Spa Day in Africa

Joe left last night. He got really mad the night before over a taxi pickup which they shouldn’t have charged us for, but they did. It was frustrating. Even though the hotel is gorgeous, the customer service sure does leave something to be desired.

Today was my spa day. It was incredible. I got a bath, a full-body exfoliation, and a full-body massage. Amazing. Though, I was really a bit surprised when it was just expected that I would be stripping down to my undies (no bra) for the masseus, showering practically in front of her (cause the scrub needed to come off) and then didn’t realize that my breasts were included when putting on the full-body scrub. It was a bit awkward at first until I started getting comfortable with my nakedness. It was a bit of a liberating feeling. I didn’t want to leave the spa.
I said bye to my spa friend. His name is Mila. I’m sure he just wanted a shot at a foreign white chick, but he was a nice guy who took a chance at talking to me while I was at the gym and he was working (the workers were not allowed to speak to guests aside from cheerful hellos). He told me working there, they were promised “good luck and sprits”, tips from the guests, and decent money. He saw none of this. I gave him my business card so that he could have my email and write. I doubt I’ll hear from him.

Now, I had to leave the spa. But before I left, I had a quick bite at the hotel. The restaurant that I ate in for lunch was directly on the beach, practically. There was a guy who was watching me, staring while I ate lunch, from the beach. He psssssssssssst me (which is what they do in Africa to get anyone’s attention), said hi, repeatedly, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore and gave in and said hi back. He didn’t say much else aside from staring most of the time, and then he came up to one more time again and said hi. Then, he said he was going home, so he wanted to say bye. It was so bizarre. I wanted to give him my french-fries or something, but I didn’t think it would be socially acceptable to feed a beachperson through the holes in the restaurant. He was wearing tattered clothing and was alone. I felt so awkward. Such a strange place, Gambia is. Such a vast disparity, it’s just a mixture of well-off and extremely poor. I just felt wrong sitting there in my perfect little world, in a gorgeous picturesque hotel right above/next to him, eating a burger he couldn’t afford and getting first class service while he sat right outside probably wondering what it was like to be me. As much as I loved Gambia for how well they catered to tourists, it really was a bit of a psychologically messed up experience for me.

Also, I had a tough taxi ride. Joe had warned me a little bit. Our quiet taxi driver we had used all week asked us for a) an invitation letter to come to the US, or b) help with money so that he could buy his own taxi and stop renting it daily from some other guy for the price that he normally got on a good day, especially in the rainy season. Ugh, this was tough, and once again, sad. I tried to explain, for US standards I really don’t have much money – which I’m sure he found hard to believe after knowing which hotel we stayed in and what kind of meals we ate every day.