When I arrive at Schiphol airport (thirty minutes delay) the clock
just shows 24.00 hours and the customs officer wishes me good luck
with my new age. Oh, yes, so it is April 18th 1996!
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Part 2
Next weekend I was sure to intend to work out my idea. First I looked
in every drawer and cupboard, then to the attic and open all bags,
boxes and cases. Unravel my document files. The only result is two
crochet-needles. No books, no patterns, no large collection of coloured
left-over balls, no knitting pins. During time and the many removals
everything has been eliminated. It is ages ago when my girlfriend
and I were trying to keep our eyes open while knitting in the
large lecture-rooms of the TH-Delft, division mechanical engineering.
Those rooms were filled with a thousand male fellow-students who were
strangely surprised of two ladies listening to a technical lecture
while slowly letting grow colourful shawls. Knitting has never been my
hobby but a good remedy to sleep-inducing lectures.
After that I have had the gloves-mania. Knitting on four needles small
fingers from many left-overs. They were thankful small presents and in
this way I coloured my surrounding. But hardly any left-overs were
still there.
I decide to go to the shop. Searching for simple instruction-books
with clear drawings of setting up the first stitches. The Gambian
women whom I have met cannot read, speak any English. They have to be
instructed by visual material. A true challenge for someone who has
studied on visual public information of material for foreign women.
The stores of Hema and V&D did not offer much. In the Yellow Pages
searching for all embroidery-shops and visit them. After one day of
hunting I can only make up one conclusion: in Holland people hardly
knit or crochet anymore. Finally, my last chance: "the Slegte" (a
second-hand bookshop) and, oh my, there were simple intruction-books
full of pictures.
With the help of some cutting and pasting the first course is set up.
A test-person in the form of a man who is completely unknown to embroidery
is easy to find. Clumsy hands, wrong direction of the crochet-needle
and fumbling with threads teaches me that still more small
drawings must be added. At last in May my duplicate instruction-package
is ready. There is a page for each handling and on each page a
small piece of crochet and knitting is glued. I pack the small books
together with a supply of colourd small balls of cotton, knitting pins
and crochet-needles, spools of thread and a tape line packed in strong
paper and heading for the post-office. "Airmail or overseas mail?" the
question is. Airmail is much more expensive but I cannot control my
patience anymore. It should be sent to the Gambia as soon as possible.
And then the desired staring at the mailbox starts. Slowly it changes
into looking much longer and this changes into long waiting. Summer
months pass away. Slowly the memories of the Gambia disappear. Sometimes
a blue letter slips into my house but that turns out to be a
neat thank you letter of Gambian passers-by whom I have sent photos.
Meaningless and hurried.
Summer-holiday has passed ages ago. At work
it is hectic.
BANG.
A letter.
A photo rolls out of it and a long story.
A report about the rainy season in the Gambia. Working on the
land. Growing all sorts of plants. Due to mutual efforts by men and
women taking care for sufficient harvest in a short period. And in the
evenings there is a course with thread and knitting pin. Our host from
Fatoto translates the econmical text in Mandika and his wife....see
photo. On the photo two women and indeed a complete art of work hanging
on a knitting pin. After the harvest they have intentions to organize
courses for women of the village and I am welcome any time.
Something is itching again.
. .
be continued
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