The one where I am loved by strange men

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I’ve been putting a lot of thought recently into the Gambian bumster situation. Allow me to pause and explain bumsters for your full enjoyment. A bumster is a young Gambian man, typically with “rasta” hair, who hangs out on the beach or on the street and tries to make friends with white people in the hopes of earning a living. These are the people that are relentless in their efforts to talk to you. Their typical greetings are “Hey boss lady, you’re looking very smart today” (smart means awesome)… “Pretty lady, won’t you give me a minute of your time?”… “Oh lovely white girl, you’re looking so cool, come and chat with me”… “I love you, what is your name?”…and my personal favorite “Hey empress, heaven must be missing angels because I’m seeing one right now.” (insert gagging effect here) Bumsters are extremely aggressive in trying to make friends with you, and are utterly obnoxious. Half the time they’re high off their ass, talking craziness, and wanting to touch your arm as if to say, “I just feel close to you!” My technique of ridding myself of them is to generally ignore them, or just flat out lie about my life here. Only my real friends know my name here, and when I hear someone on the street calling out one of the crazy names I gave them, I know I am being followed by a bumster. It’s my self created alarm bell. When you tell a bumster you are American, they are automatically hooked, since America is 5 meters from heaven. After trying out different countries of origin, I have found that Cuba gets the least amount of interest. So my alias is that I am from Cuba, my name is Guadelupe Hernandez, and I am on holiday for a week with my husband who is a body guard to Fidel Castro.

A strange phenomenon is happening between these bumster boys and tourists, especially female ones… particularly old female ones. It is very common, and more common than I would like to see, for a young Gambian bumster to be seen perusing the beach, hand in hand, with an over-tanned European woman in her late 60s early 70s. I wish I was kidding. This friends, is the strange world of female sex tourism. It is a widespread phenomenon that is not just happening in Gambia. Older ladies will actually travel to tropical hotspots known on the radar for cheap and easy sex, and go there…for sex. Now in these events, the bumster is not only looking for food, money, or clothes, they are also looking for promises of a new life…and possibly a visa. A lot of these young men will say they have a real job. They wake up in the morning, find someone to hang out with, make money, and go home. Although sex is a vital human need, sex tourism is completely counterproductive. It adds to the cycle of poverty, resident street folk, and hopes of earning a living doing something with your brain or skills other than sex. Don’t even get me started on child sex tourism, this is whole other beast that is far from humorous in any way.

I look at tourists, in their sun hats and camera bags, and in a way I identify with their confusion. A new person in a developing country may come in and think they are doing a country a service by giving little kids money or food, thinking they are being kind. The only problem is that they are blinded by symptoms of poverty. Handing out money to anyone who asks for it is not doing the country, or the individual a service, it is working in the opposite manner. It adds to the cycle of poverty, and in many cases, will keep people there as they believe they can make a life off begging, while not trying to do anything productive for society. Give money to an organization, a family you know, a friend in need, or work for a cause. Keep your money, and your genitals, in your pants if you want to help poverty productively.

Quote of the post:
“Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?” -The Doors

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