frustrations and exploitations

i think perhaps i may have reached the pinnacle of frustration with the gambia over the weekend, though am reportedly in much better spirits on this fine monday in brikama. it started on saturday when my bank put a hold on my ATM card (my lifeline here as i have no other means of getting cash). this shouldn't have been a huge deal - i have a number for the bank to call collect to rectify this - but the problem came when i tried to dial out. firstly, i discovered that you cannot make collect calls from a cell phone, but rather must find a landline/telecenter at which to make the call. so i found one and my conversation with the operator went like this.

me: i'd like to make a collect call please
operater on 100: i can't help you.
me: excuse me?
operator 100: we don't do that, try calling 144.
me: ok
operator 144: try dialing 0001 then your number
me: thank you
(i try this, it doesn't work)
me to operator 144: hello, remember me (of course he does, there's only one operator in all of the gambia), that didn't work, what shall i do now?
operator 144: try the international operator, 100
me: i've called her, she said to call you.
operator 144: try again
me to operator 100: hello, i'm trying to make a collect call
operator 100: we don't do collect calls from the gambia, it's not possible.
me: WHAT???
operator 100: yes.
me: (trying to stay calm) what do you mean you don't do collect calls.
operator 100: we don't do collect calls.
me: (trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice, politely:) what would you do if you were me, trying to make a collect call? would you simply give up?
operator 100: yes. we used to have an international operator on 100, but you're actually talking to the operator at 151. the calls just forward to us. we can't help you.

and on and on for a few more calls, going in circles and getting no where quickly. so in the end, jason called and conferenced me into a call with my bank via skype. i like to think it takes a lot to get me upset, and i really honestly don't get upset very often - but inefficiency makes my blood boil sometimes. when i expect it, like i have pretty much my entire experience in the gambia, i don't mind it at all. i can roll with it, chalk it up to culture, and enjoy the ride. but when i don't expect it - or when something should and could (in my humble opinion) be done so much better - it makes me angry and i can get very snippy. thankfully, i hung up with the gambian operators before she suffered anymore of my wrath.

saturday night was also one of exasperated frustration, but in a much different sense. sandra and i were taken to a 'show' at the senegambia hotel. senegambia is the bit of the gambia that most tourists see if they are here on a packaged holiday. in fact, they might see nothing else if they don't venture out from the strip filled with restaurants, boutiques, dance clubs, bars and even a faux amusement park. it's disgusting, if you ask me, and i'm glad i've not bothered spending any time in the area. i'd call it the disney-fied part of gambia, but even disney would do it better. the streets are full of toubabs - primarily british toubabs. and for fear of being disrespectful to my british friends - i will not describe them in detail, but leave that to your understanding of the traveling kind.

anyhow, her friend is a dancer in the senegambia hotel's nightly performance, though he wasn't dancing on saturday. we thought we were going to see some real african dancing, and he was going to get us in for free, so we went along. little did we know it was to be a lip-synching contest with the cast of gambians miming along to tom jones, whitney houston, tina turner, abba, right said fred and other abysmal eurotrash pop music. we laughed at first - but less a laugh of enjoyment and more a laugh of 'are you SERIOUS, are they for REAL, are we REALLY seeing this? and are these people around us REALLY enjoying this?' but sadly, they did seem to be lapping it up, cheering and jeering for the acts and voting by applause. by the third or fourth song (of eleven) we were ready to go, but as this was the livelihood of the friend of sandra's (at 1500 dalasi/month), we didn't want to appear rude or disrespectful. so we sat through 'what's love got to do with it' and 'dancing queen' and watched the humiliating (or so I thought) acts that only continued to get worse.

the performers didn't really know the words to the songs, either smiling bigger or avoiding eye contact with the audience altogether to cover up their embarrassment, which only served to make the show feel more like a grade school talent show than an entertaining saturday night on the town. they did manage two or three numbers with african music and dance, but even those seemed contrived and trivialized in a this-is-what-you-tourists-think-africa-must-be-like so-we'll-give-you-what-you-want sort of way. in the end, the crowd clapped louder for the man with a fake willy in his trousers gyrating to 'sexbomb' than they did for the reenactment of a tribal healing with a medicine man bringing a woman back to life.

in the end, it just made me sad. sad that that the performers thought this is the kind of show the hotel guests would want, sad that it appeared it WAS the kind of show the guests wanted, sad that there didn't seem to be an end to that vicious circle, that the show will go on, seven nights/week, while there are tourists who continue to fill the seats. this is NOT tourism - but for many of those families, it would be their gambian experience. i wanted to stand up and shout at them that this is NOT the gambia. (i didn't because i didn't want to involuntarily volunteer myself to be a judge in their pathetic contest).

i'm trying hard to be my own devil's advocate to the part of me that is disgusted by these things, telling myself 'to each his own' ... maybe the chubby little white girl with cornrow braids and tie-dyed moo moo who got pulled to the center stage by the dread-locked gambian dancing queen during the finale was having the TIME of her life - maybe this would be her 15 minutes of fame that she'd remember fondly forever. maybe the post-menopausal woman canoodling in the back with the gorgeous young gambian boy with abs of steel really IS in love with him, and he with her. (this phenomenon, another blog post ENTIRELY). i'm really trying hard to abstain from judgement here and let each have and enjoy her own. afterall, doesn't everyone deserve that?

but i just can't help seeing these through glasses tinted with sadness, desperation, frustration at the exploitation and hopelessness. it's hard to articulate adequately, and sandra and i have spent hours mulling over these feelings trying to find a way to describe this symbiotic relationship that exists between toubabs and africans. but for me, it's a relationship that is tinged with sadness, no matter which point of view you're looking at it from. perhaps by the time i leave, i'll be able to express it much more eloquently. give me one more weekend in fajara ...

and speaking of, there probably WILL only be one more weekend in fajara - i've only got three weekends left in the gambia. hard to believe i've only three weeks and four days. i'd like to tell you i'm not counting ... but the count down has now begun. i think it started after i got two hours of sleep on saturday having been kept up by a late afternoon nescafe and three buzzing mosquitos in the room where i slept. and was fueled after my computer crashed for a fourth time in the internet cafe on sunday morning. i'm sure you won't find it hard to believe i am looking forward to getting back to convenience and efficiency. but i can handle three more weeks - and like i said, today is much better than yesterday after a good 10 hours of sleep last night!

i learned that in mandinka, the word for 'today' is 'be'. and i'm trying to remember this as i find myself anxiously awaiting my departure here. today, i will just be.

sala malekum!