The Legend Against All Odds: My Journey

By Dr. Alhasan Sisawo Ceesay MD

My struggle for the downtrodden and life objective of providing healthcare delivery to rural Gambia was reinforced by ideas I picked up while a student in Michigan but above for my love and commitment to my fellow villagers. A drowning person swims franticly towards any floating object to cling on it in hope of saving his or her dear precious life. It is form of triumph sane person yearns. We are elated on overcoming be it our fears, failures or a seemingly unsolvable state of difficulty. This work is combination and outcome based up on triumph embellished with angelic hope of bringing health care relief to rural Gambia. It is strong conviction that when one committed to the greater good through hard work hope will be given to intended receivers. Hence, this work is about way a simple but penniless village boy fought against the odds and mountains of inhuman laws at many crossroads of his life. It portrays struggle to be above treacherous waves while clamouring to bring rewarding healthcare service to villagers in the North Bank of the Gambia. Being most of the time jobless and penniless made it all look like an Alice in wonderland fairy tale adventure. The turbulent waves commenced in 1953 when I made up my mind to become part of the solution to rural Gambia’s health service delivery shortage. Even though young I was fully aware that no one could serve our people better other than us indigenous Gambians. This belief propelled me into similar trip or experience Sinbad the sailor or Marco Polo went through. Most of the trials and tribulation I encountered have already been revealed in previous works of mine. Brace yourself and take heart to read about this life before you. This work relates to my eventual graduating from medical school, then returning to the Gambia and working as Medical Officer at the Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH), Banjul and finally establishing NGO: Manding Medical Centre, a village self-help health organisation that provide much needed quality medical services at Njawara North Bank Division of the Gambia, West Africa. Finally this work hopes to inspire, give hope and encouragement to youngsters about how not to give up on life and urge them stay buoyed to face challenges life throws at us in this sojourn. Please allow me express profound gratitude to the numerous friends who were persistent in encouraging me Publish this epic stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664235502

Dr. Alhasan Sisawo Ceesay MD

I was born at Njawara Village North Bank of Gambia. I am one of five siblings. I was educated at Kinte Kunda, then Armitage High School, a registered nurse at the Royal Victoria Hospital, Banjul, before embarking to USA on my medical degree quest. I graduated from Alpena Community College with A.A. in biology, Olivet College: B. A. Degree in biology, M.Sc in biology at Michigan Tech University and the MD degree from the American University School of Medicine, Montserrat in 1992. I returned to Gambia and set up a self-help village NGO Manding Medical Centre. Gambia Government and the Badibou authority recognized NGO Manding Medical Centre 1993. It has treated 9000 patients free. I created Gambia Health Credit which is in serve today. I am medical officer at the Royal at the Royal Victoria Hospital on study leave. I write to raise funds for building of Njawara village hospital, The Gambia. I hope you will join to bring needed healthcare to rural Gambia.

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Copyright © 2021 Dr. Alhasan Sisawo Ceesay, MD.

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Scripture taken from the Modern English Version. Copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-3551-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-3550-2 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/21/2021

CONTENTS

Preface and Acknowledgments

Birth at Njawara: A Market Village

Primary Education At Kinte Kunda School

How It Started

Nursing at the Royal Victoria Hospital Banjul

Preparing to Set Foot in America

Alpena Community College, Alpena Acc, 1967

Resident Student, Washington D.C

A.M. Dogliotti School of Medicine, 1979

Welcome to Yankee Land

First Return to the Gambia

The End of Vacation

The Accusation And Ensuing Difficulties

Welcome to America Again 1981

The Episcopallian Dioceses of Michgan

The Mariner’s Inn, Ledyard Detroit

Dykema, Gosett, Spencer, Goodnow And Triggs

Preparation: Immigration Court Hearing

Friends at the Troublesome Creek

Ins Deportation Hearing Atlanta, Georgia, USA

Hearing: Judge Auslander Presiding

The Sluggish Wheel of Justice

Beign Involved Without Intending

An Appeal to U.S. Senators And Ins Board

The Fizzled Canadian Trail

Commedation: Professor Francis J. Conti

Appeal to American Lawmarkers

American University of Caribbean School Medicine

Alhasan Ceesay Leaves our Santuary

Hurricane Hugo September 16, 1989.

The Search for a Sponsor

Welcome to Texas, USA, 1989

Md Degree 1992; Home Sweet Home

Medical officer Rvh, The Gambia

Chasing Time to Catch A Dream

Creation of Manding Medical Centre

Tango Secretariat Report Manding Medical Centre

What is Manding Medical Centre?

Manding Medical Milestones

Americans Visit Manding Medical Centre

Distinguished 2005 Graduate Ward

A Future for All

Twined: Alpena-Njawara -Kinte Kunda

Sister-City Proclamation

Grandpa Bajoja Ceesay on Tradition

Return of an Ambitious Village Son

An Ode to the Family

Odes to President Nelson Mandela And Pan Africans

I Rest My Case

The Way of a Dreamer

About the Author

INSCRIBED TO:

My parents, wife and children, Teachers, Friends, Colchester Friends of Manding Charitable trust UK and Alpena, Michigan, USA, to current and previous residents and Alkalolu (mayors) of Njawara, Mrs. Lorna Robinson and the downtrodden of the world.

Optimists are twin partners of dreamers for both believe passionately in direction their vision dictates. The dreamer has just a little bit more twisted angle to the end goal for initially most are normally blind to reasons behind the dream.

Dr. Alhasan S. Ceesay, MD

PREFACE AND

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Grandpa Bajoja Ceesay extols that, Destiny depends on the strength of your desires... if you cry at trouble, it grows double and if you laugh at trouble it disappears like bubble. Man is basically a social animal that relishes power. Most would scale any heights and at all cost to gain power. Africa is now beyond sixty years since it started the struggle for self-rule and total independence from colonizers.

The Africans hope that struggles of the 1960s would bring jobs and prosperity while restraining liberation movements spearheaded by student organisations, which though seeking no confrontations with their fledgling governments, almost always end up in brutal blood bath clashes between students and the police or military as each struggles for justice and order. My struggle for the downtrodden and life objective of providing healthcare delivery to rural Gambia was reinforced by ideas I picked up while a student in Michigan but above for my love and commitment to my fellow villagers.

A drowning person swims franticly towards any floating object to cling on it in hope of saving his or her dear precious life. It is form of triumph sane person yearns. We are elated on overcoming be it our fears, failures or a seemingly unsolvable state of difficulty. This work is combination and outcome based up on triumph embellished with angelic hope of bringing health care relief to rural Gambia. It is strong conviction that when one committed to the greater good through hard work hope will be given to intended receivers. Hence, this work is about way a simple but penniless village boy fought against the odds and mountains of inhuman laws at many crossroads of his life. It portrays struggle to be above treacherous waves while clamouring to bring rewarding healthcare service to villagers in the North Bank of the Gambia. Being most of the time jobless and penniless made it all look like an Alice in wonderland fairy tale adventure.

The turbulent waves commenced in 1953 when I made up my mind to become part of the solution to rural Gambia’s health service delivery shortage. Even though young I was fully aware that no one could serve our people better other than us indigenous Gambians. This belief propelled me into similar trip or experience Sinbad the sailor or Marco Polo went through. Most of the trials and tribulation I encountered have already been revealed in previous works of mine. Brace yourself and take heart to read about this life before you. This work relates to my eventual graduating from medical school, then returning to the Gambia and working as Medical Officer at the Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH), Banjul and finally establishing NGO: Manding Medical Centre, a village self-help health organisation that provide much needed quality medical services at Njawara North Bank Division of the Gambia, West Africa. Finally this work hopes to inspire, give hope and encouragement to youngsters about how not to give up on life and urge them stay buoyed to face challenges life throws at us in this sojourn. Please allow me express profound gratitude to the numerous friends who were persistent in encouraging me Publish this epic romantic stories. I am very grateful to my wife Fatou Koma Ceesay and our children: Famatanding Ceesay, Binta Ceesay and Rohey Ceesay for persevering through thick and thin of my adventure to bring medical aid to villagers. Special thanks to Mrs. Lorna Robinson, Mr. and Mrs Cloyd Ramsey, Mr. Henry V. Valli, Mrs. Marian Jagne, Roheyata Sey-Corr, Yamarie Sey, Fatou Isata Ceesay, Ganem Hadied, Mahmud Adam, Dr. Peter R. Wislson, Sulayman Bojang, Kofi Awudo, Binta Ceesay sr, Ahmed Nizami, Kostas Miliotis, Bishop Coleman McGehee jr, Bishop Masson, Haword and Rita Riggs, Fr John Miller, Judge and Mrs. Vola S. Glennie, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Cruise, Dr. Elbridge Dunkel, Dr. Charles T. Egli, The Alpena Medical Association, Mrs. Patricia Koblyski, Mrs. Louis R. Leonard, Rev. Mark D. Meyer, Rev. Hugh C. White,Chief Justice G. Mennen Williams, Prof. Francis Conti, Robert Duty and Beth Sax, Dr. & Mrs. Philip Rudouf Kurth, Ms Gale Baungardner, Mayor Harvey I. Sloane, Mrs. Joyce J. Rayzer of louisvill, Kentucky, USA and Mary Ellan Robertson of the Mariner’s Inn, Detroit. Neville Brown, Rowan Sheddon, Ebrahima Bojang, Ebrahima Jaiteh, Daryl Gasson, Eliza Jones, Monica Sanchez, Penny West, Dr. Nelson Herron and all my brothers and sisters who cheered me through endless nights of hard work. Special thanks to Dr. Peter R. Wilson and Colchester General Hospital, Essex, UK. Likewise I am indebted and profoundly grateful to Dr. Betzi Prager, Dr Eunice Kahan, and Prof. Dr. Sulayman S. Nyang. Portions of proceeds from this work go to support Manding Medical Centre at Njawara and providing scholarship to village scholars seeking to study medicine or agriculture. Last but not the least; I am equally indebted to the ‘Friends of Manding Medical Centre’; who believed in my dream of providing a modern medical aid to villagers. If I had a million friends I would like many more like the above group. I write to raise funds for building of Njawara village hospital.

Allow me furtherexpress profound gratitude and many thanks to the numerous friends and my family who stood by me through thick and thin of this sojourn to bring healthcare delivery service’s Golden flees to the door steps of the villager. Last but not the least I am equally indebted and profoundly grateful to the Friends of Manding Medical Centre, Charitable Trust, Colchester, UK and the Alpena branch, Michigan, USA; and the Episcopal Diocese of Michigan in Detroit who believed in my dream of a modern medical service for the villagers. I wish all my friends were like them. God bless their hearts. I write to raise money for the building of a village hospital at Njawara, the Gambia. It is my hope that you would be inspired to join our dream of providing medical aid and service to Gambian villagers and children.

Purchasing this books or donating in cash or kind would help bring our dream to fruition of Manding Medical Centre for a much needed healthcare delivery and hope to villagers, especially children who frequently die prematurely from childhood diseases because of lack of medical service. Together we can catch a dream for the villager and children. Log onto: www.friendsofmandinggambimed.btck.co.uk, or www.publishkunsa.com and www.publishkunsa.myshopify.com to view or purchase my books to help our objective for the centre; and to learn more about our self-help village health project Manding Medical Centre at Njawara. Portions of proceed from sale of this work go to support goals of Manding Medical Centre. In addition it will in due course offer scholarships to rural candidates wishing to read for a medical or an agricultural degree and return to serve in rural Gambia.

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Dr. Alhasan Sisawo Ceesay, MD

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BIRTH AT NJAWARA:

A MARKET VILLAGE

Father once told me some find their vocations very early and dedicate their whole lives to it. Others experiment with many things and hope to find something that they love and are good at. He said, Even if they do not find it they at least have lived a full life and learnt a great deal.

My twin brother and I came to this Garden of Eden at 3.00 Am February 14th, 1942. According to my mother and her elder aid, I was born quiet and very tiny. They noted no breathing movement by me prompting them to put me in a basket and placed outside to be buried as stillborn the next day.

However, fate favored me by my having cried so loud around 6.00 Am which let superstition run riff about one rising from the land of dead. None wanted to believe that they heard my feeble cries. Luckily my wriggling in the basket caused my elder sister Binta Ceesay to come to my aid and took me tour mom to be breast fed for the first time in my life.

I later learnt that there were a lot of whispers of an unusual birth, which no family member would discuss. My twin brother and I continued to live for five years before he sadly left the world to me in solitude and darkness. Most people, up to my eight months were afraid to pick or show affection to me.

Only mother and my sister Binta Ceesay cared for me despite the highly charged superstition about an infant that was supposed to have been dead. My twin brother died of measles, an ailment nowadays hardly seen in the developed world.

Njawara village is a 350 years old market place situated on the banks of the Minimiyang Bolong, a creek of the River Gambia in the North Bank Division. It has a population of more than two thousand and is 95 kilometres from Banjul, Gambia’s capital city. Njawara is centre for trading in Peanuts, rice, fish, meat, coos, and vegetables. The village lies close to the Senegalese border.

It was established or founded by the Panneh family of Wolof tribe and initially called Panneh village. Among her residents are Mandinkas from Mali, Fulas, serere, Jola, Konyajinka, Bambaras, and Lebanese business men. Wolof and Mandinkas constituted the largest group of inhabitants.

The village is administered by an Alkalo/Mayor and council of select Elders resident at Njawara. These men and women serve as advisers to the Alkalo. The Alkalo is authorized by the District chief and Divisional commissioner to hear local cases of a non-complicated nature and to rule judiciously on these disputes according to traditional laws. Disgruntle and dissatisfied persons can appeal the Alkolo’s ruling to the chief for retrial at the risk of heavy penalties, fines and or imprisonment should they lose the case. Kerewan was the nearest government administrative post for the North Bank Division. Njawaera is still without electricity, telephones, sewer system or paved road, and save drinking water despite help from nearby boreholes. Feeder road weave into the village with donkeys or horses pulling carts along Lorries hauling in farm proceed from other fringes of the Lower Badibou District.

The central government built three wharves to accommodate influx cargo that compliments or serves the river transportation system. Government passenger ships; namely Lady Wright, Lady Denham, Fuladou and various cutters dock twice a week bringing shipments and goods for traders at Njawara.

The cutters and tugs transport peanuts, and hides to Banjul where the nuts are peeled and shipped to Europe with sales from these providing the country’s foreign exchange. The proverbial story is that Njawara is Paradise in her rich cultural activities and fodder for tribe and peaceful cohabitation of this millennium and of past millenniums.

Hence it was no myth that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth in her tour of colonial West Africa visited Njawara to see a true African village Parliament, the Bantaba, in action and plumage. The inhabitants of Njawara are mostly farmers who produce, Peanuts, rice, coos, Millets and vegetables. The residents draw their drinking water from wells and springs, until the advent of boreholes and transport the water in Calabashes or jugs to family jars. The water served for cooking, bathing and washing laundry when needed. Firewood and coal were used for cooking in all homes and kerosene lamps and candle illuminates homes. After sunset, the moon is all there is. No wonder there are so many romantic stories about blue skies lighted by smiling full moon and cheering bright stars.

Most Njawara residents are famers during the rains and like my father serve as shopkeepers for the Lebanese traders during the dry season. They sell their produce to Lebanese traders and business firms like V. Q person, East African Company, Maurel and Prom, CFAO and Madies stores resident at Njawara.

Familiar Lebanese stores were owned by Fwad Bijawdi, Tofee Masire, Pa Illias, John Aziz and an old family friend Pa Michel; these maintained business at the village until the advent of political parties and quest for independence from colonial rule.

The trade season starts early in December and ends by the later part of May of each year or as decreed by government. Njawara had been kept on the records since the 1800s and had since been governed by the following Mayors/Alkalos. Namely: (1), Masireh Jawara, (2). Alkali Jawara, (3). Njie Jawara, (4). Sireh Absa Jawara, (5), Malang Dembali, (6). Almami Kinteh, (7). Babou Panneh, and (8). Hady Panneh being current mayor. The village head or mayor called an Alkalo and six elderly homeowners permanently resident at Njawara administers the village. These men and women serve as cabinet as well as advisors to the Alkalo. The Alkalo is authorised by the district chief and divisional commissioner to hear local cases and adjudicate on local disputes of a non-complicated nature and to rule judiciously on these disputes according to traditional laws. Disgruntle or dissatisfied persons can appeal the village head’s ruling to the district chief for retrial at the risk of a long drawn procedure and heavy penalties or hefty fine and imprisonment.

Njawara never had a school until 1961, when the residents, lead my uncle Baba Sallah Ceesay, decided to build one on self-help project. Money was collected from residents and hands were put to work in building the first classroom block. A compound was provided to serve as the staff resident quarters. Two more classrooms were added a year later.

The district chief, Nfamara Singated and resident appealed to the Gambia government for more improved facilities and to provide more teachers to the school. I still recall, with joy in my heart, the glow in the faces of the first pupils and their parents as the designated head teacher, Mr. Babun Fatty, introduced his staff from Banjul and the first registered pupils of the school. The enthusiasm was so electrical so much so that a night class, nicknamed night school by the elders, was simultaneously started for adults; nearly every able-bodied adult signed up for the evening classes. It was heartening to see so many farmers and very poor works trying to compete with each other about which one returns to class the next day able to count or spell all the assigned homework. Both parent and child taught each other, and the teachers visited all homes they could during the weekends. Ladies as well as young or adolescent girls were not left behind and they in fact did lot better than most old men and lasted longer in the program than most adults.

The pupils progressed rapidly because their dads and mums struggled with them over the same homework and played the same learning games, such that as rewarding each other when one scores the most or spelled every given word correctly. In the following years the government built more facilities and expanded the school to cater for more pupils as those from nearby hamlets queued into Njawara school. More teachers were added to ease the load from the skeletal crew manning the school at the time.

The school produced lots of candidates for both secondary and High School education. Three of my cousins, Ebou Ceesay, Omar Ceesay and Ismaila Ceesay were pupils at Njawara Primary School. Ebou Ceesay is now Director of operations at Gamtel and Omary and Ismaila Sisay are both head teachers of their schools in the provinces. Evening or night classes stopped during the rainy season because most of the adults spend the day at the fields and come home late and too tired to learn after filling their belies. Desertification and global warming has now reduced amount of rainfall in compares to the 1950s rainfall records. Njawara School still operates despite current geopolitical and economic difficulties. The adult classes have dwindled with population shifts and migration to greener pasture at the Kombo coastal area of the Gambia. Also at Njawara were a Dispensary and a Health Centre.

A trained dispenser from the Royal Victoria Hospital in Banjul and locally trained nurses and midwives manned the Dispensary and a health inspector took care of local preventive health while running the health centre. The midwives help with obstetrics and gynaecology cases that do not need referral to the main hospital in Banjul, where specialised help may be available to patients at government’s expense.

A health inspector now resides in Njawara but there was none when we were born or when my twin brother died of measles at the village. Now children are vaccinated regularly against a host killer childhood diseases that took many of my generation prematurely. The food stalls are inspected daily and regularly and all meat, fish along with other perishables have to be fresh to be displayed at the stalls.

The health inspector quarantines all persons with contagious diseases and notifies the health authorities in Banjul and at the divisional commissioner’s office. Quality of drinking water is checked daily for presence of larvae or harmful microbes. Clinic days are busy as patient pour in from surrounding villages and as far as Senegal. It caters for well over five hundred patients on a full day. None of these poor villagers ever had a chance to be seen by trained qualified physician or consultant at any time because most of the doctors are stationed at the Royal Victoria hospital in Banjul, Gambia. The fortunate one had to walk fifty to hundred miles to see a physician. Senegalese travel to Njawara for treatment because it was cheaper and easier to see a dispenser than at home. Social activities in the form of wrestling, wedding ceremonies, and dancing take place mostly in the dry season after harvesting the farms.

This was show-off time instead saving money for a rainy day. Groups from Senegal come for wrestling matches with their Gambian counter parts resident at Njawara village. The sight of wrestlers with their colourful attire is spellbinding spectacle in itself. It was the time young ladies show their prettiness and agility in dancing more than pleasing to the beholder. Boys certainly look forward to these Senegalo-Gambian friendly encounters and entertainments at Njawara. After such hard work at the farm during the rains one never wants these joyful occasions to cease. Oh dear, how I longed for those good old days to come back again. I will chance to relish each and every moment as if though it never pass away. Those were innocent golden and youthful days of life at Njawara.

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Dr. Alhasan Ceesay and Dad: Mr. Sisawo Ceesay, 1963

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PRIMARY EDUCATION AT

KINTE KUNDA SCHOOL

There are those who are obliged to rely upon God and their own steely determination intermingled with faith in being able to reach a goal despite many unforeseen obstacles. My stint at the Almudoo life plying between Labe in the Futa Jalong high lands of Guinea Conakry through Mauritania via Guinea Bissau stiffened my resolve to extricate myself from bondage and start anew with Western education.

There was no school at Njawara of the 1950s but I had chance to meet with visiting sons of resident businessmen who attended school in Bathurst now Banjul and they taught me how to recognise the alphabet and to flawlessly count up to hundred.

I was impressed and egger to immerse into this tantalizing knowledge. To my delight I was told that a school is located at kinte Kunda, a stone throw from Njawara village. I walked to Kinte Kunda Primary school the next day. My heart skyrocketed at the sight of the school children in uniform and my having placed the first step to quench my thirst of gaining western education with or without parental approval.

Kinte Kunda was home of late Sefo Njanko Kinte of Lower Badibou District who helped in the establishment of the school in 1937 to cater for children chiefs and businessmen of the region. This being in the hay days of colonial rule there was no talk of democracy in those days as the chief and Commissioners were the sole judge and jury of what was to be done and where to locate it. At the school the smartly dressed children of my age at assembly overwhelmed me. I marvelled at the site. They were clean and orderly while the head teacher addressed them. Every one of them sang ‘God save the King’; along local ones lifting my soul to higher heights.

This high spirit and burning embers to start school made redouble efforts to be amongst the progressive ones. It was feeling I still cannot sufficiently put into words. The school was seven miles away from Njawara but I was more than ready to walk the distance daily 24/7.

My father disliked schools because of his experience in world war theatres he was forced to participate by colonialists. To my chagrin, father and close friend of his on knowing my intent became disturbed and very angry at me. These did not want me deviate from normal farmer’s life by turning into one of the lost ones. Western education was frowned upon during my father’s days. Schooling to them not only meant one being lost but integrated into unknown world of the white Satan.

Father saw colonial ways and culture as despicably dishonourable for any descent African to be aligned with. Every suggestion to allow me attend kinte Kunda Primary School met with stiff resistance from dad and severe beatings. It led to being assigned more farm work but these failed to discourage me. In fact it reinforced my determination to enrol at Kinte Kunda School in pursuit of my right to Western education. Kinte Kunda being a walk-able distance I took part time at a Lebanese by tending his yard and fetching firewood for his cooks. With proceeds from them I was able to buy a uniform, a pair of canvas shoes, a notebook and pencil which I kept at grandma Jainaba’s place until needed. I was not going to risk being revealed prematurely.

My mom and elder sister were in the picture but never told dad about my objective in working part time with the Lebanese nor were the Lebanese aware of my plans to enrole at Kinte Kunda School. I remain eternally grateful to my mother for being by me through the ordeal.

With my requisite gear at hand I started sneaking to school whenever chance arises. Thank God dad was always at the shop. I attended school in this manner for several weeks before being noticed by one of the new teachers noticed an unfamiliar face in the class. The saying ‘curiosity kills the cat’ led to my final exposure as I found myself in the wrong class instead of one I used to sit in earlier.

The teacher, Mr Sheik Faal walked towards me as soon as he could. Needless to say I was scared to death but he spoke to me kindly to alley me. I got embarrassed for thinking him one of those villains who would be willing hand me over to dad. Instead he told me to go to the next build where my classmates would be at. Mr. Faal walked me to the door whence I told him who I was and that I wanted him help me enrol like the other pupils. I also made it clear that my father would crushed if he finds out that I disobeyed his command not to join way of the rouges that stole land and wealth from the indigenous Africans. Father would never compromise his child into such God forsaken group. Mr. Faal laughed heartily and said, I know how to get you started. This simple sentence still rings like a melodious choir in heaven. It connote multitude of angels all welcoming in that one entity that stood before me.

It was sweet smell of victory; yes I was getting victorious because I would soon be registered as one of pupils in attendant at Kinte Kunda Primary School. Mr. Faal escorted me to the head master, Mr. Louis Albert Bouvier L. B. Bouvier for short), who would later become like God’s gift of a blood brother and mentor to me.

Faal narrated my reason for being at Kinte kunda. Mr. Bouvier took me to standard one where he formerly introduced me to Mr. Ebrahima Mbye, the teacher as one of his new pupils from Njawara village. Mr. Seik Mbye wasted no time in assigning a seat in the class and asked Miss Sanjali Kinte to share a slate with me till the next day. That blessed January day of 1953 turned one of happiest days in life.

I pinched myself to see if am not dreaming in a void. Time flew with lightning speed as I eagerly learn or absorb all the teacher taught that day. The sounds of the bell for break and closing of the school day were incredibly unbelievable events for me. It ushered in a different tantalising atmosphere with great challenge ahead of me. I cherished every second of it. I could not wait to tell mom and sister how joyous school was that January day 1953. Class ended at 2.00 Pm and Mr. Bouvier to my class and promised to give me a ride back home on his motor BSA 250 cc motorbike. This was another spark in my life for I have never ridden a pedal bicycle more over a big motorised one like his.

It was an added excitement of the day even though fear overtook me. How would my father take this jolt of blatant defiance or how could I explain all my acts of insurrections to my father on arriving home with the head master? Mr. Bouvier, to my delightful surprise and relief, told me that he would be joining the chief, who was a boyhood friend of dad, at Njawara, and that he and chief Nfamara Singateh, would persuade dad to allow me continue schooling at Kinte Kunda.

He was willing to have me stay at his quarters if needed as long as I remained a good boy that worked hard at school and chores he would assign once on a while to me. This arrangement will definitely save me from having to commute fourteen miles a day to and from school. However, it did not answer the question, who will pay for my books, uniforms, and school fees. The maiden return trip was taken and the first person we ran into upon arriving at Njawara village was my angry father waiting to roast me. Father was informed of excursion by fast mouthed fellow who saw me going to Kinte Kunda that day. The first encounter was tense for me. I knew right away that father had decided to punish me for my act and I was not any mitigating circumstances acceptable to him. I was as guilty as charged and expected no mercy for wrong doers. I knew I will laugh last when I in due course matriculate from university.

At this moment the chief’s entourage arrival kept dad father busy and served to postpone my roasting. That was way I started schooling to be followed later many, many huddles life metered me. Mrs Bouvier on noticing my discomfort and fear, acted wisely and quickly, knowing that my fate hung in the balance.

He discussed my case with the chief Nfamara Singateh, who beckoned my father to join them in the discussion. The chief told all that had transpired and begged him to allow me to attend Kinte Kunda School since the he master was willing to act as my guardian while at Kinte Kunda. Father was temporally persuaded when he was made to understand that I would be allowed to return to the farm as soon as the first drop of rain touches the ground.

School are closed during the rainy season to allow children to help in the fields. Despite this assurance, father went home angry, but happy that his long time friend, the chief, believed that I was not too wrong. Father and the chief were comrades long before the chief got elected to the chieftaincy. The two had never deceived each other, besides this was the district chief asking him a favour in behalf of his stubborn son. I was never punished for father knew full well someday he might not want the chief’s favour nor did he wish for this infraction to affect their friendship as threatened by the chief at the time.

The chief’s persuading powers and bluff succeeded. Father instead gathered the family and told them of his findings and my recent uncalled for behaviour. Most said nothing, nor did those who spoke plead for any mercy on my behalf. Everything was left to his final judgement.

Later on, after the meeting, which I was not allowed to attend; I learnt that a few of my uncles threatened never to speak to my father again if he let me be polluted by foreign ideologies promulgated by thieves across the great waters. An uncle decried that the land was taken from our great warriors and noble kings.

He claimed that now no true African patriot existed. He said they would all be drawn into the new confusion like a magnet would to a little iron nugget. He said the long hairy devil is so tricky and slippery that before they realise how far they have become incarcerated into nothingness he would have them eating from his palm.

As far as he was concerned he was a free African who believed that most have softened their stand and have allowed themselves to be ruled by so called colonial masters. He felt that these thieves were unlawful occupants of the Gambia, for that matter Africa at large, which out-rightly immoral and unlawful. This uncle never spoke to my father or the chief from that day on until his death. He moved out of Njawara to join other relatives who shared the same philosophy ten villages away. Uncle was convinced that the chief and his followers were extended hands of colonial imperialism. That sort of anger and disbelief still lingered among a few elders.

Too many Africans have sold their hearts and souls by growing soft, permitting us to be cheated from our lands in the name of democracy tolerant and changing political tides. So much for my uncle’s philosophy! To everyone’s surprise and mine, my father called a meeting of the elders and announced that he was going to make the sacrifice of allowing me to start, in effect continue, school at Kinte Kunda with his full blessings.

Mother passed the news on to me after the meeting. She was relieved and happy for me. She had always wanted me to attend school but never wanted discord between her and my father about it. Now God’s day has done on a very bright note of cheers and disbelief. I was so happy that tears of joy poured faster than I could control. I hugged mom several times and thanked her for support and love she manifested through the ordeal.

A little box was prepared and filled with pens, pencils and notebooks given to me by the Lebanese and other resident merchants who I had clandestinely been working for. In this bizarre way, I plunged into a different world of unforeseen challenges, frustrations and at times exhilarating rewards. Mr. Bouvier came for me early Monday morning and we rode together to Kinte Kunda School. He took me to his quarters and showed me my room. It was an office space which he converted into Bedroom for my use. The furniture consisted simply of a bed made out wooden planks, a straw mattress covered with an old linen sheet, and an old shaky table to serve as a writing desk. I used a stool as a chair. He even bought me a kerosene lamp to complete the luxury. I felt like a king without retinues. It was after 8.00 AM and we left to start the day at school.

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BR: Dr. Ceesay, Mrs. Famatanding tarawale holding

Penda Dibba, and Babucarr Dibba; FR: fatou Dibba

and Isatu Dibba Banjul, Gambia 1964.

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Dodou Ceesay, elder brother, Njawara, The Gambia

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HOW IT STARTED

Some believe that life starts at birth but my struggles with it started well before I took the first breath of earthly air. I was born and assumed a stillbirth, or so the elderly village lady assisting in my birth thought. Hence I was deposited at a corner of the compound waiting to be formally buried the next day morning.

Luckily I woke up after 6.30 AM as legend has it, and my cries led my elder sister Binta Ceesay to run to my rescue and took me to our mum to breast feed for the first time. Life started for me in this merciless turbulent way and has been since that day one challenge after another like ancient day leper curse.

Njawara is a 350 years old market village, situated on the banks of the Miniminyang Bolong, a creek of the River Gambia in the lower Badibou district, North Bank region of the Gambia. The village had a population of two thousand and is 95 kilo meters from Bathurst now Banjul, Gambia’s capital city. Njawara was the centre of trading in peanuts, rice, fish, coos, hides and vegetables and lies close to the Senegalese border. It was established or founded by the Panneh family of the Wolof tribe and initially called Mpanneh village.

The elderly still call it Mpanneh. Among residents of Njawara are Mandinkas, Fulas, Wolofs, Jolas, Seres, Konyaginkas, Bambaras from Mali, and a few Lebanese and Syrian business families. Wolofs and Mandinkas constituted the largest group in this trading village. Kerewan was the nearest government post to Njawara. Njawara had been and is still without electricity, telephones, sewer system or paved roads, and water is pumped from nearby boreholes.

Feeder roads are normally deep in dust and full of craters in some places. They resemble pools during the rainy season. These dusty dirt roads serve both traveller and Lories that transport goods to and from Njawara. It was such a busy trading centre for the Gambia and Senegal that lead government ships to ply to the village biweekly.

Cutters and tugboats transport peanuts and hides to Banjul. Peeled nut are shipped to Europe, and proceeds provide major source of the country’s foreign exchange. In Gambian people lived with nature. They fetch drinking water from wells, until the advent of boreholes, and transport the water in Calabashes or clay jugs to family jars. The water served for cooking, washing or bathing, and laundry when needed. No one flushed gallons down the drain just to wash their face or hands. Firewood and coal is used for cooking in almost all homes.

The only illumination besides the moon that served the people came from candles and kerosene lamps of various forms. After sunset the moon is all there is. No wonder there are so many romantic stories about blue skies lighted by the smiling full moon and cheering bright stars.

The Gambia is savannah or grassland strewn with few trees. Lots of wild animals and birds of spectacular plumage could be seen roaming about in the grassland or bushes. The river, especially creeks like the Miniminyang bolong, is full of fish and crocodiles, and many land animals come to drink before hiding or taking repose for the night.

Also present along the banks are numerous monkeys and Baboon and other species of wild animals. Inhabitants of Njawara like their neighboring villagers are mostly small farmers and petty traders. Father, like most residents, was a farmer during the rainy season and shopkeeper for the Lebanese traders during the dry season. Farm produce i.e. rice, peanuts and coos was sold to companies and businesses residing in Njawara and trading with its hamlets. Njawara started spiralling downward on the advent of political jargonizing. Most of the firms left either for fear of reprisal by wining political parties or being unduly taxed. Trade season starts in December and ends in later part of May each year or as decreed by government.

Folks work at the stores and firms either as shopkeepers, like my father was or as drivers, yard cleaners, security and labourers. The market was located in the centre of Njawara and buzzes with people who bring in all sorts of produce from the neighbouring villages and across from Senegal. Njawara still stands as gateway for trade between the Republic of Senegal and the Gambia.

At the market one can find fresh meat, fish, rice, beans millet, coos, peanuts, peanut butter and oil, vegetables, beads, trinkets of different styles and colours. There were also candles, kerosene lamps, most spectacular tie-dye and batiks of differing styles that draws the visitor’s fancy. Also found are carvings, lots of tropical fruits, such as mangoes, guavas and kola nuts, berries, snake skins, which tourist love to buy, and a whole host of local produce are seen at this village market stalls.

The market is the liveliest place where bartering and other forms of exchange go on constantly. Artwork, simple house furniture, domestic and cooking utensils made of clay or tin is seen at most stalls. Village sales persons are experts in bargaining and are polite, if not too courteous, in their dealings with potential customers.

They hardly let a customer pass by empty handed without getting them to purchase something from their stalls, even if it means for them to be selling at a loss, an item or two. In due course, the vendor will persuade the buyer to purchase more from his long line of wares. Also at the market one can pick up on current affairs and the most recent news from Banjul. This is freely passed on to willing listeners.

A knack attributed to radio kang kang. Lastly but not the least for sightseers are the soothsayers willing to tell any lie for a few Dalasis or if lucky pound sterling.

All kinds of mesmerizing magicians can at times be encountered making the market akin to Disney world for kids during my young days. We learnt a lot of wheeling and dealing from veteran traders of yesteryears. For some children it doubled as a school and a part time apprentice. A village head or mayor called an Alkalo and six elderly homeowners permanently resident at Njawara administers the village.

These men and women serve as cabinet as well as advisors to the Alkalo. The Alkalo is authorised by the district chief and divisional commissioner to hear local cases and adjudicate on local disputes of a non-political or complicated nature and to rule judiciously on these disputes according to local traditional laws.

Disgruntle or dissatisfied persons can appeal the village head’s ruling to the district chief for retrial at the risk of a long drawn procedure and heavy penalties or hefty fine and imprisonment. Njawara never had a school until 1961, when the residents, lead my uncle Baba (Abdoulie) Salah Ceesay, decided to build one on self-help project.

Money was collected from residents and hands were put to work in building the first classroom block. A compound was provided to serve as the staff resident quarters. Two more classrooms were added a year later. The district chief, Nfamara Singated and resident appealed to the Gambia government Ministry of Education for more improved facilities and to provide more teachers to the school.

I still recall, with joy in my heart, the glow in the faces of the first pupils and their parents as the designated head teacher, Mr. Baboun Fatty, introduced his staff from Banjul and the first registered pupils of the school. The enthusiasm was so electrical so much so that a night class, nicknamed Night school by the elders, was simultaneously begun for adults, nearly every able-bodied male or female adult signed up for the evening classes.

It was heartening to see so many farmers and very poor workers trying to compete with each other about which one returns to class the next day able to count or spell all the assigned homework. Both parent and child taught each other, and the teachers visited all homes they could during the weekends.

Ladies as well as young or adolescent girls were not left behind and they in fact did lot better than most old men and lasted longer in the program than most adults. The pupils progressed rapidly because their dads and mums struggled with them over the same homework and played the same learning games, such that as rewarding each other when one scores the most or spelled every given word correctly.

In the following years the government built more facilities and expanded the school to cater for more pupils as those from nearby hamlets queued into Njawara school. More teachers were added to ease the load from the skeletal crew manning the school at the time.

The school produced lots of candidates for both secondary and High School education. Three of my cousins, Ebou Ceesay, Omar Ceesay and Ismaila Ceesay were pupils at Njawara Primary School. Ebou Ceesay is now retired from post of Director of operations at Gamtel and Omary and Ismaila Ceesay are also both retired head teachers of their schools in the provinces. Evening or night classes stopped during the rainy season because most of the adults spend the day at the fields and come home very late and too tired to learn after filling their belies.

Desertification and global warming has now reduced amount of rainfall in comparison to the 1950s rainfall records. Njawara School still operates despite current geopolitical and economic difficulties. The adult classes have dwindled with population shifts and migration to greener pasture at the Kombo coastal area of the Gambia.

Also at Njawara were a Dispensary and a Health Centre. A trained dispenser from the Royal Victoria Hospital in Banjul and locally trained nurses and midwives manned the Dispensary and a health inspector took care of local preventive health while running the health centre.

The midwives help with obstetrics and gynaecology cases that do not need referral to the main hospital in Banjul, where specialized help may be available to patients at government’s expense. A health inspector now resides in Njawara but there was none when we were born or when my twin brother died of measles at the village.

Now children are vaccinated regularly against a host killer childhood diseases that took away many of my generation prematurely. The food stalls are inspected daily and regularly and all meat, fish along with other perishables have to be fresh to be displayed at the stalls. The health inspector quarantines all persons with contagious diseases and notifies the health authorities in Banjul and at the divisional commissioner’s office.

The Quality of drinking water is checked daily for presence of larvae or harmful microbes. Clinic days are busy as patient pour in from surround villages and as far as Senegal. It caters for well over five hundred patients on a full day. None of these poor villagers ever had a chance to be seen by trained qualified physician or consultant at any time because most of the doctors are stationed at the Royal Victoria hospital in Banjul, Gambia. The fortunate one had to walk fifty to hundred miles to see a physician. Senegalese travel to Njawara for treatment because it was cheaper and easier to see a dispenser than at home. Social activities in the form of wrestling, wedding ceremonies, christenings, and dancing take place mostly in the dry season after harvesting the farms. This was show-off time instead of saving money for a rainy day. Groups from Senegal come for wrestling matches against their Gambian counter parts resident at Njawara village.

The sight of wrestlers with their colourful attire is one spellbinding spectacle in itself. It was the time when young ladies show their prettiness and agility in dancing which were more pleasing to the beholder. Boys certainly look forward to these Senegalo-Gambian friendly encounters and entertainments at Njawara.

After such hard work at the farm during the rains one never wants these joyful occasions to cease. Oh dear, how I longed for those good old days to come back again. I will chance to relish each and every moment as if though it never pass away. Those were innocent golden and youthful days of life at Njawara.

I was sent to a family friend in Senegal to start Madras schooling but knowing my build that lasted three years before