'Early Morning Run in... The Gambia'
Summer 2021. SN Brussels is bringing him from Manchester. I haven't seen 'him' for more than 2 years.
My first overseas travel in 16 months. I'm staying in 'him's place (below is our local watering hole, 'Sailors'). We fine-tune the run here.
Back on the road? Covid in Africa? International travel? Well, on the one hand, you've experts, top scientists and epidemiologists saying Covid is real and potentially dangerous. On the other hand, there's a fellow down my local gym who says it's all a crock of sh*t. It's hard to know who to believe...
He's phoned, he's in the car, on his way from Banjul International Airport. 66 mins later… the bungalow door bursts open…
And lo: he's here. The thick, luxurious slicked-back mane of black hair, the Brillo pad stubble, the killer smile, the cologne, the bling, the Kirk Douglas dimple, the travel outfit… a cross between Ali G and Dame Edna. He's looking fantastic.
Usually, bro hugs are not me; it's different with Cameo. We hug, embrace and back slap for several minutes.
"Yo bro... bro, you're looking great, bro."
"You too, Cameo."
'Cameo' hits the large vodkas, gin for me. We sit on stools at his kitchen island and pick up where we left off over two years ago like it was yesterday. Cameo knocks em back like there's no today; as always, we agree tomorrow will take care of itself…
After a few drinks, we talk about our ambitions post Covid. Cameo says he wants to run 5 miles in under an hour. I say I want to run from Cairo to Cape Town in under 4 weeks. He laughs and says, isn't that a tad over-ambitious. I reply, "well, you started it." We laugh and clink glasses; it's good to be back with this man.
'Cameo' was a former guest runner in Banjul in 2017; we discussed another run. It's on… read on…
Seeing Cameo again has warmed my heart, as did this exchange the day I landed back in The Gambia. One week ago.
The Sennegambia Strip. A shout from the road towards my open cafe terrace. It sounds like "Mr Mark, Mr Mark." I'm surprised; my last time in Banjul was in 2017. The man, dressed like a Senegalese lottery winner, has my attention. I look up from my coffee and phone.
Before the interruption, I'm reading a sad email from a friend whose wife (who I also know) is leaving him. I went to their wedding. She's had enough, he writes. She wants out. Apparently, her main beef is that Dave had become totally obsessed with watching sport on TV during the lockdown.
Separation is always a cruel thing, but Dave seems relatively sanguine. He writes it's a great pity because they'd been together for nearly 7 seasons.
"Mr Mark, Mr Mark, it is you. You're back."
"Er, yes, I'm back."
"I was your man. It's Suliman. I did your SIM card, your top-ups, you remember?"
Fantastic, my comms man from 4 years ago. Suliman pulls up a chair, and unprompted, begins unpacking phones from his oversized backpack.
"Suliman, I don't want any phones."
"Please, sir, business is so slow, the Covid. No business for more than a year. The landlord has kicked me out for no rent. My wife is having another baby. She's gone back to Guinea Bissau."
Suliman, meanwhile, isn't listening to me. He's unpacking tablets.
"Suliman, take a drink, a coke." The waitress brings a coke.
Suliman pleads for me to buy something. He'll take his commission down to next to nothing for a sale. I tell him he'll have me crying soon. He smiles.
We talk about the situation in Banjul, no tourists for 2 seasons. Life is hard for everyone, especially those on the margins.
Suliman is now unpacking some crap Nokia's with only one function, remarkably a phone. A throwaway burner phone is helpful in West Africa for local calls and for when bad boys come calling. Freetown, where I lived for 6 and a half years, was a tough neighbourhood, every time I closed a window, I'd hit someone's fingers. Five finger skullduggery in West Africa is an art form.
"Suliman, look, I have to pay for my coffee and go." I pay him more than he's asking for the phone. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"
The waitress brings the plastic menu with the meals pictured. "How about chicken and chips, or steak and chips," I enquire. "Or, this spaghetti bolognese looks good."
Here comes the punchline and why I love Africa and these interactions. Suliman declares, "I don't like chicken."
A good deed turns into a minor palaver. The waitress and manager are now involved in trying to temp his tastebuds. We eventually settled on fish and rice and another coke. I pay the bill and head off smiling. It's beautiful to be back.
The most recent blog post finished with 'yours truly' in self-isolation in West Africa.
At the time, what was the difference between Mark Knopfler and my situation? Probably somewhere between Dire Straits & sh*t creek. After nearly 2 months on the West African highway (at the time), I'm undone at the final hurdle. As my old Drill Sergeant used to say, 'sh*t happens, even when you have your sh*t shield on'.
Cameo and I are running in the morning.
06:55. 'Cameo' looks good but tells me (privately) he's had recent problems with constipation. I ask him if he knows the German word for constipation. He doesn't; 'farfrompoopen', my years as a young soldier in Germany were not entirely wasted.
Right, let's go. We set off towards the nearby golf course nice and steady. A quick shout out to the second-best golfer in the Gambia. His name is 'Fast Eddie', he's a golf professional, plays off scratch and makes his living giving lessons, modest prize money and taxiing. He drives me sometimes. The caddies are ready early this morning.
We head down the first fairway through the 5 little piggies.
We'll head down the inland footpaths to Solomon's and back along the beach to the compound.
On this path, there tend to be animals. There's a large family of pigs, a good-sized family of cows and a lone horse. Cameo is scared of all of them, not to mention the odd stray dog. He always holds my hand with the pigs and the cows and is sh*t scared of the lone horse. I coax him through this jungle of wild beasts...
3 km complete. Solomon's ahead - fantastic fish & chips. A regular haunt.
As we hit the beach, we reflect on 'Operation Cameo' and the heroes of Gambia 2017. We never talk about it! The elections here in Jan 2017, the fallout, Senegalese troops crossing the border, the FCO advising British nationals to leave, the airlift, the evacuation planning, over 25 clients in a safe house off the beach, the laughs that went along with it all. Great flashback memories last night into the early hours...
Beach running early in the morning, you can't beat it. 'Cameo' is a different man; he's in shape and sprightly this morning. He's running so well; he's turning the tables on me. We've run with more purpose today. Extremely enjoyable.
Right, hard all the way to the finish, back to the bungalow, and then brekkie at The Butchers Shop in Fajara. 2 km to the bungalow...
Thanks 'Cameo' for your hospitality and friendship, and generosity over the past weeks. See you early in 2022. Is there someone missing? Alice, of course. Don't worry, Alice, you'll feature next time, standby...
In closing, may I wish everyone & anyone who reads this a safe, healthy and prosperous New Year.
