It is hard to remember my life when I used to worry about which museum to go to or what thread count the sheets on my bed are. I am not spending each day trying to find a nice bush to hide behind to use as my toilet with a shovel in hand. I am perpetually dirty, have bugs in my morning coffee (brings back memories of the Philippines) and I have a creaky back and neck from sleeping every night on the floor in our tent. My big clothing decision has nothing to do with what looks nice, only which is the least dirty. I have two pairs of Capri pants, I wear only one pair until we get to a spot where I can wash the ones that I am wearing. To think of fresh, fluffy laundry, a steamy shower, and staying fresh and clean for more than five minutes is nearly x-rated. It has been nearly 70 days on the road and we have entered into our eighth country, The Gambia.
It was nice to get back to English again after so long of handling everything in French. It is nice that I am not the only one to do the talking anymore. When we got to the Gambian immigration we had to pay 15,000 CFA; with that we got our stamp and 28 days to enjoy this tiny sliver of a country. We even had to bring in our bags to be inspected, that is certainly a first. The guy saw the section of my backpack where I keep my medicines and asked for an aspirin for a toothache. I told him that I only have medicine to help constipation; he let me go after that.
Shortly after entering, we got our first taste of how things work in The Gambia. There are police checkpoints everywhere and the cops are definitely more strict and thorough than what we had seen so far. We stopped in Basse to change money and while we were parked, a guy on a motorbike (with a helmet no less, that is rare!) pulled up next to us first to greet us. This is apparently a Gambian technique for getting an excuse to approach you and scan everything we have at the same time. Of course, his eyes are roaming the car and he noticed the bottle of beer in David’s lap and told him that he should be careful of that here; he could get a ticket. David thanked him and within moments a cop approached us asking what this is about us having beer. Sure enough, the helmeted motorcyclist was right behind him. The cop then asked for David’s license and documents, all of which were with Peta who was in the bank. Luckily some traffic offense happened while we were waiting for Peta to return and all the cops ran off to handle that. The guy in the red helmet left looking dejected that he won’t get his cut of the bribe that will now not be paid.
The cop came back and told David that drinking while driving is not permitted here. David said that he absolutely agreed; but he was not driving, he was parked. The officer was confused but let us off the hook and we continued on to Georgetown.
There were several police checks along the way, all of them greeting us in a very friendly manner while their eyes are scanning the car and our belongings. One asked for the pen that he noticed on the dashboard.
When we arrived at the ferry to take us to Georgetown, at least this seemed to be efficient and shuttled cars back and forth quickly. While we were waiting we were approached by several people. Instead of the “ça va” that we had grown so used to it was now “Hello, what is your name?” followed by “can you give me a football?” As soon as we got off the ferry, the touts began to appear. We drove along looking for the Bird Safari Camp, asking people for directions along the way.
Suddenly we heard a thumping on the car and then shouting, “Hey, the police want you to stop, they are looking for you!”
We pull over to the police woman (another first) and she told us “you cannot have people hanging on the back of the car, that isn’t permitted here”. We responded that we don’t have people on the back of the car. She retorted “Well, don’t you have a mirror?”. Apparently, the guy who informed us that the cops were looking for us had been hiding on the back of the car with a friend without us knowing. David responded, “Yes, but the mirror doesn’t help us see if they are hanging directly on the back, only if they were on the sides; we don’t even want them there!” The officer then let us go and told us that the car is his property and he should tell them to get off of it.
We continued in our search of the bird camp and we see that there are a few guys sprinting to keep up with us…handy mirrors! David slams on the breaks to yell at them and we hear the dull thud of one of the touts crashing into the car. Those guys then tried to yell at us for stopping the car when they were trying to hitch a ride. It was a very bizarre argument, like someone trying to rob your house and then suing you for tripping on your porch.
When we finally got to the bird camp it seemed more like a squatter camp than a place for tourists, all of the staff seemed to be living there and had their laundry hanging everywhere. It seems the peak tourist season sustains them well enough that they aren’t even concerned with having guests today. We ended up driving to town and stopping for lunch. The 6 guys who were chasing us all day pulled up plastic chairs alongside us; as if slamming the car into them wasn’t a hint enough that we are not interested in their services. They sat there for the entire 2 hours that it took us to have our meal prepared and kept asking to look at Peta’s bird books and guide books. I had to actually remind them to use the word “please” as if they are children. The guy at the restaurant also tried to overcharge us for what was clearly priced on the menu. These guys are really getting on our nerves but we are trying to smile through it.
