Greece Cycling Goddess

First published in the Lafayette Journal & Courier, Lafayette, Indiana, April 3, 1977

POSTMARK: The Gambia

By COLLEEN and TOM McGUIRE

While attending Indiana University in 1975-76 we became close friends with an African named Ebou Camara. After studying for seven years in America, Ebou returned to his homeland, Gambia, at the same time we left for South America. Our departing words to Ebou were, “See you in Africa’ — and now, months later, as promised, here we are.

Ebou welcomed us into his family’s home where he lives with some of his 10 brothers and sisters and his widowed mother. But at any given time it is impossible to determine the precise number of people under the Camara roof. Like a motel, relatives filter in and out, staying a week or a month or indefinitely. No matter how distant the relative is, his visit is always accepted, for this sort of hospitality is reciprocal.

At one time the Mandinka was essentially a rural tribe. Ebou’s father, like many Mandinka peasants, left his countryside village in an exodus to the capital city area where today’s Mandinka generation now rivals the indigenous Wolof tribe. Even though many Mandinka are now urbanized, most still retain their rural cultural roots.

The Camaras live in a spacious cement house with a big sandy front yard full of mango trees and squawking chickens. Unlike most families, they have running water, a refrigerator (displayed in the living room), a toilet and other luxuries normally considered Western comforts. Despite these Western appliances, the Camaras are truly Mandinka in culture.

The domineering force at the Camaras’ is Ebou’s mother, Fanta Darba. Like many African women, she did not adopt her husband’s last name at marriage. Everyone calls her Ma (the M is heavily emphasized) and she graces her home with all the majestic grandeur of motherhood. Her children range in age from 14 to 37, yet she also attends to her flock of grandchildren.

Fanta Darba decorated her arms heavily with thin silver bracelets that clang musically whenever she walks. She also dyes her palms and feet with fudano.  At first we asked Ebou if Ma had accidentally burnt her hands cooking or something. But no, she often wraps her hands and feet in plastic with red dye taken from the leaves of the fudano tree to darken her skin. This is considered a beauty trait as well as a natural softener against dry winds.

Maternal duties for Gambian women extend even to grandmothers. Ebou’s grandmother, affectionately called Musukeba (old woman) is equally active in child care. She’s a sprite old woman of about 90, and it’s not unusual to see her pacing around with an infant tied in a cloth to her back or thrashing a naughty youngster with a bundle of twigs.

Many of the women help with the cooking, but Ma is the undisputed queen of the kitchen. The Camaras could easily afford a stove, but Ma doesn’t want such a complicated contraption in her outdoor kitchen. She prefers to stick with her traditional log fire because she knows precisely how to regulate the burning flames to simmer or boil a dish to perfection. Breakfast is routine. Each previous evening, rice and peanuts are pulverized with a pestle as large as a baseball bat in a mortar as big as an urn. The crushed millet is called tiachulo and resembles lumpy oatmeal. The family giggled at our awkward attempts to pound the grains. We were astonished at the amount of energy entailed in preparing a simple breakfast and pondered on how Quaker Oats has made mornings easy for many Americans.

One of the most fascinating aspects of living with a typical, African family is watching them pray. The Camaras are Muslim in faith and very devout at that. Each day the adults congregate outside to pray five times at separate intervals. The intriguing ritual is begun by taking a pot of water and carefully washing the hands, mouth, nose, head, eyes and feet.

Once they are cleansed, they move to their prayer mats and face east toward Mecca. Even old Musukeba and Fatou, who’s eight months pregnant, perform the sequence of standing, kneeling and bowing while reciting cryptic Arabic verses from the Koran, the Muslim bible. When the normal five-minute prayer session is over, we can resume conversation with the family.

However, for some of the elder and more devoted Muslims, the homage is not complete. They lapse into additional Arabic verses while lingering a tasabayo. This is a rosary with 100 beads entailing 100 extra recitals to their god, Allah. These devout men have a more comprehensive knowledge of Arabic than the average African Muslim, who simply parrots the language in the same way many Catholics used to chant Latin at mass without understanding it.

One of the obligations of the Islamic religion is to make a “haj” at least once in a Muslim’s lifetime. A haj is a pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca in Saudi Arabia. Ebou’s mother recently had the thrill of her life when she and a group of Gambian Muslims chartered a jet to Mecca.

One night after the evening prayers, Ma presented Colleen with a ring she had brought back as a souvenir from the holy city. Inscribed on the ring was an Arabic passage. We had to wait for the Tetsabayo prayers to end before an elderly uncle could decipher the message. His erudite interpretation hinted at pleasure in life.

The Camaras lead a simple, tranquil traditional life. We share many relaxing evenings with them lounging on straw mats in their front yard. Often they question us about our American lifestyle and we in turn are so curious about the countless unusual facets of their culture. In living with the Camaras, we are receiving an authentic taste of black Africa, and this experience is fantastically delicious.