Gambia Maybe Time

I learnt this week that GMT stands for 'Gambia Maybe Time' - and that about sums up life in the Gambia. Everything is done at an amble, and no-one really concerns themselves too much about time keeping. Perhaps we in the West could learn something from that. We landed at Banjul International Airport in the late afternoon in 36 degrees of heat, and were set upon by hordes of locals outside the airport, all wanting to take our bags and earn a little money in tips. Gambia is one of the smallest and poorest nations in Africa, and everyone has an angle. You can't blame them for trying. And my angle? I was in Gambia with 5 colleagues and 30 student teachers from the University of Plymouth, on a comparative study tour.

On day 2 we took a bush taxi into the centre of Serekunda, one of the largest cities in the Gambia. Bush taxis (tanka tanka) are haphazard, arriving when they arrive, and are usually battered, poorly maintained old mini-buses. They stop for people on demand anywhere, anytime, and squeeze as many inside as they can, including their baskets, chickens, goats etc, into the space that is available before driving off in a cloud of black fumes. We travelled for 20 minutes, and paid the princely sum of 5 Dulasi for the privilege - about 15 pence.

Nothing prepares you for what you see, hear (and smell) on the streets. The dangers don't come from the people, who are usually very friendly and welcoming. Rather, it's the maze of open sewerage channels and lack of hygiene that challenge most visitors (don't have ice in your drink and avoid salad). I will never forget the colour and richness of the market places, where traders can set up anywhere, usually shoulder to shoulder, to do business. At night-time, there are no street lights. The only light comes from open fires, car headlights and the occasional trader who happens to have a lamp connected to a car battery. The pungent, mingled smells of livestock, kerosene and meat cooking on open fires continually assail the nostrils, and the dust and heat are ever present.

It's easy to open up conversations with local people. They will do it for you. Anyone who looks like they are visiting is approached, and they then try to find out as much about you as they can so they can attempt to obtain your e-mail address, an unwanted mobile phone, or a handout of some kind. On my first day in Serekunda, one guy glued himself to me and tenaciously followed us around for half hour, until we decided to invite him to sit down and have a drink with us. During the conversation, we talked about religion (Moslems and Christians live side by side in harmony and intermarry freely), politics, local customs and culture, and of course education. My new friend, Al Fusainey Janh (pictured above), told me that many of the schools in Gambia don't have electricity, let alone computers. The Gambian government provide the school building, the teachers and the chalk. Any thing else has to be funded by parents, and most are too poor to do so. Most people who wish to use the Internet go to a telecenter or Internet cafe. Many people have mobile phones, but they are mainly used for talking and text, because few have the capability to browse the Internet.

In tomorrow's post on this blog I will give an account of our visit to a rural primary school, what we saw, and my conversations with the teachers and children.

For more pictures see my Flickr Photoset


Gambia Maybe Time by Steve Wheeler was written in Banjul, Gambia and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.