Nice one Rene - I'm eagerly waiting for the sequel.

Rene Badjan wrote:

>  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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