Mr. Baba Galleh Jallow,
It would seem almost awkward to write to thank you after every story that you post on the list. But be rest assured that many of us terribly enjoy reading your short stories and satires, all of which help inject in us a little nostalgia but largely fill our drab and monotous routines with so much joy and cheer.
Besides, however cheerless and hard and depressive our homeland is for many, it is these stories that remind us all that we are capable of reconnecting with our common heritage, nurture it, narrate it and rediscover ourselves in it. It is these stories which invigorate us in our struggles to bring back the old happiness, to be able once again to re-experience the old thrills of our lives, and by so doing, even in times of despair, convince ourselves that it is possible to make the life of everyone in Gambia just a little happier.
May Allah bless you with wisdom and good health so that you may, among other things, continue to "raise the literary status of our country".
Many many thanks,
Momodou S Sidibeh
of ----- Original Message -----
From: Baba Galleh Jallow
To: [log in to unmask]
Sent: Wednesday, May 11, 2005 5:26 AM
Subject: God's bags of water
God's bags of water
By Baba Galleh Jallow
I was always excited when the rainy season was approaching. I saw my father and all the other grown ups going to the bush to clear their farms in readiness for the rains. At home, my mother and the other grown ups would be peeling peanuts and corn to sow on the farm and in our large backyard. Then suddenly, the clouds would gather in the sky and everyone would run home, and then there would be a lot of thunder and lightning and the rains would pour down in huge torrents and everyone would be so happy. I liked the sweet smell of new rain and wet earth and was always excited to see the first blades of grass popping out of the ground. The whole world soon became green and beautiful, and there would be lots of insects and frogs everywhere.
When the clouds start gathering in the sky, all of us children would start jumping up and down singing, Grandpa God pour down your bag! Old man beat your talking drum! People said the thunder was made by an old man up in the sky who beat his talking drum so that God would pour down his bag of water on the earth. And so we would sing, Grandpa God pour down your bag! Old man beat your talking drum! Grandpa God pour down your bag! Old man beat your talking drum! And when the rain started pouring down, we would all take off our clothes and run into the downpour, out into the streets and everywhere. We liked going to Alex Madi's shop because part of his roof poured down a stream of water under which we would stand and shout and laugh. Then we would run back home and sit by the fire to dry our bodies. Alex Madi was a Lebanese businessman with a very big stomach. He had the biggest shop in the village and sold all kinds of things.
Sometimes we did not want it to rain because we wanted to play so much. At school, we used to sing rain, rain go away - go away and come again, little Alice wants to play! But when we were not at school, we sang rain, rain go away - go away and come again, little Daddy wants to play! Or little Laji wants to play! Or little Yunka wants to play! But this did not always stop the rain from falling and spoiling our play. So we would just run home and play instead in the rain.
Sometimes, when we really wanted to stop the rain from falling, we would go steal some salt from our mothers' kitchens and bury it in the ground. People said if you buried salt in the ground, the rain would not fall. But when we did this, we made sure the grown ups did not see us because they wanted the rain to fall so they could go work on their farms. Sometimes when we buried salt, it would not rain. Most times, it would rain anyway and we would not talk about having buried salt to prevent it from raining.
Often when it did not rain, a rainbow would appear in the sky. I was always so fascinated by the rainbow. Its colors were so beautiful, and I liked the way it started from one side of the sky and disappeared into the other. I wondered who made the rainbow and why it was so beautiful. Whenever I saw a rainbow in the sky, I would keep gazing at it and wondering who put it there until it slowly disappeared into the sky.
When it did not rain for a very long time and the crops started dying out, a lot of women would organize a rain-begging dance. The women would wear ragged men's clothes and smear their faces with charcoal. And they would beat their pots and calabashes and would dance all over the village singing, Grandpa God we are begging for water! Grandpa God we are begging for water! And they would croak like frogs and make music with their pots and calabashes and dance all over the village. Sometimes, a few days later, the rains would fall and everyone would say God answered the women's prayers. Sometimes it did not rain for a long time afterwards and the women would do another rain-begging ceremony, or the elderly men would gather at the mosque and offer special prayers for rain. And eventually, the old man would beat his talking drum and God would pour down his bag of water and everyone would be so happy.
When the rains fell two or three times and the ground was sufficiently wet, my father would wake us all one day to plant the maize in our back yard. We all would take small calabashes full of corn and follow him as he made small holes in the ground with his daba, a small blade fixed at the end of a long wooden handle. In a short time, all the seeds would be in the ground and covered carefully with earth, so that the chickens would not peck them out. A few weeks later, the maize plants would start to grow. I always looked forward to the day when the maize was fully grown and ripe and I would follow my father with a basket which he would fill with fresh stalks of maize. My mother would make a fire in a coal pot and we would all roast and have maize for many months later.
In the middle of the rainy season, the children would start going for a swim in the ponds outside the village. There were three ponds on different sides of our village. There was Deyi Wympie, Deyi Alagi Manjai and Pool Two. Pool Two was the furthest from the village and was deeper than the other two. When the ponds were full of water, the children would always go there, remove their clothes, and swim all day long in the muddy water. My father forbade me from going to the ponds. But sometimes I would go anyway. One day, I was so carried away by the fun that I did not realize it was past lunch time. My father asked some of the children and was told I had gone to Deyi Wympie. Imagine my dread when I suddenly heard his angry voice booming out my name! When I came out, he put me on his bicycle and took me home. He gave me a very good beating that day. In spite of that, I always went with the children to one of the ponds. But I always remembered to rush back home before lunchtime or sunset.
When the rains really lessened, we would go to the ponds not to swim, but to lay mana traps for the birds that came to drink there. Mana was a sticky secretion from a tree which grew in the bush. We would take the mana and smear small sticks with it and lay them around the pond. When the birds stood on them to drink, they could not fly again. And when they flapped their wings, those too got stuck. After we caught a few birds, we would pull their heads and small bodies apart with our hands and remove their feathers. Then we would roast them and have some juicy bird flesh.
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