(later that day = time unknown)
Yesterday, I got up early, in the car shortly after 6 am, Libon and then a driver to take his place had us on our way. I should have ‘snapped’ pictures out of the car window, but I’m still uneasy about taking pictures. The people here have been photographed without permission and the result is a very strong warning against doing the same. Because I feel less like a tourist and more like a visitor and community member, I am abiding and respecting this photographic wish far more that one who knows my love of the camera would expect. “Take lots of pictures” people said before I left. Well, that lots is broken down to far fewer than would be expected and I will return with far more images in my mind than on digital “film.” I wish to respect all here, their community, and way of life. I do not want to boast or brag or define my life against and above theirs. It is only different and by no means better. So as for the fewer numbers of pictures I offer simply respect as my answer.
Yesterday, Libon, while traveling via hard path through the bus, told me about how his picture ended up in a book that was shown to him. A man suggested that it looked like him when he brought the book with him. Amy revealed that it was actually him. Without consent and next to false text. Contact with the publisher has yet to make progress. Too, he says that there are videos that he did not consent to being circulated around Europe and America. That, in fact, a man came to Gambia with the video in search of him without even the knowledge of his name. The man came with the video and showed it to people who then recognized and named Libon as the person in question.
So too he spoke of others who have not consented to appearances. Fights with publishers and the prospects of law suits.
And while I will make no book or video to distribute, I do not wish to be thought of, to be perceived, as being another white person with camera and that aim.
So while I wish to take pictures of other people – of strangers –I refrain. Their dress, their ways of carrying objects on their heads or babies on their backs live in my mind but I’m not sure if they will appear from my camera.
From this I must use more words in order to preserve and share.
So with the sun rising against the highway and land backdrop, yesterday morning was a beautifully colored sight of a sky. I think also that we drove around the arch and I know that I witnessed the beginning of the early morning set up of the Banjul market.
We, however, were there to wait for the ferry. Waiting in a waiting area, many men and children were attempting to sell various wares. I could have purchased a lot of things. A variety including hats, toothpaste, flashlights, watches, tea, sugar, water, bread, toys, and more that I am forgetting were paraded before my (and everyone’s) eyes.
Waiting then at the gate for the herd of us to be let in was an anxious mix of passengers. Running like animals being let out when the gate was opened.
The ferry was large, full of cars, trucks, and passengers. The sellers as well.
The ferry crossed the river to Barra. And just as there was an anxious rush to get on, so there was to get off. Before the ferry had docked people were preparing to quickly exit.
People balancing various things on their heads as I have seen. But I was taken by surprise at the sight of tvs being balanced.
Walking down the exit was a rushed event and I soon discovered that it would have been a smart idea to wear shoes instead of my “Gambian slippers” (flip-flops- the Gambian shoe of choice). With the rain, the roads were a sloppy, muddy mess and my feet, and legs, and the back of my shorts quickly got covered in the muddy, sandy dirt.
We walked to a massive taxi/bus transit area. Libon questioning who was going where we wanted. We were led to a station wagon and entered, sitting in the back row. There was a man sitting shotgun and I deduced that we would be waiting for a full car.
That wait was long. Libon exited to buy biscuits (=cookies) and water from the market and to smoke and to stretch. The wait seemed to be an eternity.
There were many sights that I took mental pictures of as to not film strangers.
Those include the young girls balancing their food for sale on top of their heads; the men haggling and directing taxi and passenger traffic; and the market and taxis themselves.
I kept quiet, and just kept watching. After some men were about to join our car’s party but decided against it due to cost, I began to silently worry about the cost of this trip. I had brought 1000 dalasi along not expecting to use ½ of it. But silently worry is what I began to do as I sat and waited and watched and waited.
Libon was talking outside the car and came back to me with “I made a little mistake” and we were then done waiting in that car and off to a taxi—yellow and green as they are painted here. For a higher cost, we would take the taxi (as opposed to the shared “bus” station wagon) to see Kunta Kinteh related things—the purpose of this adventure. 600 dalasi to go, but we agreed that it made sense. I worried that then it’d be another 600 to go back which made me wish that I had brought more dalasi with me. But it was arranged that 850 dalasi would be for going and coming back. This made me feel better. So off we went, first stopping for some petrol (gas) and then across the water filled dirt roads to a highway and then into the bush. A long, winding experience of a ride through the bush. I sat in the back of the cab with Libon and watched the scenery go by. At times, the driver could accelerate and at others he would nearly stop to circle, and weave and work his way down the road.
Libon’s desire for peace was discussed back at that waiting site and again on the ride. And about the photography and possibly other things that I am now not calling to mind.
We seemed to be traveling back and forth without making progress. I saw trees and large ant hill structures. Eventually we passed some homes and villages.
“Toubab” was shouted by children. And they would run along side the car. They’d run up to the car and wave and shout and run. I’ve never experienced that. Repeatedly, with each child that came into sight. Sometimes I heard their shouts before they entered my view.
We passed through a chief’s village and that of Kunta Kinteh’s family. We’d work our way backwards starting with the island trip we had decided to keep time on our side so we didn’t stop in the village.
Finally, we go to Juffreh. Immediately I had a guide and men trying to sell me carvings. And children holding my hands and asking for my name. The children backed off once they realized I had nothing for them, but those carving men were relentless.
I saw the freedom flagpole. If a slave swam and reached the pole, he could be freed. This was the jist of the hard-to-understand English that the guide was speaking to me in. Something about the canon too but I wasn’t/ am not sure of what he said. The first church in West Africa or the structural ruins of it lay off in the distance.
We soon boarded the fishing boat—one Libon had earlier told me he was afraid of. I had assumed he would stay but before I knew it, he and our taxi driver were in it with me.
A hot 3 mile boat ride took us to St. James Island. Multiple names for it, but it was the site of a fort that was a holding place for slaves for many years.
Time and the elements have weathered away a lot of the structure but the history remains as strong as ever.
There were protection canons. The site of a cooking circle on the ground and then the fort to see.
The holding cell of slaves- including Kunta Kinteh.
A freedom fighter, he was aggressive and had to remain chained, isolated, and guarded.
The chain still existed in the wall but has been removed on account of the imagery being too strong. But you see where it stuck out of the wall. Libon took my picture. I smiled as he was taking my pictures and this tossed around in my mind. A contradiction of what one does in a posed picture against the location where I was.
I saw where the people in charge met and where they watched over the coming and going of the slaves. They were brought to the fort as a holding place.
I saw the slave yard where they were given freedom only once a month.
A room for the governor, and someone they referred to as the long man because he was tall.
The women and children had a room separate from the men.
History. I’m glad I saw, but that is not happy or in any way positive to experience.
I took pictures there. Hopefully, some will turn out well. But more than that, I experienced being there. Not as any of the people did, but now as a person investigating history. I thought of Brandi—this is a trip she should have been on. She would know the questions to ask. (They kept asking me if I had any; I think because I was very quiet.)
A boat ride back to the mainland. Stopping midway due to the need of fuel. I could sense Libon’s uneasiness. Too late for him to be on the boat though. I assumed he had made this journey before with other guests, but he told me later that he had never been. I was luck he said—repeatedly.
That he had not been surprised me because they had all talked about going. I guess he normally sends another person as a guide on this sad trip.
We made it back to land and I was swarmed bt the relentless carvers. I kept saying “no thank you” but it did not matter. As I walked down the dock, the prices dropped, but worried about the overall trip cost, I still declined. More important was making it through and back from this day.
I photographed the never again statue. I felt fine smiling with that as my backdrop.
And we made our way over to the museum. Quietly, I listened about the great kapok tree—seen one way looking like an elephant and the other with a monkey face.
Circumcisions were done under this tree. Inside the museum were pictures, text, and artifacts all about slavery.
I didn’t want to read each poster with intense detail as I would have at another place. A, there was a time issue, but b, the subject was so heavy.
Then I looked at and boarded the boat. Smaller than I pictured from my history textbooks. Maybe not all were that size. My picture there doesn’t have a smile. It’s definitely a reflection of my experience at that point in the day.
That concluded that space.
We opted due to time not to go into the village and see the family. The matriarch woman died a year or two ago which made that decision easier. And actually it would have been more of the same sad history. Plus, I was not feeling in charge—I don’t have knowledge of time here in Africa. (Getting my watch fixed has been not as necessary. Mike was right. I could wear it, but I’ve chosen not to. I look at it in the morning, adding 4 hours since I didn’t even change it to see if I have to get up. Libon’s house has a clock but I realized yesterday upon our return, that it has stopped.)
Driving back through the bush, I snapped pictures out the window. I changed the setting to “kids and pets” so maybe some wont be too blurry.
The road out seemed easier for the driver. He did not have to stop, as he did on the way in once to test the deepness of a puddle with his leg. I realized after awhile (and was confirmed once we hit a paved road) that we were not traveling out the same way we came in.
I saw thatched roof huts. Like those in the Milwaukee museum. I pictured Missi, Mandi, and I posing in the museum a few years ago. It’s certainly real. I’m not sure if one will appear in a photograph or not. Again, I felt fine with open landscape, but not with homes or people.
So I want to see that picture I know we took and go back to the museum. See it now again with new eyes. A new perspective.
Upon hitting the paved road, we were stopped by police. The driver knew the man. And I think again some money was slipped his way. The Gambian way, again that phrase used: you have who you know in the police force. You give offerings so they’ll help you out. Okay-what do I know of that system?
Reached Barra again and bought ferry tickets. Waited at the dock—this side didn’t have the waiting area like on the other. I watched men unload a fishing boat full of water packets and a family pull up in a big van and unload a future/almost/just wife’s dowry.
Being Friday (or maybe that’s just what the guidebook leads me to think), I saw many well-traditionally dressed women. And some men. (POST NOTE: While driving back to Barra, we passed a mosque that had people overflowing out in lines in prayer. So many people, it was neat to see.)
Eventually the ferry arrived and I witnessed the anxiousness of preparing to both board and de-board again.
We took seats on the 2nd level—out of the sun. My skin felt burnt and indeed it is. A nice tank top farmer’s tan. Sadly that won’t look too nice for the wedding I’ll be attending. Red enough that I might peel. I had put stuff on in the morning, but there are multiple contributing factors at play:
1 – hot, hot sun all day
2 – long day in the sun
3 – malaria medicine
There’s one free Gambian souvenir.
On the ferry, I watched the baby on the seat across from me and out the window. The baby was drinking a treat that the mother had bought from a person selling on the ferry. She had had her money hidden in an end of her traditional dress. She would untie the knot of her clothes to get out coins. The baby would also dig through her stuff to find part of a corn on the cob to eat as well. The ferry going the other way passed and I took its picture out the window. Also raining clods off in the distance—Libon’s concern about our day and time included concerns about the rain.
Off the ferry on the other side as another rush and then we were swarmed by taxi people. At that point I again thanked the situation that I wasn’t by myself. They practically run off of the ferry in a huge swarm and it’s hard to walk or stay with someone you are with. And the taxi people are relentless. We had to keep saying no and avoid being pulled one way or the other.
We found the car and driver and were off a different way home. I was tired and hot- with burning skin. But really glad, also, that we made the journey.
After eating and reading (to wait out the time before I could lay down-for the medicine), I showered and took a nap. I thought I’d fall asleep easily but I was hot and on fire. I listened to my ipod, eventually turning it off and eventually falling to sleep.
Dinner—one that for the first time I wasn’t a complete fan of. Beans and chips.
It’s the beans.
I really am not a beans person. (aside from the green variety.) that’s just the way it is.
More conversation with Libon. I like Libon’s personality. He doesn’t want to fight which makes him avoid conflict. But he truest in his belief in god for what happens in life and boils things down to having peace. Perhaps it’s a simplified version as it’s translated into English, but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s that simple of a belief.
Free my mind and be open he says.
No problem.
I like that way of thinking.
We walked to Isha and Seny’s after dinner. The frogs at one part of the walk are so loud. I need to record it because it astounds me each time we pass them. It’s an amazing sound.
I love the different sights and sounds.
Isha speaks of liking my friendship and how she’ll marry me and Libon before I leave. I laugh at that. But I know at the heart of it she wants me around and I like her friendship as well.
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