Back to school, Gambian style.

Just a thought before I embark on a new day: when I say 'we did this or we did that' I mean the charity, GOES, did this or that! True, much of the funding comes from us or from the sales of the eBooks in the Malinding series of Kindle books, or from events staged by Vale Royal Writers' Group, or from donations by family or friends. Anyway, it's all done in the name of Gambian Occasional Emergency Support (GOES). On with the story!
Ams, on time as usual, collected us after breakfast and took us to visit one of the schools we support.
Sorry! One of the schools GOES supports! We greet the headteacher in the usual way - Is there peace? How are you? How is/the family? Is everything fine? When the exchange ends we are invited to visit each of the classes. As we enter the room the teacher greets us and the children stand up and say 'Hello.' Sometimes we are invited to sing or tell a story or recite a poem and then the whole class will sing for us. We return to the head's office and are shown inspectors' reports on the progress of the children. The school is doing well; the staff are all qualified, the school compound is securely fenced and there is a good gate to exclude intruders. (Thanks again to GOES) Together with one of the teachers I try to fix the office computer and come to the conclusion that the printer needs a new cartridge. A price is agreed, the head suggests that a repaired printer will require paper - we agree - money is handed over, we are given a receipt, and the teacher departs for the market. Later in the day we are invited to a demonstration of the printer working and given change (which we count carefully) because the teacher haggled a better price than we had expected.
Why did we count the change so carefully? It was a small amount by our standards - did we not trust the man? Of course we trusted him, but we were required to count the money to demonstrate that he was honest we were not foolish.
We looked around the outside of the school and noted that beautiful pictures had been painted on the walls by another member of staff - initially at his own expense. We discussed staff wages with the head and agreed to make a contribution every month.
At one o'clock the school bell rang and all the children (about 100) trooped through the staff room to shake hands and say goodbye. The school seemed a friendly place, the children were happy and proud to demonstrate their knowledge.
Ams drove us to the head's compound and we greeted the extended family - trying our Mandinka and being gently corrected when we said the wrong thing. The head's sister in law had been cooking - fish Benechin - and we all sat round the bowl to eat as part of the family. We are not skilled at eating rice with our fingers but we tried yet again. We do try, but were quite happy to be given spoons to eat with. We drank Ataya, prepared by the head's oldest son, laughed and joked with the small children, nursed the babies and caught up with the gossip since our previous vist a few months ago. Ams drove us back to the hotel. We agreed to fund a very bright seven year old girl (how many seven year olds do you meet who speak six languages?) through her next year at school. We were too full to eat a full meal so we settled for a sandwich and a Malta. A five piece Jazz band rolled up, and we danced for a while wirh one another, then some of the staff joined in. We slept well that night - we did the accounts next morning before breakfast.

Banjul Hospital

Another day in the 'GOES on Holiday!' saga. We sort medical supplies out on our bed - reduced in quantity because of our donation yesterday to the village clinic. Today we're taking some stainless steel medical implements (I didn't want to know too much about their use), dressings, catheters and drugs to the country's main hospital in the capital, Banjul.
Ams turns up on time and some of the hotel staff help us to load the heavy boxes and bags into the car. Ams is familiar with the route because his father is an in-patient. We make our way upstairs to the office of Mrs Ceesay, the PPS to the CMO. She thanks us and promises a letter of thanks to the donors. We learn that there is a desperate need for paper rolls which record information from the ECG machine, which appears unobtainable in the Gambia. (When we return home we track down a UK supplier who ships a tear's supply out for us.)
From the hospital we drive the short distance to Bakau, a market and fishing village, to visit a family we've been helping for a year or two. There's a lovely new baby boy, born to a young woman we've sponsored at school and college. While baby sleeps we feast on Chicken Yassa with both rice and chips, followed by fresh fruit. I'm sent to entertain him while his mother takes a shower. Not a happy chappy, even though I sing to him and dance round the room. The return of his mother and the promise of food calm him down and peace returns. We all snooze until it's time to return to the hotel, where we help an old lady with toothache, refuse a rather dubious young man who wants money to either buy his girlfriend a car/re-roof a shop/or just hand money over and he'll decide what to do with it later!
Back to the room to do the accounts for the day. We're waiting for some people from a school a distance up-country to visit. We've brought money for equipment - they need paper & pens and blackboard paint and boards to put the paint on - everything, in fact. They have started the school from scratch, 'borrowed' an unfinished house on the outskirts of their village, and admitted as many children as would fin into the one habitable room. They deserved encouragement!  Because of transport difficulties they arrive about 3 hours late, but that gives us time to check that money given last visit to a young mother for the education of her children has been wisely spent - we are present with receipts from the school and copies of the first school reports. We congratulate her and promise another year's support. A young man arrives and reports he has at last secured safe employment but at a considerable distance from his compound. We offer him half the price of a bicycle and he goes away happy. (He really does buy the bike and we receive reports on his work later.)
The teachers arrive, full of apologies. We do know about the difficulty of travelling in this country. We chat for a while, remind them that we will require receipts for all the money to show how it has been used, treat them to a round of Malta drinks and send them off with money for their fares home.
Another friend calls with a bottle of Baobab juice (delicious, and said to cure all tummy complaints) and we dine off Butterfish and chips and drink Julbrew and watch the bats hunt mosquitoes across the swimming pool.
We slept well.
        

Next day in The Gambia.

Sunday. I'm up early and ramble round the roads and paths skirting the hotel. Busy pedestrian traffic, crowds of hotel workers hurrying to their jobs, all with time to smile or nod or call a greeting. Breakfast is my usual coffee, cereal, and more coffee. For the rest of the day I'll eat and enjoy West African food but after seventy-odd years my breakfast has evolved into a ritual. We know most of the staff and exchange greetings - 'Good morning, Mala, how is the day? How are your family, are they all well?' I amble down to the Western Union office, forgetting it's closed on Sundays. I'm anxious to talk to the woman who runs the office because we're sponsoring her kid sister, a highly intelligent girl who wants to be a doctor but suffers from sickle-cell anaemia, a condition which gives her great pain and interrupts her education. J has sorted out the medical equipment we've been given. Ams, friend and driver turns up at exactly the time promised. We sit by the pool and discuss our plans for the day. Keluntang, our local agent, will meet us at the village clinic and we will hand over the medical stuff to the nurse in charge and take photographs so we can show our supporters exactly where their help has gone. After that, and a ritual round of Ataya (hot sweet tea, flavoured with mint leaves) we drive the short distance to K's compound. A child is sent to fetch K's wife, N, from her mother's compound. She is staying there till her baby is born, due any day now. We're sponsoring N's education at a craft college: her studies are suspended till the infant arrives. We learn that N has cancelled her pre-natal check at the medical centre in the next village so she could greet us. Ams looks worried and we arrange to take her to the centre the next day. More villagers call into the compound and we begin to wilt under the hot sun. A meal arrives, river fish, bony but delicious, cooked in an onion and tomato sauce, on a bed of rice. We sit round the bowl with the family, and choice morsels of fish are piled onto the rice in front of us, picked clean of bones by loving fingers. N beams with delight as we feast.
We try to ease ourselves into the African climate by doing as little as possible for a couple of days, usually, as today, unsuccessfully! Early to bed.

From the Archive - one of last year's visits to The Gambia.

Saturday morning, alarm goes off at 04.30hrs. Shower, dress, coffee & breakfast Last minute packing & papers. Call taxi which arrives at 06.15hrs. Off we go. Five minutes later back we go - to collect spectacles, watch, earrings and rings. Taxi driver gets us to the airport on time and a good tip for being so calm and helpful. Check in luggage and go to buy papers and coffee. Gate 23 welcomes us - only delay is the alarm set off by J's hip. Ah, and answering questions about why we are carrying so much money. Uneventful flight - crammed seats and cheerful staff. Taxi out on time and straight up and away. Good view of the lakes at Tatton Park as we set off. Ams our driver is waiting for us even though we're 55 minutes early due to a strong tail wind. Exchange of greetings and news with Ams and then off to the hotel, stopping off on the way to buy water, Dettol and Bop (insect spray). Dump bags and join Ams by the pool for a first drink. First drink is Malta, a non-alcoholic energy drink made locally. We listen to Ams as he answers our questions about local property law. We offer him a meal but he wants to get off home, so after arranging a pick-up time for the next morning we settle back to enjoy our omelette and chips (I know, the genuine Gambian cuisine starts tomorrow!) and my choice of drink changes to Julbrew, the local lager brewed for tourists. We chat with the hotel staff still on duty - they have become family friends over the years. Eventually we have to stop talking and go to bed. There is still a slight hint of insecticide in the air but the fan soon disperses that (at least from my side of the bed ...) Twenty hours after the alarm woke us we're sound asleep.

Late again, sorry!

May we wish all our Muslim friends, both in Gambia and the UK, a very Happy New Year. May it bring you peace, good health, prosperity and a happy long life.
Sorry I'm a couple of days late (again).
Best wishes,
Tom

Hello again!

Sorry I've not written lately - please don't feel neglected. There's been a lot going on in our family here in England lately. Happy events, sad events, illness and recoveries. Normal life, of course.
Sorry you've been neglected. Listening to BBC Radio4 today, hearing Lemn Sissay's life story, brought my Gambian friends back into full view. Perhaps you know Lemn's poem 'Let There be Peace' ? If not you have a treat in store. It's one of those poems that say what I feel and wish for. (Wish I'd written it!)
GOES hasn't been idle during the time. Children's (and some adults) education fees have been paid. Mandinari Clinic's drug cupboard has been restocked and there's money on its way to help the hospital in Banjul in the same way. A small boy's eye has received attention, an old lady was able to make a much needed visit to a dentist, and a storm damaged house repaired.
We hope to visit out Gambian friends early in the New Year - if we can find travel insurance we can afford (we have made enquiries and received quotations in the region of £1500 ! Our pockets are not so deep, and even if they were we would rather send the money to people in need rather than greedy insurance companies. Still we keep looking! Just because I'll be 80 in a few months it doesn't mean I'll become a millionaire ...
So, we toddle along, doing what we can to help. There are so many people of talent in the Gambia - good, honest, hard-working people who go out of their way to help us, people who would (and have) give us their last cup of rice, who will offer a bed for a night, a meal, a story, wisdom and all with a smile: we repay what little we can.
Oh - and read that poem.
Best wishes,
Tom

Finance

There's a lot of talk at the moment about well known charities behaving in a disgraceful manner, demanding donations from very old, sick, people. It seems that very many such people receive hundreds and hundreds of demands for money. This isn't a very charitable way of behaviour.
We can promise you that GOES does not work like this! We are a very small charity, mainly funded by family and friends. We have some loyal commercial support - Snips, the hairdresser in Warrington Market, Juicy Bikes, in Buxton (they sell excellent eBikes), Adam Vickerstaff (see him on Facebook) designed a cover for 'Empty Bananas', and Barclays Bank keeps us stocked up with pens for the schools.
We also receive great support from two writers' groups - Dead Good Poets Society in Liverpool and Vale Royal Writers' Group in Cheshire.
Various other friends support us as and when they can.
We never have, and never will, ask people we do not know for assistance. We do not post appeals to strangers and we do not cold-call anybody.
We don't take money from donations for 'expenses' of any sort. We pay our own and donate money to the charity ourselves. If you donate £1 to GOES that £1 goes to help a school or a clinic, a student or a sick person, in The Gambia.
Oh, and another thing! We do not see ourselves as 'do-gooders': we do not charge into someone's home or school or hospital and say 'You're doing this all wrong - do it this way!' We visit, we watch and we listen and take advice from the people who live there or work there. We ask the hospital and clinic staff what they need and how we can help.
Rant over!