The address was 64 Dobson Street, Banjul, and the laughter and screaming of children could always be heard from far away. There was lots of yelling from the adults too, as they tried to quiet us down so they could hear each other in their private conversations. The houses were in close proximity and freely accessible to all living in the compound. Our mood and the games we played were determined by the weather. The aroma of delicious cooking always filled the air in the evening as each house prepared dinner. Don't follow your nose because you may end up in each house.
My mother's call for dinner sometimes landed on deaf ears, depending on which house had my favorite meal for dinner. After a day of restless playing, there was nothing like churaa gerrteh ak sowe, fried fish with gravy, or oyster sauce (aka sauce si yohoss). You could always find me at the house that had either of these for dinner.
I was skinny, a little tall for my age, and very hyperactive. Good thing I didn't grow up in the West, methylphenidate or dextroamphetamine for ADHD is what the doctor would have ordered. Playing outside was my profession, and I perfected it. Over all, I was a happy-go-lucky kid, but dangerously audacious. With an unfettered curiosity, I was frequently getting admonished for doing something I had no business doing - always the first to get into trouble! I cannot begin to tell you the amount of play time I lost for sitting in time-out. I wish I could get some of that lost time back and cash it in, now that I have kids of my own and life has gotten hazardously busy.
My dad’s bicycle was my favorite toy, and I would always steal it for a joy ride around the neighborhood. Crowds would always gather as I rode around the block, with most wondering how I was able to ride an adult bicycle with such ease. Of course, this meant trouble every time my dad found out. With a frozen face and screaming his head off, he would rush into the street looking for me. Not that he was upset that I was riding his bicycle, but the fact that I was riding it in the street with cars flying by. Njeff rek! Ultimately though, things worked out in my favor, I compelled my dad to buy me my own bicycle.
I was nine or ten and had spent the past two summer holidays at my uncle’s in Bakau and had always enjoyed it there. The soft mornings always lurked outside like a temptation, a call to wander aimlessly in the air and that I could never resist. A medley of bird sang delightful songs of freedom as they jumped from one branch to the next and picked away at fruits. With their vibrant colors dazzling to the eye and sweet songs pleasant to the ear, you couldn't help but appreciate nature. But I was not sure about permanently moving to Bakau because the possibility of being separated from my dad was a thought I didn’t want to entertain.
Bakau was different from Banjul – Banjul was vibrant, while Bakau was quiet and operated at a much slower pace. I was used to commotion, and the proximity of my cousins, uncles and aunts, was going to drastically change with a move to Bakau. These were the thoughts inundating the valleys of the mind and gusting through my brain when I was alone, and not knowing how to process them frequently left me emotionally dizzy. The culture in Gambia is such that children are never included in any family decision making process; they are only informed of decisions, if they are lucky.
It was a breezy Banjul Saturday evening; and the breeze was shaking the tree leaves with a passionate hissing, as I walked home. That was the day the news landed on me. I can vividly remember. In a soft voice and measured words, my dad informed me that I was moving to Bakau to stay with my uncle the following week. Unbeknownst to me, a farewell party was planned for me on that following Saturday. All my uncles and aunts came bearing gifts. I had mixed feelings. I was happy and excited about the abundant gifts, but a bit apprehensive about the move itself. But I never had a choice in the matter. As I sorted through the gifts after the party, my young life was flashing right in front of my eyes. I sat there reminiscing about all the little adventures I had and how I would miss everyone. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, with my head saturated with thoughts and my eyes wide open. Lying in the dark, I was trying to envision what my immediate future was going to be like.
Although Bakau was only eight miles away, it was quite a distance for a nine or ten year old, especially back then. That night, in my vision in the dark, Bakau became even further. I dreaded the sun light for I knew it meant a long term separation, something that was foreign to me. As expected, the sun came out and I felt my dad standing over me while I was still in bed. My eyes were closed but my soul was wide awake. I pretended to be asleep just so I could hear him call out my name to wake me up. Breakfast was silent that Sunday morning; I sat at the breakfast table slowly nibbling on a piece of bread and lost in thought. My dad kept saying something to me, but I only heard his voice and not a word he said.
By mid-day, our house was filled with well-wishers and a few more gifts. Almost everyone had a word of advice for me (“neekinaa sambata njie”), but I was too emotionally scattered to listen. Later that afternoon, a rented taxi pulled up to our house and my belongings were loaded into it. With my dad sitting in the front, I entered into the back seat with my numerous gifts and random belongings as everyone waved good bye. Overwhelmed with emotion and my eyes soaked with tears, I fought hard to hold them back as the taxi departed. Looking through the car’s back window, I watched the other children chasing the car and the house fading away in the distance. It was now official, I was moving to Bakau and my dad was moving to London. The following day, I joined a soccer and tree climbing team.
