State of Unrest
Written by
Buba Jaiteh
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This book is dedicated to my family, especially my Dad and Mom who were at all times my
inspiration for everything, to my little brother Abdou Karim who never got the chance to read
and to Sadibou where ever you are, we love and miss you.

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Prologue

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Banjul, The Gambia
Ismaila Ceesay hurriedly packed a nylon bag full of clothes and headed for the
bus stop. He couldn't conceal his excitement of being away for three months.
Three months without the smell of Banjul gutters and far way from all the
mosquitoes.
Banjul, the capital city of the Gambia, is geographically located on the shores
of the Atlantic Ocean. The city got its name from the long bonjulo trees that
grew on the island. The natives then would cross from the north bank of the
river Gambia to gather these trees from Barthurst, the former name for the city.
These trees were used to build roofs over their houses. Banjul is a beautiful
city surrounded by Senegal with a population of 50,000. Ismaila likes the city;
he just hates the constant smell of gutters and buzzing mosquitoes.
He loves going back home to Gunjur where his family resides. He loves the
attention he gets from everyone except from his big brother Musa. Most of the
villagers were envious of Ismaila. During that period of time, he was the only
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young man going to school at Gambia High School, never the less everyone
was proud of him.
Ismaila was the youngest son in a family of three born to a Gunjur fisherman.
His mother was a housewife who spent most of her time tending to her small
garden of tomatoes. His brother, Musa, was never happy when Ismaila is at
home because his little brother gets all the attention.
Musa always dislikes the moment when the whole family is sitting outside at
night enjoying the cool sea breeze blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean. His
parents would shower his little brother with all kinds of praises, leaving him
without any credence. He loves his little brother dearly but thinks he deserves
some kind of acknowledgement for all the work he was doing.
As he stood at the bus stop in his school uniform, a white shirt and blue shorts
with white socks pulled up to his shin, waiting for the bus, a driver in a white
Toyota stopped a few meters away from him. The driver was waving his
hands, gesturing for him to come on, he ran towards the car.
The man rolled down his passenger side window and asked "where to young
man?"
Ismaila, panting heavily, answered "Brikama."
"I am not going to Brikama but I can drop you off at Serre Kunda, from there
you can go anywhere you know, come on in."
He jumped in, put his nylon bag on the floor between his legs and rolled his
window down a bit. As the vehicle sped away the large man at the wheels
turned around and started a conversation.
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"What is your name young man?"
"Ismaila" he answered with a smile.
"Are you from Brikama?"
"No my folks are from Gunjur. I am going home so I have to pass through
Brikama to get there."
"I bet your folks will be glad to see you."
"Yeah, I miss my Mom and Dad; I can't wait to get home so I can mess with my
big brother."
"Oh, bold young man aren't you" The old man said, laughing.
The car was going at a leisurely speed. It seems like the old man was in no
hurry to get to Serre kunda.
* * * * * * * * * *
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Three years later, another young student was panting after a car that has
stopped to pick up some students at the same bus stop. He stood up; hands on
his knees as he watched the car sped away. His eyes were fixed on the cars
registration plates, reading the car's plates as if it were a game. He stood up,
swung his hands in air in frustration and said “God damned man, if I should
ever become president, I will make sure there are enough school buses for us
peasants."
If Sulay had been standing at the same place as the other students were, the car might have
picked him up too. He was not mad at anyone just needed to get home before darkness falls.
Sulay was annoyed by the fact that at 2.00pm everyday after school closed, they had to sit
there for hours waiting for school buses to take them home, and the few buses that came
would be filled up quickly. The students were normally packed like sardines with little or no
air circulation. The temperature inside the buses usually equates the usual 80 degrees Celsius
plus at least 20 more degrees. Exaggeration would be an understatement.
All you can smell is the musty odor of sweaty students fanning themselves to
stay cool. Most of his classmates whose parents’ work in the government had
drivers and cars that drop them off and picked them up from school, while the
majority of the students had to hitchhike back and forth to school. Sulay was
also annoyed by the fact that the Gambia government could not even offer free
high school education. At least this would combat illiteracy, he thought.
Sulay adjusted his bag pack and started to do what the other boys were doing -
walking until a kind driver stop to pick him up somewhere.
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He came from Kembujeh, a village on the outskirts of Brikama. Sulay's parents
were farmers and had three children. Sulay was the youngest, the most stubborn
and also the most intelligent in his family. He broke his leg twice playing
soccer and at one time, because of his stubbornness, he almost drowned one of
his friends on the beach. It was an accident but he got the blame for pushing his
friend into the water. His parents were accustomed to the complaints from the
other villagers regarding how he treated the other children.
Sulay was still a long way from reaching Radio Syd; he has been walking for
about five minutes, deep in thought. The roar of sirens coming from behind
him interrupted his concentration he stopped to listen. The Presidential
motorcade was approaching. He stood there watching the president's Rolls
Royce flanked by four policemen on BMW motorcycles. To Sulay, the
procession was a moving and beautiful sight of power and it was very
impressing. Once the procession cleared, a blue car stopped by to give him a
lift. As he got into the car, Sulay had already made up his mind about what he
wanted to be when he grew up.
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Book One
The Soldier and the Politician
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Chapter one
Gunjur
Summer of 1990
When Lamin Bojang, the Progressive Peoples Party’s (PPP) candidate for
Kombo South announced that he was going to retire from politics for health
reasons, Kombo South needed another candidate to represent them in the
parliament, they were not going to let their rival, the National Convention
Party’s (NCP) candidate win the seat. In a nutshell, the rivalry between the
ruling party PPP and NCP was so strong that the local PPP committee would
not let that happen.
No one else came to the minds of the villagers but a young graduate of
Cambridge University working in the Ministry of Local governments and
lands. His name was Ismaila Ceesay.
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The village elders for the PPP had already discussed the issue over several cups
of attaya and kola nuts and have decided that it was time to meet the father of
this young man, to express their desire for his son to take up the parliamentary
seat for Kombo south.
Before the elders decision to invite him to run, Ismaila had already made up his
mind to compete for the seat, he would not volunteer the information to the
elders but would rather wait for them to approach him. With his education and
skills, he was confident that no one else was fit for that position but him.
Gunjur had by now grown into a big fishing capital of Kombo south, due to its
strategic location on the coast, the town stills lacks the menial amenities of a
modern town such as running water and electricity. Most of the people who had
electricity had to power them using their own generators. Looking around, you
can see some signs of modernization-TV antennas on a few rooftops, a tiny car
park that serves as a transit depot for commuters. Several modern buildings
adorned the landscape with their gigantic cement structures and shiny
corrugated iron roofs. Things in the town were changing rapidly. Many young
adult men and females were going to school in the city of Banjul and a very
large majority of young men and women were also indulging their brains in
Western education at Gunjur secondary school.
On one Monday morning, Ismaila was at his office in Banjul when his secretary
announced that his father and a group of elders had journeyed from Gunjur and
were waiting to see him.
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Of course they came unannounced, chattering loudly in the native Mandingo
language. Most of the men were adorned with white kaftans, little round hats
embroidered in different colors adorn their heads, their gums were red from
chewing kola nuts. He got up to meet them in the lobby exchanging a neverending
greeting process.
After the greetings subsided he walked them into his conference room. The
conference room was packed and buzzing with soft chatter as the younger
generation made way for the elders to take their position at the table. As the
greetings subsided, Ismaila's father Arafang fished out from his pocket a brown
object that look like large leaves, tied in the middle and across and handed it to
his son. Father and son looked at each other and Ismaila exclaimed "oh, oh"
looking firmly around the room. Everyone in the room busted out laughing. He
said “I don't think I have any children who needs a husband at the moment,
what calls for this occasion?"
"urrh,um uh" his father cleared his throat and began in Arabic, "Alhamdu lil
lahi rabil alamin ,say dina mohamed ala rasullil la hi". His father was not
really sure if his son would accept the offer, that was why he decided to show
up unannounced. As far as he was concern, politics in Africa and elsewhere
around the world is usually accompanied by chaos. Deep in his mind he
thought Ismaila had whatever he ever wanted, a nice job, good money and a
lovely wife.
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The thought of uprooting the firm stub that he had planted for his son would
be crazy and downright unacceptable. He sure would not forgive himself if
anything was to go wrong.
Ismaila was the only one in the room with a tie, out of habit he adjusted his tie
and said "go on father, I am listening".
He could just by looking at the crowd in the room come to a sound deduction
of what his old man was struggling to get out; the people in the room were no
strangers, they were avid campaigners.
"Err...well...err the town elders, you know the PPP members had asked me at
the bantaba to see if you would be interested in running for the now vacant seat
as our representative member of parliament. As you know Lamin Bojang is not
going to run anymore. So we all came down here to give you this bag of kola
nuts as a token of our respect, you know, to see if you would accept the offer."
Ismaila reached for the nuts and put them on the table beside him as an
acknowledgement, and then he asked his father to open it and distribute the
kola nuts among the villagers.
He cleared his throat and said. "Well this is a big surprise, I thank you very
much for having faith in me but I will have to sit and talked this over with the
rest of my family. How far away are the elections?"
Kang Darboe , the illiterate PPP chairman, a skeptic in his own right
answered" the elections are 9 months away."
Ismaila politely asked them to give him a week to think about this. He was
going down to Gunjur anyways to visit his family and he would meet with the
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villagers then. Ismaila gave the villagers a few Dalasis and offered to have his
driver take them home.
As the men left his office, all but one was convinced that Ismaila would accept
the offer, it was Kang Darboe. His logic was that Ismaila showed no signs of
emotion. I guess as a doctor in emotional psychology, Kang Darboe knows
best.
For the coming weeks, all the men could talk about at the bantabas was the
meeting and waiting eagerly for a response.
* * * * * *
After the 1981 failed coup 'etat, the president of the Gambia at the time had
decided that it was time for the country to be able to defend itself. With the
help of the British and the Senegalese government, the country began to recruit
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an army. One of the army barracks was strategically located in Yundum
adjacent to the airport. The advent of the military provided an elite class of
young men with steady jobs and opportunities for advancement.
The Yundum army barracks.
On this particular day referred to as “selection day” the army barracks was full
of eager young men and women clutching on their high school certificates and
others with their brothers certificates wanting to join the Gambia national army.
A big bulky Lieutenant sat behind a large desk with beads of sweat running down his face, as
if scrutinizing the 99th certificate of the day. With the quickness of his tongue and the vileness
of his attitude, you could tell he was getting to the end of his wits, if not already there. If his
thoughts were spoken out aloud I bet he was thinking that most of these candidates would not
go pass the grade of Cadet or even private.
Like a human scanner, he scans one certificate and quickly passed it on, yells next
rhythmatically if there is such a word.
As it turns out the next candidate in line was a dark young man by the name of
Sulay Colley, about 22 years of age; 5ft 7 inches tall and heavily built like a
wrestler.
The Lieutenant could not help but admired the young man's frame. He was
thinking to himself "perfect soldier, I wish his papers aren't like crap too."
Sulay came forward, handed his papers to the Lieutenant and waited. The
Lieutenant looked at his papers, studying it with great skill. After a few seconds
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of glancing at the credentials, he looked up and asked calmly to the young man
“what are you doing here?"
The question took Sulay by surprise. He was not expecting that kind of
response from the Lieutenant so he answered with a brushing air, "to be a
soldier, sir!"
The Lieutenant looked at the papers again and asked "Gambia High School,
Division one, are you sure, don't you want to be anything else? With these
grades you can do anything."
With that he passed the papers to his assistant and said, "this one is a keeper,
young man you are definitely selected and you have made my day"
Only Sulay knew what he wanted to be, not just any soldier but aspiring to be a
great one.
Two weeks later, Sulay packed his little belongings and headed for the Fajara
barracks to begin his training. One hundred and twenty eager young men also
reported for the training. Their heads were shaved clean, as a sign of their
disconnection to the civilian world and they were given a loaf of bread, hot and
brown in color with a steamy liquid that was too white to be call tea. Sulay
retired to a corner in his dormitory with three other new faces, his new
roommates. He sipped his tea without apprehension and calmly bites a piece of
his bread trying hard to make this day a memorable one.
* * * * * * *
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Chapter Two
Fajara, Bakau
Ismaila sat at the table not eating his dinner, his wife noticed but didn't say
anything, she thought it might be the usual stress at work and was too tired
herself to start any arguments. So she shut up and said nothing but occasionally
she would look his way.
Ismaila on the other hand, was bothered a little by the events unfolding. He
wanted to tell his wife Bintu but decided against it, as they never mostly agreed
on anything. She might not understand and think he is throwing his life away, a
private life for all the political commotion. He wanted to test his wife's stance
on the issues first before he divulges any information to her. This way he can
structure his conversation so no one gets annoyed or hurt.
Ismaila, unlike most West African men, who would not even care if their
wives were involved in the decision making process, had learned that he gets
better results when he involve the support of his wife. Bintu was a smart
woman in her own right and not afraid to speak her mind.
"Bintu, did you hear that your MP is resigning?" he asked
"My MP?" she asked back wondering if that was bordering him.
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"I mean, yeah, our MP, we came from same place and he is representing us
both." Ismaila argued.
"Yeah, I know, see naturally I do not like politicians that much"
"But why though"? He asked, her husband was now pondering over her last
comment.
"...They think they own the people that voted them in, they can play us like
puppets and once they get in, it seems like they don't know anyone anymore,
that's why." she answered, getting up to put her plate away.
"You mean... no, you are not serious... ah ha-?" He smiled thoughtfully.
She turned around elaborating on her last point. "What I really mean is that
these so called politicians would not bother us until the elections are near, then
they come spluttering in like stray chickens to take what they think is rightfully
theirs...er..er I can even say naturally theirs. “She said breathlessly.
He was laughing out loud now, he got up to put his plate away and grabbed his
wife by her waist, softly saying "oh come on, they never thought that, this is
just how politics is, people think that politicians are saints or even demi-gods
not realizing that it is their votes that count."
She place her small hands on his chest and looked right in his eyes, she knew
he was trying to tell her something but with Ismaila if she really want to get
anything out of him then she would have to dig it out of him.
"So what is it Iss?" She asked calling him by his nickname. “Are you going to
run?"
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"Naah, oh no, no… I am not sure, I was meaning to tell you that couple of days
ago, my dad and several other men came to talk to me regarding this same
issue." he said, he let her go and they moved towards the sofa.
"But you know I have got my doubts, I pretty much have a fine and safe life, I
do not have to worry about no military coups, you understand, but I will have
to give up all that. Needless to say, this is pretty safe country but who knows."
Her hands were in his hair now slowly rubbing the back of his neck.
"Relax," she said trying to calm him down, “you know Iss, we are happy the
way we are and you don't have to do this but if you decide to, I will be there
right behind you, supporting you all the way." Bintu saw the glimmer in his
eyes and calmly assured her husband that there was only one thing to do, he
could resign from his job when the time comes. “I will never complain, should
you loss the seat." She confided.
Ismaila took his wife in his hands and hugged her warmly, he knew sometimes
they never see eye to eye but this was a far more complicated matter important
to them both. He was very thankful for the candid relationship they shared. The
moment he laid eyes on her at the commencement ceremony, where he was the
guest of honor at Gunjur secondary school, he knew he wanted her. She was
the head girl sitting in the front row with her hair braided in corn rolls. All
throughout his speech they could not take their eyes off each other.
At the end of the ceremony, while he was shaking hands with some of the
students and faculty, she came and shook hands with him smilingly asking,"
don't you remember me Mr. Ceesay, I am Bintu, Pa Kabba's daughter."