Bro Abdou,
Thanks for those kind word.
When one has finished doing such liitle work, it appears one regrets for
those small things left out.....I just remembered a story Manthia Diawara,
(one of Africa's foremost luminaries) professor of comaprative literature at
NYU, told us when he was in Stockholm two years ago.
I'll narrate that another time. In the mean time, enjoy your week end.
Momodou
----- Original Message -----
From: "A.B. Sidibe" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, August 16, 2002 11:30 AM
Subject: Re: The Fisherman's Tale - 2
> Koto Momodou,
>
> Kudos for a well-written and compelling piece. The
> commentary was engaging and amusing at times. Gambia
> needs a modern literary philosopher culture, and I
> can't think a better person than yourself to blaze
> those trails.
> Again, as the hip hop crowd would say, Big Ups to you
> bro.
>
> Abdou
>
>
> --- Momodou S Sidibeh <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >
> >
> > The
> > Fisherman's Tale - 2
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > Immediately after the presidential elections last
> > October, there seemed to be widespread assumption
> > that the struggle for popular power was over and
> > that since the main opposition UDP conceded defeat,
> > it was just appropriate to congratulate the winner,
> > close ranks behind our respective national assembly
> > members, put an end to the bilious inter-party
> > quarrels and get on with the urgent task of
> > nation-building. There was widespread fear that the
> > disappointments of the opposition parties could
> > generate fierce and ugly recriminations of massive
> > vote rigging prompting leaders to declare the
> > elections as unfair. But what happened seemed quite
> > unpredictable. Not only did the opposition not
> > condemn the elections as flawed or unfair,
> > supporters of the victorious party went on a rampage
> > beating up political opponents as the government
> > itself summarily terminated the employments of civil
> > servants thought to be sympathetic to the
> > opposition. This heralded the opening of a new and
> > ugly chapter in Gambian politics.
> >
> >
> >
> > The electoral campaign had throttled into high gear
> > since the APRC government repealed decree 89 - one
> > of its most notorious - that banned the old
> > political parties and some politicians of the first
> > republic from active politics barely three months
> > before the presidential elections. The move threw
> > the whole political spectrum into confusion, as
> > parties pondered alignments and strategies that
> > would on the one hand deliver them from oblivion
> > while on the other hand ensure that their combined
> > strengths aggregate to an electoral overthrow of the
> > heavy-handed, bad boy of Gambian politics. This
> > proved to be a task more awesome than the parties
> > themselves imagined. The NCP, PPP, and GPP were not
> > only faced with the problem of resurrecting
> > themselves from a submarine existence, they had to
> > do that with an organisational vigour and
> > administrative clout that would create for them new,
> > distinct, respectable, magnetic identities. All
> > three parties quickly realized that the voter and
> > supporter topography had been greatly altered and
> > that managing new rivalries became more pressing
> > than administering an all too obviously rickety
> > coalition. PPP and NCP, major rivals during the
> > first republic were supposed to temporarily stop
> > crossing swords to join hands with the UDP, a party
> > whose mass base is largely composed of old diehard
> > supporters of the former two. It was also supposed
> > that PDOIS, waging a lonely campaign on political
> > morality and ethical economics for more than fifteen
> > years against the entire political establishment
> > would suddenly coalesce with a group consisting of
> > lackluster politicians of dubious integrity and with
> > momentarily suppressed mercenary whims.
> >
> >
> >
> > The whole idea of this coalition was based on a
> > mathematical formula which supposed that the entire
> > opposition's collective dislike of APRC rule was
> > greater than loyalty to their own identity,
> > political platform, individual ambition, deep-seated
> > personal rivalries, and historical inter-party
> > tensions between them; all of these variables, taken
> > together, command more importance than most people
> > believe. It would have required a miracle, under
> > the circumstances, for a coalition to be readily
> > built on the framework of some tactical alliance in
> > time for the elections.
> >
> >
> >
> > A quick look at the structures of and the
> > decision-making process in all mainstream political
> > parties in the Gambia would show that they all are
> > quite undemocratic. Yet without reservation, we
> > expect that once voted into power these very
> > undemocratic parties must produce governments that
> > operate according to constitutional edicts, promote
> > and defend civil liberties and operate
> > representative, responsible and accountable
> > governments. Because members and supporters of these
> > parties do not engage in any form of rigorous debate
> > free from persecution mania and pathological
> > jealousies, where national issues are interrogated
> > and prioritized on that bases, affiliation with a
> > party is generally not the outcome of the contest of
> > ideas. Some other forces must operate to determine
> > political allegiance and influence willing
> > compliance. Deciding forces in Gambian politics have
> > to do directly with how power is exercised. These
> > are some of the forces I would like to discuss here.
> >
> >
> >
> > The Struggle for Rice
> >
> >
> >
> > Approaching it from the east, from the direction of
> > Bundung, the new SerreKunda market, with its
> > imposing brick façade, stands out as a mammoth
> > insignia to a nation desperately reinventing itself.
> > Its gray, high walls bemoan a replica of the Mile
> > Two prisons, fearsomely confining all its contents,
> > including air and light. Yet its smooth curves and
> > corners that look like mock minarets suggest a Dogon
> > architecture imitating the mosque of Jenne freed of
> > her wooden splinters that serve as supports during
> > repairs to the building. The overall impression is
> > that of strict confinement subdued by religious
> > undertones.
> >
> >
> >
> > But this abstract impressionism is quickly whisked
> > away by the captivating decor of colours and
> > materials that dress up the walls. You see rows upon
> > rows of imported baseball caps, Karl Kani jeans,
> > Tommy Hillfiger jumpsuits, huge sports trunks, Fubu
> > t-shirts, Reebok sneakers and an assortment of
> > Nike's air jordans, all manufactured in the slave
> > factories of South East Asia, the outsourcing
> > el-dorado of the "superbrands". Hand-woven leather
> > bags and sandals, mostly from Senegal, also compete
> > for space with Dutch wax clothing, and a curious
> > supply of plastic toys, Gambia's ubiquitous mades-in
> > Hong-Kong. This decor hanging ten feet up the walls
> > is an extension of space that the tables cannot
> > provide on the outside. So you opt for the inside
> > and you get zapped. Instantly. The yelling and the
> > laughter, the pungent smell of "netetu" and dried
> > fish is hopelessly dissolved by the fragrance of
> > local incense and the heavy whiff of perfumed
> > clothing; the shrills of bargaining duos, the
> > infectious smiles, embrace and laughter from
> > surprise encounters, and the constant blare of the
> > latest mbalax tunes from scores of competing
> > cassette players, the unbearable heat, and the
> > abominable dust all militate against your sanity.
> > You don't only have to stand the tiff at the
> > butchers' but his licensed arrogance as well. He
> > carelessly tosses a chunk of meat and bone onto the
> > scales driving the weights up. The he quickly
> > supplements the ritual by capping your dinner with
> > bits of tripe and tells you, one kilo, twenty
> > dalasi, take it or leave it. Like the fishmongers,
> > being nice to customers is an unheard of luxury.
> > Demand for meat and fish is permanently high just as
> > supply is permanently low. This is the only place in
> > the entire marketplace where you do not negotiate.
> >
> >
> >
> > Everything else is for bargaining: you negotiate
> > your steps, pace and space, the price of peanut
> > butter, a mound of bush spinach, bitter tomatoes, or
> > even a meter of mosquito netting. You can bargain
> > for a fairer price for bitter-cola, a cup of palm
> > kernel oil, cuts of shea butter or a tiny piece of
> > smoked cat-fish, or sea snail. The place is
> > dangerously crowded, with thousands of women,
> > Gambian women of all shapes and sizes, in their
> > Friday bests laundered and perfumed to make you
> > dizzy; throwing you momentarily off balance with
> > gleaming smiles that expose gray-black gums. Their
> > distractive beauty, and the sophistication of the
> > market place makes men hopeless shoppers. Because
> > the Gambian personality disapproves of anonymous
> > humans, many assume that part of the market
> > population that remains unfamiliar must include an
> > unknown quantity of jinns; conveniently forgetting
> > that they are themselves, per the same reasoning,
> > members of that club of jinns in the eyes of those
> > to whom they remain strangers. The market is not
> > just a place of old-fashioned economic transactions.
> > It is also an important venue for social
> > interaction, with a sophistication that beats any
> > stock exchange anywhere. You do not just have to get
> > food for the family, you have to cook the best that
> > your purse strings allow, procuring your ingredients
> > under conditions of extreme and deafening chaos,
> > while maintaining your sanity to be all smiles even
> > when your husband comes home expecting a bowl of
> > dinner for which he clearly did not provide adequate
> > fish money!
> >
> > Every single day, women troop to the market to
> > negotiate the daily calorie intake of oversized
> > families.
> === message truncated ===
>
>
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