04.03.05 - 19:15

The last day we were in Gambia, we had some time to kill before hitting the airport. After perusing the Lonely Planet guide to the Gambia, it became obvious that there was not one single thing one could do to occupy oneself in Banjul, which was where we were. So we decided to sit in a park for awhile.

It soon became obvious that three white girls with backpacks would not go unmolested in a public playround area; about thirty school children swarmed around us as soon as we sat. They were much like Mauritanian children, in that they asked for gifts, touched us, and puffed up their chests trying to threaten us with body language. The only difference was that they spoke English.

At first, we took the same jaded and annoyed tack as always. It goes something like "we aren't tourists we're volunteers we don't give gifts go away or i'll hit you go away i have nothing for you go away go away go away" in rapid fire, followed by ignoring the children completely. But in this case, we were simply overwhelmed. We started to think that we would be forced to go to the airport to escape these little heathens.

One of them pulled down his pants, showing his pink underwear. Feeling infantile, I chanted "I see London, I see France!" He was not cowed. Instead, he responded in a raspy voice, "YOU LOOKIN' AT MY PINK PANTIES????"

Another dear child, wearing a clean school uniform, asked us to buy drugs.

Typical tourist harassment. As much as I didn't want it to get to me, it started to make me angry.

So, suddenly, I switched into Teacher Mode. "Where do you go to school? Do you live around here? I like your playground. I love swings!" And within 30 seconds, everything had changed. I gave my bag to Janine and was pushed by a tidal wave of children to try every piece of equipment in the playground. Not only was I given a guided tour, but my new friends also graciously demonstrated how to work every piece of equipment and assured me that I would not fall, not even on the dangling bridge. I was pushed on merry-go-rounds and escorted down slides. Then, I was told that I was tired and needed to rest, so I was taken back to sit on the park bench. Several children moved so that I could be comfortable.

There, we had a wonderful discussion about our favorite foods and multiplication tables. (I showed them my famous "nines trick," in which you use your fingers to discover the answers to the nine times table.) A feisty little girl named Fatou taught us a clapping game.

When it was time to go, we were accompanied out of the park. The oldest boy, a very serious 13yearold named Ibrahima, called us a taxi and told him to take us to the airport. We got in and waved goodbye to the crowd of kids who had come to see us off. "Don't forget me!" Ibrahima called.

And somehow this story makes me ashamed. How many times have I written off kids who crowd around and ask for things? After all, they are only acting on the role models that they have been given. (In Gambia, people are always harassing white people for money, etc.) But yet, once you treat them like human beings who matter (Kantian ends, not means), you can interact on such a pleasurable level.

I'm in Peace Corps! Wouldn't you think I would have figured it out before now?

Oh well. Food for thought.

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