Gambia Day Two: Attacked by Monkeys
I'm extremely jet lagged so I wake up at 12:00 to the most hellacious thunder and lightning. The electricity is cutting in and out. The insects are loud. Cicada loud. I'm jarred to say the least. I turn to Lindsay. "I'm wide awake," I say. Translation: "I'm scared as hell." She goes, "Well, I'm not," and goes right back to bed.
We meet Sally for breakfast. Sally is another American from South Carolina who's been here a week. She's like six-feet tall. One of those Sankofa type Americans all into her roots and what not. She tells us to go on the Roots tour to the birth village of Kunte Kinte. She tells us to go to this seafood restaurant outside of the main compound. She says she's been gorging herself on bananas mangos and cashews. Again the words of passport health ring in my head. Do not stray off the beaten path. Don't drink drinks with ice in them. Don't eat fruits. The words sounded easy enough to heed in New York. Now temptation is everywhere.
We're at lunch and I swear one of the guys working in the clubhouse is named Fofana. I wanna summon him and ask him what our last name means. My one mission. I motion to the waiter. "Is that guy's name Fofana?" He says, "No, his name is Fakemba."
So Lindsay claims she was nearly attacked by monkeys. On some "Interpreter of Maladies" ish. I was asleep in the villa (jet lag is a mfka!) when it happened. She went to the outdoor reception area for Internet and "like twenty monkeys were on the ledge staring me down!" I calm her down and remind myself I've married someone prone to hyperbole. At the same time, I can't help but feeling glad she got that karma for not comforting me during the previous night's storm. But lo and behold, the next time we go for a walk there's like a swarm of monkeys in the grass by the resident's area!