Lute players, cobblers, fisherman, oyster catchers and wood gatherers

I know this is a nature blog, but the birds and animals live in a country where humans have lived for thousands of years too, and I thought that some of you might be interested to see glimpses of Gambian life and culture. We were asked not to photograph people without their permission, so I do not have any street scenes, just a few odds and ends.

This is Omar Kuyateh, who played for us during dinner on two evenings. His instrument is called a kora and it has 21 strings. It is considered a “plucked harp-lute”. Kora players come from traditional jali familes, jali being the Mandinka name for a griot, who passes on oral traditions. Mr Kutayeh made it himself, out of a gourd and a calfskin. Here is one of his songs.

One day, we went to Tanji fish market. En route, the sole of my boot detached itself from the uppers, and my only other shoes were Tevas. So AJ our guide took me to the market, where Muhammed first glued the sole back on, then meticulously sewed it on neatly all the way round with strong black thread and a lethal-looking needle.

He charged me two dollars. It took about 15 minutes, and is as good as new.

At the fish market, there are no jetties or docks; the boats pull in and people wade out to offload the fish:

The boats are painted and named, and they have prows with wooden totems (right rear), and flags (the boat on the left supports the Spanish soccer team Barca!). When they are moored, the gulls and turnstones arrive:

And on shore, boats are pulled up for maintenance:

The fish market wastes nothing. These meticulously filed fish are being dried, and many had been collected dead from the foreshore.

The garbage along the seashore was horrendous, and I do not know if this is local to the fish market, or widespread. The Common Sandpipers below do not seem to care about the garbage festooning the sand behind them.

Amongst the mangrove swamps there are oysters, and these are gathered and cooked for sale (they are not eaten raw). The women collect them from tiny skiffs, many if which are true dugout canoes:

The white heaps on the left are oyster shells. Then, in the evening, from my floating lodge :

I saw them paddling back with canoes full of firewood. They are allowed to collect fallen branches in the national park:

Our guides have good jobs, and they’re usually men. We had one woman, Mariana, in Bonto forest.

She told me that she was 26, that her father had died, and she was the sole support of her mother and three younger siblings. She was a terrific guide.

This is not an easy life, and you become very aware of how extraordinarily privileged you are to fly thousands of miles just to see birds.