Years ago while vacationing in the United Kingdom, l used to watch a sitcom called Desmond's in which one of the characters was a university student from, as he called it, "The Gambia." I always smiled when he said, "The Gambia" and so "The Gambia" registered in my mind. When l decided to start my trip to West Africa in Senegal, it was a no-brainer that l would go to The Gambia.
From the first time I heard the name, I was fascinated by a country that had the definite article “the”in its official name. But to get there l would have another challenging ride in a sept-place car. Of course, these French made Peugeots were built to carry seven passengers but in this part of the world nine was the minimum and sometimes eleven were squeezed in! I had left my home in Bermuda three weeks earlier starting an eight week trip to West Africa. My plan was to explore five countries, which by and large were off the tourism grid.Three of the five countries had less than 100,000 tourists each in 2016 while The Gambia had over 500,000 and Senegal had over one million. In the preceding three weeks l had spent a week each in Dakar, Senegal, the country of Mauritania and the last week in Saint- Louis, Senegal.
Now l was off to The Gambia by sept-place car. These cross-country cars were often available to run a specific route only once a day and they officially departed at 7 AM. To avoid getting a seat from hell, you had to be at the depot early. So I arranged for my hotel in Saint-Louis l to have a taxi collect me at 5:45 AM. When the time came, l went down to the front desk only to find the night manager with his head hanging so far back that if it went any further surely it would come off! I gently woke him and politely asked for my cab. We then went out into the street and he sought to flag one down! After a few minutes with no success, he decided to walk from the hotel to the Faidherbe Bridge. If any taxis were around surely they would pass by the bridge, he reasoned. He was right, as a taxi soon came and l got in.
The driver quickly took me across the bridge to the Saint- Louis mainland and on to the station. It was 6:05 AM. I paid my fare and was told to sit in a certain seat. The car already looked pretty full. Then another person came and told me to get out of the car as I saw my bag being offloaded! Turned out someone else was ahead of me and l had his seat. So out l came! Of course, l wanted to protest but something told me this was not the place to try that!
As compensation, I was told to take the front seat of the next car. But what compensation is this if the next car doesn't leave until noon? At 6:18 AM, l watched the first car roll out of the station 42 minutes early! Never seen this before! As you can imagine, in my mind l am calling the sleeping night manager all sorts of names. I sat in car number two hoping that six other people would want to go where I was going and that they, too, were racing to get the 7 AM car. Miracle upon miracle, one by one people appeared and at 6:35 AM car number two was leaving the station. I was on my way!
For a change, l had nothing to complain about: a good driver and moving quickly in a road-worthy car! Great! The next several hours passed without incident. I was heading in the direction of a town called Kolack, an important town in the middle of Senegal. Suddenly, the driver turned to me and said “Kolack.” He then pulled up beside a similar car in a lay-by, had a quick conversation with the driver and then told me that I would continue my journey in this other car!
All this time, I thought the car I was in was taking me to the Gambian border. Not so! Suppose there was no transfer car? Suppose the transfer car was full? What would have happened to me? As it was, l saw my new driver speak to a young man who angrily took his bag out of the car and walked away. I realised that l had been given his seat. Imagine! There he was sitting comfortably in the full car, wondering why it had not left. Suddenly he learns that the car is going but not with him in it!
Once more, l was given the front seat as compensation.(What did l need to be compensated for?). This driver was an equally good driver and we continued incident free in a beautifully wooded area until we came to the border. Then came the SIM card salesmen selling cards that may or may not work (this time l had to buy another card two hours later when I found that the card I bought did not work); along came the money changers (the black market) and this time I got the exchange rate l wanted (one for the good guys!). All of this before l could get in the lmmigration office to get stamped out of Senegal.
And now, take the ferry across the Gambia River and I would be home and dry.
Actually, not quite… we had to take a little bus from the lmmigration office to the ferry terminal. I sat beside a Gambian lady for our short bus ride and she shared additional information,the kind you can not read in a book that was needed to keep me safe while in the country. As I was walking through the terminal, a female customs officer called me over and took me into her office. In response to her request, I opened my bag and we then proceeded to have a very awkward conversation. I did not understand why she stopped me or what she wanted me for. After a while, seeing that she was making no progress, she told me I could go. So off I went. When l sat down to wait for the ferry, the lady who had been beside me on the bus said, "How much did she want?" My mouth fell open in surprise and l said, "Oh, that's what that was!" Because I did not clue in l failed to pay her anything!
Next, it was time to get on the ferry and go. The ferry ride took about 20 minutes. I was going to be picked up by someone from the place I would be staying at so that would be the end of the journey. I got processed into The Gambia and was all set to go. But as I was leaving the restricted area, a man asked to see my passport. I had had enough so l aggressively responded by asking him who he was. He reached in his pocket and brought out his lD, showing him to be in the drug enforcement unit. He invited me to go with him to his office. Now we have all seen enough movies about police planting drugs on people, so I was like, oh no, not me, partner! I went for broke! I pulled out my "business card" showing I am a retired member of the Parliament from Bermuda. I told him that he can google me and he will see that I was at one time the Minister in charge of a similar unit in Bermuda. Holding the card, his whole posture changed to yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir! And on that happy note, l entered The Gambia. This is Africa!
