TIA (This is Africa)
Every day here brings new surprises. I have no choice but to accept them and go with the flow. I shrug my shoulders and tell myself TIA, this is Africa. A few examples:
One night about a month ago, the neighbouring compound decide it's time to burn their trash. This is common practice here as no trash collection services exist. Foodscraps, plastic bags, clothes, paint containers, shoes, wood, and much more are thrown on a pile, sprayed with some lighter fluid, and set ablaze. Five meters away from the house. The whole family gathers around, including pregnant women and children, to watch and take in the toxic smoke. They do no realise it is harmful for them. Meanwhile I close all my windows and leave my apartment to escape the putrid stench. Yesterday, on the same place where the fire burned, I see a man plowing the earth to prepare it for planting rice or cassava. Imagine the toxins left in the ground which will be planted soon. TIA.
Walking the street to go to the supermarket or the beach, I am often called out to by local young men looking to have a chat. It's always the same routine; what is your name, where do you come from, how is the holiday, where are you staying, for how long are you staying. They talk and talk and talk, and never listen to your anwers. When I say I am not on holidays, two minutes later they will say "how's the holiday?". When I say I come from Holland, they say that all Dutch people are good people. The conversation always ends with "can you give something from your heart to help a brother out?"
So now I have developed a routine, making up new identies for myself with weird personalities just for entertainment purposes. My name is Bjorn, I come from Transsylvania, I am a professional soldier, and my job here is to train the Gambian special forces. Or my name is Vladimir, I come from Russia, and I am here to rescue stray lizards. My favourite identity is Mýrkjartan (no one can pronounce that name), I come from Iceland, and am here to sell ice to hotels.
It makes no difference, they are not listening anyway and it always ends up with the inevitable request for money. TIA.
The smell of burned plastic in the air.
The pile of rotting mangoes under the tree.
The appearance of lizards out of nowhere when insects are swarming.
The sound of a donkey eeyore'ing in the middle of the night like it is getting abused (it is not though).
The omnipresent sound of drumming starting at dusk, no matter where you are.
The sight of a monkey sitting on your balcony when you wake up.
The sight of watching dozens of vulchers returning to their resting place in the palm tree 400 meters away at 5pm sharp every day.
Cows walking on the highway.
This is Africa.
One night about a month ago, the neighbouring compound decide it's time to burn their trash. This is common practice here as no trash collection services exist. Foodscraps, plastic bags, clothes, paint containers, shoes, wood, and much more are thrown on a pile, sprayed with some lighter fluid, and set ablaze. Five meters away from the house. The whole family gathers around, including pregnant women and children, to watch and take in the toxic smoke. They do no realise it is harmful for them. Meanwhile I close all my windows and leave my apartment to escape the putrid stench. Yesterday, on the same place where the fire burned, I see a man plowing the earth to prepare it for planting rice or cassava. Imagine the toxins left in the ground which will be planted soon. TIA.
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| The neighbours' compound. The fireplace is to the right of the car tire. |
So now I have developed a routine, making up new identies for myself with weird personalities just for entertainment purposes. My name is Bjorn, I come from Transsylvania, I am a professional soldier, and my job here is to train the Gambian special forces. Or my name is Vladimir, I come from Russia, and I am here to rescue stray lizards. My favourite identity is Mýrkjartan (no one can pronounce that name), I come from Iceland, and am here to sell ice to hotels.
It makes no difference, they are not listening anyway and it always ends up with the inevitable request for money. TIA.
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| One of the lizards living around my place |
The pile of rotting mangoes under the tree.
The appearance of lizards out of nowhere when insects are swarming.
The sound of a donkey eeyore'ing in the middle of the night like it is getting abused (it is not though).
The omnipresent sound of drumming starting at dusk, no matter where you are.
The sight of a monkey sitting on your balcony when you wake up.
The sight of watching dozens of vulchers returning to their resting place in the palm tree 400 meters away at 5pm sharp every day.
Cows walking on the highway.
This is Africa.
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