The Gambia, one of the smallest countries in Africa, shares the distinct honor of being one of only two countries in the world who’s name is officially prefaced with the article “The”. This is said to have been intended to distinguish it from nearby Zambia, or perhaps to reference The River Gambia, that flows through the country. This is generously considered a developing country, but it’s crippling poverty and low education makes it one of the poorest nations in the world, led with institutional corruption and bribery. And while the people seem content enough, it is not uncommon for young men to befriend female tourists, even boldy proposing marriage, in a hopeful effort to escape to a better life.
We docked at the island seaport and capital city of Banjul, a commercial and transportation center with a population of about 40,000. In 1816, the country was colonized by the British, and it gained independence in 1965. I took a bus tour, led by our able and friendly guide, Lamin, and Kevin, our military escort, past the soccer stadium where a flock of vultures was gathered on the scrubby grass, through the decaying colonial center to Arch 22 on Independence Drive, the iconic monument built to commemorate their 1994 bloodless coup and pictured on their 100-note currency, to the National Museum, and by the city’s main mosque where ninety percent of the population worships.
We visited the Royal Albert Market, named after Queen Victoria’s husband. Jammed with vendors selling everything from vivid fabrics, carved wooden masks, produce and fish, shoes, even wigs, hairpieces, and tailored clothing, this market is a shoulder-to-shoulder labyrinth of alleys and winding stalls filled with highly pungent scents and visual surprises at every turn….not for the claustrophobic or queasy.
Past mangroves, wandering goats, and women harvesting peanuts, one of the country’s main crops, we took the bridge across The Gambia River to Bakau, a small village with narrow, deeply rutted dirt roads lined with open trough sewers, cinder block houses and corrugated tin shacks, to the Kachikally Crocodile Pool and Kachikally Museum. To reach the crocodiles, who represent the power of fertility in The Gambia, it was a short walk through the jungle to a small pond where the large, moss-covered reptiles lay basking openly on the bank, while the park attendant encouraged fearless, or perhaps foolish, tourists to gently pet them. The nearby museum displayed various native costumes, ceremonial dress and accessories, and described historic traditions practiced among the tribal locals.
We stopped at a fabric market square and watched a brief demonstration of the wax and dye process typical to the region, and could purchase yardage of the local batik and tie-dyed designs, some of which were much like the Japanese “shibori” technique.
West Africa is not the shiny part of the world, and nowhere is that more evident than in The Gambia. In spite of its beaches, abundant bird species, and nature parks, this country still needs a lot of polish.
This is interesting…..
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