In 2016 I spent two weeks in The Gambia as the guest of my former college roommate, who was teaching at the University there. This chapter of "Antipode" brought back great memories of that time. Compared with your experience with local travel, mine was a ride in an air conditioned private limousine, but it was close enough. Our delightful guide, one of my friend's former students, knew how to give us an authentic Gambian experience but with the scary parts left out.
Their version of taxi-brousse is the gele-gele, an already-decrepit imported van, the interior stripped down and reconfigured to hold three times the number of passengers, and the roof reinforced to withstand being piled with suitcases, huge bags of rice or cement, and of course animals. This was our vehicle for a couple of eight-hour plus journeys, and that, even more than the fact that they will sometimes take five showers a day, convinced me that the Gambians are a really CLEAN people, as the experience was not all that unpleasant. However, I remember purposefully dehydrating myself, knowing that I would be crammed into that van for over eight hours with no chance for a bathroom stop. That turned out to be unnecessary, as the close proximity of all those bodies with temperatures in the 90's meant we lost all our liquid by sweat. The bad American music was there, too, along with the totally unpredictable timetables -- and incomparable, cheerful, self-sacrificing hospitality.
Thanks for the memories -- even if The Gambia is about as far away as you can get from Madagascar in Africa.
I’m not sure I’d want to endure the flying foxes let alone that taxi ride south. You redefined culture shock for me but with a signaling of hope at this chapter’s end.
In 2016 I spent two weeks in The Gambia as the guest of my former college roommate, who was teaching at the University there. This chapter of "Antipode" brought back great memories of that time. Compared with your experience with local travel, mine was a ride in an air conditioned private limousine, but it was close enough. Our delightful guide, one of my friend's former students, knew how to give us an authentic Gambian experience but with the scary parts left out.
Their version of taxi-brousse is the gele-gele, an already-decrepit imported van, the interior stripped down and reconfigured to hold three times the number of passengers, and the roof reinforced to withstand being piled with suitcases, huge bags of rice or cement, and of course animals. This was our vehicle for a couple of eight-hour plus journeys, and that, even more than the fact that they will sometimes take five showers a day, convinced me that the Gambians are a really CLEAN people, as the experience was not all that unpleasant. However, I remember purposefully dehydrating myself, knowing that I would be crammed into that van for over eight hours with no chance for a bathroom stop. That turned out to be unnecessary, as the close proximity of all those bodies with temperatures in the 90's meant we lost all our liquid by sweat. The bad American music was there, too, along with the totally unpredictable timetables -- and incomparable, cheerful, self-sacrificing hospitality.
Thanks for the memories -- even if The Gambia is about as far away as you can get from Madagascar in Africa.
Ah, now, after chapter 2, a week's time is such a long wait!
Yet, being struck by this observation, I'll act quietly resigned:
"Waiting for something to start is nothing like waiting for something to end."
My copy of "Antipode" came yesterday. The photographs are worth the price of the book! I hope you plan to include them in this production.
I’m not sure I’d want to endure the flying foxes let alone that taxi ride south. You redefined culture shock for me but with a signaling of hope at this chapter’s end.
Just fantastic, your Antipodes so far! I appreciate greatly your story-telling ... so enchanting, vivid and informative.