My Gambian friend has been asking me to come visit her at SOS Children's Village where she works, a few miles away outside of town. I've been borrowing a friends bicycle and thought I'd get a nice workout in going to visit her. So I get some candy and toys together for the kids, put on my sunscreen and set out.
Outside of the center of town, before I reach the last suburb of the city, a huge parade of people streams out onto the main highway from a side road. Myself and other motorists and cyclists stop.
I was informed by the guy next to me that it was a male circumscion ceremony. All the boys in the suburb had undergone it together. The young boys were dressed in white, the ones who had been circumsed, escorted by tons of men and over 50 Kankurangs.
So, I'm a ways back from the parade. Decided to take out my camera to get some footage. A little bit later, as you can see, people confront me, well come up and yell at me. I thought it was because maybe they didn't want a forienger filming so I put my camera away. But the guy next to me tells me that it's fine, that I can take pictures. I keep my camera away anyway.
It seemed like the parade had passed. A man holding a large stick seemed to be the last person holding up the finale. Another motorist started to go, so I followed, both of us slowly tagging behind the large group.
I made it up a block when I heard more drumming coming from behind me and turned to see more kankurangs and men holding machettes coming up the road. So, I pulled over to the side, to show respect and let them pass. It was extremely good timing for me that I just so happened to see a coworker and friend, Hassan. I called over to him and he came to greet me, saying they're going to the bush for the final bit of the ceremony.
Men started coming up around us and yelling, banding their machetes together. The Kankurang is known to carry two large machetes. Men, who have already gone through the ceremony, accompany and mimic the kankurang by also carrying the knives and acting as he does.
I was honestly amused and a little surprised that they kept coming up. I know that it's common to run away from the kankurang; one is suppose to be scared. Hassan kept repeating a phrase over and over, which sounded like apologizing. I didn't have my camera out. Yes, I'm white but I was just out on my way to go somewhere on the public road, what was up?!
Hassan moves me to the side and explains that women are not allowed to see or be included in this part of the ceremony. He says its a strong culture, an old tradition. I asked how are people suppose to know! He tells me it was announced on the radio.
I found out later that if he hadn't have been there, I actually could have gotten hurt, that they could have beaten me.
There was a small gas station at the intersection, so Hassan walked me over and told me to get inside. I wanted to lock up my bike, but he just yelled at me to get in, only one step away from where I was currently standing, and told me that my bike would be fine. He said that he could take me to his family's compound which was nearby and that I could wait there. They were headed to the bush but would be back in a few hours after which there would be celebrations for the rest of the day and night that women were allowed to attend.
I called Fatou at SOS and explained what had happened. She just laughed at me and said that we could try the next weekend. I then called my other friend who lives in the area and asked if I could take refuge at her place. I went there and stayed, nervous to leave. I didn't want to make anyone upset or be disrespectful and I sure didn't want anyone else yelling at me.
Four-five hours later, I looked out on the street and noticed women were out and about now. So I hopped back on my bike and headed home.
And so it was, just another day in the Gambia!
