Well it’s official; I am now carrying water on my head. It took three months but I can no longer pretend that carrying it by hand is practical. It is still pretty heavy but it’s not unmanageable and it earns me the, ‘Aww look, she’s really trying’ credibility that is pretty important if I want these people to work with me. It’s only the medium sized bucket and I have hold on to it, but the bottom line is that I am now fetching water like a real Gambian; a Gambian who sloshes water all over themselves on their way back from the pump, but a real Gambian nonetheless. I’m not sure if I mentioned this earlier but this whole ‘fetching water’ thing is quite the task. It is primarily the women’s responsibility although single guys and kids do it too sometimes. The pump is a hotbed of activity and it is gossip central. There’s often drama and yelling (Gambian women thoroughly enjoy yelling at one another) but mostly it’s just a bunch of girls with REALLY strong personalities messing around since they don’t get to do that at home if their husbands are around. They make fun of each other, fight over whose next in line and splash water one another. The pump is where ALL your water comes from so conservation is a given. I can usually get away with only going once a day but if I’m doing laundry it’s a three trip situation, plus my regular daily trip. It makes me laugh to think of all the water conservation advertising and education we do in California after having this experience. Make people fetch their own water for a week, they’ll be taking five minute showers and planting drought resistant gardens in no time flat. Which brings me to:
Things that are easier in America:1) Laundry. It’s hand washing all the way here. On laundry day you fill up three buckets and get out the powdered soap you bought at the outdoor market for a buck. One bucket is for washing and the other two are for rinsing. If you don’t rinse twice your clothes retain more funkiness than if you do (more being a key term here; your clothes are always somewhat funky as is everything you own, pretty much from the second you get off the plane). African fabric is MUCH easier to wash (and dry) than the fabric than my American (sweatshop manufactured) clothes are made of. I only brought one pair of jeans and while I wear them all the time I’m glad that I didn’t bring more because they take forever to get clean. Hence, mine are never really that clean. Most people here wear traditional African clothing but the teenage boys have a fondness for denim. That completely blows for their mother since denim is about ten times more difficult to wash than any other fabric worn here. In general Africans are able to look a lot fresher than Americans on most days. That’s not to say they don’t look rough, they do, poverty will do that to you but as a general rule they are very tidy looking. Probably because they do A LOT of laundry and they are washing themselves off five times a day before praying. There doesn’t seem to be much, ‘I can get away with wearing this one more day’ happening. If they wore it they wash it, end of story. Friday is a big prayer day and a lot of the men dress in white, head to toe. How they are not covered in the red dust that shrouds everything I possess remains a mystery to me.
2) Showers. I don’t mind the bucket bath (you are literally pouring water over yourself with a cup in your backyard) but I look forward to the day when I can get the conditioner out of my hair with both hands (and warm water!).
Another thing that I’m doing just like an actual Gambian is going to the rice fields with my host mom. Well okay, it was only three times but they were three significant times. I have a new respect for these women; I don’t know how they do it. They stand out there ALL DAY without fainting. I can go for about four hours but then I’m exhausted for the rest of the day. It gets ridiculously hot and you are stooped over either weeding or planting the entire time. The last time I went I totally cheated and sat down. They must think I’m really lazy but I know they appreciate the fact that I go in the first place so at worst it’s a wash and at best they just chalk it up to my Americaness.
Sitting down is absolutely the way to go by the way. The water is pretty high in the field in the morning, about mid –calf, so if you sit down you are basically of swimming in shallow water which keeps you from dying of heat exhaustion. Of course your work slows down about 75% when you do this but I figure I’m already screwing up the rice plants with my inexperienced technique so it’s just fewer plants that are being ravaged by my clumsiness. If you have anything of your own that you’d like me to justify feel free to let me know.
The topic of my rice field excursions brings me to:
Unexpected and somewhat confusing sexual behavior in The Gambia (bet you didn’t see that segue way coming):
So there’s an interesting phenomenon taking place here that is a direct result of the gender roles found in this country. I’m not sure if it’s an African thing or a Muslim thing (I’m leaning towards good old Islam though) but the roles of men and women are very clearly defined here. Men work the groundnut fields, chop the wood, tend to the livestock and spend a fair amount of time lounging about on bantabaas drinking Atya. Women do almost all of the domestic work including cooking, cleaning, tending to the children, in addition to working the rice fields, fetching water and pounding all of that rice and coos they are harvesting in a humungous mortar and pestle. A lot of volunteers complain that women do all the work while men just laze about but that really hasn’t been what I’ve observed so far. The women work hard but the men seem to do their fair share.
Traditionally men and women do not interact much. Marriage is definitely a contract and there isn’t a lot of talk about chemistry or soul mates or any of the other things we westerners value in our romantic relationships. Things are changing slowly and the younger generation definitely has a new dynamic but the majority of marriages here are very practical. That being the case, there isn’t a lot of snuggling up between husbands and wives beneath the African stars. Conversations between men and women are minimal for the most part and it is not uncommon for a married couple to spend 99% of their time apart. It is not acceptable to show any physical affection to the opposite sex in public, to the degree that holding hands would be greatly frowned upon. Well…all that pent up need for physical contact has got to be satisfied somehow so…(for those of you who know where I am going with this you are welcome to visit anytime, you’ll love it here)…members of the same gender are often hanging all over one another. Yup, it is totally acceptable (and common) for young men to hold hands and, wait for it…sit on each other’s laps. Homosexuality is not considered to be an option (the president threatened to behead anyone ‘convicted’ of a homosexual act and Islam says ‘No way Jose’) so that’s not part of the equation when it comes to this behavior. I mean clearly there are gay Gambians but it is not spoken of whatsoever. Girls touch each other a lot too, although not quite as much in my opinion. Since I’m not nearly as interested in this I didn’t pay it much mind until I went to the rice fields with them (I always make it back to my point eventually). The whole thing was fine until we took a break from planting to cool off in the water. Let’s just say that there was a lot of ‘frolicking’ going on and leave it at that. So anyway, good looking boys are often draped over one another which kind of makes up for the whole ‘fetch your own water and wash your sheets by hand’ situation.
Unexpected and somewhat confusing sexual behavior in The Gambia (bet you didn’t see that segue way coming):
So there’s an interesting phenomenon taking place here that is a direct result of the gender roles found in this country. I’m not sure if it’s an African thing or a Muslim thing (I’m leaning towards good old Islam though) but the roles of men and women are very clearly defined here. Men work the groundnut fields, chop the wood, tend to the livestock and spend a fair amount of time lounging about on bantabaas drinking Atya. Women do almost all of the domestic work including cooking, cleaning, tending to the children, in addition to working the rice fields, fetching water and pounding all of that rice and coos they are harvesting in a humungous mortar and pestle. A lot of volunteers complain that women do all the work while men just laze about but that really hasn’t been what I’ve observed so far. The women work hard but the men seem to do their fair share.
Traditionally men and women do not interact much. Marriage is definitely a contract and there isn’t a lot of talk about chemistry or soul mates or any of the other things we westerners value in our romantic relationships. Things are changing slowly and the younger generation definitely has a new dynamic but the majority of marriages here are very practical. That being the case, there isn’t a lot of snuggling up between husbands and wives beneath the African stars. Conversations between men and women are minimal for the most part and it is not uncommon for a married couple to spend 99% of their time apart. It is not acceptable to show any physical affection to the opposite sex in public, to the degree that holding hands would be greatly frowned upon. Well…all that pent up need for physical contact has got to be satisfied somehow so…(for those of you who know where I am going with this you are welcome to visit anytime, you’ll love it here)…members of the same gender are often hanging all over one another. Yup, it is totally acceptable (and common) for young men to hold hands and, wait for it…sit on each other’s laps. Homosexuality is not considered to be an option (the president threatened to behead anyone ‘convicted’ of a homosexual act and Islam says ‘No way Jose’) so that’s not part of the equation when it comes to this behavior. I mean clearly there are gay Gambians but it is not spoken of whatsoever. Girls touch each other a lot too, although not quite as much in my opinion. Since I’m not nearly as interested in this I didn’t pay it much mind until I went to the rice fields with them (I always make it back to my point eventually). The whole thing was fine until we took a break from planting to cool off in the water. Let’s just say that there was a lot of ‘frolicking’ going on and leave it at that. So anyway, good looking boys are often draped over one another which kind of makes up for the whole ‘fetch your own water and wash your sheets by hand’ situation.
Family portrait time!
Here is my immediate family:
On the left we have Aja Mary Sonko. She is my ‘mother’ and is pretty respected in the community. I would guess she’s in her early fifties although it’s kind of hard to tell with most Gambians. Under 30 they all look really young; over 30 they look really old because of the harsh living conditions. The ‘Aja’ part of her name is a title for someone who has travelled to Mecca. It’s a pretty big deal to do that here since it’s something everyone would like to do and yet no one has any money so I can’t imagine too many people actually make it there. I’m still unclear as to whether or not she has actually been. It turns out that if your sibling has been then you earn the title as well (I’m telling you, they share EVERYTHING) so I think that might be the case here but who knows? Certainly not me since my Mandinka is really terrible. I can only say about six things (literally) and ‘Please tell me about your experiences in Mecca’ isn’t one of them. She has ten children, all grown, all living in different places.On the right we have Mauskeba, my ‘wife’ holding her new baby Lamin Seriph Dampha. I know it’s weird but she’s my ‘brother’s’ wife so that makes her mine too. I still call her my sister though because ‘wife’ is just too much. She’s fifteen and very Gambian. By ‘very Gambian’ I mean kind of bossy but very hospitable.
This is my 'grandmother' Fatou Sanneh:
She’s a piece of work. She has a lot of trouble walking so she is pretty much confined to a chair all day. She can get around with her crutches; it’s just a huge endeavor. Well sitting in a chair all day isn’t that interesting so she occupies her time by beckoning my 10 year old host sister, Kaddy Jallow, constantly (by ‘constantly I mean approximately every 10 minutes, literally.) I should say that a big part of this culture is a respect for your elders and there is an understanding that if you are younger than someone you are pretty much at their disposal for petty errands and tasks at any given time. For example you would be hard pressed to find the adult Gambian who would get their own glass out of a cabinet (Haha, look at me pretending that there are cabinets with glasses in them. What I meant to say was the plastic cup off of the floor). There are always a drove of children nearby who will come running when called. Except for Kaddy Jallow that is. I think she’s just had it. She responds to her name being called by her grandmother about two out of ten times. The other eight times are met with silence and that’s when the repeating of her name five thousand times occurs. It is really annoying, particularly since my name is also ‘Kaddy’ so I always think she’s talking to me. I am kind of glad there are no stairs here; I think my little sister might be tempted to send her tumbling down them. The kids often say that she is ‘a rude girl’ for not answering and I must agree that it is pretty bratty but I also feel for her because if I find it this annoying when it’s not even directed at me I can only imagine how she must feel. She’s a nice little girl but she’s definitely an independent spirit so the whole servitude thing isn’t really working for her.
