Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 9 - Stay Away from Big Fish!

The guest house in Zimmi looked nice and recently built, just a couple of yards off the road. But Seinya the nurse guided me to another, the international guest house she said. I tried to understand what was wrong with this one, at least trying to check it out. She said it was for the local people, and it was not safe for me, with no guards. It didn't convince me really, but she seemed quite confident of what she was doing and saying. There is a better place for foreigners, trust me, she said. I like to forget being a foreigner as much as I can, when I travel, as difficult as it can sometimes be, being white, coming from Europe being seen as someone who has money, a lot of opportunities in life they don't have, everything better, they think. But it's not always all better what we have in our western lives, I sometimes try to explain, although it's hard to deny, how much more privileged we are in many ways. So they figured, I was worthy of something better than the local guesthouse. Or did they think, I also had more money to pay for the luxury. I was to find that out.

Seinya asked a man, who was standing nearby, a cousin of hers, she later explained, to take my bag and carry it for me. He put it on his shoulder, and then on his head. The road was too rough, and muddy from the recent rain to have the bag pulled on its wheels. I obediently followed my new companions, chatting about my day of travelling from Bo. I like to trust my instinct, and it told me everything is fine.

We walked two hundred yards or so down the road, past a football field and a school, to the edge of town. Finally we stopped in front of a high wall. It turned out they took me to the UNHCR compound, inside a high barbed wall, with a security guard and everything that went with it. The caretaker was not around, so they went to fetch him. We sat down on the plastic chairs in the middle of the courtyard, someone brought for the two of us, and waited. I played a little with a puppy, and talked to Seinya about her work. She helped with the repatriation missions of Liberian refugees, which were quite regular now as the situation in Liberia stabilised. One of the camps where the refugees made an overnight stop on their way back back home was in Zimmi. After a while Seinya said, I can see we will be friends. It was nice to be accepted in such a straighforward manner in new places, by people who were strangers just moments ago. It happened to me on several occasions, and it is something I would wish to experience once again.

When the caretaker Mohamed arrived, I was accomodated in one of the three houses at the compound. One was for the staff, another one was temporarily occupied by a middle-aged mineral trader who was doing some business, probably in connection with the nearby diamond mines. I was in the one belonging to the UNHCR high comissioner in this area who was originally from Mali, but had been away due to a serious illness. Noone knew, when he was coming back or what exactly was wrong with him. They said he got some disease in the bush, not malaria, and was gone for more than a month, hospitalised in Dakar. Everyone hoped for him to get well.

Unexpectedly I got a house of my own. A room, with a big bed, and a private bathroom, a kitchen and a big living room with a really big TV, a satellite radio I didn't use, generator which was running from seven to eleven at night. All a great luxury in these parts. I could stay here for long, I thought. I could easily accustom myself to the role of a UN high commisioner, especially after starting to read some of the books and leaflets lying around. It all cost me only 20.000 leones for a night, which was also very reasonable. Mohamed the caretaker told me I could ask him if I needed anything, he was at my service. He could arrange for local women to bring me meals, if I was hungry, or help me plan my trips to the villages. I was starving that evening, and it was late. We went to town, where they reopened a small restaurant just for me. It was owned by a Liberian refugee family, a beautiful lady with her daughter and the daughter's little baby girl who was just two weeks old, who cooked for me in the dark of the back kitchen, while they sat me at the table in the front room which resembled a home setting. Someone outside was playing music on his battery run radio and selling tea out of a big thermos bottle, everything was laid back, the dusk started closing the day, and I could see mosquitoes coming out through the door frame. They made me fried eggs, bread, and chips and some hot tea with sweet condensed milk. I thought it was one of my best meals, everything so deliciously tasty, I hadn't been eating much in the last few days. I felt relieved, my appetite returned, and with it my happiness. With a full belly I returned to my new dwelling.

There where five men anxiously waiting for me at my doorstep. I realised there was the FIFA football match on that evening, and all of a sudden I became one of the privileged few TV owners in Zimmi, definitely the only one at the compound. What power, what status! I unlocked the door and let all the eager spectators in. The game had just started. It was the match between Brazil and France. The security guard, the caretaker Mohamed, a mineral trader staying in the other house of the compound, who immediately made a short interview with me, and promptly told me to stay away from the big fish - whatever that meant - and a couple of other men, there we were, watching the game together, cheering and commenting. France won with one goal, it was a deserved victory. After the game I was left alone in my new residence. No big fish. The mission of the day was accomplished. Again I found myself a place to sleep, and a safe one it seemed as well. The rest was to come.