Tasty Volunteer 3, Winged Creatures 0

There was a massacre in room no. 4 at Safari Garden last night. I have been most assiduous in ingesting and anointing both body and bedroom in anti-mosquito measures but two gin and tonics and a late night debate on the merits of using marabous (local witch doctors) led me to be a bit careless with the mosquito net.

I knew I should’ve stuck to my usual bottle of JulBrew (the local beer), but at least tonic water has quinine.

So, I fell into bed at midnight to find two of the little devils dive-bombing the net from the outside. Armed with my imported can of PifPaf (I already have my eye on a mega can of the Gambian equivalent, Bop, when stocks run low) it was a case of quickest on the draw wins. Once they are dazed and confused with the fumes then it’s a quick vicious hand swat against the whitewashed wall – sorry Housekeeping – and job done.

It was only 20 minutes later as I dropped off that the whining started up again. One more mozzie had made its way under the net – or was it silently lying in wait? – and was on a revenge mission to avenge its fallen brethren. This time it was a handy flip-flop that saved my hide.

But joking aside, malaria is no joke here. Most of the expats I’ve met who have spent any length of time in the country have all had a bout of malaria at some point, even when taking prophylactics. And apart from the high incidence in small children, Gambians who travel overseas and then return home often succumb to a dose before readjusting.

Achy joints, headaches and flu-like symptoms are often a precursor and the advice is to go get a blood test if you even remotely think it’s malarial. The symptoms occur in repeating eight-hour cycles and if diagnosed early it just takes a course of antibiotics to return to full health but if untreated it can be extremely serious, or even fatal.

From loofah to Wolof

The Gambia is Loofah-ville.

And that's not some wacky Jim Carrey-type character from a Dr Seuss tale.

I'm not much of a botanist and I always thought that loofahs came from the sea or mangroves. Turns out that they actually grow on vines. These vines are the pariah of the tropical garden as they are devilishly cunning and will wind, bind and choke their way through an entire residential compound.

The reason I am now rich with loofah facts is because I won one during a random poolside game of Trivial Pursuit last night. I think it may actually have been a booby prize but when I was handed the long fibrous cone on a stalk I thought it was an ear of dried corn.

But as I 'unwrapped' my gift (yup, how handy is that, they come ready wrapped!) it revealed a ready-to-use dried loofah. Fabulous. It also came with a couple of handfuls of dried seeds that I have been told will thrive in even the most desolate of environments (i.e. Dubai).

So it's loofah gifts all round I reckon. Am going on a trawl of the neighbourhood back gardens tonight to fill a potato sack or three...AED30 in Body Shop? Pah, I'll be hawking them in Meena Bazaar for AED28 a piece.

I've also just had my first language lesson. It's hard to know which local language to opt for out here as there are several including Wolof, Mandinka and Fulla. Wolof seems to be fairly universal though so I am ready with the pleasantries - "Nagadef?" (how are you?); the necessities "Dama kheef" (I'm hungry" and the cautionary "Ba la'lama" (Go away!).

Sarah, the finance and admin manager at ASSET has also asked me to help with the marketing of their cultural resource centre located over the Timbooktoo bookshop round the corner from the office. It's just got a new manager and they are relaunching the cafe, which is already a popular spot for travellers looking for WiFi, but they want to up the culinary offering and also attract the local VSO, other NGO, British High Commission and US Embassy workers looking for a value lunch spot. 

Gosh, there's so much more I could get involved in and I already feel like I'm running out of time even though I've barely stepped outside of Fajara...and still an entire country to get to know.

Working 9 to 5..African style

Ah, it’s good to be a working woman again, albeit on a volunteer basis. I confess that I tossed and turned a fair bit last night – a combination of the four-hour long torrential tropical thunderstorm beating down on the tin roof of my bungalow room, and nerves at the thought of having to train four smart Gambians on the vagaries of PowerPoint, not something I am truly au fait with.

But after a brain enhancing breakfast of fresh fruit – the mangoes here are possibly the best in the world – I was striding off along Kairaba Avenue, backpack secured, sneakers churning up the blood-red sandy earth in my wake and a head full of positive thought.

And after Dubai’s general apathy and my own indulgent malaise it is already refreshing to be meeting people who dispel the African stereotype and who are completely committed to their country and its untapped potential.

The team at the Association of Small Scale Entrepreneurs in Tourism (ASSET) are the new breed of go-getter that Gambia needs to re-energise its tourism offering. Working out of a converted villa in a quiet side street ASSET may be light on resources but is rich with enthusiasm.

Badou and Ndimbalan were first up for training and I emerged from their resource centre over six hours later really feeling that I had helped to expand their already impressive knowledge base with a small insight into slide-based presentations. OK, it’s hardly going to change the world in the long run, but their passion and eagerness really made it a pleasure to help out.
It also helped in making me forget about taking a lunch break which is a definite bonus, as after just three days I am already starting to like the traditional Gambian dish of domoda (a rich groundnut sauce-based concoction slathered over chicken, beef or vegetables) a little too much for my hips’ liking...

Stranger in a strange land

I have a new name, I am Toubab. It’s not peculiar to me nor is it an expression of fondness that I’ve acquired in my first few days under the African sun.

“Hey Toubab,” is the catcall for any and every unfamiliar white person walking the streets of The Gambia. It’s a catch-all term, not malicious, nor confrontational, it simply is what it is. And looking down at my pasty chicken legs I definitely deserve this new moniker.

I also had my first run-in with the delightfully named genre of local jeune homme called a ‘bumster’. These men prey on the tourist as a way to earn their living, from offering above-board and overpriced general assistance to the list of sexual services that has earned the Smiling Coast a less than favourable reputation. It’s not all down to the high rate of unemployment though as it has been preyed upon in equal measure by, shall we say, ladies of a certain age, whose idea of an exotic beach vacation includes some young affordable flesh. And no, that’s not why I’m here.

As it’s ‘off season’ my bumster wasn’t the choicest pick. Probably around my age he was in serious need of some dental work and a script that went beyond mere pleasantries. It didn’t take too long to dispense of the gentleman as my innate ability to fabricate a credible expat existence in any foreign land (long-time resident, husband works for your president, I’m off to meet the minster of xyz, me no speakee Ingliss) seemed to do the trick. Mind you, I was hot, sweaty and wearing camouflage pants, so I wasn’t the exactly the best deal going either!

This blog is running the risk of becoming an anti-airline rant but I feel compelled to mention in passing my Royal Air Maroc experience from Casablanca to The Gambia, not simply because of utterly abysmal customer service from check-in to departure, but because it is doing a great disservice in promoting connectivity between first and purportedly second or third world destinations in Africa.

If you don't want to run the gauntlet of dubious African carriers as part of a trip into the heart of Africa, then certainly for The Gambia at least there are currently only two viable options - Royal Air Maroc out of Casablanca, and Brussels Airlines out of Brussels. In hindsight I wish I had now bitten the Nigerian bullet and taken Arik Air out of Lagos (a one-year-old airline, and so far so good reputation-wise).

Emirates Airline is also launching its Dubai-Dakar routing in September which makes a short hop across to The Gambia a quick fix and one which, I hope, will spur the country's tourism gurus to look at driving awareness and interest. Not such a difficult task as The Gambia already has a sizeable Lebanese population for whom this is a boon, but also for expats looking for an alternative Africa experience.

Gambia's other plus is that it is a predominantly Muslim country, albeit very open, so this also offers tourism legs for a different segment of the Middle East market.

But I made it, I'm here in West Africa's smallest country, and 24 hours in it's already been an eye-opener, from the friendly welcome at immigration and ease-of-access to securing a month-long entry visa, to the team members that I will be working with at the Association of Small Scale Entrepreneurs in Tourism (ASSET)and the UK husband-and-wife team at my award-winning guesthouse (Safari Garden); each of whom is passionate about developing Gambia's sustainable tourism potential for the long-term.

Cheap seats to sweet eats

I've fallen out of love with Emirates Airline over the past year or so due to woefully inconsistent service and a disappointing re-engineering of their Skywards programme points system which seems to be doing all it can to deter the cheap seat traveller (me) and encourage only the big spenders.

However, on the flight from Dubai to Casablanca yesterday my faith was somewhat restored due to a delightful chief purser called Jamal whose attention to detail and personal service philosophy made a broken seat back a memorable experience. OK, so it was an upgrade situation and I guess they're supposed to play nice with even the fake biz class passengers, but he went from hands and knees under-the-seat maintenance (didn't work) to frothy cappuccinos (pretty darned good) to red wine bottle takeaways (that'll do nicely) along with a good chat about aircraft durability (not boring in the slightest), mutual movie faves and travel hotspots.

There will be a follow-up email from my side to the Emirates powers-that-be, a positive one, as good service seems to be going the way of the dodo - and not just on board award-winning carriers. Am looking forward to seeing whether Royal Air Maroc measures up tonight!

And the Casablanca stopover experience? Not the prettiest city, but I knew that already and a two-hour city tour is ample time to hit the high points. The real winner has definitely been the food. My faithful friend - Trip Advisor - came up trumps yet again with the accommodation option, a 1940s villa in a well-placed suburb 25 minutes from the airport.

Dar Itrit is run by a delightful Moroccan-born Frenchwoman - Estrella - who is something of a culinary goddess. For 23 Euros I enjoyed a wonderfully memorable dinner of tarte aux magret de canard, a piquant kefta tagine and cooling dessert of melon with mint and lemon-laced yoghurt. Rick's Cafe isn't a patch on this home-cooked feast!

And so to The Gambia.

The power of the written word

I am a convert.

Nothing radical you understand. Well, maybe not radical in the easily misconstrued sense.

I am a convert to The National. In fact I am now a subscriber to The National (thanks for the gift of the pen btw).

When I first moved here 11+ years ago from Thailand, I eagerly signed up with Gulf News. That early morning thunk on the doormat was something I'd missed in my little corner of the Far East and the idea of lounging over the Sunday (Friday) papers with a pot of good coffee, a slice of toast and the luxury of time, had me rubbing my hands in glee.

It didn't take long for this to become more a case of me wringing my hands in despair. OK, maybe not quite so melodramatic as that, but I'd pretty much whizzed my way through the whole thing before the kettle had even boiled, and apart from the occasional interesting op ed or 'cut out and keep' recipe (which ended up consigned to the depths of a kitchen drawer), I was not exactly reaping the benefits of my investment.

I then spent far too many years of my life wasting time reading the dailies and clipping them as part of my job in PR, so the pleasures of reading a newspaper properly fell by the wayside unless I was travelling. Until this February that is.

Now I don't read all the sections of The National religiously (sorry Sports Ed) but I do read it every morning, either at my desk over a bowl of porridge or on the weekends with..yes, you got it, a pot of coffee and a bakery item. And apart from being on top of all things vaguely newsworthy, I am gaining a store cupbaord of off-the-wall facts that I am already boring work colleagues and friends with.

Today's edition was particularly insightful. In addition to a breakdown of Dubai Holdings finances, I now know that Harrison Ford has both a type of ant and spider named after him; that in Nabati poetry kandura can also mean a short annoying man; and that coriander (cilantro) contains aldehydes similar to those found in soaps and lotions - hence the love or loathe debate.

Quiz night questions. Inane talking points. Personal amusement value. Ticks all my boxes.