Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 3 - My First Freetown Friend

Finally I was dropped off at YMCA, a good thing, as I was exhausted. We had to knock hard, everyone was asleep. An old men shuffled out to unlock the chain on the gate. He then went to wake up the receptionist, who was too sleepy to understand, if he was to give the room to me or to the whole party that accompanied me.

They took me to my room through the dark corridor and up the stairs, and lighted my kerosene lamp. It was basic, nice and clean. It had everything I needed, a bed, a table, a chair, a hanger, a fan. The fan didn't work, as there was no electricity after midnight, only between seven and midnight. There was no AC of course, and not self contained either, but I could do without that. My standards when travelling go to the minimum. As long as I have with me some small belongings, I can make myself at least temporarily at home almost anywhere. I slept peacefully in perfectly rundown hotels, many African villages, in the wilderness and the desert. Because I felt safe. I knew this was a nice room to start my stay here, it was a room of my own, and a room with a view, both very important to me. And the staff seemed very friendly, the place had a guesthouse, not to say a family atmosphere.

I took a shower and fell asleep until someone in the middle of the night, who decided to preach and convert non-believers, woke me up. I realised there was a Zionist church just opposite the hostel, and the incident happened a couple of more times, together with the occasional parties next door, and some howling dogs after midnight, and with a huge generator roar and fume smell under my window, that gave us the needed electricity until midnight. But, oh well, that's life, nothing's ever perfect.

In the morning I was ready to see Freetown in the daylight. I needed to change money, find my way around, decide what I wanted to do. It was my first day of holidays. I had a few cell phone numbers of relatives and friends of my Sierra Leonean friend from the States. I got numbers of some important UN officials among them, and a number of my friend's school mate who worked at the security office at Lungi. I am sure he knew why he should give it, but fortunately I didn't need it. There were also numbers of my American friends, who were staying in Freetown then, and the number of my flight friend. The numbers were now all in my new Celtel sim card directory, I bought the night before on the ferry. This contacts and names made me feel confident.

At the hostel they offered a guide, as I guess they do to all newcomers who come to stay there. A young man, yet another Mohamed, was willing to go around with me, help me with advice, and show me around. I like to be on my own, and meet my friends on the way, but this sounded a good option for the first couple of days, and I thought it might be nice for Mohamed as well, practice some English and learn a bit about Slovenia. Anyway, here I was without a proper map, and with a nice Mohamed. He soon became my first Freetown friend. He was bright, topping with scores in his class, waiting to get his final high school exam results in the next few weeks, and he had a good feeling about them.

Mohamed took me downtown, literally, as we were up on the hill, and showed me some of the Freetown iconography, such as the enormous cotton tree. I'm in love with the trees, and this one was definitely something special. I touched the bark, walked around it, as many times later, and tried to communicate with it in my own small way. You can do that you know, if you are a foreigner. It had so much spirit and presence.

I wanted to change money. I could do it almost anywhere, as there were people in this line of business offering themselves to you all the way down Siaka Stevens street, but Mohamed took me to an electric suppliance store. It was nice to just follow his advice.

He was very patient with me. We walked all over the place. He followed my confused unplanned wandering around the city, now up, and then back down, I was like a restless fly. I wasn't interested in the arts market, I have seen many better ones in Africa, most of the things hadn't been made in Sierra Leone anyway. Why would I want to buy imported things there? And I didn't come shopping the very first day. But it was Mohamed's suggestion to make it part of our sightseeing project. I bought one of the many newspapers being sold in front of the post office. Just chose one at random, none of them really thick anyway, and each with different head titles. It was not like in Slovenia, where you have a couple of newspapers, and they offer more or less the same local and international news, only the view points are different, more rightist or leftist. No, here each newspaper offered something completely different, so later on I started buying at least a couple to suffice my need for reading, and to try figure out, if there were any concepts.

After much walking, Mohamed and myself sat down to have a couple of Cokes at one of the drinking places. We talked, about his school, his family, about Krio, about his wishes and aspirations, which mostly had to do with his education and financial situation providing it. His story was one of the many stories I heard later on, the stories which were actually the gist of my travelling in Sierra Leone. Not only Mohamed, I talked a lot as well, more than I intended to. I always do, when I am with new people, to bridge silences, and to hide my actual shyness. Well, anyway, after half a day of walking and talking, I let Mohamed go home. He looked relieved, I think he wanted to have some lunch, and was getting tired. I bought him a pineapple at the outdoor vendor, and gave him some tip for the guiding help. It was then nice to stay quiet for a while.

By then I was a bit more familiar with the downtown streets. I was meeting my American friends at the Women's Nursery Restaurant for lunch. It was a popular eat and go place, run by the nursery, and the income went for a their cause. It seemed convenient, if you were downtown, and needed a quick inexpensive lunch. The place was busy, which was definitely a good sign. It had small square tables with plastic chairs in a small one room space with no outdoor patio, with a couple of posters hanging on the wall. You came in and sat wherever was available. In Slovenia you don't sit down at a table of four, if one seat is occupied, not even in fast food places, it is considered invading of privacy. You do it only if the place is full, and even then you ask for permission the person who is already sitting. The restaurant had a range of different meat and vegetable local dishes, and everything looked really good. The prices were ranging from 2000 leones a meal and up, depending on how much you wanted to eat, so there was no need to leave the food on the plate. I often came back later, when I didn't want to fuss around with fancy meals. I ordered my food, read my newspaper, and sometimes watched the downpour of rain outside, until it stopped, and I could leave.

I was happy to meet my American friends, we hugged. We always met away from our homes, in Fes, in Alexandria, Accra, and now Freetown in the time span of eight years. We never really kept in touch, but were always happy to see each other, and update ourselves on what we achieved in the meantime in our lives. My friends were calm, settled in, familiar with Freetown, and life here, one of them even spoke Krio. We sat down at two different tables, where we found seats, and talked across as much as we could. I ordered a fufu, it was good, but different than the one I usually ate in Ghana, sourish and fermented, there was maybe more cassava in it. We finished the meal, talked a bit more, and then went to the market to buy some fresh vegetables. They gave me a lot of practical pieces of advice, where to eat, how much things cost, where to catch poda podas. Then they were off, back to their busy lives.

Mohamed was waiting for me at the hostel in the afternoon. When he saw me, he cut and sliced the pineapple to share it with me, it was sweet of him. The pineapple was ripe and juicy, and made a nice dinner, though I thought he was going to keep it for himself. We then sat downstairs, and offered it to anyone who came by.

My Village's Journey from the Train to ICT age - By Andrew Keili

My Village's Journey from the Train to ICT age - By Andrew Keili

My village’s entry into the ICT age is at great cost to me. I would need to do a cost-benefit analysis however to ascertain if the cost outweighs the benefits. I have seen Baiima have so many ups and downs in my living memory. Time was, when this famous train station village near Pendembu in the Kailahun District stood tall. Letters for the neighbouring Mobai Chiefdom headquarter town used to get letters marked “Mobai via Baiima”. The closure of the railway reduced the villages’s status. To rub insult to injury Mobai had the Vianini road to Pendembu and was linked to Baiima by a mere dirt road. Ironically letters to Baiima got addressed as “Baiima via Mobai”. How times change! Baiima, being close to Daru Barracks was a town that bore the brunt if the rebel war and was totally destroyed-yes totally, including my father’s 14 room concrete house of which we were so proud-only sometimes we couldn’t find a place to sleep as each of the many Uncles had claimed their own rooms.

What has all this got to do with ICT? Well, Celtel has decided to have a presence through the length and breadth of the country. There is no commercial reason why it should have a presence in Baiima but by happenstance, someone discovered there was coverage in, of all places the Court Barrie. The David Livingstone of a teacher who discovered this is making good money, I have discovered. He sits in an armchair in the corner of the Barrie and takes money for calls-often at exorbitant charges. He managed to get my phone number one day and called me up. Karmoh, is that you?, he asked. After answering in the affirmative I heard him yell in Mende-We have got him! How are you, how are the wife and Children? After the normal pleasantries, he said an uncle wanted to talk to me. The first Uncle continued with the usual questions about the wife and family and gave me news about the village. ”Uncle Brima is also here”. We went through the same rigmarole until we got to the sixth Uncle, each starting with his usual greetings and asking after each member of the big Keili family, including those overseas. The last Uncle handed the phone to a cousin that had swindled some money I sent for him. He asked for forgiveness. To save on my $20 card, I obliged immediately. “Don’t bother begging further, I forgive you with all my heart”, I said. Teacher “David Livingstone” phoned me a week later. “ Could you phone me tomorrow at 12 and text me the number for a $10 card?” I obliged. On comparing notes with a few of my townsfolk in Freetown, he had got a 500 unit from one and 200 unit from another.

“David Livingstone” has however proved useful. When I had an urgent message for the paramount Chief he made the three mile journey to Mobai to deliver the message and brought back the reply. A few more cards have gone his way from me but I don’t mind. He has been a constant source of news –mainly good. He is sometimes so anxious that the death of a wife of my favourite Uncle turned into my Uncle’s death. I nearly phoned David and others to pass on the news when another phone call came through, cancelling the death. Ah well, everybody makes mistakes! Weighing everything, the benefits actually outweigh the cost- enough to ask my brother David to also contribute-after all I pass on news to him through this source. “David Livingstone” recently asked for the phone numbers of my brothers and sisters in the US. David and others, you are warned!

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure – Part 2 – Goodbye Slovenia, Hello Sierra Leone

Telling people I was going to Sierra Leone made me quite a heroine here, you know. It definitely upgraded my status as a traveller and an adventurer. People asked: So this is one of your business trips? No? Watch out for the rebels, they may still be somewhere around. Bring me some diamonds. Did you see that film with Nicolas Cage starring? Isn't there a war going on there? What would you want to do there? Is there malaria, can you get a jab for that? Even a friend, who travels all over the world all the time, and lives in Burkina Faso on and off seemed to be a bit concerned. I was asking myself, so what is this now?

I still wanted to get some information about Sierra Leone before I left. It was too late to order books through Amazon about and from Sierra Leone. I checked out the many books dealing with the Sierra Leone history and war accounts, and nevertheless placed an order for Aminatta Forna's The Devil That Danced on the Water, but it arrived the day after I left. No guide books as far as I could find. I found an old 1996 West Africa Lonely Planet guide on my shelf which was completely useless. I photocopied the Sierra Leone pages from the updated 2002 one, which were by then quite outdated and scarce as well, but I saved them as they had some basic city maps, which seemed useful. So my main source of information were the internet sites, mainly the VSL one, and basically I guess I was ready to discover everything on my own.

I did want to know where I was sleeping the first night in Freetown as my flight arrived in the middle of the night. I did not want to spend too much money on fancy hotels, and I like to travel modestly, so the only place that was not expensive, and I could make a reservation for through e-mail, was YMCA hostel. I wrote to them, and in a couple of days they replied the room would be waiting for me, although they could not help me with the transportation to the hostel. I thought I would be able to handle with that once I arrived, and I was happy. I preferred to take the ferry, but left that open as well, would see once I arrived to Lungi. The hovercraft was broken then, and I am not too fond of helicopters, especially not the old and non-maintained ones.

I said my goodbyes to family and friends, and tried to make the least fuss possible, as usually I intend to come back home anyway. There was also a lot of work to be done until the very day of my departure, which kept me really busy. I was ready to leave, I had everything I needed, a Sierra Leonean visa stamp in my passport, enough money (read banknotes of dollars and euros) in my handbag, my digital camera, the new novel by Zadie Smith On Beauty to read on the flight, and give away later, and a few other necessary belongings.

I got to our lovely small Slovenian airport just beyond the sunny side of the Alps. I got myself on the lovely little Slovenian airplane which flew me to London Gatwick. Everything so small and cosy in Slovenia. You know half of the Slovenians on the flight, and even more of them seem to know you. I was definitely ready to leave. Just a month earlier I came back from Accra, Ghana where I stayed for less than a week, and now I was coming back West Africa, for a bit longer and, just a bit further West.

At the Slovenian customs I had to leave behind my beloved old pocket knife, as I forgot to check it into my baggage. I hoped at least someone was going to use it, I didn't want it to end in the garbage can. You have it, I said to the young Slovenian customs officer, this knife has got a history I added. His facial expression remained official, but his eyes were laughing.

London weather was absolutely rubbish, from a hot sunny day I came into a cold and drizzly city in my summer cloths. I put on everything I had to wear, it was depressing. I was wandering around with much time on me, dragging behind me my bag on wheels. You can't buy knives, and stuff like that at the airports. I took the path that connected the airport with the posh Sofitel. Right at the end of it, at the suburbs of the hotel, and at the beginning of the shiny spacious hotel hall, there was a small non-fancy souvenir shop with a little Indian sari clad lady shop assistant hidden in the corner behind the cashier. She was selling everything from sandwiches, snacks, umbrellas, scarves, British souvenir Queen Elisabeth kitsch to cosmetic stuff. I also found a knife. It was a really sharp silver no name knife in a box together with a pen, sold as a souvenir, for five pounds. I had to smile, this was my small victory. I packed it in my bag this time, to have it checked in. Then bought a plug travel adapter, forgot one at home, and packed it in as well. I felt better.

My, do people have a lot of luggage, was my thought while waiting in the long que for the Freeetown flight check-in. So many biggest suitcases I have seen, and a lot of opening up of them, due to weight regulations. People must be taking home a lot of presents. My bag seemed really small.

Transit areas at big airports, where you wait in between long journeys, are nowhere lands. On the way from home they make me feel empty and spaced out, on the way back just a necessary stop. This is where I always ask myself what the hell am I doing. Why didn't I just stay at home, and did things the easy, predictable way. Went to the seaside, like most people do for holidays in Slovenia. I wandered to the bookshops, and when it got really bad, I bought myself a duty-free perfume, Un Jardin sur le Nile. I knew it would help. A Garden Above the Nile, made in France, we live in a globalised world now. I guess I smelled greenly and fertile then, and as Africa, north-eastern part, but nevertheless. And I got to use my credit card one last time in the next few weeks. I found a soft leather seat in the waiting lounge, sank into it, and spent the remainder of the time reading Zadie's On Beauty and sending around SMS messages to those I knew would make them happy.

Getting on the flight I realized I was sitting next to a nice Sierra Leonean man who lives in Europe, and regularly comes back to Sierra Leone to do some business, and as he told me, he had also been in the sports proffesionally, and quite successful that is. Anyway, we immediately started chatting and laughing, and talked for six hours and a half. He also taught me a bit about the theory and the strategies of his sport, out of the book he was studying. It was all very interesting. The man said, he would help me with the transportation, and he seemed trustworthy.
Once we landed, he said, it's going to be a bit hectic now, but I thought, this is Africa, it's often a bit hectic as far as I can remember. What he meant, and I wasn't aware of, was that he was a bit of a celebrity, because of what he had done as a sportsman for Sierra Leone.
It started the moment we landed, and the plane door opened. All the airport workers wanted to shake his hand, hug him, and shouted his name. Many looked at me, and said, that's him, and told me his name, as if I didn't know. Some asked me, are you with him? I was thinking, my, where did I find this guy? He did not have to que at the customs, an extra member of staff ran to the booth and was more than willing to check his passport. On the other side, he waved to someone to help me through, and I did not have to que either, as an extra member of staff came to check my passport as well. I did not have to open my baggage, as I was with this man. So, coincidentally, I had a grand reception at Lungi, some people shook my hand too … It was good this man thought I was lonely and desolate enough to need his help. It was pitch dark outside and around midnight, our flight was also delayed. I didn't have a clue of any directions. Someone picked us up and we took the ferry. A lovely and romantic way to approach Freetown. And my bag was being carried all the time.