The Gambia River – A rich tapestry of life and nature

Gambia became independent of UK in 1965 under the rule of Dawda Juwara, the elected prime minister.   He ruled for many years, becoming President in 1970 when Gambia became fully independent of UK, mainly due to the success of tourism and the rise in cost of groundnuts, grown in abundance in Gambia.  There was some unrest, an unsuccessful coup and then in the 80’s the price of groundnuts plummeted at the same time as the IMF reduced levels of subsidies to farmers.  This hit the economy and the people hard and resulted in a bloodless coup in the early 90’s led by a 29 year old lieutenant called Yahya Jammeh.  Jammeh was later elected President, an incredible rise in power from lieutenant to leader of the country in just a couple of years!   Under Jammeh a new airport, roads and schools were built and he remained popular by the rural sector, until he was voted out in 2016 in a democratic election.   The most recent general election was held three days before we arrived and, when we had driven through Gambia to measure the bridge, it was clear that the previous President, Jammeh, still had quite a strong base of support even though we was living in exile in Sierra Leone.   This was apparently due to him being responsible for building the roads and infrastructure while forgetting about the mass killings he instructed of anyone that opposed him or his policies!  

The history further back is not a happy one – most of the slaves sold to USA and Caribbean came from Senegal and Gambia and there is a terrible legacy of lost families, rape, murder and total dehumanisation of these beautiful people. They are now so generous with smiles, love and inclusiveness it is hard to imagine that many of their ancestors were subjected to such cruelty.

I’m not sure whether it was us embracing Gambia, or Gambia embracing us, but as soon as we arrived, we knew this was a special place.   It was not as dusty, or as busy, as Dakar, and the people were immediately more welcoming and relaxed.   That’s not to say they won’t try hard to overcharge you or attempt to shame you into giving them things – in fact a lot of the time they are very direct about their lack of money and our apparent wealth, but we were all staunch in our belief that we would pay a fair price for items, but not be seen as charity or give money away without exchanging it for goods or service.   It is hard though when someone won’t tell you a price for a service and tells you to “give from the heart”……!

When we left Lamin Lodge we motored, in no wind with a current to help us, stopping at James Island for the night.   James Island has a ruin of an old fort, built when this was the main British Trading point in West Africa before Banjul became capital.      It was also where slaves would be held before being bundled onto British, Spanish and Portuguese ships bound for the New World. We explored the small island, which we had to ourselves in the early evening, leaving on the incoming tide the next day.   Although the tide changes, the current keeps flowing for about 2hrs after the tide turns, so it gave us plenty of time to prepare for a long day of motoring in no wind.

Further up the river, we encountered our first dolphins which initially stayed clear of us, but we could see them jumping and feeding from a distance.   A large flock of pink flamingos took flight following the mangroves on the far shore, and then the dolphins came to play!   It’s funny how dolphins seem to react when there is human interaction and appreciation of their presence.   While we applauded and laughed at their antics they stayed with us, but as soon as we stopped watching, they disappeared. 

We had wanted to get close to the bridge by the end of the day, but as the light started to fade, we were still over 20 miles from it so dropped the anchor in some shallow water on the south side of the river close to the mangroves and listened to the sound of the birds in the thick trees.   We slept really well and awoke to hear Ruffian pulling up their anchor as we rushed to get ready to leave!   The calmness of the river and the intense heat during the day, had a soporific effect on us and deep sleep came easily to us both.

As the bridge came into sight, we anchored on the south side of the river in 5m of water to wait for 5pm when the tide would be low enough for us to attempt to go under the bridge.   While we waited, Steve went up the mast to remove our radio aerial, masthead lights and wind instruments to avoid them being damaged, just in case we had the calculations wrong!    While Steve was still up the mast and I was manning the winch to ensure he was safe and able to descend when he wanted, we noticed a long fishing net drifting down the middle of the river and moving rapidly with the current and tide.   One end of the net was attached to a small wooden fishing boat and we were alarmed to see if getting closer to us.  I contacted Ruffian on the radio to alert them of the fast approaching nets and they attempted to warn the fisherman with a long blast of their foghorn.    Sadly, the fisherman reacted too late and too slowly and it was with horror and helplessness we watched the net wrap itself around Ruffians anchor chain and then ours, surrounding both boats with netting – and all while Steve was still coming down the mast!     Ruffian were anchored just ahead of us, so they caught the fishing net first and with the weight of it wrapped around their anchor chain, started dragging backwards.   In between shouting at the fisherman to pull in his net and trying to stop their boat heading down stream with the fast current, Ruffian turned on their engine and immediately got the propellor fouled with fishing net.   It was an awful situation, not helped by a very casual fisherman who then turned on Ruffian for damaging his nets and started blaming us both for anchoring in front of his nets, even though we had been there for several hours and he was nowhere to be seen when we arrived.   We all felt terrible as we tried our best to warn him and the unhappy outcome could so easily have been prevented.   As it happened, Ruffian then had to spend the next few hours untangling fishing line from their propellor and we missed the window to get under the bridge. 

With the propellor working as well as Iain could get it, we set out to go under the bridge at the next low tide which was at 7am.   It does not get light until 6:45am so when we started to make our way towards the bridge, it was still quite dark.   Steve went up the mast so he could tell whether we had enough room to squeeze under, and we led Ruffian towards the bridge.   We had current against us and approached the bridge in the very centre, dead on 7am.   Steve and I talked to each other through headphones, Steve giving me a running commentary on how we were looking and whether he felt we would make it under the bridge.    It was with huge relief that he confirmed we had space and as we went under, Steve put up his hand and touched the underside on the bridge!   I let out an echoing whoop as we were swept under and spat out the other side, ready to explore the upper reaches of the river!

We motored on side by side with Ruffian, who has a shorter mast than us so easily slipped under the bridge, dodging fishing nets strung across the river.   We approached one group of fishermen and bought a nice fish from them – so fresh it was still twitching!   The four men were from Mali and lived on board their small wooden boat.   We haggled the price down from 1,000 Dalasi (17 Euros) for two fish, to 200 Dalasi (3.50 euros) for one large one.   We gave them a bar of chocolate as well, and they were very happy.  

We motored up the river to a Bombale, a small village in the mangroves, opposite Elephant Island, an uninhabited island covered in thick mangroves.   We took Ruffians dinghy to shore and stepped out onto rocks near a new road that was being built.   A group of men and women were gathered near a hut on the waterfront and one of the men offered to guide us to the village.   We walked along the red track that will become a new road, paid for by the Chinese, between large rice paddy fields towards the village.   As we came close to the houses children started joining us, until we had a large group of children and adults walking infront, behind and beside us.   We were introduced to the village elder – a man dressed in muslim clothing with a beard and very warm smile.   We explained we were headed for the school and he asked if he could join us, and we responded we would be honoured if he did.    We were met at the school by more children, the deputy principal, Kaifer, and the master, Momodou who gave us a warm welcome and tour of the school.   The school had 250 pupils, split into morning and afternoon sessions.   The classrooms were completely bare – no furniture, nothing on the walls except a blackboard for the teachers and no equipment.   Children start school at the age of 7 in yr 1 and primary education continues until yr7, usually at the age of 14yrs, although if a child is not at the required level, they will be put into a year group that meets their needs.   There has been a big campaign to encourage parents to educate girls and it was encouraging to see the number of girls was almost equivalent to the boys.   However, although the national legal age for marriage is 18yrs, the various tribes follow different traditions, and some girls are married as young as 13 years old, so attendance numbers for girls in years 6 and 7 tend to fall.    The school had recently started a new horticultural project, teaching children how to grow and look after plants.   They had prepared a number of beds to plant vegetables in January, once the school returns from their “winter” break.   It was incredible to watch the girls fetching water from the pump and carrying it on their heads to wet the dry soil.   In the morning we saw girls walking with goat droppings in big bowls, carried on their heads and taken to their allocated garden to feed the soil. 

We had brought a number of gifts for the school, including garden equipment, a good football, notebooks, pencils and crayons.    They were greatly received, but felt inadequately trivial when we saw how desperate they were for basic items.   The football became a coveted resource with the teachers playing with it for some time before the children were allowed to kick it around.   Steve set up a skills training session with some eager and happy children and I loved hearing their laughter and seeing their enthusiasm as they listened intently to instructions.  

Classes take place in English, although most of the time instructions were given in their native tongue so, although we were able to communicate with the children, it was at a basic level.   There were about 13 teachers at the school, most of whom live in small dusty rooms overlooking the big yard, dominated by a large Baobab tree, which can be found all over West Africa and doubles as a place to meet, due to their large canopy and thick trunk which provides lovely shade from the fierce midday heat.    We were asked to share lunch with them, which consisted of a dish of chicken on rice, or fish on rice.   We were given spoons each (although there were not enough to go round so others used their right hand), and we all ate from the two pots put on the ground at our feet.    It was an honour to share that time and food with them and, although it was 4pm and we were already thinking about the big fish we had waiting for us back on the boat, we loved the opportunity to spend precious time with these lovely people.  

We invited the teachers to visit our boats, and one evening we hosted 10.   On Cerulean, we hosted the teachers of, maths/English, science/horticulture, home economics, pre-school and French.  Three of the teachers were women and one brought her 6 month old baby.   Steve went ashore in the dinghy to collect them and as she was climbing on board the boat, I was thrown the baby as she tried to keep her balance.   The poor child took one look at this frightening looking white woman and screamed – I think I must’ve been the first white person she had seen – poor girl!    We loved having them on board although, to get to our dinghy, they had to wade through thick mud, so we ended up having a very dirty boat and dinghy!!!

It was time to leave Bombale and continue our journey up the river.   We left early, leaving behind the call for prayer and shouts of “Two-Bob” from the children – a nickname for white people which becomes derogatory if a grown person uses it! 

We wanted to get into the upper reaches of the river and we were on the hunt for hippos!

Note: Some of the photos, (including the drone shots) were taken by Ruffian. check out their awesome blog at www.ruffian.uk

Also, if any sailors are interested in visiting The Gambia, we are producing a handy information sheet with useful information about check-in, money, anchorages, what to bring and other things we would have loved to know before coming here! If interested, send us a message.