tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827891296655965032024-02-19T16:49:22.296-08:00From Brikama to HeilooReligious Education in The Gambia and The Netherlands.Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-5118068345129884302014-04-21T17:54:00.000-07:002014-04-21T17:54:19.019-07:00When thinking of Holland...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Good morning teacher, good morning friend’, is how the
pupils of grade 3 at Malhada Lower Basic greet one of the teachers and me. Most
of the classes at this school are doing an end-of-the-semester-test. But grade
3 and 5 have already done the national test, so they have time to invite me
into the classrooms. Grade 3 is especially happy to see me, because their
teacher did not feel well enough to attend school.. And with lack of a ‘teacher
substitute pool’ some of the other teachers walk from their own class to this
grade 3. The pupils are pleased that I will keep them busy the coming hour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Many clothes</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘When thinking of Holland what do you see?’, I ask. ‘Big
country, forest, European, cold.’ ‘What else?’ One of the pupils raises his hand. ‘Madam
Jessica, I want to add they have many clothes.’ Many clothes? I think of my
closet with winter clothes, summer clothes, clothes for fall and spring. Is
this boy thinking of that? ‘Okay, I write it down. Can you explain yourself a
bit more?’ I ask. ‘They have many clothes. They have many things. They park
many things in containers and ship it.’ I see what he’s getting at, and I
understand where it’s coming from. Also in our house in Bijilo some boxes from
the Netherlands filled with clothes, caps and pens are waiting to be
distributed to people who need it here in The Gambia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Appriciation</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most Gambians are happy with Dutch people sending materials to
help out. As soon as they find out here I’m Dutch, they respond: ‘Oh you are
from Holland? Allès ggoed? Holland is nice. Hollandisch people are good. They
build schools, give money, send containers with secondhand clothing,
schoolbooks, furniture. That’s ggoed.
Allèmaal ggoed.’ Most Gambians are very grateful for the things done here.
The other day I joined some Dutch couples to a grand happening of a
continuation of a water project. ‘Abarraka - thank you - was one of the
Mandinka words I recognized a lot in the many speeches and in the singing of
the women.’ Driving back with the Dutch couples one of the ladies shows
her concern. ‘It’s good that those projects are here. But will they continue? Sorry
to say, but we are all a bit older. Like many of the other Dutch helping out
here. What if we cannot come here anymore, because we have become too old? Will
younger people take over and play their part in the world?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Thoughts and actions</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though I’m not sure if I’m still young enough to be part of
the ‘younger people’, I respond: I don’t know. I know money and basic materials
are a necessity and needed for development. I try to play my part and I hope
others will too. But I also see I might do it in a different way. Is it good to ship second hand school banks?
Or is it better to support the local carpenter around the corner to build the
furniture for the school? And what does it do to our thoughts of the other?
What does it say that these children in grade 3 want me to write that Holland
has many cars, big airplanes, many good jobs, banks, beautiful (yes, only
beautiful) people and many clothes?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know what the opinion of the boy was about the many
things the Dutch send to the </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gambia. No time to ask, because the next thought
about Holland was presented. ‘Rabbits, madam Jessica. They have rabbits.’ ‘And
coconut.’ I write it all down. Let’s see how the correspondence will influence the
actions and thoughts of these children in the Gambia and in the Netherlands.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-19116931003729895432013-07-09T12:37:00.002-07:002013-07-09T12:37:57.900-07:00After 4,5 months<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking out of the car I see high buildings, many asphalted
lanes, cars without bursts in their windows or side mirrors. Most of all I see
no sand alongside the road. I’m back in the Netherlands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><b>African souvenirs</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Balloons, post cards, flowers and a chocolate cake await me
at my house in Amsterdam West. So nice to have my friends and family near
again. I show my mother and brother the pictures and film clips I made in the
Gambia. I tell them as much as I can about the last few days. Show them the
presents I got from so many people. From my colleagues at Gambia College, from
the nursery school, from my neighbors, from my friends. You brought that in
your suitcase? My mom asks when she sees the peanut sauce for the domoda. My
brother and mom choose a present from some of the woodwork I brought. I must
admit that most of it was a last minute gift from my friend after he saw how
little souvenirs I bought. ‘You were in Africa for almost 5 months. Your people
expect some real African souvenirs’, he explains. And he was right. My brother
is already playing his Cora, a snare instrument, and searching YouTube for some
Cora instructions. They leave and I fall asleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of hours later I wake up and find this silence in
my house and on the streets. I was used to having people around, all the time:
children walking in and out my rooms, sometimes hiding under my bed trying to
scare me, or watching over my shoulder when I was working on my laptop. Outside
at the compound grounds I could find my neighbor women: cooking, cleaning,
relaxing in the shade, talking about men, plating some girls hair, drinking
ataya. And when I did not see them outside I joined them inside: watching
wrestling on TV or dancing in the living room on Assane Ndiaye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But here in my place in Amsterdam there are not many people
around. And probably because it’s raining there are also not many people
outside. They are inside their houses and the doors are locked. I decide to
walk over to my friends place just a few streets away. I’m happy to find her
and her family home and welcoming me back with a hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><b>Longing</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Probably I will get used to Dutch life again in no time.
Jazzy and bluesy sounds will replace the djembes and douns. And work will</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">continue without the need of a fan in the
office and without sounds of goats or cows walking on the iPabo grounds. But a
longing to work and life in the Gambia again will not easily disappear. </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-3956453573440854822013-06-03T02:00:00.000-07:002013-06-03T02:00:14.576-07:00Images of the other<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIoFHIEi_cSyndFEODVUlsAi1GlhIzJ0FG3Q1E11mQE8OgEe7PRgTEOC3x-R9C0_K7p34idKEJUckoE8zIAHqQXspKhcqWTv3nQcdm4HRn66JB5tveKASv_T01nFd5ufvnffVt6ZmIWM/s1600/P1030340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIoFHIEi_cSyndFEODVUlsAi1GlhIzJ0FG3Q1E11mQE8OgEe7PRgTEOC3x-R9C0_K7p34idKEJUckoE8zIAHqQXspKhcqWTv3nQcdm4HRn66JB5tveKASv_T01nFd5ufvnffVt6ZmIWM/s320/P1030340.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">‘Toubab</span></i><span lang="EN-US">,<i> toubabo</i>,
how are you?’ Faces of children with sand and a very big smile. Hands waving me
hello when I pass by in my street. The children here look fascinated by white
people, toubabs. – toubabo in Madinka. They greet them with great enthusiasm,
they ask for their names, they ask how they are, they ask for mints and
footballs. And although my skin is a bit more cappuccino I am just as toubab
for them. Although after a visit to the
nursery in my neighborhood most of the children call me now by my Gambian or
European name, or something close to that. ‘Adja! Hello!’ ‘Jellika, Jemmica,
Jessica! I’m fine.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this
morning Baba, the two year old of my compound, greeted me with some new words
‘Jessia, touao. Bye bye.’ No matter how you turn it, I fit in their image of a
toubab. And four months over here won't change that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know it’s
just a word. A word which goes together with specific images, perspectives and
prejudices. We all have them, children, grown ups, Gambians, Dutch, you, me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xmKwEyHrzR1lJkY-D4RaPEKFJ0l7kv0qY6sSfLXN9XX8yjcRMCGUBzCUniQhZre8aNjQBAIDfE0xz6cVZBoYyA0wOaWOyRhBem2Gibr4NiBnUGO3lEPL421_oqovIOrNmk6ZTyV-v7I/s1600/Curo+-+laundry+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_xmKwEyHrzR1lJkY-D4RaPEKFJ0l7kv0qY6sSfLXN9XX8yjcRMCGUBzCUniQhZre8aNjQBAIDfE0xz6cVZBoYyA0wOaWOyRhBem2Gibr4NiBnUGO3lEPL421_oqovIOrNmk6ZTyV-v7I/s320/Curo+-+laundry+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Laundry Gambian style</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For example
some of the grown up don’t believe toubabs do or can do their laundry by hand.
But every weekend I do my laundry Gambian style: four buckets with cold water,
some Omo for a nice odor, a piece of soap to clean and a brush if something is
really dirty. And it does take me a while, in the sun. Working hard and trying
to make the sound they all find that important – it’s the only proper way to
clean your clothes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last
weekend one of the neighbor women walked in at our compound ground to get some
water from the tap. She sees me doing the laundry. ‘<i>Eehhee?! Toubabo curo.</i>’ There was a whole fraise, but these were
the words I understood. ‘What? White person doing the laundry.’ And I understood
the surprised tone in her voice. And she wasn’t the only person. Cause a bit
later another neighbor walked in. ‘Ah, Jessica, you are washing your clothes. I
see you can do it?’ Laughing he stepped closer. ‘You are not making the sound.
You have to do like ptssjj ptssjj. White persons cannot do that.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Exchanging stories</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well maybe
they are right about this image…even after four months it is a bit difficult. I will be happy to use my washing machine again. I am curious what other kind of images there are about Dutch here in the Gambia
and about Gambians in the Netherlands. Two schools, one in Brikama
and one in Amsterdam will find out more about each other by writing letters to each other. More about this soon!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-71804431855719538882013-05-22T12:39:00.001-07:002013-05-22T13:57:19.864-07:00Diversity within Islam<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A sad face
enters our office. ‘They do not like me to date their daughter, because I am a
Muslim and they are Christian.’ The student sits down searching for some
advice.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘I cannot
convert to Christianity, but I will also not keep her from being a Christian.
When it’s Sunday I encourage her to go to church. When it’s time for prayer she
tells me to pray. Our children? We’ll raise them in both religions. Let them
choose when they are old enough what they prefer to believe.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her
parents, living in multicultural Dutch society, probably want best for their
daughter. Maybe they are scared for the unknown, scared to lose her, scared for
this image of Islam which the media presents. His parents, living in a 90%
Muslim society, probably want best for their son. Maybe they are common to the
idea of an interreligious marriage. Something which is not rare here in the Gambia. Sometimes
the woman does convert to the religion of the husband. But Christian and Muslim
relatives still live in the same room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pragmatically tolerance<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some Gambians
don’t notice a big difference between the two religions, some even say they are
one. ‘Christians and Muslims at our school. You won’t see the difference.’ ‘Christians
and Muslims we both believe in one God. We are the same’ ‘Christians and
Muslims we have our differences, but we are linked.’ ‘Christians and Muslims,
we see things in other perspectives, but we are both human beings. Therefor we
should not harass each other. We don’t disturb the other. We let each other be.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It almost
seems like there is a pragmatical tolerance. The Gambia is seen as a peaceful
country. By Gambians and also by others, like Christian Nigerians, who fly their
own country. And they like to keep it peaceful. So the majority in this country
is Sunni – a Muslim denomination – and there is freedom of religion and a
tolerance towards different Islamic, Christian and other religious
denominations…to a certain extend. Cause if there is a group spreading hate
speech and intolerance towards others – Christian, Muslim, or other – they are pulled
back by the counsels or government. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>‘That terrorist? Some people they say
themselves are Muslim (</i>or Christians for that sake<i>). But they are not a good Muslim.
Cause the prophet says don’t do bad things. So if there are only good Muslims
there won’t be terrorist.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Diversity within Islam</span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see women
on the street: Many with colorful veils matching the outfit, a lot without veil and a very nice hair
style, a lot with a dark veil and a bit of bling and a couple with a completely
covered veil. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I meet many
people who will never drink alcohol, I meet some who don’t mind if the local
Julbrew is vaporized in the food. I notice some who had bit too much to drink. I hear about a few
who won’t even allow a beer in their fridge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know men
with three wives and proposing to a fourth. I meet men who don’t want to
think about a second wife. ‘One wife, one problem, four wives many
problems’, they joke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Small things
which examples the diversity in daily life of Muslims in the Gambia. There are very liberal Muslims
and very fundamental Muslims and everything in between.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Multiple characteristics<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To which of
those does the son-in-law-to-be belongs too? What does it mean for him to be
Muslim? I hope in the end the parents will take some time to talk to him, to ask
questions, to meet him. And not only about how he sees his religion and how he
shares believe with their daughter. Cause besides being a Muslim he is also a
Gambian, he is a College student, he is a mathematician, he is this fanatic
soccer fan, he is the one who joins the dance floor for some Fulla moves, he is
the one in love.</span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-1837650726254310382013-04-18T12:07:00.000-07:002013-04-18T12:07:40.181-07:00Consulting traditional religion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">A trip to Makasutu
Cultural Forest</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The local
taxi driver hardly new the place, but in the end we reached the Forest close to
Brikama. After a welcome in a fairy tale like hang-out our guide took us
through the Forest. He taught us a lot. How to make a rope from parts of the baobab
tree, which fruits will protect you from malaria, which fruits to eat or not to
eat (‘If it’s good for a baboon it’s good for human’), to use Mahoney wood for
the matrimonial bed, how to climb a palm tree and more. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The
marabout<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a
walk of an hour we reached a place where an old man was sitting in a hut. ‘Do
you want to consult the marabout?’ asked our guide. ‘Jessica, you know, I
believe in these things. If I go for a long tour, first I go see a marabout. So
I will be save on my travels. And you know, once a marabout told me I would
work with white men. And see, I’m working with white men for quite a while
already.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A marabout
working here in Makasutu Cultural (theme) Forest, where probably mainly tourist
come…is that worthwhile? But what do people hear if they consult one? How does
it work? I gave it a try.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I sat
down next to the old man. The guide sitting down as well to translate. The
marabout took my right hand in his. Then he attached a mirror to my fingers. It
took a couple of seconds before I noticed this was not for him to look at my
hand but for me to look at his face. Right away he started talking softly. ‘You
will live a long and happy life’, translated my guide. Well something everyone likes to hear. ‘You have to do charity.
You have to buy two banana’s, make a wish and give the banana’s to a man. Within
a year you will get a husband and a son. Your son will be beneficial to you.
Many people will know about him.’ ‘Wear a bracelet from mixed material to
protect you from people talking bad about you.’ The old man made spitting sounds in my hand. ‘Now put your hands like this, over your
face. Did you understand everything he
said?’ asked my guide. Well he was very clear in his direction. Will two banana’s
help? Or is it about doing good and receiving good? What goes around comes around?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was my
friends turn, but she changed her mind. ‘No, I don’t believe in it. But still I
will get stressed and worried if I don’t do what he tells me to do.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Charms</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We
continued our walk through the Forest. ‘Really, Jessica, you have to do this. I
did not tell him you were not married yet (Our guide knew, cause as many others
in the Gambia he asked me in the first 10 minutes). I will show you how the
bracelet looks like. But don’t buy it here in the Forest. It’s less expensive
at the market. I’ve got many juju’s.’ Indeed he had. We noticed as he
showed us the three around his waist and almost took of his shirt to show as the one on his arm. ‘…and the one around my arm is made from Quran verses.
Oh let me show you this giant termite hill’, the guide continued with his daily
job. Teaching us more about Gambian nature and assuring us that the baboons
walking around would not hurt us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see a lot
of juju’s around me. Men, women and children. Muslims and Christians. Wearing
them for protection or to help them get well. Not all Gambians though. One of
the persons I interviewed: ‘These charms are cultural believe for protection. But
why not trust in God? Some of them think without these things they are not
protected. But who will give them protection? Something what a man has made?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Two bananas</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well and
what did I do? I did not buy the bracelet. But – just in case – I did buy two
banana’s at Serrekunda market. It was hard to buy two, cause the lady was
selling them three at a time. A coupIe of days later i made my whish and added
the two banana’s while I gave some money to a blind man ánd an old woman
begging. The marabout just might have meant <i>woman</i>
instead of <i>man</i>. Because many Gambians
use the words <i>man</i> and <i>woman</i>, <i>he</i> and <i>she</i> in an
incorrect way. So hopefully the blind man and old woman enjoyed the bananas and
maybe…who knows...i'll have something to celebrate within a year...</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-27210553654546213792013-04-05T05:05:00.000-07:002013-04-05T05:05:13.089-07:00Celebrating Gamo at the mosque<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Inviation for Gamo celebration</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘What is
Gamo?’ I asked while reading a letter from Lamin Pahne and Abdoulie Camara to their Dutch friend, Yoeri. Yoeri visited Njawarra in the Gambia with his family in December. Yoeri left a good impression playing soccer with the boys at Pa Pahnes compound in Njawarra. As
soon as they heard I know him they asked me about him. ‘You can write him a
letter’, I suggested. And so they did. ‘<i>When are you come here? Are you come
for our Gamo?</i>’ <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJj30XfMvUsI2pC2CKutNw8gb4fst_WoEJkGa5dM88UQ5FEXzv0gIEu7d5vQ4B64QW6oOQKVG-gPPjp3DTbOWzDtHEvvML39IKQyIUcMRm5ZtoTmdXMw48ReHmW7sBAkZD-swPeJVqnWw/s1600/hi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJj30XfMvUsI2pC2CKutNw8gb4fst_WoEJkGa5dM88UQ5FEXzv0gIEu7d5vQ4B64QW6oOQKVG-gPPjp3DTbOWzDtHEvvML39IKQyIUcMRm5ZtoTmdXMw48ReHmW7sBAkZD-swPeJVqnWw/s320/hi.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lamin saying hi to his friend Yoeri</span></td></tr>
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<b style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Family gathering</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well Yoeri couldn’t make it for Gamo, but I could. So on Saturday February 30 a
friend and I were carried to the boat to cross the Gambia River from Banjul to
Barra. A local taxi ride and a bumpy ride in the back of a 4wheel drive later
we arrived in the village up north. This second time in Pa Pahnes compound it
was packed. ‘Welcome, welcome. Meet my family, almost 67% of them are living in
Kombo, in the cities. They are all here now to celebrate Gamo, the birth of the
prophet Mohammed.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like
birthdays, Christmas and other celebrations it was a meeting of relatives, far
away friends, neighbors and new friends. Like people told me in the interviews everyone was welcome to celebrate together. Although mainly Muslims live in this part of the Gambia. We chatted, drank ataja and baobab
juice, shared roasted corn and a bowl of couscous with meat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzJ_uH7vs3Yggf_z9YAKpaRF0ZxebBbwIQRHLoFM7Pw7I0HiXVGDZX-RGFmGfw5jyGFcMwp7p8460T6dN7FLi2zxQNCuaFq6UXwW6tjjnFw8Ds7CFq9DCnQIJTBNOy8W5SU66eTmDUgM/s1600/diner+at+njawarra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzJ_uH7vs3Yggf_z9YAKpaRF0ZxebBbwIQRHLoFM7Pw7I0HiXVGDZX-RGFmGfw5jyGFcMwp7p8460T6dN7FLi2zxQNCuaFq6UXwW6tjjnFw8Ds7CFq9DCnQIJTBNOy8W5SU66eTmDUgM/s320/diner+at+njawarra.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Couscous in Njawarra</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Waiting</span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Around 11
pm the program would start. We waited outside with the others on a mat –
inside was too hot – and time past. Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock.
I rested my head on one of the ladies laps to sleep a bit. I heard the women
chat, one of the phones played some music and meanwhile my hair was plated. And
then I distinguished a repetitive chant, different then the call for prayer,
but with the same meaning. ‘Are you awake? Come it’s time to go to the mosque.’
Everyone fixed their clothes, the ladies put on their kala’s (head
covers) and dressed me up in an African dress. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Ode to mothers</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so on a
night where others passed on the light in church, I celebrated the birth of the
prophet Mohammed in front of the mosque. Many woman – dressed in white or colorful
dresses – on one side and many man – in smart suits – on the other side. The marabouts,
imams and important men sitting in the middle. Three men were singing religious
songs. Some ladies were singing along and others rhythmically snapped their
fingers. Singing and swinging at the mosque! Frequently some ladies gave the singers some money. The organizer,
imams and marabout spoke to the crowed. ‘We changed the directions of the chairs
of the singers to face the women. Because you women are important.
The mother of the prophet Mohammed (PBUH) gave birth to a strong man. All women can bring forth strong men’, spoke one of the marabouts. An ode to mothers! Another stated
that men and women had different roles. ‘Women cannot become imam or pray together
with men in the mosque.’ I did not hear the great marabout from Senegal speak
about the life of the prophet, cause at half past four in the morning I could
not keep my eyes open and could not stand any longer on my feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XBZ430Uz0tAsS3vCdLpHesf_M6wwp0tg91Uij1kcOOwd1o2XWrmEWC6mzl38yJRTxVmYMNPAP2gRropxt1q7KJXyk53V-LypBEIF7lF2ebakpZNlgsi-DTr3GjsyCmWsUpRzcZL_2Yc/s320/P1020820.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Religious singers and woman rhythmically snapping their fingers</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4XBZ430Uz0tAsS3vCdLpHesf_M6wwp0tg91Uij1kcOOwd1o2XWrmEWC6mzl38yJRTxVmYMNPAP2gRropxt1q7KJXyk53V-LypBEIF7lF2ebakpZNlgsi-DTr3GjsyCmWsUpRzcZL_2Yc/s1600/P1020820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs18pslEjhyqc5Oe-weiuZr2ae8ZUVBhDgL_-pgs55xACmmJ-vr764P6b7aWonQR6ernUaO9BWZB-wshZcngiO-8mGbkVNa-7TWMmjWGW8X0lrgOTXWVBHVrZ7N98f-3uDzivPS4Kg2bY/s1600/P1020822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs18pslEjhyqc5Oe-weiuZr2ae8ZUVBhDgL_-pgs55xACmmJ-vr764P6b7aWonQR6ernUaO9BWZB-wshZcngiO-8mGbkVNa-7TWMmjWGW8X0lrgOTXWVBHVrZ7N98f-3uDzivPS4Kg2bY/s320/P1020822.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At seven I woke
up from people walking around. Pa Pahne greeted me a good morning. Was he
already awake after organizing this event, welcoming everyone and being active
at the mosque all night? ‘The program just ended I just came from the mosque. The
bush-taxi is here to take you back. Many people already left.’ So we waved
everyone goodbye. I think Pa Pahne was glad everyone left early. It was time
for him to retreat to his room for the rest of the day! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6s08fyQ2GKp4SwiElgqtdhcGtER8Trbcfd7VI0gn3XBRXRaR3e7Ssm5VagY6KKJGnl0x7L2ibqaxQ9dBqcQ_y9dDnOIysuZZff9fkzuLRE6nGFxnOlp1CpLGex6M0WZCj-qrIAHgNPE/s1600/P1020817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6s08fyQ2GKp4SwiElgqtdhcGtER8Trbcfd7VI0gn3XBRXRaR3e7Ssm5VagY6KKJGnl0x7L2ibqaxQ9dBqcQ_y9dDnOIysuZZff9fkzuLRE6nGFxnOlp1CpLGex6M0WZCj-qrIAHgNPE/s200/P1020817.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-85414462102419847282013-03-17T09:23:00.000-07:002013-03-17T09:23:14.789-07:00Observation in my neighborhood<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYaUIfSX3AvqA390AY8aRCGmvpdYa9-cg8tGoLNcrYetEwCGPdDJqpi8R2ovbmuJUvkap3kV38dMg0OWFjI03o_pwe3oFy58r1i0jpFvkobhG7-iwA79hJzjYEffeQdS-oUB1f1PIP8E/s1600/P1020640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYaUIfSX3AvqA390AY8aRCGmvpdYa9-cg8tGoLNcrYetEwCGPdDJqpi8R2ovbmuJUvkap3kV38dMg0OWFjI03o_pwe3oFy58r1i0jpFvkobhG7-iwA79hJzjYEffeQdS-oUB1f1PIP8E/s200/P1020640.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwICOi15e6kO3BBK78kfG7EoFLBRi0iPj-_FQWi7-MqMshnURVBIf5w7XpUG0ilh1MX4k7M8_HfqEBcKCDCQ7kEueeDOHBc0H6UTCIAAatUsE7H0PEE_JW7TPI3Rb2N8GBwJwJapd5xw/s1600/P1020636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwICOi15e6kO3BBK78kfG7EoFLBRi0iPj-_FQWi7-MqMshnURVBIf5w7XpUG0ilh1MX4k7M8_HfqEBcKCDCQ7kEueeDOHBc0H6UTCIAAatUsE7H0PEE_JW7TPI3Rb2N8GBwJwJapd5xw/s200/P1020636.JPG" width="131" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIC71zNUiPI4e1fK4Ne6LvMdtiCai1yQbNdnfrA8YLfYZ2_6AoEM45KoXjgnSyNWuJmN5qC1CIqqf6VTe9B2mb8bG26sCmHYRinuKXaMBRhWBui4b-ofwGrsmbje8Uq4A0odkSxqZCoU/s1600/P1020652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIC71zNUiPI4e1fK4Ne6LvMdtiCai1yQbNdnfrA8YLfYZ2_6AoEM45KoXjgnSyNWuJmN5qC1CIqqf6VTe9B2mb8bG26sCmHYRinuKXaMBRhWBui4b-ofwGrsmbje8Uq4A0odkSxqZCoU/s200/P1020652.JPG" width="131" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s still
quiet when I open my door this morning. I see Aida with a large bucket of water
on her head to water the garden. Buba is sitting still half asleep in a corner. Nanchou, his youngest brother is
playing. Whenever I see him I notice this necklace with stones on his neck. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day I asked about the
stones. ‘</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Juju</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">’, was the answer. </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Juju</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">? It’s an amulet from the </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">maribu</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. The </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">juju</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> helps if you have an injury or pain and protects small children. When I look closer I notice more stones: in
the hair of Bintu, on the arm of my landlord. And how about that yellow stone
in my own bag? A gift from my friend, to protect me on my travels.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The <i>juju</i> is part of ancestor religion of the
different tribes here in the Gambia. You can see more of this, if you look
closely and recognize it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Believe in
the neighborhood</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two of my <a href="mailto:j.van.waveren@arkade-cilon.nl" target="_blank">Arkade </a>colleagues invite students to look closely in
their neighborhood for aspects of religion. It’s part of this great new digital
class material for grade 7 and 8 in primary schools in the Netherlands: <i>Geloof in de Buurt</i> (Believe in the neighborhood).
It emphasize on Critical Citizenship and Religion. I think the material
inspires youngsters to dialogue with each other about religion and philosophy
of life. Watch the <a href="http://www.geloofindebuurt.nl/directies/" target="_blank">promo film</a> to get an idea about the material and to hear the enthusiasm of lecturer Monique
Leygraaf and the principal of the Bavinck school in Hilversum about <i>Geloof in de Buurt</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Aspects of
religious Gambia<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What else
is there to be seen about religion in my neighborhood? Let’s take a morning
going from my compound to Gambia College in Brikama.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Starting
very early in the morning - if the power is running – I hear a call for prayer.
At the compound I see colorful watering cans for
the washing before praying. Greetings between me and the sales man in the
little shop where I buy my bread: ‘<i>As salaam alaikum. Alaikum salaam</i>.’ An Islamic aspect
when I hear my Gambian name while I’m walking towards the high way: ‘Hello Hajja<span style="color: red;"> </span>Camara, how is the morning?’Hajja<span style="color: red;"> </span>refers to a woman who has been on pilgrimage to Mecca. Stickers
with the name of Allah and prayers beads in front of the bush-taxi. Sitting next to a woman with a small cross
around her neck. A mosque near the road in Busumbala, the mosque near the road in Farrato. A sign along
the road of one of the Methodist schools. A phone call to Lamin (revering to
prophet Mohammed) - before the phone connects I hear '<span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"><span class="Unicode" title="DIN 31635 Arabic"><i>bismi-llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm' </i>on the other line</span></span>. And although
it’s a bit further then the College, I know the big church is next to
the big mosque in Brikama center.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So many
aspects of Islam. And some Christian aspects here in this Combo area. Pretty
obvious while 95% of the Gambian population is Muslim. And the other 5 % is mostly
Christian. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What about aspects of religion in your neighborhood?</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-16300781585785916482013-03-03T11:40:00.000-08:002013-03-04T03:41:22.440-08:00Gambian Citizen<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is
Sunday, and as Lamin Samura is going to one of the Islamic schools, that means
he had to go to school this morning. Fiqh and Hadith were some of the subjects
today. No English cause the English
teacher doesn’t attend school on Sundays.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Islamic schools</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Islamic
schools, Madrassa schools, are seen as religious schools. Getting to know the
religion and practicing it is one of the main aims of education at these schools.
By this the schools contributes to the development of good young citizens. Citizens
with a good moral sense, who know their responsibility towards their country
and have skills for the national development of the Gambia. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>After school</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But for
now, on this Sunday afternoon after school, this young citizen enjoys playing
football with the other kids on the block, a good chicken <i>domoda </i>(most
delicious meal with peanut sauce) and some green tea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Ataja</b></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This green
tea is not just boiled water with a tea bag or some leaves in it. No it’s
<i>Ataja</i>. More like a ritual. It takes time to prepare the perfect <i>Ataja</i>. And some
specific steps. Buying the right green tea leaves at the shop and a bag of
sugar. Heating the chalk coal. Boiling the water with the tea leaves in a small kettle. Maybe with some fresh mint. Poring the boiled tea from one cup to
another. Adding a cup of sugar. Boiling it some more. Poring the liquid from
cup to cup, creating a light brown foam and getting the right temperature.
Tasting. Maybe adding some more sugar or water. And then it’s ready. Lamin
offers me the first cup. The second cup he passes to one of the other woman. ‘It’s
good, hé?! Sugar good?’ I hand the empty cup back to Lamin. ‘Yeah, it’s good!
<i>Abaraka</i>, thanks man.’ The third and fourth
cup go to the other women. Maybe there is a fifth. That one goes to the
landlord. And then part of the ritual starts over again so the others and Lamin
himself can also have a taste of <i>Ataja</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBc9czAm0k_hqlYHrk0j_RJBE1jkvCpxG2qpZdUxO0yyyaT-d2N0kP25iXoL0HyUHsiLDAJ5woOP2-TJsQ0CJS69UVTsr6Bu_liD0dspKilJhb6-9Oc9JqdO7pJ82hjKto-mkrPig07aA/s1600/Ataja+-+Lamin+Samura.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBc9czAm0k_hqlYHrk0j_RJBE1jkvCpxG2qpZdUxO0yyyaT-d2N0kP25iXoL0HyUHsiLDAJ5woOP2-TJsQ0CJS69UVTsr6Bu_liD0dspKilJhb6-9Oc9JqdO7pJ82hjKto-mkrPig07aA/s1600/Ataja+-+Lamin+Samura.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well maybe not one of the skills to contribute to the national
development of the Gambia, but I think <i>Ataja </i>certainly is part of society and
being a Gambian citizen!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-7970334032167713622013-02-25T16:12:00.001-08:002013-02-25T16:12:53.883-08:00One peaceful family<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoFNUOX-venFLbfPXade3E2L16j1fvBdWgILzeurIstyJn5f8pTicvqlqXECLl0LluVVWYPN049U9HmDUWd-3sg1mRmA9kBuxFhfPqiMVlBh-KjelSbTHjieUzO9qG0k1msK8o1LWYz0/s1600/Presentation+-+islamic+prayer+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoFNUOX-venFLbfPXade3E2L16j1fvBdWgILzeurIstyJn5f8pTicvqlqXECLl0LluVVWYPN049U9HmDUWd-3sg1mRmA9kBuxFhfPqiMVlBh-KjelSbTHjieUzO9qG0k1msK8o1LWYz0/s400/Presentation+-+islamic+prayer+3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><b>Weekly ceremony at Presentation school, Brikama</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Around 9 in
the morning I see children and teachers facing one of the imams at catholic
Presentation school in Brikama. Like every Friday the Muslim children and
teachers of the school gather outside to pray together and listen to the imam. Some
of the girls share a </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">kala </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(sjawl) to cover their heads. “What does it mean when
a person greets you with salaam? It means peace. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So Islam represents peace.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the
other side of the playground, just a few steps away, I see another group of
children, teachers and a sister. This is
the Christian population of the school. They surround the priest, who starts
the weekly school mass with a prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F81nqBNTW_SjNeyLQC2r8PC4OzLuJTK_EjdWHPPmAX8SGF8iN6XxnNZ2_OULRqfMCvRV0mtGLcucX5L8ecclIbJmsnt5gR7ZAS91lgR5tLfhwSEO-p9UOjalppEbXODoBkQCFwpNCKM/s1600/prayer+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F81nqBNTW_SjNeyLQC2r8PC4OzLuJTK_EjdWHPPmAX8SGF8iN6XxnNZ2_OULRqfMCvRV0mtGLcucX5L8ecclIbJmsnt5gR7ZAS91lgR5tLfhwSEO-p9UOjalppEbXODoBkQCFwpNCKM/s400/prayer+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>God must be happy</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I close
my eyes I can hear both of them: talking about morals, about prophet Mohammed or
Jesus as role models for a good life, singing English Christians songs, reciting
Quran text in Arabic, praying to Allah / God for the wellbeing of the Gambia
and other parts of the World. Once in a while I hear the word Allah, but most
of the time the priest and the imam use the word God. “The peace of Jesus be
with us always. Let us offer each other the sign of peace. Let us shake hands.”
Haven’t I heard preaching peace before this morning? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Father
Gomez smiles to me and ends the mass. “We are lucky at this school. Muslims
praying to God on that side of the playground and Christians praying over here
to him. God must be happy with us!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Chat with the teachers</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chatting
with some of the teachers I hear what I’ve heard many times before over the
past three weeks in the Gambia.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In the Gambia we are all related. Christians,
Muslims, Bahai. Wolof, Madinka, Fulla. We talk to each other. That brings us
closer.” “I’m from Nigeria, but I do not want to go back yet. I like it a lot
here in the Gambia. People treat Muslims and Christians the same here. For me
as a Christian it is not always that easy in Nigeria. Over here they take care
of each other. They share their food, welcome you, no matter what religion you
have.”</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s very good we have these prayers every Friday. That’s why our
children have very good achievements. Even the other day they became first in a
school tournament.” He’s not the first to tell me there is a direct correlation
between prayer and school achievements.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Chat with the children</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Teachers,
principals, lecturers, taxi drivers, random by passers - many tell me it is
common for Muslims and Christians to live together in the Gambia. Let’s have a
chat with some of the children. In groups of four, two Muslims and two
Christians, they enter the office where I seated myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What did
you like most this morning?” “Prayer.” “What do you like about prayer?” “You
learn from prayer. It’s good for the Gambia. Then there is peace. Peace is
different in the Gambia. In strange countries there is not always peace. We all
talk together. We sit together. We need peace in our country.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“If we know
more rules and regulations from each other we will not insult each other. This
does happen sometimes. When we are angry they insult you. They say your father
is not a good Muslim or your mother is not a good Christian.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In the
Gambia Christians and Muslims are all one. They are all friends. I am Muslim.
He (points to one of the other children) is my best friend and is Christian.
When I have Tobaski (</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">offerfeest</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">) celebration I call him. And we come together
to eat.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When he has Christmas. He calls
me to come. Just like we are from the same family.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Dutch Family?</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The same
family… I don’t hear this that often in the Netherlands if it comes to religious
and cultural diversity in our society. What do you think? How do you see this
diversity? And how come we don’t see all Dutch people as one family? </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-20806736445023720912013-02-19T14:15:00.001-08:002013-02-19T14:15:34.700-08:00Motivated co-workers!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mzLQI52nzhMnsSo0Pm-WIsBF1rAUEmE95Bzb62zpLBdk1gzfd1Xey-pUASA1_skp9yAjTNwy5mZF84XBr7MLqdQuVOCFYnrgMEImL6xzU60pHz3WrYsSPDL0katSQNmYygcFpeAmAAA/s1600/bush-taxi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mzLQI52nzhMnsSo0Pm-WIsBF1rAUEmE95Bzb62zpLBdk1gzfd1Xey-pUASA1_skp9yAjTNwy5mZF84XBr7MLqdQuVOCFYnrgMEImL6xzU60pHz3WrYsSPDL0katSQNmYygcFpeAmAAA/s400/bush-taxi.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One of the Bush-taxi's</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Brikama,
brikama, brikama” Last couple of days I hopped on one</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of the overcrowded bush-taxi’s to Gambia College
in Brikama. There I’m sharing an office with Metsje Krol, lecturer at
Windesheim and Gambia College. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Students
walk in and out of the office to inquire about their grades, to ask for a stapler
and to have a chat with the 'stranger'.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17bI4Ij3FDmgSFSk1vghE-hTB4-R_-mYH3WUVlK86wqL7aahw5vfS3MUvCpNNto9vRCVi6QZSViEb38Nycw5LADbBb_nOA5QeMB2HaKVmjkjmH8UsTZAfM6Rnj4EnsID9RI-3Bf8GAog/s1600/Kantoor+Gambia+College.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17bI4Ij3FDmgSFSk1vghE-hTB4-R_-mYH3WUVlK86wqL7aahw5vfS3MUvCpNNto9vRCVi6QZSViEb38Nycw5LADbBb_nOA5QeMB2HaKVmjkjmH8UsTZAfM6Rnj4EnsID9RI-3Bf8GAog/s200/Kantoor+Gambia+College.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My desk at the college</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I met
many people, and especially three very motivated people I’m going to be working
with:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Head of the
College<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mme Isatou
Ndow is head of the College. As she was attending a Christian school as a Muslim
child, she sees possibilities for interreligious education at lower and middle basic
schools in the Gambia. “Learn from the other and you will learn more about
yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She also
finds it necessary. She sees a lot of good examples of people with different
religious and cultural backgrounds living
together in Gambian society, celebrating together. But also a growth
of fundamentalist Christian and Muslim youngster. Dialogue in
education, can play a part to keep values as sharing and tolerance high in the
Gambia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A child-centered
approach should be part of the Interreligious Education. That’s going to be a
challenge. Some of the lecturers are grasping it, others still find it
difficult to apply. I’m welcome to talk to the lectures and observe their
classes to see how they translate this specific approach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Head of the
Christian department<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He didn’t
had much time, the first day, but as soon as he saw the word dialogue he
started to talk very enthusiastic. Father Edu Gomez, head of the Christian
department of the College, wrote his thesis about dialogue. And as father of
the Catholic church in Brikama he has a very good contact with his neighbor, the
imam of the big mosque in Brikama. “Interreligious dialogue will bring
acceptance, harmony and peace. So we can have a good life in the Gambia. I’m
very happy to assist you.” And so he did: introducing me to a couple of
schools, providing me with the syllabi for Christian Religious Education of the
College and of the schools and with more time to talk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Head of the
Islamic department<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Gambia
College is the base for all the teachers in the Gambia. So this is the place to
start interreligious education”, according to Mr. Ibrahim Touray, head of the Islamic
department of the College. “It will be good for Gambian society and also
efficient for the schools.” Right now every school is obligated by government to
give Religious Education. That can be Islamic Religious Education and / or
Christian Religious Education. Sometimes both are needed. There's not always budged for this. Won’t it be more efficient and less expensive for
schools to have one teacher to teach Interreligious Education?</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Resistance might
be there from some schools, but motivation as well. Motivation from schools and the Islamic Council. As Mr. Touray had
experienced before as co-author in a study about cross-cultural education together
with English researchers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>'Datumprikker'</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">So three
motivated co-workers from the College, providing me with contacts of schools
and counsils, with curriculum syllabi, and more. The only thing we still need
to find is a date to sit down with the four of us to get the 'dialogue' starting. Feels just like home: always hard to find the right date for all of us :-) </span></span></div>
Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-66773439062621765172013-02-12T14:41:00.002-08:002013-02-12T14:41:18.336-08:00Meeting place at the compound<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as
I open my front door a child peeks in to see what’s going on in my
‘kitchen’room. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m staying at a compound
in Busumbala (near Brikama) where three other families live. Altogether there
are nine kids and one on the way. After school the other children from the
compound meet at my kitchen table to play games, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">chat - about their day, about my day, about The
Gambia, about The Netherlands -</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">or just
to hang around with the </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">toubab (white
person/ foreigner)</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me
introduce you to some of the children of the compound:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUR65m6e2UYq2yWIC_5FvOnoDen1EqPl-EMU9NJoYGaZiu0Qdr4natSqDtSAu-0kRS_sUXaNYGSNsz8-sNI559MQHkTd5OfprsKHSM9GMEeFCrWhu76ktHz0J91m86nVwRg4ThrrZ2hM/s1600/Buba.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUR65m6e2UYq2yWIC_5FvOnoDen1EqPl-EMU9NJoYGaZiu0Qdr4natSqDtSAu-0kRS_sUXaNYGSNsz8-sNI559MQHkTd5OfprsKHSM9GMEeFCrWhu76ktHz0J91m86nVwRg4ThrrZ2hM/s320/Buba.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Meet Buba
Jammeh</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Buba hardly leaves my side when I’m at the compound, unless he’s
playing soccer or has to help his mum. Buba is 7 years old, has one older and
two younger brothers. His mum takes care of the kids, the compound and the
garden. His dad is a police officer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Buba is
very good in drawing animals. So you can imagine what’s on my wall. Buba goes
to lower school. Every other week he has the morning shift or the afternoon shift
at school. At school he learns English, math, Arabic, integrated studies,
poetry and more. First day we met he showed me his school work with great
enthusiasm.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Meet Lamin
Samura</span></b> (like samurai, but without the i)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lamin helps out a lot in the compound –
gardening, making </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ataja</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> (very sweet
green tea) - but he likes to sit at the kitchen table with the others as well.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most first
born sons in the Gambia are called lamin, after prophet Mohammed. First thing
Lamin showed me at the kitchen table was a Quran from school. Very proudly he
read out loud from the Quran. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lamin is 15
years old. His is living with his mother, older sister and brother in law in
the compound. His brother in law, is my landlord. The brother of my landlord is
the owner of the compound and lives in Denmark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lamin goes
to an Arabic school. There he’s educated
in Quran, Arabic, English, Maths and more. Because of his school Lamin speaks
better Arabic then English. He says it’s good for his future to speak Arabic,
so he can work abroad in Arabic countries in a couple of years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Multi lingual</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A lot of children
here speak multiple languages. Cause Buba and Lamin quarrel in Malinka, one of
the dialects in the Gambia, about that one can speak English better and the
other can speak Arabic better. So I would say at the age of 7 and 15 they are
very multi lingual. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have
any questions for Buba or Lamin, let me know!<span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382789129665596503.post-20596115644976857812013-01-14T13:30:00.002-08:002013-01-19T01:53:41.286-08:00From The Netherlands to The Gambia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dreaming away with the Lonely Planet and a map of The Gambia i'm trying to imagen how it will be to work and live abroad for a while. A wish i have since a couple of years. Can't wait to go! </div>
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<a href="http://arkade-cilon.nl/" target="_blank">Arkade-Cilon</a>, organisation for advise on religious education and identity, and <a href="http://metsje.nl/" target="_blank">REAR</a>, educational project in The Gambia from Windesheim, give me the opportunity to work in the Gambia on religious education. I will stay in Brikama for five months to work at Gambia College and primary schools.<br />
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<a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B9BYJW4oD75SSFVNbFBiWUx3UXc/edit" target="_blank">Download the Proposal (pdf)</a></div>
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There are two research questions in the project Religious Education from Brikama to Heiloo.</div>
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<span style="color: orange;">1. The Gambia</span></div>
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The School of Education is making a pedagogical change. From a transfer-model the educational program is changing into a child-centered model. The question of Madam Ndow is if the religious educational teachers can also make this change. And can (inter)religious dialogue play a part in this? Observations, interviews, teaching and dialogue will lead me to an advise for the School of Education at Gambia College.</div>
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<span style="color: orange;">2. The Netherlands</span></div>
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To prepare teachers(-in-training) for diversity in class rooms <a href="http://moniqueleygraaf.yolasite.com/" target="_blank">Monique Leygraaf</a> - researcher and lector on Diversity and Critical Citizenship at iPabo, School of education Amsterdam and Alkmaar - and Arkade-Cilon - advise and counseling in Religious Education and Identity - asked me to gather multiple stories of children in the Gambia. This way we can provide the teachers(-in-training) with a more realistic view of children all over the world. Thinking in prejudices we can link people just with a single story. Novelist Chimananda Adichie talks about the danger of a single story on TED. </div>
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<br />Jessica Bouvahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11400622603219232452noreply@blogger.com3