Love from Gambia
Dearest Kiek,
Normally, we have this conversation early in the morning in the kitchen, cursing that the Nespresso pods are empty and the neighbors haven't opened their door yet, or that the milk is gone, and we have to make do with black coffee. But today is different. I start my day with fresh mango juice and discuss my weekend with the African monkeys swinging around me. You wake up in Thailand where you are probably lying with your bare bottom in the sand with a broken coconut. We have it good, huh?
But Kiek, let's talk about our weekend for a moment. It's just as well that you are there and I am here. My flight was anything but smooth. With sweat under my armpits (as you always beautifully put it), I stood with the camera under my arm and my laptop in my hands at security, which took an hour and made me barely catch my flight. At the gate, the rest of the group was waiting for me, and I fell right into a conversation about vaccinations and malaria tablets. And yes, you guessed it: I was the only one who couldn't join in. You had already had a panic attack before we were even in the air. Anyway, four days go by so quickly, and hopefully, I will return to Amsterdam without mosquito bites. Panic attack number two when I finally sat in my seat. No little TV in front of me, but a crying baby next to me providing live entertainment. And six hours of biting on a stick. Drink or eat? Soggy sandwiches or lukewarm cola for a fee. But hey, we landed safely, and I had a pretty handsome dude sitting next to me for six hours, who was looking at me quite strangely. Do you think that was because I was openly reading the book ‘The 43 Scripts to Make Him Fall in Love’? I couldn't score his number, so I didn't pick up much from the book. Anyway...
After a six-hour flight (thankfully, I'm flexible, and putting my legs behind my neck is a piece of cake), we finally arrived at Banjul airport at eleven o'clock in the evening. By the time I put the key in my hotel room, it was already way past bedtime for this granny. Let's just talk about day one in the African sun.
”I start my day with fresh mango juice and discuss my weekend with the African monkeys swinging around me”
Kiek, I never thought I would ever benefit from my posts about 7-minute workouts and home, garden, and kitchen exercises. They don't have a gym here, and running through the jungle is strongly discouraged due to roaming Gambians and monkey heads. 100 squats, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and uh, 100, I mean 10 laps in the pool are part of my morning routine these days.
Today we visited a monkey village. I tried to sneak one into my bag, but unfortunately. We went through a local museum to the first beach shack where we were allowed to watch a wrestling match while enjoying a real traditional lunch (freshly caught fish from the sea? loud cheers). And I didn't think I would say this, but there stood a kind of man from my dreams. Tall, muscular, and yes, Gambian. You joked with me on Friday that I should watch out for handsome dark men. But hey, you were damn right. Now you understand that I'm curious if you've run into any handsome Thai dudes. Because those Thai dudes can box like the best. Could you buy a ticket for a match? Do it for me. By the way, I didn't tell my mother about it and saw that handsome Gambian as just a gift that belonged to the setting. Lastly, on Sunday, a visit to the Tanji Fish Market of Gambia was on the agenda. And Kiek, really, I'm not exaggerating, but I felt panic attack number thousand coming on. Yes, me, can you imagine if you hadn't been there but here? Believe me, you would be grateful. With a very penetrating smell of dried (or rather: rotten) fish, I walked with my bag pressed tightly against me and my camera firmly held through the crowd towards the boats and thus the sea. Intense is the right word. I gave myself five minutes. I had to go back to the car; I found it so overwhelming. Everyone wants something from you, and yet they also don't want anything from you. I felt like a little monkey, or just a disaster tourist. Enough impressions for the first day. I hit my pillow around half past ten and slept through the night.
And believe it or not, even that home, garden, and kitchen workout I skipped on day two. At eight o'clock, our driver was already ready. There wasn't even time for my morning social round (you understand: then the schedule is super tight). Who said press trips are just vacations? But I'm not complaining, okay. By half past nine, I was already slathering my butt with factor a thousand. I can think of worse Mondays. We tanned our chests, applied an extra layer of cream on our cheeks (I'm telling you: that Gambian sun feels great), and drank vodka tonics as if they were water. In between, we made a stop at Kunta Kinte. Do you know the movie ‘Roots’? It's the story of an African slave from the 18th century who ended up in America. An intensely sad story about families who once lived in West Africa and where now children are trained to sing and dance in a row and where they are kings in making cute faces. Intense and bizarre... Then we crossed the river to James Island in a wooden boat, where slaves were secretly traded in the past. All those impressions. On one hand, I can't handle them all, on the other hand, I think we all need to be confronted with them at some point.
One thing I know after these first 48 hours. That Chanel 2.55 that is high on my list seems not so important anymore. Or that the wifi here is barely usable. And yet I want to share all those impressions. On social, then. With our girlfriends. And with you. How is it on the other side of the world? Did you survive your flight without panic? Since that coffee tomorrow morning at the editorial office is going to be a bit tricky; will you write me back? Then I'm going to catch crocodiles today.
Eat pad thai for me. With extra vegetables, because they are not so good at that here.
Foo whatido, xx your pen pal from Gambia
