Losing my laptop to find a Medecine Man-Witch Doctor

Three weekends ago I was invited to an all white party somewhere in Murraytown. What forced me and my home girls to go wasn’t so much the party but the clothing possibilities. My best friend Adama took the big leap two weeks ago and moved to Freetown. She’s here to start her own fashion company..ASCHOBI DESIGNS BY ADAMA KAI (infoaschobi@gmail.com) . The party was an opportunity to show off some of her designs. So off we went to Malama Thomas Street in search of the right kind of fabric that we could rock to the party. With only 24hrs to sew the three dresses the tailor was definitely stressed. We pulled “operation make di clos” just in time to make it to the party. Three looking pretty in white jumped in my mom’s ride and headed for Murray Town

When we got there the party seemed very empty…how you gonna show off a dress with only a handful of people around? After a couple minutes we decided to leave and come later when hopefully more people would be around to see the dresses. First stop ColeFarm to buy some ‘Jeboo’ otherwise known as second hand gas available late in the night when gas stations are no longer operational. You have to be careful with them though because rumor has it they water down the already watered gas that we have in the country. Next stop…Crusin on the beach.

We drive past Chez Nous and end up at PLAN B WINE BAR where we see some acquaintances enjoying a couple drinks….some of them are wearing white as well so we assume they are headed to the same party. We make a little chit chat..order some coffee ( yes there is coffee and tea at the wine bar so if you find yourself falling asleep but committed to going out then u stop by…no milk for me please..like my coffee black…) At PLAN B I break out the camera and we have a mini photoshoot right there at the bar.

About an hour after we got there we decide that it may be safe to return to the party, so back to Murraytown we go We arrive at the party and it seems like there are more cars. We get out the car and walk to the house.

Enter through the gate and examine the crowd…looks like this party is meant to be small…I’m disappointed what a waste of time…We get a few cold stares from some of the women seated at their tables (nothing new in Freetown, where every woman is paranoid that u want their man..even if they don’t have one. Freetown titi den noh friendly to oda uman dem at all….So ladies do as I did and bring your own friends from wherever…luckily I have two of my sista girls from newyork living in freetown with me so mi no have to worry bout making paddi.) We take our seats greet a couple of our friends before we eventually say “F it” and hit the dance floor.

Welcome back to the 80s people…strictly old school dance grooves…I can dig it…especially when the ‘I will survive’ and ‘Mr Big stuff’ start dropping. Here we go singing at the top of our lungs…After about two hours of boogeying down…(almost forgot to mention that well into the party that a band arrives and plays Christmas carrols..they were okay but wasn’t impressed)

I start making ‘the guys I think we should head home’ comments…which are ignored and fall flat on the floor. Damn..i gotta stay longer than I really want to. After another hour it is announced that the cake is about to be cut..i’m glad cause whenever the cake is cut I know we’re close to the end. The birthday girl and her husband make their way to the cake and cut it…sing sing…clap clap…can we go please. Darn they still wanna stay. I put my foot down and announce that’ll be waiting in the car until they’re ready. I walk out…about 5 minutes later they follow.

We leave and head for the beach for some fresh air. About 30 mins later we head home…its after 5;30am…I’m exhausted and looking forward to rolling up in my bed… We pull up to my house and the gate is wide open…a bit peculiar cause its usually closed when I come home from a night out. I guess they left it open for me. I pull up into the back of the house and get out the car. Its almost day break and I can see my mom standing in her window…I’m thinking I guess she woke up early.

I walk closer to her window half trying to get the back door key out of my house.
“Vickie I think we’ve been robbed, your lap top is gone”
“ WHAT DO YOU MEAN I THINK…ARE YOU KIDDING”
“ No, I’m not Vickie its gone I went to look in your room and it was gone...they cut in through the window and fished it out”
“WHAT!!!” “ WHY IS EVERYONE ASLEEP AND WE’VE BEEN ROBBED, WHY R U IN YOU ROOM MUMMY”
“ Vickie wetin ah go do, u take di back do’ key” I turn to my friend and burst into tears.
Thru the tears I explain “That laptop means so much to me, my dad gave it to me for my 21st birthday. He drove all the way from Maryland to Pennsylvania to wake me up from sleep and hand it to me only to drive 2hrs back to MD to go to work”

Standing out in the dusk I felt very very naked. I’d been robbed in the house before but not something so very important. All my research, all my work, pictures, music, thoughts, blog posts, everything was in that computer. Where will I begin now??? My mom finally rings the alarm and wakes up the house explaining that my laptop has been stolen.

Ofcourse no one saw or heard anything To say I was pissed would be a total understatement. I start throwing ‘F words’ left and right…I rage into the house…back outside…pace around…no more tears…no words…I feel beaten, like I got hit with a sucker punch in the first round of a boxing match…T.K.O..Technical Knock Out Indeed!!!

By 7 a.m, I am totally exhausted and pass out on my mom’s bed. I wake up late in the afternoon on Sunday and decide that something must be done. At first I wanted to go to the local police at Congo Cross to make a report but then I realize that it’d be useless. I call one of my close cousin’s who lives at home with us and we decide it would be best to consult the local Mediceine Man to come and find the thief if indeed he/she is in our house. Multiple times before, the Witch Doctor/Medecine Man had been summoned to our house to find and catch thieves with his broom….i was told that his record was 100%

When the Witch Doctor/Medecine Man arrives at the house I am surprised…instead of an old man with greying beard and jaygay hung on his neck…Duadu shows up. A young man with a job at the Institute of Public Administration , short, brown, with fierce small brown eyes. I am informed that he is one half of a twin. My mother tells him about the importance of the computer to me and its contents etc. He says it’ll cost 80,000 for him to go to the bush to look for the medicine because of the value of the computer. I count the 5,000 Leones notes and hand them to him. After informing me that he’ll come the following Saturday at 10am I head inside. Do I really believe that Dauda the Witch Doctor/Medecine Man is going to use his broom to catch the person who stole my computer? Not really…but I know that the people in the house are scared of his broom and that might force them to confess.

There are two different traditional ways I’d heard of that could be used to catch thieves. The Broom and the Fire Pot. We were going to use the Broom.

As Saturday approaches the excitement begins to build…I am actually going to witness the broom in operation. HOW KWOOL!!!!!!!!!

Saturday morning in bed with my two partners in crime after another awful night out (we’re convinced we’re too fabulous for this country..)…someone knocks on my door to let me know that Dauda di Witch Doctor/Medecine Man don cam en im don ready fo cam catch di tifman. I don’t want to get up but how could I miss this performance de culture, paganism, whatever.

I get up, a couple slaps on my friends’ behind and we’re all three sleepy faces dragging ourselves to the back of the house. Duada is there with an assistant who is holding a small bowl containing some liquid, which I imagine is why I had to pay him 80,000. There is a long stick on the ground and Duada is standing behind the stick. He calls one of the boys, the oldest to sit on the stick straddling, so that one butt chick is on the left of the stick and the other to the right. This first “lookin gron..na fo see if na tiff den tiff di computer or if na mis place den misplace am”

I can see the fear in Sahr’s eyes as he sits on the stick his back toward Duada who is standing behind him with the two halves of the broom. Dauda dips his hand into the assistants bowl and rubs the liquid on Sahr’s neck three times. He then rubs the liquid three times on the broom

“ Sahr” “Yes” “Sahr” “Yes” “Sahr” “Yes” “Dis computer of na loss I loss, if na misplace den misplace am, if posin no take am, make di broom pass, if na loss I los, make di broom pass, if na loss I loss, make di broom pass”

Duada’s eyes are wide open, intense, piercing, with a hint of the supernatural…he passes the two halves of the broom on Sahr’s neck and nothing happens. Sahr has to stay seated. But this time he is nervous. Before Duada calls his name….he starts to yell for the other boys to stand behind Dauda in anticipation for what is about to happen. Everyone knows the computer was stolen.

“ Sahr” “Yes” “Sahr” “Yes” “Sahr” “Yes” “Dis computa if na tif den tif, if den tif am, if na tif den tif, am if den tif am, ifdentifam,ifdentifam,ifdentifam”

His words become slurred….can no longer make out the words, he starts staggering backward and forward, the two halves of the broom are covering his eyes, finally he passes the broom around Sahr’s neck and jerks Sahr backward towards him pulling him by the neck. The broomsticks ends have clasped together choking the life out of Sahr. The three boys and Dauda’s assistant grab his hands and struggle to free Sahr, who from the look of thngs is choking.

Finally, Duada lets go and Sahr is freed, he is clearly hurt. Duada falls out unconscious….the power of the broom and the medicine has overtaken him. He lays unconscious for several minutes until he is fanned back into consciousness. Now each individual person has to sit down under the broom so we can find the thief. Fortunately, no one gets caught.

From Dauda’s performance we find out that no one in the house stole the computer or knows of its whereabout. However the thief does come to the house often

At the end of the cultural experience I still don’t have a computer, I’ve paid Dauda about $50 for nothing.

But atleast I have content for the blog :-)

A ray of light...transforming hope into belief

When the APC won the 2007 elections the President clearly (and rightly) highlighted energy as one of his priorities. For those who don't know the background to Sierra Leone's power 'issues' - Sierra Leone has been plagued by very sporadic and poor power supply for the best part of the last 30 years hindering our push for investment in the country and sending the cost of living through the roof. Freetown is more or less powered by private generators, noisy and I'm not sure how good it is for the favourite buzz word at the moment - environment.

Anyhow, he appointed a dynamic lady as his Minister of Energy and Power, one Hon. Afsatu Kabbah and barely a month ago a contract was signed with a Belgian firm to provide electricity for Freetown. Critics (mostly, Sierra Leoneans in the Diaspora) had a go at the cost and terms of the contract. In the meantime, most folks in the country where just interested in eradicating this power plague.

The date (now infamous) for the supply of power was set at December 20. It was stated that the machines will arrive on the 18th and this was achieved as the machines where cleared yesterday amid great fanfare. Of course, it was politicised but I guess you can't really blame them for it. Chants like: "Ernest nor dae lie".. "APC on target".. "Goodbye Kabbah tiger, hello Koroma Power" echoed from the crowds. 'Kabbah tiger' are the tiny and affordable 1KVA generators which are scattered all over the city, bringing power to the homes of many. They became popular during President Kabbah's reign.

 

So, will they make the 20th? It's seems a really tight deadline but we hope so. Last night, a convoy of Government officials went pas at 11pm so someone's working pretty hard. How the SLPP refused to see the political weight of solving this issue beats me, and though not the only reason they were ousted I believe it was a big part. It was a very visible failure.

Having been in Freetown now for a few days, it is clear to me that folks expect a lot from the current government, and know they have the power to kick them out if they don't deliver.

I'm sensing that hope is alive once again and transforming the hope into belief will no doubt be the catalyst for better times in Sierra Leone. Maintaining the momentum will be a challenge for the current government, but come December 20 or even (December 25, allowing them a few days) if the lights are switched on they would have gone some way towards making this happen. Good luck Sierra Leone!

=====================
Added on December 24th:

As it so happens I didn't post the above when I wrote it due to limited Internet among other things. Since the above, the machines where indeed commissioned on December 20th by his excellency President Koroma. There was no big switch to 24hr power but with some of the transmission lines out there it may not be such a bad thing. The launch was symbolic and the President who spoke quite well, was keen to stress how we can achieve the near impossible with some serious hard work.

Since the launch, areas of town have been experiencing increased electricity supply a a gradual pace. In fact today there was even power at my dad's office and I heard him say he couldn't remember the last time they went the whole day without switching on the generator. "Years" he said. 

So hope is still very much alive.

 

Swit Salone MCs the Innauguration of Ernest Bai Koroma...Part1

You may not already know this but yours truly was one of the Masters of Ceremony at the inauguration of the President last Thursday November 15the one day after my 23rd birthday. Why was I selected as one of the MCs….because they needed someone who spoke French but clearly also because my uncle was overseeing the entire event…hehehe..Its a little of what you know and a whole lot of who you know
I actually spent my birthday at the stadium under the hot blazing sun rehearsing routines with the military and other MCs and performers. The other MCs were Mr. Raymond Desouza George, a poet, writer, and professor at the University of Sierra Leone, Mr. Dennis Streeter, comedian and actor, so in all their were three.
I went to several meetings at State House a week or so before the inauguration with civil servants from different ministries and government agencies who had been meeting long before the election results were called.

There were three events planned for the day: the inauguration at the stadium, a special luncheon for foreign dignitaries at Parliament and an inauguration ball to follow on the grounds of State House in the evening. The official inauguration at the stadium and the luncheon were both GOSL events whereas the ball was spearheaded with $20,000 from GoodWorks International LLC/ GWI Consultancy---(of which former US Ambassador Andrew Young is Chairman…let me not bother go into why GoodWorks would be interested in funding an Inauguration Ball for a new elected president in Sierra Leone if not to make sure that they have a foot into having GOSL as a client…nothing goes for nothing people)to be matched by private sector contributions from Sierra Leone and Nigeria. The ball was almost not going to happen when certain “Sierra Leoneans from the diaspora” misrepresented their capabilities promising to bring a fleet of vehicles, a ferry, helicopter, and much more failed to meet their end of the bargain. Surely they were removed from the planning committee and real efforts then began to solicit private sector contributions for the Ball.

As of Wednesday, it became apparent to me that all the planning that had been taking place at State House was insufficient for the task ahead. When it came down to actually executing the Inauguration and making it happen, it was left to the MCs, most specifically Mr. Dennis Streeter who took the lead and began to make decisions when no one was available to take them. Working with the military guard of honor, the band and local artists he was able to put together what actually became the Inauguration Program.
On Thursday I woke up at 7am, my mom (a director at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs) had left an hour earlier to head to Lungi Airport to receive foreign heads of states with our new Vice President Samuel Sam-Sumana. The hovercraft had almost sunk the night before so the two available means of transport from the Airport were the ferry (which would not be fast enough) and the UTI helicopter service (not to be confused with the Paramount helicopter service that crashed several months ago). Actually from what I hear, the name of the company might be different but the conditions of the helicopters are still the same. My advice to anyone coming to Freetown is to wait for the ferry (until further notice). If you arrive at night sleep at the hotel in Lungi and take the first ferry out or you can take the ride through the horrid roads of PortLoko and make it home that way. Stay away from the helicopter until yours truly gets a chance to investigate their services reallyJ Now back to the Inauguration….

I got to the stadium at 8 O’clock in my brand new burnt orange and brown dress that my grandmother spent the whole day and much of the previous night making to perfect fit. Dennis and Mr. George were already there as well as thousands of APC-ALLPEOPLE’SCONGRESS supporters who were not going to miss out on the opportunity to witness the inauguration flocked to the stadium. I entered through the YWCA/Swimming Pool gate round back and into the opening to the field underneath the presidential/covered stand. The sun was doing its best to make sure that it too was present and accounted for because my eyes burnt until I put on my “very cool super dark don’t look at me shades”. I had anticipated that we would not start on time….but not like this. The program was scheduled to start at 9:25am. We started at 12pm.

I felt most sorry for the military men in their regalia who had to stand with their weapons for hours on end under the blazing heat with no idea or hint as to when the program was going to start. To entertain the now heat exhausted crowds Dennis began to instruct the cultural groups to perform….there was music from the Ballanta Academy, and Freetong Players, a couple skits from the WanPot Comedians and a comedy group from the APC Party whose name I cannot forget but sounded something like Ebony (though I am sure its not). Finally we were informed that the Vice President had arrived…which meant that all the visiting heads of state were now all at the Stadium. Now you may be wondering…why it took 3hrs for us to start the Inauguration…the answer is quite simple…TRANSPORTATION…how easy do u think it is to wait for the arrival of private jets, do a reception befitting of a head of state…calabash…school children included (multiple times), transport several 32person delegations from Lungi to the stadium with only a helicopter or two and a ferry at your disposal???

Anyway I was thrilled to hear the Vice President was on the premises…finally we could begin….first the Chief of Defense Staff, then the Minister of Defense (one tall lanky fella with a slight FELA resemblance), and then the Vice President all to receive their salutes.
We waited a little longer and former President Kabbah arrived…and I don’t even think anyone was booing (as someone had said might happen the day before)…people were just happy to see some activity.

Followed by some more waiting because the president had not yet arrived….45mins later dressed in a big white gown with hat to match, riding on the back of a white HILUX truck…...Mesdames et Messieurs le President de la Republique de Sierra Leone Ernest Bai Koroma…led by two horses from Melian Rentals & Décor (who were responsible for decorating the stadium). Our president looked to brilliant that Thursday afternoon…as he rode passed the different stands with his white handkerchief in hand waving…the people went mad with excitement and roared in approval. Around and Around he went…twice. Everyone was happy….My heart runneth over with pride and joy….if it wasn’t for the dehydration I was beginning to suffer from I would have completely forgotten that I’d been waiting for 4hours just for this.
………………TO BE CONTINUED VERY SOON, WITH PICS…………

Nataša's Sierra Leone Revisited - Part 1 - The Passage to Freetown

It was a sleepless night. I had to finish an essay before I left to Freetown, the book was going into print. I never packed so late, and with such difficulty. The day before I was sitting and sitting in front of my open suitcase, and finally had about five dresses too many in there, which had to be taken out, I like to travel light. That day was hard in more ways than one. Instead of slow and gentle goodbyes, there was quarelling, sulking, and hurting. And now I was tired more than ever. It did it: a crumbling relationship, overload of work, mom's desperate phone calls, and not enough sleep.

Now I was at the airport duty free zone, that in between tampon zone. When you had no idea what was lying ahead of you, when you slowly let go of what was behind. First thing I wanted was a room with a bed, and a bit of peace. At first it seemed, that the change of flights would be tight in schedule, but now Astraeus flight was seriously late. First they announced a three hour delay at the check-in. It meant wandering around Gatwick and unnecessary shopping to waste time. A pair of flip flops, I didn't need, but they were brown with bamboo soles, and had some sparkling ornaments on them. A Body shop body lotion, which wonderfully smelled of tangerines, and was on sale, later on in Freetown it made little girls hang around me like grapes, rubb their hands at my legs and arms and smell them. And Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's book Half of a Yellow Sun, although I had an unread one at home, and another one by Kiran Desai in my backpack, but that was an Indian writer. I was going to leave it somewhere in Sierra Leone anyway. To make up for the big delay, they handed us out 5 pound food vouchers. I managed to use mine for a great potato and chilli soup and an orange juice at EAT. But the time was still moving slowly. Then I already started missing my laptop badly, when I saw a gentleman randomly scroll through his picture file. He was on his way back home from some vacation. Next time, I was definitely going to take it, I then decided.

I was at the boarding lounge, gate 48. Whenever I flew to Sierra Leone, I realized what a small place it was. There were always people who met friends, acquaintances on their flights. Happy recognitions, hugs, greetings, chatting. So many people knew each other. I knew noone. I played with my cell phone. Checked messages. I called to Sierra Leone, and managed to get in touch with my host, to let her know we were seriously late. I didn't want them to wait for me for too long.

We finally boarded the plane. The flight was full. I was sitting next to a gentlemen. He was a dentist working in Saudi Arabia, who used to study and then live in UK. He was obviously doing well. He was also well read. He took out The Road by Cormac McCarthy, his second book was Chimamanda's the same one I got. We had a nice chat about African literature. He was updated. Always read on the flights, when he had a bit of time. It was a sort of a deja vu, the chatting. The plane was still old, a bit dirty, my seat seemed to be in the same row, or almost the same.

The flight turned out to be, how should I put it, another adventure. By the time we took off it was five hours late. After fixing something, whatever, I better not know, and letting us board, we waited for another good two hours, as they had to reload the luggage, obviously they changed planes, and then the traffic at Gatwick was heavy, and we needed to wait to get some time space for a take off. A good three hours in the air, the captain let us know, he got directions from London to land at Robert's airport in Monrovia first. I think it was for the fuelling reasons. People, Sierra Leonans who were going to get home even later than expected, got very upset. They actually almost started a coup. Some got up, and had a meeting in the aisle. The point was that was not how you should treat passengers. Why it was so, the theories were different. The captain's voice came out of the speakers again. He apologised, told it was not his fault. It was not enough to calm down the passengers. Neither the turbulence, as some didn't want to go back to their seats. The stewards and stewardesses seemed quite helpless. Finally some people organised themselves, found a piece of paper for signatures to enclose with a petition letter. Some still wanted to have a word with a captain right there and then. My seat companion was calm. »We are in the air, can't they wait, till we get down?« he wondered.

But it was not yet over. We started landing in Monrovia. It was cloudy. We were quite low, about to land, when the plane all of a sudden abruptly turned its nose up and we were lifting once again into the heights of the cloudy sky. It was strange, we made another circle, the pilot said aomething like: »Dear passengers, we could not land, as the visiblity was too low. A foggy cloud was obscuring my view. We shall make another attempt.« These were my words of course, he used his regular pilot terminology. I was bit uncomfortable, so were the others, I could feel it. What if he can't make it the second time? I started talking with some people behind and in front. »Where are you heading? Monrovia?« The white guy behind me was. But the second attempt was however sucessful. The mentioned men looked visibly relieved, when he got up, to get his baggage from the upper compartment. He wished me good luck, when he disembarked. I was envious, I wanted that journey to come to an end for me as well. All of us, who had to continue the journey did. We had to sit in there grounded for another hour first, for the refueling. Meanwhile, people continued with the planning of the complaint or even a protest. Talking, meeting, passing around the petition to sign. And finally we took off to arrive some twenty minutes later. By then it was midnight, instead of 5 p.m. as was the arrival time. The customs procedure was as usual. Someone with my name was waiting at the customs, at the aisle for Sierra Leonean passengers. »What was he thinking, I am a foreigner?« I waved to him until he noticed me. My suitcase came among the last. I didn't have to open it, maybe they remembered me from last time. I was my private little joke.

This time I took the hovercraft, as it was the fastest way to reach my destination. I paid for the ticket and got a wooden stick, it was a boarding pass. I thought it was cute. I didn't think the price for the hovercraft was cute. It was 50 dollars, it went up since the helicopters stopped the service. »Good business,« I thought, »why don't I become more entrepreneurial, forget about research, and art, and such stuff«. I roughly counted the number of passengers and multiplied it with the price. My head spinned. I boarded the bus to the heliport. I was in no rush to get on the bus, but other people felt they might be left behind, they were almost fighting to get on there. Maybe they knew better. I was the last one and therefore a standing up passenger, but it was OK, after sitting for so long. It took us down some dirt road to the beach. We came out and waited a bit more. People rushed again to sit on the plastic chairs of the waiting lounge. I loved to smell the dampness in the air, to hear the sound of the ocean's waves. I walked out of the waiting area on the sand of the beach. It was windy. The hovercraft arrived after twenty minutes. I looked at it. It had a non-African name, Prince Michael. For me it was just a regular ship, with two big propellers at the back. And a rubber hose around, which filled up with air, when it started.

The sea was rough, they warned us. But what could we do. They also told us it was a special compliment to pick us up at all. We were so late, their staff already went home, and they had to hire, whoever they could get. They then asked us for patience. And patient we were. No more complaining and energetic outbursts. People were worn out by then. Or maybe the toughest ones took the ferry. It was good we saved our energies. The sea was indeed rough. A lot of people were suddenly sick, a lady on my right, someone on my left, people in front and at the back. I didn't want to think what you did on this sea, if the hovercraft broke down. What a way to end the journey. I was fine.

Two young men were waiting for me at the port, my host was not around, she went to bed by then, by now it was early morning hours. She was not that anxious to meet me right there and then. They got me in a taxi, and then we drove off to Aberdeen. The windscreen wipers where on. After a while, we took down a rough dirt road. It was dark. The lady of the house waited for me in her white nightgown in the darkness of the house. She gave me a torch, a big warm motherly hug, and led me to a room next to hers, which seemed to me as one for a queen. I dropped down and before sinking into sleep, heard the pattering sounds of rain, maybe some frogs or insects, that came from outside. Thank God I was back.

Nataša's Freetown Encounters – Part 1 - Scott

It was my first day of work in Freetown. It was rewarding, but I was exhausted. I just got off a poda poda at Murray Town junction and headed down the street towards home. I crossed the street, and bought a pineapple and a couple of mangoes. I wanted to eat fruit for dinner and also have a small treat for my family. I walked down the narrow pavement lined by small vendor stalls. Some vendors didn't have stalls, they only had plastic basins, full of fruit, or bread, fish or other provisions, and were sitting on the side of the street. I greeted those I knew. The side of the road by the narrow pavement was lined up by a row of waiting taxi cars. Some had doors open, some windows down.

Someone from the street called my name, from somewhere near the taxis. I turned around, my backpack hanging down one of my arms, a plastic bag full of books and the new one with a pineapple and two mangoes in my hands. I saw a young man with small dreads under a turned around cap, looking towards me. He had a nice face, the colour of milk chocolate, soft expression, and gentle eyes. There was a small earring in his left ear. My mind tried to place him into the right file of my memories, when and where did we get acquainted. I didn't know immediately who he was, but he definitely knew my name, pronounced it with a soft »sh«.

He looked, or so it seemed, so much as someone I met a couple of times when I was around last year. He waved, and I waved back. I stopped, and he came over to where I was standing.
»Is it you, Sammy?« I looked at him closely.
»No, it's me, Scott,« he saw I was confused. »Remember the first night at the hovercraft? How are you?«
»I'm fine, and how are you?« I asked, and really tried to figure out who he was.
»I'm fine,« he said. I realized he must had been the driver, who took me to my new homestay in the after midnight houirs of that first night. It was only him and the young Mohammed I met that night. But it was so dark, and I was dead tired, after that long, adventurous, and very delayed flight.
»So, what are you doing?« I asked.
»Well, I'm a driver,« he said, »so that's what I do most of the time,« he concluded.
»Yeah, sure. I'll se you around then, Scott,« I said, and we shook hands, before I set off.

After that I met Scott often, whenever he was standing at the taxi stop, we waved to each other, sometimes twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, and when I passed by we always shook hands.
...

One day I came by, we exchanged our usual greetings and then I asked him:
»If I wanted to charter a taxi, Scott, how much would that cost me? Let's say, if I wanted to go to Paddies at night?«
He looked at me, he seemed to be a bit uncomfortable.
»Give me as much as you can,« he finally said.
»No, Scott, just tell me what's the regular price.«
»Are we talking business here?« he asked.
»Yes, strictly business,« I said.
»Fifteen thousand leones per hour,« that's what would normally go to charter me,« he said.
»I'll take your number and call you, when I get to it,« I said.

I never really chartered him, needed him once, but couldn't reach him. Next time we already made arrangements, and then I got a lift. We still waved and shook hands, when I passed by.

I loved meeting Scott. He was just really nice.

What is Sierra Leone Music? Dr Oloh & EARTH CDs Anthology

While the world was mourning the loss of our most beloved Lucky Dube, Sierra Leone and Gumbay and Milo Jazz lovers also mourned the loss of OLOHUFEH ISRAEL COLE or quite simply DR. OLOH. The man who when many thought the war would never come to Freetown boldly asked "Oosai we go go we den rebel go cam fo kill?" (where we will go when the rebels come to kill us). When Momoh was chosen as president he reassured him that "Wata way na fo you i no go run pass u" (water that is for you will not run past you...what is yours is yours).

Many young sierra leoneans know very little of the man who made the nation gumbay it up, “hold my bobbi lef my wais fo my man” (hold my boobs leave my booty for my man), cautioning all of us that “tap to me and bon pekin noto marrade oh”...but really what was better than asking those congosahs "u coco roas oh, ow u manage taytay u coco roas oh?"

Clearly I am not old enough to have truly been able to enjoy and shake my waist to all the mighty Dr. Oloh had to offer...but I am though definitely wise enough to remember a hot tune when i hear it. There is no party or wedding that you will drop a Dr. OLOH beat that you wont see the old mamys and granpas getting up to do the "two step"

It is sometimes a cliche when people say its the end of an era...but truly and sincerely DR OLOH was the last of the GREATS of the pre hiphop dominated salone music era, the last of the OLD ROGIEs and the EBENEZAR CALENDARs....the dons and godfathers of salone pop music. I mean i like the Emersons and K mans of the world but they will never have the metaphorical lyrical diabolical sweetness of DR OLOH....the ability to say alot and very little in a couple wordsBut really what is Sierra Leone music??

A couple weeks ago a got an email from a man (Luke Wasserman) who had read my blog and wanted to share some incredible traditional and oh so good salone music. Luke spent 17 months in Sierra Leone making an anthology of music from Sierra Leone for EARTHCDS. I was really blown away by one of the artists on the volume whose music video ("without money, no family") i was able to see on a utube link that Luke sent to me. He is blind, poor, and brilliant. His name....SORIE KONDI...remember where you heard it first cause u will be hearing that name again soon. Luke describes Sorie as "Impossibly stoic, surprisingly down-to-earth, endlessly cheerful and witty"


Here is an excerpt from his Producers Notes that you can fine HERE:


" I lived in Sierra Leone for 17 months in 2006-2007. My base was a town called Tintafor. I liked this location for a lot of reasons. Tintafor is a village of perhaps 1000 people in a semi-rural coastal area known as Lungi. The fact that the international airport is nearby has had a great impact on this region. Freetown is located on a mountainous peninsula, so they were forced to build the airport across a deep bay of water where the land is flat."


"Being in Tintafor for 17 months meant that I could take my time producing the anthology. I didn't really seek out music. I usually just stumbled upon it, and when I found something good I would start spending time with the musicians. If I liked the music enough to make a major time investment, then I would ask them if they were interested in being featured on the next volume. Fortunately, everyone I asked gave me an enthusiastic response, although they all had different reasons for doing it. Most of them did not completely trust me at first, but over time that changed of course, and the relationships I developed with the musicians were an extremely rewarding aspect of this project. "

"The memories [of the war] are still very recent and quite painful, but overall, the artists I recorded had a positive and sometimes amazingly inspirational message to communicate in their songs. If I did my job well, their stories are told in a powerful way on the CDs and in the commentary and song translations you will find in the liner notes."

If you want to hear more Sierra Leone music visit the earth CDS site and check out the Sierra Leone Anthology...scroll down the page past the other African countries down to S and u will find it. I think that we should all be greatful that this compilation has been made. Generations of music lovers and Sierra Leoneans will always have this piece of our culture as evidence of our musical genius and cultural uniqueness and be forever able to answer the questionWHAT IS SIERRA LEONE MUSIC.

So as we mourn doctor OLOH and celebrate the music, remember that all is not lost and music lasts forever...BUY yourself a volume of the EARTHCDS ANTHOLOGY OF SIERRA LEONE or buy the entire anthology...relax and enjoy

Breaking from a Culture of Dependency

“Yes sir, you bobo dem day bra”, “Ay di mami u bobo dem day bad oh”You don’t have to come to Sierra Leone for a year for you to be overwhelmed by hangers on and beggars at the airport. People want hand outs for doing very little or next to nothing. When I came back from NY a couple of weeks ago a guy approached me at the airport to assist me with my bags, to anyone who has come to Sierra Leone in the last couple years this is no surprise. I got in a conversation with the guy and he explained to me that baggage handlers at the airport were not paid and survived entirely off of the small tips they received from people coming in and out of Lungi. I asked him why he didn’t leave the job if he wasn’t being paid and he responded that there were no other jobs available for him….Jokingly I said “Pa Kabbah no bin don tell all man fo go na fam, wetin u day wait?” He smiled “ah mi sista, fam wok tranga”I ended up giving him five dollars and going on my way.

That man at the airport is only one of thousands of young men in Sierra Leone who live from handouts. He may be a bit better off because he’s working in an institution but there are tons more who assist u when u reverse your car, watch your car for you when u park at paddies, the physically disabled in front of Crown Bakery, random beach boys who walk up to u and plainly admit that “den day bad”, and other able bodied sleepy eyed young men who desperately need a little something. I must confess that though I get tired of the begging I’ve joined the group of people who just give so I can be left in peace. But then the biggest mistake u can make is give money to boys in an area that you frequent. What then happens is that they expect u to lay it on them every time they see you for no reason other than the fact that u have done it before. So Rule Number One of the Begging Game is Never Give Once If You Don’t Intend to Give Again.

Related to the hanging on are those of us who fill our homes with close and distant family members who then become serious financial burdens. We come from tight knit families where cousins are brothers and aunties are mothers so no lines exist to mark the boundaries for where your family & primordial responsibilities end. But in a society where resources are limited and a 22year civil service veteran earns 450,000 Leones a month, can we really afford to take in our family’s family? How can anyone advance in this society heavily burdened by familial responsibilities? Is our strong sense of family drowning us in responsibility? In Sierra Leone we are so concerned about all our families that we usually provide for them at our own demise. I have always been one to romanticize the strong sense of family in Africa and what not but I now realize that when this sense of family turns into financial commitments that it actually prevents those who are relatively successful in our society from reaching their full potential.

The reality of it though is that not all ethnic groups experience this issue the same way. I’m sure krios or not as burden by taking in family members as other ethnic groups. It is almost damn there impossible to go to a krio household and find several other family units existing within the same roof. Ah but we contri, especially us di temne, we cannot empty our homes of hanger on family members. I am not saying we should not help family when and where do u draw the line? How many people is enough before you’ve reached the quota of family responsibilities?

I guess the moral of the story is that we may be stunting growth and preventing people from actually struggling on their own and fending for themselves. What value real value is there in always receiving handouts and begging. How can we as a nation ever develop if people never learn the importance of hard work? If you provide food and shelter to someone for free, you provide no incentives for them to go out and get those things for themselves. If you dash a young man 5000 leones every time you see him, he will always expect it. I am not saying we should lack compassion and let a person in need suffer, but we seriously need to assess how we can help people become more independent and dynamic instead of creating a nation of beggars and hanger ons.****Bloggers Note: Is it hanger ons or hangers on??? As u see I used them interchangeably :-)

A dip in the waters - Random musings from a returnee

It's midnight and the night club down the road is treating me to some classic 80/90s songs - "Karma Chameleon" by Boy George and now "Illusions." I can't wait to hear what's next. I have now gotten used to the sounds of Wilkinson Road - music from the club down the road, the hum of various generators, car horns, and on Sunday preaching from the club-turned-church down the road. I returned to Sierra Leone in March, but for the first few months it still felt like I was back on some extended holiday. Now with my own place, complete with "og foot cask" to collect water, I think I can finally say I have moved from JC to 'Returnee'. So this is the first of somewhat regular musings of a Sierra Leonean returnee. I've been promising this blog for a while, and this is just my first dip in the waters. By the way, that next song..."Pink Cadillac."

Sierra Leone's revival - It's a marathon, not a sprint

Congratulations to the new President of Sierra Leone, Ernest Bai Koroma. His is the unenviable task of tackling Sierra Leone’s economic challenges amidst really high expectations. He was declared the winner on 17^th September after the second round of the Presidential elections. The people of Sierra Leone voted for change – a different direction.

He has a huge task ahead of him with unemployment, education, energy, health and trade amongst the most urgent. A little birdie told me that energy is right at the top of his list of priorities. Now this would be sensible, especially if we’re serious about attracting investment – and is seen as one of the most glaring failures of the past government. In short, unless the electricity situation is addressed, the people will see no change.

An appealing characteristic of President Koroma is that he comes from a business background, our very own entrepreneur President. Of course this is not a guarantee or criteria for success but it does offer an alternative mind set. We can start to replace our donor driven economy by one driven by real trade. The president has even singled out Tourism and Agriculture as areas he feels have much scope for growth. Bravo I say.

Of course he is making all the right noises, vowing war on graft saying “There will be no sacred cows. Everybody will be under scrutiny and if they are found guilty of corruption they will go to prison, including my family members” He has also pledged to provide clean water and electricity to all. One of his first actions was to request an audit of all government departments and parastatals and forming a transition team to do this. Just this weekend he also said all ex-ministers will now have to take travel clearance from the Inspector General of police before traveling. President Koroma has also stated on many instances the desire to include the Diaspora, who also have a key role to play.

We now eagerly await the announcement of his first cabinet which will be the first clear signal of intent.

I applaud his initial moves and I wish him all the best. There is a buzz around Sierra Leone and the largely peaceful elections would have done wonders for the country's image. There is a renewed sense of hope and optimism which is a vital catalyst for development. These are my only words to the President if I may be so bold: “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. May you never lose momentum and may the drive, dedication and passion you have shown in your early days be with you always.”

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure – A Bonus Part 17 - Deleted Scenes

As an epilogue to my first Sierra Leone Adventure I am offering a bonus blog with some deleted scenes and parts from my posts, which may be interesting in itself, but didn't fit into my previous small stories.

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A Bucket of Water and a Big Screen TV

While I was in Sierra Leone two things marked my stay: a bad shortage of water and FIFA world cup 2006. Especially in Freetown the shortage was the worst. I got one bucket a day, and that had to do for the shower and everything else. I became very rational with it, wanting to take more than one shower a day. If I asked for more water I got it, but thought it was not fair to use too much. They told me the water dam was too small for the enlarging population of Freetown, and the rain was also scarce, even though the rainy season had already come. You definitely learn to respect all the privileges which are so matter-of-fact back home. I couldn't help wondering though, if the water shortage affected swimming pool regime in fancy hotels as well.

My first day in Freetown was also the day of the FIFA 2006 football match between Ghana and Brazil. Everyone, including me, were eagerly awaiting it, Ghana being the last African team still in the game. There were different venues in town, where for a small fee you could watch the game. The place, where we had a drink with Mohamed in the afternoon, was one of the more popular watching venues. While we were sitting there at midday as the only guests, they were getting ready for the evening match, arranging the plastic chairs and wooden benches in front of a huge projected screen. I decided to watch it in the hostel living room together with around fifteen other male spectators. They turned on the generator in the middle of the day just for the match. I wondered, where were the women, didn't they watch football too? It's a lot of fun. Unfortunately that time Black Stars lost. They played really well, but didn't use their chances. I was really sorry about that, we all were, some men got quite agitated and angry with the referee, shouted at the TV, but in Krio, and I didn't understand much, other resignedly waved their heads, some were ice cool. I saw the rest of the matches in different places all over Sierra Leone. One at the UNHCR compound on a big screen TV in Zimmi, with my night guard, caretaker and a mineral trader, and some other workers from there. Some at my hotel rooms, tried to get a hotel with a TV, when there was a game. In Kenema two boys were fixing my TV half of the match and then realised the cable was bad. The final FIFA match Italy-France I saw in one of the public viewing places in Port Loko. The spectators supported both teams, but we were all happy with the game, the money was not lost on that one. The choice of that venue was a perfect ending for my FIFA 2006 spectatorship trip.

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Living Conditions in Freetown

It is like there are two parallel lives. Quite a lot of poverty, people don't have enough water and electricity on one side, and on the other there are residential quarters and hotels with swimming pools, and non-stop running generators, providing permanent electricity. Even if you look on the street, you will either see side by side run down public transportation called poda podas and old taxis, or big 4WD cars which belong to wealthy NGOs, or are privately owned. There is a huge discrepancy between the two ways of life, right next to each other, and not much in between through my outside observation. I have not seen it like that, in this stark contrast, in other African countries I visited.

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Sierra Leonean Literature

I just wanted to suggest a couple of things concerning Sierra Leonean literature. I am not going to mention here the many books written about Sierra Leone by expats, journalists, anthropologists, or volunteers, as these would, I guess, deserve another blog.

Aminatta Forna's first novel Ancestor Stones came out last year, after her much acclaimed The Devil that Danced on the Water). I bought it fresh from the shelves at the Gatwick airport on my way from Salone. This generational epic is moving and gentle, and courageous, great style with some superb metaphors. A good read also for those who are just interested in Sierra Leone, it's set in SL, a lot of historical background as well, written mainly through women's perspective.

The recently published and much acclaimed Ishamel Beah's Long Way Gone Home is a moving account of being a child soldier, which seems to be a must read for every Sierra Leonean, and hopefully it will be available to the many readers in Sierra Leone at some point in the near future. Delia Jarrett-Macauley, a British author of Sierra Leonean origin also deals in her first novel Moses, Citizen and Me with the issue of child soldiers and the effects of Sierra Leonean civil war on individuals, such as were her heros and heroines in the novel.

There are also books published in Sierra Leone, which need to be promoted, I don't think you can buy them out of the country. There is a Sierra Leonean Writers' Series, I found the books at Sam King's on Gloucester Road, they brought them from somewhere in the back room after enquiry. I think you can also get them at Fourah Bay College. I bought two books of poetry, one by Samuel Hinton, The Road to Kenema, and another one by S.U. Kamarrah, Singing in Exile. There was yet another one, by Abdul B. Kamara, Unknown Destiantion, an account by a Sierra Leonean living and studying in Germany, China and the US.

The street sellers widely sell Fishing in Rivers of Sierra Leone: Oral Literature, a title that doesn't at first make you think it's a book of folk tales. It is a really nice thick ethnographic kind of book, with a lot of stories and legends, and some pictures, published by People's Educational Association of Sierra Leone. I thought I was going home without it, and then bought it on the ferry back to Lungi airport, with my last thousand leone banknotes. It is worth bargaining hard, but you don't want to miss it.

You should of course put on the list the most known Sierra Leoenan writer and poet Syl Cheney-Coker as well, but I couldn't find any of his books in Sierra Leone, maybe I wasn't looking hard enough.

Many other books about history and geography of Sierra Leone you can find on the stalls in Freetown or not earlier on the ferry on the way to Lungi, if you are heading back oveseas.

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Being a Woman Traveler

I you are a woman traveller, don't have any bad feelings about travelling around Sierra Leone. You will be perfectly safe. Interestingly though, through my travelling experience I could say, that African men in former English colonial countries are usually more polite and formal in courting, than let's say for example in some Francophone African countries, where they may be more persistent.

In Accra for example, someone on the street would approach me and ask me for my name and where I came from. Answering that, he would, with no beating around the bush, openly and directly express his love, and immediately propose marriage. When I just as directly declined the proposal, the matter was settled, and we could go on being friends, discuss other interesting matters, I could accept invitation to visit his home, no problem, had lunch with him and his sometimes extended family, and everything was fine, it was just pure and cordial hospitality. It was all as straightforword as that.

In Freetown it was a bit similar. The men would ask about your name and country, and they would talk to you, they would not however express their love that openly, the courting was a bit more sophisticated, but nevertheless quite obvious. You will hear a lot of compliments, accept them with pleasure. Don't give your cell phone number, if you don't want to be called. But men mostly take it easy, and have a good sense of humour.

In Abidjan for example, I encountered a lot of so called giggolos. Those men decide, they are going to have you, and don't let you go. You cannot be soft with them. They talk like shower, and walk like they were dancing, throwing their hips around, and sometimes it was a bit menacing for me. Maybe it had just got to do with my only passable French, so I was sometimes at loss in terms of verbal communication, which required of me more than I could master. Senegalese are truly charming, and like to talk a lot too, watch out.

Well, here I tossed out some steretotypes I guess, so don't take it all too seriously. But general impressions about safety with men in Sierra Leone you can take. Of course always with a measure of a regular precaution. Courting, flirting is a game, and some African men have definitely brought it to a near perfection. Comparing them to some European men in these sphere, Europeans are still in kindergarten. So, don't be naive.


THE END

Run Freetown Run, Kus Kas Na Tong

(for more photos visit switsalone.blogspot)

As I was standing in the Union Trust Bank Western Union branch on Sander Street, we heard commotion coming from outside. I walked outside to the entrance because there wasn’t a window I could peer out of. People were running away from town and in our direction. The police officer stationed at the Western Union asked those running “Bo wetin apin” and each response from the runners outside “Ah know no, ah just see people dem day run”, indicated that very few people actually knew what was going on. Almost immediately shops closed, even people sitting on their verandas started to move in. We went back in to the WU building; they had just received a call from central command telling them to close the doors. About 10 minutes later, I was able to get my money and I walked out. It occurred to me that I should probably head home but I had a camera on me and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was going to pass up on the opportunity to find out what was really going on. I told myself I was going to walk to the Afrinet Café on Wilberforce Street since I didn’t really have anywhere to go. A begin waka wan wan na Siaka Stevens Street….As soon as I passed the Law Courts I could about three police officers that were standing about diverting traffic. I walked passed them and on to Glouster Street where I made a left. On the junction of Wilberforce and Gloucester Street, there was a crowd of people arguing, talking loudly, but most of the people where just standing around. I walked passed them towards Afrinet Café…..it was most certainly closed as I imagined it would be before I embarked on my walk. I stood around for a bit outwardly expressing my disappointment at the closing of the café. Now what??
I wanted badly to take my camera out but I was a tad bit afraid…. Most Sierra Leoneans for the most part enjoy having their picture taken but in these situations with things being tense u never know….also someone could easily slap me and grab it from my hand.
Against my better judgment I took out the camera trying to be as conspicuous as possible….SNAP, SNAP…..

Once I got going I kept going….taking pictures and then a man walked up to me and suggested I make my way down to the SLPP Party office. I told him I was a bit scared but I would go if he went with me. He agreed. We tried to go to the party office but were stopped by some police officers shooing people away…We parted ways and I walked to STOP PRESS….a lady asked me what was happening and I told her I didn’t know. I didn’t want to contribute to the rumors since I wasn’t too sure. When I got to Wallace Johnson Street I began to walk towards the SLPP Party office…there were police officers standing about and a distance off I could see a SLPP supporters in their green crowding in front of the Party office…..They were beckoning the police officers to go where they were but the officers were staying put. A Police Supritendant who seemed the highest ranking on the scene one Mr. Kanu stopped me and asked me “Who are you and where are you going”…. “My name is Vickie….i’m going no where”. “Vickie what?” “Vickie Doherty, mi papa na bin police man a long time ago”…. “Oodat na you papa” “Victor Doherty”…. “ooodat, Romeo….u na CPO Doherty im pekin?.....Yes. He turned to the police officer next to him and said….”Dis na small small pekin, ah bin day wok fo im daddy na Special Branch”…”ow u daddy…ooosai im day now?......na America……you papa still get im beabea…..no im no get am again….My dad use to have a rather thick beard and afro when he was a police officer and most people remember him that.

Anyway back to business. I told him I wanted to take pictures and he said that as long as I stayed where they were I could take pictures…I took some pictures of the police officers who were sitting about relaxing, without weapons and without riot gear….One of the officers joked about having 3 machetes similar to ones some party supporters had earlier

I tried to ask the police officers what had happened but nobody had any information beyond….SLPP and APC supporters are fighting. I noticed a lady walking towards us and she said she had to go to Howe Street to meet with someone. She asked for a police escort and she was off….walking towards the SLPP office. It was Sylvia Blyden….Di BOMBA….She seemed much more confident then me and totally unmoved by what was happening. I was about to leave when another police officer arrived in plain clothes and began shouting at Superintendant Kanu and the other police officers to go where the action was….he was quite angry and in a matter of minutes the officers were up and about walking towards the crowd at Wilberforce street trying to get them to disperse.

I walked behind the police and I saw the senior officer who had just arrived talking to the crowd….and Sylvia Blyden was there as well….in a matter of minutes some members in the crowd were clapping….and laughing….They asked people to leave and slowly we dispersed….I saw one of the messengers at my mom’s office and we walked back to Siaka Stevens Street together. We said our goodbyes and I decided to walk back in the direction I had initially come….Stores were closed people were standing about talking about what had happened. As I got to the Cotton Tree, stopping to take a picture of a PMDC sign, I saw about 50 boys running from behind Law Court towards the museum and then on to Siaka Stevens street….they were sining…. “Was ah regista ah go vote fo Ernest”… I heard a passerby say, “Dem day go lay complain na APC party office”
I decided there and then that the APC Party Office would be my next stop. It was quite a ways off on foot but I decided that it was best to walk there so that I could assess the atmosphere on the way….I walked up Sanders street to St. John and then on to the party office I don’t know the name of the street but it leads directly to the party office…

There was a big crowd at the Party office. The boys I had seen running had arrived at the office. APC spokedman Alpha Kanu was talking to them from the Veranda of the APC party office, I couldn’t make out what he was saying cause he was almost done when I got there. He said one thing and the boys began running again in the direction in which they had come. People were standing around.

I took out my camera and started taking pictures. Once again I was approached by some one who began to act as my guide, giving me more confidence to take pictures. Two cars arrived one with the French flag and the other a Liberian flag…they were quickly ushered into the APC Party office. Standing outside I saw a man with dressing on his forehead exit the party office and sit on a chair in front of the building. Then a tall man dressed in something that looked like a cross between a safari suit and an army uniform with black lace up boots walked out of the building. My guide told me “na di leader im body guard dan day, leather boot”…..At last I had laid my eyes on the infamous leather boot….the man previous involved in the TOM NYUMA SAGA….some say ex soldier some say ex rebel….I was going to take a picture of his face then I realized it would be more appropriate to snap his boots. Almost as soon as he exited the building, He went back in, taking the injured man back in with him. I took some more pictures…as I lifted my head I spotted newly elected parliamentarian CoCoCherie standing by the windows on the second floor looking down on the crowd. I walked around took more pictures…..talked to some people…..Some guys started talking about the lack of police presence at the APC party office….they blamed it on the fact the Berewa hadn’t resigned as vice president before setting off on the campaign trail….the accused the police of being biased. One of the guys went on the say that whenever SLPP supporters commit atrocities they are taken to the police station….but they have a code: ARREST & RELEASE. APC had blocked Hannah Benka Coker Street and diverting traffic into Brookfields.

I took some more pictures and I just when I had finally decided to leave, I got a call from my mother….worried as always…. “Vickie where are you?”….”At the APC Party Office”….next I heard my uncle’s voice on the phone….bo go na os bo ah beg….they were worried. I said I’d be heading off soon. I stood around a bit longer and started walking towards Convent to get a taxi. But Before I left I asked one of the guys who had been standing with me….”Why are you voting APC”….he said: “right now ah no get wok….ih don tay way ah no wok en ah kno say na APC nomo go able gi we wok”.


What this man said is basically the most important issue affecting Sierra Leone’s stability as well as the reason why Freetown’s urban population unanimously elected APC parliamentarians…..UNEMPLOYMENT….young urban youth don’t have work. It doesn’t matter how many schools or hospitals you build or how much money we have in foreign currency….nothing beats having a job and earning money….

Elsewhere at Youyi Building a Conference was being held on the role of media in ensuring peaceful elections….political parties were present…as well as the president. During the meeting Berewa said that it was a shame that all this violence was going on and that he was not enemies with Ernest Bai nor anyone else in the APC party. Him and Aplpha Kanu even hugged each other in the meeting to show their solidarity (Ernest Bai Koroma, supposedly couldn’t make the meeting…because of the Kus Kas in town…) President Kabbah suggested that the two party leaders conduct a peace ride from the east to the west of town to show the people that they want peaceful elections. Alpha Kanu called Ernest on the phone and he agreed. The Peace ride is tentatively scheduled for this Wednesday.

As for me here in SwitSalone, the news is that things are tense but it is far from a state of emergency. There are small incidences of violence but the country is not in disarray…people are going about their business and being cautious about the colors they wear. The Eastern part of town is definitely a bit tenser then the West but that is to be expected….it is more densely populated. Paddies is still opening everyday and so is Chez Nous…..you can still buy petrol at the gas station……and kolonkos are still working…everyone is still waiting for the elections to come and go. The rains have eased a little…..and Ramadan is going to start soon. For now Sierra Leone is still peaceful.

Saturday September 1st 2007 in freetown...in brief....runoff.....SLPP....APC....red vs. green........Cutlass....police....teargas....bullets in the air........RUN FREETOWN RUN

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 16 – Going Home

It was time to go home. I packed my things, and though I left some of my belongings with my new friends, the bag was equally full with gara cloth, straw bags, cds and videos with Sierra Leonean music, some books, and other presents for my people back home.

I decided to take a ferry, and for the convenience sake bought a ticket for the Astraeus coach even though it was quite overpriced, I could have hired a taxi for much less. They put my bag on the coach and I made my last up Rawdon street. I had rice with cassava leaves at one of the stalls for lunch, and a guy standing next to it, one of the vendors said,
“I want to talk to you.”
“I don't have much time,” I said.
“I just wanted to tell you, I like your style. I've been watching you for the last couple of days. You're very African,” he said.
“Thank you, I appreciate the compliment.” I did. It was the last one before my departure. I was already getting nostalgic. I knew I was not to expect so many of them back home, who knows why. Maybe because I was too tied up into my everyday responsibilites, too serious to look so free, and happy, or maybe just too busy to notice them. Or maybe Africans just appreciate me more.

I wanted to buy a book a book to read on the plane. It was a night flight, but a book always comes in handy in case I couldn't sleep. I checked the few street book vendors nearby, the choice was scarce. Some classics, some school books, some no name books, it was hard to find something new and interesting, I am well read. The book I finally chose was by a young Australian woman writer I never heard of before. The front cover was nice, with some palm trees. It was a novel with three female characters, dealing with gender issues. And it was in good conditon, the previous owner actually had it wrapped in a plastic cover.

The bus was getting full. It was mostly Sierra Leonean diaspora, going back home. A couple of people I recognised. They were coming in on the same flight as me. People were complaining loudly. Some with a sense of humour, others with irritation, even bitterness. The bus was hot and airless, there was no AC. The ticket fare was far overpriced. There was some chaos around receiving tickets. the bus couldn't leave the spot for another 20 minutes as someone parked in front of it. Several men had to literally lift and move the car. Then we were stuck in the traffic jam. The Freetown traffic was mildly put bad, the roads too narrow and overcrowded with vendors and everyday life. I was in no mood for complaints, and I was a foreign citizen, had no right either. I didn't come here to complain. I was a mere observer.

We stopped at the Kissy ferry port, waiting for the ferry to leave, and some of us got off the bus. There was a group of disabled children. Some without legs, on an improvised wheelchair, some on crotches, they seemed to be children of the streets. They came to beg.
“You should be in school,” I said to one of them who approached me. “Do you go to school?”
They nodded vaguely, I wasn't sure they were telling the truth. I gave them the last few coins I had, their eyes shone, and it was only a few hundred leones. Another gentlemen did the same. Other passengers tried to ignore their begging and poverty.

I didn't go to the first class lounge. I climbed up to the second story to have a bit of the breeze and the ocean view, before leaving the country. I looked down. A wooden boat was being loaded with passengers.
“If I missed the ferry, I could seek my transportation there,” I thought. Some were waving to me from the boat, shouting out something.
The ferry was filling up, until all the seats and benches were taken, and people were seated on the floor and stairs and standing as well. The ferry was overloaded, and overcrowded. I did not want to think what would happen if it sank. I could swim, and I don't think that was the case with most other passengers. Vendors were selling snacks, soft drinks, other ascessories. Two entertainers came, their faces coloured smeared in white, their heads covered with stockings, they were making faces, talking loudly, singing, improvising scenes. Finally they saw me, and made a scene with me. It was something about a white lady marrying one of him. They talked between each other, looked at me, and pointed at me. I didn't understand, they were speaking Krio. Some people were amused, and some laughed. I seemed to be a good material. I was never too interested in this kind of humor. A lady not sitting far from me, said something, and pointed at my arm.There was a green fly sitting on it. My neighbour shooed it away. “It's dangerous,” he said. My attention was diverted, and theirs as well.

We arrived to the airport, I joined a long check-in que, snaking all the way from the entrance door to the opening into the recesses of the airport leading us into international zone. I was calm, leaning on my baggage trolley, moving on slowly and stoically. We would all get on that plane eventually. They checked our passports, and tickets, checked them again, took photos of them, screened the checked in luggage, and had us wait to identify it, open it and check it again, if necessary. The customs control was quite rigorous, but I suspect it was necessary, because of the abundance of minerals this country has, because of the illegal trading, maybe also because of the recent war.

Once in the duty free zone, I realised I was leaving. I found a seat in the lounge. A nice Sierra Leonean lady and her much younger English friend offered me some pepper chicken. It was delicious. “I always make my own pepper chicken,” she said. “I know how to make it best for my taste,” she added. “It's the best one I had had,” I had to admit.
We talked of my adventures, they were interested.
“You've been to the right places,” she said.
“You've met Temnes, Mendes, not only Krios. Next time you should go, too,” she said to her young friend.
“I would love to,” the other one replied. “But you didn't let me do it this time. You were too afraid for me.”
I had an unanswered call, and still some unused credit on my Celtel sim. I called back. It was my friend from Port Loko, who I never managed to visit in Lungi. Maybe we would have a good time together. But now she was over friendly for a Slovenian taste.
She said “I love you, I'm sending you kisses,”, and gave me her mother to talk to, who I never met. A couple of weeks later, when I was already on the other side of the world, in Vietnam, but how and why I got there is another story for another time, I found a missed call on my Slovenian sim card. It was my Lungi friend again.
“Wow. She is even more passionate than men,” I thought, and smiled.

You see, every journey is a different story. Once in Ghana the travelling turned into a mystical drama. Very close encounters with supernatural, magic, witches, potions, jujus, and imams. I actually became part of that for a while, and even actively participated. I had a close relative very sick,and I thought it couldn't harm, if I tried to do something for her. Surprisingly she got much better, when I came back. Who knows why, she refused to take the required medicine by her doctor, but to my great surprise gulped down the herbal concotion they made for her in a small village in northern Ghana, which smelled and looked like pond water. If someone said I was ever going to go into this, and offer her something like that, before I left, I would not believe it.

Another journey down in the south of ex-Yugoslavia quite a while ago, was like an American action thriller, running away from a crazy man, who tried to rent me out his unmade bedroom, while a woman, god-knows-who-and-why, started moaning in an upstairs room, just to being later taken to a gypsy camp, instead to a camping site, running away from there as well, through a swamp, when men got very drunk with schnaps, and tried to get me drunk too, and not much later running away from real mafia guys, who stopped with their two big black Mercedes cars in dark sunglasses, while I was hitchhiking, as they decided, they could use some woman's company. Oh well, I was quite a bit younger then I guess, and needed a lot of adrenaline. And lucky as always.

My first visit of Sierra Leone was different. I was very much within myself. I felt like being in a cocoon, and out of there I listened and observed. I was never afraid, people were very kind, and I just knew I would always be taken care of. Sierra Leone for me was the many stories people told me. They were all resonating with the experience of the recent war. I didn't encounter a single story when the person wasn't affected by it one way or another. It was either someone close dead, someone gone, someone crippled, someone uneducated, someone hungry. I encountered a lot of sadness, some resignation, and some chaos. But also belief in better times, enthusiasm, and striving to make things better. You don't know what people can go through, and still survive, and even make jokes out of it, dark ones, but nevertheless.

I was ready to go home, but kept having a feeling I had some unfinished business with Sierra Leone. Something was telling me I needed to come back, and stay for a while, maybe to do some volunteer work, maybe do some workshops at the homeless children centre. I was going to give it a thought. I travel a lot, but I don't usually choose the same country for my very next trip. Next time I could explore more of the city night life, go to the famous night clubs, and see the scene for myself. And see some more of the beautiful beaches, that's what newcomers usually don't miss. My paths this time were those less traveled.

You see, every journey is a different story. It is not just who you meet and what you experience. It is about the whole character of the journey itself. Each has got its own substance. It is all a mixture of who you are at the moment, where you went, who you met, and what you did. But it all blends into something that goes beyond all this, and even beyond something you can explain with words.

EXTRA EXTRA....Sierra Leone Election Update Part 1

Pre-Elections Last Week, the first ever presidential debates were held in Freetown at Lagoonda Entertainment Complex and this young wannabe scored tickets curtesy of a friend with the BBC. All parties were represented at the Debate besides the SLPP....Berewa refused to attend the debate because as he believed who ever was hosting it had no authority to call him to a debate and what not. Anyhoo, all the other parties were there though Charles Margai was about an hour late due to the fact that they were holding their rally earlier on that day.

First of I must admit that I questioned the relevance of the debates so late into to the campaigns....Almost everyone Tuesday of last week had already chosen their party....Also with most of Sierra Leoneans being illiterate....i questioned whether it was useful to have the debates in English....As far as I'm concerned these debates were more for the benefit of Sierra Leoneans in the diaspora (who are not voting) and the self satisfaction of the organisers themselves.

Monday through friday of last week could be compared to carnival in the Caribbean....because it was really one big party. PMDC was out on Tuesday....APC on Wednesday and SLPP on Thursday.

APC RALLY.....OH SAI OH WAI....DI RISIN SUN

People were truly in the streets....never seen so many folks out in the streets in this country before (some say crowds were comparable to the 2002 Kabbah Elections). On Wednesday APC supporters painted the city red. They were all about the city singing and dancing....."LOOSE YOU FACE"......."APC BACK TO POWER" "WE NO WANT YERI KAKA" "DEM WAN YA SO WE GO GI DEN NOTICE" "DI PA DAY PACK EN GO"......"OHSAI....OHWAI.....OHKAYLAYLU....OHBAYLAYLU" were chanted all across the town.

They even went so far as to have a KASANKAY...(a dead body).....carried by a secret society called SOKOBANA......they also had a masquerade led by the MATONMA....wan limba debul way all man day fraid....den say way Matonma butu if u na butu i go shoot u wit witch gun....en u day die.

One APC supporter told me the reason they had the Matonma for the rally was that the party believed that the Inspector General of Police...Brima Acha would send police officers to arrest APC supporters during the rally.....However with the Matonma leading the rally they new that no police officers would stop them....

There was one scenerio where police where standing around and the Matonma bin butu....if u see way di police man dem fly fo lay dom na gron....

SLPP....SL Pipul.....Tokpoi...DI LANLORD...IGWE
On thursday SLPP took to the streets.......with heavy rains....once again the city was filled with supporters....who refused to let the rain prevent them from rallying. Holding out their registration cards under the rain...they sang "WAS AH REGISTA A GO VOTE FO SOLO B" " MAMA PAPA SEND U PEKIN AN SKUL FO GO LAN, LEF FO RES" "DI NOTICE NO GO RIGHT, WE NA DI LANDLORD".

Tons of supporters sat on the windows of cars, in lorries and what not parading the streets. Dear I say that my very own mother....walked under rain to support her party. After spending most of the day at a National Electoral Watch training at MARWOPNET (Mano River Women's Peace Network).....I walked to Victoria Park in the middle of the rally to get my hair braided.

As I was sitting there knoting my face as my hair was being combed.....an SUV sped by with some SLPP Supporters....about 5 minutes later someone walked by in the direction that the SUV had gone and announced that the guys who had just passed us had gotten into an accident. Supposed they wanted to turn from Sam Bangura Building towards the Bank of Sierra Leone and the car tippped over.......Some one said one of the guys died.....another passerby said one of the passengers lost their head.....yet another said the accident was made up and nothing had happened.....more passerbys gave their versions....finally one of the ladies sitting next to me went to look and report back....their was an accident but no one died.

As dusk fell, the crowd thinned out.....two young men not more than a foot from us unzipped their pants and urinated on the wall....the lady braiding my hair complained "ay brother na ya we di wok"......"sorry oh".....one of the urinating men replied....though they had already finished filling the air with their beer and pegapack flavored piss. Not more than 15 mins later it happened again two guys pissed on the wall....the lady complained.....response this time, "we no wan yeri kaka".......i laughed.

A quote from Berewa in reference to Charles Margai "Jesus Christ an fiyay make im die"....translation....Jesus died because he was disrespectful......some called it blasphemous...Berewa was either warning or mocking Margai I dont know....

On Friday it rained and rained and rained and rained.....as if to wash the anxiety and excitement from the rallies.....I went to Campbell town a village on the outskirts of town after Waterloo...and spent the day watching the rain. I needed to relax...on Saturday August 11th 2007 I was heading to Bombali and Tonkolili Districts as a National Observer for MARWOPNET a regional organization connecting women of the Mano River Union Countries: Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea. We had women observers from Liberia and Guinee who had come to join in the observation process.....i must say it was the only all woman observation team monitoring the elections....I was sooo proud to be included.

As night fell on Friday...everyone was excited.....looking forward to the vote.....Sierra Leone went to bed......NEXT STOP ELECTION DAY..........

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 15 – Back to Freetown

I was coming back to Freetown. My journey in Sierra Leone was coming to an end. And I wanted to spend another couple of days enjoying city life, and doing some shopping at the markets. I called several times from the provinces to make a reservation, I checked the Place Guest House for a couple of days. I could not make the reservation in advance, the place was full, and they didn't know when the guests were leaving. My only concern was not to get the room number 14. After a few calls they definitely knew my wishes, as I got the best room in this hotel. It was called an AC room, a big and self-contained double, but once I checked in I found out the AC didn't work. I first tried to complain about my AC condition, as I thought I was paying for that, and the lady receptionist explained it as something quite obvious, it would not work unless there was the government electricity. I wasn't staying long enough to be able to experience that. But my room had an efficient fan as well to get me through the non-AC situation. Through my toilet window I had a view of some young men labouring on the wall of the hall on the other side, knocking it down or doing some serious changes, with their heads right at the window level. I tried to cover it with a shawl, when I used it, not always very successfully. Once I had one of those boys come and knock at my door while I had a shower, and came opening the door wrapped into my lappa dripping wet. He had absolutely no reason to come. But I liked my room nevertheless, and despite being the most expensive one in the hotel, it was, at 50.000 leones per night, still reasonably priced. My windows looked at the balcony, I could observe Guniean and Sierra Leonean businessmen use it as an office. They spread out their papers next to their cell phones on small cofee tables, sat on the plastic chairs, and worked. Sometimes they just sat there and watched the life below. There were some long term tenants at The Place Guest House as well, some students. I loved staying there.

Sitting on the balcony of my hotel was a great place to observe life below. Sometimes I just concentrated on the way people walked, moving their hips, and throwing their legs in a relaxed way. Sometimes I watched women's styles, the beautiful materials their dresses were made of, and different tailor made designs of their tops and skirts, differently braided hair styles. Sometime I watched how children toddled along their parents. Sometimes I watched what people were carrying on their heads and in their bundles. Sometimes I watched cars stop below, people get out, and people get in. Sometimes I watched the money exchange traders sitting idly or counting money. So many small stories, if you watch. I was not the only observer. This privilege was not reserved for newcomers. A lot of people sat on balconies to watch life below. At our hotel, across the street, on other streets. You just had to look up to see them.

There was a boy, who was selling coconuts in a wheelbarrow at the corner of Rawdon Street under Sylvia Blyden internet caffe. I watched him as well. His wheelbarrow was standing on the road, big cars passing just inches away. He would come in the late morning with the wheelbarrow full of coconuts, and stay until evening. He was wearing a football shirt, and beach shorts, and sometimes he would wear a knitted cap. If you wanted a coconut, he would cut the top off with the machete, and you would drink the milky liquid on spot. Then you would get the sliver of fresh slimy refreshing meat off his machete. Coconut drink is a good prevention against malaria they say. After that he would throw the shell onto a growing pile behind him. You paid him in silver 100 leone coins, which he would drop into his pocket or with a worn out 1000 leone note, which would make him slip into your palm a few of those coins.

One day I was at the first floor internet caffee across my hotel doing my mail, when we suddenly heard some crackling sound followed with outbursts of lightning. It was as if there were some fire rockets going off. We ran to the balcony to see what was going on. And then there was more and actual little fireworks did go off on the busy Rawdon street. But not on purpose. There was a huge truck trying to make its way up the narrow and overparked Rawdon street. The driver was so busy looking out not to drive over people or their belongings at the side of the road, and not to smash other cars at parked at the sides, that he forgot to look up. The truck was too high for the electric wires hanging loosely above and across from the houses on one side of the street to the other. The wires were mildly said a mess, and I am sure after that electric circuit they needed some serious work if those houses wanted to see electricity again. When the damadge was done, and fortunately noone was killed, there must have been a lot of electricity in the air. And the truck was stuck. There was no way back and many more wires further up the street. After a while the truck started moving slowly forward, this time with two young boys on its top, who were lifting the electric wires with long wooden poles, to help the truck move on. It didn't seem a very safe way to do it to me, I was truly worried for those boys. Many of us were hanging on the balconies, on the windows or down on the street, and watching the spectacle. How much damadge was done, I don't know. The life seemed to resume normally, after the truck left. People in Freetown are used to live without electricity anyway, especially if we are talking about the government one.


One reason why I loved living on Rawdon street were the music vendors. I became friends with the boys who sold on the streets just around the corner. They had big stacks of illegaly burned cds, dvds, and videos. While I was living on Rawdon Street, I stopped there at least once a day, even after I bought my supply of Sierra Leonean music. We talked about the music with the young sellers, and they would put in cds for me. We would listen, and they would also sing to the most popular tunes. They knew many of them by heart. My and also their favourite at the time was Laurish's big hit from the Boduguard, it was on everywhere, and all the time in Sierra Leone. I was also a fan of Pupah Bajah. I bought a lot of other cds and videos as well, for a Sierra Leonean party night in my country. I didn't buy any gospel music though, it was not my taste.

Some of the streets in town were divided into different sections for selling things. I loved the streets where they sold used shoes. I love shoes, and they were everywhere, on the street, spread on a sheet, on the cars, some bigger vendors even had ready made shelves. I leisurely strolled down the street, and when I saw a nice pair, I just had to take off my flip flops, and try the shoes on. Eventually I bought myself two pairs. My problem was, there was no mirror, so I couldn't see how I looked in them. But then the men vendors helped me with that, they got really involved. For the better ones they put their fingers up, and made nice expressions. For the ones I later bought, they kissed their fingers, and told me to just walk off, I could leave the flip flops in the plastic bag forever, if it was for them. I definitely needed something that made me feel like a woman, I was wearing my flip flops for too long then. I only had to bargain hard then and the shoes were mine.

Rainy Days in Freetown, Kolonko Advertising, and BorbohBellehs

For the past three days the rains in Freetown have been unforgiving.......Some people carelessly use the phrase "its raining cats and dogs"...but you really have to be here to have an appreciation for that saying. I've been here for about six weeks and everything is moving very very slowly....slower than usual. Ah really don tire wit di 'ol election bizness.

I want the elections to hurry up and come and I want them to be peaceful. And thats all I have to say about the Elections.

As for the social scene Paddies, Old School and Lagoonda are as they always are...though Old School may have dropped a little. They no longer seem to open the lower floor and the second is never as packed as it used to be. The music is good sometimes but most times I'm dissappointed. Paddies on the other hand is as entertaining as ever.....with the Kolonko's holding down the turf. That place would be nothing without the Kolonkos....I really appreciate them. A not so new trend that's become quite popular with our Kolonkos is the wearing of pants really low on the bottucks so that much of the upper part of the butt cheeks are exposed.
A friend of mine indicated to me that it was their form of advertising...You want to know what you're getting before u sign the deal for the night......moving on..............

Now I want to talk about something thats really really bothering me....Its nothing new but my tolerance level has reduced due to the over prevalence of this disease in town. Some people say its a sign of opulence or prosperity but this is nothing short of madness.

I will start with the historiography (not a real word) of the problem...A long long time ago when we lived in agraraian societies and food was hard to come by, it was very difficult for the African to gain weight....the African worked on his farm, went hunting, went to war, and had many wives and children. This combination of factors therefore made it difficult for even the African with a lot of wealth to gain weight.....when an African did gain weight.... especially around his belly...it was seen as a sign of great wealth.

Now let us fast forward into present day Africa....more specifically...SIERRA LEONE....Capital City: Freetown...A country where it is said that the ratio of women to men is 16:1.

Since I've been in Freetown these past six weeks I've noticed that the number of BorbohBellehs have increased exponentially. If the size of the bellies of the men in town is an indication of our current economic status then I must say....Business is Booming. Man dem belleh dem just day big lek fo say na competition. Really though people who I would have never in my life imagined would grow a belly, young guys in their early thirties...dem all day pull belleh. And what's more interesting about the whole thing is that big belleh is something to aspire to because you cannot get a shred of respect in this city if you na man way no get big belleh. Another interesting thing to note is that even the Lebanese men rock the big belleh hard core.

Dare I throw out the statistic that Nine out of Ten of every successful business man or medium to high level civil servant or Ngoer in this City get belleh. You can even use the size of the bellies to tell how prosperous these men actually are. I really wish I could name some names but the decency in me and the fact that I live here now will not allow me to do so......damnnnn it

Na so i go na di American Embassy for dem July 4th Independence....di place bin full up wit all kin minista dem....Ah sweh to God u go fil to say na belleh competition....all man day pass with im yone....And the worst of it all, dem kin lek for wer dem tight tight suit way day wrap around the belleh......na so di bottun dem kin look so miserable...as if to say....do ya pa sorry fo wi...release wi now

Lek ow di belleh kin big na so dem kin get mind. Can you imagine man way belleh big like he's carrying twins coming up to you really serious about taking u out to lunch or dinner....the nerve!!! "IFEOMA....ABOMINATION..."

I cant decide if its the food, alcohol, or inactivity thats causing the bellies to swell so badly. Either way, I think that these men should really be careful with their bellies cause only God knows whats really going on in there. I'm not a health professional but i'm certain growing bellies like that is not only unnatural but it could maybe lead to some gastrointestinal complications.

I'm not the fittest person in the world neither am I a health nut.....and this is not about being mean or spiteful....the bottom line is.....Some man dem belleh na dis tong too big fo dem yone good.