Those of you following my career (hi mum) will be pleased to hear that it continue to spiral, and I am now the Acting Dean of the Law Faculty. In other words, the Dean went on holiday and I was, literally, the only one left. The highlight of this new position occurred at an event to mark the end of term, at which all the Heads of Department (including me, as Acting Dean), gave speeches thanking their visiting lecturers (i.e. me). I pointed out that it might be a little unconventional to give a speech thanking myself, but as they say here, ‘all protocols must be observed’ so I thanked myself very nicely.
So this leads me to reflect on my year here, and I think the best way to sum it up, is that, as a westerner in The Gambia, it’s a really easy place to live, and a really difficult place to work. For me, as an uber-planner, one of the hardest things about working in The Gambia is the very different attitude to time.
Today was a typical morning in the life of the Acting Dean. At 9am I got a phone call from Bobo, (the assistant at the law school and general legend, of whom photo attached). ‘Good morning Madame. There is a student arriving from America to be an intern for a month. She will be working with you’. ‘Really? I didn’t know anything about this’. ‘No maam, we did not tell you’. ‘OK fine, when does she arrive?’. ‘She is here now’. (Deep breath). ‘Right, ask her wait, I’ll come in now’. I get on my bike. The phone continues ringing. I ignore it in the interests of getting to work. All around me Gambians, ever-helpful and ever-keen-to-point-out-the-bleeding-obvious, shout ‘THERE IS A PHONE RINING IN YOUR BAG!’ as I scream back ‘I KNOW BUT I’M CYCLING!’. I stop to answer it. It’s Bobo. ‘Bobo, I’m not there yet, you only rung five minutes ago’. ‘But Madame, there is something else. The Vice President of the Cape Verde Islands is coming and wants to look around the Law Faculty’. ‘OK no problem. When is he coming?’. ‘He is here now’. Thankfully it turns out to be the Vice Chancellor of a University in Cape Verde, not the Vice President. Drenched in sweat, as always, I give him the tour of the university.
Saturday was the final competition to choose the students to represent The Gambia at the African Human Rights Mooting Competition in Pretoria in July. I was running the event, and was determined that it would start on time at 10am. I told my students they had to arrive by 9, which many did, so towards 10 it looked like we might be on time. However, shortly before 10 Bobo came to see me. ‘We have to wait, The Chancellor is coming’. ‘Why?’ ‘Because it is an important event’. Hmm. OK. He arrived, but still we could not start. ‘The TV crew is arriving’. Why???? ‘Because it is an important event’. They arrived. Can we start now? ‘No. We are waiting for the sandwiches’.
It started at 11 – an hour late – not bad. The event was great (photo attached), and I am taking the winners to Pretoria in July. The item was on the news, but as it clashed with the Champions League Final, I’m not sure how many people saw it. If there is one thing that unites Gambians (even more than their love of sandwiches) it is their love of Man U. We watched the match with our neighbour, Saikou, who was so distraught at the end that he went to sit in a dark room on his own without saying goodbye, contrary to all rules of hospitality. (I attach a photo of him with a Man U book which my sister sent him from the UK).
Talking of media, Pete was excited to hear that they were going to do a radio piece about his National Volunteering Programme, and was asked to write some content. He asked how long the slot would be, imagining twenty minutes at the most. He was told there would be eight one-hour slots, and he had to talk on all of them. He’d got a couple under his belt when he turned up to a radio station where the previous presenter was just wrapping up. He told Pete the new presenter was late, but Pete should just ‘sit down, introduce himself, and get on with it’. In this country, even hosting your own radio show is no reason to turn up on time.
Finally, attached are some photos of our neighbours on Independence Day, all in their best marching gear. They invited us to watch them parade in front of the President, and said to be in Banjul at 10am. Our friends had been to a similar event and said it started four hours late, so we split the difference and left at 12. We were just getting in the taxi when they called to say that … it had started on time and we had missed it. After ten months, I still don’t get it.
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