Motorcycle!

My husband likes to find something (a branch, a bucket, a bicycle tire, a box) to sit on and pretend is a motorcycle. Recently he has been riding to Camara Kunda, but sometimes he still goes to the market.

Saliou: Binta! I’m going to the market!
Me: You’re going to the market?
Saliou: Yes. I’ll buy cigarettes.
Me: I don’t want cigarettes. Buy me sugar.
Saliou: Okay, I will buy sugar. He returns with an empty, crushed, dirty orange soda can.
“Here, sugar.”
Later he brings me an empty box, a former motorcycle but now, “Vegetables.”

"Men...70% are all stupid nowadays."

Two science teachers, one male, one female, were debating whether intelligence is inherited from the mother or the father. Because I thought they were joking, I said, "The mother, of course."

But they weren't joking. The discussion began including talk of chromosomes and recessive traits.
 "If the child is stupid, does that make it the fault of the mother?"
"Yes, it would be due to the mother, but remember there are some genes that remain hidden. The mother could be carrying the genes even though she would not express the trait."

Surprisingly, it was the male teacher who concluded the debate with the statement, "Men...70% are all stupid nowadays."

"Bring the rope to America."

The people sitting outside the hospital called me over.

“Come.”

I crossed the street.

“You did not greet us.”
“I didn’t see you. Good afternoon.”
“You didn’t see us?”
“I didn’t see you. How is the afternoon?”
“Peace only.”
“How are you?”
“Peace only.”
“How is the work?”
“Every day you walk by and don’t greet us.”
“Sorry.”
“Where were you going?”
“The bitik there. I want to buy soap. But the bitik owner is not there.”
“Basiru went to the mosque, he will be back soon.”
“Oh right, it’s Friday.”
“People say that Adama Njie would always greet people but Binta will not greet.”
“Mm.”
“Sit. Wait for Basiru to return. He will not be long.”
“Okay.”

I take a seat next to them out of guilt rather than any actual desire to spend time with strangers. The greetings continue.

“How is your husband?”
“Peace only.”
“Who is your husband?”
“Mamasaliou Sowe.”
“When are you going to America?”
“In four months.” [note: this story is from a couple of months back]
“If you go to America, will you take your husband?”
“No.”
“No?!”
“If I go to America, before I leave, we will divorce.”
“You’ll divorce?!”
“He is Mamasaliou, Sinni’s son. He only has three years.”
“But you can wait until he is older,” one of the men replied.
“Bring the rope to America,” the woman implored, “Have you had a marriage ceremony?”
“No.”

That seemed to make things better, and the topic of conversation changed to America.

Fisal!

My new favorite Pulaar word is “fisal.” It is a word I have heard people use since I arrived, but I only recently learned the meaning. Its definition is: “the act of forgetting something because you were distracted thinking about food.” For example, if you visit a friend’s house and eat a good dinner but then go home and forget your jacket-- “a wadi fisal,” you’ve done a “fisal.”

“Is it only used about food?” we asked.
“Well…yes.”

Pounding!

There is, unfortunately, no story to accompany these photos. And there are also only two photos. Oh well. The buckets are filled with pounded millet; the next day they cooked buckets-worth of panketos for a naming ceremony.

Dogs, cats, and witchcraft.

Remember how dogs have super-powers? The ones that can be yours too, if you transfer some of their eye gunk into your own eyes? Another teacher has provided more details; reassuringly, he prefaced numerous sentences with "they believe..."

If a "witchcraft" enters the compound looking for someone, it will ask the dog where that person is. And the dog will shake its hairs and tell the witchcraft, "Okay, but first you must count all of the hairs." But when the witchcraft is almost finished counting, the dog will shake again so the witchcraft must start counting from the beginning. And the dog will continue doing this so the witchcraft is never able to get the person.

But if the witchcraft enters the compound and meets a cat, the cat will say, "Okay, just give me the head."

"And that is why I would like a dog instead of a cat."

Kantaly (again, but there's always a reason to revisit your favorite people)

Even though that wind-up monkey remains in my possession, everyone (including me) is amazed that it still functions.

Fatou Sowe with new baby Khadijatou. But unofficially she's "Binta Jallow." :)

The little girl in orange liked to run away from me in fright, but I finally convinced her to shake my hand. Then I didn't return to Kantaly for several weeks. When I finally made it back, I discovered she'd forgotten she wasn't afraid of me.

The plastic washbasin is filled with peanuts we were shelling.

Fatou Sowe takes a picture! I'm the one wearing that Swiss-roll asobi I learned to love.

I don't know most of these girls; Isatou is on the far right.

Debate: Science and technology has done more harm than good for society.

 For the motion:

• "so-called scientists" discovered mass weapons of destruction..."atomic bomb, etcetera"
• mobile phones, supposed to "bring people closer," actually "destroy marriages" 
• motorbikes, motor cars, and factories destroy the ozone layer, which contributes to global warming
• motorcars, motorbikes, and airplanes have caused the death of many lives
• "many people lost their lives in Iran, Liberia, etcetera;" "the victims are the youths who are the cream of society"
•  "science helps to terminate urban [or possibly I misheard and he said "unborn"] lives through abortion;" "many women now refuse to pregnate" 
• students no longer interested in studies; instead they are interested in football, mobiles and television
• the discovery of materials like cars, medicines, drugs, gold, silver and crude oil led to killing of innocent lives in Sierra Leone, Kuwait, Zimbabwe, Nigeria
• caused a lack of stability in the trading system
• "caused lots of orphans during war"
• car accidents and drug abuse
• "Internet mobile phones promote prostitution with pornographic sex industry" 
• The internet leads to political instability "like the war between America and Somalia"
• in countries like America students are going to school and killing without reason; in countries like those in Africa people are killing for money 
• "As we all know, science and technology is used only for destruction"
• "Let’s all fight against [science and technology] to eliminate it from our society"

Against the motion("which I stand with my AK-47 and say a big no to"):

• "This is not a debatable topic because a fact is a fact"  
• "Gone are the days when people travel long distances to communicate," "now we can lie in bed to communicate via phone or internet" 
• planes and ships mean we no longer need to transport things by foot. Transportation "used to take weeks, even months, now minutes or seconds" 
• we understand our body systems, "we understand what is good and not good for our health"
• comprehend diseases in our environment 
• "one cannot move by foot from here to America"
• "mobile phones make communication faster within mankind"
•  Africans can process wealth from soil and such things
• advertising of goods and services-- "we won’t know about some products until we see them on television"
• it creates jobs for people who would otherwise be unemployed
• provides us with clean water for preventing us from germs
• electricity for "ease of visibility in our surroundings"
• taught us about types of diseases like malaria, yellow fever, etcetera and how to prevent them; provides us with medicines
• "before introduction of science, our forefathers were living in dark period"
•  "agriculture was developed by scientists"
•  created weapons to guard from internal and external enemies, not to kill one another without reason
• mass media brought the world under one umbrella
• water supply: "as we know, 60% of our energy is from water" 
• forms of transportation such as airplanes, where "every person has a seat"
• "the things you are enjoying...the seat you are sitting on...The pen, is it not created by scientists?..The music you are in a haste to listen to, is it not created by scientists?"

"Let's go to Mango."

 Fatou Bobo's new house is almost complete. She refers to it as "Mango," as in "Binta, come spend the afternoon at Mango." I have never heard of Gambians naming their homes before, and I think this is adorable.

The new house is by itself at the edge of the village, near the road leading to the groundnut fields. It is next to a well and surrounded by mango trees. The house has two rooms, a corrugate roof and wooden doors and shutters. They've also bought a calf, who is kept tied up to one of the mango trees.

I helped Fatou coat the walls with mud one day. It's sort of like plastering them, I guess. You slap the mud onto the wall and smear it around to a smooth finish. It is possibly the best way of spending an afternoon ever.

Unfortunately for Fatou, not everyone shares my enthusiasm for mud. “I asked Alieu Sowe to help me. He said, ‘If you give me money.’”

Then began a long rant about the people who will come when she brews attaya or mixes juice, but if she is working, she will be alone. “If it’s to eat, they come. If it’s to work, no one comes.” Fatou could write the story of the Little Red Hen, except it's already been written.

The backyard.

I tried to get some photos of the house, just the house, without the children.

Then I gave up.

Then I realized it's better this way.

Musa!

Pateh! and Rugi!

Rugi is...dancing?

Yes, that is a ladder leaning against that wall.

There's even a porch!

Peace, Unity, and T-Junction.

I told students to choose team names for the competition (which wasn't really a competition so much as "let's review for the test next week!" but stickers were involved, at least).

Group 1 knew right away that they wanted to be "T-Junction."

The members of Group 2 were split between "Barcelona" and "Unity." I said, "Barcelona is already taken" and wrote "Unity" on the blackboard.

Group 3 chose "Peace" and "T-Junction" began grumbling. They hadn't wanted to appear that silly.

Worokia!

Worokia and Neene Umu came to our compound after dinner.

Neene Umu: I said ‘I’m going to Jallow Kunda’ and Worokia said, ‘Me too.’

I’d heard them as they walked over; Worokia was strapped to Neene Umu’s back and they were singing a song. Once they’d arrived and greeted us, Neene Umu joined the adults’ conversation and Worokia began a conversation with me, a.k.a. entertained me with a fast-paced, high-pitched monologue. First Worokia explained that Mariama had been sick but she ate a lot of mangoes and now she is well.

“If you are sick, if you eat mangoes, you will be well?”
“Yes.”

The adults were having trouble hearing themselves and asked Worokia if she could be quiet. Worokia paused…

and launched into a thrilling tale about a konkoran that came into the house. Considering I hadn’t seen a konkoran in months, I’d say this story had as much veracity as medicinal mangoes.

“Worokia!” yelled the adults. Worokia lapsed into an embarrassed silence, then sleep.

Breast milk dries your brain.

 “Binta, do you know what I would like? I would like some canned milk.”

Fatou Bobo explains that she will use the canned milk to wean Musa. “He has one year and seven months. Last month he was one year and six months and this month is ending, so one year and seven months. It is time for him to leave the breast.”

If Fatou has some canned milk she will mix it with water (to be economical); Musa will prefer that and forget about the breast. Fatou worries that if she doesn’t wean Musa soon, his brain will be dry. This is what happens when a child breast-feeds for too long. Just look at Mamadou. She breast-fed Mamdou until he was one year and nine months—his brain is very dry. Whatever you tell him to do, he refuses; he just runs around.

So if I have some canned milk, please give it to her.

Moo...I'm a cow.

Little Susana: Moo…I’m a cow.
Me: Where is the cow? I don’t see.
Little Susana: Moooo…
Me: Where?
Little Susana: There. A cow died and they threw it there.
Me: When? Today?
Little Susana: No, tomorrow.
Me: The cow died tomorrow?
Little Susana: Yes.

*Note: Susana was speaking her native language.

Breaking news!

I walk into the classroom and find one of the students has moved his chair to the front of the room, facing the class. His posture is one of casual-cool, and he's wearing white sunglasses with a missing lens. He turns to face me.

Student: Miss Jallow, breaking news.
Me: What is it?
Student: Starting today, all the Jallows will be surnamed Baldeh.
Me: Heeeh…says who?
Student: Barack Obama.
Me: Barack Obama? ... Well, let me be Miss Jallow today and then I will call someone and confirm.
The rest of the class: Miss Jallow, he’s lying!

Moving!

It's been months since Fatou Sowe and Family moved to Kantaly, but I realized I'd never posted what I'd written up about their moving day.

Moving day. I was informed they were moving two days before they did. Maybe I would’ve been told earlier if I hadn’t been in Kombo, maybe not. Probably not, considering my favorite people always leave without warning.

The day before moving day conversations kept returning to Kantaly, with assurances made that it’s not far, etc. Neene kept trying to get the kids to leave me alone, and I kept trying to stop her from stopping them from bothering me. I had to keep repeating, “Tomorrow they are going to Kantaly,” and then brush aside Neene’s warning that they will tire me. When some of your favorite people are moving, you don't care how often they send you back to the house for a different book and Buba could sit on your lap just as long as he pleased. When Neene finally had her way and demanded Buba sit next to me, instead of on my lap, he placed his hand on top of mine, in a way that reminded me of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet, when Piglet just wants to be sure. [“‘Pooh,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, Piglet?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.’”]

And they talked about changing schools (Pippi Isatou would be going to a new one) or not (Musa would just have a longer walk). And when Pippi wasn’t busy she’d come and sit by me and I’d ask her questions like who would braid my hair now and is she sure Kantaly isn’t far?

When I returned from school on moving day they were still packing up. Fatou Sowe was folding clothes and stacking bowls, but towards evening all was set and everyone had bathed and I took a family picture and I was angry at Neene for squeezing her way into it and we said goodbye and Neene and Fatou Sowe shook hands. Then everyone but Musa and Gaye walked over to the other compounds to say their final goodbyes. Later the donkey cart came by and with all their possessions were packed on to it and that was that.

Commando!

I’ve finally met the infamous Commando. I do not know the title of the movie, but it’s the one where everyone refers to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character as “Commando.” Amadou has the final 19 minutes and 47 seconds of the movie saved to his mobile. He wants me to see it because it’s an American film.

Probably among the most boring 19 minutes and 47 seconds of my life. There were possibly a dozen lines of dialogue—I could see why it would appeal to non-native English speakers—the remainder of the time was filled with gunshots, explosions and screams. Amadou does not stay for the end (thought I’m sure he’d seen it many times) but hands me the phone so that I may. I would have handed it back, but by this time Mamadou has joined us and he scooches closer after Amadou leaves. Mamadou loves narrating future events even more than Amadou had. “Watch this—he’s going to…”

After the movie ends, I try to turn off the mobile as Amadou had asked. “I can do it,” Mamadou chimes, so I hand him the phone. He presses “play” and we watch the same 20 minutes a second time. Amadou returns and tells me when it finishes, “Don’t give it to Mamadou. He will watch until the battery is finished.” Mamadou grins.

Carpet!

Sometimes I wonder how people think of things. Unicorns, for example. If I were inventing a mythical beast, I would never imagine a horn in the middle of horse’s forehead. However, I recently witnessed the origin of the magic carpet...

I was sitting outside waiting for a mango to fall, which is all one is really capable of doing in the hot season.

“Look!” someone said, and we all turned towards Sinni’s compound. A HUGE cloud of dust was swirling around and snatching more than the usual newspaper scraps. It grabbed the items hung out to dry on the fence and we watched as brightly-colored stretches of fabric flopped clumsily across the compound before thunking into a house or fence and falling still.

The prayer rug, however, soared. It glided gracefully through the air in rippling waves, avoided the houses, flew over the fence, and continued almost all the way to the baobab tree outside a neighboring compound. If I were at all skilled in estimation, I could tell you how far that is. But I’m not, so I can’t.

Waiting in line for not-a-rollercoaster.

Before I left for The Gambia, I likened my emotions to waiting in line at a roller-coaster. It would be nice if my emotions now were like the end of a roller-coaster ride. Instead, I feel like I’m about to step into a swimming pool—on a day when it’s not excruciatingly hot, possibly even a little chilly. But: I really want to go swimming, because it’s been awhile and I’ve got a new pair of goggles and one of those inflatable sharks. But: even if I jump in and avoid that icky half-in, half-out of the water feeling, there’s still going to be a long uncomfortable moment of waiting to get used to the water. Which, I usually spend those moments standing around in the most awkward way possible, cowering from the splashes of the cannon-balling kid.

With less than three months remaining to my service, I am increasingly closer to become an absolute, total, complete mess. For example: the other day I went to buy a sandwich from Isatou Sardines and I wanted to cry as she told me no sardines, just corned beef and I replied, “corn beef is also tasty” and she began pointing out the finer qualities of the dish: “There’s corned beef, tomatoes, onions…” All I know about Isatou is her name is Isatou, but I’m going to miss her. For example: I get sudden attacks of memories from looking at the most mundane objects. Such as the floor. And when I’m not prematurely missing The Gambia, I’m missing America badly, in that way I haven’t missed America since those first months, two years ago.

Sigh.

Give hands, hold feet

Fatou Bobo told me, “We the Fula Futas say, ‘Will give hands, will hold feet.’” It is a proverb, apparently, but I admit I’m not sure exactly what it means. Fatou Bobo said this hand-giving and feet-holding is what Jainabou’s parents will do. At the time of the conversation, Jainabou had just been summoned home, where Amadou had given her permission to stay for two weeks. (Neene, understandably, wasn’t thrilled about losing our combination cook—washing-machine—vacuum-cleaner for half a month). Fatou Bobo can understand if Jainabou went home for a week or two once and awhile; a few months with us, a week or two with them. But Jainabou’s parents would like Jainabou to spend a few months with them, a week or two here.

At the same time, Fatou understands. Once Jainabou starts having children—which will be sooner than later; just the other day Fatou Bobo motioned to the bowl of cooked beans and asked, “Jainabou, will you add some beans?” even though Jainabou hadn’t eaten any beans—it will be very difficult for her to visit her family. Fatou Bobo would like to visit her parents’ place, but with Mamadou, Rugi, Pateh, now Musa—how will she do that?

Another proverb that I’ve been trying to figure out is, well it’s really long and confusing in English, because we don’t have word meaning “to help a person lift something onto their head for carrying.” In Pulaar it’s, “A rondimo, yeeso a jipinaymo.” In English this would be, “You help a person lift something on their head so they can carry it, later you will help them lift down what they had been carrying on their head.” The context for this proverb was:

 “I think you are leaving The Gambia soon.”
“Yes, in three months.”
“How many more months?”
“Three.”
“We the Fulas have a proverb…”

He gave me an explanation, in English, but I forget/never-understood most of it. It was something along the lines of “you will see again the people who prepare you to leave.”

STAFFROOM IS STRICTLY OUT OF BOUNDS

This post should have been made before the one about bivouacs. Our staffroom only has one flat-screen T.V. 

I came to school one morning and found a new sign taped to the staffroom door. It was written in red marker and said: ATTENTION STAFFROOM IS STRICTLY OUT OF BOUNDS FOR ALL STUDENTS. Inside, on a table in the corner, sat a brand-new flat-screen T.V. and DVD player.

The students entering the staff room (the sign turned out to be purely aesthetic) to charge mobiles would linger in order to see just one more minute. The librarian’s children came in, seated themselves on the floor in front of a couch, were shooed out, and remained crowded in the doorway. Caretaker Jallow sat watching, back straight, hands folded in lap.

I assume it is a Nigerian film and I like watching it to learn about Nigeria. For example, I have learned that in Nigeria there are sidewalks. I am trying to remember if I’ve seen a sidewalk in all of The Gambia. I don’t think so. You’d think there would be one, somewhere. If I weren’t already on a Swedish newspaper warehouse quest, I would go on a sidewalk quest.

The film was titled You Must Do or Die and before it began there were previews. These were the previewed films: The End of the Maidens, Ugly Temptation, Mad Sex, 2 Squard, Burning Tears, Save My Love, He is Roy.

Food fotos!

Fish balls in a peanut sauce over rice.

Are you wondering what these are? Me too!

You'd hope those radioactive orange macaronis were just the result of a camera malfunction.  You would hope...

Baraka is a “Blessing associated with Muhammed and some saints,” according to Islam for Dummies. These blessings taste like cardboard.

That wooden paddle looks like it could row a boat, but it's actually for...

Stirring rice!

Wrestling!

Here's what Abby wrote about the wrestling.

Watching the wrestling, I felt like I was a mere mortal, squeezed among other mere mortals, and we’d all climbed some mountain of the gods and were now watching the gods at play. Except for the mountain part. It was an explosion of strange and wonderful sights, each of which raised a question:

What are these children looking at?

Why did this man wrap his face in blue fabric?

What's with the pom-poms?

Where did their heads go?

Who's winning?

Why the pink hearts?

What's happening?

Who am I supposed to be watching?

What possessed this man to run around in circles?

Why isn't the audience more riled up? (this one has an answer: because the fence hadn't yet caught fire.)

Where am I supposed to be looking?

And what's with the winter hat?

Questions not intended for mortal minds.

Geography!

Reactions to a picture book about Japan:

• Neene exclaims that the sumo wrestlers are wearing only underwear. This, despite the fact that that Gambian wrestlers are similarly unclad.
• Everyone is excited and asks to see when I explain the women are farming tea leaves  
• I try explaining a stone sculpture of a dragon. “They made the rock so you will think it has a face. You see? Eyes, a nose, a mouth.” Adama tells me she has never seen something like this. 
• I describe a photo of fireworks as “fire entered the sky,” to which Adama exclaims, “La illa! The sky is burning!” 

Reactions to a magazine about Skellefteå, Sweden:

• I am told the little girl walking to the beach with a bucket and shovel is going to fetch water. I am asked what the shovel is, but before I can answer, I am told it is a spoon. 
• The man and woman pushing golf carts are actually pushing motorcycles.  
• “What is the man doing?” “He is cooking.” “A man is cooking? A man is cooking??” “Yes, men are able to cook.” 
• On the page opposite a description of “Living Nature waiting to be experienced” is a full page photo of a bird sitting on a log in a forest. Adama says, “A bird.” Rugi pretends to pluck it from the page and stuff it in her mouth. The other kids follow suit.

Henna?

Fatou Bobo suggested I buy a different kind of henna. This kind, she thinks, will turn black, and that will be more beautiful than orange. Sunday morning I ask how many cups I should buy. She says it isn’t sold in cups, “Go to the luumo and ask for ‘nyulal.’ If you ask for ‘nyulal,’ they’ll know.”

At the market I approach a woman sitting behind a barrel of henna and ask if she sells ‘nyulal.’ She directs me to one of the jewelry stands. I decide I must’ve mispronounced or misremembered the word Fatou Bobo told me, but ask anyway. I am handed this box:

 I do not see how either a luxurious mane of hair or a waterfall relate to henna, or how the contents of this small box will be enough to cover two feet, as the woman claims. She claims two boxes costs fifty dalasis and I hand over the money reluctantly, unsure I’m buying the correct product.

Back home, I show Fatou Bobo the boxes.

“Is this it?”
“Yes. Was it expensive?”
“A little expensive.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five.”

Fatou Bobo says we can apply the henna after lunch. Inside the box are two small vials, one filled with a gray powder, the other with a clear liquid. When mixed together, they formed a dark black solution. Fatou Bobo smears it on my feet. “Look! It’s turning black!”

Sinni watches and wonders if “nyulal” is henna. Fatou Bobo, a little defensively, assures her it is, just smell it, just look at the colors it is changing her hand. Sinni agrees. I disagree, but do not say so. "Nyulal" smells nothing at all like henna. It smells nothing at all like anything, actually.

 Fatou Bobo rubs the leftover “nyulal” in Rugi’s hair. A clue? Is hair dye the original purpose, before Gambians commandeered it for henna? Or what if China is the clue? What if “nyulal” is a special ink for calligraphy or something? But neither possibility explains the waterfall…

The next day at school, Isatou Sardines notices the henna on my feet and says it’s beautiful. She wants to know if I’ve taken a picture to show the people in America. I say I had, which is true. “They will say it is beautiful.” “Yes,” I lie, pretty certain the actual response of the American people will be, “How did you get frostbitten in The Gambia?”

Bank!

I enjoy waiting in line at the bank.

1. It’s air conditioned.
2. You never know who else will be waiting in line with you. 

The last time I went to the bank, I stood behind a middle-aged man wearing a bright-red satin shirt with a large tiger printed on the back. He had a similar tiger tattooed to his right forearm. I wanted to ask why, but I’m shy about talking to strangers. I was also worried about being rude, because I’m not skilled enough to disguise my question as praise. I couldn’t convincingly say, “Oh, that’s a really nifty tattoo you’ve got there” and then subtly hint that I’d like to know the extent of his tiger obsession. I’d probably end up saying something like, “That’s so weird how your shirt matches your forearm!”

"I hope there is not the head of a child inside."

Overheard...

Staffroom:

• “The Hindus are the ones who worship cows. They believe in cows.” (I like that cows are now something one can believe or disbelieve in)
• “You were all made to be sacrificed. You will all lack husbands on this Earth.” 
• [burp] “Thanks be to God.” 
• “Half bread will not be enough for me, for my worms.” 
• “Menacing is not actually good.” 
• “You will begin to think that maths is almighty.” 
• “You are a monkey. Very soon I will turn you into a lizard.”
• “The Fulas have magnetic hands.” 
• “Pray for a husband…otherwise we will easily lose you in the streets.”
• “That is your wisdom, but wisdom is relative.”

Morning assembly:

• “If you don’t want to be a liability to society, please work hard.” 
• “All play and no work makes Jack a stupid boy.” 
• “Lip shine is not positively improving your life.” 

The sign on the door to the science lab reads, “Let no one unacquainted with science entre here. By: Order.”

The motto of a nursery school, as read on a t-shirt: “Business before Pleasure.”

A student, passing me on the way to school, “Miss Jallow your bag is heavy. I hope there is not the head of a child inside.”

 

Brain yourself.

I’d never heard “brain” used as a verb before, in any language (or so I thought, until I remembered zombies probably brain people all the time) so I thought it was hilarious when the mom told her kid, “Hakillay hoore ma,” which would translate to “brain yourself.” From the context —the kid had just done something dumb—I decided the verb version of “brain” means, “Put some brains in your head.” I love it!

Improving the sun

The guy across from me on the ferry, who after a long time spent talking about me to the girl beside him finally decided to talk to me instead, told me tourist season opens November 26 and it will close soon (this was back in March, by now he would certainly say tourist season had ended). He asked if there was anything I didn’t like about The Gambia.

I told him, “The sun.”

He said most tourists like the sun. Anything else?

“The mosquitoes.”

He said he works in the tourist industry; he wants to learn my opinion so that he can try to improve these things and make The Gambia more pleasant for tourists.

“But I think you cannot do anything about the sun?”  I asked.
 “Hehe, no.”
“Or the mosquitoes.”
“…no.”