Early Morning

Where were you at seven o’clock this morning? I enjoyed a short walk through the slumbering market, along the beach, and back through the town. I arrived early at DoSBSE (Department of Education); normally I just start work but today I took the opportunity to investigate the neighbourhood without crowds of traders every step of the way. I headed first into the Albert Market. The market is not named after Eastenders, but after Queen Victoria’s husband. (There are a number of colonial-type names around Banjul, but they are increasingly being replaced with local names). It is a large and permanent market with hundreds of stalls selling foods (fruit, fish, meat, rice, groundnuts), clothes and fabric (imported and local), household bits, bootleg CDs and cassettes, carpentry tools and builders equipment; lots of stuff – it is a proper market.

During the day this place is heaving. It is difficult to move through the crowds, and it is easy to get lost in the labyrinth of little lanes. The Albert Market is a day-trip destination from the tourist hotels. Buses pull up at the side of the market and spew out pink people, inappropriately dressed in vests and shorts, swarming excitedly at the prospect of engaging in the activity that defines their days – buying things. After a moment to gather their thoughts, these tourists are swallowed up into the market and then are never seen again.

But this morning I was there early when the market was just waking up. I sauntered along the alleys, explored amongst the wooden stands, found my way further and further into the secret depths of this place. There was stock left overnight on some tables, covered with dark tarpaulins or canvas and bound down with ropes. Others were empty, awaiting the arrival of their owners bringing products to sell. One or two vendors had already started arranging candles, torches, towels, batteries, soap, mugs, … into neat geometric piles on top of shoddy wooden market stalls. The market stalls are made of rough wood; perhaps it is wood from pallets, pulled apart and banged back together with nails. School desks are made in the same way, roughly thrown together with little technique or style. This is a surprise to me because there are plenty of skilled craftsmen here. Along the road you see workshops selling beds and armchairs which are carefully made and finished. There are metal workers too, making secure doors, ornate gates, and seats to go inside minibuses. But for some reason school desks and benches are not given the same priority.

After a while I began to get concerned, as there did not seem to be a way out. The path on which I had entered the market had been hidden by elves, and the view around each corner looked the same as the place I had just left. Above my head, corrugate and draped fabric, set to shield the market from the sun, obscured my view of the sky, so it was not easy to get my bearings. I followed a rat for a while, thinking him to be a friend, but then he stopped, glanced at me over his shoulder, sniggered, and darted away through a small gap. Those stallholders that I passed had a glint in their eyes, knowing that I was yet another toubab lost in the intestines of Albert Market, and that later in the day I would be sold inside pies and my bones boiled down to make glue.

But then, mercifully, I spotted light at the end of a long alley. I headed that way, and popped out onto a lane leading to the beach. Hymns of joy welled up in my soul. With renewed confidence I marched onto the sand into the most beautiful light. This beach is on the East side of the peninsular and therefore faces East, up the River Gambia. The water was bathed in morning light, making the rippling water shine like mercury or metallic paint. The first ferry (Kanilai) was leaving Banjul. At the far bank, perhaps it is three miles away, I could see another ferry sailing out of Barra. Senegalese and Gambian fishing boats landed their catch onto the beach. Women stood with large plastic tubs, waiting for stocks to sell in the market. Seagulls circled, expecting scraps. A group of bad-tempered vultures waited a little further away, aloof. I ambled past all of this, enjoying the absence of hurry or urgency, the opportunity just to go slowly, to watch, listen and ponder.

I continued along the beach, past a pack of feral dogs, past palm trees, more boats, a warehouse, some housing built of wood and corrugate, several people washing in the shallows, and walked all the way to the ferry terminal. There I cut back to the road, passing a stand with a huge pile of fresh bread. I could not resist. I bought half a tapalapa (like a French baguette, but softer) with egg and mayonnaise for my breakfast. The stallholder prepared my sandwich and wrapped it for me in a piece of newspaper. It is quite normal to buy food wrapped in paper. Often the newspapers are Dutch or Scandinavian. But this was a page of job vacancies from the Milton Keynes News and dated 18 July 2007. Ship Shape needs a Hair Stylist. NAB Precision Tooling is recruiting a CNC Miller. Somebody else needs an experienced curtain maker. And a “prestigious town centre company” are looking for Brand Advocates, whatever they are. It is good to know there will be opportunities for me when I get home. At least there were a few last July. In Milton Keynes. The bitiko in my street also sells bread wrapped in paper. Occasionally I have paper to dispose of, so I take it to this shop. The man there is always amazingly grateful, as it will cost him a few dalasi to buy old Dutch newspapers from a merchant. Although my friend in the bitiko is happy, of course I am damaging the livelihood of the paper merchant. Everything is complicated.

I walked back through the town with my egg-mayo sandwich, to enjoy it with a cup of tea at work. The sun rose high in the sky. The day became hot and dusty. Banjul became noisy and busy. But I was happy that I had sneaked some quiet and contemplative minutes as the day began.

P.S. A number of volunteers here write blogs. You may be interested to read something my friend Louise wrote about her trip to the UK.