Naming ceremony on the north bank

This past weekend I made it up to the north bank to attend another naming ceremony in honor of Binta’s two children. This one, though, was held for Binta’s mother, Mama.
The journey to Mama’s compound took me across The Gambia River on the ferry, which made us nervous when it stopped working for about fifteen minutes in the middle of the hour long crossing. It finally started chugging along again and we made it to the other side only to take a beautiful ride through baobabs and palm trees and huge pastures to get to Swarakunda.
It seemed that half of the village had gathered in Swarakunda to help cook and eat the feast prepared for these babies. When we arrived we had to greet everyone present. A typical Gambian greeting takes about two whole minutes if you do it right (which I never can). It starts with hello: “Salaam alekum” to which you respond “Alekum salaam.” Then how are you: “Soulomae?” you respond Fine: “Abidye” How are you again: “Kartononte” respond Fine: “Tononte” How is it?: “Akairabe?” It is fine: “Kairadrone” Then if the person greeting you is feeling chatty or creative they can ask “Where are the people in your compound,” to which you respond, “They are there.” Or any number of other ways to say “how are you” and for you to respond “fine.” Then once the person greeting you finishes asking how you are you must ask how he or she is, although everyone is always fine. Although answering this string of questions can be nerve racking for me because there is usually one or two that I embarrass myself with answering Fine, when the correct answer should have been It is there or something else, I love hearing Gambian greet each other. They usually don’t finish the whole question or answer, but instead start the words for greetings and get half replies in return. Everyone knows the ritual so well its only necessary to imply greetings without actually having to make it through the whole thing.
We spent three days in Swarakunda, sweating our butts off and eating goat meat and rice until we were stuffed. Just before leaving we saw a girl hauling water out of the town well. She was so small she sometimes had to jump and ride the rope to the ground when her arms couldn’t pull it. She poured the jug into a bucket which she put on her head steadied by her right hand and carried another jug in her left. She walked down the long dirt road toward home with the day’s water supply in hand, looking so grown up. When we left on Sunday it was the Fourth of July. Kathryn and I celebrated by getting burgers and fries and pops at possibly the only restaurant that serves that in this country. Some Rolling Stones songs were playing in the background. I think I felt more American then than I ever have at home.