Banjul THE GAMBIA
Island capital surrounded by swamps and sea. Shore walking. Salty rain. Friendly intentions. Easy to be a tourist. Harder to be a journalist. Economic aspirations and astounding declarations.
Island capital surrounded by swamps and sea. Shore walking. Salty rain. Friendly intentions. Easy to be a tourist. Harder to be a journalist. Economic aspirations and astounding declarations.
Morning greetings. Afternoon baking. Dusk walking through changing bush: village houses, shops, gardens, baobabs, returning workers, fields, fallen trees and wide salt flats. Evening candles. Rest.
Unexpected return: a flight facilitating Cassemance avoidance. Familiar and new. Preparing for manic taxi point. Lingering in calm cafés. Busy streets. Bashed cars. Square buildings. Constant chat.
Weathered and war-torn. But with latent energy and calm fortitude. Exterior impressions of decay. Interior glimpses of order, participation, resilience.
Town without lights. Late night home of welcome. Morning bench of conversation.
Low-slung. Undulating. Smelly streets. Slippery rides. Rural beauty.
Peninsula city Crammed with Traffic and beauty. And veins of poverty. Ocean sunsets. Contrasts. Lethargy or contentment. And the accompaniment of kind-hearted …
Trees, big river and spread-out houses. Pre-emptive visit to vigilant border police alert to white-skin of freetown’s drug-bust. Night work to free …
Houses climbing beautiful misty hills dense with rain and people and NGOs. Beachfront space and boats and bill boards. “Attitude is everything!” …
Trees between houses Dark night, big rain Long shore, fishermen. Afternoon football with sea and city views. Cup of tea.