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