TRAVEL
I
don’t do African third world porn. You know what I’m talking about, even if by another name. The stereotypical, overused, slightly clichéd images conjured up and sprinkled like charity confetti to make viewers stop and take note. The only image ever painted of Africa in the West. Of course it would be simple to draw a picture of starved children and isolated towns, waterless and overtaken by natures red earth because we’ve all seen it. But what happens when you can actually go out there and give your time? Just for a moment, believe you could maybe make a difference.. The Gambia. A tiny sliver of a country in Africa. Somewhere in Africa. A 90’s suntrap, lots of lobster red tourists and a place firmly pitched on the cheap winter sun list. And I’m ashamed to say that that was it for my minimal list of touch points on the place as I read, feeling slightly stunned, that I had been selected as one of five to run an international project in the country. I’d put myself up for the position, attended a selection weekend which felt more appropriate for the Special Forces - pitching up at an unknown location in darkness, continuous lack of sleep, millennium goal presentations with random people before 5am, pre dawn runs... But the bar was set at the selection weekend - this project wasn’t like any other project. Carefully constructed and developed by Girlguiding UK and The Gambian Girlguiding Association, this project only existed because the Gambians wanted it to happen and that’s what made it appealing. The project’s objectives were to work with women from across the organization to deliver workshops and training on selfbelief, business skills and leadership. No easy feat in a politically complex country where women aren’t seen as equal. But this was the challenge, informing and inspiring them without enforcing western ideals. Respecting their own culture and religion was fundamental.
BECAUSE QUALITY MATTERS
Sunshine Coast
Looking up from the cockroaches and bugs at your feet, there’s immediate warmth felt from the Gambians. Their wide smiles like a gentle hug contrasting with the military guard at arrivals. Disorientated from the late night landing, I was shuffled through security and held for baggage searching as the large amount of Pritt-stick glue sticks and vitamin supplements had raised red flags. My act of giving misinterpreted. Setting the scene. Home was minimalist and a base set up in Serakunda, just outside the capital of Banjul. I can only describe it as squatter chic; myself and roomie bonded under the murky bug net and tonally brown environment. Romantic. Ironically named the “Rosebud Hostel”. Pane-less windows made for natural aircon. Electricity was not constant and there was no running water bar for a couple of hours between one and four am. Even then it was hit and miss. Basic, genuine and a taste of reality. And after adjusting to the shock, I honestly came to love our home. The physical, material things may not compare to anything known in the UK but this was outweighed as soon as the girls started filing in. Some had travelled on foot for hours to attend, simply to hear us. Nothing was compulsory. It was humbling. Workshops delivered daily and, predominantly, at the Girlguiding HQ, which was a basic large hall opposite the national television building. The content for each day planned the night before by head torch.
Inspire
The adult leaders listened like diligent children. Experienced education professionals keen to grow Guiding but from an outsider’s point of view, having placed too much weight on fundraising in recent years. Our role here was therefore to stimulate, motivate and re-energize, not discrediting that money would, and does, make life a little simpler. But it’s not the solution alone. All our activities were interactive and game led. Using music, song, art and roleplay as the catalyst for discussions about what truly mattered and impacted on the lives of young women. Our Trojan horse
Praying to a god who knew that I didn’t believe, or at least repeating the actions, moving at the same time as everyone and trying not to cause a domino effect whilst trying not to get my feet caught.
disguised as fun. Perhaps not surprisingly to anyone in their teens, self-image and boys were high on the agenda as well as leading the kind of life your family would be proud of. Aesthetically there are concerns of blackness and it’s shades denoting how pretty you are, as well as morally battling with balancing family and individual aspirations. Their commitment to service was astounding and alien. From age 13, they’re expected to make choices that will impact the rest of their life. Girlguiding provides their only external support network. An organization, teaching skills like catering, needlework and tie-dye to allow them to be self sufficient, independent and empowered. Over the three-week project, over 2,000 girls and women aged from six to Gambian elder age (circa 65 plus but look 50) and seized every opportunity to further develop themselves. Working with females based across almost half the country to the mid point of Soma. Villages where foreigners were limited to only a few Peace corps volunteers who had stopped to help over the past decade.
Drum beat
Having English as the official language should make for easy communication, however throw in ten additional tribal languages and countless sub dialects, and the communal language switches to the beat of the drum. Gambian’s have rhythm and song oozing from their pores. It’s innate and impossible to replicate even with an iota of musical talent. Not formal or classical in the way we’d learn to read or play music,
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