Nice story Rene. Yes, it is through the art of writing that we preserve some of the most important aspects of our culture and mythology. Kids nowadays sadly miss out on all these beautiful fantasies. Thanks for the complementary piece. It is beautiful.

Baba

>From: [log in to unmask]
>Reply-To: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list              <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: [>-<] The Owl and the Pussy Cat
>Date: Tue, 17 May 2005 14:47:15 EDT
>
>Baba,
>       I have read with glee, and at times with great amusement, your short
>stories that detail the innocent and superstitious narrative of Momat about the
>one-legged horse; about the fire that burnt on and off under the big Soto
>tree; about Maam, the big monster that swallowed kids when they go to the bush for
>circumcission and about the ninki nanka. These kinds of stories were very
>much a part of growing up in Gambia in those days. You nicely weave them into
>your stories bringing back memories to many who grew up around that period. I
>cannot agree more with the importance of the work you have started with these
>narratives, making many of us to relive the past and the innocence and excitement
>the gives energy and vitality to our young lives. Keep it up.
>
>     To compliment your present story, I will share this narrative.
>
>                                                        *
>
>
>        I was six years old when I attended the St. John's kindergarten. The
>catholic nuns ran the school located at the grounds of the convent at Buckle
>street in Banjul. It was just a walking distance from my compound.
>
>        I remember walking as prideful as a peacock, in my new navy blue
>shorts and white short sleeves shirt uniform, as my mother led my niece and me to
>our classroom. On this first day in school, I had a pair of black and white
>striped sneakers; the only other time besides festive occasions that I had worn
>shoes. I always walked bare-footed. I was a shy kid, but somehow managed to
>make few friends on this first day at school.
>
>         At school each day, I anxiously waited like a stalking cat for the
>break time bell to ring. With a loud hurrah, the other children and I rushed out
>to the school grounds to play. The noise, the shouting and yelling on the
>concrete paved school ground, the clapping and singing of a thousand pieces of
>sound in rhythmic harmony. The girls played Acara, the game in which two girls
>faced each other, clapped their hands and tried to match their outstretched
>legs. If there was a match one would be out and another took her place. The boys
>played hide and seek behind the school toilet, in the empty classrooms and in
>every nook and corner of the school ground. Others would form a ring, a
>merry-go-round, jumping and dancing.
>
>       I ate my lunch with my friends, cassava and beans with palm oil gravy,
>and wandered around the school ground being naughty. However, when I was in
>primary three and about nine years old I loathed going to school with
>unmistakably passion. The other kids constantly bullied me.
>
>       I remember Benjie, the big bully. He was about my age but more muscular
>and stronger. I was tall and skinny like a bamboo stick. I cautiously avoided
>having fights with my peers. Benjie knew how timid I was and bullied me.
>Every day at break time, like a wounded lion he wandered around the school ground
>looking for me.
>
>       "Give me your lunch," Benjie barked at me.
>
>       "I won't." I clutched my lunch bag very tightly to my chest.
>
>        "Don't you hear me? I say give me your lunch," he angrily repeated his
>demands.
>
>         Benjie then wrestled the lunch bag from my tight gripped. He ate my
>lunch while I looked. The lunch made of mboru ak akara, bread and fried mashed
>beans with oil gravy, that my mother bought from YaAdam the food vendor at the
>corner of our street.
>
>         With the patience of a lamb, Benjie always looked for me in the
>crowded school ground. If I was fortunate to see him first, I melted into the thick
>crowd like wet salt. He would then run after me, and like Jonah in the belly
>of the fish, he too would be swallowed in the crowd.
>
>         Benjie and I lived in the same street. Our compounds were adjacent to
>each other. The altercation between us continued throughout the school term.
>Whenever we came across each other in the street, Benjie always bullied me. I
>became so timorous; I had to watch out for him before I venture to go out into
>the street. However, with a muscle of determination, I was emboldened one
>sweaty, sunny afternoon. Benjie saw me at the junction of the street from my
>compound, and rushed to blow and kick me as usual. I defensively stood my grounds
>like a ramming ram. He was taken aback by my stance and asked:
>
>     "Do you want to fight?"
>
>     "If you are ready, I am ready," I timidly replied. My biceps sagged like
>a bag of bones.
>
>     We stared at each other; we appraised each other like a ripe mango at the
>treetop beyond our reach. With surprising agility we interlocked. I got
>around him, lifted him as gently as the pelting rain and sent him crashing down. He
>landed on the ground on his back with a big thud as if a big pebble was
>thrown into a basin of water. I sat on top of him; his face as ghastly as a
>petrified monkey's as he received punch upon punch on his pancake face. Rivulets of
>blood formed a gully and streamed from the corners of his mouth. A passerby
>came to Benjie's rescue and with zest separated us.
>
>       I also remember an appalling situation when I was in primary four. I
>instinctively knew that I was in trouble, when I walked into my class that
>fateful morning and all the pupils started jeering at me. The hair on my head was
>all shaven off, like the rump of a monkey, as a punishment by my father. When
>the bell rung for break time, I was the first person to run out of the
>classroom. But the bullies in the class followed me in high pursuit. They caught up
>with me, and one after the other slapped me hard on my bare head. I ran all the
>way home whining like a hungry piglet.
>
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