Sloans,
I  got the article through a friend and i would ask her to find out the authors
name and mail address . I support sister Jabous proposal on a joint reply.
Chi Jamma.
Bro. Sheikh Tejan Nyang.

Prince Obrien-Coker wrote:

> Guys,
> Here is  the posting that some of you missed. It was an attachment of a
> posting by Sheikh Tejan Nyang on Monday 7th February. Due to the
> file-extension of the attachment, it was difficult for some to open the
> file. However, I am re-posting the piece for all to read. Because of the
> length of the article, I have removed the headers, trailers and footers to
> reduce the length.
> WARNING: "THIS IS A VERY LONG PIECE AND READING THROUGH MIGHT MAKE YOU
> CHOLERIC, BUT PLEASE BE PATIENT AND READ THROUGH."
> Please NOTE that this article was written ENTIRELY by a GERMAN.
> Enjoy!
> Prince Coker
>
> From: "Spector Travel of Boston, Inc" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: "Sheikh Tejan Nyang" <[log in to unmask]>
> Subject: Website
> Date: Sun, 6 Feb 2000 15:37:47 -0500
> No Problem in The Gambia?
> By Birgit & Joel Samuel
>
>  Embedded in the country of Senegal, the Gambia is located at around 13
> degrees north of the equator and is the most western spot on the continent.
> It was made popular as the home of Kunta Kinteh from Alex Haley's "Roots".
> Its population is just over a million people from about 10 different ethnic
> groups and it is among the twenty poorest countries in the world with a
> fifty percent illiteracy rate and a life expectancy of less than 45 years.
> There used to be dense woodlands at one time but due to over-population and
> grazing it has lost most of its vegetation and is now on the verge of
> becoming a desert in the Savannah zone. High incidence of Malaria was
> responsible for its fame as the "white man's grave" and Malaria remains one
> of the leading causes of death to this day. The chief religion is Islam with
> widely practiced polygamy where a man is allowed to legally have as many as
> four wives and two girlfriends.
> This affects the society and anarchy is the rule of thumb. The good aspect
> is that the children grow up with an extended family and many relatives
> around them all the time which makes them seem better adjusted in
> interacting with people on a group-level than the western way of isolation
> and separateness.
>
> For the man the woman is there to serve him. Her pleasure is not a topic,
> but her sterility is. If a woman does not produce an offspring after a
> relative short time of marriage she is in trouble. The man can always send
> her back to her family or simply divorce her. And a woman without a man is a
> heavy burden to the family and one more mouth to feed. The society offers a
> solution for these women: the Marabous.
>
> Many European women come to West Africa in search of a man. They are often
> beyond the age of attraction in their own societies and find temporary
> solace with an African man. Many Africans view these type of women as a
> source of wealth for the family and often when the finances are
> significantly depleted the man's Moslem side comes to the forefront and he
> demands another wife. After a few years of trying to keep the marriage going
> she is a beaten and changed woman who either just surrenders to this type of
> lifestyle where she is of much lower standing than other African women or -
> if he doesn't claim the children -ends up taking them back to a Europe that
> doesn't accept her anymore. Another common scenario is that the entire
> family moves up to Europe and the African man continues to use the woman for
> money, often living a double life with his other wives waiting for him in
> Africa to which he returns from time to time. Many countries are now aware
> of this African problem and it is much harder for them to find any sympathy
> when trying to move or travel to Europe.
>
> Most of the women to this day are circumcised, meaning that at the age of
> thirteen their clitoris is removed with a knife or razor blade during a
> special ceremony. This can cause infections and some women even die. Those
> who survive often have to deal with bad scars and sterility problems.
>
> To explain what the Marabous are is a bit confusing to the Western mind:
> they are not priests, but clerics; not healers, but medicine men; not
> magicians, but advisers.
> They are a bit of everything. Sterile women are sent to them and receive
> "jujus", charms to protect and help them, and guidelines of how to perform
> certain charity. This can vary from giving 20 cola nuts to older males or
> serving sour milk to twins, breaking an egg on a street junction or throwing
> it into the sea. In very hopeless cases they are sent to the white
> crocodile, which is considered holy. They have to touch it and are promised
> fertility, that is if the crocodile is not aggressive or hungry and things
> go as planned.
>
> Until 1994 there used to be pictures of Sir Dawda Jawara, the original
> President of the Gambia, everywhere. He was an educated man who had studied
> veterinary medicine in Britain and became president right after Britain gave
> the Gambia its independence. That was back in 1963 and through these long
> years of ruling corruption was rampant and it was a very decadent
> government. But then, almost over night, many changes were taking place and
> the accelerated pace was due to the rapid expansion of technology. This
> development was much too fast and there were undercurrents of tension all
> around. It could be felt that all this was coming to an end. And then, one
> day in July 94, Jawara was overthrown in what was termed a bloodless
> military coup and replaced by a military regime that promised to hold its
> government accountable.
>
> Word had it that the USA was involved in trying to oust Jawara and replace
> him with a puppet president. But things went drastically wrong when a then
> second lieutenant who was a former presidential body-guard wandered into the
> abandoned State House and declared himself the new leader of the Gambia. At
> that time the new USA replacement was holding a conference with the US Navy
> offshore. Thus the bright future of then 2nd lieutenant Yaya AJJ Jammeh was
> preordained and he almost immediately turned into retired Colonel Yaya AJJ
> Jammeh.
>
> In the beginning of 1999, 4 1/2 years after the coup, the Gambia is loaded
> with problems as it had always been. The economy is weak, the unemployment
> rate high and the government tried to solve this dilemma by raising the
> expatriate quota, a yearly fee payable by working non-Africans, to $ 3,000.
> As a result many have left the country, leaving maids, watchmen and drivers
> employed for their private needs and workers and clerks, employed for their
> businesses behind, for whom it will be almost impossible to find employment
> again. The people are worried and have reason to be. Only a stone's throw
> away is the troubled area of Casamance, Guinea Bissau is war-torn and in
> Sierra Leone the war has never ended. The stability that their own country
> would have needed so badly never came. They pray for a brighter future and
> trust in their God. Thy will be done = Inch Allah!How many misconceptions
> there are about Africa we realized when we returned from the Gambia and
> tried to answer questions that took us by surprise. What do people think
> when they think of Africa, and why is it all mixed up? One main factor is
> that many people see Africa as a country, not a continent. And they have a
> vague idea of its inhabitants and the environment: it is hot, there is the
> burning sun and the sea, there are monkeys, lions and consequently there
> must be tigers, probably piranhas and alligators, for sure bushmen, medicine
> men, magic and voodoo. The people live in huts, there are bananas, life is
> backward, there are jungles and snakes, starvation and poverty, wars, aids,
> Ebola and all kinds of diseases, cannibals and the Sahara, arrows, bows and
> spears. It is definitely strange and primitive.
> We had been to Africa for different reasons. Joel is an American video
> producer and this time he visited the Gambia, Africa's smallest nation, to
> do a documentary about West Africa and was later asked to work as a
> consultant and trainer in conjunction with Gambia Television.
> Birgit came from Germany to do business with a Gambian partner. They
> purchased second hand furniture from their former employer, the US Army,
> that was reducing its presence in Germany. Then they shipped them to the
> Gambia and sold them in their shop. She had lived there for some years
> enjoying her house near the ocean surrounded by the fantastic colors and
> smells of the tropics.
> Obviously our reasons to come were different, but when we left they were
> similar.
> The Gambia is not the country of the elephant or giraffe, no hunting
> safaris, only photographing of birds takes place.
>  When one finally has arrived there and the doors of the airplane open, a
> burst of humidity and a heat wave are the first things to greet you, then
> you realize the dust and if you happen to have come during the rainy season
> you will be welcomed by millions of insects that have waited for you at the
> airport. Next you will be hit with the smell of burning wood.
> The way from the airport to the hotels leads through streets that remind of
> slums in South Africa's Soweto and you'll find yourself staring at masses of
> people in their colorful dresses and the cacophony of radios, children, cars
> and horns is deafening and irritating. Should your arrival be at night you
> will participate in a ghostly ride through complete blackness until you get
> to the first settlements where kerosene lamps lit the interior of the huts
> that are lining the road all the way to the hotel area.
> Your first encounter with the local population will probably take place the
> next morning after you woke up to the strange noises of hundreds of birds,
> the soft rattling of the palm leafs and the distant thunder of the ocean.
> "Nanga-def?" they will ask you with broad smiles and you will smile back and
> answer "fine thank you", which will be followed by "and how's the mother?"
> into your astonished face.
> People go through a cordiality and greetings can take an inordinate amount
> of time. For an American or European who is accustomed to asking for
> something even before any greetings are extended very little ever gets
> accomplished in this culture. You have to get used to this way to do things
> that never get done and the philosophy is an easy one to learn: "this is the
>
> Gambia. The country of sunshine, the smiling coast. No problem.
> But problems are everywhere and nothing is ever easy, remembers Joel. "I was
> contracted to do a video tape for an Non Governmental Organization that
> wanted to appeal to the international community for money, its name was DASH
> which stood for Development Action Through Self Help. I was at the airport
> trying to board my plane when stopped by a guard brandishing an M-16 assault
> rifle who intimidated me to open all my suitcases. I appealed to him
> pointing out that my camera and tripod case could be of no interest to him
> and out of the blue he said: 'DASH'. This signaled to me that he knew of my
> assignment and I tried to explain that I was working for this project. He
> continued to say 'DASH' as if he was trying to convey something that I
> hadn't understood. This went on for quite some time and he got more and more
> agitated and belligerent. Finally a German man walked by and, overhearing
> this fruitless 'conversation', told me that in Wollof, the most widely
> spoken tribal language, Dash meant 'bribe' and to just give some money. I
> did - and the guard immediately walked away.
> But often there is simply comedy in the situation," he says, "and the best
> way to handle it is to take it with a fair amount of humor. I was working
> upriver at a Wollof village and the sun was going down. The Chief invited us
> to eat with them in the traditional way of the Moslems. I had watched the
> food preparation and had seen that the water was drawn directly from the
> river. I knew about tests which showed a wide assortment of diseases that
> flourished in the water and lost my appetite. The women also were not too
> clean and the place not very sanitary. My guide did his best to get us out
> of the invitation but said it would be considered an insult if we didn't
> partake with them. We sat on a Baobab mat in a large circle and the food was
> set in the middle. Everyone was waiting that I serve myself so that they
> could begin and I knew I had to think fast. So I immediately reached in and
> took my food with my hand in the typical Moslem manner, but I used my left
> hand. Voices were raised in protest and an argument ensued. I knew what I
> had done, but was unsure of its ramifications. For the Moslems only the
> right hand is used to eat with and the left is reserved for wiping after
> defecating. My guide was as well astounded, but I then told him that I was
> left-handed which he immediately conveyed to the chief. I also added that in
> my culture many people, including myself, wiped with either hand. The women
> were busy clearing away the defiled food and I was never asked again to eat
> with the village."
>  Many foreigners who come to work in Africa come via international
> organizations such as UN or other non-governmental organizations and only a
> few come as technicians and even fewer as entrepreneurs. Birgit belonged to
> the last group and worked and even lived with locals for two years before
> she moved to her own compound. Living there has plusses but many minuses,
> too. The food, for those who can afford it, is fresh and there is a wide
> diversity with tasty meat, rich seafood and a large variety of vegetables
> and fruits. For the affluent, help such as maids, cooks, nannies, watchmen
> and all labor is very inexpensive. Housing, by most western standards, as
> well. The houses are built generously with two or more bathrooms, master
> bedrooms, terraces and nice gardens. The tropical climate guarantees fruits
> throughout the year and the gardens explode in smells and colors during the
> rainy season. On the minus part there is plenty of disease to go around and
> most everyone has had a few bouts with Malaria and to understand the ways of
> the people is really not easy. "We had to learn a lot about a very different
> culture," Birgit laughs, "and it seemed unreal sometimes. Especially their
> belief system. Living in the midst of Gambians showed me a new side to life.
> To my European mind there was superstition everywhere but to the Gambians
> nature spoke. A bush might have been transformed to watch you now and reveal
> all your secrets, the wall might have ears and the trees eyes. The owl that
> sat every night high up in the palm tree was a witch and probably the
> neighbor woman that had died last week. 'Didn't you notice the earring?'
> they asked me. 'She was a bad woman, that's why she was turned into an owl'.
> They were always careful. In a country where it was believed that Marabous
> have the power to send invisible curses to an unsuspecting victim which
> brought nightmares and trouble upon him, everybody was distrustful. And then
> one day I found my first juju.
> I had sat in the kitchen and had the first coffee of the day when something
> in the garden caught my eye. There was a little bird house hanging from the
> Mango tree. In half the year that I've lived there I had never seen it
> before and sat there wondering about this, when Yacine, a woman from Senegal
> , came to visit. 'This is a juju', she informed me 'and you better get rid
> of it, and fast.' Well, I did have trouble with my former Gambian business
> partner, big trouble to be precise, and I had heard a lot about Marabous and
> curses.
>   The common opinion among the whites was to ignore that nonsense. 'Hang a
> mirror in front of it so that it reflects back on them', someone advised me,
> 'that scares the sh......out of them.'But some were more thoughtful. 'There
> are people with powers, don't underestimate them.' I was undecided. When
> Yacine pressured me to see a Marabou myself, 'because when fought with guns
> you fight back with guns,' I finally gave in. And so I found myself crossing
> the country with Yacine in order to see my Marabou. 'My' because he spoke
> French and I could communicate with him.
> We left African civilization and entered the bush, followed endless sandy
> roads full with potholes and I knew that I would never be able to get there
> during the rainy season. We passed several villages until we finally reached
> our destination and stopped in front of a plain compound.
> I had never been to a place like this before. There was no green. Sand as
> far as the eye could see. Skinny chicken ran hecticly across the yard, dogs
> with festering, scabby eyes and bleeding ears lay motionless in the sparse
> shadows. A group of women sat at a well with filled buckets of brackish
> water around them and numerous children in rags approached us. Their noses
> were running, flies settled on inflamed eyes, and smiling and noisily they
> all wanted to touch me, the toubab (white person). Yacine entered the yard,
> followed by me who was followed by at least twenty children screaming
> 'toubab, toubab!' If this Marabou didn't know before who was coming he knew
> for sure by now. We entered the clay hut and came into a dark room. Lined at
> the wall were some decrepit chairs and a couch which had also seen better
> days. I was still reflecting whether I could load it with my enormous weight
> of 120 pounds when I saw the much heavier Yacine just flopping down onto it.
> So I sat down and waited for the Marabou, feeling as uneasy as I possibly
> could and knew for sure that I had lost my mind.
> It took a while before one of the many curtains that flapped into the room
> was pushed aside and a skinny man in his sixties appeared. His once white
> dress was torn and now gray, he looked shabby and unclean. But when I looked
> into his face I relaxed. Here stood a man with intelligent eyes, eyes that
> even showed humor and he took my hand into both of his and greeted me
> warmly. My uneasiness somewhat left me. Then, in his room, he started to ask
> for my reason for visiting him and I told him about the 'bird house' and the
> problems I had and asked if he could help me. And he nodded and smiled.
> He took a horn into his hand. As far as I could tell it was a sheep's horn
> with red marks painted on it. Other than that it was just an ordinary horn
> as I had seen often during the Moslem holidays when they slaughtered sheep
> and threw the horns away. He caressed it, then put it to his ear, listened
> to something only he could hear and finally placed it in front of me, on the
> dirt packed ground. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement
> and as I looked closer I saw this horn spinning around and around, turning
> around its own axis. My mouth went dry and my heart began pounding faster.
> This was frightening. The Marabou sat motionless on the other side of the
> room, away from this horn, and except for the two of us nobody was present.
> Then he started to speak. He looked at me and smiled, but he seemed far away
> and then he told me my life. He knew the names of my children and of
> friends, he knew what I did in the Gambia, he knew of my court case and of
> the corrupt lawyer of mine, he knew of my business partner and warned me of
> him. He told me I am in danger and should leave the country. This he said a
> few times until he finally shook himself back to reality and went silent.
> After a while he asked me if I had a question, but no, I had none. In fact
> all that I had heard was more than I could handle and I thanked him and
> wanted to leave. I was prepared to be charged with a high fee now because I
> am white and therefore must be rich. And why not, he had done his job and he
> and his family had to live from something, I had noticed at least four women
> and probably all these kids that had greeted me were his. So I asked him how
> much I owed him but he put me off. 'I am ashamed of my own people,' he said
> 'may God protect you.' I was stunned, stood there for some time while he
> still held my hands in his, wishing me luck and warning me to be careful.
> I left him thoughtful. How safe was this country? Should I really leave? I
> had been badly attacked by my Gambian partner who had brutally beaten me up
> in front of many eye-witnesses who later in court forgot all they had seen.
> I had been robbed of my car, my house and my business but most of all of my
> belief in justice since the Gambian court system had proved beyond a shadow
> of a doubt that I had no rights having the wrong color. And I thought of
> Joel's story and what had happened to him when he accompanied Mr. Cole and
> his family to videotape ceremonies":
> "I had trouble sleeping that night, the air was very stagnant and I awoke to
> a stillness and the quietness that comes after a newly fallen snow. I
> emerged from my quarters to find a deep fog all around me, but this was
> different. It was the Harmattan from the Sahara and what looked like fog was
> an intense and thick dust that hung in the air. It was everywhere and was so
> fine that even a closed refrigerator door would not be able to keep it out.
> We expected the dust to stay thick for a couple of days and were surprised
> to see it diminishing in the afternoon. This was the out dance-day for the
> male circumcision ceremony of the Mandinka tribe in Georgetown which
> promised to be very colorful and exciting and a unique opportunity for me.
> I had heard many stories about their mask men called the Kankoran which
> terrorized the villagers running rampant, given the status of a god and a
> law unto itself. The Mandinka call them guardians which embody the spirit of
> the bush and are sent out to impart with the elders the secret doctrine of
> the tribe to the circumcised boys. For a period of up to three weeks these
> beings are starved and given drugs to put them into a state for the sole
> purpose of scaring the boys and keeping alive the superstition and power of
> the Marabous or the priests. I was looking forward to this ceremony because
> there would be over a thousand people in all their finery and I would tape
> this never before-seen event.
> We were entering a very big field where young boys were sitting on the
> ground in headdress and many colored beads signifying that they were of the
> circumcision ceremony and immediately I noticed the masked men. For the
> first time there were ten Kankorans from all over the Gambia and the
> Casamance, which is the area of southern Senegal bordering Guinea Bissau. I
> ventured forward and immediately someone asked me not to photograph until
> there was official clearance. I had my tally light turned off but kept the
> camera going without looking into the view finder. After a moment I was
> signaled to follow Moussa and to proceed to the heart of the ceremony which
> was due to begin in front of the tribe. I was running tape as we approached.
> Moussa had words with someone and gave me permission to tape as he beckoned
> me directly in front of a row of initiates. All of a sudden I felt the sting
> of being smacked from behind and faced a Kankoran with two machetes in hand
> when I turned. I immediately put the camera to my hip and replaced the lens'
> cap. The masked devil ranted in a language I could not understand, jumped up
> and down, then turned and ran back fifty paces. I turned and looked for
> Moussa but he was nowhere to be seen. Once again I felt the intense pain of
> being struck three times. I turned immediately and this masked animal was
> grabbing for my camera which was still at my hip trying to tear it from me.
> Out of instinct I took a stance knowing that the next attack would be more
> violent as this thing began to run at me brandishing its machete. I thought
> 'this may be it' and to use my camera as protection if I had to. Everything
> seemed to happen in slow motion now and at that moment an unknown black man
> jumped in front of me and pushed me forward. He yelled in English to run. He
> was right on my tail and the devil right behind him as we dashed into the
> main crowd. While running, thoughts of how easily I could have lost my life
> occurred to me and that there was nothing anyone would do to help me. No-one
> would stand responsible because I was encroaching on their hidden ceremony
> and the only white man; it would be construed as legal.
> My adrenaline was racing and I stood back in the crowd, camera fixed on this
> psychotic creature, as he stormed around terrorizing whoever got in his way.
> This tribe had much more exposure to Europeans and was the once ruling class
> of the Gambia. Therefore this treatment surprised me even more and I
> wondered if there was something else going on that I was unaware of.
> Later I was to find that this Kankoran was a stranger to this local and was
> from the war-torn Casamance that isn't friendly to outsiders."
> The shock of what happened brought to mind our vulnerability for the first
> time and with it came a new awareness. Africa can be a very dangerous place
> and any illusion of safety can be shattered. We were aware that our work
> here was finished and looked forward to returning to civilization.
>
> Biographical Sketch C Past Productions C Current Production C No Problem in
> The Gambia? C Skills C Main Page
> Web Page designed by Birgit Samuel ? last update August 22, 1999 ? for more
> information contact Back to German
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L
> Web interface at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L
Web interface at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html

----------------------------------------------------------------------------