Gambia-l,
Here is another excerpt from this imaginary Gambian village. They
have been picked randomly.
*
Diatta had just completed his dinner, and leisurely swung on his hammock
made from empty rice sacks. His third wife, also his favorite, sat on a low
stool besides him engaged in low conversation. The wind howled like a raging
bush fire, and the clouds thundered menacingly as if a heavy rain was in the
making. The darkness outside was teriffying, and the hurricane lamp that hung
on a rope tied to his verandah provided the only light.
Diatta, suddenly, quietly dozed off to sleep, and his third wife who sat
besides him most of the night went into the house. At that moment there was
an unruffled greeting; it came from someone who just walked into the
compound. Samba entered as inconspiciously as possible, and astonished Diatta
when he sat down on the low stool his wife had just vacated.
Diatta did not get along very well with Samba. However, he had a penchant
for telling his stories that boosted his battered self-image in the village.
He wanted Samba to understand that he was the unquestionable decision maker
in the village. He was uncompromising and snobbish to anyone who wanted to
take development initiatives in the village. He acted like a rat that gnawed
one's dirty feet and then blew it gently to ease the pain. He hypocritically
feigned affection to his enemies both real and imagined, while he work
stealthily and viciously to destroy them.
Diatta smiled with pride and grinned with conceitedness in the faint
light; he cleared his throat as he began narrating one of his fabulous
stories.
"When I was a boy," he said to Samba, "I would walk into the depths of
the forest, going from one palm-wine taper to the next collecting fees for my
father. All this area we are looking at was under my father's care.
He accented what he said by spreading his hands openly before him, as if
revealing the land.
As the alkalo of Christekunda, Diatta was the sole authority for the
dispensation of land, which he strongly regarded as a family property. Samba
openly challenged his claims to own the vast expanse of land through a family
inheritance. The land should rightfully be a communal property. He then led
an initiative to form a village council that could only allocate land. This
earned the wrath of Diatta, and he always reminded him how his father founded
the village.
"There were a lot of palm trees surrounding the property, and those who
tapped the trees for the wine paid for it. I collected the fees every month
for my father who took them to Mr Bankole," he continued.
"Who was Mr Bankole?" Samba inquired.
"You have never heard the story before?" he asked grinning. "Well,
mister Bankole was the person who originally owns this land that is now the
village. When he died my father inherited the land."
"Are you saying that this village, and all the land surrounding it,
belonged to one person, and when that person died your father inherited the
land? What was your father's relationship to him? Samba asked with a mixture
of perplexity and disbelief.
Land in many places, a symbol of prestige and power, perpetuated a
constant struggle between people. Moreover, claims and counter claim to land
ownership at times erupted in deadly confrontation. In the past this had not
been the case, as the abundance of land catered to the farming needs of the
communities, as well as provided a roof over their heads.
"My father was an errand boy for Mr Bankole, a prominent lawyer in
Banjul. When my father came from the provinces, he worked at Mr Bankole's
residence as a caretaker. Some people living in the surrounding vincinity,
wanted to use the land for rice cultivation; and there were men who wanted to
use the many palm trees for tapping wine. My father settled in the property
to collect the fees levied," Diatta said with vivacity, always thrilled to
recount the story.
Like a peacock that spread its iridescent tail feathers in flamboyant
display, Diatta vaunted his family's claims to the village at every
conceivable opportunity. He had long since looked with apprehension and
repulsion at Samba, and deemed him a potential adversary and a trouble
marker. Samba had formed a youth organization that ventured to usurp his
responsibilities.
Samba had a high school education and remarkable organizational skills,
which earned him respect from both young and old alike. This was particularly
unsettling to Diatta. Their relationship, although a facade of mutual regard
and concert on the outside, really masked a deep-seated resentment. It was
like a wife who relished adoring her husband in public, but agonized over
spending time alone with him.
"How did Mr Bankole came in possession of this enormous parcel of land?"
Samba asked with sarcasm.
"That I don't know. All I know is that he was a lawyer, and his parents
emigrated from Freetown. He must have inherited the property from his
parents," Diatta replied, as if it were a matter of pure fact.
At the early part of the nineteenth century, Banjul was part of
Sierraleone, a British colony. It became a separate colony in 1843. There
were villages and kingdoms scattered in various parts of the region that
became the Gambia. Bankole's grandparents, emigres from Freetown, could have
obtain the land from these tribal kingdoms.
"When my father came to settle in the property, the mud house mister
Bankole built for him was the only dwelling," Diatta continued. "When mister
Bankole died, and my father was still the oversee, he invited others to come
and settle. The British colonial government, built a runway and a prison camp
nearby, and the first family to settle was a prison warden from the camp.
Soon people started coming from all over asking my father for a plot of land."
"How come those who obtained land from your father had bigger plots
that those who obtained the land from you?" Samba interjected.
The dispensation of land during the time of Diatta's father was for the
sole purpose of establishing his village. There was no monetary value to the
land, and the only requirement was to present cola-nuts, wrapped in papaya
leaves to keep it fresh, to the alkalo. This gesture of presenting cola-nuts
was symbolic; cola-nuts, an integral part of the cultural fabric, brings
peace and prosperity. They distributed cola-nuts in every occasion when grief
or happiness occurred.
"Well! during my father's time not many people wanted to live in the
village. My father asked those who seek plots of land, to demarcate as wide
an area as they could fence. Those compounds are the sizes of three plots
combined together. The plot that your mother obtained from my father is one
of those," Diatta said.
"Yes, I know," Samba replied. "My mother told me the story how she got
her compound. At the time, she said, bushes and trees surrounding the
village, and one could count the number of mud houses. Your father took her
to the present location of our compound, and asked her to take whatever area
she could fence. Brushes and tall grasses covered the whole area. My mother
only gave him a bundle of cola-nuts."
Diatta, sturdily built, was fifty-five years old. His body frame
protruded, like a gloated, over-fed bed-bug ready to burst. He had a
rudimentary education, and hadn't gone beyond primary school. He worked as a
caretaker in one of the then high schools in Banjul.
"What happened after the death of your father?" Samba asked. "I heard
there was a family dispute."
"After the death of my father, a decade after the second world war,
there was a family dispute over who should inherit the alkaloship. My elder
brother insisted that he should, but I lived with my father at the time.
Before his death, he delegated most, if not all, of his responsibilties to
me," Diatta recounted.
This part of his family history was dismal, and characterized a period
of feuding between him and his half brothers. Diatta was the only child born
to his mother, but his father's first wife had three sons. Upon the death of
their father, Diatta's eldest brother assumed authority in running the
village. However, Diatta refused to abdicate his responsibilties claiming to
be the rightful heir.
A climate of uncertainty beset the village, as the villagers were not
sure to whom they should give their monthly yard fees. The alkalos acted as
yard fee collectors for the municipal council, and derived an income from
the fees collected. Besides the traditional authority associated with the
alkaloship, it was also a source of income.
The villagers consequently refused to pay their yard fees. The conflict
landed before the British colonial administration in Banjul. The colonial
secretary, sitting in Banjul directed the commissioner responsible for the
Division to investigate the matter. The commissioner, at the end of the
investigation, submitted that an election be held.
"I would never forget the favor I owed to those who were grateful to my
father. They galvanized their support and voted for me overwhelmingly when
the election took place. I won, and my brothers left the village in protest,
and settled elsewhere," Diatta stated flatly. He related this part of the
story on a somber note.
"I have to go before it starts to rain," Samba announced abruptly.
He handed over to Diatta a peice of paper.
"I hope you will consider signing the document for us," Samba continued.
"I am not sure," Diatta retorted.
He got up from the hammock; he peered intensely into the dark clouds,
shrugged his shoulders, and staggered lamely into his house.
Samba walked into the night, a blanket of darkness that shrouded the
whole village. An angry wind, howled like a mad wolf, and the trees danced
frantically as they swayed. He whistled softly to himself. He knew the alkalo
would not sign the document. He wondered aloud what he should do to counter
his lack of sensitivity to the concerns of the village youths....
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