04 January 2010 - The Daily Astorian - Patrick Webb
BAKAU, The Gambia - Ngagne Jobe is proud of his oceanfront fire and rescue station and eager to show it off.
He noticed me snapping photos of the African artwork adorning the hulls of eight battered wooden canoes and invited me on a tour.
With colleagues, Jobe staffs the Cape Point sea rescue unit on the Atlantic coast of one of the poorest countries in Africa.
Jobe wore a brown Avon Rescue uniform T-shirt. The British county fire service formed a partnership with Gambian emergency services after a vacationing firefighter realized their need. Now they no longer plunge into the treacherous ocean in ramshackle boats to save fishermen whose 20-foot wooden canoes capsize. Instead, thanks to fundraising by Avon volunteers and Rotary International, they launch bright orange hard-shell rescue boats powered by outboard motors.
Such is the serendipitous way in which The Gambia survives and prospers.
Africa, for a first-time visitor, is simultaneously wondrous yet depressing, captivating yet unsettling.
A child who grew up clutching an atlas, I always thought I would encounter the Dark Continent through my admiration for South African rugby or my dream of photographing animals on safari.
Instead, I went to stand side-by-side with my brother as he married a beautiful woman in The Gambia.
He had visited the tiny West African nation four times and warned me to shed images from books or TV and just open my mind; it was the best advice.
My first impression, flying in from overpriced, overcrowded England, was of an expanse of flat, barren scrubland, punctuated by low-slung resorts with turquoise swimming pools hugging the 50-mile coastline.
The closest comparison is the Caribbean. A cruise ship stop at Nassau is a pretty pathetic yardstick, but there are parallels in Africa's foliage, dust, dirt streets and weathered buildings that haven't seen a lick of paint since the 1950s.
In one week I absorbed indelible images. Women in brightly colored dresses carrying bundles on their heads. Donkeys and goats tethered at the roadside. Crazy drivers navigating potholed streets. Visitors bantering playfully with market traders who toss out an outrageous price then delight to haggle.
But poverty is pervasive. Boys, barefoot or in sandals, flit everywhere, begging from tourists. The most affluent wear replica shirts from their favorite soccer teams, Barcelona or Liverpool. On the dusty village square, their calloused feet bat a ball back and forth toward makeshift goals. Players give no quarter.
Religion is at the heart of everyday life. Ninety percent of Gambians are Muslims; leaders call the faithful to prayer five times every day. I visited during Tobaski, the feast of sacrifice. At a midmorning outdoor service, some 400 appeared in colorful full-length robes of greens and purples and laid down prayer mats in orderly lines. The women sat apart from the men, enjoying the minimal shade.
From a podium, the deep voice of the Imam reverberated through the multitude, who bowed deeply in a devout ballet, characterized by coordinated silent movement alternating with an eerie stillness. The scramble to get home was a startling contrast. I was invited to three homes to witness a ram being killed. (I declined, a decision balancing regret with relief.)
The Gambia was a British colony until independence in 1965. It is twice the size of Tillamook County with the population of greater Portland. Its economy is based on peanut farming, but it has been discovered by tourists from Britain and Scandinavia, a five-hour flight away. It is cheap, exotic, and once the rainy season is over, offers guaranteed sunshine.
Its tourist industry exploits the history of the slave trade highlighted by U.S. author Alex Haley, who traced his Roots back to the River Gambia. The villages of his ancestor, Kunte Kinte, still exist. Residents of Albreda and Juffureh - including two elderly ladies who purport to be his descendants - rely on a stream of inquisitive tourists arriving after a languorous two-hour boat ride.
Amid music from drums and the kora, a multistringed, harp-like instrument, knowledgeable guides describe how the Portuguese, British and French - with help from the Spanish, Dutch, Danes and Swedes - enslaved millions, sending them on perilous voyages to America and Brazil.
It remains a disgraceful stain on civilization that spanned centuries, so there is irony that it is boosting the economy of The Gambia.
I am not sure you can prepare for Africa; I went empty and left full.
It will call me back.
Patrick Webb is managing editor of The Daily Astorian. Coincidentally, 30 years ago he worked for the Bristol Evening Post, located in the Avon Fire District in western England, which is partnered with emergency services in The Gambia.
