Since arriving in The Gambia, I’ve witnessed a beautiful way of life, one where community isn’t just a word, but a lived reality. Here, people treat each other as family; every elder is an uncle or aunt, every peer a brother or sister. The social cohesion is unlike anything I’ve experienced elsewhere in Africa.
As a CorpsAfrica volunteer, I work within a community-led development model, where villages drive their progress rather than waiting for outside intervention. In my host community, Jiffin Village, this principle is deeply understood. I’ve seen firsthand how they come together, pooling their resources and efforts to achieve shared goals.
One inspiring example is the construction of a school bantaba, a gathering place for students to relax and play. Another is the collective tilling of a new rice farm. In every project, participation is universal; young and old, men and women all contribute with unwavering commitment.
Amid these communal efforts, there’s a special tradition that binds them even closer: Attaya, a unique drink made from green tea. No matter the task, two people, a man and a woman, are permanently assigned a special role: brewing and serving this cherished drink.
Wherever people gather, you’ll find a small kettle and two tiny glasses being passed around. The preparation of Attaya is an art, slow, deliberate, and communal. Its purpose? To rejuvenate tired bodies during work or to ease minds after a long day. What amazes me most is how a single kettle serves an entire group. The host sometimes will even walk to the neighboring home to invite others for a sip.
This small but powerful tradition strengthens the bonds of an already united community. No matter how little there is, Attaya is always shared, ensuring that everyone around gets a taste. It’s more than just tea; it’s a symbol of unity, generosity, and connection.
Yet, the community is also mindful. They understand that while Attaya brings them together, its excessive use can lead to addiction. It’s a balance they navigate with wisdom.
Development isn’t just about infrastructure or agriculture; it’s about the invisible threads that hold people together. And in my time here, I’ve learned that sometimes, those threads are steeped in the warmth of a shared glass of Attaya.