A Little Bit of Knowledge

Inside Amadou’s grass-fenced compound I squat down on my heels in front of a communal food bowl and struggle to squeeze myself into the open space. There are ten of us sharing lunch together, and an entire village celebrating the birth of Amadou’s son: Abdoulie. We are wrapped around the giant stainless steel bowl and wrapped inside the billowing cloth of our kaftan robes. Elbows knock each other as we all reach for handfuls of scorching benachin (a mixture of oily rice, sweet potato, cassava and a trace of meat). Keeping my balance is as difficult as pulling my hand up to my mouth. Every movement next to me shifts my weight and threatens to knock me backwards. If I fall over I’ll probably take someone else along with me. We’re at the mercy of each other, a delicate balance. One ill-timed twitch, one spasm, and we might all end up on our backs.

The meal vanishes in minutes and people scatter to the shade of mud walls and mango trees. Respite from the relentless sun. They find comfort on the palm bough stools and in tired radios that strain to push music through thin static speakers. The celebration has ended with the last bits of the feast. Abdoulie’s few wispy curls of week-old hair have been shaved off and he has officially joined his community.

By the gate to the compound sit two hundred seedlings in black plastic-bag pots. Winter Thorn trees, Faidherbia albida, or what the Fula people of central Gambia call badansang. In the next few weeks Amadou and I will plant these trees throughout his millet and corn fields to improve the soil and strengthen his crops, a technique not practiced in this part of the country. With food prices steadily rising Amadou is open to suggestions, especially with another mouth to feed.

According to the World Food Program, production of cereals within The Gambia was down by 35% in 2005. The price of corn increased by about 21%, and rice by about 25%. Even millet, the staple of the Fula people, saw its production affected by the rising price of fertilizer. Most of this change can be attributed to the rising cost of oil. Global corn prices have been affected by the use of one quarter of the US harvest for ethanol production. Rice prices have increased because of the growing expense of exporting the crop from Asia. The story is the same across West Africa. And since the fertilizers used by subsistence farmers (the job title claimed by almost the entire population) are petroleum based, feeding the soil has become increasingly expensive, too.

After saying his goodbyes to Amadou and the rest of the family Yero Ketta, one of the village elders sees the trees and asks what they’re for. He does not like the answer, and he does not like the tree. The thorns fall off and are painful to step on. The branches give birds a place to perch as they endlessly raid the crops. These are bad things and he lets Amadou and I know as the bristled white hair on his chin seems to stand on end. After a brief pause Njie, the village tailor, leans over to me and says in perfect English to avoid being understood by the crowd, “A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

But a little bit of knowledge might also improve life dramatically. Knowing that current fertilizers are petroleum-based and that they are shipped to this tiny river-country on giant oil consuming freighters is important. Knowing that the poisonous run-off from these fertilizers could significantly impact fishing along the river and the fishing industry along the coast is something that every Gambian should know. Most importantly, however, is knowing that something as simple as a tree could relieve some of this pressure. A solution in a seed. The technology is free, and the cost of production is measured only in time.

From an agricultural point-of-view the Winter Thorn is something close to perfection. Its deep roots fix nitrogen into the soil and leave the top layers undisturbed where crops are planted. During the growing season the tree drops its leaves adding nutrients and biomass to the soil while at the same time relieving all competition for sunlight. Even the leaves, shoots and seedpods are considered one of the most important types of animal fodder in the Sahel. The fallen seed pods and hot season shade attract foraging animals that leave behind manure. A perfect cycle.

Planting trees to improve food production not only fights hunger and dependence, but it also fights a quickly encroaching desert. The Gambia has seen its population explode over the past fifty years from 300,000 to 1.4 million. The accompanied strain on resources has been evident. The total deforestation in the past forty years is a frightening 80%, and the degradation of land quality in the Sahel has been just as negative. If this trend continues The Gambia, as it exists today, could be in trouble.

The rainfall was good this year, and so were the harvests. The best rains in over ten years, the people of Koli Kunda village say. There will be food in the hungriest season – the months when the rains finally come and a new crop can be planted. This next year won’t be desperate, but while the weather might be nice, the climate is still changing. It was a good year to be a farmer and almost everyone is a farmer, but there is work to be done. A bad harvest would be a disaster. The sound of pounding mortars and pestles crushing grains into powders and stripping their shells might cease. This rhythmic heartbeat pulsing through every compound of every village might dwindle to a murmur; an uncomfortable silence in the dusty Harmatan winds that blow south from the Sahara.

Yero Ketta has put his tools away and left his fields in his old age, but in less than ten years Abdoulie Nyang will pick his up for the first time; working in fields planted with Winter Thorn. A change of perspective is what is most important: A little bit of knowledge, but the right knowledge. Amadou brought his trees and his son into the world at the same time. How these two will interact will be the test of a father’s ideas; the test of a changing relationship between farmer and field.

Some strides for food security start long before their results are felt. Bala Musa Kolley, a local forester, reminded me of a Jola proverb, “When a bush pig is thirsty it is forever doomed to dig in the soil where it stands.” Since the bush pig never plans ahead it can never shape its future. It is doomed to repeat its work and never build upon it. A little preparation might make all the difference in the next generation’s food bowl. With a little work there might be a little more room.