‘Enough legroom in there? This van looks very anti-height from where I’m standing,’ Jermaine remarked as a beige-coloured Toyota Corolla van pulled up, a side-angled portrait of a turban-clad man, piercing eyes looking right ahead, white Islamic beard which Jermaine reckons gives him a holy, prophetic look, occupied the top right windscreen.

Having seen similar works of art all over the place, especially in vans and portraits hanging from walls in homes and shops, he’d asked Tapha who was the ubiquitous serious looking man.

‘That’s Mam Bai Nyass, a Senegalese spiritual leader. He died at age 75 in 1975, authored 75 books and fathered 75 children from what I heard,’ he’d explained.

‘Gosh, he sure did love the number 75 as, on a lesser level, Tupac did with the number 13,’Jermaine exclaimed. ‘Tell me more.’

‘Don’t know much, though. Will ask around.’

Tapha nodded at the van driver, a bony, lanky guy in short dread locks and said, ‘This van is for the women, sound system and food. We guys will get another van.’

As agreed, the proceeds of the derby win were all ploughed into the picnic. With Assan executing as accountant/organiser, he read from a sheet of paper he had prepared, which tells Jermaine he was merely being officious.

‘We will have Benechin, nan mburu, chakry, barbequed chicken, prawn crackers and four buckets of homemade ‘wonjo’ and six crates of can drinks.’

He looked up from the paper and Jermaine thought he looked like an accountant presenting end of year financial reports to his board of directors.

‘As usual, Ya Betty will be cooking the benechin…’

‘Why not Tapha’s mum?’ Jermaine cut in, looking around, garnering support. ‘You all had the benechim she cooked on Tobaski. I vote she does the honours.’

For a moment, no one spoke and they all burst out laughing.

‘What’s funny?’

‘Because,’ Tapha said between fits of laughter. ‘Ya Binta’s my mum!’

‘Oh right,’ Jermaine said and shrugged. ‘You never told me her name, though.’

‘And you never asked.’

‘Anyway, Ya Fatou will do the nan mburu and prawn crackers and Marian will do the barbequed chicken and chakry. They have been given the usual amount plus their commission. Hiring of vans and taxis for the day will be done shortly and we have,’ he wrote down something, ‘about D700 left. That, I suggest, would be beefen up for another game.’

He paused and went on, ‘last year, we chose Senegambia beach and I suggest the same place again.’

‘And it has nothing to do with the fact that you met Anna, that Swedish, there?’ Ebrima asked and they all laughed.

Assan grinned and went on like nothing was said. ‘I need to see Saul about his sound system.’

‘Forget it,’ Yous spoke up. ‘There is no way Saul will borrow you his system after what happened last year. He’s still miffed, I can tell you.’

‘What happened?’ Jermaine asked.

‘Grains of sand blew into the speakers. When it plays, it is as if a colony of roaches are in it. He got it cleaned and all that wasn’t happy we didn’t pick up the bill.’

‘Well, I could fully remember him saying it was okay he would sort it out,’ Assan said. ‘He never got back to us about paying the technician either. Anyway, I will ask Alpha for his.’

Tapha’s mobile went.

‘Excuse me,’ he said and took the call outside.

‘Hello and greetings from a freezing London. Blow a kiss of sunshine this way, babe,’ Jenny’s voice came over all cheery and airy.

Tapha grinned and blew a kiss.

‘How’s you keeping up?’

‘I’m good thanks. Missing you I guess.’

‘Missing you too. What you up to?’

‘Nothing much, you know. Just came back from work. About to order some Chinese for dinner. Don’t fancy slapping up. You?’

‘Arranging a picnic this weekend…’

‘Meaning you won the football match?’

‘Yeah, we did on penalties. D10, 000 better off than nothing.’

They spoke for a while before Jenny’s landline went.

‘Let me see who else want me,’ she giggled and Tapha could picture her long stockinged stems taking her to the chrome cordless phone by the fish tank next to the 42’ inch JVC plasma telly.

‘Mum, says the caller ID. Let me call you back, babe. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Inside, the final arrangements have been made for the picnic, food wise.

‘We will hire Momar’s van again…’ Assan began but Yous shook his head.

‘No, man. His seats are not comfortable at all and a protruding wire tore my tracksuit bottoms last year. I suggest we switch this year.’

‘Yous, you know we are real tight with Momar,’ Assan pointed out. ‘He will be expecting us to use him…’

‘I know, I know but let’s ride in comfort for once, please. I can work on hiring a better van at almost the same price.’

‘I’m with Yous on that one,’ Ebrima spoke. ‘Let’s travel in comfort.’  

Assan handed Tapha a sealed envelope.

‘For your mum. The usual.’     

The van driver shook Tapha’s hand and they spoke in Wollof.

Jermaine noticed the guy’s teeth were chocolate brown and it looked almost comical when he grinned. Nauseating, more like.

‘If his parents had fed him more food than sweets, he wouldn’t have look so frail and would possess a good set of teeth,’ he remarked when the guy got back to his van and Tapha grinned.

‘Those gnashers weren’t browned up by sweets but by salty water.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘I’m serious. He is a native of Kaolack, somewhere in southern Senegal and the water supply in that region is salty.’

‘Well, can’t they import water from other regions or something?’ Jermaine asked. ‘I would rather have no teeth than teeth like that. You will be forever remembering not to laugh out loud or, worse, grin.’

‘Well,’ Tapha began and his phone rang.

He spoke in Wollof for a long spell before he hung up.

‘Let’s go and help get the food in the van.’

This was done, along with the paper plates and utensils. The barrel of ‘wonjo’ juice wouldn’t fit so Hadim, the van driver, was told to make a second trip.

Jermaine bent to do his undone laces and noticed a rather large oily stain on his cream coloured Sean John jeans.

‘Damn it! How did that come about?’

‘Did warned you, didn’t I? Now, run off home and change.’

Minutes later, Jermiane hurried back in another pair of Sean John jeans. This time they were dark denim.

‘Hope you stay stain free this time,’ Tapha said and Jermaine snorted.

‘Just zip it, will ya?’

At that moment, Yous came sauntering down the road in a pair of jeans worn low so that his Everlast boxers were visible. He had on a tight fitting white Obama shirt with the words 9^th Wonder inscribed on it.

Jermaine could not help but admire his physique and told him so when he came up.

‘Simple. Just eat a lot of benechin,’ he joked, the whiff of the Paco Rabanna perfume he wore stronger now that he was up close.

Jermaine grinned.

‘If that were true, I would be twice your size, mate.’

The whole crew assembled dressed to the nines, looking sharp and smelling good.

Ebrima wore a Rocawear cap that failed to dumb down his loud ears.

As if on cue, Assan said, ‘all hail Prince Charles. He can eavesdrop on a conversation ten miles off!’

The crowd laughed and Ebrima shrugged.

‘You wish you have ears like me so you could have more luck with the girls like I do. Don’t be ashamed to admit it, son.’

They laughed again.

Faces Jermaine hadn’t set eyes on before were part of the crew.

One of them was Eku, whom Tapha emphasized as he introduced him was an Aku boy.

‘But he is one of those okay Akus, down with the lads or he wouldn’t have been here.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ Eku told Jermaine. ‘Him being obsessed with my people makes him a fan.’

It was a picnic but someone forgot to mention that to Eku. The guy was dressed in church clothes complete with shoes. His chequered shirt was tucked into his trousers and hoisted a bit high.

Jermaine was willing to bet his savings this guy has no girlfriend. What girl in her right mind would roll with him attired like that?

‘He sure is a funny guy, isn’t he?’ Eku, seeing the smile on Jermaine’s face, asked and the latter, to be polite, nodded, swallowing down a laugh and further observed the eccentric fellow before him.

Eku’s hair cut was so back in time it was ridiculous. There was a sharp incision that ran from one side of his head to halfway upside his head. It reminded Jermaine of pictures of a young, fitter Nelson Mandela.

Despite it all, he had to admire the guy’s guts for going solo on this ridiculous fashion highway.

Jermaine couldn’t hold it in any longer. He pulled Tapha with him into a side street and laughed till his eyes got watery.

‘What’s up?’ Tapha asked before he grinned.

‘Oh, you on about Eku’s fashion statement? You should see him when he’s going to church. His trousers would be up here,’ Tapha touched the side of his palm beneath his chest and Jermaine laughed even harder.

‘Can’t someone be kind enough and tell him to step his dress game up?’

‘Eku has a mind of his own and there is no shifting him. Wipe your face let’s go. Do us a favour; please keep your opinion to yourself. When you get to know him, he is a cool lad.’

Jermaine giggled.

‘He looks cool alright but he needs to be apprehended for despicable crimes against fashion!’

Two fourteen seater vans were hired to transport the guys and friends to the beach.

Jermaine and Tapha occupied the front seat, which the latter claimed had better leg room.

All of 6 foot 4 inches, Jermaine wasn’t so sure and moaned about it through out the journey.

‘What baffles me is there is more legroom in a taxi,’ he grumbled, his knees trapped against the dash board. ‘You know this is against health and safety.’

Tapha turned to look at him.

‘Shut the hell up before I smack the taste out of your whingeing mouth. Health and safety? This ain’t England, last I checked. Let me check again.’ He stuck his head out of the window, looked up in the sky and squinted at the sun.

‘Yeah, it ain’t England, mate. How do you think a 6 foot 7 guy gets by over here? If he doesn’t get a front seat, he lumps it in the back with his knees up on his forehead and gets on with it. You make it sound like you’ve been sealed in a box.’

‘Whatever,’ Jermaine muttered. ‘Just saying a taxi would have been better.’

‘Jermaine?’

He looked at his best friend.

‘What?’

‘Sorry for the harsh talk. I mean, you’ve blended in so well I thought you could cope. Apologies.’

Jermaine shook his head and offered his fist.

‘Don’t watch that.’

He brightened up when the van pulled into the Senegambia area.

‘Would you say this is the heart of the tourism area?’

‘It has been ever since I can remember,’ Tapha stretched and touched his toes. ‘Forget what the information says that the main stay of the economy is agriculture. If it is, then tourism is up there with it.’

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the far end and a small crowd was swelling up.

‘Oi, what’s happening over there?’ Jermaine asked, flicking away his braids.

‘That’s what I’m going to find out,’ Yous replied and walked towards the crowd. Before he got there, an armed paramilitary blocked his path.

Yous would have had a plate balanced on the uniformed man’s head and eat his lunch. The guy was that short but at 6 foot 5 or so, Yous was a giant in his own right with the ripping physique to boot. Still, the minute uniformed man was toting which tilted all advantages towards him.

Jermaine watched as he spoke to Yous and not looking up at him but right ahead. This, Jermaine reckoned, was to keep all advantages as looking up to Yous would sharply emphasize his size.

Yous said something back but the guy was done talking, staring ahead and index finger on the trigger of his M 16 rifle, which he wore in a holster over his shoulder.

Yous shrugged and came back.

‘The fool says we can’t picnic here and need to vacate-to quote him- ‘the premises with immejate effec.’’

‘You should have told him we are not in a premise,’ Jermaine pointed out and Yous snorted.

‘Yeah and get jack booted and gun whipped all weekend, not to mention cutting grass, laundering  khaki uniform by hand and lots of monkey dances for simply correcting a soldier’s spoken English.’

‘Are you being serious?’ Jermaine was wide eyed and turned to his best friend. ‘Is he?’

‘Of couse, he is being serious,’ Tapha said tersely. ‘These thugs in uniform love nothing but to ‘entertain’ civilians.

‘Monkey dances? What in God’s name is that? What, they run a circus now or?’ Jermaine asked.

‘This is monkey dance,’ Yous demonstrated by crossing one arm over the other, held his ear lobes and proceed to squat. ‘When these guys entertain you, that’s the first item on the list. Now let’s go before we get entertained.’

‘But why would he stop us from having a picnic there? That is not in the constitution, is it?’ Jermaine still wanted to get down to the bottom of it as they drove off to Fajara beach.

‘The GTA is having a clampdown on the ‘bumpster’ menace,’ Tapha said. ‘Read it in the pages of The Point yesterday.’

‘Did you say dumpster?’

‘No, I said bumpster. Spelt B-u-m-p-s-t-e-r.’

‘And what is that?’       

‘They are unofficial tourist guides with no licence to operate. They hang on the beaches and try to eke off a livelihood off tourists, much to the consternation of the GTA, who are pulling all stops to curb it.’

‘Hey, but we aren’t bumpsters. We just want to have a picnic. Can’t they see that?’

Yous and Tapha looked at each and looked at him.

‘Welcome to The Gambia, where you question certain things at your own risk,’ Yous said as the van dove into a pothole making Jermaine hit his knees on the dashboard.

‘Ouch!’

‘Now that’s what people 4 inches or so taller than you go through and they stay tight lipped,’ Tapha laughed. ‘This is what you do. You keep your eyes on the road as if you’re driving but you are looking out for potholes. When you see one, you pull your knees towards you to sort of cushion the impact before the vehicle gets into it.’

‘That was never in the handbook you made me in London,’ Jermaine retorted, rubbing his knee.

‘Well, apply it now. Here comes another pot hole!’

Jermaine lifted his knees in the nick of time as the van lowered itself into a massive pothole and hoisted itself back out.

‘I mean, can’t you sue if you have an accident on a road like this?’ he asked, looking at the road.

Tapha shrugged.

‘Not that I know of. ’

They reached Fajara beach and this time, there was no paramilitary with a firearm to be a kill joy.

The beach wasn’t crawling with people yet so a good spot was found and temporarily owned.

The sound system was set up and wired to a silent mini generator that put putted silently in the bushes. The food was set up with some girl named Yamou passing off as supervisor.  After watching her for a while, Jermaine remarked, ‘you sure are good at this, aren’t you?’

She smiled.

‘I got to be or there would be chaos. These other girls don’t want to be up for it and the guys,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘The less said of them, the better.’

Jermaine leaned forward and wore his brightest smile. It always works for him in all situations when he tries it on. He calls it the ‘battering ram’ as it gets him from one point to another, which is ironic as he uses charm rather than force.

‘Say, Yamou, when you serving out the Benechim, pile on my plate for me, will you? My GP said it will do my system good if I eat more of it, you know. I have been on a bad diet of chips, burgers and all types of junk food so rice and stuff like that would help.’

Yamou looked into his face and something on her oval shaped face told Jermiane he had entangled himself too far.

‘I wonder why Tapha failed to mention that,’ she replied, keeping a straight face, eyes on his. ‘He told me to make sure you get as much helpings of ‘chin you want but not your condition.’

Jermaine coughed and pulled at a braid.

‘Okay, let’s start again. That one came out all wrong. Could you please let me have as much helpings of,’ he held up a hand, ‘what did you just call it?’

‘Chin.’

‘Ah yes. Could you please let me have as much helpings of chin as I want?’

This time, Yamou laughed.

‘Yes, I will.’

Jermaine winked at her and left. He went up to the guys who were clustered under a fir tree, laughing over something.

‘Let me in on the joke, please,’ Jermaine pleaded and Eku said, ‘It is Ebrima. He invited his main girl and his side girl also turned up. To avoid a showdown, he sneaked off home!’

Jermaine laughed but got serious when Tapha pointed out the two unknowing rivals to him.

One was so light skinned Jermaine reckoned she has to be Fula. Back home, she would have pass off as mixed race. She combed her hair back and held it down with an Alice band. She was slim figured and wore a midriff revealing top and tight-fitting trousers complete with Adidas trainers. She was drinking something and every sip would rub her lips together. Anything to keep her lipstick on.

The other was dark skinned and it suited her down to a tee. It was as if Ebrima wanted one shade of each. This one was ghetto looking, hair short and slapped on her scalp with gel, dangling earrings, a near Roman nose which was tickling yet romantic for someone her complexion and full, luscious lips she keeps pursing when she speaks. She was full figured but carried it well. Full and rounded in the right places. She was in a figure hugging jeans and jacket.

‘Jeez, Ebrima got game. How he pull these two hotties with flaps like his?’ Jermaine exclaimed.

Tapha shrugged and drank from his coke can.

‘For real, none of us know. He ain’t the greatest looking guy but women just seem to understand his story.’

Dodou, passing off as the DJ, got behind the deck and belted off some ‘ngaga’ that had Jermaine marvelling at the way the girls moved to it.

‘Get your mind outta the gutter,’ Tapha said, shoulder barging him.

Jermaine shook his head.

‘That’s the furthest thing on my mind, to be honest. These girls move like they left their spines at home!’  

‘You could join them, you know,’ Yous offered but Jermaine shook his head.

‘Let me watch from here.’

More and more people came to the picnic and very soon a crowd formed up. There were also picnic spots for other groups and soon all kinds of food aroma filled the air.

The boys resisted a dip in the inviting sea and Tapha explained why.

‘Dodou almost got drowned three years ago and we vowed swimming is off the menu for good.’

‘Can you swim though?’

Tapha nodded. ‘I can hold my own in shallow water I guess. But it’s been a while since I splashed about so I’m not too sure anymore.’

He lifted his plastic cup of ‘chakry’. ‘You sure you don’t wanna try some? It is delicious.’

Jermiane shook his head.

‘Waiting for the main course,’ he said as his phone went off. He put a finger in one ear, sank on his haunches, spoke for a bit and got off the phone.

‘Lil T and Susan okay?’

Jermaine nodded.

‘Yeah, they are fine, thanks.’

He brightened up as Yamou made his way towards him, balancing a paper plate laden with benechin on one hand and holding a can of Fanta in the other.  

‘That’s what I’m talking about,’ he winked at her. ‘Thanks, Yamou!’

‘Come back for round two,’ she winked back.

It was after three helpings that he noticed Eku at the far end.

The guy must have further hoisted up his trousers as his socks, which were outrageously white, were now largely visible.

On a full tummy, Jermaine knew he couldn’t afford to laugh like he did before so he averted his eyes to the sea, watching an ocean liner glide along the waters, probably heading for the port in Banjul.   

For comments and suggestions, please swing me an email at: chelseacrazy@hotmail.com.