Brothers and sisters!
Please lend me your sights for a moment and read what I have to say about
this dog from Germany.As a muslim I think this girl should be punished for
telling lies about ISLAM and as muslims we owe this to ALLAH to defend our
religion at any cost. Think about "four wives and two girlfriends in
ISLAM"where on earth did she get the two girlfriends from?I am very surprise
that very few of the Gambia-L members writes on the matter and I wounder
why?This one is for you German dog:If right is right and wrong is wrong and
you know it,deal with the right and stop dealing with " he say she say"

ONE LOVE
MC OMAR.


>From: Prince Obrien-Coker <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list
><[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: No Problem In The Gambia
>Date: Sat, 12 Feb 2000 15:09:20 +0100
>
>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
>
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