After transferring from Taiwan to Seattle, I had to stay up for eighteen hours. After three movies, two sleepless nights, and the torture of an unattractive flight attendant, when I got off the plane, I was still a little confused about whether my decision was correct. In the torrential rain, the crude airport made me feel lucky that I was able to land safely, but the specious English kept pouring into my mind from all directions, slowly destroying me like the world of symbolic order collapse described in the novel "Language" logic, and I'm well aware that this is just the beginning... I'm going to be here for nine days, which happens to be my lucky number.

Although Gambia is a small African country that is still backward in the process of modernization, it is not sloppy at all when reviewing visas and passports. They are armed with live ammunition, no, it should be said that they are heavily armed soldiers, and they stand at the airport ten steps away. The eyes are like copper bells, and the security is so strict that even the teacher and I who came here with a relaxed mood feel a strong sense of murder. I read the brief introduction of Gambia on the plane. The airport has been in a state of absolute martial law for many years, because there are often sporadic tribal wars in Gambia. If the incumbent regime is threatened if it is not handled well, the great president and warlord Mr. Therefore, the airport must be under the strictest protection. If the runway is blown up, it will inevitably affect the golden time for government officials to flee abroad.

"There seems to be no duty-free goods to buy here?" I looked around and yawned. "Nine knives, we are not dead tourists." The teacher sat on the oversized luggage, crossing his legs. I nodded and couldn't agree more. In the entry room, you can feel the air in Gambia is particularly humid and hot. There are often downpours that last for more than two hours in the afternoon, and then disappear in an instant. The locals have long been familiar with it. "Tuo is here, it would be a disaster if he didn't bring an umbrella." I thought, and then I didn't bring an umbrella myself.

Thanks to Gambia being one of the few countries with diplomatic relations with Taiwan, we passed through the customs in half an hour. The teacher was addicted to cigarettes, and glared fiercely at the armed soldiers around him, wishing he could leave the airport immediately. At this time, the chubby Jamison came over with a smile on his face, holding a super big umbrella in his hand.Five people can stand under that big umbrella without any problem. Jamieson was followed by two tall and thin black servants who came to pick up the airport and carry the luggage. Anthropologists and small Western diplomats have created many such job opportunities for the local area. Being able to speak fluent English in the local area is a more advanced survival skill than any other skills.

"Do you want a tip?" I asked the teacher. "I don't think it should be used." The teacher didn't know either. Jamieson, an anthropologist who funded the project that invited my teacher to Gambia for research, is a forty-five-year-old Hispanic-American, non-humorous person who wants to pretend to be a humorous person. As for me, I am just a dead graduate student and novelist who I want to follow temporarily. After knowing that the destination of this trip is Gambia, Africa, I feel that it is a pity not to come to collect materials. After all, the hero in my novel "Waiting for a Coffee" At the end of the story, he will go to this small African diplomatic country to serve in diplomatic service.

What's more, the round-trip airfare from Taiwan to Seattle, USA, and from Seattle to Gambia, totaled NT$160,000. Following the plan, I saved a lot of money. I still remember when my instructor asked me why I wanted to follow, and I thought about it for five minutes before telling her my answer. Of course she didn't believe it.Any answer that takes five minutes of hesitating to get out is bullshit. "Teacher, didn't I work as a teaching assistant in your anthropology class in my sophomore year?" I said. "Yes." The teacher smoked. "The designated reading at that time was the one that the British anthropologist went to Africa..." I recalled.

"Naive anthropologist." The teacher was a little impatient: "So what?" "I... I'm very interested in the Dowayu after watching Naive Anthropologists." I replied forcefully. "Nine knives, Dowayo and Gambia are far behind." The teacher widened his eyes.