bal poussiere. Haruna. Tabaa bong yeh tohnyaafo Koofing!

Courtesy: Maafanta.com
I was in my lower teens, in post-Primary school. Weeks earlier, we had closed school for Summer – rainy season
recess. I was to travel to Jarra from Tallinding to see my folks. The fare by public transport then was only ten Dalasi for
my age group. The public transport para-statal then was called The Gambia-Libyan Arab Public Transport Corporation
(GLAPTC.) Because of the events of that July 30th, 1981 day, it was to be re-named The Gambia Public Transport
Corporation (GPTC.) The Libyan Arab Jamahiriya government of the late Col. Khadafy had provided the funding for
Gambia’s maiden public transport firm – as they did for several other vital Gambia public organs back then.

I was in bed asleep that morning when my aunt bursted into our bedroom and jolted me with the indelible words: “Wake
up, wake up, they’re saying Jawara has been overthrown.” In those days, for what it is worth, I was one of our Tallinding
neighborhood’s few English Letter Readers and Writers. The doyen of our community, Ba Manjang actually used to call
me “the little boy that speaks Toubab language.” In retrospect, there’s something really frightening about that fact
because my understanding of the Toubab language then was at best rudimentary.

Anyhow, I was summoned to sit and listen to what the speaker was saying in English and to interpret for the elders. It
was easy because the bottom line was all that mattered: Jawara’s eighteen years rule was no more claimed the speaker
– a man identified as Kukoi Samba Sanyang. (Kukoi literally means “something clear” or “something solid” in the
Manden languages.) I was to later learn from a former NCP colleague of his that he had acquired the sobriquet
because anytime he discussed something with people, he would insist on “Kuma Koyo” – something clear, something
solid! So they nick-named him Kukoi.

For a long time, I memorized large chunks of the speech, but time hasn’t been kind with my memory. I only recall a few
lines nowadays:
Long Live the Robolution!
Long Live the heroic comrades in the Field Force raised to the rank of The People’s Liberason Army!
Down with Kap-ta-lism!
… It has been a remarkable eighteen months in Gambian history since every section and part of the
country has rise up against the Jawara clique (and here you can hear him pounding the desk with his fist.)
… Marxist Leninism … a Dictatorship of the proletariat!
… PPP, the people’s enemy!
… this ought to be a jubilee in the Gambia.

He went on and on -fiery, excited, and almost hoarse at one point. The diction and accent are classic Foni. He tumbled
on words lending credence to allegations that later surfaced that he was in fact reading someone else’s handiwork
(someone better educated.) But the passion was unmistakable. By his words and action, Kukoi Samba Sanyang had
grabbed himself a spot in Gambian history. For good or bad.

Like most daring little boys in the urban areas at the time, I went to the sole Brikama “highway” to see for myself what
was going on. The atmosphere was celebratory. A few Police and Field Force vehicles would occasionally pass at
abnormally high speed going to or from the airport direction. A white Land Rover, with an armed fellow wearing a red
band on his head sped in the direction of the airport, and several people shouted “there goes Kukoi.” Can’t say I saw
him.

A Serekunda Police Station Land Rover driven by a stocky Single Stripe constable named Badji ran out of gas near
where we stood on the “highway” in Tallinding, and begged to be pushed to Churchill’s Town’s sole gas station. We
youngsters quickly obliged him until we got to Alkali Jarju’s house and dropped off. (Alkali, known as Dunda, was a
fellow from Kiang Massembe who made it big as a Used-clothes and General merchant in the late 1960s to mid-1970s.
He married an Aku woman, and literally drank himself to death - to the chagrin of his friends and community. His
compound was a model in those days, but Alkali himself became a model of a different sort: how NOT to live one’s life
in our community. The way people talked about him, it’s hard to discern what Alkali’s biggest infraction was: marrying a
“Kaffir” Aku woman, or taking to alcohol. Or maybe it was both – I don’t know.)

Bully “Solomon Bunn” Sanneh, my big brother and one-time mentor, who is currently embroiled in a corruption trial as
former National Drug Enforcement Agency Director, was then attending Muslim High School. Back then, Bunn looked
the part of an intellectual, even though his school mates - including two from his native Foni, were not impressed with
his academic skills. He was generally regarded as something of a poseur. But I didn’t care, he was my Koto. I loved him
god knows, and it breaks my heart to read about his troubles with Yaya Jammeh. Sometimes, he would make me carry
his extra-ordinarily heavy books for him. I did so without any complaints.

My attraction to Bunn back then was, he was a rebel. In those days, I had no greater ambition than to be Che Guevara.
Bunn  was probably the closest of Dr. Pengu “Pinks” George’s protégés. (There were allegations – apparently never
disproved, that Pinks was a fake PhD. Like Yaya Jammeh’s current Secretary General, Pinks was alleged to have
forged his doctorate. Regardless, Pinks was widely popular with us young impressionable revolutionary wanna-bes.
The main reason for that was because Pinks had allegedly stood up to Lloyd Evans, the then recently-retired Inspector
General of Police when the man was at the peak of his power. Mr. Evans, as the most senior Gambian in the colonial
police force, was very much feared, and untouchable in his days. Gambians didn’t come any braver than Pinks back
then given what he allegedly did.) Every evening, the older Pinks would walk over from his residence by Serrekunda
School to visit his much younger school-boy friend Bunn in Tallinding. Consequently, Bunn had a certain rebel profile –
perhaps a little exaggerated. But what is indisputable is that he had the lingo and swagger of a rebel down to the T like
they say. He was an open rebel against the PPP establishment. His close friendship with Pinks guaranteed that.

On the day of Kukoi, Bunn who also hails from Wassadu, and claimed to be close to Kukoi, broke the glass frame
containing a Passport-size photo of Kukoi that he had, walked along the Brikama “highway” with the photo asking all
and sundry rhetorically “who supports the revolution” – a stunt that was to cost him eleven months in detention after the
revolution was crushed by the Senegalese. We little boys, followed him clamoring for a peek at the photo. Needless to
say, Bunn who is no stranger to putting on airs, flew in the air that day – if you can pardon my liberal use of that
expression. He had a flare for the dramatic, and boy did it come out that day. It was just a heady day for him and most
rebellious Gambian youth – thirty one years ago.

Tallinding is a Jola town, and naturally, we had our share of ethnic whackos, some of who wasted no time in quickly
framing things in stark ethnic terms. But generally, the sentiment was pro-Kukoi. Some adults were already joking about
how much Bukarabu our neighborhood will be exposed to. And it didn’t go down well with certain elders when some of
our local Bukarabu club members, mostly transient residents, were reportedly heard talking about their Bukarabu fiesta
plans to “celebrate Kukoi.” In those days, our neighborhood was host to expert Bukarabu dancers every Sunday. Men
with names like Taxi, Apollo, Nyankatang, e’lon Bre, A’fullo, etc (these were actual nick names.) Most were as much a
part of Tallinding as they were of Kusamai in the Cassamance. They come and go, often moving with the seasons.
Needless to say, those party plans were crushed by circumstances.

Anyhow, within two hours of that incident, Constable Badji was killed when he tried to stop the looting of the trendy
Westfield Boutique –forgot the name (same location Paul Maroon later built a Supermarket) that sold shirts for D75
each – a scandalous price for a shirt in those days! For context, you can buy three bags of cement and still have some
change for D75 back then. And at times of the years – especially after local rice harvest season, you can get a 50lbs
bag of rice for the same amount in places.

In retrospect, Constable Badji’s murder signaled the beginning of Kukoi’s loss of control of his plot. The role of
probable Fifth Columnists hijacking his operation cannot be totally discounted, though it was pretty obvious that Kukoi
was way in over his head. Rumors were circulating about revenge killings and torture going on. (There is no evidence
that Kukoi himself sanctioned much of the random acts of cruelty that Gambians visited on each other that week,
though as catalyst, he bears responsibility for lighting the fire.) Police Superintendent Sonny Nickle, notorious for his
mean treatment of wayward youths, was arrested by some armed young men, and given the kind of treatment he gave
so many. There were allegations that the young men also took liberties with his spouse. And Nickle wasn’t the only one
given mob justice. July 30th, 1981 was a day that brought out in many Gambians, the ugliness that simmered beneath
what was deceptively regarded as a gentle and tranquil society – something that should give any thoughtful person
pause given the state of affairs in present day Gambia. The fact is, we Gambians tend to be a lot angrier than we let
on. And it is a given that state brutality pre-Kukoi is nothing compared to what we see, read about, or hear of,
nowadays. If Gambians could do what they did to each other in 1981, what would the day of Yaya Jammeh’s fall be
like? I hate pondering the answer to this question.

Anyhow, as we rushed home on learning of Constable Badji’s death, as adventurous as we were, we realized the
gravity of the situation. That point was driven home when we got to the then National Trading Corporation – NTC shop
in Tallinding, and found two men lying in their own drying blood. They were shot dead by a local Field Force officer we
knew, for their part in the looting of the shop. I lost my innocence that day. (I was with my partner in crime – Buba
Jammeh or “Buba Tonborong” as we called him. Buba is the oldest son of the late Ba Bunja Jammeh, older brother of
Kemesseng Jammeh of the UDP. In those days, I and Buba lived on the precipice – often daring death through the
senseless stunts we engage in. Thinking back, it was a miracle that we both survived that era. To call us reckless would
be a gross understatement. A couple of months after the coup attempt was crushed, we actually walked to the Bakau
Field Force Depot to see Bunn Sanneh. When we got there, a Police Commander named Nyang had us brought to sit
at his feet for hours. He knocked us on the head a couple of times yelling what business we had with “a rebel like Bunn
Sanneh.” And we still waved excitedly at Bunn when we saw him after Commander Nyang released us with warnings to
go straight home. I guess we didn’t know how to be afraid back then.)

Anyhow, as I drove to work this morning listening to Garrison Kielso with his Readers’ Almanac segment on NPR and he
announced the Date, it hit me that we have travelled thirty-one years since that fateful day. So many memories swirl in
my mind. I see images of people -long dead, as they were back then. Or people in my life that died not long before that
date. Too many memories, too many mixed emotions. Much has changed since – both at the personal and public
levels. I have lost so many loved ones I sometimes feel like crying -out of regret for irredeemable opportunities. I would
do anything to get just one more chance to say to so many of my forebears: Thank you for taking care of me; Thank
you for teaching me the difference between right and wrong; Thank you for making me who I am; Sorry for all the
trouble I put you through, etc.

My that July 30, 1981 trip to Jarra that got delayed by Kukoi was to be my first visit without my paternal grandpa, who
was our family patriarch, presiding. He had died only months earlier. It was a very eerie feeling walking into his house
knowing he wouldn’t be there to welcome Bakari home – his unique name for me, as indeed he had one for every
single one of his dozen plus grand children. Our parents named us one name; our grandpa insisted on calling us his
own. No one argued with him. It was perfectly understood.

He was a very remarkable man, my grandpa -Lang Mariama Saidy-Khan. Though not unique for the Jarra of his era, he
was very modest, very contented, very much at peace with himself. (The same could be said of most of his relatives
and contemporaries – our extended family tree. We are descendants of Bubu ning Yoro, two Fulani brothers, and
Islamic catechists of Toranka extraction, who self-exiled from their native Futa to avoid involvement in chieftaincy
affairs. Simplicity and modesty are taught as part of our family tradition. So my grandpa did not invent anything, he
simply kept up what was bequeathed to him very admirably.) He lived a very austere life without any regrets. He was the
first man I’ve known who totally conquered the demon of materialism. He believed and often said that no one needs
more than three sets of clothing. He said you only need one set for worshipping, one set for regular day wear, and one
more set for work. Anything more, he said, is redundant. He constantly warned us against vanity – which to him is the
first step in a perilous slope of self-destruction both here on this planet and in the hereafter. And what does Lang
Mariama think about money? You don’t want to know. Let me just say again that, he is the first person I’ve known who
actually grills people who want to give him money as to why they would want to do that. Even when my dad and his
younger brothers could help, he wanted to live “on what my own hands produce until I cannot do so anymore.” He was
adamant about this. When I was young, I thought he was just a stubborn old man. Now I know better. I can only imagine
what my grandpa would say if he were to visit and see how I live my life.

Living a life of spiritual purity or one unburdened by the pursuit of materiality has its rewards, because Lang Mariama
was rarely surprised by events. He wasn’t a marabout but he saw events and phenomena decades removed, with a
clarity that is chilling. And he never credited himself for what he knew was coming – instead it was what “the Knowers
said.” When Sherifu Dibba went around the Gambia in early 1977 in a one hundred-car caravan amid cacophonic
fanfare, “the Knowers” told my grandpa Dibba would never sit on Jawara’s chair. Skeptical, I pestered him relentlessly
about who then will replace Jawara if not Dibba. When he got tired, he looked at me and stated matter-of-factly:
“Bakari, Jawara’s replacement is a Solma (little boy) like you going to Toubab school like you. Now, where he is from, or
who he is, I don’t know. But that’s what the Knowers say.” He wouldn’t say anything more. And when my mom was
pregnant with me, the same “Knowers” told my grandpa to warn my parents not to expect physical comfort from me. So
even before I was born, I was “the son who will take his parents across the globe, and will give them more than his
siblings, but will be seen less of physically than any of their other children” – a prophesy my mother now repeats
forlornly. I don’t know how he could have known the trajectory my life would take, or about events that are to occur
decades after his death. But again, my grandpa wasn’t unique in that area either. I did experience similar gifted people
like that – simple, unpretentious, future-seers.

1981, it was that my grandpa moved on to the great beyond. And Kukoi Samba Sanyang’s July 30th, 1981
misadventure has pulled me down that memory lane. I have so many memories of that formative period of my life.

Since his re-emergence, I have observed Kukoi – his postings, his reaction to questions, insults, condemnation,
criticism, taunts, or non-reaction to them. Kukoi will forever be one of the most controversial figures in Gambian history.
In the eyes of many, he is a criminal, a murderer, and a coward, and will always be one. My own opinion of Kukoi is
kinder.

First, I find it heartening that Kukoi has shunned Yaya Jammeh and his open ethnic baiting politics. Anyone with eyes to
see, or a heart to accept the truth knows the fastest way to progress in Gambia today is to jump on to Yaya Jammeh’s
anti-Mandinka bandwagon. Countless people have been, and continue to be, rewarded handsomely for no other
reason than the fact that they’re playing that dirty game. Kukoi, to his credit, refused flat out to join forces with Jammeh.
And one of the great ironies of this era is that Kukoi has a better understanding of Jammeh than most Gambian
commentators that are in the business of analyzing the man. On most topics, Kukoi rambles on as if in Esperanto, but
on Jammeh, he almost always hits the bull’s eye. And If  Kukoi were your average Gambian, he’d be by Jammeh’s side
now pounding his chest for being “vindicated,” or “celebrating our time to enjoy,” as they “move the country forward.”
No matter what one thinks of him, this is commendable.

Also, I believe Kukoi, as misguided and naïve as he was (remember his appeal to Libya, Cuba, and Guinea Bissau to
send him help ON RADIO GAMBIA when the Senegalese army started parachuting in,) had his heart in the right place.
He was a young man in too much of a hurry to right what was obviously wrong with Jawara’s governance style. Like I
stated before, Jawara is a very decent man - intelligent, honest and upright at the personal level. But as government
leader, he was simply too ineffective, too square for our round hole, to put it mildly. Jawara did not seem to understand
that it wasn’t enough  for him to merely do his own primary job, which he did well to the letter. The problem was, it was
also his job to watch his underlings, and to bring down the hammer where they’re found errant. In this, he failed
miserably. Jawara simply couldn’t put his feet down to do what needs done to stop the shameless plunder of our
common weal by his appointees.

And truth be told, the anger and frustration that propelled Kukoi into taking up arms was very widespread among the
youth in 1981. So, Kukoi was not an exception. In fact, it was those same sentiments that Yaya Jammeh was to tap into
in 1994. Kukoi had simply beat like-minded others to the punch.  Unfortunately for Kukoi, his youthful inexperience and
semi-literacy at the time made him an easy pawn for forces much wiser than him. I do not believe it was an accident that
opposing factions in the rebel camp started emerging within days of July 30th, 1981. In fact, I doubt that Kukoi would
have lasted long at the helm had he succeeded. I believe someone would have moved quickly to put him aside. This isn’
t far-fetched given Pinks was in fact summarily executed based on such allegations. Did he or didn’t he do what is
alleged? I don’t know. The Pinks issue, and many others, are all fodder for speculation, which brings me to my
concluding topic: when will Kukoi Samba Sanyang speak for himself on the this one topic that Gambians are actually
dying to hear him?

So, to Mr. Kukoi Sanyang, here is some unsolicited advice: instead of your sporadic commentaries, many of which are
hard to follow because of their rambling pseudo philosophical nature, why not tell your own story? That ought to be an
area you have authority in. What motivated you in 1981 to take up arms? How did you put together the rag-tag team
you did? Who assisted you, materially or otherwise – at home and abroad? What made you think your Supreme
Council of The Revolution consisting of barely literate and completely illiterate angry young men could run the Gambia
where schooled Gambians had failed? What happened to Col. Bunja Saidy, the Senegalese Military officer you were
arguing with on Radio Gambia? Is it true that you murdered him in cold blood?   When did you resolve to flee? What
happened to the rest of your council members? What responsibility do you feel about leaving them behind even as
Mustapha Danso, Junkung Sawo, and others fought valiantly in your name? How did you evade your pursuers – in
Senegal, in Bissau, Cuba, etc? Where have you lived since? Other than your obvious undying aim to rule Gambia,
what have you been up to since? You went by Dr. Manneh for years, but what discipline have you studied – in other
words, what are you qualified for? You are an avowed pan-African yet you’ve been associated with some of the worst
sons of Africa – Blasé Campaore and Charles Taylor. How do you reconcile that?

These are a few of the questions swirling in my head. There are many more I can send you if you care. In the end,
whether you take my advice or not is up to you. But I sincerely belief that you owe the survivors and loved ones of
those that died for you in 1981 an explanation of what they died for. Without your input, all they have are mostly
speculation, and half-truths. And the rest of us are forced to tell that 1981 story our way – most probably in ways you
disagree with. So, be a man Kukoi. Come out and tell your story – no frills, no fluff, just the plain truth. Exactly what
happened or as you recall things -sincerely. Cut out all the convoluted, rambling, pseudo philosophical-cum-
ecclesiastical bullcrap. (The only other Gambian that writes in your style is Sana Sabally, which gives some of us a very
creepy feeling about the invisible connection between you two.) If we want divine insight, we’ll refer to our Qurans or
bibles. So, just state your story in a simple, truthful, and straightforward way. It’s no one’s place to judge you – that
would be the job of our creator. After all, it ought to be easy for an intellectual revolutionary to make his case. Or better
yet, for someone who demands “Kuma Koyo” from others, the rest of us deserve the same “Kuma Koyo” from you
Kukoi Samba Sanyang. If you want to be taken seriously, behave like it.

I do not mean to smack you down, or to disrespect you. I’m simply leveling with you. In Jarra, we say “Nga Taba Bong;
Nga Tonya Fo nyo ye” (let’s spit out the tobacco and tell each other the unvarnished truth.) We say that’s a
guaranteed time-saver. If your Kukoi moniker is real, I trust you’ll appreciate my request.

The ball is in your court.

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