Viva boabab!, viva boabab! Caribbean and African beats roll thru the club. The sax player gives a show, the two lead vocals swing, the bongo player smiles, the lead guitar thinks about a cigarette, the two base players are joking, and the drummer, the drummer is in seventh heaven. Welcome to club Just4U, Saturday evening, Dakar, Senegal. Have a cocktail, sit back and enjoy. The band on stage (as I discovered later) is the world famous Orchestra Boabab. During the seventies the band scored international hits (maybe this explains the slightly older crowd). They stopped, and were reunited. The sound is comparable with the Buena vista social club. I lean back and see the stars thru the palms tree. The evening is warm and relaxed. How did I end up in here?
The day started at six, I mean, five in the morning. I was woken up by a slightly drunk crowd, colleagues from the MRC. They had been clubbing and were going for a swim. I didn’t join them, I should have; the next hour was all about twisting and turning.
Twenty past six I was picked up by Anna, the twenty something kiwi girl. Anna was leaving today, and on her way back to New Zealand she wanted to stop in Istanbul and Dakar. Since I was meaning to go to Dakar as well we diced to team up. To make it slightly more exiting we were planning to travel over land, by all means. This could turn out into a long journey, so we had to leave early.
The early start was extra necessary because it was Set Settal that day. Set Settal is the wet dream of David Cameron. For a few hours the country comes to a stand still. If you are spotted on the street you can get fined or go to jail. There is only one place where you should be those hours, and that is at home. The purpose of Set Settal is to clean up your compound, street and direct neighbourhood. One morning cleaning a month keeps the country tidy. Easy as that. This cleaning festival should start at nine; so we had to be out of the Gambia before. The biggest obstacle between my house and the border is the Gambian river. The river is too wide for a bridge as it takes an hour by ferry. The service starts running as soon as there is light; this is at seven in the morning.
Anna had decided to leave in style, and what is a better style as by an original Indian tuc-tuc? So there we went, suitcase in the back, suitcase on top, sleep in our eyes.
The ferry was in demand that morning; a serious crowed was stacked on the boat. The crossing took an hour and ten minutes. For an hour and ten minutes it was dead quite on the boat, for one hour and ten minutes we all glared to the rising sun. For an hour and ten minutes the time stood still and our faces glow gold.
Once on the other side we catched up with time by rushing into a taxi, and thanks to serious speeding we arrived ahead of time at the border. The border was easy-piecy. Stamp at the Gambian side, stamp on the Senegalese side, donkey cart to the taxi-stand, five minutes shouting in French, claiming seats in the taxi, telling numerous kids you do not want their cookies, load more boxes on the taxi, and of you go. Twenty to ten, Dakar here we come.
The first miles were on proper tarmac, stopping every once and a while for road blocks. As in the Gambia there seems a huge police force in Senegal involved in checking cars ever odd mile. Very annoying since the police is unpredictable and unreliable, sometimes it takes a few seconds, sometimes ten minutes.
Tarmac became stones and stones became sand. Although still heading along the thick red line as printed on the map of Senegal, this road was more about corn fields than anything else. In a state of half-sleep, with Amadou and Mariam singing on the background (Amadou and Mariam sound like this), chasing the taxi in front of us, passing him on the left, he passing us on the right, tree, road, taxi again, market, donkey carts, it all came together. For an hour we were clutched on the back seat. Back on proper tarmac again we felt like sea-sick people returning to the harbour, delightful.
The rest of the trip was as any road trip. The landscape in Senegal hardly changed. It consisted mainly out long grass, low bushes and scattered trees, almost none of the land is obviously cultivated. Every couple of minutes you see little clusters of small huts with palm leave roof tops. The scenery is almost stereotypical Africa. We only experienced some heavy traffic just before Dakar so we arrived at 4 at the central taxi stand. Six hours, not bad, but my arse was numb for last hour. From the taxi stand it was a short taxi ride to the hotel. Swim, sleep, Senegal fast food, taxi again.
“Oui, bonjour, ca va? Et tu, to Just4U? Oui, Just4you. How much? Wha? How much! What! Non! Ok! Me and my French skills. For the price of 2000 CFA (pronounced as Sifa = 2.6 Pounds) we were on our way to the music temple of Dakar. Arrived at the club I gave the driver 5000 CFA and claimed my change. But what does this smart arse do? He says straight in my face that I gave him only 2000 and he does not want to give me my change. I make a fuzz, he leaves the car, other people get involved, we shout, 3000 CFA it is not worth a fight, and he knows. We go inside and decide; getting mugged in Dakar - TICK!
The next morning is very slow. Since we are in Senegal we might as well enjoy the French culture. We go for a coffee and croissant. Yummy. Before we have the bill it is afternoon, the croissant was French, the service African. Downtown Dakar is fairly organized but not special in anyway. The only gem we discover is a very modern cathedral, guarded by African angels. The service had just finished so the choir was still singing some French hymns, they sounded familiar but I did not recognize them.
Dakar is situated on the end of a peninsula and is slightly curved, due to this there is a lagoon kind of feeling, this combined with the azure blue sea and the yachts anchored just of the coast we imagine ourselves in the Mediterranean. Therefore we decide to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.
Fortunately I am not the first Dutchman in Dakar, well travelled as we are. In 1588 we were already in Senegal and even conquered a small island from the Portuguese. Homesick as they must have been they named the island after another island in the Netherlands: Goeree after Goeree-Overflakkee. Or “le Goree” for French, or “Gore Island” for the English. The island is 20 minutes of the coast and a visit looked the perfect thing to do at the end of a warm sunny Sunday afternoon. We arrived at the island around 17:30, still an hour and a half to wonder around, which is more than enough for the tiny island. The island is populated by happy people who life literally everywhere, in houses, holes, huts and bunkers. The inhabitants make a living by producing art, or however you call the handmade mass produced African gimmicks. Given the colourful houses, the smiling people, the diverse art work and the beautiful sea Goeree is a very pleasant place to hang out. This was strengthened by the African music festival which was still going on when we enjoyed our meal. The night had fully arrived when we were on the boat back; Dakar had been a very relaxed and pleasant experience.
Back on the shore I packed my bag and made my way to the airport. Two minutes before boarding it turns out we will have a two hour delay. Yeah, in the end we fly at twenty to four. Due to the small distance I am in my bed by five. A long, long working day will follow.
Cheers
Albert Jan
Fishing score: two small stingrays and a brownish fish with a lot of teeth.
vrijdag 12 november 2010
woensdag 3 november 2010
Symphony in distress
“Deal” said Anna, the twenty-odd something kiwi girl, sitting across the table.
“A short story, with at least twenty lines of dialogue it will be.”
“But on one condition” she followed. “The final result has to be published on our blogs.”
“Good idea!” I heard myself saying with some enthusiasm.
“WHELP!” I thought to myself. The commitment to write a short story was not something I was waiting for. After setting this deal we both engaged ourselves into some contemplation. Then our eyes crossed and reality became real again.
“Fiction or non-fiction?” mumbled Anna. The bread, although just arrived, had found its way.
“Lets make it fiction,” I replied, “otherwise I have to reproduce this conversation literally”.
Lamin Boeti number two and Lamin Foetsie where digging around in the ground harvesting groundnuts. Both were armed with a little machete. Unfortunately for them the machete did not help much, so both where forced to use a lot of energy. While digging around a very unsupportive fact was present as well, the sun burning on their backs. As suns come in Africa, it was a very hot sun, a very nasty hot sun. Therefore both Lamins did not like the sun, actually both Lamins did not like spending a lot of energy and both Lamins did not like groundnuts. Apart from Lamin Foetsie, he quite likes them.
“Shall we think about a better solution than this lousy machete?” asked Lamin Boetie number two. He had been standing in a weird position all day and his back was hurting.
“No,” replied Lamin Foetsie.
“Shall we seed something else than groundnuts, they are hard to harvest, not very tasty and the market is not very good.” Lamin Boetie tried again.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie again.
“Shall we form a cooperation with our fellow farmers and organize the use of machinery?” Lamin Boeti asked.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie
“Shall we reinstall the irrigation system the Chinese built here, so we do not have to be hungry for two months a year?” Boetie asked.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie.
“Shall we try to eat from our own land instead of buying very expensive imported rice?” asked Lamin Boeti. Lamin Foetsie thought for some seconds and said, “No.”
“Shall we use gas for cooking instead of wood? They say it is cheaper and cleaner,” asked Lamin Boetie.
“No, are you kidding,” replied Lamin Foetsie, who suddenly became talkative. “We are not going to do anything Boetie, we might live in this harsh environment, totally justifying a more structural and knowledge-intensive approach, but we know we can survive like the way we live, and I am not taking any risks. I just do not have the space to take risks in my life. I do not have the money, the knowledge, or access to the right people.” Lamin Foetsie continued. “Sometimes we might get things from some NGO or whatever, or they try to teach us other behaviours, but I am not buying any of that. I perceive those new things as risks, and I do not like risks, and why should I take them? We do not know what tomorrow will bring.”
“What did you say brother? We know how to survive? Two of your children died before they were five. That is not survival.” Lamin Boetie replied. Lamin Foetsie did not like this comment, but Boetie was right, some of his family have not survived. But who’s fault was that? He himself survived without anybody’s help.
“Shall we give more food to the children and our wives when there is not much, instead of first feeding ourselves? They are more vulnerable than us,” Lamin Boetie asked again.
“No” Lamin Foetsie replied, shaking his head.
“Shall I --” but Lamin Boetie could not finish his question, his mobile was singing, the latest tune of 2BAB Shakur lifted up the groundnut field. It was his mate, Lamin. Lamin lives in a village two miles down the road but today he was visiting the Lumo (market red). Lamin asked Lamin if he wanted to buy a goat for Tobaski. En sha la! Boetie had totally forgotten about this. He had to buy a goat to celebrate the end of Hajj. The 17th of November approaches faster than appreciated and it was a good time to sort it out. Yes of course he wanted to buy this goat. It reminded him that he had to stop by the tailor on his way back. He got also a brand new colourful costume made for the celebration. Glad his mate asked him, now he had a goat and he would not forget to go past the tailor. Good things always come together.
“Shall I take Lamin Boetie number three out of school?” Lamin Boetie picked up his conversation again. “He can write now and, given the situation we are in at the moment, where rich countries attract all people with any skill out of the country, the chances that he will learn something useful are quite small,” Boetie number two stated with a sigh. “And who can blame those people, I won’t be able to live off the money you will make as a teacher.”
Lamin Foetsie replied by nodding his head, but it was unclear what it meant. Boetie number two stretched his back again and peeled a nut. He looked to the flock of birds flying past. “Is it not wicked Lamin, that the most common birds are the most pretty ones?” Lamin Boetie observed. “Imagine it would be the other way around, how boring would that be?” Lamin Foetsie looked to the birds as well and totally agreed for a change. He stretched his back and walked to the donkey who was waiting at the end of the field. Boetie had followed him and jumped on the cart. Their day was over, the sun was about to set. It was time for their meal of the day, and since it was their only one they wanted to enjoy it. The ride back to the village went along a lot of uncultured land, land waiting to be used. So far nobody had come around to use it, maybe Boetie number three will make it. Who knows, he didn’t that is for sure.
End
Sorry, dreaming up this short story based on my experiences in rural Africa took so much time that I have almost no energy left to share my adventure on the road. I came back from the rural side to the coast last Saturday in a peugot 505, this is myself and 12 other people (it does fit). We went easily 100 km an hour, risky business if you realize that we did not have any brakes. Seriously we did not have brakes, no hand brake, no normal brake. We could only slow down by creatively gear switching, as there is switching in return while still going ahead. But I survived, and I was on time for the party at my apartment block. Halloween with 30 degrees and a midnight swim. Life is not so bad.
My new hobby is sea fishing, but so far I only caught knots in my lines….
Click here for some new pictures.
PS. All first born male are called Lamin, so there are a lot of them (I did actually meet a Lamin Boetie number two), all first females are called Fatou. Easy system and helpful for the less creative.
“A short story, with at least twenty lines of dialogue it will be.”
“But on one condition” she followed. “The final result has to be published on our blogs.”
“Good idea!” I heard myself saying with some enthusiasm.
“WHELP!” I thought to myself. The commitment to write a short story was not something I was waiting for. After setting this deal we both engaged ourselves into some contemplation. Then our eyes crossed and reality became real again.
“Fiction or non-fiction?” mumbled Anna. The bread, although just arrived, had found its way.
“Lets make it fiction,” I replied, “otherwise I have to reproduce this conversation literally”.
Lamin Boeti number two and Lamin Foetsie where digging around in the ground harvesting groundnuts. Both were armed with a little machete. Unfortunately for them the machete did not help much, so both where forced to use a lot of energy. While digging around a very unsupportive fact was present as well, the sun burning on their backs. As suns come in Africa, it was a very hot sun, a very nasty hot sun. Therefore both Lamins did not like the sun, actually both Lamins did not like spending a lot of energy and both Lamins did not like groundnuts. Apart from Lamin Foetsie, he quite likes them.
“Shall we think about a better solution than this lousy machete?” asked Lamin Boetie number two. He had been standing in a weird position all day and his back was hurting.
“No,” replied Lamin Foetsie.
“Shall we seed something else than groundnuts, they are hard to harvest, not very tasty and the market is not very good.” Lamin Boetie tried again.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie again.
“Shall we form a cooperation with our fellow farmers and organize the use of machinery?” Lamin Boeti asked.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie
“Shall we reinstall the irrigation system the Chinese built here, so we do not have to be hungry for two months a year?” Boetie asked.
“No,” said Lamin Foetsie.
“Shall we try to eat from our own land instead of buying very expensive imported rice?” asked Lamin Boeti. Lamin Foetsie thought for some seconds and said, “No.”
“Shall we use gas for cooking instead of wood? They say it is cheaper and cleaner,” asked Lamin Boetie.
“No, are you kidding,” replied Lamin Foetsie, who suddenly became talkative. “We are not going to do anything Boetie, we might live in this harsh environment, totally justifying a more structural and knowledge-intensive approach, but we know we can survive like the way we live, and I am not taking any risks. I just do not have the space to take risks in my life. I do not have the money, the knowledge, or access to the right people.” Lamin Foetsie continued. “Sometimes we might get things from some NGO or whatever, or they try to teach us other behaviours, but I am not buying any of that. I perceive those new things as risks, and I do not like risks, and why should I take them? We do not know what tomorrow will bring.”
“What did you say brother? We know how to survive? Two of your children died before they were five. That is not survival.” Lamin Boetie replied. Lamin Foetsie did not like this comment, but Boetie was right, some of his family have not survived. But who’s fault was that? He himself survived without anybody’s help.
“Shall we give more food to the children and our wives when there is not much, instead of first feeding ourselves? They are more vulnerable than us,” Lamin Boetie asked again.
“No” Lamin Foetsie replied, shaking his head.
“Shall I --” but Lamin Boetie could not finish his question, his mobile was singing, the latest tune of 2BAB Shakur lifted up the groundnut field. It was his mate, Lamin. Lamin lives in a village two miles down the road but today he was visiting the Lumo (market red). Lamin asked Lamin if he wanted to buy a goat for Tobaski. En sha la! Boetie had totally forgotten about this. He had to buy a goat to celebrate the end of Hajj. The 17th of November approaches faster than appreciated and it was a good time to sort it out. Yes of course he wanted to buy this goat. It reminded him that he had to stop by the tailor on his way back. He got also a brand new colourful costume made for the celebration. Glad his mate asked him, now he had a goat and he would not forget to go past the tailor. Good things always come together.
“Shall I take Lamin Boetie number three out of school?” Lamin Boetie picked up his conversation again. “He can write now and, given the situation we are in at the moment, where rich countries attract all people with any skill out of the country, the chances that he will learn something useful are quite small,” Boetie number two stated with a sigh. “And who can blame those people, I won’t be able to live off the money you will make as a teacher.”
Lamin Foetsie replied by nodding his head, but it was unclear what it meant. Boetie number two stretched his back again and peeled a nut. He looked to the flock of birds flying past. “Is it not wicked Lamin, that the most common birds are the most pretty ones?” Lamin Boetie observed. “Imagine it would be the other way around, how boring would that be?” Lamin Foetsie looked to the birds as well and totally agreed for a change. He stretched his back and walked to the donkey who was waiting at the end of the field. Boetie had followed him and jumped on the cart. Their day was over, the sun was about to set. It was time for their meal of the day, and since it was their only one they wanted to enjoy it. The ride back to the village went along a lot of uncultured land, land waiting to be used. So far nobody had come around to use it, maybe Boetie number three will make it. Who knows, he didn’t that is for sure.
End
Sorry, dreaming up this short story based on my experiences in rural Africa took so much time that I have almost no energy left to share my adventure on the road. I came back from the rural side to the coast last Saturday in a peugot 505, this is myself and 12 other people (it does fit). We went easily 100 km an hour, risky business if you realize that we did not have any brakes. Seriously we did not have brakes, no hand brake, no normal brake. We could only slow down by creatively gear switching, as there is switching in return while still going ahead. But I survived, and I was on time for the party at my apartment block. Halloween with 30 degrees and a midnight swim. Life is not so bad.
My new hobby is sea fishing, but so far I only caught knots in my lines….
Click here for some new pictures.
PS. All first born male are called Lamin, so there are a lot of them (I did actually meet a Lamin Boetie number two), all first females are called Fatou. Easy system and helpful for the less creative.
maandag 18 oktober 2010
Niets zo cliche als het zachtjes zuchten van de zee
One week later, one more week of experience in this country.
Weather:
Unfortunately for me, but maybe you are glad to hear, it has been raining a lot. Was there a lot of sunshine in the first two weeks I was here, since Friday this has changed and reminded the country we are still in the rain season. When it rains, it rains beyond what you are used to in Europe. Heaven drops down, within minutes more water comes down than in a month of London drizzle. It comes suddenly and disappears suddenly and it doesn’t leave even a huge amount of puddles. It only has a sustained effect on the intensity of the lush green colours.
Education:
Regarding education Gambians are trapped. Within the country there is no good education, salaries are low for teachers and with a population of 1.4 million it is difficult to fill universities within the country. The only realistic option is to study abroad; however all the neighbouring countries are French, a language not learned at school. Not easy, English universities are expensive and far away. Due to this there are just not enough skills in the country to govern itself. For example transport. The EU is investing in the infrastructure in West Africa, but talking to a guy from the EU this works as follows: the Gambia is eligible for funding by the EU, but since nobody in the country can do the paperwork the EU does the paperwork. When money is allocated money can be spend, but since nobody knows how roads has to be build this is done under governance of the EU with companies as Ballast Nedam (Dutch!) and other infrastructure companies. Engineers involved with the machinery are not local but expats. The show is totally run by foreigners. All shops/restaurants/hotels I know are run by the non-indigenous (Lebanese/Indians/Germans/Belgians etc.). Due to this the Gambian middle class is very small, and it needs a money spending middle class so badly.
One of the schools available is the vocational training programme related to SOS children’s village. Last weekend I spoke to a lady who works there, she told me there is a big shortage of vocational training facilities. A problem recognized by the department of education, where she worked before, but they were not able to change it. A shame because I truly believe that vocational training is the first step in the good direction, because it are mostly skills what can be traded within the community.
Why are there not more private schools? Apart from some posh ones for the expat off-spring there does not seem to be a wide selection. A teacher should be able to life from a class of 20/30 pupils you would think.
Demography:
Almost the only people I meet/see on the street are only boys in the age class 15-25. Seldom are it older people, and sometimes woman. This is directly related to the demography, which is heavily skewed towards the younger ones. 40% of the population is under 14, only 2.8% is above the age of 65. I am still figuring out what the total impact is of this on the economical structure, but I assume it will be more difficult to send kids to school if you have so many and you just are very busy to feed/dress them, drama’s of mortality, and that all those children has a big effect on the money you have to spend. But on the other side there is quite a big work force of people 15-25 what I don’t see is very actively used (aka sits on their arse).
Food
To spend as much money as possible while I am here, and also just because I am lazy, I never cook. Every night I eat out. But how do I do this the on the most morally justified way? So far I have decided that the way forward is to eat in the restaurant next door. By chance the most luxurious venue in the wide surroundings. Doing it this way I employ as many people as possible to get the food to my mouth. Not only the 4 or 5 waiters make a living, but also the security, the gardeners, the kitchen boys, and maybe some more useful staff making each night an experience as was it the afterlife deserved by mother Theresa herself. I feel slightly bad about it, but all people in the chain involved do employ some skills, try to work and gets rewarded. For my opinion it is a better system than giving money away. That I am top of the chain in this occasion makes it pleasant for me.
Weather:
Unfortunately for me, but maybe you are glad to hear, it has been raining a lot. Was there a lot of sunshine in the first two weeks I was here, since Friday this has changed and reminded the country we are still in the rain season. When it rains, it rains beyond what you are used to in Europe. Heaven drops down, within minutes more water comes down than in a month of London drizzle. It comes suddenly and disappears suddenly and it doesn’t leave even a huge amount of puddles. It only has a sustained effect on the intensity of the lush green colours.
Education:
Regarding education Gambians are trapped. Within the country there is no good education, salaries are low for teachers and with a population of 1.4 million it is difficult to fill universities within the country. The only realistic option is to study abroad; however all the neighbouring countries are French, a language not learned at school. Not easy, English universities are expensive and far away. Due to this there are just not enough skills in the country to govern itself. For example transport. The EU is investing in the infrastructure in West Africa, but talking to a guy from the EU this works as follows: the Gambia is eligible for funding by the EU, but since nobody in the country can do the paperwork the EU does the paperwork. When money is allocated money can be spend, but since nobody knows how roads has to be build this is done under governance of the EU with companies as Ballast Nedam (Dutch!) and other infrastructure companies. Engineers involved with the machinery are not local but expats. The show is totally run by foreigners. All shops/restaurants/hotels I know are run by the non-indigenous (Lebanese/Indians/Germans/Belgians etc.). Due to this the Gambian middle class is very small, and it needs a money spending middle class so badly.
One of the schools available is the vocational training programme related to SOS children’s village. Last weekend I spoke to a lady who works there, she told me there is a big shortage of vocational training facilities. A problem recognized by the department of education, where she worked before, but they were not able to change it. A shame because I truly believe that vocational training is the first step in the good direction, because it are mostly skills what can be traded within the community.
Why are there not more private schools? Apart from some posh ones for the expat off-spring there does not seem to be a wide selection. A teacher should be able to life from a class of 20/30 pupils you would think.
Demography:
Almost the only people I meet/see on the street are only boys in the age class 15-25. Seldom are it older people, and sometimes woman. This is directly related to the demography, which is heavily skewed towards the younger ones. 40% of the population is under 14, only 2.8% is above the age of 65. I am still figuring out what the total impact is of this on the economical structure, but I assume it will be more difficult to send kids to school if you have so many and you just are very busy to feed/dress them, drama’s of mortality, and that all those children has a big effect on the money you have to spend. But on the other side there is quite a big work force of people 15-25 what I don’t see is very actively used (aka sits on their arse).
Food
To spend as much money as possible while I am here, and also just because I am lazy, I never cook. Every night I eat out. But how do I do this the on the most morally justified way? So far I have decided that the way forward is to eat in the restaurant next door. By chance the most luxurious venue in the wide surroundings. Doing it this way I employ as many people as possible to get the food to my mouth. Not only the 4 or 5 waiters make a living, but also the security, the gardeners, the kitchen boys, and maybe some more useful staff making each night an experience as was it the afterlife deserved by mother Theresa herself. I feel slightly bad about it, but all people in the chain involved do employ some skills, try to work and gets rewarded. For my opinion it is a better system than giving money away. That I am top of the chain in this occasion makes it pleasant for me.
maandag 11 oktober 2010
Entry 2
Computer problems
The IT restrictions are not helpful if you try maintain this blog. This because I cannot access any social network/blog or photo share via my work PC . Therefore I have to do things on my personal laptop via a) a wireless connection at work or b) the dongle, what gives me very slow internet. But most importantly when I started my machine Saturday morning it gave errors with the result it didn’t boot, pretty useless. Now 2 days later – with a lot of reading-trying and googling it is still not fixed, I only managed to get a boot-CD what allows me to use windows again, a giant step forward from nothing, but still...
My project
The project I work on is about the projected effect of different vaccination schedules of pneumococcal vaccination on the total cost effectiveness of the vaccination program. This will include a projected effect of the vaccination on the disease transmission and the cost involved due to disease and due to the vaccine supply chain. My role in the project is some sort of data broker, where some people have a pneumococcal model, some people have data, and I put those two parties together.
The MRC
The place where I work is the medical research council or MRC. This is a research institute founded and run by the Brits to do research on infectious diseases. The main compound is where I am based, on the coast in Fejara, but there are several other compounds scattered around the country. One of those field stations is in Basse, which is further inland. Basse is the main area where my data is collected and I will be going there to get the data and speak to the local investigators.
The compound where I work is a very spacious, secured area, which means there is a big fence and 24hrs security. On the compound there is a huge rugby field and a volleyball field, a number of houses adding up to a small village and several research laboratories. The labs are all in different buildings. Also is there a bar/canteen with an Italian chef which does decent pasta’s for lunch and although the breakfast is not superb, it works for me.
Electricity
One of the biggest luxuries I have is electricity, especially during the evenings. Since the sun sets at 7:30 the evening starts early, and when it is dark – it is very dark. There are severe problems with the electricity supply at the moment, this because 2 of the 3 generators of the Gambia are broken. Which means electricity gets on at random in the evening which leads to forced cell phone/candle light lit dinner, but also no air conditioning after sunset. In a climate like this air conditioning is the equivalent as a duvet in winter – essential stuff for a good night sleep. But no problems for me, I have even satellite television, with clear reception of god knows how many channels I do not want to watch.
Social life
There are some people (around 10 or so in total) my age (+5/-10yrs) on the compound, they are mostly students working in Fejara for a short term (there seems to be a high turn-over), but they are fun to hang out with. There are some more phd students but they tend to come with wife/husband and kids, what is perfectly understandable because there is not much entertainment or other social life around here. For now I am happy this project is only for two months, long enough to experience the place, and short enough not to become mentally distressed.
Friday I had my first night out at the local tourist trap. A taxi ride is 25p and a beer 80, not expensive. What you get is what you expect – loud music, flashing lights and the same music you hear everywhere around the planet, but it is fun and it makes you feel on holiday.
Bumpsters
When you run on the beach you will meet a lot of Gambians, they are all around 18-25, all men and they all do push-ups & sprinting, serious the beach is crowded with them. Those boys are called bumpsters, ready to give tourists a lot of attention, especially the ladies. This attention goes much further as just telling they are beautiful. Less obvious on the beach, but more obvious in the pubs and bars are the female counterparts, they ask very polite where my wife is, where my girlfriend is, and when the answers are negative they suggest that they will be a very good girlfriend. There seems to be a quite substantial part of the tourist in the Gambia for this reason, sad but true. It remind me slightly of the cat at home, the cats comes in and will give you attention in a trade off for food, but also you will give this attention in a trade off for something as warmth and attention. People fly in just to get a bit of attention, some maybe to feel pretty (since they are not really fulfilling the western beauty standards) some just because it is possible, and the locals will give this attention, just to survive or maybe also just to hang around pubs and bars to get some sort of western life style (a beer is a third/half of what an average Gambian person makes on a day). In this game however the winner takes it all, the most fit boy/beautiful girl (some personality might counterbalance it slightly) is the winner.
Sports
Life besides work is about sports, last week I played touch rugby, run 10k, played volleyball for two evenings, a game of ultimate Frisbee and a game of tennis. The last time I played tennis was during my degree in Groningen, but I totally rediscovered it. Will try to get some lessons while I am here. Unfortunatly I am injured at the moment - cut both my big-toes open at rugby yesterday.
That is it for now - click here for some pictures.....
Cheers, Albert Jan
The IT restrictions are not helpful if you try maintain this blog. This because I cannot access any social network/blog or photo share via my work PC . Therefore I have to do things on my personal laptop via a) a wireless connection at work or b) the dongle, what gives me very slow internet. But most importantly when I started my machine Saturday morning it gave errors with the result it didn’t boot, pretty useless. Now 2 days later – with a lot of reading-trying and googling it is still not fixed, I only managed to get a boot-CD what allows me to use windows again, a giant step forward from nothing, but still...
My project
The project I work on is about the projected effect of different vaccination schedules of pneumococcal vaccination on the total cost effectiveness of the vaccination program. This will include a projected effect of the vaccination on the disease transmission and the cost involved due to disease and due to the vaccine supply chain. My role in the project is some sort of data broker, where some people have a pneumococcal model, some people have data, and I put those two parties together.
The MRC
The place where I work is the medical research council or MRC. This is a research institute founded and run by the Brits to do research on infectious diseases. The main compound is where I am based, on the coast in Fejara, but there are several other compounds scattered around the country. One of those field stations is in Basse, which is further inland. Basse is the main area where my data is collected and I will be going there to get the data and speak to the local investigators.
The compound where I work is a very spacious, secured area, which means there is a big fence and 24hrs security. On the compound there is a huge rugby field and a volleyball field, a number of houses adding up to a small village and several research laboratories. The labs are all in different buildings. Also is there a bar/canteen with an Italian chef which does decent pasta’s for lunch and although the breakfast is not superb, it works for me.
Electricity
One of the biggest luxuries I have is electricity, especially during the evenings. Since the sun sets at 7:30 the evening starts early, and when it is dark – it is very dark. There are severe problems with the electricity supply at the moment, this because 2 of the 3 generators of the Gambia are broken. Which means electricity gets on at random in the evening which leads to forced cell phone/candle light lit dinner, but also no air conditioning after sunset. In a climate like this air conditioning is the equivalent as a duvet in winter – essential stuff for a good night sleep. But no problems for me, I have even satellite television, with clear reception of god knows how many channels I do not want to watch.
Social life
There are some people (around 10 or so in total) my age (+5/-10yrs) on the compound, they are mostly students working in Fejara for a short term (there seems to be a high turn-over), but they are fun to hang out with. There are some more phd students but they tend to come with wife/husband and kids, what is perfectly understandable because there is not much entertainment or other social life around here. For now I am happy this project is only for two months, long enough to experience the place, and short enough not to become mentally distressed.
Friday I had my first night out at the local tourist trap. A taxi ride is 25p and a beer 80, not expensive. What you get is what you expect – loud music, flashing lights and the same music you hear everywhere around the planet, but it is fun and it makes you feel on holiday.
Bumpsters
When you run on the beach you will meet a lot of Gambians, they are all around 18-25, all men and they all do push-ups & sprinting, serious the beach is crowded with them. Those boys are called bumpsters, ready to give tourists a lot of attention, especially the ladies. This attention goes much further as just telling they are beautiful. Less obvious on the beach, but more obvious in the pubs and bars are the female counterparts, they ask very polite where my wife is, where my girlfriend is, and when the answers are negative they suggest that they will be a very good girlfriend. There seems to be a quite substantial part of the tourist in the Gambia for this reason, sad but true. It remind me slightly of the cat at home, the cats comes in and will give you attention in a trade off for food, but also you will give this attention in a trade off for something as warmth and attention. People fly in just to get a bit of attention, some maybe to feel pretty (since they are not really fulfilling the western beauty standards) some just because it is possible, and the locals will give this attention, just to survive or maybe also just to hang around pubs and bars to get some sort of western life style (a beer is a third/half of what an average Gambian person makes on a day). In this game however the winner takes it all, the most fit boy/beautiful girl (some personality might counterbalance it slightly) is the winner.
Sports
Life besides work is about sports, last week I played touch rugby, run 10k, played volleyball for two evenings, a game of ultimate Frisbee and a game of tennis. The last time I played tennis was during my degree in Groningen, but I totally rediscovered it. Will try to get some lessons while I am here. Unfortunatly I am injured at the moment - cut both my big-toes open at rugby yesterday.
That is it for now - click here for some pictures.....
Cheers, Albert Jan
maandag 4 oktober 2010
Arrival
Dear family and fiends,
Firstly: All is well! No worries! I am save and healthy!
Let me summarize what happened so far:
Friday 01/10/10 at two o'clock in the morning I was wide awake, 3 hours to early, 3 hours to eager to leave. Finally I would go to the 'developing world'. This abstract description of countries where life is different compared to our developed world, but as the term suggest are also in the process to become like us. All exited to see what this is about.
The travel form home to Gatwick Airport went very smooth thanks to the direct train from St.Pancras, so at 7:11 sharp I was ready to queue at gate H for the Gambia Experience, the travel agency whom chartered a plane from Viking Airways. I expected a normal, non-low-cost carrier flight, and prepared myself accordingly, therefore no meal deal in my knapsack, but unfortunately Viking airways did bring me the joy of a Ryan air flight, however without the decent planes and flying on schedule (the plane was totally ripped off and we were almost 1 hour late), they would be far worse if they did not serve me a free snack/meal. It was not until north Africa I had the chance to buy myself some water and a pack of pringles.
Arrived in Banjul airport I was welcomed by Aladjie, a smooth talking Gambian working at customs in the airport, and a friend of my former flatmate Kia. It was his lucky day, because I had brought an extra suitcase full of presents. He gave me a warm welcome and it was nice to talk to him while the driver of the bus (bringing us from the plane to the terminal) was messing up the gear box. Within minutes the temperatures in the bus were rising steep, to levels that even my new made friend began to complain. Lesson one: friendly people but the 30kg of clean shirts would not be enough.
The MRC had send a driver to pick us up from the airport and drove us within 45 minutes to the compound. The Gambia is very green and flat, some sort of a hot version of the Netherlands. But since it is the end of the rain season, the green might be temporary. I shared the ride with a girl from Cambridge who does an internship at the local hospital. On the way it became clear we arrived in a Muslim country, big adverts of mobile phone companies shouting that you can win a trip to Mecca when you top op your mobile, and most of the shops were closed (as it was Friday). Despite the closed shops we managed to exchange some money. Once arrived there was no welcome committee and, organised as I am, I didn't have any phone number of my contact persons. What was present however were the keys to my apartment. The apartment is nice, clean and comes with a view over the Atlantic (very inspirational indeed). The rest of the evening consisted of a shower, a walk around the house, and a meal at the closest restaurant. What happened to be an Indian restaurant, so 1000 miles from home I had my standard vegetable Biriyani, nice!
Saturday was all about acclimatising, the high temperatures and especially the high humidity need some adaptations. Nevertheless I met my direct neighbours, did some shopping and made a very nice audio-slide-show of my apartment and view. Although it did cost me around 6 hours to make this audio-slide-show, it looks like the final result is way to big to upload any time soon on this website, maybe one day. Somehow.
Sunday was again about exploring the neighbourhood and sorting out a phone. My new number is +220 7467279, so if you need me, use this number as I will not be using my UK one.
In the evening I played a game of touch Rugby on the beach (one of the neighbours invited me), I still don't fully understand the rules, but I do painfully understand that I am totally not fit. A lot of training is needed. After the game I went for a pizza with some people. My social life had started.
Today, it was the first day behind my desk, the MRC is even more bureaucratic compared to the HPA, especially the IT regime is more stringent, as I cannot even plug-in an USB stick. Therefore I have to send files from my laptop via a dongle to my office computer, not ideal but it works (at least for small files). But the canteen is Okish, the menu consist mostly out of pasta and pizza, but the portions are big and the pasta not over cooked. This is it for now – I am going for a 12k run in the bloody heat, lets see how that goes.....
Will try to write more soon, and I am planning to do it more topical, I don't like diaries.
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