Giraffe, camel, fish

May 18, 2009

Remember how I said it’s all about community? Well, this past weekend I was invited to the new home of my “boss.” Mr. Pharmacist bought some land in 2003 after he finished his master’s degree. The building began in 2005 and things are nearly completed.

The Kombos area (equivalent to a province) of The Gambia is becoming more and more familiar but there are still corners I have not ventured into. Mr. Pharmacist’s house is in a newer development. As such, I got to learn about a new taxi route. He told me the name of the taxi garage on Friday and I tried to put it to memory by it’s equivalent English sound. Friday evening, I seemed to think this was “woolen giraffe” (a.k.a. wolongira).

Saturday afternoon I ventured out, first catching transport (a shared taxi on a fixed “bus-route”) to turntable. I have been past turntable many times … to the north is Sukuta, to the south follows the coast down towards Brufut and Sanyang beach and continuing east is the airport junction. I knew I wanted to go towards Brufut but figured I should double check that “woolen giraffe” was correct. Good thing I checked. While the taxi drivers would undoubtedly have figured out where I wanted to go, I’m sure they would have had a good chuckle along the way.

The actual name of my destined taxi garage: woloncama (“woolen camel”). While giraffes and camels are somewhat similar (longish necks? common in various parts of Africa?), they are indeed different.

I found a taxi going in that direction. I even responded correctly to some Wolof and Mandinka questions, much to the delight of the taxi driver and other passengers. Mind you, these were pretty basic (what’s your name and how’s the day).

After visiting at Mr. Pharmacist’s house, meeting his wife and children (and their Qur’anic teacher), we drove to Tanji as he wanted to get some fresh fish for the week. (Tanji is also where one can go on a camel ride; see Flickr photos.) That moment of walking through the crowded beach, gulls circling, children chasing each other, women hawking their fish filled baskets, the ebb and flow of colours, the fresh salty-sea air and a gently increasing glow as the sun dipped lower — that moment was just a little bit magical.

With typical Gambian generosity, I was dropped off at turntable with a bag of fresh fish and an open invitation to visit at any time. Not bad for a Saturday afternoon adventure.