FIRE - RUN

A few days before I came into the capital for Christmas, I helped fight (when I say fight, I mean mostly watch) a bush fire african-style.

The area between the villages has mostly short dry grasses so fires burn easily. In between the three nearby villages there are nothing but fields; by the way, I can see those villages at the distance from my village .

After breakfast, I started to make/fix the fence around my garden with the help of Mamadou, my counterpart in The Gambia. After 15 minutes or so, we saw smoke rising in the distance halfway between my village and the next; the villages are about 2km apart. My father and some of my host brothers took off, machete and rake in hand. Soon afterwards we saw the smoke greatly increased; thus my counterpart and I also took off toward the fire. When I got close I was very surprised. Boys and men were swinging branches with leaves to put out the fire. I could not believe they actually thought they could put out the fire with just leafy branches. Sure enough the wind picked up and the men realized they were no match for the fire.

We all headed back to the village and started to clear a firebreak of 2 meters around the village. I was trying to figure out how they were going to put the fire out. I thought maybe they would just let the fire die out on its own. However, by this point the fire was growing towards another village to the west of my village. I started to tell my counterpart we should widen the firebreak, but my counterpart told me to relax, that the fire would be taken care of. All of a sudden, boys in their late teens and twenties started to show up from everywhere carrying leafy branches. They took off toward the fire and started beating the flames and running along the fire line. Women started carrying water out to the fields, but instead of using the water on the fire, the men drank it.

I stood there not knowing what to do because I did not think they could do it; however, with help from all four villages, they succeeded in putting out the flames. Soon afterward everyone went home. Apparently fires happen every year so they are experts at putting them out. Last year was a rare event since there were no fires. I still find it amazing how the villagers put out the fire using only branches, but I guess that is what they have. There is no running water or fire service so they make do with what they have.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year

I wish everyone happy holidays and a happy New Year.

I spent Christmas in the capital (Banjul) with my friends, relaxing at the beach and eating good food.

I think this is one of the most difficult times of the year. This year more than last, when everything was still new, I really wanted to be back home for the holidays. I miss my family and friends, and here, there are no christmas lights, decorations, or music. At least I know next year I will be home for Christmas.

People in The Gambia have heard of Christmas, but know very little about it. They think of it as Tobaski for Christians. Tobaski is a big muslim holiday that we celebrated two weeks ago. I do not know its roots, but it is tied into the story of Abraham and Isaac in the Bible. On God's order, Abraham was going to kill his son, when God intervened at the last second, and told him to kill a ram instead. Therefore gambian families try to kill a ram for the holiday if they can afford it. My family killed two.

My lunch

During Tobaski, everyone is happy around here. People dress up in their nice clothes, and do not work. My compound was really excited with the prospect of eating meat. This is one of the few times they have the opportunity to eat meat. Chicken, beef, goat and lamb are considered luxuries that most families cannot eat on a regular occasion. In my one year of living in village, I have eaten chicken twice, goat once, and lamb last year for tobaski with my host family. However, after three days of eating sheep for every meal trying everthing from intestines to stomach, I was glad to go back to the normal millet, peanut sauce and squash that we eat for two meals on most days.

My host mom (wearing an outfit from the fabric my american mom gave her) and my neighbor

Rainy Season Ending

My host brother in the millet field

The rainy season ended a long time ago, but as you know I have failed to write in a while. The rainy season is the work season in The Gambia. My family goes out in the morning and afternoon almost every day from June until November. There is about a month break in August and September when the weeding is finished and people wait for the crops to ripen. My family grew peanuts called groundnuts, millet, sesame, and rice. I joined my family in the planting, weeding, and harvesting. After a morning and afternoon of weeding I do not envy their jobs. Farming is hard work and after a day of weeding by hand, all I wanted to do is crawl into the fetal position and not move. My lower back hurt badly after the day of bending over. It is amazing watching villagers especially the elderly women who weed for hours without rest bent over with their backs completely straight. (Gambians also grow watermellon, squash, and sweet potatoes.)

My host family separating the peanuts from the dried groundnut plant

This year I convinced my family to grow rice. Rice normally grows in paddies with lots of water, but my village is not near a water supply. There is a new type of rice, NERICA or dryland rice, that can be grown with little amounts of water. I wanted to introduce it to my area so my father and I decided to try a small field this year. Looking back at it, I wonder if it was worthwhile because I spent most of the time arguing with my family about it. I had difficult'y getting them to help me weed and harvest; I think they considered my project, not a family affair. In certain places, the weeds ended up being taller than the rice because my host family would not weed and I refused to do it all on my own (too big a job). We also had a problem with cows eating the rice. The villagers herd the large cows but they let the calves roam free. I cannot understand why they let the calves roam and destroy part of the crops. My father told me people do not agree to herding them and that they do not destroy a lot. In the end, we put cow dung in water and spread it over the fields which kept them away. But, even with all the problems, the rice did produce, and my father is saving seeds for next year. If he plants it next year, I can call it a success so I am keeping my fingers crossed that he will.

Me in the rice field

Next to my house I had a rainy season garden growing cucumbers, squash, sweet potatoes, cassava, and tomatoes. My American pumkin failed miserably. It produced one big pumkin. I kept constant tabs on it and on the day I was going to pick it, it collapsed in on itself completely rotten. My biggest success was cucumber. Unfortunately my village did not like it. They would eat one small piece to be polite, but would not go back for seconds. I ended up eating seven cucumbers in three days and still had some left. I gave one to a lady who is always nice to me. She started to cut it and offer it to the kids, but they had already tried it in my compound the day before and refused. In gambian culture, people must always say food tastes good so she refused to give it back to me when I said I would eat it. She kept forcing it down. By the the squint in her eyes and the puckering of her lips, I knew she found it really sour.

My garden and polypots (orange, lemon, and mango)

Now the men are starting to relax because their work is done. They build fences from time to time, but for the most part they can go back to brewing attaya, green tea, in the morning and afternoon. I think attaya can be considered the national pastime in the gambia.

Me and my host brothers brewing attaya