Traveling is always an adventure. Here is a fun example.

Clervi, Tavi and I caught a set plus to Kombo. We were the last 3 passengers, so we got the very back seat. (We had already stayed up very late the night before, having a lot of fun, and it was very early.)

Immediately, one of the other passengers made friends with Clervi, and gave him a new name. Clervi was now Pateh, the same as his new friend (interesting coincidence?).

We could tell this would be a good trip. After waiting 2 hours for the Janjanbureh ferry (the one we have to pull ourselves across on) we continued down the North Bank Highway and Pateh (the Gambian) wanted to get to know us.

‘Where are you from Pateh (Clervi)?

‘I’m from Texas.’

‘Oh, Texas, that’s a nice place. What about you?’

‘I’m from Colorado.’

‘North Carolina?’

‘No, Co-lo-ra-do.’

‘Oh, Carolina. Very good.’

(sigh) ‘Yes, Carolina.’

‘And you?’

‘New York.’ (Tavi is really from Vermont, but she wisely decided that NY was close enough.)

‘Ah, the capital city!’

‘Uh, yeah, the capital city.’

‘And where are you from in the Gambia?’

‘I live in Kombo.’

Now Pateh was really excited- ‘Oh, a Capital Woman! You are from both capitals!’

Yes, Tavi is from both capitals. The capital of America and the Gambia.

Pateh was a good pal to have, better than someone being rude. And really, I bet a lot of Americans think New York is the capital of the US. And Colorado and Carolina sound really similar. There is a substantial population of Gambians in NC. So it really makes sense.

Sadly our relationship ended when we saw a Peace Corps car on the road in front of us. We called to find out who it was and Peter stopped to pick us up from the set plus. Free ride to the ferry! Woot. (Only 10 more miles…)

And that was my latest journey to Kombo.

The thing about living in a mud hut is...

I actually live in a termite mound that is shaped like a hut.
I finally got the insecticide from the damage done to my house discovered around October (see October blogs) and we are going to plaster the hut with cement. (Something that should have been done in the first place and would have prevented this whole mess.)
Before putting on the cement plaster I had to remove the mud plaster.
That’s when I discovered the termite holes.
The first one I jokingly referred to as a new window. They got subsequently less funny after that. It was very demoralizing to see what poor conditions I live in, and to realize how powerless I am against nature.
As I removed mud plaster, Jamboye started on the cement plaster. He did a good sized section that day, and I think it will make a big difference to the house. I know I’ll feel a lot better when the work is done.
Unfortunately I had to travel into the city while they’re doing most of the work, so inevitably something will go wrong. Maybe the cement will get stolen, maybe they’ll decide not to finish the work, or plaster over the mud plaster instead of remove it first, or my house will get broken into and all my things will disappear. BUT, I hope none of those things will happen and instead I will return to a correctly plastered house and we can continue the work on the inside, kill the termites and fix my roof before the rains so I don’t start living in a swamp instead of a termite mound.

Hippo Watch 2010

Sunny invited Tara and me down to her site to look at hippos on the river.

We hung out by the river side all morning, and finally! One hippo came cruising down the river. We saw it surface and then go back under.

We scrambled for our cameras and waited for it to come up again. I didn’t get any sweet pics of the hippo because I only saw its ears and nose as it came up for air. The second time it came up it was way past us. It was going at a pretty fast clip! So I have now seen a wild hippo. Hippo Watch 2010 was a great success. Thanks Sunny!

We also saw our couterpart, Lamin, on his fishing boat.

And we saw Commerce On The River Gambia.

A tugboat came by towing (count ‘em) 12 barges of groundnuts! 12! From Basse to Banjul!

It was an amazing sight. When the tugboat went by we all made the international ‘toot your horn’ sign and even got some old women passing by to join in.

We were all thrilled when they obliged.

Henna!

Tara and I got traditional henna done on our feet and hands. Tara wanted it for her trip home to America. The henna is applied like cake frosting- squeezed from a bag. Fatou, the woman who did it made up the designs as she went. You wait about 20 min for the henna to dry and then wash off the excess, leaving the cool designs. It can last for a week to 10 days. Women also do solid black henna on their feet, or make negative space designs with tape.

The process leading up to the henna was a bit comical. Tara and I showed up in a compound her host family told us about. We greeted and looked around for the henna lady. She said she would do the henna, but needed to feed the kids’ breakfast and get the materials. While we waited for her we sat in their house. They have a satellite and French news was on. So we sat while women ate breakfast and watched French news. Then Tara drank Nescafe made with tea. The coffee tea mixture was interesting. Finally Fatou was ready and we did the henna and left.

Denano Part 2

The next day Chinese returned (we notified him that he had a new baby) and a parade of well-wishers came in to greet the newest addition to the Keita family. Mom and baby were fine, resting in the house.

It is Islamic custom to wait 7 days to name the baby. Until then it is called ‘baby girl’ (or baby boy if it’s a boy…). The mother should also do no work for those seven days. She should take the time to rest and be with the baby.

Because I am a stranger (guest) in the compound, Chinese ‘gave’ the baby to be, and the honor of giving her a name. (This an area of culturally treading lightly- walking the line between my culture and theirs, trying to honor their traditions fully without making promises I can’t keep or taking on responsibility I’m not capable of taking on.)

With help from Peace Corps Language and Culture Facilitator Adam (my tooma or namesake) I suggested to Chinese the name Asi. It’s like my name (Ashley) but it’s a Gambian name and Gambians can say it correctly (unlike my name…).

 

What does Chinese say? ‘Oh, Asi is good. You know, Asi and Sira are the same, and Sira is the name of my sister and of Fatou’s uncles wife. Sira is a good name.’ So the baby’s name is Sira. And I think all sides of the family are fine with it. But people still say the baby is my tooma (namesake).

The week after she was born, Sira was named in a ceremony called naambo. The elders came early in the morning and prayed over the baby, blessing her. Then the griot proclaimed her name and more prayers were said. It was the first time since the hospital that she left the house. The women put her on Fatou’s back for the first time.

The whole experience was crazy and overwhelming. It was certainly unexpected, but that’s par for the course here. So far, mom and baby are doing well. Fatou is back to work, but her sister came to stay with us for a while and help out around the compound with cooking and the labor.