Part 6
"Yahya, is it really you?. Are you at home with your brother?" Is my
surprised question. A long story follows. I hardly listen. Yahya &
Nyima with the little Marianne are at a distance of not more than 5
kilometres from the hotel. We make an appointment for the next day.
Exactly in time the landrover stops in front of the door. Baks behind
the wheel. A complicated story that Yahya will not be there in time
and that he therefore has picked me up with the vehicle and sorry for
last time, etc. After the asphalt road till hotel Senegambia it continues
through sandy paths. Left, right, curve, drive off jerkily. We
turn off the compound and everything is still the same as one year
ago. The horses, the well, the house and the vegetable garden. The
gate is still hanging crook. One of the trees shows mellow oranges and
the mango is heavily loaded with buds.
Nyima looks perfect. For this occasion she has put on a bright pink
African dress with a tight body, wide stokes on her hips and a tight
ankle-deep skirt. Her hair is plaited into artificial braids and decorated
with colourful beads. "Welcome" she says and there we sit
opposite each other. She has not come as far as three words of English.
So the "conversation" continues showing photos which I have
sent to them. Proudly she tells Yahya's cousin that she taught me how
to fetch the bucket with a wide arm stroke. The photo shows prove.
Together we look into the lens while I balance a bucket of water on my
head.
She disappears behind the curtain which seperates the veranda from the
living-room and gives me a work of crochet. A doll-like baby-dress.
The top consists of two round-knitted forms, then a waistband and
under that a clockwise small skirt made of crochet. I proudly admire
the result which has been made with the help of my crochet-course for
illiterate women. Again she shows another work: a band.
She holds it
in front of her hips and starts smiling. Slowly she starts rocking her
hips. Something for me? she motioned. I do not know exactly how to
handle this. It does not grab me at all when I see a knitted hipband.
Those wide hips of mine should not have to be accentuated even more.
Yahya steps inside. A cool handshake and the plastic bags may be opened.
The rolling tobacco with cigarette papers is dealt between Baks
and Yahya. The whole family tastes the liquorice. The cheese and the
rest of the presents appear slowly. The men immediately start to roll
a cigarette. Finally the sack with small balls and pins plus the two
instuction-books. The knitting book is consulted and Yahya tells me
that he could not manage according to the beginners-course.
I sit beside Nyima. We take the knitting pins and a small ball of
cotton. In my poor English I try to show her how to set up the stitches.
I feel embarrassed when I cannot find the right word of a knitting
term in English. And yet everything that I blunder in English is
translated in Madinka by Yahya. It is rather difficult to demonstrate
the movements. At last she has understood the idea of setting up the
stitches. Change pins and knit the first row. Sweating and fumbling. I
stand behind her and accompany her hands. Professionally she presses
the left pin under her arm. Finally the first row is ready. We proudly
look at the result and I start laughing. All efforts useless, we have
knitted with the short thread and the small ball is on the wrong side.
Nyima sighs deeply.
More stories from The Gambia:
Small Kids
Lunch & Diner
Print & Paper
Tourist
More information:
Map of Africa and more information:
Map of Gambia and more information:
More travelstories from Africa:
An tour through West Africa
On the motor from north to south
Go back to Liesbet's Atelier
Go outside
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