My parents recently sent me a care package which included a basic swing they had constructed. They used a thick yellow plastic cover from a large bucket and strung a sturdy rope through the middle, placing metal rings on either side of the rope hole. When bringing the swing back to village, I had put it aside in my hut, forgetting about it until I began prepping to paint the interior of my hut. On a whim I took it out into the compound, not sure what the reaction would be. Interested? Scared? Unsure? Sitting next to Babadou and Fatoumatta on the wooden bench, I explained to them what it was. They were both curious, flipping it over, checking out the various parts. They, along with many of the men who walked past the swing throughout its five-day debut, seriously examined the rope. Holding it in their hands, each time the men said “Fatoumatta, a sodani dum ga” (Fatoumatta, you did not buy this here in Gambia). They were impressed with the strength and diameter of the rope. Babadou and Fatoumatta were familiar with the idea of a swing. They explained that swings made by people in the village were not strong so therefore unsafe.
Muhammadou, my host brother, was trimming the branches of the large neem tree in the middle of our compound with his machete so I handed up the rope to him. He wrapped the rope around a strong branch a few times and then tied it into a complicated knot. Ebrima, Babadou's son, Babadou was the first to volunteer. His balance was a little off at first so he kept falling backward. But he quickly learned to lean forward, which helped both his and his mother's fears. She pushed him gently, repeating "Nangu ha tiddi" (Hold the rope really tight). Soon many of the children that do not attend school came to watch. After Ebrima finally agreed to get off the swing, the others tried. At first they did not go very high, but they quickly gained confidence and began requesting higher pushes.
The afternoon was mayhem. By this point all of the children had returned from school and people in the village had heard or seen that we had set up a swing. A large crowd gathered in the compound. The kids all fought to be next, as the adults watched and laughed anxiously, a little nervous. A few brave adults tried. One after another, the kids swung; some hitting their bare feet on the above leaves and some staying close to the ground. Both Babadou and Fatoumatta tried as well. It was so much fun watching them experience getting off the ground and floating in the air. Remember that elementary school feeling of going up and coming down, flying with your feet towards the sky? They were really laughing and so was I. While laughing, Fatoumatta nervously cursed in Fula the entire time she sat on the swing. After running inside my hut to change from my wrap skirt into pants (afraid the wrap skirt would be too revealing), I climbed on and swung high.
This excitement lasted for the next five days. However, on the sixth day, the swing could no longer hold its flyers and the plastic cover cracked. But Gambians’ ingenuity solved the problem through the addition of some metal bars to the bottom. Now the swing is now still in use, but reserved only for children.
Efo (nickname for Fatoumatta) flying high.
Babadou slowly pushing Ebrima, her son.
After much fighting as to who was next to use the swing, a line finally formed directed by the older girls.
