Meaning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.