Part 3

In November I feel like going away for a week. So I write a letter to the Gambia. It is two weeks before the planned departure. Again it is intermediate season so prices are low. I can wait till last-minute booking. No reply and for one week I am afraid to take risks. I orientate in possibilities to leave for Christmas and the New Year. Everything seems to be fully booked, only one possibility is left: 10 days the Gambia. I cannot refuse and book immediately. Again I write a letter explaining that I will arrive.
It remains silent.
No 'bang' on my doormat.
Meanwhile I have collected a supply of knitting pins and crochet-needles and a large sack of small balls of wool and cotton. Date of departure approaches. One day before departure I decide to call the brother who has a telephone connection. What can I bring along as presents? Cheese, licorice, strong rolling tobacco and herring.

And thus on December 24th 1996 at 3 o'clock in the middle of the night I stand before the check-in counter of Air Holland and hand over a backpack fully loaded with embroidery-stuff, knitting pins and Dutch products packed between mosquito-net, sleeping bag liner and flashlight.

In the morning at 10 o'clock the plane lands. The luggage is stalled out and everybody must collect his suitcase and bring it to the customers. One by one all guests and all suitcases disappear. I remain wandering. No darkblue backpack visible, where are my knitting pins and the Dutch cheese? Together with a Gambian who represents the touroperator in the Gambia we climb in his jeep to the cargo hall. We also visit other spots where luggage may be arrived but the same result: no backpack. Finally I go to the Travel Officer of the airport. In a small office I have to wait, until they have time. She is very busy behind her 286-computer, her fax, her phone and her radiotelephone. Al those apparates are exposed on a small table while three men also whine near her. Obviously she drops one of the apparates out of her hands. Finally a report is made up and a copy will be sent by fax to Holland.

Due to the fact that I arrive as the last guest in the hotel they stuff me in a very bad room just beside the swimming-pool. The whole day popular songs are shouting from the speakers and in the evening shows are held. My menstruation has begun and I have a terrible migraine. Furthermore I feel very uncomfortable in the warm trousers for the plane, the heavy hiking boots and socks. It is 35 degrees. In my handluggage there are still two sanitary towels left, my toilet set, an extra pair of panties and no aspirin. In the afternoon the hostess visits the guests to inform them about the Gambia. She explains a story which deals only about the dangers to undertake anything by your own in the Gambia and offers expensive trips to which you can register only through her. At last I get a chance to say something to her. "You'll have to wait", she replies, "I'm afraid I cannot do anything for you".

Luckily I bought some sanitary towels in the small shop of the hotel. Still suffering from a splitting headache and too warm clothes I again called the brother. In a rush he picks me up and first of all I am very glad to see a familiar face. He is lucky to have this car and I am kidnapped direction Serrekunda. He talks and talks and has to organize a few things. Meanwhile I try to explain my story. People get out and again people get in. On and off we stop on our way. Finally we end up in a bar where he orders a beer right away. And he keeps on talking explaining that he wants to do anything that makes me happy. For the fifth time I try again: "The only thing I want NOW is to buy a piece of cloth for a skirt, sandals and aspirin for my splitting headache. And I have to be back in the hotel by 7 o'clock". Exactly at 19.00 and after much bullshit he drops me at the hotel with a raging headache but all the same with a cloth and sandals. I intend not to see that brother for the time being.

The guests make themselves ready for the Christmas gala dinner. I order an aspirin and jump into bed. Splitting headache, no luggage, no knitting pins, alone, and the noise of the dinner in the background.
Christmas 1996 in the Gambia.

be continued

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