Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventures - Part 12 - Anti-Corruption Strategies

I travelled through many villages to get to Kenema. It was a nice shiny day, and not too hot, the bus was half empty. If I followed my instinct, I would get off the bus at one of the stops, I was not yet ready to head back to town. But I didn't, I stayed on the bus, and looked at the moving pictures of life. People sitting outside, selling vegetables on the stalls, children running. I observed the fertile lands, the lush greenery, the bush. It was the rainy season and everything was growing and sprouting. There were many big sign boards posted everywhere along the road, announcing the farming projects, which were going on in the district, sponsored by big foreign NGOs. You couldn't miss them, they were everywhere in the country as well. In this parts most projects seemed to be agricultural. What, and how to plant, to give people means of living.

Mohamed the caretaker suggested I go to Sinawa Guesthouse in Kenema. Once we stopped, the bus driver asked a boy lead me through several busy streets to my guesthouse, I was back in town. It was a nice place to stay at, especially when after a bit of haggling, I paid only a fourth of the price they originally suggested. I was guessing they just tried with setting a higher price as I was white. I made the telephone call, and mother was fine. I got in touch with my flight friend, he gasped “Thank God, it's you.” He was not fine at all, his bag with all his money, passport, and camera got stolen on his business trip to Makeni. He was heading to Gambia for a few days. Once I settled in, I went for a long walk around Kenema, as I usually do in new cities. I walked down to the Lebanese owned Capitol Restaurant, where the owner or his sons often occupied one of the tables at the entrance themselves. I had a nice Lebanese meal, a treat for being back in town. It was laid back, customers seemed to be better off, Lebanese, who were often friends, ex-pats, who wanted a hamburger to remind them of home, and of course blacks. I saw some ladies accompany men, who seemed overdone with make-up and cheap stylish wear, and too servile and insecure to be real girlfriends.

I walked so much in the spread out Kenema I lost directions. I hailed down a motorbike. Forgetting you always have to mount it from the left side, my leg got badly burnt on the exhaust pipe. It just skimmed my skin off. I pretended nothing happened, although some people noticed, pointed and talked about it. I took care of it first thing when I was back at the hotel. I always take all the medical prerequisites with me, coming from a medical family. I put some sterile gauze on after I cleaned it, and later on kept cleaning and changing it regularly. The tropic climate doesn't help wounds and it didn't heal. It actually took over a month to get well. Anyway, it was not much of a problem, just not something you want to go swimming in the salty ocean with, so it changed my later beach plans in Sierra Leone. I was still too restless to lie on the beach anyway.

Kenema was nice, with a big mosque. Much of it seemed like a big spread out market. I was trying to find an internet cafe, to check my mail, and noone seemed to know exactly where it was. Some knew there was one around, but they kept giving me wrong directions. I asked a couple of men who were sitting in front of the hotel for help, and one of them told me to climb into his car, he would give me a lift. My driver looked like the hotel manager, a gentleman in a suit, but it later turned out, he was just a hotel visitor, working for the anti-corruption government office in Freetown. They were giving seminars all over Sierra Leone, and had just finished some in Kenema hoping that the anti-corruption programme had a far reaching effect in a long term. Anyway, we drove and asked around, me jumping in and out of the car, until we finally managed to find a small and obviously the only internet cafe place in Kenema in one of the side streets near the market. I thanked him as he drove off. I was happy to check the mail, one of my projects was going on, and I was in touch again with my colleauges, we all seemed to be all over the world, one in Fes, Morocco, another one in Lisbon, Portugal, another one in Arles, France, and I was here, in Sierra Leone. This obviously had become a small globalized world.

I read and replied to some of the private mail as well and then I was ready to head back to the hotel. Gentleman who helped me find the internet caffe, was still sitting oustide, so we had a drink together. He was surpised to hear I was not working in Sierra Leone, and even more to hear I travelled with the public transportation, he thought it was unsuitable for a lady like me. We talked about his anti-corruption mission, I was interested in that. How much effect did they actually have? The situation seemed quite complex. It was of course hard to asses at that point yet. Then the gentlemen seemed not to waste much time, he steered our serious conversation into inviting me to spend the coming weekend or at least a day together at one of the beaches near Freetown. I seriously doubted he was not married, but did not ask as I declined the invitation. The rest of the time, while finishing our drinks, he was trying to make me change my mind about his proposition. So many opportunities to find male partners here in Sierra Leone, I thought, younger, older, my age whatever. I was tired, and retreated to my room early. I wanted to watch the football game just by myself, but the TV showed just snowy spots on all the channels. I reported the problem. In no time two young boys came to fix it. They worked on it half of the match, going in and out of my room with different tools, discussing the problem, while I resignedly sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, only to realize after an hour, there was nothing wrong with the TV but with the cable. Then I watched the rest of the game in French in Guinean transmission, we found that programme.

Already in my nightgown, I had someone knock at my door. I had a visit, said one of the boys who were fixing my TV earlier. It was the anti-corruption gentleman who gave it another try, now to show me Kenema by night. I declined again. While asleep I had another knock, now it was almost midnight. One of the boys realised he forgot one of the tools in my room while fixing the TV, and thought he should immediately come back to collect it. My usual kindness was wearing off.

I spent another day exploring Kenema. I bought Camara Laye's An African Child on the street stall, read it again in English translation, then gave it to a boy, who was just sitting nearby. I bought a couple of books for young adults by African writers as well for later. I then bought a couple of Sierra Leonean notebooks, it is my habit to buy local notebooks wherever I go. I slowly strolled down the food market, and wished I could buy some fresh products and and find a place to cook, as I hadn't done that in a while. I love markets, they are an extract of life. Then I went to the forestry. I asked the manager if I could go around, and had some nice views of the town from the top of the forested hill. I walked around Gola Gola, slowly mounting up, and gaining a nice view of Kenema from the top. There were some workers around, and we chatted a bit. It is easier for me to find friends in villages. In big cities I am often a lonely wanderer.

I decided to leave the next day, government buses left at three and four in the morning. The two boys, who had fun fixing my TV, came to wake me up in the middle of the night and accompany me to the station. It seemed they didn't mind doing that either. One was carrying my bag, the other was just joining us. We walked in the dark, my torch safely packed in my luggage. I talked with the boy, who carried the bag. He was extremely intelligent. He wanted to study geography. He knew where Slovenia was, he knew the name of Slovenia's capital. The latter stunned me, he was the first one I met in Sierra Leone who knew. The only one of the family in the city, he worked at the hotel to help his mother provide for the family. He also went to school. His father died during the war. He had five more brothers and sisters back at the village, none of them attended school. His prospects were not too good, with the financial situation, but he was his family's only hope, to be educated, or to earn good money. I gave another generous tip. I really find it hard to see young people like him not have the right opportunity in life.

On the bus there was a man, maybe my age, sitting in front of me. The bus's wind shields broke down, and it was raining heavily on and off, so we had to stop every now and then for someone to wipe the front pane for the driver to see at least some of the road ahead. We stopped at the Moyamba junction again on the way back. The gentleman waved to me, if I wanted to go and have some lunch at the stall where he was going. Most passengers went to the bigger place, and I joined him. The food was really good, and plentyful. We ate, and talked. I realised he was not a happy man. Two years ago during the war both his wives got taken away by the rebels. He never saw them again. He was left alone with five children, and provided for them. He was a business man, travelling around, often to Guinea and back, sometimes just to Freetown, buying children toys there, and selling them in Kenema. The elder children watched over the younger ones while he was away. He told everthing matter-of-factly, but I could feel something died in this man. I watched his head from the back, saw the tiny streaks of grey at the temples of hair, when we drove on, and was thinking of him. Approching Freetown we got into one of the traffic jams. It took a whole hour or more, to get to the centre. My friend from the bus got off earlier, on Fourah Bay road, to get to one the markets, he turned around to say goodbye, and then he was off. I watched the back of his head, a small balding spot, quickly disappearing in the crowded street. His story stayed with me.