An ironic contrast to the bold label above the door, the dark storage closet looked like anything BUT a library. Books filled unopened boxes sealed with cobwebs. More books stacked up broken shelves amid piles of rat poop. And even more books littered the dusty cement floor. Termites had sawn through dozens of pages, and dirt caked dozens more. Books, yes; a library, not quite.
I don’t think the beauty of this place will ever wear off. In the midst of rainy season, everything here is green. Half the red sandy roads have vanished under wild green grasses. There’s cashew orchards and rice fields and groundnut plantations in perfect green rows. There’s green sprouts that will soon grow into watermelon with green rinds. There’s little green trees with green little limes, and bigger trees bearing oranges with green skin. And then there’s the tallest green trees in all the Gambia that tower over it all, a village just south of the river – Sibanor — my new home.
