Tales of a traveling Toubabo
Timothy William Lee
Wise Gambians have often advised me to avoid using 'Gele-geles' for longer trips. It has always sounded
like good advice so this time I opted to take the early morning Express from Brikamaba to Kombo.
05:45 at the bus stop 'uliha', I sneaked onto the Express unnoticed and placed my bag directly behind
the driver’s seat whilst almost everyone else went to the mosque nearby. Years observing the tiniest
details can often favour an experienced old Toubab traveler, thus I had bagged the safest seat on the
bus.
Half an hour or so later the driver raised a puzzled eyebrow wondering how I had come to place a bag
behind his seat. He'd left the door open earlier for a few minutes and I had taken my chance. An
innocent nod of the head and a polite 'uliha' seemed to work, and all was well. Soon after the doors
were officially opened and the rush and crush for seats commenced. We set off.
About an hour later, halfway to Soma, things took a turn for the worse. Acrid vapours were leaking into
the rear of the bus accompanied by shrieks of alarm from the ladies sitting near the air cooling system.
Shrieks turned to panic as passengers fled toward the front exit door. Fumes filled the rear of the
coach. The driver had opened and exited from his own driver's door. My 'safe seat' didn't feel quite so
safe anymore as access to the front door was jam packed with panic stricken passengers.
Self-preservation immediately kicked in. Climbing over the small barrier, quite agile for a sixty-nine
year old Toubab, I jumped onto the driver's seat and was now effectively in charge of a National Express
coach full of screaming customers fleeing for their lives. Surprised by the height of the driver's seat
from the road below, I evacuated suffering no more than a twisted ankle. But like so many potential
disasters, this one turned out to be nothing more than a case of overheating, which after half an hour
cooled down following some minor attention and was declared safe.
We were a little late arriving at Soma bus station and I and a few other passengers got off the coach. I
was instantly spotted by my regular omelette and coffee maker from a roadside café and quickly ordered
my usual 'senfur, fula sisaykilo, domanding mayonnaise, Nescafé'. On this particular day, however, the
coach emerged from the bus station with violent horn blasts and a disgruntled driver summoning me to get
back on the coach straight away. I'd clearly missed his instruction not to be more than five minutes as
we were running late. Leaving my coffee untouched I grabbed the hastily prepared omelette roll and with
twisted ankle hobbled back to my seat. 'Hecatu, hecatu, hecatu!'
Off we went, I ate my omelette roll. By Brikama something inside my stomach was giving cause for
concern. The hastily made omelette was coming back to haunt me. By Busumbala something was seriously
wrong, but surely I'd now make it to Kanifing station. No.
A presidential convoy was heralded by police outriders. The Express came to a grinding halt. Oh dear ...
Searching in vain for any roadside cafés, time had run out. I tapped the driver, who must have thought
by now that I was a complete nuisance, on the shoulder. He needed no explanation from me as the
expression on my face must have said it all. With a knowing grin he opened the door. Twisted ankle or
not I fled the Express faster than Gina Bass, scaled a half-built wall into a half-built compound and
dived behind a small bush, making it by seconds.
Noticing the passing military vehicles with mounted machine guns I was momentarily concerned that they
might mistake me for a sniper and shoot me. But fortunately they swept by with the President and his
entourage. But I had not gone unnoticed by some curious locals or some passengers on the Express.
Fortunately, in my bag, I had a physics book about Black Holes and a bottle of water. Very handy in the
circumstances.
I emerged from my hiding place pretending absolutely nothing had happened at all, and thought I'd got
away with it, until a local man walking towards me failed to conceal his amusement. As he passed by he
chuckled and tapped his smart phone. So far I have not seen any posts of a Toubab with a stomach virus
going viral on social media platforms.
Fearing the reception from the occupants of the Express coach I jumped into the first taxi I saw and
fled the scene. It was an interesting journey.