Ceesay Kunda

One of the biggest differences in Gambian culture is the living arrangements. Where Americans tend to live as a 'nuclear' family in a single house, Gambians tend to live as an extended family in compound consisting of multiple houses. Here's a birds-eye view of Ceesay Kunda.

Ceesay Kunda is fortified with a concrete block fence. Baba looked into also installing a moat around the compound. While crocodiles are are dirt cheap, the drawbridge proved to be the dealbreaker. Inside the compound there are two main houses, and 4 smaller thatched roof huts. Note their geometry. We also have 2 big mango trees and couple of gardens. My favorite feature is the well. You have no idea how convenient it is to 'only' be required to walk 100 feet rather than 1000 feet just to fetch bath water.

--Junkung Jammeh

Durango diyaata baake!

What is the most awesome Gambian dish? Is it Benechin? Nyankatang? Supa? Plassas? That, my friends, is a rhetorical question. The most awesome Gambian dish is Durango (as the Mandinkas call it) or Domoda (Wollofs). Durango is a stew made with peanuts, served over rice. Expressed in its most abstract form, it is equivalent to 

Comfort food*infinity*2.

Mmmm.....

But don't take my word for it. Make it yourself.

Durango

Serves 15 hungry Gambians. Keep in mind that all measurements are my best estimation....as the women don't actually measure anything. Also, the cooking is done over an open fire.

Ingredients:

1/2 pound meat in chunks (chicken, goat, beef)
1/2 pound stomach in chunks (if using beef)

1 tablespoon red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon black pepper
2 beef jumbo cubes
1 chicken jumbo cube
2 small bags of some other jumbo seasoning (about the same as 2 cubes each)
1 small bag tomato paste (same as small can)
Salt (to taste)

1 cup vegetable oil

2-3 habanero hot peppers
2 small onions, chopped
4 small tomatoes, chopped

3 big serving spoons of old-fashioned (homemade) peanut butter

2 medium potatoes, cut into big chunks (optional)
3 bitter tomatoes, whole (definitely optional, not a fan)

4 cups water

Alot of white rice

Directions:

1) Heat oil in big pot.

2) While oil is heating, pound red pepper flakes and black pepper using mortar and pestle.

3) Add meat and tomato paste to hot oil.

4) Add beef and chicken jumbo, onions, and tomatoes to pepper mixture and pound till onions are coated thoroughly.

5) Add pounded mixture to pot.

6) Let simmer for a few minutes till meat is browned.

7) Add about 4 cups of water and peanut butter. Stir and let boil uncovered about 30 minutes.

8) Add bags of jumbo seasoning and hot peppers. Simmer for another 30 minutes. Add salt to taste.

9) When finished peanut oil should rise to the top. Sauce should be about the consistency of a thick chili or spaghetti sauce.

10) Serve over cooked white rice.

11) Take a huge nap.

Nyosal! (Enjoy!)

Trojan Mice

On my way walking to the junior school, I nearly stepped on a used condom. Gross! But...responsible. Good for that guy, practicing safe sex. About 10 steps later, another one is lying on the ground. Gross! But...normal. A lot of guys here have multiple partners (wives and/or girlfriends). Okay, cool, he's not leaving anyone out. A few more steps. Gross! Jeez, do they sell Viagra here? A few more steps. ...Gross!? This guy is...8 years old. I had an 8 year old offer me condoms. Hahaha.

Change of subject.

Mice. They are a problem. They disturb my sleep. They eat my food. They poop everywhere. When they die, the legacy that they leave behind is that God awful smell.

It all started a few months ago. They like to come in through the holes between my roof and the walls. They crawl around making all kinds of racket - sometimes they fight each other. They even become so bold as to crawl on me in my sleep. That definitely crosses the line. But, on the other side of the line lay two shiny new mousetraps I received in a care package. 6 dead mice in 4 days. Problem solved.

Or was it?

Months later, I received a shipment of gold in the mail.... the salty, savory, salivating substance known as Cheezits. I went through an entire box in a day, with more to spare. I secure the rest of the gold in the trunk. At least I thought it was secure. At 3 AM, I hear the distinct chirping noise. I ignore it. It continues...

Finally, I awaken from my slumber, annoyed that this little rat has no manners. I flick on the flashlight and I see him darting towards a little crack in the lid of my truck. Crap, I didn't shut the trunk all the way. He scurries off. But wait, he dropped something. Holy crap. It's a tiny, naked, squirming...alien? No. Its, its, its... a baby. Dammit. That mouse has a got a lot of nerve. Trying to make a nest in my trunk. Trying to steal me Lucky Charms. I stood there for a couple minutes, completely dumbfounded. I looked down and the baby was gone. Sneaky. I hear a faint squeaking noise emanating from the trunk. I completely empty it in a mad rage and I find... two more baby rats!

My initial thought was to torch the whole place. That should get rid of them. On second thought, bad idea. It's dry season; I might end up torching the whole village. After a couple minutes deliberating, I scoop them up with one of those little plastic Gatorade scoops and toss them over the fence. I knew that would come in handy one day. Afterwards, I lock the trunk and put about 20 pounds of books on top, just in case this mouse is ridiculously strong, or happened to slip on my host brother's swiss dragon boots.

Back to sleep. Mama mouse didn't come back. Ha!

Mangos Part II

As I have attested previously, mangos are dangerous. Yes, they are a physical danger; I have been smacked square in the temple by one of the little bastards. But, they are a psychological danger also.

People go mental for mangos here. I'm constantly shooeing kids out of my backyard like those hamburger flies that loiter around the picnic spread. You flail your arms about, "Acaa, Acca!"......still there. In my tree. My sister says "Junkung, n su dutoo." while she's still eating a mango. I've seen my brother eating one still fresh with a layer of the dust/coos/chicken poop mixture that coats the concrete floor of the compound. But, several days ago things went from just mental to completely insane when I witnessed domestic violence because of these little guys.

Everyone was lying around the compound under the big mango tree in the afternoon; as is the norm, because it's too hot to do anything else. One of my sisters was doing laundry with a couple of her friends. One the girls, Fatumata, apparently saw some mangos she liked up in the tree and started picking them. Rule #1 of mango etiquette - DON'T TAKE SOMEONE ELSE'S MANGOS. A few minutes later, my brother Ismaela, King of Dragon, walks by and sees the mangos. Pure rage. He starts screaming in Olof, grabbing for them. She resists. This continues and I learn the mangos are not ripe. Rule #2.... broken. Eventually, he takes control of the mangos and storms away, still screaming.

Apparently, Fatu thought she was entitled to these adolescent fruits, because she chases after the King of Dragon (why would you mess with this guy?) and tries ripping them away from him. He smacks her. She smacks him. He hits her. She hits him back. He grabs her braids. The hitting continues. At this point, I'm thinking "Should I break this up?", but no one else is stopping it. Not my father, mothers, brothers...anybody. Is this how things work here? Girls fighting boys? The King assumes his Jackie Chan fighting stance. They tumble some more. Fatu is a big girl, and she could easily kick my ass. King of Dragon is massive; he tickles your elbow when you shake hands. Somehow she rips his shirt off. This is the cue that things are serious and someone should intervene. Fatu's friends step in and he stomps back to his hut. Fatu trots out the compound gate.

Silence.

Ismaela comes back outside, carrying a pair of European boots his friend brought from Switzerland. They are magical and endow him with the power of a Swiss dragon from ages past. His jams his feet into them, still cursing, and runs out of the gate of the compound. More silence. Two minutes later, he bursts back into the compound, empty-handed. No blood, no severed body parts of the enemy. It's over. Every goes back to their afternoon nap as if nothing happened.

Mangos.

-Junkung

Mangos

So, it's mango season. And it couldn't come at a better time of the year. The weather forecast for the next two months is clear skies, 0% humidity, and a high of about 110 degrees. It is HOT. And dry. It hasn't rained since October. Needless to say, sloppily biting into a big, fat mango hits the spot.

But the unseen truth about mangos is that they are dangerous. Remember how Newton discovered gravity? It hurt. This is the threat that I face every night; only, much bigger. And juicier. I have a mango tree in my backyard, and since its too hot inside the hut, and ants have now decided that my bed is comfortable, I am sleeping outside in the hammock. The other night, my sleep was disturbed by, THUMP!!, no less than 3 mangos falling within 3 feet of me. They are persistent. During the day, the low hanging fruits attack me as soon as I walk out the back door. I'm surrounded. They're everywhere!

This is a serious situation. There is only one solution for keeping myself out of harm's way. Eat the mangos. Eat them all.

-- Junkung

What I does every day

Due to popular demand, I am going to give you all a little insight into my average daily routine. Obviously, the time specified for each event is the calculated average over the last 213 days, 17 hours 23 minutes, +- 30 seconds, with a standard deviation of approximately 18 minutes. The particular events described at each time are representative of the events recorded and measured to occur on more than 55% of occasions.

12:05 AM: I stumble my way back inside my hut to sleep inside. My motivations for doing such are two-fold. First, the temperature inside the hut has descended below 78 degrees Fahrenheit, which is the approximate upper bound for my sustaining REM sleep. Second, the number of mosquito bites I have accumulated directly on my ass cheek has exceeded the maximum allowable for attaining desired REM sleep status.

5:20 AM: ERR-eh-ERR-eh-ERRR!!!!

7:37 AM: I take my first peek at the clock on my phone and begin to consider waking up.

7:53 AM: I actually wake-up. 87% of the time this event is directly caused by the uncontrollable urge to make a large deposit in the pit latrine.

7:57 AM: Phew!!!

8:20 AM: Daasaamo. What does Junkung eat for breakfast? Survey says:

Butter, Salt, and pepper w/Grits
Butter, Sugar, and Vanilla Protein powder w/Oatmeal
Nescrape (TM)
Roadside Omelette Sandwich (2 eggs, full bread, mayonnaise, and Jumbo seasoning (TM))
Jikando - 2 parts Sweetened condensed milk, 1 part hot water, and a pinch of Nescafe.
Something else (Mangos in about 1.5 months :-) )

8:53 AM: Time to leave my hut to try change the world. However, I must greet the family first.

9:10 AM: After a nice, dusty ride across town, in which I am greeted by no less than 53.4 people, I arrive at one of the following organizations: AFPRC General Hospital, Farafenni Upper Basic School, Anglican Mission Institute, or Farafenni Community Center. The time of my arrival coincides with the time at which I believe the electricity will actually come on.

10:30 AM: Let there be light. The official schedule for power is from 9 AM - 3 PM and again from 6 PM - 1 AM. However, the average time at which it actually comes on is much later due to one or more of the following factors:

The power station is out of fuel
Somebody forgot to pay the bill
A football game is being played on TV after 3 PM
Somebody important wanted to have power all night long the previous night
Somebody tripped a breaker, but everyone assumed that factors 1-4 occurred instead

10:31 AM: Daasaamo. Second breakfast. Mburro ning sosoo aning tea. (Bean sandwich and tea)

10:45 AM - 3:00 PM: My work day currently consists of, in no particular order, removing computer viruses, chatting, showing people how to use the help menu in MS Office, reformatting computers that have been deemed to have the equivalent of Swine Flu, turning down requests for American Visas, convincing middle school kids that there are other sports than football (i.e. Ultimate), formal computer training, and being in awe of how good Gambians are at Solitaire; All while listening to the same 20 song playlist of Jaliba and Yousa Ndagga songs.

3:15 PM: I arrive home, and it's hot as balls outside. Tiloo kandita. I am escorted by junior members of family to my hut and I spend the next 12 minutes and 32 seconds changing shirts, rehydrating, and shooing the kids out of my hut.

3:27 PM: Kontongo is delivered to my door, since I am too late to properly eat with the family. Lunch is usually one of the following:

Rice with sauce
Rice with a different sauce
Rice with another sauce
Rice with some other type of sauce

3:45 PM: After fending off multiple bids by my host mother #1, Kenneh, to eat more, I sit and chat and/or read a book. In the Gambia, the word 'chat] has a slightly more specific meaning, as it implies that the brewing and drinking of attaya will be performed under some large source of shade, most likely a mango tree.

5:15 PM: piddle-farting

6:00 PM: One can only piddle-fart around for so long, so I train in my backyard every other day. My routine varies.... lots of wicked yoga moves I learned from a book I found at the PC office, mixed in with 50 - 125 pushups and 30 - 45 pullups. What else have I got to do?

7:11 PM: Time for a bucket bath, drawn from the well. Ahhhh.....

7:25 PM: I either read more or play my recorder, depending on my mood. If I'm in an amiable sort of mood I'll do the latter, since it tends to attract an audience. Sometimes the audience becomes so inspired by the performance, that they pick up harmonicas I have lying around and a 'jam session' ensues. Complete cacophony.

8:32 PM: Siimango, which is the same as Kontongo, with the following possible addition: coos

8:45 PM: With the radio tuned to Paradise FM, where 'It's nice to be nice.', I lie around on the big mat outside and either read, eavesdrop on the family's conversation, or do absolutely nothing until REM sleep has been interrupted, or the mosquitos have gotten an early start on my ass.

9:54 PM: I proceed to either my backyard to sleep, or possibly, if the conditions specified at time t = 12:05 AM above are met, inside my hut.

That, my friends, is a completely average day for Junkung.

-- Blessed Kumpawura James Junkung Jammeh Camara Ceesay, Father of the President

A.K.A

It's been awhile, so I'll put in a word or two just so folks know I'm still alive and well. It seems, in a short time, that I've already managed to accumulate nicknames here.

As you all know, my Gambian name that I was given at my naming ceremony was 'Junkung Camara'. Since then, I have changed my surname to that of my host family here at my permanent posting here in Farafenni. So make that 'Junkung Camara Ceesay'. (By the way, phonetically, in Mandinka, that sounds like 'Bathroom Camera Chicken')

It has been drawn to my attention that Junkung is the name of the Gambian president's father, which was James Junkung Jammeh. Around my compound, I hear 'James-Junkung-Jammeh, father of the president', or 'James, Junkung', or just simply 'James'. So make that 'James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh'.

Here in West Africa, there is the custom of drinking chinese green tea, also known as 'attaya'. N lafita attaya min na. Attaya is consumed in small, hyperconcentrated quantities, super-saturated with sugar, while chatting under the mango tree. Receiving a serving of attaya is also jokingly known as receiving the blessing. My host brother is known as the 'Imam of Attaya'. So when I drink attaya, I am 'Blessed'. So make that 'Blessed James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh, father of the president'.

We'll see what I end up with another year and a half.

--Blessed James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh, father of the president