Kukujang Mariama Full of Grace

My host family here in The Gambia is Catholic. Usually when one says something like that here, it is just code for "oh you can drink alcohol with your people" but my family is actually very devout and doesn't really drink all that much except for the occasional palm wine for guests or quick sip of brandy on a chilly night.

This is a pretty unique aspect of my experience here because the country is 95% Muslim. My family is the only Christian compound in my village of about 1500 people despite their being a Catholic mission school and church in the village. The story goes that in the 50's a toubab priest used to live in the village and converted the majority of people to Catholicism. He died in the 70's and pretty much everyone proceeded to convert back to Islam, that is except my host father and his family. My host father emigrated to The Gambia from Senegal, where he was born into a Muslim family but was raised by a Catholic priest. PaSaine's own father decided that he admired the Christan faith, but that since he was a rather "big man" in the village, he could not convert himself without alienating the his community so he chose one of his 6 sons to be raised a Christian instead. Since the decision to be a Christan came from PaSaine's father, everyone in his family respects his faith and they get on very well. When my father was old enough to go out on his own, he took a Christian wife from his community in Senegal and moved to The Gambia in search of more fertile farming land. He stopped in Njongon, a mere 15 K over the border from Senegal and the first village inside of Gambia that had a Catholic church.

Over the years the village has grown and changed, the land is not so fertile anymore and many of the young people have moved to the city to find any easier life than that of their parents. The mission school is thriving and draws students from over 10 villages in the area because it is better run than most government schools and is seen as having better teachers and more resources. "Christians give to Christians" is a sort of Gambian truism and I am told many people initially converted to Christianity so that they could get all the aid that comes with it. The church is small but active although the priest, now a Nigerian, no longer lives in the village but in a larger town about 10 K away and the majority of parishioners come from another nearby village inhabited mostly by Manjagos, a tribe from Guinea Bissau. But PaSaine and his family remain strong and steadfast to their faith and to the success of their parish despite all the changes.

So with that background in mind, I can now expound upon the real motivation behind this entry - the annual Gambian Christian pilgrimage to the village of Kukujang Mariama, the only all Christian village in the country. The village itself is deep in the bush but because of the influx of money in the form of schools, skills centers and health centers, the village is growing and has a huge, beautiful church that is the envy of all. The pilgrimage is held the first weekend of every December to celebrate the advent season and is in its 20th year and as a way for Christians from all over the country to get together for fellowship.

Last year I didn't go to the pilgrimage, much to the disappointment of my family and the many Christian teachers that work at my school. Everything in The Gambia was still so new and disorienting and I was trying to get a handle on living in village and making connections with people I decided to sit it out. But this year, I figured when else does one have the chance to go on a pilgrimage in Africa so with two of my fellow PCVs, Jim and Dan, in toe, we boarded the bus in Banjul one chilly December morning with about 150 others from my parish we set out for the pilgrimage - singing, jumping and drumming all the way.

After a long and bumpy bus ride through the bush we finally arrived at Kukujang Mariama, just in time for the mornings mass. The grounds resembled a county fair with buses lined up, tents joined together to provide much needed shade for the worshippers, tons of people, food vendors, trinket sellers and children selling some very cool commemorative t-shirts. I estimate that there were close to 2 or 3000 people, all the Catholic hierarchy, and even the minister of tourism! The day included a very long mass, a break for lunch, afternoon prayers and singing and lots of food, laughing and greeting old friends and new friends. I was surprised how many people I actually knew - when the Christian community makes up less than 5% of a population and you live with Christians and work in a mission school you end up meetings about half of them.

All in all the day was full and it was great to see this minority thriving in their faith despite the odds against them. It was a great way to start everyone off on the right foot for the Christmas season. My sister Ansel was so excited for the day to come and had been counting down the days since August. She seemed delighted to have me and my friends there to share the custom with and kept coming up and hugging me throughout the day. Even though she was tired at the end of the day from being responsible for organizing the transportation and the lunch for close to 200 people from our parish, she seemed completely rejuvenated by the experience and just glowed and was decidedly, filled with grace.

Its that magical time of the year....

It came yesterday, enveloping the village and turning the surrounding fields into tiny whirlwinds of sandstorms. The coos is harvested and the groundnuts will be all unearthed in due time. The air is warm and dry, blowing south as the Sahara takes over our narrow strip of the Sahel for the next couple of months. The Harmattan, strong and viscous, devouring every live plant in site has come to The Gambia. It came fast, as it always does. I woke in the morning a little bit cooler than usual and biked to Mbollet Ba, the next village over, to work with the teachers with their phonics lessons for the day. As I pulled into the school yard the days first gust of strong wind was taking over the dirt football pitch and rending my entire sense of vision useless. The gusts were so powerful throughout the day that the headmaster dispersed the students right after school, forgoing the usual 2:00 prayer held on that same football pitch that is required of all students at this school before they can head home for the day. The children were glad to be released to escape the punishing sandstorm that had been invading their classrooms all day due to the schools utter lack of protection in the form of either a tree or stone fence. It's just dirt and dry dead grass for as long as you can see. The day stood in sharp contrast to the previous days stagnant heat. As I biked the two kilometers home, I cursed the headwind and the dust that was now nestled in every crevice of my clothes and body, but was thankful for the breeze to ease the oppressive sun and the cool nights and morning that I had to look forward too and that were the happy bonus to the dusty Harmattan days.



Having now experienced every season The Gambia has to offer, and some of them twice, I have decided that the cold season and its very frigid temps of 65 degrees at night, is my favorite. The dust is just a small price to pay for the luxury of not sweating profusely, even in your sleep. And with the cold comes lovely things that make me appreciate and cherish my moments here. Things like school in full swing, preparing food for big programs with the teachers at school, joking and laughing with my teachers at school, scout drumming, having all the teachers come together for a workshop as I try to teach them new methods and having them actually listening, Inter-kunda sports tournaments, Tobaski, Christmas, nights huddled around the fire with my family listening to Pa tell crazy stories, small boying kids to bring me limes, groundnuts, and cashews from the bush, early mornings spent shivering as I drink my ritual cup of tea, visiting the women's garden and watching the kids try the new methods they have learned in class, seeing a teacher or a student genuinely excited to learn and try something new and utter lack of bugs. I love all these aspects of my life here and maybe the anticipation of experiencing all these things again is what pulled me back after my brief sojourn in America and gives me the motivation to finish out my time here.