In the middle of my home village Pakalinding in The Gambia, we have gathered around the bonfire. I look up towards the magnificent mango trees, which surround us. As usual I have eaten my supper quickest of all, and when I ran to the fire, I could feel a cool, pleasant breeze blowing through the village. I wanted to have a good place beside the fire. Nearest the fire we children usually sit watching the story teller Majulla Sanneh (“Dada “) with expectant eyes.  

 Dada is an old woman, almost blind. A boy hands her the tobacco for her pipe. She carefully presses down  the tobacco in her pipe and lights it with a burning stick, which a girl has taken from the fire. Dada sucks her pipe a few times and puffs out the smoke.  

 She tells the story vividly with dramatic gestures. In the stories there are often songs, and everybody joins in when Dada sings. Sometimes I interrupt her and ask about different things in the story.  

 “I think it’s good if you ask questions. Then you will understand the meaning of the stories better. I won’t be surprised if Kebba becomes a story teller himself in the future.”