The Lecherous American Fool in Bakau

Perv man 300x205 The Lecherous American Fool in Bakau

We arrived in Bakau, Gambia on a Friday night. On Saturday night we hit the road looking for food. Our hotel (African Village Hotel) served no African food, authentic or otherwise. Everything was served with chips (fries) and cabbage. On the menu they had:

Beefburger
Beef Kebab
Roast chicken
Prawn kebab
Fried fish

And not much else

You get my drift?

We enter a hotel not too far down the road from us. There is a guy wondering round on the grounds. He is kind of cute and wearing a purple and gold African print shirt. Hmmm… Talent in The Gambia and it’s only the second day. I’m impressed!

I notice that he is wearing a purple and gold cap too. It all seems strangely familiar. WAIT! This guy isn’t a Gambian. He is a Que. There are Greek letters on his cap, which looked like this in case you were wondering:

He has to be American. I stop him in his tracks and ask,

“Are you an Omega?”

He says that indeed he is. His name is Donald. By talking to Donald we discover that there is a whole crew of American study abroad students staying at the hotel, 28 to be exact. They have the hotel for a month and have their own chef to cook their meals. We have hit the jackpot! (we think) except Muhammed the chef isn’t around when we get there. Apparently they have all eaten already.

After meeting Donald we get talking to some of the professors. One of them, a Dr Stovall invites us on their trip the next day to a wildlife park. We jump at this opportunity to tag along and he tells us to meet them at the hotel at 8.30AM the next day. Dr Stovall mentions that there are 4/5 girls that are on the program that we will be able to talk about “girly things” (his words for real) with.

Why was my mind doing an elimination process and thinking WA-HEEEEEY! At least 23 men, and there have to be to be at least 10 fine ones… Right?

I’m not man crazy. I just am into fine art… ok?

It’s funny because I didn’t relay what I was thinking to Deborah, but after we left the hotel she mentioned that because Dr Stovall had said that there were only 4/5 girls then there must be plenty plenty guys for us to perve over! LOL! It turns out that we were both counting the pickings.

Before we leave the hotel another man comes to join in our conversation with Dr Stovall. He doesnt say much but seems excited by our presence and the fact that we are from the UK. I assumed he was a professor, as what else could he be doing there? I thought he seemed a bit letchy in his way of prolonging his eye contact with me but what can you say in front of polite company,

“What the frigg are you looking at?”

Of course I didn’t say that. I just ignored him.

I didn’t think about that letchy professor man after we left. He was a not so distant memory. On arriving back to our hotel. The bumsters* were out as usual in full force. With their usual greetings of,

“You want to go somewhere? I take you”
“Hey pretty lady”
“Aye!”
“Taxi!”

And so it goes on…

We kept it moving. We passed through the security at the front gates of the hotel but could hear someone behind calling. I can’t even recall exact words, I just know that we assumed it was one of the bumsters and ignored it. It was when we heard,

“Hey, its’s me! I’m not a bumster,”

That we both spun around.

Who was “ME”? Neither of is knew anyone well enough that they could simply call themselves “me.”

It is the letchy professor dude.

Ugh!

I’m baffled. What does he want?

To just hang out apparently. We get to the reception desk and get our room key, with him following. I tell him that we are going to our room now so perhaps we will see him about and he invites us for a drink at the hotel bar. I explain to him that we are going to the room to sleep as we are planning to go out later and are tired. The man must not be paying attention as he keeps talking about random shit like meeting up in London and going to some Jazz bar (yeeeeeah right not in this lifetime.)

I tell him that we are leaving again and he extends his invitation for a drink at the bar again. I think he is deaf. I am not a parrot. It is not in me to have the patience to repeat myself over and over again, but I do it anyway,

“I’m tired. I don’t want a drink.”

Deborah is now giving me the “tell him to piss off look.”

This man is unbelievable,

“Oh ok, I understand, well lets just have one drink then.”

His comprehension skills are weak. Deborah is trying to get away. I can see her trying to edge away and I stick to her like a shadow. There is no way in hell she is leaving me with this brute of a pushy man.

Macumba as I find out he is called (He wasn’t a professor, he was an American who had lived in Gambia for the past ten years) is not taking the hint. I end up taking his phone number in order to free myself from his clutches. He is talking some mumbo jumboness about spending the next evening together. In the end I just go along with whatever he says. I just can’t be bothered anymore.

How are you going to follow someone to their hotel, not listen when your invitation is refused numerous times, make someone take your number under duress and think they are really going to call you? The cheek of it! I later find out that no one at the other hotel even knew this Macumba character. He was probably there to try and pick up the female students.

That night after Macumba left, we hit the sack. We planned to wake up to go to the Viviane concert (She is big singer over there. I’d never heard of her before) but we fell asleep and didn’t wake until the morning! I don’t know why I stay up all day and think I can still go out at night. I don’t have stamina like I used to, in my prime! LOL

You may be wondering about the guy with the “girlfriend.” Sorry! That will be in the next entry.

*A little bit about bumsters from http://www.globalgayz.com/gambia-news.html

“Touts are a basic fact of life in the tourist areas of Africa, but in the Gambia they’re infamous, not so much for their voracity as for their nickname; everyone, from newspapers to policemen, calls them ‘bumsters’, which makes it practically impossible to take them seriously. Bumsters are young, unemployed youths who hang round the beaches of the Gambia, hustling tourists and trying to make money any way they can. The Gambia has high unemployment and no welfare system, so for school dropouts it’s not easy to make ends meet, and being a bumster is an obvious temptation. Tourists are rich, stupid and easy meat, and it sure beats having to work the peanut fields for a living.”

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