"Toubob! Give me your bicycle!"

Not a day goes by that I don’t hear the word “toubob”. As I ride my bike I hear the word screeched across a field from a group of excited children. Sometimes people will try to greet me, starting with “Toubob, how are you?” To my dismay my village has developed the terrible habit of calling me Fanta Toubobo. Toubob is the word people here use to say white person. I’m sure they aren’t trying to offend, but it gets tiring. When I tell people not to call me it they say “what?, you’re not white?”. Yes, I’m white. I know I’m white, but come on people. I tell them that I don’t go around calling them Ebrima Mofi or Aminata Mofi AKA Black Ebrima, Black Aminata. Sounds bad, right?

Being PC is not on the agenda of most up country Gambians. If you read my last post it was about Gambian body image in relation to American body image and how the Gambians around me aren’t afraid to call me fat. But trying to tell my host family to stop calling me fat is like trying to tell my village to stop calling me White Fanta. The more I say “don’t” the more it reminds them to do it.

This might be a weak comparison, and I have no intention to offend, but I know what it’s like to be the “other” in a society. To be the judged or stereotyped minority. I’m not going to compare it to what African Americans had to deal with/do deal with, but I think I understand more than the average white American. I never start with a clean slate here, when people meet me there is an assumption and through getting to know me assumptions change into actually knowing who I am. Here it’s assumed that I’m rich, I can’t do ANY manual labor, I know how to read, I love to study, i can’t do laundry, I can take people to America easily/give them a Visa, I want a black husband, or that I’m a doctor. I mean, people put assumptions on each other all the time regardless of race or place, but it just seems more effecting to me here.

The thing that makes it less frustrating is knowing that in 8 or 9 months I will be back in Toubobadu (white people land) and won’t be called the white equivalent of the N word in the 1950’s. For some Americans they don’t have that escape. America is their home and sadly they have to deal with prejudice without an escape somewhere else.

I’ve had people refuse to sell me stuff, jack up the price on items, literally stare but ignore my greetings, avoid me, and children cry and run in terror at my arrival in a compound. Gambian mothers will tell their children “the white woman is going to beat you!” then thrust their children at me to make them cry. Most of this stuff isn’t an average, these are rare but memorable occurrences that have happened in the last year and a half. I don’t think the Gambians around me are trying to be rude, but they just don’t realize how wearing it can get for me and most have never had to deal with being in the out group

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Like always here are some random pictures from my Random life.

Pictures includes 2 little boys that I see OFTEN and are neighbors. THe one looking straight at the cmera is named Foday. The one looking from the side is named Ebrima. His mom is my closest friend in village and is always a fun person to talk to .

Then there is my host sister Fatou Mata who is about 6. She drives me crazy in the way that all 6 year olds do, she is loud, sassy, extremely playful, but also sometimes moody.

There is some writing on a gate door. Gambia is full of weird, slightly creepy, slightly misspelled wall writing like this.

THis is the inside view of my bidong showing off the weird stuff that comes out of our handpump. I definitely filter my water and I think the stuff is algae. Its like rust, but slimy looking, disappears if you shake the water, and its kinda gross to imagine that I filter that out of my water daily.

This is a map of Africa that highlights all the countries I'm NOT allowed

to go to as a PC volunteer because of safety concerns. As you see, I can't really go anywhere right now. Terrorists are slowly moving out and making countries unsafe for us.

This is one of my counterparts doing his fishermanly duties. He basically sits in a boat that put him just right above the water and puts out/takes in nets in the morning.