AM v. FM – The War of the Meter Bands

Here are the two words that have dominated the Gambian discourse lately: Relevance and Expose. I hear them a lot and have been trying to contextualize them.

First, let’s explore their meanings in English. 1. Relevance:  Relating to the matter at hand; practical and especially social applicability.

2. Expose: Make (something) visible, typically by uncovering it; leave (something) uncovered or unprotected, especially from the weather.

Second, let’s explore the Gambian/struggle meanings. 1. Relevance: A. Having “imagined” authority/importance in the struggle. B. A vocal individual or group claiming to want change in Gambia but not practicing what they preach, and pretending to have the answers for Gambian's problems. 

2. Expose: A. To put someone else’s dirty and soiled laundry in the street and throw some into the River Gambia and let it float away; say negative things about them and their family members. B. Destroy/Tojal.

Those who think of themselves as "relevant" in this struggle, tend to dismiss others who they feel are trying to question them by declaring them "irrelevant". And once there is an actual conflict (aka hulo), then the next step is to "expose" each other, Gambian style. 

In the past couple of weeks, we’ve witnessed the Gambian versions of “Relevance” and “Expose” taken to higher heights, both online and on the radio airwaves. Mann dama waru sah! We now take pride in "exposing" each other with our sidekicks and a cheerleading squad to assist. 

Honestly, it has been a whirlwind for me! As I watched the war (AM V. FM) unfold and climax (or has it?), I was in total dismay not knowing what to think or feel. Kitchen sink here, toilet bowl there. Guy yee di jamanteh rek! 

Is this what the struggle has degenerated into? Is this what we are fighting for? Is this our vision for a better Gambia? Don't we have issues to talk about? Better yet, what do we want?

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue

In this struggle, I see two schools of thought: 1. Those who want Jammeh to go by any means necessary and that he alone is the problem. And to them, getting rid of him will make our roses red and our violets blue again. 2. Those who want a better Gambia and society and want Jammeh to go, but also think that a change of attitude is highly necessary. Among those who are visible and vocal, the former is larger than the latter. 

If you are part of the first group, you are sowing seeds of weeds and telling yourself that it's roses. And if you are in the second group, you want our roses to be red and violets blue again. 

The param param, naw tak ak saganteh will not change our situation, but a change of attitude will. Our attitude determines how we treat each other, what we value, how we handle ourselves, and how we handle what we are entrusted with. 

If we don't shake our present attitude off soon, the "Mary-go-round" will never stop and our dizziness will persist!

Push And Pull

What does it mean to be a Gambian? I’m sure the answer to this question will vary, depending on who you ask and their experiences. It’s definitely not about dem heew, dem ngenteh, leka benachin, yaye chewing gum or saga ndey, because they do that in Senegal and other places too.

But regardless of what it means, one thing is certain, we must evolve as a people, especially for those who have traveled and seen other places. Traveling is what opened up the world and allowed the human race to share ideas and best practices, and now the internet has taken that to a new level. So there is really no legitimate reason, in my view, for us not to evolve in the way we do or handle things.

Our Gambian culture should not stop us from evolving, because we are not the only ones with a culture. Others have cultures too, and it didn’t stop them from evolving. Japanese culture has always been tight and rich, and it never stopped them from evolving as a people. In fact, it has gotten even  tighter and richer, as their evolution continues, by dropping some of their detrimental practices and picking up new and benign ones along the way. The evolution of a PEOPLE heavy depends on their willingness to permit their culture to evolve.

Heycho, njaykalantu, ak ngerow has always been part of Gambian culture, as far as I can remember. Luneka nyu haycho, njaykanlantu wala ngerow! Malo nyu haycho, taxi nyu haycho, deewleen nyu haycho. I can vividly remember standing in line to buy saku malo at Bakau NTC , and I was second in line that day too. But as soon as the doors opened, I found myself in the back of the line. Haycho bi neh kurr. I probably ended up being the 100th person to purchase saku malo that day.smh

When the junta took over power back in 1994, there were rumors of “haycho neka” president, and Jammeh won that one. Since then, mungee neka di ngerow. Struggle bi tam, ken demut bah len!

Wish we were able to let go of this detrimental aspect of our culture and substitute it with “collaboration and good intent”, it will place us at a much better place as a people and allow us to compete globally.

The Move

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. 

The Thione Seck 100 Million Euro Saga

(Image from seneweb.com)

They say “there is nothing new under the sun”, but I dispute that! Thione Seck’s claim that he was contracted by a Gambian promoter for 100 million euros, to do an international tour in five continents with over 100 dates is new under the sun. Gambia as a country does not have 100 million euros to her name, and I don’t believe any Gambian promoter has a quarter of that in their name.

Jammeh is said to have a net worth of 1.8 billion dollars, which is more than 100 million euros, but he is a president not a promoter? Or is he? He does pay Senegalese artists to perform in his frequent jamborees and shower them with cash, but does that equal to being a promoter? Excuse my -ignorance, my knowledge of the music business is limited. 

Here’s is what I don’t get: After nearly 40 years in the business, Thione still can't value his talent? 100 million euros for some Raam Daan? In his song "Halis nehna", Youssou only wanted saaku halis. But Thione, on the other hand, with a far more inferior talent, wants aye saaku saaku halis? Put all the Senegalese artists together and they are not worth a 100 million euro show. How can one always talk about God but value only money? And, who in their right mind will accept 50 million euros in cash for advance payment and keep it in their house? I’ve never seen 50 million euros in cash, real or counterfeit, but my imagination tells me that it’s a boat load!

Funnily , Thione seck said he was surprised by his arrest because he was just doing his job by receiving half of the contract money in cash from a stranger. Really? This is how he does business after all these decades?

After all these years of taking cash, gold and benachin from Gambians, I guess the well has finally dried up. But Thione still wants more, so Mr. Promoter got creative. If Thione can’t tell when he’s being dragged in the bushes with his experience, then it’s time to hang his boots, and change “Raam Daan” to “Daw Daan”, because it’s time to run for the hills!

Reckless People

Hired fired hired fired and hired and fired again

Arrested shackled paraded humiliated and jailed

They return consciously seeking more thrill of shame

Consumed by fear bearing gifts and praying for emperor

How vain is blind and detrimental loyalty to the soul

Conscience on vacation and decadence filling in

Reckless hopeless miserable they've been dragged by the tail

Bodies bruised battered and burning like a heatwave

Aching souls and bleeding conscience dot the landscape

Still they carry the burden under the heat and dust

The wheels keep spinning leaving the audience violently dizzy

Night becomes day man becomes God and wrong becomes right

Dreams become nightmares and burn like raging fire

Visions gloomy truth disappear and spirits melt away

Youths recruited and given bow and arrows as weapons

As child soldiers they run around shooting poems and essays

Self- swayed their egos swell and they spit rapid fire 

Misdirected shots keep hitting the wrong targets 

High on banti yomba and residing in cloud nine

A penitentiary enclosed by rings of smoke 

Lost in space they drift away in the absence of gravity

Bag full of devalued currency screaming aling domo aling nyeemi

Shrewd investment or a shockingly bad one?

Young and doing big things or digging big holes?

Thirsty but the wisdom well is dry to the bone

Who will rescue and rehabilitate the child soldiers and reckless people? 

Gambian Turns 50

The idea of fighting for Independence, gaining it, and self-rule sounds pretty romantic, right? But as Gambia celebrates 50 years of Independence, I'm not looking at the "romantic" aspect, but the "reality" aspect instead. Where are we after 50 years? That is the question. 

Some argue that we should all be patriotic and celebrate Gambia for her beauty and culture in her 50th year of nationhood, and not ask questions or utter unfavorable comments. But is that what celebrating our Independence means? 

First, let’s look at what Independence means. Independence is a condition of a nation, country, or state in which its residents and population, or some portion thereof, exercise self-government, and usually sovereignty, over the territory. Second, what does it mean to be patriotic? Patriotism literally means to have love and devotion for country, which is subject to interpretation, depending on who you ask.

If by “country” you mean nature – rivers, rocks, beaches, majestic mountains, and the like, then that’s not patriotism for me. That belongs to nature and almost every country has a nice collection of rocks, rivers, beaches and mountains or hills. If that is what patriotism means, then Gambia have precious little we can claim and show massive love for, because I have seen prettier out there. And would anyone give up their life for a beach or river? Certainly not!

Patriotism is not a blind trust in anything our leaders tell us or do either, that would constitute a “mindless goose-stepping syndrome.” Waving or posting the flag can be a sign of patriotism, but that’s only outward, so let’s not cheapen the term by suggesting that it’s more than just an outward sigh. I have seen and heard Gambians express a feeling of something we superficially call “patriotism”, so the question then must be asked – what is this thing, anyway? Is it so cheap that and meaningless that a simple gesture of waving or posting a flag makes you patriotic?

In my little book, I subscribe to a patriotism deeply rooted in the reasons we sought Independence and the idea of good self-governance, not culture or scenery.  Self-governance must include the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are unalienable rights endowed to man by God. The role of government is to protect the peace, our property, and preserve liberties, and doing so with the consent of the people. It’s the right of a free people to resist a government that has become abusive and destructive, as part of the laws of nature. To me, this plays a huge role in the meaning of patriotism. 

But my question still remains: Where are we after 50 years of Independence? With that, I now leave you with the National Anthem.

For The Gambia, our homeland

We strive and work and pray,

That all may live in unity,

Freedom and peace each day.

Let justice guide our actions

Towards the common good,

And join our diverse peoples

To prove man's brotherhood.

We pledge our firm allegiance,

Our promise we renew;

Keep us, great God of nations,

To The Gambia ever true.