Tag Archives: clubs

Solo to Africa 3

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After a couple of days in The Gambia I’d begun to understand the reason why so many middle-aged, single women had been on my flight and been met off the plane by beautiful young men. On the beaches and and around the place the women could be spotted with their companions, eating in restaurants, wandering hand-in-hand or canoodling on beach loungers. The young men had been purchased and paid for. I was unable to make a judgement. But years later, when I read a news article on the topic and learned that the men thought the women ‘horrible’ it was clear that any judgement must be of a world where some populations are disadvantaged by others. Inequality was the culprit.

I was to have a night out with Lamin, our holiday rep, who was keen to show me another side of Banjul, The Gambia’s capital. We went to a club. I got a taste of how it felt to be the only white person in this venue packed with gyrating dancers, inhibiting at first and then less so with the lubrication of beer. I wonder now how it was possible to get beer in this strictly Moslem community? But I assume it has always been possible and will remain so. At last I joined in to the dancing with gusto, the music compelling, even though not live. There were several more clubs [and beers], before I was returned to my hotel room a little worse for wear.

In the morning I went over to the market, where Gibriel had arranged for someone to mind the stall while we cycled to the crocodile pond. We set off, chatting as we cycled in the hot sun. It was only a couple of miles and soon we were arriving to a tree-lined track then to a gateway, where I paid for the tickets and we walked into the compound. I imagine that now you would not be able to wander freely among these killing machines without a protective fence, but this was 1996 and there we were, strolling around the crocodile infested waters with the huge reptiles sleeping or inert all around us. I’d been assured it was all safe. The crocodiles were well fed.

One of the animals, ‘Charlie’ had been hand-reared. We sat down next to him and touched him [although not near his fearful mouth]. Then, after some encouragement I stepped across the crocodile in a pretence of sitting [though without full weight]. Most people, when looking at the photo of me astride the crocodile believe it is a stuffed animal or that the picture is fake. It is not.

Gibriel grabbed my hand as we walked around the pond. Would I like to have babies with him? They would be very handsome, he said. I told him I was flattered, but already had children. There was nothing threatening, intrusive or tricky in his proposal, he remained amenable after the rejection and we continued as friends. I carried on visiting the market to take tea with him and chat. I’d spotted a beautiful, carved chess set and wanted to buy it. It was promised to someone else, he told me, but he would make one for me and send it in the post. I pondered this, then gave him the money for it. The chess set may or may not turn up, but he’d been wonderful company and given me cups of tea.

I had one more adventure to look forward to. I was going inland up the Gambia River to stay on an island for a night, travelling by minibus in a small group…

Spring Chickens and Tough Old Boilers

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                Some years ago I was invited to a hen party as a colleague of the bride-to-be. In recent times, hen ‘dos’ have become more elaborate affairs, as have stag parties. They often consist of an entire weekend of activities-even, as in the case of one of our neighbours, a whole holiday of sailing around the Greek islands. For women there will often be some kind of ‘pampering’ like nails, massage or facials, followed  by something more active, such as ballet, followed by cocktails, followed by a meal, followed by getting extremely drunk going clubbing and tottering around on spindly heels/falling over/throwing up/stripping off/lying in the gutter and generally having a great time. The whole of this may be undertaken in some kind of themed fancy dress, or simply the tartiest get-up that can be assembled.

                For a number of reasons I consider rites of passage such as these to be the realm of the young. If you are of more mature years and get invited the best policy is to select the part that is most appropriate [in the aforementioned case it was the cocktail and the meal]. As the meal drew to a close, the two of us who had opted out of the clubbing part waved their taxis off with a shared sigh of relief. I must add that not all the older women had opted out of clubbing-indeed one or two threw themselves into both the late night revelries and the taxis with an excited anticipation that appeared a little incongruous alongside their younger companions; still, no matter.

                Subsequent feedback during coffee with one of the [thirty something] married revellers of that night only served to reinforce my theory. Had she had a good time? ‘It was ok’, she replied. ‘but you know-however young, fashion conscious and fit you may be, there is always going to be someone younger, more fashionable and fit than you are’. This, I might add was from a beautiful, intelligent and witty young woman. No surprise then that she has risen up the career with meteoric speed.

                It is currently Red Carpet Season. Consider the likes of Judi Dench, Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep. They are held up as shining examples of older women who are ‘still gorgeous’-and yes, they are, though the unspoken phrase ‘for their age’ lurks in the background of the chatter column like an eavesdropper.

                So what are we ancient crones to do? The answer, I feel is to do nothing. We can continue to scrub up the best we can for the sake of our own dignity. We can be good conversationalists, good listeners, constant learners, entertaining, interesting, interested, fun, witty, wise, creative. But we cannot, and should not attempt to compete in the sexual arena, for there will always, always be younger, lovelier beings; such is life.