While in the Gambia, I'm taking classes at the University of the Gambia (UTG). UTG is the only University in the Gambia and until it was founded ten years ago, there was no higher education in the country at all beyond a few colleges (which here are more like trade or vocational schools).
Prior to this year, UTG classes were held around the city of Banjul (where I live) in rented buildings. This year UTG moved out to Brikama to share a campus with Gambia College (a teaching school).
Unfortunately for me and other students (international and Gambian), walking to class is no longer feasible. The university only moved about 15 miles a way, but it takes about an hour to get there.
We travel to class using Gambia's version of public transportation: bush taxis. Picture a twelve passenger van that did not pass inspection. Make it 15 or 20 years older. Modify the hell out the inside so you can cram as many people in as possible. Bash the outside of it a few times. And maybe make the sliding door stick. That's pretty much a bush taxi.
Unlike buses in the United States, bush taxis have no set routes or times. They travel along wherever they think they can make a buck. You stand on the side of the road waiting for the bush taxi apprentice (a guy collects the money and hangs out the window trying to get customers) shouts out the name of a town in the general direction you want to go.
It costs 5 dalasis (or about 25 cents) for a short ride and 12 dalasis (or about 50 cents) for a long ride. Coming home from classes we often get dropped off about a mile from where we live. Sometimes if there's enough of us we can convince them to go an extra mile (for a price), but we have been choosing to save the dalasis and walk home.
You see a lot interesting things on the bush taxis. Yesterday, a woman brought two live chickens on that were tied together by their feet. She set them on the floor next to me and I was terrified they were going to peck my toes, but they were quite still and quiet. Another time, we were riding along and every seat was full. We stopped to pick up a bunch of school children and I was confused as to how we would fit them. The boys just climbed in and sat on whatever laps were available. My friend, Belle, caught a bush taxi to class. After driving about five minutes, the driver pulled over, got out, and sat down to eat his lunch. When he had finished up, he got back in and they went on their way.
Bush taxis have also made me more aware of how my comfort level shifts have shifted. The first time I rode in a bush taxi, there were three of us on a bench that was made for two people and I was squashed in between two Gambian men. I smiled and made small talk and had a very pleasant conversation. In America, if I had been squashed between two men I didn't know, I would have been uncomfortable, worried and maybe even a little scared. There certainly wouldn't have been any pleasant conversation.
It makes me wonder what the difference is. I wasn't any more or less safe on the bush taxi here than I would be on bus in the US. I thought perhaps I was judgmental and prejudiced against bus takers in America. Happily, I have realized that is not the case. It simply a difference of culture. Americans have a very large sense of personal space. It would be extraordinarily odd for two strangers - especially strange men - to sit that close to me, and it would be understandable for me to be creeped out. Gambians have a much smaller sense of personal space, especially on the bush taxis where the goal is to cram as many people in as possible. Here, I accept close quarters as a cultural norm.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Yummy yummy in my tummy!
Food in the Gambia is not quite the center of life it is in the United States. Gambians eat a late breakfast of tapalapa bread (kind of like a cross between a bagel and french bread that is super, super delicious). They have a large lunch around 3 pm and then that's it.
Fortunately for me and my very western tummy, the eight of us American students living together haven't quite adopted that eating schedule. We have breakfast of tapalapa bread around 9 or 10 and then lunch around 2 or 3 pm. Lunch consists of whatever street food is around. Sometimes it's tapalapas with egg or beans or potatoes. Sometimes it's meat pies. Yesterday I was at classes during lunch time so I had an orange, some groundnuts (peanuts) and some frozen baobab juice.
Dinner for us is a real treat. Sunday through Thursday Mohamed cooks us the most delicious food that has even been eaten. EVER. Mohamed is our land lord, residence director, protector and local expert. Like I said, he is an excellent chef and everything he makes is the best thing I've ever eaten. Every night I wish he would make that same dish again for the rest of my life.
Friday and Saturday nights we try our luck at local restaurants, which requires flexibility and an open mind. Many local places don't have silverware, so you eat everything with your hands (chicken, salad, onions, whatever).
Yesterday we went to Kairaba Shopping Center to do some grocery shopping. This is what I bought:
However, the most important item on that list is probably the Raisin Bran. If you ever plan to spend time in Africa, pack your fiber supplements. Trust me on this one.
Fortunately for me and my very western tummy, the eight of us American students living together haven't quite adopted that eating schedule. We have breakfast of tapalapa bread around 9 or 10 and then lunch around 2 or 3 pm. Lunch consists of whatever street food is around. Sometimes it's tapalapas with egg or beans or potatoes. Sometimes it's meat pies. Yesterday I was at classes during lunch time so I had an orange, some groundnuts (peanuts) and some frozen baobab juice.
Dinner for us is a real treat. Sunday through Thursday Mohamed cooks us the most delicious food that has even been eaten. EVER. Mohamed is our land lord, residence director, protector and local expert. Like I said, he is an excellent chef and everything he makes is the best thing I've ever eaten. Every night I wish he would make that same dish again for the rest of my life.
Friday and Saturday nights we try our luck at local restaurants, which requires flexibility and an open mind. Many local places don't have silverware, so you eat everything with your hands (chicken, salad, onions, whatever).
Yesterday we went to Kairaba Shopping Center to do some grocery shopping. This is what I bought:
- Groundnut (Peanut) butter
- Local Organic Honey
- Tea
- Raisin Bran
- Magic-aroni EZ-Cheese
- A packet of lemon biscuits (cookies)
- One chocolate bar
However, the most important item on that list is probably the Raisin Bran. If you ever plan to spend time in Africa, pack your fiber supplements. Trust me on this one.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Why the hell I'm studying in Africa
When I was little, my best friend was a girl who had been adopted from Korea. I thought this was fascinating and that she was beautiful. I wanted to be adopted, too. I wanted to have a heritage to celebrate. When I was ten, we moved into a school district that had a large Jewish population. Once again, the strong sense of culture and, more than that, the sense of belonging to something enthralled me.
These experiences made me very aware that I was in the majority. I was common and ordinary and not that interesting. My heritage is Pennsylvania Dutch, but it seemed like everyone around me was at least a little bit PA Dutch. I didn't have any sense of a culture distinctively my own. I was just American. I was jealous of anyone who could say there were African American, Korean American, Italian, Jewish or anything that meant belonging to a bigger group.
Slowly, as I became more aware of how the world worked and how I was treated because I belonged to that boring majority, I began to feel guilty. While I know that my Germanic ancestors suffered persecution, it was not to the same scale that African Americans or Jews have suffered. And today, beyond the fact that I am a woman, there is nothing about my appearance or my name that would cause discrimination (in the United States).
I think part of my reason for choosing the Gambia for study abroad was to experience being a minority. I thought that being white in Africa would give me a taste of being a minority in America.
That was an incredibly foolish thought. It's true that many of the taxi drivers or sellers at the craft markets will attempt to sell me things at a greatly inflated rate, however this is because they believe I am a tourist and therefore someone with a lot of money (and who is unfamiliar with its value). While it is the color of my skin which makes locals think I am a tourist, I believe that if I were black, I would be treated exactly the same - once they figured out I was a foreigner.
In a way, however, I think studying in Africa is giving me what I wanted. The fact that I am such an outsider here has made me aware that there is a culture I can call my own. There is a group to which I belong. I've been told by many people that study abroad teaches you more about yourself and your own culture than that of the country you're in. I'm starting to see how true that is.
These experiences made me very aware that I was in the majority. I was common and ordinary and not that interesting. My heritage is Pennsylvania Dutch, but it seemed like everyone around me was at least a little bit PA Dutch. I didn't have any sense of a culture distinctively my own. I was just American. I was jealous of anyone who could say there were African American, Korean American, Italian, Jewish or anything that meant belonging to a bigger group.
Slowly, as I became more aware of how the world worked and how I was treated because I belonged to that boring majority, I began to feel guilty. While I know that my Germanic ancestors suffered persecution, it was not to the same scale that African Americans or Jews have suffered. And today, beyond the fact that I am a woman, there is nothing about my appearance or my name that would cause discrimination (in the United States).
I think part of my reason for choosing the Gambia for study abroad was to experience being a minority. I thought that being white in Africa would give me a taste of being a minority in America.
That was an incredibly foolish thought. It's true that many of the taxi drivers or sellers at the craft markets will attempt to sell me things at a greatly inflated rate, however this is because they believe I am a tourist and therefore someone with a lot of money (and who is unfamiliar with its value). While it is the color of my skin which makes locals think I am a tourist, I believe that if I were black, I would be treated exactly the same - once they figured out I was a foreigner.
In a way, however, I think studying in Africa is giving me what I wanted. The fact that I am such an outsider here has made me aware that there is a culture I can call my own. There is a group to which I belong. I've been told by many people that study abroad teaches you more about yourself and your own culture than that of the country you're in. I'm starting to see how true that is.
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