I again dreamt. I dreamt of Gambia. For some reason, I had to take a taxi to drive through thick a brush. The taxi for some unexplainable reason stopped in the bush and we had to walk without knowing our destination. But, after only a hundred meters walk through thick brambles and dense tree that covered the forest canopy from the scourging African sun, the magical moment. Wide expanses of farmland dotted with familiar trees; baobabs, mango trees and the occasional giant mahogany greeted us. In the distance; a village. It was a moment I will never forget; a moment I have not experienced in quite a long time. We soon entered the village and came to a bantaba, and before long, I was walking in the outskirts of the village accompanied by villagers. We passed large fallen trees and watched the occasional person in the distance minding their business. I remember telling the villagers that they must never again allow outsiders to come cut down their trees or exploit their forest resources. Back in the village again, I walked between narrow grass fences pass compounds where women milled rice and smoke from the outdoor kitchens rose in dark plumes towards the majestic blue Gambian sky. Then I made a turn and came upon the village shop where a shirtless young shopkeeper lay on the wooden countertop. I waved my hand and proceeded between the narrow, dilapidated grass fences, which opened up to the village well at the edge of the village. It is a picture I had seen so many times before; a picture that has been a part of my own life. A dozen women encircled the well drawing water and chatting about village whatever women chat about. Behind them, children played and ran in circles. I looked to the left and the wide expanses of the village stretched as far as the edge of the distant forest. I soon woke up and my sweet dream ended. I felt disappointed, but happy to let the dream replay in my mind over and over.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Jul 2013 15:22:55 +0000
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