Roots

AHAR, Mates! On our way to Jufereh

Cruising down the Gambia River on the Lady Jacerene, sipping coffee, watching the occasional dolphin jump by, all the while listening to Glen Campbell’s rendition of Rhinestone Cowboy over the ship’s screeching PA… a real Gambia Moment! During the course of week-long spring break, Madeleine and I decided to escape from our Fajara bubble (Fajara is the sleepy little tourist town where we live and work) and go exploring up country. This is something we’ve neglected to do since our arrival in the Gambia due to the all encompassing work schedule and environment that we have both fallen victim to, which consequently takes a toll on the level of energy we have left to ‘go out’ on weekends as opposed to lying in a comatose, vegetative state that we have unfortunately grown accustomed to doing on weekends, trying to recharge our depleted batteries. Aging sucks.

On the north bank of the river Gambia, about 2 hours by boat from the capital Banjul, sits the small inauspicious village of Jufureh. This village was put on the world map as a consequence of American author Alex Haley whose global best-selling novel Roots traced the compelling history of his family back from modern times to an African ancestor who was kidnapped from near Jufureh in The Gambia, transported to the Americas and forced into a life of slavery, some 200 years ago. Haley’s story has turned the tiny community of Jufureh into a popular and somewhat primitively tacky tourist destination. The write-up on our usually reliable Lonely Planet guide book had warned us that, although there was little to see at the village per say, it was however quite amusing to see how this typical sleepy little fishing village jumps into overblown village action at the first sign of an approaching tourist boat.

Children lining up in front of their 'school', waiting for
the wandering tourists.

In our case, we were not let down. As our boat slowly approached the village dock, one could easily see at a distance the scurrying movement and life that ensues with the approaching boatload of touri$t$. Once off the boat, you can almost hear someone yell out “Lights, camera, Action!”. As you walk down the long dock into the village of Albreda, you are met with women pounding their millet in traditional wooden mortars (good photo opp), cute adorable babies tied to their mother’s backs come out of nowhere (great photo opp), and barefoot children bang on tin cans and dance around the nonchalantly sauntering cows (even better photo opp). These picturesque montages lined the road from the dock to the museum, which turned out to be a much needed respite from the tourist circus that welcomed us to Jufureh.   This small museum was built to educate & inform visitors regarding the history and nature of slavery with particular emphasis on its impact locally. Sadly and like very much everything else in the Gambia, this little museum is poorly funded (there is just no money) with rather limited resources. However, its exhibition is striking and thought-provoking and the importance of its message is such that it really deserves to receive ‘international funding’. After all, it highlights the horrors & untold suffering of millions of people as a consequence of ‘international’ greed and subsequently, ‘international’ racism.

Following our visit to the museum, we were led via another melee of strategically placed millet pounding women, more adorable and super photogenic babies hooked up to their colorfully dressed mothers, as well as more sauntering cows, bulls and chickens, to, what I consider the highlight of this whole sortie, a meeting with the village elder, from whom we would be granted permission to continue our visit of the town. Sitting in the middle of the village square (actually, not a square at all, she was just sitting there in the middle of the dirt road in one of those plastic outdoor vinyl chairs), was this old women (date of birth unknown, but the old girl definitely did not seem a day over 90), who was introduced to us as a supposed direct descendant of Kunta Kinte, Alex Haley’s ancestor, upon which Roots was based. She welcomed us in the Mandinke language and invited us to her family’s home, where we could see photographs of none other than Kunta Kinte himself. Wow, …who would have guessed that the camera was invented around 200 years ago, and of all places, in the village of Jufureh, along the Gambia River? Turns out the photographs in question were of the actor who played Kunta Kinte in the TV series of Roots, as well as Alex Haley when he visited Jufureh when doing his research for his book. At the end of our visit, some tourist (the young scantily cladded blond German sweet young frauline thing) took a photo of the photo of the actor, and need I add…for a fee.

In the end, this was a very interesting outing. Despite all the cheap peripheral touristy nonsense that often surrounds and overshadows places like Jufureh, both Madeleine and I sailed away from the tiny village along the river Gambia feeling somewhat unnerved, even perturbed by the artifacts and testimonies we had seen and read at the museum. As we sailed home towards the setting sun, we could only reflect on the serious and undeniable fact that was even more real and true to us today than it was yesterday: the slave trade was immoral and inhumane.