Gunning for the Gambia

The ‘road’ to the Gambian border post (Farafeni) was being re-graded – there was a grader and a roller actively working there that morning. They got to a new building that had the sign ‘Bell Guest House’ on it and were signaled to stop. They pulled over next to this building and went to do the paper work at the office that was set up in what was supposed to be the hair and beauty salon.

There was lots of talking, more money handed over and some waiting there as well. After being told that South Africans must get a visa upon entering the country, the immigration here are insisting on a letter of invitation! The custom’s officer came to check inside the cars while the discussions were going on. There is a ferry crossing here at Keur Ayib but they also have an option of a bridge and ferry at Georgetown.

A call came about going into town to get a tourist stamp. The one officer chose to ‘escort’ us, for which he was told off by his superior, but not before he had asked for the taxi fee back to his office! And some 20 minutes later, the men came out with all the passports and we took to the road to Georgetown. We stopped at the roadside to have a bite and proceeded onwards. In the next town, the police stopped us saying that we have to report back at Farafeni to get a ‘proper’ visa.

Back we went and there, they were told that for Dalasis 1000 each they get a 28 day visa because the previous tourist stamp was not valid for them. This took ages as the immigration officer obviously does not do this procedure everyday and was very slow. He had to check and counter check everything he was doing.

By the time they were done with immigration, it was too late to get to Georgetown and it was advisable to head for Banjul, so they were told. They were advised to go to Barra and cross the river there. The road was good in most parts, except for quite a few customs and police check points which tended to slow the trip down quite a bit.

There is a marked difference in Gambia, the place is clean. Yes, clean, not cleanish, but clean. All the towns we passed had no plastic bottles and bags on the sides of the roads. Occasionally you did see an accumulation of thrash but you’d have to conclude it is their dump because the rest of the place is clean. And of course, there are less flies too. Throughout the south of Senegal and in Gambia, there are villages where the roads of bordered with trees, mango or some other planted trees that sometimes almost make a canopy over the road. All this greenery is very beautiful and reassuring after the desert with its bleak colour variations of sand up north.

Another peculiarity of the place, south of Senegal included, is that every village and often every house on the side of the road has a wooden structure built, either under a tree or covered by a ‘paillotte’ of sorts. This is often made of poles, in the shape of a big bed or a dais. Here is where the village elders or sometimes, whole families gather at the end of the day (or even during the day) and sit and do nothing/watch the world go by. Art of living, you’d say!

Here, however, as in the rest of Africa we passed so far, the children barely greet you and they are asking for this or that. It just does not stop, and the vendors are persistent.

At Essau, they were advised to take the tickets for the cars, that took about 20 minutes again. At Barra, it was complete chaos: trucks, cars, people, vendors etc. The cars had to wait in a line on the left side of the road. There the waiting started, it took ages before they finally realized that there was some shady business going on. Many cars and trucks passed us by, into the gates to the ferry.

They were told that these had ‘special passes’. A few guys offered to make us get to the gates of the ferry faster if we get them a little something. After a long, hot and humid wait, the cars did get to the gates of the port but then the gates closed in front of them! At these gates they were told they had to pay an additional D200/per car for the luggage they were carrying and no receipt would be given. One guy even asked for a cell phone to help them get through onto the ferry. The people took great exception when they were told that the place were not enjoyable because they were not being treated well and people were just intent on making things more difficult.

The one person who said he was hard at work to get the cars onto the ferry was practically hanging onto the cars up to the gates of the ferry. Only Hans and Stephanus managed to get on board and we were first in the queue for the next ferry. And we waited.

By the time the next ferry accosted, the previous one’s motors had broken down and they were drifting. The tide was rising and the captain just left it to drift into the other bank, into Banjul and just managed to get the engines going to get onto the quay. Finally the others only arrived into Banjul 15 minutes before us.

It was dark already; some people were breaking fast on our ferry. Two other cars on our ferry offered to guide us to the area where we had to go – to Cindy’s house. She was DCM for the US embassy when we were in Brazzaville and kindly invited us to stay with her if we visited Gambia. She had already given us directions how to get to her place, and even in the dark the people pointed us in the right direction and we got there.

They were exhausted and dirty. It was such a relief to see a friendly face, to be in the comfort of a house with running water and just let go. There was a lot of talking, catching up, exchange of news and just sitting, eating, drinking, and more talking before hitting the showers and then the bed.

The next day, awake with a cup of coffee and some bread, Cindy took them on a short walk to the ATM and then down to the beach. The place might have sand roads to the various residences and the sides of the roads might not be very smooth to drive on but it was clean. Down at the beach there were signs of dead calamari and the odd dead fish but no rubber sandals, plastic bottles or bags lying around or stuck in the sand.

There are a few resorts in that area, most of which were a bit run down but still quite nice and clean. Then you get in touch with ‘bumpsters’, these beach bum types who accost you asking all sorts of questions and insisting on being your friend, showing you a nice restaurant or sell you peanuts so you can visit the monkey garden up the road.

After an interesting walk, they went shopping as they had offered to make Cindy a Potjie that evening. She asked some people from the British High Commission to come over as well. It is interesting to see what these shops that cater mainly for foreign clientele have to offer. They got their requirements and some more for the road and started the process while Cindy left for her Saturday duty at the American Corner.

 It was a very relaxing afternoon: cooking, blogging, resting, reading etc. Some went into the pool. Cindy has this swimming pool that is supervised by a winged horse!

Later in the afternoon, they sat under the verandah with snacks: freshly made baba ganoush and houmous and pitta bread. It was excellent; and they talked some more. By the time the guests arrived, a great table was laid by Mariana, pudding was made by Elismé and the potjie was done. It was a merry table that evening.

Camping at the stone circles

 They had decided to get onto the road for some more stone circles the next morning. They packed, said their farewells, went to fill the cars and draw money and they were off to the west of the country. The roads were good for a good part but with countless roadblocks, most of them were polite, asking useless questions but you did get little bullies who did not understand what they were about and tended to throw their weight about. They were also great for asking “Anything for me today?” All in all, a waste of time.

Gambia Stone Circles

The general conclusion about this place is not that it is totally and utterly corrupt but that the people just don’t know, and they don’t know that they don’t know. And we are told that they do not want to learn either. The incompetence is the main culprit for keeping such a beautiful small place in its current underdeveloped status.

It is rather amusing to us who are just passing to be hailed as ‘toubab’, which is what they call all foreigners, and they say that we come from toubabadoo whereas the Chinese are ‘chinks’ who hail from chinkadoo. To be sure, this must not be quite as amusing for people who have to live there long term.

The further east you go both in Senegal and in Gambia, the more you see a change in the way people live: there are more huts, more straw roofs, more dwellings made of compact mud and then plastered. In Gambia, it was quite neatly done and kept in general but there was less intensive cultivation than in Senegal.

There are vast areas that only seem to be lying there with some grass and trees on them and perhaps some cattle that walk by from time to time.

Then there was a piece of dirt road that had not seen much maintenance in a while and that slowed us down considerably. Back on a good tar road, they made Georgetown in good time. They opted to cross with the ferry to the other side and see the stone circles and also camp there if possible despite the fact that people were saying that the place would be closed on a Sunday etc etc.

And there it was; open, and the curator was there – an interesting old man who knew the story of the place quite well since his grandfather was the local chief in the time when the first westerners started doing research on these stones. He gave them quite a bit of information on the place before going off to break his fast. They settled into a camp on the site of stones.

Pitta jaffel

They were all quite tired and hot. They finished settling camp and sat for a bit. Dinner consisted of a concoction by Elismé, put into some pita breads, into the jaffel maker on the fire by Mariana. It was tasty and quite filling. The uncle came back and had a long conversation with Coen while tea was being served. However, there were dark clouds looming and they had to secure the camp in case it rained.

It did not rain and they spent a quiet night, which was disturbed by the generator of the nearby cell phone tower occasionally starting up. It is a very peaceful place. Even though the stones are said to be tombs, there was no creepy feeling about it all. It felt more serene, if anything.

Bush camp around Wassu

The others have opted not to go to the Casamance because of the rainy season, so they headed to the border. After checking up on a few structures that have fallen apart, and checking out the way to Baboon island, they headed further east. The ferry crossing was painless, so was the border crossings back into Senegal. However, the roads got to be rather appalling in Basse Santa Sue. They stopped for the night in the bush around Wassu since the places available in the town were nothing to go by.

The next day, the road got worse in no-man’s land and then it was just mud tracks and holes full of water.