Hello?

One morning some guy called me three times and refused to believe that he had the wrong number. Here’s sort of how the conversations went, to the best of my memory.



Me: Hello?
Stranger: Hello.

The voice is speaking with a Gambian accent, so I switch to Pulaar.

Me: Who are you?
Stranger: [says something in Mandinka, but nothing sounds like a name]
Me: I did not hear. I only hear Pulaar.
Stranger: [something in Mandinka]

I hang up.
He calls back.

Me: Hello?
Stranger: Hello.
Me: Who are you?
Stranger: [something in Mandinka]
Me: I do not hear Mandinka.
Stranger: [something in Mandinka that includes the Mandinka word for “Fula”]
Me: Yes, it is only Pulaar I hear. I think you have “wrong number”
Stranger: [something in Mandinka, that includes “Brikama,” which is a city]
Me: Brikama? I am not there.
Stranger: [something in Mandinka, said in a “goodbye” tone of voice]
Me: Until later.

I meant “until later,” as “goodbye.” But the phone rings a third time. Same number, but a different, Pulaar-speaking voice, is calling.

Me: Hello?
Stranger 2: Hello.
Me: Who are you?
Stranger 2: I am not the person who called before. I am calling because you said you speak Pulaar.
Me: Yes…
Stranger 2: [something in rapid Pulaar that I do not capture]
Me: Your name?
Stranger 2: Ebrima.
Me: Ebrima who?
Stranger 2: Ebrima [he says his surname but I don’t hear it]
Me: Who do you want?
Stranger 2: It is you I want.
Me: But I do not think I know you.
Stranger 2: Where are you?
Me: Fatoto.
Stranger 2: Where are you?
Me: Where am I?
Stranger 2: Yes.
Me: Fatoto.
Stranger 2: Fatoto?
Me: Yes.

[pause]

Me: Who gave you my number?
Stranger 2: No one gave me your number.
Me: It was on the house? [often address-book-like lists of names and numbers are written in charcoal on the outside of people’s houses]
Stranger 2: Your number is in his phone.
Me: But I think you have “wrong number”
Stranger 2: [something in rapid Pulaar, but I catch what sounds like the name of a village. I forget the name now, but it started with a “T”]
Me: I do not know T----.
Stranger 2: You do not know T----?
Me: No. I think you have “wrong number.”

I hang up.

The actual conversation was even a little longer, and why someone would waste their cell-phone minutes like that is beyond me. Shouldn’t my inability to speak Mandinka have been a dead giveaway for the first guy who called?

And you might ask, why didn’t I just try speaking English? I didn't do that because I always want to see if I can get away pretending I’m not a toubab. I think the garbledness of the phone connection disguises my accent just enough, and also allows me to ask sentences to be repeated without arousing suspicion.

Yup. For 2 minutes and 58 seconds I was a Gambian.