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…………
23 November 2007
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.
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.
8 November 2007
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.
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.
6 November 2007
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
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 :-)
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 :-)
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