4 hours of delay. Then, that evening our plane kept

One World, Many Africas

2007-01-05T11:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday my husband Alex asked me if I intended on anyone in Africa reading this blog. "Of course I do, why would you say that?" I replied. He pointed out that in my post about packing I clumped together all of Africa and labeled it "corrupt" when talking about the difficulty of sending packages by mail.

It bothers me when people summarize Africa as a monolith, and in my distance from the reality of Africa, I did the same thing. While I'm passionate about thinking of the world as one, I feel as strongly that cultural differences be appreciated, like the diverse flowers of a garden. The different colors, textures and scents that each one brings makes the whole more interesting.

The Gambia, where we're going, is the smallest country on the continent, with about 1.6 million people in the whole country, and just twice the size of the state of Delaware. The capital city, Banjul, has just about 35,000 people, and its metropolitan area has over 520,000. Despite (or maybe because of) its smallness, the Gambia is the fourth most densely populated country in Africa. It's a very safe place. The culture is colorful, proud and rich, and is known for its tolerance of diverse races and religions. To my knowledge, there are no animal safaris.

Many Philadelphians who hear about my trip ask me two well-meaning questions: 1)Am I looking forward to seeing all the wild animals? and, as of last week: 2) Will I see Oprah's leadership academy? This is pretty much like asking someone who is going to Sacramento if they look forward to commuting to work via New York City subway or if they worry about a New Orleans hurricane destroying their home. Actually, it's even less likely, as Africa is triple the size of the United States, and the continent is divided into 54 countries, with over 1,000 languages spoken. There are diverse types of food, clothing, music, homes, cities, natural resources, climates, economies, forms of government, and places where different features known as "African" are located. For example, the animals one sees on safari are generally located in Kenya and Tanzania (to the far east of Africa), or Botswana and South Africa (in the south). Oprah's wonderful leadership academy is in South Africa. I worked for one year in Nairobi, Kenya 17 years ago and visited the Gambia 15 years ago. At the time I was struck by the strong differences between these two countries.

To find the Gambia on the map, look for Senegal. This tiny country is bordered on three sides by French-speaking Senegal and on the fourth by the Atlantic Ocean. English-speaking Gambia is split in the middle by the river Gambia (which is why it's "THE Gambia" and not just "Gambia."), which runs the length of the country. Since the Gambia was a British Colony (until 1965), business and government are conducted in English, but if you leave these environments and go to the countryside, or even to many urban neighborhoods, conversations are conducted in local languages, like Wolof and Mandinka. Despite lower education levels, it is common for Africans from most countries to fluently speak 2-3 languages, and to know more about the US than we in the US know about them.

Within seconds, many facts about anywhere in Africa can be found through a simple Google search. In less than a week, when we're on the ground in the Gambia, I will try to fill in these facts with the sights, sounds, textures and scents from a little slice of Africa.

Busy Being Blessed

2007-01-04T00:02:00.000-05:00

In preparation for the trip, the past 48 hours have been nothing but surprises and delays: health insurance glitches, new car breakdown, long downtown meetings, unavoidable waits at the doctors' office; and good things, like a lovely Persian-German dinner party at my dear friend Maryam's home, which was so nice we didn't want to leave.

Another long-time and dear friend, Candyce, shared with me that when she tried to explain where her days go and why she is so busy all the time, she realized that she is "busy being blessed." Without being mindful of these blessings, we end up stressed, harried, maybe unhappy. So, when the meningitis vaccine took 2.5 hours of my day today instead of the 15 minutes it should have, I practiced deep breathing, hugged Sophia close, played with her in the waiting room, and remembered the wisdom Candyce passed along. Besides, everyone at Paoli Traveler's Health is just so nice...

"When there is love, nothing is too much trouble and there is always time." I try to live my life by this quote from the Baha'i Writings (www.bahai.org). I need to keep remembering this idea during these days of preparation, and especially, once we arrive in Africa -- where the pace of life will be so different from mine in the US.

Packing-phobia Part I: The Math

2007-01-02T23:38:00.000-05:00

Like most people I know, I dread packing -- especially for a long trip. For this longest-trip-I've-ever-taken-with-my-kids, I've been mentally packing for weeks, so that I can avoid a last-minute panic. It feels like everyone I know has told me to "make a list" -- except my kids, who refuse to make a list -- so that it won't be difficult to pack. But what am I supposed to include on my packing list? The obvious: pants, jeans, capris, skirts (for country visits and for city socializing), shorts, bathing suit, t-shirts, long-sleeves, etc., etc. I just need to actually do it. I like to make a big pile of everything I think I want to take and then see how it fits in the suitcase. I've been victim of packing too lightly for a trip and hating the amount of recycling the same black pants and t-shirt, and I've also over-compensated with an embarrassment of too-much-stuff on other trips.

This packing exercise is particularly tough, as we're spending a few days in England, which www.weather.co.uk says will be in the 40's and raining every day we're there. We'll be with family and friends, and will want to look "smart," as we won't be anonymous tourists. Then, once we arrive in the Gambia, the same British site shows high's deliciously around 88 degrees and lows at night around 63F. So, my primary packing is for summer weather. However, the Gambia is a predominantly Muslim country with a high incidence of malaria and any savvy traveler won't be wearing shorts all the time like a Carribbean vacation. On top of this, I'd like to take practical, versatile items that I rarely wear anymore, so I could give them to someone else when I leave.

This packing equation is complicated by airline baggage limits. Continental (our flight from Newark to UK) allows two bags each at a maximum of 50 lbs per bag. But "The Gambia Experience," our British tourist charter flight from Bristol to Banjul, allows 30 kg (about 66 lbs) per person - total.

Another complicator is that I have piles and piles of non-clothing items that need to be packed. For example, I offered to carry 50 copies of a junior youth (middle school) literacy and virtues teaching workbook called Breezes of Confirmation, prepared by the William Mmutle Masetlha Foundation in Zambia but printed in Florida (!). I'm taking a specific type of blankets as gifts for the four staff at my sister-in-law's home; three large Costco-sized bags of store-brand Starbucks coffee beans; two Costco-sized bags of chocolate chips; 1-months' supply of toiletries for the 4 of us (Alex can bring more when he visits); books for 4; and more...

Why not ship these items before we leave, you reasonably ask?? Well, this is part of the equation of going to Africa. Nothing is really that easy. Infrastructure is weak, the volume of commerce is low, corruption can come into play if a package looks valuable, and so shipping is expensive and you're lucky to get the package in a few weeks, IF it arrives. This is an example of how poor economies with little foreign investment remain that way, with difficult situations reinforcing themselves ... but I stray from my focus on packing my suitcase. This is what happens when I mentally pack.

More useful than a basic list, for me, as a former student of economics, this all comes together in an equation: corruption + struggling economic development + new airline security restrictions + people doing good work needing to get supplies to the right people + gifts + damp in the UK + tropical in the Gambia = what I pack in my suitcase in pounds, converted to kilograms.

And I still haven't put anything in my suitcase...

Discovery Channel VS. MTV

2006-12-31T11:42:00.000-05:00

As we are in the throes of deciding what to pack for our trimester in Africa, my 13-year old daughter and I have been having an almost daily conversation which boils down to: "Mom, we're not going to the Africa you see on the Discovery Channel; why do you want to pack THAT?!" Layla's daily instant messaging conversations with her cousin Amelia are more about the social scene to expect at the International School and the "Fajara Club" (I think it's a country club), while I'm envisioning going out to the villages or the poor urban neighborhoods to do tutoring, or other service projects -- like I did as an idealistic college student in the 1980's. I've found a website called www.bitesandstings.com and ordered heavy-duty anti-mosquito "Permethrin" for spraying on clothing, drinking water tablets for when we're parched and out in the bush, sting-eze, and controlled-release all-day sunblock. I'm packing clothing that will wash and wear well and that we'll give away at the end of our stay. Layla (and her 11-year old sister, Anisa, who is just as -- or more -- fashion-conscious) plans to take her Abercrombie- American Eagle wardrobe.

I think they need closed-toe shoes that wear well in the omni-present, thick, red dirt that I remember from 15 years ago, and they want to take their super lightweight (and expensive) Pumas and summer essentials, flip-flops. I'm worried that parasites on the ground can get into their feet, and they insist that Amelia's I.M.'s indicate this is not an issue. Again, "we're not going to Disovery Channel Africa!"

At the core of these debates is a feeling I am desperately trying to fight; which goes against my grain as an "internationalist:" WORRY about exposing my children to the unknown in a developing -- poor -- country. My core belief is in the Oneness of Humanity and in adapting to our surroundings. At the same time, my first instinct is to protect my children. So, I'm aiming for a happy medium in packing our suitcases, more like The Learning Channel meets Comedy Central...

Because We Can!

2006-12-21T11:08:00.000-05:00

The word is out. We made the decision. We talked to our school administrators and teachers. We cleared our calendars. We bought the tickets. We got the Visa's (a $500 surprise expense). We've been vaccinated (about $1,000 surprise expense). We are going to The Gambia. We are going to be out of the country for a full three months. We're going to experience life and school and service in a totally new environment.

This decision started off as a two-week vacation we have been wanting to take for a very long time. Our close family (my husband's brother Bozorg, his wife Sherry and their three children, ages 12, 14, 16 -- around the ages of our older daughters) have been living in this tiny nation on the West African coast for many years. Alex and I visited them 15 years ago, before we had kids. Given our family in the country -- whom we are all very close to -- and our interest in getting more out of the trip than simply tourism, we thought about staying for a month to experience life there. Then, Bozorg said, "why don't you stay for a full term of school, enroll the girls, and really see what it's like here?!" It took me about 90 seconds of deep internal deliberation before I said "O.K.!" Of course, much preparation has followed; but it feels like we are doing the right thing -- it's actually all coming together.

My 11-year old daughter said that some of the kids in her school look at her funny and ask "WHY are you going to Africa?" Or, as one flabbergasted kid mimicked comedian Dave Chapelle, “Africa, Africa?” I think the most straight-forward reason we're going is ... because we can. And the most complicated thing we'll do there is just ..."BE." This blog will chronicle our adventures of going and being and hopefully, doing, in an environment that is so different from the only community that my children have ever known -- in Philadelphia's privileged Main Line suburbs.

We leave on January 7, spend a few days with cousins in England, and then arrive at the Banjul-Yundum International Airport on January 12. Over the next few days we'll be getting ready, waiting for on-line orders ranging from Nike Air Force 1 sneakers (for nephew #1) to books for tutoring to sting repellant to arrive, visiting with family from around the US, and getting a few more vaccinations and supplies.

I have been thinking hard about the idea of raising children who feel at home in the world and grow up with a global perspective since I returned from a business trip to China four years ago. This sabbatical -- as I call it -- to Africa will give us a chance to test some of my ideas on world citizenship and open up the world for us and for anyone who wishes to join us on this adventure by reading along.