Fajara Hotel

This blog is getting a little out of sequence, but needs must... Just before I left to go to the UK I had a Christmas party. I like Christmas. Scratch that, I LOVE Christmas. I think it's a combination of the glitter, singing and mulled wine. Last year, my tree only came down in July because I moved house and that's around the same time I started humming carols. My friends don't quite understand the obsession, but are ...

... a classroom without a teacher. (Hence why we were quickly signed up to fill spots). Those teachers who are there may not even be trained, and those who are might only be teaching to save up some money to pursue a more lucrative career (teachers' salaries are very low), and thus often won't be very committed to their job. What students do in these classrooms can be just as discouraging. The bulk of a student's day is spent sitting silently in their chair copying notes from a blackboard ...

... we all started to loosen up, splattering a free-flowing bule and white base around the hut. It was a beautiful sunny day (as all days are in Gambia this time of year), and we were surrounded by incredible natural and made-made beauty, and it was hard not to feel a little inspired. We all split off to different sides of the hut and became engrossed in our own spontaneous creations. It was a glorious day's work, and as it reached the time for us to leave to bike back to Kanifing before ...

... the main road outside the mosque, the noise of the traffic disappeared and for 10 minutes the sound of hundreds of men mumbling prayers filled the air. Carried on south to the Jibolob / Seleti border without any problems. I Volunteered all the information I knew they were dying to ask.. Where you are from, where you are going, home town, football team, marital status, job, impressions of the country and the people in their ...

... in order that he can stay awake to be able to produce my report. The policeman that relays this last bit of information does so with an utterly straight and solemn face which amuses me so much I willingly hand over the bribe. The next morning I return - no police report. That afternoon- same story. The following morning: ditto. This amusing little game goes on all week until I eventually lose my temper, get into a virulent loud argument with the station ...

I planned on being able to write a journal entry about trips to Brikama and Banjul I wanted to take this weekend. But instead I'm forced to write it about a West African hospital, where I spent most of my weekend staying with my good friend Bryan, who became the second member of our group to fall prey to the mosquitoes. Somehow, though we've all been keeping up with our anti-malarial medication, we've managed to triple the number of SMCM students who've gotten Malaria here. I guess ...

... each reading. And even getting that one copy is a hassle. One professor is even having to travel to a different country over the weekend to get one copy of a book. In general, knowledge, or at least the idea of it and what it can facilitate, is much more passionately valued here by the students and teachers. There is not a college in every town, books do not come packed up for you at the on-campus bookstore. Most of the students have what we might consider non-traditional ...

... heading to the wrong airport) soon all Harts were present and accounted for. Hitching a lift back with their hotel's bus I had the experience of hearing the tour reps in action. I have so far avoided spending time around tourists or their entourage, having developed a severely negative opinion of them after seeing the appalling effects tourism has had in contributing to both the sex trade and a culture of dependency. Leading among my list of gripes are the ...

... house reluctantly writing letters to Santa and cutting paper snowflakes to go on the windows. We even left out carrots for the reindeer which sadly proved more of a feast for the ants than Rudolf. Watching volunteers exchange gifts on xmas day was hilarious just for the level of gratitude exhibited by recipients for any gift, no matter how mundane. Cries of ...

Paradise found! We arrived at Fajara beach at 10 o'clock at night, ten hours after we arrived at the other side of the Gambia River. Ten hours of African waiting time, made all the more galling by other tourists bribing and getting ahead of us, all the more galling with the realisation that our money to Mr Kebbe had not been passed onto him, thanks to dodgy Mr Umar of the impeccably clean teeth who had made the arrangements. To add to the ...