The Gambia

Chapter 1

Off our starboard side, there’s something there, silhouetted against the sun. Slender, and wooden, it comes into view. Three dark-as-night fishermen are on board, two standing and one sitting at the outboard. They stare at us, and we can’t tear our eyes away from them as the sound of our boat motors tick-tock the minutes away. Closer, closer, closer. Then with all the pent-up emotion I have inside me, I wave. The fisherman’s arms explode from their bodies, extensions of their boundless happy energy at seeing our American boat. “Welcome!” they bellow across the water, “You are welcome to The Gambia!” 

Chapter 2

Only the stars light the precarious dock rising from the river on the low tide. Our bobbing dinghy refuses to align with the slippery, jagged wood. Take your time, says Michael, but I don’t want to. Instead, I want to hug this weary traveler who has come to us in the middle of the night. Zachary has arrived! 

Chapter 3

The moment is sweeter than a tello-ice treat on my tongue. Lamin’s friend is playing his tam-tam for us. Like a pied piper, we are clinging to him—us, the children, and others. The drummer beams with pride when his young son joins in, using an instrument made from a Nescafe tin can, fishing line, and a stick. Clapping, dancing, smiling—we are welcome here on the shore of Albadarr, where the sun is shining on a dark history. Never again.

Chapter 4

Musa Saho says he is a nurse like me, but I would call him a hospitalist. He works seven days a week at The Albreda Health Center and often stays through the night. He is the manager. What does this position entail? we ask. Oh, a little bit of everything, he says. I do triage, inpatient care—mostly diarrheal disease, and DOTS for TB patients, OBGYN, yes I deliver babies when the midwife is not here, and malaria, yes we have much of this here. I help the cleaners, the cooks, and the maintenance staff. There is no doctor here. So I go where I am needed, and I help.

Chapter 5

In Tendaba, the hot, dusty work of the day has wandered off, leaving football behind. In the afternoon breeze, twenty orange pinafored kids run to the tune of their coach’s whistle. A girl calls out his name for us. He stops drilling his team and jogs over. Michael slips a new soccer ball out of his backpack and tosses it over. A smile. A change in the plan. Two balls instead of one means everyone can practice kicking and dribbling. 

Chapter 6

Lamin brings the Domoda to us on a big platter, and the peanut aroma fills the room. Even though we already snacked on watermelon, we are hungry. Everyone gets a spoon, and we savor each bite. The rice helps to cool the spice, but still, my tongue and lips are numb. I fan my mouth, and the Gambians laugh. I miss the women.

Chapter 7

We are walking on the bush path to Farafenni. Tie dye cloaks a woman completely, except for her strikingly beautiful face. She sits between two men around a bountiful plate of couscous. She catches me staring—she is so pretty.

“Sit, mange, please,” she says. The men agree with vigor. We are strangers passing through. It’s been two weeks, but we are still unaccustomed to such kindness. 

Chapter 8

I couldn’t sleep, but I don’t dare say so. Michael is already on the deck, rigging himself up. He’s secured his bosun’s chair to the main halyard with a figure eight bend knot and his safety harness to the topping lift with a prusik knot. It’s 09:30, and he’s ready. We’re all ready. Zachary is on the port side deck. I’m at the winch. Go, Michael says and I hoist him up, twelve inches at a time.

19.31 meters above the deck, the mast is vibrating in the wind, and he can’t see the underside of the Senegambia bridge. I continue to head straight for the rusted centerline in the sky. Finally, the undercarriage comes into view. Michael is poised with his tape measure. Zachary starts snapping pictures of markers at the waterline. I do nothing but drive straight— as an arrow, a line, an edge, really f-ing straight, and we make it under the bridge.

Chapter 9

There was a moment of belonging so powerful that the earth beneath our feet seemed to stand up and walk with us on our way to the Bombally School because not even a grain of sand would want to miss out on the festivities. At least one hundred people—teachers, children, parents, and leaders came to welcome us, and we moved together to the tam-tam drummer’s beat. Up ahead in the distance was the donkey cart that carried your gifts, the two soccer balls shining atop the pile, like gold bricks in the afternoon sun.

Chapter 10

Amadou is a poem
Confident, brave, alone
He greets me at the dock
Smile, handshake, eyes that lock

Onto my own with knowing
Head Boy, he says, growing
Spelling bee winner
And late for dinner

He must go— Friday prayer
An adorable pair
Takes hand little brother
Home to eat with mother

Comes back, tells me more
Broken leg still sore
Loves football, but can’t play
Marabout healed his way

Amadou is a poem
And a future doctor 
Like my son.

Chapter 11

Momodou Bar, The Principal of Bombally School, sets out four chairs and a table under the mango tree. A tall woman brings us lunch—four loaves of tapalapa bread and a large metal pot. Under the lid, the sauce is greasy and delicious, but we are all at a loss for how to eat the big chicken. Zachary digs his fingers in when Momodou explains. He tears it into pieces for us, and we pick them up in our bread. It’s not domoda, ebbeh, or benachin. It’s something new. What do you call it? I ask. Momodou says, we call this stew—chicken stew, and I laugh.

Chapter 12

Our full day ends with deep, deep sleep. Michael is in the middle of the dance circle, then shaking the hand of the village elder and the Iman. Zachary is a dinosaur, swinging his great big neck for the children. They laugh and laugh. He is speaking Mandinka. A be nyadi? I too ndi? N’too mu Zach net. They giggle with delight. I am surrounded by girls and women—grandmas, mothers, sisters, and aunts. Finally, they’re here with me in my dreams.

Chapter 13

We listen to the jungle’s music—a chirping, rustling, feathering, whooping song. We look for the chimpanzees in the wiggling branches. We see red colobus, green monkeys, and baboons playing where they are safe—far away from the chimps.

There’s a new sound. A honking, snorting, mooing melody. It’s a hippo! We scan the water for its glistening head. Want to see a crocodile? That’s easy. Just look for the toothy open mouth at the river’s edge.

The sinking sun will twist and turn the light. When it’s art, snap your picture. Then, listen to the music again.

Chapter 14

The Navy Fisheries Men approach. They want to board Gerty. I don’t understand. We’re not fishing. Only one man without the machine gun, please. The chosen one pushes back. Why are you afraid, he says? America has missiles. I insist we are unarmed and not fishing. Board without the machine gun, please. Michael wakes up dehydrated and nauseous. His calm voice extinguishes the spark. All this man wants is a bribe.

A friend explains. The people use nets to exploit the fish. Foreigners use bigger nets, depriving the Gambians of their catch. The Navy Fisheries protects the river’s resources, and the patrol officers use firearms to defend themselves. We know from experience many maritime authorities wear guns—smaller ones. The bribe, he can’t explain.

Chapter 15

The turning tide has given us a gift today—a cool morning walk to the stone circles. They’re ancient and interesting, but the colorful women have stolen our attention. Passing us buy-on donkey carts. One, two, ten, twenty. To the Monday Market. Bright yellow, pink, green, orange, red, blue, gold, and purple splashed across their bodies. It’s a tidal wave of color! The produce, spread across blankets on the ground, adds to the spectrum. I’ll take a purple garden egg, four oranges, a green mint bundle, two tapalapas, one bag of ground nuts, and six of those little zucchini please. Over my shoulder, Zachary speaks in Mandinka to the seller. They laugh at my expense. Mom, those are very hot peppers, not zucchini, he tells me. He-he, they would have ruined my soup. 

Chapter 16

Back. Past the birds in the mangroves as the river bends, past Bombally, where we stop to make plans for the future. One, two, three, Michael counts into my headset (from 19.31 m above me) as we speed under the bridge with the current. Back we sail to the ocean.

Zachary is gone. He’s on his way back to New York. So, it’s just us and the dolphins traveling through the muddy water. It rained, and we worry enough water won’t fall this season to quench the mangos, cassava, and watermelons, to flood the rice and make the cashew trees flower. There are not enough of many things in The Gambia, but the people smile anyway.

Chapter 17

We’ve checked out of the country and anchored in the shallows to wait for morning light. We didn’t expect one last encounter, but here they are alongside Gerty. I count seven young smiling fishermen in a brightly painted wooden boat. Hi, how are you? Yes, we’re fine and Hi, how are you too? We have too much watermelon. They come close, closer, closer, and we share our delicious fruit.

Last remarks

• It feels like such a small thing to say when we have been given so much—Thank you to the Gambians.
• Friends and relatives, please note in Chapter 9 the donkey cart carried YOUR gifts. Although we picked up special request items in Spain for The Bombally School, most of our donations were books purchased with the funds from my 50th Birthday Book Boat Campaign. It is because of you donors that we had so many gifts to give. Thank you all so very much!
• Now that we have built a personal relationship with Principal Momodou Bar, we are looking forward to sponsoring a maintenance project at The Bombally School. Please let us know if you are interested in helping as well, and we will be in touch.
• Special thanks to my Dad for our Polaroid camera. Instant photos are a timeless treat. What a great way to connect!
• For sailors:
  • Thank you so much to our mentors, SV Ruffian and SV Cerulean. Your pre-arrival guidance and personal cruising guide were invaluable! To visit Helen & Stephen on SV Cerulean www.handsondeck.co.nz To visit Iain & Fiona on SV Ruffian https://ruffian.uk/blog/
  • We used Mohamed Ketia as our customs & immigration agent. He helped us get settled in every way. He is well worth his fee so don’t hesitate to contact him. WhatsApp +220 753-4064
  • Samba Sey is The Gambia OCC representative and he loves to welcome you in Banjul. WhatsApp +220 755 7065
  • Gerty went under the Senegambia bridge twice. Our clearances and the water level are as follows: 
    • Gerty measured height, WL to top of anchor light = 19.31m (+-5cm). We removed our VHF and wind instruments.
    • Our up river bridge passage occurred on 23/12/2022 at 09:50 at spring low tide. Low water Banjul was at 04:37. MLW at the bridge was predicted at +0.4m. We measured 0.77m clearance as we traveled under the bridge. Michael was at top of mast. Jill was driving. We had SENA headsets on (critical). Michael could verify mast was lower than bridge about 200m from bridge because he could see the underside. Current was against us, so easy to approach slow and bale out if concerned. We had three people on board. Zachary was very helpful when hauling anchor (Michael was already at top of mast) and to take photos of both the experience and the water level datums.
    • Our downriver bridge passage occurred on 28/12/2022 at 14:15, close to neap low tide. Low water Banjul was at 08:47. Predicted MLW at the bridge was +0.6m. We used the same system; however, the current was with us, and the water level was predicted to be 0.2m higher. We made this higher-risk situation safer by having photographed the water datum from the upriver passage. Therefore, we were confident we would clear or, if not, be able to bale out in time. Gerty cleared the Senegambia bridge by about 0.55m.
    • THIS INFORMATION IS FOR REFERENCE ONLY AND IS NOT WARRANTIED. All captains need to do their own due diligence and calculations.
  • Making water. We made water twice. We had to change the pre-filters frequently and as the water became fresher we had to reduce the pressure so we didn’t exceed the rated flow-rate of the membranes.
  • Provisioning. Not a problem. Recommend provisioning for convenience in the Canaries. Fresh fruit and vegetables were available in the markets when we arrived in Gambia. Tapalapa bread and fish are lovely. ** long walks often necessary to get to markets upriver.
  • Navily and NoForeignLand are an excellent resource in The Gambia.
  • Smaller items that you may want to bring on your boat for donation: Fishing supplies, Luci lights, school supplies, footballs/soccer balls, pumps for balls, playing cards, whistles (for coach), clothes/undergarments, jump ropes (double dutch), hygiene supplies, carpentry & garden tools, sewing supplies, shoes, reading glasses (WhatsApp Momodou Bah, Bombally School Principal +220 535 3041, Musa Saho, Nurse Administrator +220 702 0289 at Albreda Health Center).
  • Yellow fever vaccine required. Malaria prophylaxis and mosquito netting for cockpit essential.
  • MUST BRING SMILE!