Lost!

Are you aware that I have a horrible sense of direction? It’s atrocious, possibly non-existent. I like to pretend my brain has more important matters to concern itself with than where the rest of the body might be located. Anyway, I’ve recognized this fact for awhile, but only recently realized that since I cannot prevent myself from getting lost, I should at least try to prepare for finding myself again. One day in May, I wanted to bike to Sami Koto to attend a marriage ceremony there with some other volunteers. I knew I’d never find my way without Julia, who was still in Basse, so I pulled out my mP3 player and tried to learn some Serrehule.  Garawol, which is the main village I would need to pass through on my way to Sami, is a Serrehule village and if there are Pulaar speakers there, I have not met them. Before I'd left for The Gambia I’d downloaded language files teaching basic phrases in the major languages of The Gambia. So I listened through the Serrehule recordings and managed to learn two greetings and how to ask the question, “Where is Sami Koto?” Then I filled my water bottle to the brim, slathered myself with sunscreen (who knew how long I would be biking in circles?) and headed off.

I made the correct turn from the main road, due to me remembering a billboard (there were actually two billboards) and due to me not remembering biking past Isatou’s village, Kumbel, on the last visit to Sami (Kumbel was a little past the billboards). But after that first success, I either turned too soon, or maybe I wasn’t supposed to have turned at all, because instead of riding through the garbage dumps of Garawol, I found myself smack in the center of town. I was dodging masses of school children, speeding past storefronts and nearly crashing into displays of fish and vegetables laid out in the market.

Even though I’d taken the time to learn Serrehule greetings, I mostly  stuck with “Salaam Maalekum” because I didn’t trust I’d learnt the greetings correctly, but a few of the times I did attempt a “hootaranta” people replied “majam,” which is Serrehule for “peace only.” All of the times I tried a Pulaar greeting, just for kicks, I got blank stares. At every split in the road I would ask for Sami Koto, and when I couldn’t understand the answer (i.e. all of the times) I gestured, in a Dorothy-and-the-Scarecrow fashion, “this way? or this way?” Wait, do Dorothy and the Scarecrow do that? Or am I thinking of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland? Anyway…

It would be nice to know why I have such horrible sense of direction, so that maybe I could work to improve it, but on the other hand, this alternative route was much more pleasant, and not only for the lack of garbage. It was smoother and less sandy, and there were lots of exciting things to see, as long as I remembered not to get distracted to the point of running into a small child or something.