Here in The Gambia, the vast majority of the population is Muslim. A combination of their tribal beliefs and their newer Islamic beliefs has led to a strong confidence in the power of jujus: verses of the Koran, written by a holy man called a marabou, bound in leather, and worn somewhere on the body.
I was about to head to Cape Verde on a travel-filled epic adventure, and Steve was coming so I needed a gift that was unique but appropriate and that he’d like. It was time for me to make some jujus.
I took a long time for me to decide what I wanted. Should I protect myself from knives? Should I go the safe route and get a juju for invincibility? Should I guarantee myself vast wealth in my future? Which juju would Steve most appreciate?
On our upcoming Cape Verde trip, I knew if travel plans were altered at all we wouldn’t make it to all the destinations I wanted. So the first juju I wanted, for both Steve and I, was for safe and efficient travel.
Then, I tried to think about what else we were passionate about. Of course, I thought of sports. So I made a juju for the success of the Green Bay Packers, and made Steve jujus for all of his favorite sports teams to be successful.
It was an incredible collision of my old life and my new one in Africa as I watched this holy man spell out “Green Bay Packers” phonetically in Arabic, then proceed to chant and make marks on a paper, continually cross-checking with his Islamic texts.
Apparently, as a marabou is making a juju for a person, he’s able to see things about their future. So, this is what my marabou told me about what my life would be like in the future.
- Where you live, people will love you. You will be much beloved and you will be rich.
- A government employee will try to befriend you, but you should stay away from him.
- You will go somewhere where they speak French
- You will be in the running with two others, and you will be the winner.
After he told me my future, he proceeded to make inexplicable marks on a paper, guided by Allah himself, I guess. When he finished he was left with three rows of little lines, each row with either one, two, or three lines in it. Based on the arrangement of the lines, it determines how successful your juju will be. As he drew one for the Cleveland Cavaliers, he made a satisfied clucking noise. I asked why, and he said, “They are in the second position. That is good.” That was the only point when I doubted his juju making abilities. I guess Allah doesn’t know the recent occurrences within the Cleveland Cavaliers organization.
When he was finished with all of the pieces of paper, covering all of the jujus I wanted, he told me that in order for all of the jujus to be successful, I would have to give some charities. He said I would have to do exactly as he said before I picked up the jujus, or they would not be as powerful.
The following are the gifts that I had to distribute.
- Give children milk on a Sunday
- Give silver to a disabled person
- Give three white kola nuts to someone older than you
- Give a prayer shawl to an old woman
So, one Sunday, armed with many dalasis and the power of Allah, I went to the market to purchase and distribute.
As I finished making my purchases and I was walking out of the market, I saw a blind man sitting and begging. I went to him and gave him the three white kola nuts, which are a sign of utmost respect in Gambian culture. As I put them in his outstretched hand I said, “Sadaa fele”, which means, “Gaze at the gifts.” Then I sat as he prayed for me, in the middle of the market, asking for Allah to bless me.
So my first charity given was awesome.
Later, I saw another blind man standing outside, clinking coins together. I awkwardly placed the silver ring on his pinky finger (that’s the only place it would fit, it was a tiny ring), but he also kept me there for a long time, blessing me with Allah’s praises.
So now, armed with the a double dose of heavenly blessings, I ventured to find an old woman and some children.
There was a woman sitting outside of the bank in a wheelchair, also clinking coins together, begging for money. I went to her, wrapped the scarf around her neck, and told her, “Gaze at the charity”. She gave me a quick thank you in mandinka, and then immediately asked me in English for money. I laughed and strolled away. Even if that less than stellar response canceled out one of my Allah blessings, I still had one to spare.
Then I went to find some kids to give milk to. I was sure this would be the easiest one, because every day, as I’m walking down the road, anything that I have, kids will ask for. If I’m drinking a bag of water, kids will yell, “Give me water!” If I’m eating a banana, they’ll say, “Give me banana!” So I thought as soon as I said yes to one of these requests, a horde of kids would come running and I’d have to fight them off.
I had three bags of milk to give away, so when I first saw a group of three kids, I said, Sweet. Perfect. But as soon as I nicely called for the boys to come over, they looked scared and ran away. I tried to explain in Mandinka that I had a gift for them, but apparently they had been schooled in stranger danger – or just didn’t know why on earth a toubab would be beckoning them.
Eventually, I found a kid sitting alone on a bike. I thought, aww, lonesome kid on a bike, who better to give my charity to? But then his well-dressed mother approached, looking apprehensive. I told her I had to give charities, and I wanted to give milk to her son. She said thank you, and in the tradition of the women gift receivers of the Gambia, promptly asked for some money too.
I found my last two kids sitting and waiting in a car park. I’m not sure they understood what they were getting, but their wise looking elder was sitting next to them, and he motioned that it was ok for them to take the gift.
In a country where if you don’t finish your coffee, you can give it to a four year old boy and he’ll guzzle it from the same cup, a country where when you throw out a coke can, kids immediately pick it up and start licking it for a few final sweet drops of liquid, who would have thought it’d be so hard to get them to take milk?
So, I completed my charities. I went to the marabou to pick up my jujus, and he said that on Sunday, he had sat for one hour, while the Packers were playing half a world away, and had prayed for their success.
I don’t want to jinx anything, but my jujus are awesome. The Packers are (as of now) undefeated, and Steve and I made it to all of our travel destinations safe and sound.
Cleveland teams are still struggling however… maybe no amount of heavenly power can make those teams successful.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Jammeh's Jamboree
This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the Peace Corps. To celebrate, all over the world, different Peace Corps countries and the governments therein are having events, throwing parties, giving gifts to commemorate all the brave young men and women who’ve put real life on hold to go and explore the unknown.
Recently, the president of the Gambia, His Excellency Sheik Dr. Alhagie Professor Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh, invited all Peace Corps volunteers to his home village, to properly honor the time the Peace Corps has been present in the Gambia, which as of this year, has been 45 years uninterrupted. Through coups and revolutions, Peace Corps has been ever present in The Gambia.
Peace Corps volunteers have seen how village meetings and programs are run in the Gambia. We know not to expect a meeting in the village to start until two hours after it’s supposed to, we know when it says there’s lodging it’s probably sleeping on a thin mat on a concrete slab, and we know that if food is provided it’s probably fish, palm oil, and okra.
But would it be different when the president was our Gambian host? Time would tell.
The program was set to begin at 4pm, with lunch. We arrived at around 4, after a police escorted hour and a half trip from Kombo to Kanilai. A Peace Corps volunteer got on the intercom system on the bus (yes it was one of those buses – a la eighth grade band trip to Florida) and acted as our tour guide. He pointed out the trees of the Gambia, the point at which the pavement stopped, and my favorite, uttered this quote: “On your right, you’ll see Yuna psychiatric hospital and liquor production facility”. And sure enough, to our right, there it was.
We arrived at around four to a large welcoming party. We finished eating at around five thirty, over an hour late, as expected. If the lunch spread was any indication of how the night would go, we were in for a treat. Every time I looked up, they brought out a new roasted goat filled with stuffing; they had delicious domoda, roasted lamb, tons of fresh fruit, and overall things that provide slightly more taste and nutrition than the average Gambian meal.
Then we all moved to the stadium. We sat in the seats of honor, behind where the president was expected to sit. We sat, watching the dancing Jammeh supporters, listening to the band, and waiting for the big man to make his appearance. The actual ceremony was expected to start at six.
Darkness fell, and still no president had shown his face. At this point we were tired of acting like honorable guests of honor, so I got the people sitting around me involved in a round of “the ugly game”, where each person tries to make him or herself as ugly as possible, and then capture it on digital camera.
Finally, at around 7:45, the president showed up. His arrival was perhaps my favorite thing about the entire night. Most presidents don’t drive themselves anywhere – it’s much safer for someone else to sit in the driver’s seat. But President Jammeh isn’t most presidents. He peeled out in his Land Rover, his traditional white robes blowing wildly in the wind. He squealed to a stop in the grass in front of the leather couch that had been placed there specifically for this purpose, and his henchman approached the car, opened the door, and quickly ushered him onto the couch. Like communion on Easter Sunday, we all quickly cycled from our seat to the front to greet and shake the president’s hand, then back around to our seats.
Then the ceremony began. We sang both national anthems. There were numerous speeches, some well thought out and eloquent ones, some long and rambling ones. Speeches were given by Peace Corps volunteers in each of the local languages. You could tell the crowd got a kick out of hearing toubabs speak and joke fluently in their local language. Even the president gave a couple of guffaws. After this, pretty much everyone who ever was involved in the Peace Corps and is now in government gave a speech. And like most programs in The Gambia, it went on FAR TOO LONG. By the time all the speaking was finished, it was around 10:30 pm. Dinner was planned to be served at 8 pm. Only two and half hours late is about right for the Gambia, so we were all relatively pleased with the timetable of the night.
But then, the president announced he had an exciting surprise for us. First, he asked all female volunteers to stand, which we did, although slightly nervously. Visions of massive wedding ceremonies flooded through my head, but then the president announced he wanted to give us all dressed. We all exchanged excited looks, and now new visions flooded my head – traditional, embroidered, wax print dresses for all of us. Or even better, a dress made out of the fabric printed with the president’s face and name. We all got in a long line to receive our gifts. They were all folded, so we couldn’t really see what we were being offered until we got back to our seats and could open them…
And the president had given every Peace Corps volunteer a Gambian made… pantsuit. Imagine a 70’s flight attendant uniform, then put it a color two steps uglier, and embroider it four levels gaudier, and that’s about what we received. I chose a lovely lime green shirt, far too small, with embroidery that has a pattern you’d see on a blanket in New Mexico. Some girls received some pretty inappropriate stuff, with embroidered arrows pointing directly to their nether regions… Immediately people started talking about throwing their presidential gifts into the free pile. I’m hoping enough people held onto theirs that we can use them for uniforms for WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament) this year.
Then the Peace Corps men were invited up, and to the ladies’ shock, many of them were given beautiful, traditional, wax printed clothes. Some unlucky ones near the back got embroidered white t shirts, but some dudes hit the jackpot.
Finally, gifts given and speeches heard, we moved to the dining area to eat and watch the movie created by a Peace Corps volunteer about Peace Corps in the Gambia. It was about 12:30 pm.
At 1am, we moved to the food. There were cakes, there was salad, there was meat and fresh fruit. I ate triple what any normal person should, but I knew a few short days would find me back in village, eating fish bones only. As I was walking around the tennis court (where the food was set up and served), I was piling food on my plate, while simultaneously eating the tiny cakes he had millions of. I probably ate eighteen tiny pieces of cake by the time the dinner was over. We all ate as much as we possibly could, watched the movie, and then were completely exhausted and ready to sleep in the presidential accommodations the pres had arranged for us.
As we were indulging, our safety and security coordinator came around, and told us the nice lodge in the village only had thirteen rooms, and Peace Corps staff would stay there. So, we could stay in this abandoned apartment complex, or we could return back to Kombo to stay in the Peace Corps house. I chose to return, and entered the door to the place I would finally rest my head at 4am.
Those that stayed said that the lodging was a concrete room, a mattress on the floor, and no electricity… so in fact, even less accommodating than our pit latrine equipped huts with beds.
Despite the tardiness, the poor accommodations, the exhaustion, we all had a pretty good time, and definitely felt that the people of the Gambia appreciated what we and our predecessors have done for the country.
At least, we felt that until a few hours later, when a large number of us had immense gastrointestinal discomfort. Apparently, food that is prepared and ready to be served at 8pm is not quite as intestinally accepted when it’s served at 1am.
Recently, the president of the Gambia, His Excellency Sheik Dr. Alhagie Professor Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh, invited all Peace Corps volunteers to his home village, to properly honor the time the Peace Corps has been present in the Gambia, which as of this year, has been 45 years uninterrupted. Through coups and revolutions, Peace Corps has been ever present in The Gambia.
Peace Corps volunteers have seen how village meetings and programs are run in the Gambia. We know not to expect a meeting in the village to start until two hours after it’s supposed to, we know when it says there’s lodging it’s probably sleeping on a thin mat on a concrete slab, and we know that if food is provided it’s probably fish, palm oil, and okra.
But would it be different when the president was our Gambian host? Time would tell.
The program was set to begin at 4pm, with lunch. We arrived at around 4, after a police escorted hour and a half trip from Kombo to Kanilai. A Peace Corps volunteer got on the intercom system on the bus (yes it was one of those buses – a la eighth grade band trip to Florida) and acted as our tour guide. He pointed out the trees of the Gambia, the point at which the pavement stopped, and my favorite, uttered this quote: “On your right, you’ll see Yuna psychiatric hospital and liquor production facility”. And sure enough, to our right, there it was.
We arrived at around four to a large welcoming party. We finished eating at around five thirty, over an hour late, as expected. If the lunch spread was any indication of how the night would go, we were in for a treat. Every time I looked up, they brought out a new roasted goat filled with stuffing; they had delicious domoda, roasted lamb, tons of fresh fruit, and overall things that provide slightly more taste and nutrition than the average Gambian meal.
Then we all moved to the stadium. We sat in the seats of honor, behind where the president was expected to sit. We sat, watching the dancing Jammeh supporters, listening to the band, and waiting for the big man to make his appearance. The actual ceremony was expected to start at six.
Darkness fell, and still no president had shown his face. At this point we were tired of acting like honorable guests of honor, so I got the people sitting around me involved in a round of “the ugly game”, where each person tries to make him or herself as ugly as possible, and then capture it on digital camera.
Finally, at around 7:45, the president showed up. His arrival was perhaps my favorite thing about the entire night. Most presidents don’t drive themselves anywhere – it’s much safer for someone else to sit in the driver’s seat. But President Jammeh isn’t most presidents. He peeled out in his Land Rover, his traditional white robes blowing wildly in the wind. He squealed to a stop in the grass in front of the leather couch that had been placed there specifically for this purpose, and his henchman approached the car, opened the door, and quickly ushered him onto the couch. Like communion on Easter Sunday, we all quickly cycled from our seat to the front to greet and shake the president’s hand, then back around to our seats.
Then the ceremony began. We sang both national anthems. There were numerous speeches, some well thought out and eloquent ones, some long and rambling ones. Speeches were given by Peace Corps volunteers in each of the local languages. You could tell the crowd got a kick out of hearing toubabs speak and joke fluently in their local language. Even the president gave a couple of guffaws. After this, pretty much everyone who ever was involved in the Peace Corps and is now in government gave a speech. And like most programs in The Gambia, it went on FAR TOO LONG. By the time all the speaking was finished, it was around 10:30 pm. Dinner was planned to be served at 8 pm. Only two and half hours late is about right for the Gambia, so we were all relatively pleased with the timetable of the night.
But then, the president announced he had an exciting surprise for us. First, he asked all female volunteers to stand, which we did, although slightly nervously. Visions of massive wedding ceremonies flooded through my head, but then the president announced he wanted to give us all dressed. We all exchanged excited looks, and now new visions flooded my head – traditional, embroidered, wax print dresses for all of us. Or even better, a dress made out of the fabric printed with the president’s face and name. We all got in a long line to receive our gifts. They were all folded, so we couldn’t really see what we were being offered until we got back to our seats and could open them…
And the president had given every Peace Corps volunteer a Gambian made… pantsuit. Imagine a 70’s flight attendant uniform, then put it a color two steps uglier, and embroider it four levels gaudier, and that’s about what we received. I chose a lovely lime green shirt, far too small, with embroidery that has a pattern you’d see on a blanket in New Mexico. Some girls received some pretty inappropriate stuff, with embroidered arrows pointing directly to their nether regions… Immediately people started talking about throwing their presidential gifts into the free pile. I’m hoping enough people held onto theirs that we can use them for uniforms for WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament) this year.
Then the Peace Corps men were invited up, and to the ladies’ shock, many of them were given beautiful, traditional, wax printed clothes. Some unlucky ones near the back got embroidered white t shirts, but some dudes hit the jackpot.
Finally, gifts given and speeches heard, we moved to the dining area to eat and watch the movie created by a Peace Corps volunteer about Peace Corps in the Gambia. It was about 12:30 pm.
At 1am, we moved to the food. There were cakes, there was salad, there was meat and fresh fruit. I ate triple what any normal person should, but I knew a few short days would find me back in village, eating fish bones only. As I was walking around the tennis court (where the food was set up and served), I was piling food on my plate, while simultaneously eating the tiny cakes he had millions of. I probably ate eighteen tiny pieces of cake by the time the dinner was over. We all ate as much as we possibly could, watched the movie, and then were completely exhausted and ready to sleep in the presidential accommodations the pres had arranged for us.
As we were indulging, our safety and security coordinator came around, and told us the nice lodge in the village only had thirteen rooms, and Peace Corps staff would stay there. So, we could stay in this abandoned apartment complex, or we could return back to Kombo to stay in the Peace Corps house. I chose to return, and entered the door to the place I would finally rest my head at 4am.
Those that stayed said that the lodging was a concrete room, a mattress on the floor, and no electricity… so in fact, even less accommodating than our pit latrine equipped huts with beds.
Despite the tardiness, the poor accommodations, the exhaustion, we all had a pretty good time, and definitely felt that the people of the Gambia appreciated what we and our predecessors have done for the country.
At least, we felt that until a few hours later, when a large number of us had immense gastrointestinal discomfort. Apparently, food that is prepared and ready to be served at 8pm is not quite as intestinally accepted when it’s served at 1am.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Cape Verde > The Gambia
I just went on an epic trip to Cape Verde. It was amazing and beautiful and perhaps the greatest place on earth, but I’m not going to publish the itinerary nor my reasons for my glowing recommendations until a successful travel writing business pays me for my efforts.
Instead, I am going to publish the top three reasons that Cape Verde is greater than the Gambia.
Reason Number Three: Street Food
I cannot explain how amazing the street food was there. I told myself before I went that I would try every piece of street food that I saw, at least once. In The Gambia, if I had made that promise, I would be sputtering in disgust often. Following through on this declaration in Cape Verde, however, was joyous surprise after joyous surprise.
My knowledge of the Portuguese language, and most street food vendors knowledge of English intersected enough for them to understand, through broken Portuguese and emphatic hand motions, that I was indicating, “FEED ME ONE OF THOSE”.
The first tasty morsel was some sort of brownish goop that they spread on bread. Now, in the Gambia, this goop is bound to be something okra or fish related. So I was nervous. But upon its first contact with my taste buds, I knew this was not Gambian street food. The goop was some sort of sweet caramel type substance. The bread was about the size of a hot dog bun, slathered with delicious muck, and it put me back 10 escudos, or about 14 cents. I immediately ate two more.
Only then did I notice the wild variety of street food surrounding me. Had I noticed it before, I would not have been so quick to guzzle the first nugget.
Immediately upon discovery, I had all my hands and mouth space occupied with some pizza type onion-y thing, two incredibly iced doughnuts, and a huge piece of cake. All of that for 50 escudos. Or like 80 cents.
The best street food moment of the trip came after many attempts. I’d seen woman walking around with large, clear plastic bags, filled with what looked like raw tofu. It was visibly cold and wet, and was about the size, shape, and thickness of a rice cake. I had no idea what this was for a long time. I had seen many people walking around with the bags, and people making purchases, but no one actually consuming this mysterious consumable.
My moment came, and in a flurry of misunderstanding, I finally ended up with one of these discs, for 150 escudos, or slightly more than two dollars. Based on my previous experiences, this was an expensive hunk of something.
I examined its cold wetness, and wondered what it could possibly be. At this point, I was still pretty sure it was raw tofu. But upon the first squeaky bite, I knew for certain that it was the greatest discovery since the finding of these beautiful islands so long ago.
It was cheese. A huge disc of recently pressed goat cheese (I think). Cheap, accessible, fresh, not processed, cheese????? This is the stuff of a Gambian volunteer’s dreams. And thus, reason number three that Cape Verde is greater than the Gambia.
Reasons Number Two: Infrastructure
This may have been the biggest shock upon arriving to Cape Verde. I’m no expert nor widely traveled person, but having lived on the continent for over a year, I thought I’d understood what Africa had to offer, and most likely wouldn’t be too surprised by anything this continent had to throw at me.
Then I arrived in Cape Verde.
You think Africa, in general, has a lack of power, running water, banks, restaurants, on time vehicles, or schedules of any sort? Think again.
Cape Verde has some amazingly beautiful sights to see. They have mountains, beaches, volcanoes, beautiful people, interesting cities, etc. But a strange proportion of my pictures are of seemingly mundane things. Trash cans, power lines, electric lights, and comfortable seating.
BECAUSE AFRICA DOES HAVE THESE THINGS.
Was I pretty ignorant of Africa before I got to Cape Verde? Definitely, but I would argue that makes me appreciate it much more. Most folks, upon seeing a beautiful valley filled with sugar cane blowing in the wind, capped off by a low, fluffy cloud cover, would miss the understated beauty and the manifestation of lots of time and effort on the part of government and local laborers if they overlooked the green trash cans, the cobbled road, the delicate spine of power lines running to the most remote, basic, rural homes.
Reason Number One: Stuff to See
The most amazing thing that Cape Verde had was stuff to see. Scenery you couldn’t get anywhere else, sights and sounds completely unique and beautiful. Looking to the west and seeing the ocean, and across the channel, another island with the sun setting behind it, and then turning to the east and seeing the peak of a epic volcano that you climbed earlier that day?
Emerging on the top of an epically high ridge of mountains, to look down into the next gorgeous valley, shade obscuring half of it and sunlight blindingly illuminating the rest?
Watching farmers not only plow their fields with horses and donkeys, but also adjust the irrigation lines that come from the water trickling down from way up the mountain?
A boy making his way up a steep cobbled road, and to assist him, he’s holding the tail of a huge white horse?
Hearing a local Creole speaker order the locally made alcohol called “grogue”, which in my Chicago accent sound synonymous with witch’s puke, but in their lispy, musical tongue, it sounds like something fantastical and delicious?
Amazing.
You should go there.
PS. Mom. I know you just bought your ticket to the Gambia… but it’s pretty good too!
Instead, I am going to publish the top three reasons that Cape Verde is greater than the Gambia.
Reason Number Three: Street Food
I cannot explain how amazing the street food was there. I told myself before I went that I would try every piece of street food that I saw, at least once. In The Gambia, if I had made that promise, I would be sputtering in disgust often. Following through on this declaration in Cape Verde, however, was joyous surprise after joyous surprise.
My knowledge of the Portuguese language, and most street food vendors knowledge of English intersected enough for them to understand, through broken Portuguese and emphatic hand motions, that I was indicating, “FEED ME ONE OF THOSE”.
The first tasty morsel was some sort of brownish goop that they spread on bread. Now, in the Gambia, this goop is bound to be something okra or fish related. So I was nervous. But upon its first contact with my taste buds, I knew this was not Gambian street food. The goop was some sort of sweet caramel type substance. The bread was about the size of a hot dog bun, slathered with delicious muck, and it put me back 10 escudos, or about 14 cents. I immediately ate two more.
Only then did I notice the wild variety of street food surrounding me. Had I noticed it before, I would not have been so quick to guzzle the first nugget.
Immediately upon discovery, I had all my hands and mouth space occupied with some pizza type onion-y thing, two incredibly iced doughnuts, and a huge piece of cake. All of that for 50 escudos. Or like 80 cents.
The best street food moment of the trip came after many attempts. I’d seen woman walking around with large, clear plastic bags, filled with what looked like raw tofu. It was visibly cold and wet, and was about the size, shape, and thickness of a rice cake. I had no idea what this was for a long time. I had seen many people walking around with the bags, and people making purchases, but no one actually consuming this mysterious consumable.
My moment came, and in a flurry of misunderstanding, I finally ended up with one of these discs, for 150 escudos, or slightly more than two dollars. Based on my previous experiences, this was an expensive hunk of something.
I examined its cold wetness, and wondered what it could possibly be. At this point, I was still pretty sure it was raw tofu. But upon the first squeaky bite, I knew for certain that it was the greatest discovery since the finding of these beautiful islands so long ago.
It was cheese. A huge disc of recently pressed goat cheese (I think). Cheap, accessible, fresh, not processed, cheese????? This is the stuff of a Gambian volunteer’s dreams. And thus, reason number three that Cape Verde is greater than the Gambia.
Reasons Number Two: Infrastructure
This may have been the biggest shock upon arriving to Cape Verde. I’m no expert nor widely traveled person, but having lived on the continent for over a year, I thought I’d understood what Africa had to offer, and most likely wouldn’t be too surprised by anything this continent had to throw at me.
Then I arrived in Cape Verde.
You think Africa, in general, has a lack of power, running water, banks, restaurants, on time vehicles, or schedules of any sort? Think again.
Cape Verde has some amazingly beautiful sights to see. They have mountains, beaches, volcanoes, beautiful people, interesting cities, etc. But a strange proportion of my pictures are of seemingly mundane things. Trash cans, power lines, electric lights, and comfortable seating.
BECAUSE AFRICA DOES HAVE THESE THINGS.
Was I pretty ignorant of Africa before I got to Cape Verde? Definitely, but I would argue that makes me appreciate it much more. Most folks, upon seeing a beautiful valley filled with sugar cane blowing in the wind, capped off by a low, fluffy cloud cover, would miss the understated beauty and the manifestation of lots of time and effort on the part of government and local laborers if they overlooked the green trash cans, the cobbled road, the delicate spine of power lines running to the most remote, basic, rural homes.
Reason Number One: Stuff to See
The most amazing thing that Cape Verde had was stuff to see. Scenery you couldn’t get anywhere else, sights and sounds completely unique and beautiful. Looking to the west and seeing the ocean, and across the channel, another island with the sun setting behind it, and then turning to the east and seeing the peak of a epic volcano that you climbed earlier that day?
Emerging on the top of an epically high ridge of mountains, to look down into the next gorgeous valley, shade obscuring half of it and sunlight blindingly illuminating the rest?
Watching farmers not only plow their fields with horses and donkeys, but also adjust the irrigation lines that come from the water trickling down from way up the mountain?
A boy making his way up a steep cobbled road, and to assist him, he’s holding the tail of a huge white horse?
Hearing a local Creole speaker order the locally made alcohol called “grogue”, which in my Chicago accent sound synonymous with witch’s puke, but in their lispy, musical tongue, it sounds like something fantastical and delicious?
Amazing.
You should go there.
PS. Mom. I know you just bought your ticket to the Gambia… but it’s pretty good too!
Stay Tuned!
The Gambia was lucky to welcome a new toubab non-tourist inside its borders a few weeks ago, and he has generously agreed to write a blog post about his experiences. Check back for what's sure to be a hilarious, well written tale of wonder and woe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)