When is it stupid to step on a ferry or climb in a large wooden boat?

by Jamie Rhein on

The news of the recent ferry accident in the Philippines reminded me of the many ferries I’ve taken in my travels. The journey across the wide mouth of the Gambia River between Banjul, the capital, and Barra, on the side of The Gambia where I lived, comes to mind the most.

Sometimes I made the trip in a large open wooden boat called a pirogue that would have given my mother a heart attack if she had known what I was up to.

When traveling in countries where bridges are scarce, ferry crossings are necessary. If you want to get from here to there, you step on. Generally, thoughts of accidents and the lack of life preservers are fleeting. Instead, one enjoys the thrill of watching one shore grow further away as another comes closer.

In the Gambia, a ferry is filled with people, cars, trucks, animals, motorcycles–basically whatever can be crammed on. It’s a mish mash of no order in particular. I always headed to the top deck to escape the crush.

Of all the crossings I’ve made in my life–and I’m not sure I could count them all, there’s only one that I should have never tried. Once, in a hurry to get to Banjul and not willing to wait for calmer waters, I climbed into one of the large wooden boats as it rocked furiously on the churning river.

A storm might have been coming in, but the owner of the boat, probably looking to make some money, embarked on the trip with about 70 people perched on the wooden boards that served as benches. Every once in a while, the top edge of the boat dipped within a few inches of the surface. We all shrieked each time.

Halfway out, my friend said to me, “If the boat turns over, swim away from it as fast as you can and wait.”

The idea was that the people who couldn’t swim would drown and we could swim back to the boat to hold on until rescued. If we stayed around the boat, people would pull us under.

Sure, I nodded, imagining myself a very strong swimmer, and not thinking too deeply about what such an accident would actually look like.

The truth is, I’m not a strong swimmer but at age 22 that sounded like a plausible plan. As years have passed, I realize just how dumb we were to get on that boat. And, lucky that we made it to the other side.

The last time I took the big ferry across, a cow fell off of it into the water after the ferry pulled away from shore. As I watched the cow swim towards land, its head and horns visible, I wondered just how the owner would get it back. The great thing about The Gambia is that someone would have held onto that cow until the owner came back to get it, even if it took all day and more.

This is a picture I took of the ferry in The Gambia. I was heading to the top deck. The quality stinks, (it’s an old photo, but you get the idea.) For a better picture, click here.

The top picture is of one of the boats similar to the one I took whenever I didn’t take a ferry. The crossing was not quick.

For a detailed account of the ferry crossings in Banjul and a visual look at how wide that river is, click here.

It’s hard to cook a whole turkey in Japan

by Jamie Rhein on

Today I helped a Japanese friend of mine clean a turkey. She and her family are moving back to Japan in two weeks after three years of living in the U.S. She’s not too thrilled with the move since she fits well into life here. Plus, there’s the turkey.

As we pulled off the left-over meat from the bird she cooked for us as a good-bye lunch, and I explained how to make turkey stock from the bones, she said this would be the first and last turkey she’d cook. It’s not that she didn’t like cooking the turkey, but in Japan she won’t have an oven big enough. There she’ll have a microwave/oven, possibly not even big enough to cook a small chicken.

This got me thinking about the foods we enjoy when we live in another country that we either can’t cook or don’t cook when we arrive back home. For me, it’s the chura gerte (pounded peanut and rice porridge) I used to eat for breakfast in The Gambia. I don’t have a large wooden mortar and pestle for pounding the peanuts and rice together. I suppose a food processor would do, but there was that thwack, thwack thwack sound of women pounding grain in the early morning that added to my chura gerte experience. Perhaps, it’s the aesthetics of how it’s cooked that makes a dish a so special when we travel elsewhere.

After I put the bones in the pot, filled it with water and turned on the heat, I cleaned off the wishbone and gave it to my friend explaining the tradition of making a wish. In her case, the wishbone is going to Japan with them, intact as a souvenir. If you want to cook a turkey Japanese style, stuff it with sticky rice and put it in an oven bag to cook it. Yum!

Two drums: Djembe and talking

by Jamie Rhein on

Two of my favorite possessions are drums. One is a talking drum that used to belong to a friend of mine, a renowned griot in The Gambia. I made a trade to get it. What I offered: a bed, a thermos, and a new drum form. What I got: the drum and memories of Ebou playing it at naming ceremonies and other village gatherings. The other is similar to the djembe drum, although smaller. I acquired this one from a dance group in Nigeria. This first video shows how the djembe drum is made. The second one is of the talking drum being played. The pitch of the drum changes depending on how tightly the player is squeezing the strings between his side and inside arm.

Rick Steves on meaningful travel

by Jamie Rhein on

We’ve written about Rick Steves before. Neil hates him. (Not really, just jealous as all get out) and Aaron explored Steves’ guidebook writing know-how. Not long ago, Justin put some light on Rick Steves’ rap talents, or lack thereof. I catch Rick Steves from time to time on NPR and have some jealous pangs myself.

Recently, I came across this video of Steves on YouTube where he talks about the importance of traveling with meaning. Listening to him talk about what travel means to him provides insight into what motivates any of us to head to a place that is different from where we live. In Steves’ experience, there is an aspect of a spiritual endeavor in the travel he does. “Travel to me brings people together,” he says. “If you are an independent traveler, to me, it’s a spiritual experience.” To him, there is more than going from one tourist spot to another. Admittedly, I tend to agree with him, although I like the tourist hot spot travel from time to time.

I remember when I was in the Peace Corps I felt a bit harsh towards folks who I happened across in my forays to the tourist haven of Fajara, The Gambia. From my perspective, at the time, they were wandering through the world enjoying its bits and pieces without the drive to make life better for anyone while there I was assigned to a village with the mission to “help people help themselves.” I was probably in a whiny phase because helping people was a lot harder than I anticipated. What I really craved was a head of iceberg lettuce and a bag of pretzels, the two things not to be found in The Gambia at the time that I lived there.

There are certain moments in Steves’ talk where he teeters a bit close to the voice of judgment, similar to what I felt, about what motivates people to travel. His ideas are worth thinking about, although, as I’ve become older, I’ve become gentler in my approach. In my thinking, any time anyone sets foot across the border from where he or she resides into another culture, it’s mostly a good thing. One never knows which experience will be the one that changes a life. Plus, for folks who have only two weeks of vacation a year, there’s reality to deal with. Sometimes a person just needs some R&R in order to cope with slogging through life at home. But, perhaps, that’s the difference between travel and a vacation.

Where There is No Doctor: a medical handbook for everyone

by Jamie Rhein on

Every Peace Corps volunteer in The Gambia was given a copy of the book Where There is No Doctor: A village health care handbook so we could find the answer to our prayers in its pages. When one lives off in a village without easy access to medical help, one has a lot of prayers. Rashes, infections that won’t go away, stomach ailments, fevers etc., etc. Knowing how to pay attention to one’s body just to see if “this too shall pass” in a day or two and how to treat ailments oneself–or if a visit to the Peace Corps nurse is needed was part of the two year job that was once called, “The toughest job you’ll ever love.”

I poured over that book. Once, just a week after I moved to my post, convinced that I had maleria, I read the book to check my symptoms, began treating myself and took the next possible vehicle to Banjul, the country capital where the Peace Corps office, thus the nurse, was located at the time.

The journey was a combination of a sedan car taxi service from my village to Kerewan, the province capital, a ferry crossing at Kerewan, a pick-up truck style taxi ride (in the back of the truck) to the mouth of The Gambia River and then another long ferry crossing from one side of the river to the other, and then another taxi ride to the Peace Corps office. I can still feel every bump of the road and taste the red dust that dusted me by the end of the ride. I looked and felt like hell.

Another volunteer from my training group was also down for possible treatment. He had been bit by a monkey and wondered if he should get rabies shots. I can’t remember the details about his shots, but I do remember that I did not have maleria. I did have wicked dreams because of the medication I had already taken.

After I lived in the village for awhile, my visits to the Peace Corps nurse were infrequent, mostly just for booster shots. Where There is No Doctor came in handy. I learned that an infected blister will clear right up if you soak the infested area with hot water, for example. Pushing against the wound to get the pus to come out is a real no no.

Besides teaching me about my own body and health in an accessible way, it was a good read for understanding health concerns on a village level. The book was written for health care workers in the field who were in a village to help assist with medical care. If you’re going to be traveling in a remote area or, even if you’re not, Where There is No Doctor is a wonderful resource to have on hand.