Gambling on Gambia

After a quite impressive 36 hour delay I eventually made it back to the UK in one piece. A few highlights from the mission which turned out to be my return journey include:

• After a 6 hour delay eventually boarding the flight...only to be told half an hour later that we had to get off.

• When we landed in London after said 36 hour delay, everyone sped through security and passport control only to have to wait for an hour for the baggage.

By this point, having being subjected to what was verging on cruel levels of sweaty, angry beetroot coloured English tourists I had resigned myself to the amusing side of the situation and found it funny. This was the time to sit and read War and Peace and fill myself with an undeserved feeling of superiority.

It did however, give me plenty of time to reflect upon my 5 week trip. Since I have returned to the mothership I have obviously been quizzed over how the whole experience was. I have been finding it difficult to give a succinct answer to the question.

I would hate to be one of those people who return from a trip and proceed to jaunt around the English countryside proclaiming "It's chaaaanged me" to the local wildlife - which in my experience are the only creatures which resign themselves to listen. Eveyone else will just walk off - far ruder than saying "shut up" as it suggests they can't even muster the energy to vocalise words and project them in your directions.

In all serious though, my experience in the Gambia did have, a profound effect on me. Perhaps more on my awareness more than my soul but they must be interlinked to a degree. It was fantastic to be so involved in an organisation which is making such a difference to the standards of health care throughout the country. Despite starting the job with practically no background in Riders, at the end of my 5 weeks I now feel an extremely strong affiliation with the charity. Having travelled extensively throughout the country and seen the spectrum of influence upon the people and the health care organisation which Riders is having, it would have been impressive if I came back feeling anything except the intense pride which I now associate with the experience.

Obviously, part of the experience is to have challenges. Some of these, were difficult to deal with at times, understandably. One particularly haunting moment was when Ken and I were interviewing the administrator of a hospital which has yet to receive a TAM ambulance. This means that their ambulance is maintenanced and fuel is provided by Riders. In the midst of our interview, a nurse knocked on the door to alert to the administrator to a problem - there was a patient who need referring and the ambulance had no fuel.

The administrator turned to me, looked me in the eye and asked me what I thought he should do. His exact words were "Lady, what do I do? Do I just leave this man to die?" Not an easy question to have to try and answer.

There were several others along the way who took the opportunity of talking to us to slag off Riders and what it's doing for purely personal and selfish reasons. These are the small minority of people who wish to use the ambulance for their own needs and therefore dislike that with the Riders system every kilometre is logged and if fuel is being misused, they would be found out. For example, the people in the Lower River Region....who used the ambulance to transport a cow.

Although the challenges were sometimes frustrating, and occasionally, upsetting they gave an extra and important dimension to the work. It also meant that when we would talk with people who were happy with the work which was being done had so much of a positive impact by comparison.

Gambia is an extraordianary country and I feel extremely privileged to have had an opportunity to explore it. Turns out, taking a gamble on the Gambia? Well worth it.

Tea? Actually...maybe not....

So I am now staying with a Gambian family which means I am an participant of a true Gambian experience. So far, the Gambian experience I have gathered is that they tend to spend vast amounts of time sitting. Sometimes just sitting, most of the time watching awful, and I mean AWFUL Nigerian and Ghanaian soap operas and drinking green tea.

I don’t mean green tea in the UK sense of “calming herbal tea to drink when you’re feeling all floaty and mellow”. I mean hardcore, turn your liver black, dissolve your teeth sickly sweet amazingly strong SHOTS of green tea. Being the polite human being that I am I have somehow given everyone the impression that I am inordinately fond of this tea, and so I am frequently given some. As I have described it comes in a shot glass and is such a dark green that I originally thought it was shots of coffee. It also comes in batches of four. Hence my surprise when I had somehow dispatched with the first shot and was just downing (subtly) copious amounts of water and reassuring my petrified taste buds that they would learn to love and taste again when... along comes another shot. I was reassured that this was weaker than the previous, I can neither confirm nor deny this statement.

The soap operas are rather hilarious. So far these are the topics they seem to cover on the most regular basis:
Incest
HIV
Selling babies
Topping up phones
Maths lessons

My favourite scene so far has to be, in a moment of heart-felt teenage angst and despair a young boy in a fit of torment was throwing his basket ball repeatedly against a poster... of R Kelly.
Another classic was a documentary about a guy from Panama called Jeff who wanted to attend a Muslim festival and need a VISA for his trip. Approximately 15% was about him converting to Islam and the festival. The remaining 85% was him waiting for his Visa.

***SPOILER ALERT***
His Visa didn’t arrive in time.

When I arrived on the Friday it was Tobaski, a big Muslim festival the equivalent of our Christmas. In the morning the head of the family has to slaughter a ram and then there is a big feast. I did, (unfortunately) miss the slaughtering of the ram, but the munch was all fantastic. Because of Tobaski Therese has lots of family members staying, who speak very little English but with whom I continue to preserve to communicate with.

The ones whom I seem to spend the most time in the company of are an ancient old grandmother and her 8 month old grandson. Neither of whom, unsurprisingly speak a word of English. The baby seems to view me as some sort of confusing inanimate object. So far I have been climbed all over, cried at and licked. I do get the impression the grandmother is also a bit of a legend. On one occasion however, my ingrained need for polite conversation against all the odds was tragically foiled. Don’t ask me why but somehow, I was trying to convey to her that I had been bitten a lot by mosquitoes recently and that I thought I must have sweet tasting blood to them. I have no idea why I thought this could be conveyed through international hand language but it seemed worth a shot. I failed, miserably. Evidently she hadn’t understood what I was banging on about as about half way through my mosquito impression she got up and left. She then returned with some, joy of joys... green tea. An unexpected result.

This was the hint I needed; I stopped any attempt at verbal communication and retreated to read War and Peace. I am however, maintaining a totally inane smile whenever anyone walks near me or looks in my vague direction.

On the Sunday I was invited to (unsurprisingly) drink green tea with some local Gambian men. This involved sitting on the street, drinking tea, staring into space and occasionally having some chat about how I can’t speak either Wolof or Mandinka.

Current mosquito bite count = 18. BASTARDS.

T.I.A

Riders for Health is a charity which mobilises health workers and trains technicians to maintain their vehicle so as to provide health care to remote areas of Africa which would otherwise not have access to such resources.

The really exciting thing about Riders in the Gambia is that their dream is actually taking shape and becoming a reality. Said dream is to have enough health centres with Riders health workers that every person in the Gambia has the potential to receive health care. This is primarily achievable because the Gambia is such a small country, but also because uniquely Riders in the Gambia has an arrangement with the Government. With the introduction of TAM a system which envolves Riders itself buying and thus maintaining their motorbikes and four by fours great leaps in development have been taken. Riders is also committed to primarily recruiting locals so the benefits are all the more widespread: economically and nationally Riders is having a positive influence throughout the Gambia.


The more obsevant of you will no doubt have noticed that I am currently in the Gambia, working for Riders for Health. I'm working in the Monitoring and Evaluation department. This is a relatively new department and its purpose is to collect data from both before and after the TAM system was introduced to show the positive effects which Riders has had.

Its been an intense few days. After a 6am start, and a 6 hour flight we eventually landed in the capital Banjul. For the first 10 days I am being accomponied by the M&E Manager in the UK office. A really nice girl who I get on with really well. She's had some pretty exciting adventures - my favourtie being how she worked for the UN in Malawi for a year driving around on a motorbike. Mental.

Anyway, so the Wednesday morning up bright and early at 6am again we set off up country to explore the Central River Region of the country. Although the distance is only about 300 km all in all the journey took about 8 hours. It invoved a chaotic boat trip (goats, EVERYWHERE); some of the roads don't have tarmac but do just have massive holes. We also had to frequently stop for police road checks and for the random herds of cows casually moseying (or mooseying ho ho) across the road.

Bansang was our destination. It has virtually no tourist appeal; I doubt that there are even guesthouses to stay in, but for the Gambia it is extremely significant above all because it has its own hospital. We stayed in what used to the Head of the school of Nurses old house, so it was pretty authentic. Although basic (limited electricity and no hot water) it was pretty comfortable. The only concern was that there weren't any mosquito nets as the locals don't tend to bother; luckily I only got bitten a few times so fingers crossed I don't malaria and everything will be A ok. Whilst we stayed there the wife of one of the Riders technicians cooked Mandinka and Wolof (the two most predominant tribes) dishes for us each evening and provided eggs for the morning. It was fantastic to be able to sample true Gambian cuisine.

So we were essentially staying within the hospital compound. These hospitals had beds and trained staff but none of the equipment which you would see in the West. Ambulances, which are 4x4s are provided by Riders and it was fantastic to see them driving around on various emergencies knowing that it was because of Riders that they were there in the first place. This gained all the more resonance when we went to visit the workshop at Bansang. At least 15 ambulances, trekking vehicles and motorcylces were all lined up, having broken down and been left to scrap as noone had the skills to fix them. It was literally, an ambulance graveyard. (The irony was not wasted on me).

For the next 4 days Ken and I drove out into the region and visited the 8 health centres and some workshops along the way. At the health centres Ken and I would ask them to fill in a questionnaire and then would take loads of photos and video footage of the health staff and their ambulances describing how difficult it was before Riders and basically how much better everything is for them now. A lot of them commented on how before they had the use of a functioning motorbike they frequently either broke down or ran out of fuel; referrals to the hospital thus had to be made entirely by the sick patient in question unless they could pay for fuel themselves. Routine visits for vaccinations and check-ups had to be made either by foot or by donkey. All that has obviously, now changed.


Anyway, so basically so far so good. It was really nice to have Sunday off, we worked all day Saturday and the days are exhausting. We usually leave at 8 and although we aim to get back at 6 it doesn't always work out that way. So I spent Sunday enjoying the 34 degrees heat and then went for a jolly into town. I say town, I mean the main "street" if you can even call it that. Basically it's just a market. We did get to see the President though; he drove past waving, so I duly waved back. It was alright.

Then we went to a crocodile sanctuary and I was strongly encouraged to sit on a crocodile called Charlie. I did however, politely decline.

What can I say? TIA man.

This Is Africa after all.

Yak Attack

Heading off to the Gambia in less than 2 weeks, and in a rather pitiful attempt to acclimatise myself and to feel "at one" with the Gambian countryside I thought I might do some research into what kind of nature and wildlife I might find out there.

Actually, this isn't strictly true. About 45% true, and by that means - NOT a lie. Basically, it all comes down to my love of yaks. I love them. In my experience it is perfectly reasonable (encouragable even) to nurture an indefinite concept of "love" towards undomesticated animals. I have friends who are passionate about llamas, tapirs, duck billed platypii and even bees. And judging by www.ilovebees.com passion doesn't even come close to describing some peoples affections. Therefore it is perfectly reasonable that I have this love of yaks.

Ok, again, not strictly true. About 30% true so embarrassingly a definite decrease on quantities of truth compared to the last not-strictly-true-but-definitely-not-a-lie statement I made. No, I can't hide it anymore. FRANK GALLAGHER. It's true. My love of yaks stems from Frank Gallagher. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Frank Gallagher here is a crash course introduction: http://media.sbs.com.au/shows/upload_media/site_45_rand_1888975559_frank.jpg

I feel this sums him up pretty well. Just for the record, he is a fictional character from the TV series Shameless. Not a cousin or a lecturer from Northampton university. Basically, he drinks, smokes, swears and talks, all the fucking time. Ironically, though most of this talking is based around complaining about other people talking, hence the epic, wonderful, poetic phrase: "yak yak fucking yak". Amazing. I mean, that is amazing. How many times have I sat and listened to some mind-numbingly boring sod yak (eeeeh) on and on about how they: "once saw two magpies in a row and they couldn't remember whether that was good or bad luck, just like how when you see a cat run in front of you if it's left to right is that good? Or if they run right to left does that mean you might die in a freak yachting accident?" This invariably leads onto a never ending story of said person's history of yachting and cats and the many reasons why never the twain should meet. I have, nevertheless developed techniques to survive such stories with both my eardrums in tact (the temptation being naturally to gouge them out with a gherkin - if a gherkin is to hand).

Believe me though, it hasn't been easy. I endured many years of, at times, searching for sharp objects or blunt objects or frankly anything which would save me from this boring bastard and perhaps mutilate me in such a way that I would never have to interact with them or indeed any boring individual ever again. Obviously I never quite followed through with this, and usually I just ended up drinking whatever is to hand. Even a non-alcoholic beverage I would consume with gusto, kidding myself it was pumped with booze so I could get my tragic kicks off the placebo effect. The major downside of this, was the vicious circle effect. After a few drinks I became afflicted with a curse which affects pretty much everybody - me especially - that one becomes filled with a sense that whatever you have to say (and unfortunately there always seems to be so much to say) is the most interesting thing, ever. Fact. So you see! I would become like the original boring sod! Endlessly boring whichever poor bastard happened to be within a 5 meter radius - no one is safe. It would always end pretty much the same way, hungover and mortified the next day I would be filled with inner rage.

Somewhere, one day, there was a shining light and a booming voice... Actually this is romantacising shameless beyond belief... Anyway I basically realized how much help the phrase "yak yak fucking yak" can make. It just eases the boredom, I can tune out completely and think to myself about how I this person is yakking away and therefore no need to concentrate. It's like its own disclaimer. Plus, what a word. Yak! I mean, epic word, it's got it all - a soft y, short a and the harsh k to finish it off with a bang. Ok, starting to yak on about the word yak now (jokes) so will control myself.

Thank you Frank Gallagher for sparking my initial interest in yaks. I am pleased to say that is has evolved. Having done rudimentary research (although, obviously I would love to spend all my time looking at pictures of yaks, sadly there just aren't enough hours in the day) I can confirm that the actual animals are also, ace.

http://www.geolsoc.org.uk/webdav/site/GSL/shared/images/geoscientist/Geoscientist%2018.10/yak.jpg

They make me happy.

So, I consider myself a classicist. Not as a profession, but having spent a good part of my life thinking in classical terms, musing over classical stuff and boring strangers at parties about classical topics, until I get myself a "proper" job and a "proper" profession I shall continue to think of myself as a classicist.

Following in this frame of mind I just wanted to write a blog about some of my favourite ancient greek and roman moments - CLASSIC memories if you will. ho ho ho.

My most prominent memory has to be when I first saw the Parthenon. I remember being extremely excited about seeing something which already, at the tender age of 16 I had dedicated so much of my time to. I was confident that I would be able to impress my mother with my knowledge of "metopes", "pediments" and that from 100 yards I could easily point out "a lapith". And yet, aside from a teenage angsty sense of wanting to prove myself (i would later discover that citing classical knowledge to a parental unit only really gets you so far) I was genuinely excited. I've always loved the classical stuff and was preparing myself for an onslaught on the senses. A magnificent, glorious structure which had risen above it's age and modern society to still inspire awe within its thousands of visitors.

What I however, had not anticipated, was the Greeks. Although this could easily turn into a rant about one particular American tourist who I saw wandering around the Acropolis at one time stopping to point at the Erectheum and announce to the rest of the tour group "y'all go on ahead, i'm gonna check out the naked chicks" I shall restrain.

No no, far more disturbing to my impressionable 16 year old mind was the site of a bleary eyed, club-handed Greek builder in control of a bloody great big crane. Which, to my dismay was in situ right in the middle of the bloody Parthenon. Now in its time the Parthenon has put up with quite a lot. Turks and Christians have had a pretty good bash at it over the years - most epic fail has to be the Ottoman turks who stored all their gunpowder in it. It was subsequently blown up.

And yet, despite all of these attempts to destroy it, it has survived. I think it can also be said that no one has ever doubted that it would survive. However, when I was standing there seeing this crane swinging wildly in the middle of it, I, experienced doubt. Not proud of it, but I did. Thankfully, I have subsequently been proven wrong i.e the building is still standing... So clearly the manically eyed Greek had some skills, or maybe just luck. Anyway, point is, it's still there, and that makes me happy.

So this definitely makes one of my top classical moments. I will write more about other moments for me but right now, I could do with a cup of tea. Sweet.

Crunchy Nut...ARGH! Run for your life!

Cereal. Start to the day. Set me up with a cup of tea (hint) and some cereal and I will consider myself extremely content...and yet, somehow, it causes me many problems in my mundane day to day life.

I am currently enjoying Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, undoubtedly a classic choice. It is probably a horrific thing to confess to but pretty much every morning whilst I'm chomping a bowl down I do sometimes stop and think to myself..."these ARE ludicrously tasty!". In my head I always add a note of surprise to this statement and I'm really not sure why. It's not like at any point in the advertising process have I been told anything other than the truth - that they are ludicrously tasty. Granted an advertising campaign based upon something like "these taste like toxic waste AVOID!" would not be (obviously, likely) or conducive to Kelloggs adding to their massive profit, but it just surprises me as to how utterly tasty they are. And believe me, it has always been clean sailing with me and crunchy nut cereal, yeah, we've got history. Motherfucker. Sadly the story is actually not at all worthy of a "motherfucker" I might have gotten slightly carried away there but I felt it fitted with the "history" aspect. In reality, all that actually happened was that Crunchy nut cornflakes claimed one of my baby teeth. Not in a siege or anything, not as part of a ransom... It really was quite ordinary. Damn, quite regretting the "motherfucker" now.

Just to clarify though, I am by no means some kind of dental obsessive who recalls with glazed eyes and dribble every dental experience I've ever had. It's just for some reason I do remember losing one of my first baby teeth to crunchy nut cornflakes.

Perhaps it was a particularly painful extraction, perhaps I nearly swallowed said tooth before someone upped the parenting skills and intervened or perhaps...PERHAPS all along, it's because CRUNCHY NUT CORNFLAKES ARE SO LUDICROUSLY TASTY.

Hum.

I really should get paid for such shameless promotion. Doubtful, seeing as I have likened crunchy nut cornflakes to a ransom and torture situation... Still, might be worth a shot (no pun intended). I could play the whole "come on guys - think outside the box - and I don't just mean the cereal one. You've got to appeal to a wider target here, think of all the gangsters and mafia types who can't relate to your cereal! This, THIS is your chance."

Will report back.

So it is time to resort back to one of my favourite past-times - top 5 lists. I bloody love top 5 lists. There was an epic afternoon spent in the summer when a barage of e-mails was exchanged and pretty much everything top 5 was covered. My favourite was "Non-domesticated animals that would make potentially amazing pets" because I combined two of my greatest loves in life - a top 5 list, and yaks. With a yak obviously storming in at number 1 above llamas, aadvarks, duck-billed platypii and a warthog.

Another top 5 list which especially springs to mind was the result of one particularly cold, grey monday morning. I was struggling more than usual to get up when I received a text. I'm not sure how everyone else reacts to receiving a text in the morning but my reaction whenever anyone texts me before 11am is always "WHO is texting me....? WHY is someone texting me? And then it always descends into the same vicious circle of "I bet it's bloody vodafone. I'm deliberately not going to read it until later because I know it's going to be vodafone telling me about my voicemail personal greeting. YEAH?! WELL VODAFONE CAN BUGGER OFF. I FUCKING HATE VODAFONE." Having worked myself up into a seething mass of rage by this point I'm usually awake enough to bother getting up and reading said, troublesome text.

Happily, on this occasion it was not actually vodafone but a friend asking me, and I quote "Top 5 songs to get out of bed to in the morning?!"

Made my day. Right then.

For the record, my top 5 songs to get up to in the morning currently (they change regularly) are:

1) Fly away - Lenny Kravitz

2) There There - Radiohead

3) One clear way - David Kitt

4) What I really want - Alannis Morrisette

5) Black Swan - Thom Yorke

Over and out.

Now I have heard on a very distant and vague grapevine (ie cab chat with colleagues... you start to scrape the barrel) that there are yet more plans to "re do" oxford circus. I will control myself before I get completely carried away with what constitutes "re-doing" in my book and what actually always seems to happen in reality.

Anyway, the point is that the rumour I heard was that they are planning to build a system for pedestrians like the one in japan. I.e everyone has about 2 minutes to cross the road and each time more people cross the road than have EVER DONE BEFORE. Strangely enough (or luckily enough, whichever) there are people who seem to find this sort of thing worthy enough to film and subsequently put on youtube so...: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGgfT4TG_k0&feature=related

Now this sort of system is apparently what is being planned for oxford circus.

I really wish I could just walk up to whoever had this brilliant idea and just put them out of their misery before it gets sadistic. I wish to follow the advice the government, my parents and society in general has been telling me to do my entire life and "just say NO". But of course, they won't let me. Bastards.

So my (long winded) point is, how can anyone who has ever had any dealings with the great British public assume that en mass we would be able to function in such a succinct and organised way.

Reasons why include:

1) The British love to jaywalk. We're all shit at it, but persist anyway.

2) London is one of the world's top tourist destinations...think of all the japanese tourists who come here, searching for something different! London is a place where they can try something new, like cross the road at a different time and point to the rest of the city. It's a bit out there, granted, but surely there is a risk of London's tourist industry being damaged by this.

3) To be as difficult and obnoxious is in our blood. For such a small little island we have to be upstartish and irritating in some ways, therefore, mass road crossing... just no. I can literally picture at some point or another every individual who crosses said road, stopping and thinking to his or herself "I'm not going to follow the crowd; I'm going to stand in the middle of the road, the masses will protect me..."

4) Just imagine the rage, we don't do patient

5) Without the opportunity for dodging moving vehicles, slow people and of course the epic movement of tapping one's foot whilst stranded in the middle of the road, we'd all get chubbier and chubbier until we became mass blobs rolling around the streets of London.

Possibly.

Anyway, it just wouldn't work, we'll have thrown away all the money on something pointless long before then. Whenever I see a photo of Boris Johnson I get the feeling he's plotting something along the lines of "Hum...I like cycling,let's build a giant statue of a bicycle with fountains and lasers".

Brilliant.

is this it?

Having recently succumbed to the sparkling delights of twitter I've decided it was time to embrace modern technology with both arms and start a blog.

In the past I have rejected the self-indulgent prospect of a blog but now I consider myself a temporary londoner, I'm all for being selfish. I've embraced the other traits, "head rage" screaming aloud in ones head at slow walkers and delays on the tube (oxford circus is the primary cause in both instances), forgetting how to make eye contact after so many enforced hours of avoiding strangers' and finally, perfecting the art of the sigh combined, ever-so-skillfully with the sharp intake of breath at the price of EVERYTHING.

Therefore this will merely be a place for me to muse about pointless things. I doubtless will probably be the only person who reads it as I am not fond of shamelessly publicity. We will see. It will also, as the title might suggest, an unstoppable continuous attempt for someone, at some point, to make me a cup of tea. Nice one.