Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 6 - An Evening Out

I was meeting Ibrahim in the evening. I wanted to return the cell phone he lent me, when mine didn't work. He offered it, and I was reluctant to take it. He said “Don't worry, I am not longing for anything. Women are offering themselves to me. I don't have problems with that”.
He was late. I was sitting downstairs in the TV room in the company of the receptionist and another two men, we chatted, when he came. He was looking good, and he knew it. I said goodbye to the other guys and we left. His car was waiting outside in the darkness of the night, a huge black 4WD with the back sliding doors.
“Wow, it's like a moving house,” I tried to joke impressed nevertheless. He seemed to be really well off, only rich people have cars like that in Slovenia. The door opened, and another man came out. He was built the same way as Ibrahim, they both looked like they worked out daily. He greeted me, his name was Sammy, he was Ibrahim's brother. Sammy was very quiet. He went to sit at the back, and I was sitted in front next to Ibrahim, who was driving.

I only realised I was on a date, when Ibrahim really wanted me to feel comfortable. He turned on the radio, tuned to a station with a lively pop Sierra Leone music and opened the windows. We went to the gas station first. It was late, but there were plenty of cars, queueing. We parked at the side and Ibrahim sent the quiet Sammy to get two gallons of gas in a canister. Meanwhile he came to flirt with me through my open car window leaning at it from the outside, surprising me while I was thoughtfully staring through it and catching the breeze of the night, my arm hanging out. I suggested to go dancing to Paddy's, a place every newcomer should visit, but felt immediately it was not something he wanted to do, I could only speculate why. He commented my suggestion to Sammy in Krio. We cruised around, and tried to find an open bar in the dying out dark city, where most places were already closed.

We stopped at one of the places with an outdoor patio. There was just another couple sitting at the next table. Sammy had a German Heineken, I had a Sierra Leonean Star, and Ibrahim wanted a Redbull kind of drink they didn't have. He then asked for one drink after another for which the waitress kept coming back they didn't have, until he ended up with a local soft drink, the color of a cherry and a taste of a chewing gum. I tried to engage Sammy into conversation, to teach me a few Krio phrases. They both started with Ow di bodi? and Nor bad. I repeated the phrases several times, trying to get them right, and we laughed. I tried to make some jokes with Ow do bodi, ow di mind. Sammy didn't feel the need to talk more, he was happy to just sit and drink his beer.
“He is like that,” Ibrahim said.

When we finished our drinks, we went to another place, it was even harder to find one open, it was quite late now. There were a couple of men sitting outside, drinking. Sammy got us some plastic chairs, and we sat next to the wall, Ibrahim with his chair turned towards me.
“So, where are we going next?” I tried to joke again.
“Don't worry, I'm not going to kidnap you,” said Ibrahim, “well, God knows, I would do more than that”, he continued, looking at my knees, and then at my polished toenails.
I uncrossed my legs, stopped drinking my Star and asked for a Fanta. Sammy went to get one for me.
I asked Ibrahim “So, where are all the women?”
“If you want the women, I can show them to you.”
“Where?” I asked.
“At the beach. Just tell me what you like. I can get you whatever you like. You can choose.”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying I'm leaving it up to you. I want you to decide. I want you to relax, to enjoy yourself.” He said it all very playfully.
I was getting worn out. I stopped laughing. So this is how this handsome man sees me.
“Why are you giving me this tilty look?” he asked.
“I don't know,” I said and bit my tongue. It was not a good moment to start with social or feminist issues. Maybe he was just playing with me, checking me out.

We finished our drinks and got back to the car. Ibrahim opened the window and asked Sammy to hand him over some money for a beggar, who didn't look quite himself.
“So sad,” he said, “we used to go to high school together, and look at him now. So, where do you want to go?” he asked, and looked at me when he started the car.
“Are you making a pass at me?” I asked, and looked him back in the eyes.
“Yes, is that a crime?” he answered, but it did not sound like a hot voice this time.
I was silent for a while.
“I'll take it as a compliment, Ibrahim,” I said. “I think I am ready to go back to the hotel now.” With my right hand I squeezed the door handle. I was sorry things were turning this way. I wanted to believe Ibrahim was just improvising after a busy working day. I wished we could just talk, like we did before.

They took me back, we were not far. Ibrahim parked the car and got out with me.
“Is everything all right?” he asked me. We were leaning over a fence in front of the hotel.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I said and stared somewhere into the distance of the night.
“I'll call you tomorrow, we'll just talk,” he said.
“I am not sure, if I will still be around,” I answered.
“Can't I at least hear some of that laughter once again?” he asked.
“Let's leave it for tomorrow,” I answered.
I waved goodbye to Sammy, and smiled to Ibrahim before I left.

There were some men having a drink in front of the hotel in the dark of the night.
One of them asked me “Where has all your zest gone?”
“I am just tired,” I answered. Another voice came from the dark, I recognized one of the men I talked with earlier.
“You said you didn't have any friends in Freetown,” he said accusingly. I went upstairs to my room. An SMS came from Ibrahim wishing me a good night and not to worry too much. I turned off my cell phone. That was enough men for one day.

The most beautiful place in the world

It all started in a bar in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso’s dusty capital.

It was dark, the music was raging, but we could just make out the words: “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

That’s the kind of cliff-hanger that gets your ears craning.

A mobile telephone engineer, whose entire life consisted of uprooting himself every six months or so to put up poles and masts in a different part of Africa, was in no doubt. The most beautiful place in the world was Sierra Leone.

We were as surprised as the next person to hear this startling verdict. Sierra Leone, known for its diamonds and its long, brutal civil war, had not been top of our “to-visit” wish-list before. But then again, it hadn’t figured in his mind before he went either.

Everything changed once he got there. And the fantastical image he painted, of pristine, hidden beaches, green mountains, waterfalls and steamy jungle, quickly became the most alluring thing in our minds. We were hooked.

We’ve spent the past year and a half, ever since that late-night meeting, researching from afar what the country might really be like, and trying to work out how to get there. And come next Friday we will have arrived, in a dusty Land Rover, having crossed 5,000-odd miles across Europe and Africa to get to Salone overland. If you want to know more about that trip, you can visit www.landrover.com/gobeyond next week to see the journey in action on video.

We are writing the first-ever travel guide dedicated solely to the country, for Bradt Travel Guides (www.bradtguides.com). It will include reviews of hotels and restaurants, beaches, national parks, details on transport, wildlife, cultural, safari, fishing, river and walking adventure, and background chapters on history, economy and the natural environment.

So let us know your tips for cheap eats, great eats, hidden spots, places to visit upcountry, bird-spotting, transport practicalities and much more. Email us at sierraleone.guide@gmail.com – we’d love to hear from you. In the meantime, we need to work on our Krio, and get a move on!

Thanks, and looking forward to visiting the most beautiful place in the world.

Katrina Manson and James Knight

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 5 - The Little Things

When I come to new places I always walk a lot. I cover on foot many distances for which I would usually find different means of transportation at home. It gives me a sense of the place, of where I am, it also winds me down. And last but not least, it gives me opportunity to see the little details of life: a sad old man sitting for hours in front of his shoe shop, voices of a couple loudly arguing behind the thin corrugated walls of their house, children driving around in a self-made cart and playing ball in the street, clouds gathering for an afternoon storm, a big funeral procession with a band walking down the busy street, and completely congesting the traffic. What else is life besides the few major events we can count on the fingers of one hand, but the many little everyday things we all experience, encounter and are sorrounded by. It makes me aware of how similar we all are, regardless of differences as our skin colour, culture, age, or wealth. Down at the bottom we are merely human beings with our feelings, thoughts, worries, good and bad moments. Such realisation makes travelling worthwhile.

The same thing I did in Freetown, I walked up and down and around the Freetown streets, downtown, and beyond. No wonder some people started recognising me. As I wore quite a few colourful bracelets from Burkina Faso, which by the way would definitely make a good trading item, people regularly stopped me to at least have a look at them, some started calling me not only white lady, but also white lady with cultures, and also African lady. I really liked that, thought it was a compliment. In other places they also called me potho, oporto, porto, the remnant word of the first Portuguese colonialists, as it originally means the Portuguese One, but is now used for any European I guess.

I saw all the sights, but mainly I was just taking in the buzz of life. And the life in Freetown is buzzing. I often sat down, had a drink or something to eat, and just watched the life go by. It gave me an opportunity to talk to people, who wanted to talk to me, and many did. I was interesting for them, being obviously from abroad, and of course people always interest me. I collected their stories as colorful pebbles to take home. Each of them unique, special, of its own character, shape and size, sometimes polished, some rough and even sharp, some transparent, others deep black or of various colours. Not many stories were happy ones in Sierra Leone, most were actually very far from that, the war experience seeping into clefts and pores of their lives.

People who approached me as a traveller usually asked, where I was from. And what was my name. What was new for me in Sierra Leone is they would follow with the question, which NGO I was working for. What was my mission in Sierra Leone, they would ask. Failing to answer that question, made me feel strange, the institution of travelling has not yet become common. Why would I come to have fun in a country, that has been so impoverished by the war. I actually had a couple of meetings arranged so I started to compromise with an answer, that I came for business and pleasure as well. That seemed to work out fine for me. But it also planted the thought, that maybe I should come back on, as they put it, a mission.

After walking the streets of Freetown for a couple of days, I started taking poda podas to the beaches. I first drove to Lumley, came across an internet cafe at the junction. The fans were working, and the internet connection was pretty fast. I spent a while there. It was refreshing to reply to private and business mails. It somehow put me in context again, this was my first internet cafe since coming to Sierra Loene. I left my computer at home, and only then realised how much I missed it.

I then spent half of the day walking to the beach and slowly strolling from one side to another. It was midday, it was hot, I had to tie a scarf on my head, I could feel my nose was getting burnt. There were no other strollers, just a couple of white joggers, who both greeted me, I guess because I am white too. A father with a young daughter was idling around the beach, finding shade under one of the few trees. He followed me and made his lovely little daughter dance around me and beg me for money. It seemed he was not having many other options to earn money for the day, and took to begging as a small proffesion, or maybe he just tried his luck. Right then I spotted in the sand a lovely hair pin, gave it to to the girl, made her happy, and they went away.

I kept sitting down in the sand and watching the fisherman pull out the nets. It's really hard work and you just sit there and do nothing, a perverse kind of pleasure, while ten or more men slowly but with all their might pull out the net in rhythmical tugs. I had a lot of company of the young fisherman, who left their work for a while to talk with me. Some like to be fisherman, and are proud, others would rather be businessmen, some would prefer to come back to Europe with me. Honestly, quite a lot of those could be my sons.

There was this fisherman, who took our casual encounter more seriously. Let's call him Edward. He left his fishermen companions, to join me sitting in the sand. He was in his swimming shorts, aware of his own body glistening from youth and strength. His hands showed he had to work hard, pulling those net ropes day after day. His nails were bitten off. Edward took his time with me, to get to know me, talk with me, make me like him. There was no reason for him to like me that much, I was neither fresh nor fabulous. I had a feeling he did this kind of act before, and I would guess more often than not got more abruptly rejected. Was this his beach boy trainingship? Well, I had time on me.

A young woman slowly passed by with a washbasin to collect some of the fisherman's catch. On her way back, she was carrying in it a couple of small fish and a crab, they were still alive. A meager lunch I thought. She stood around shyly but curiously, and then came to sit with me and Edward at a safe distance, I could see she knew him. She hardly spoke any English. I treated us all with Cokes. Edward spoke of his various jobs. How he worked at a hospital, where he carefully observed proffesionals give a massage, so, as he stated, was now really good at that. How he was trying himself in some trading business, and wanted to eventually get successful, and wealthy. It was amusing to observe his quite transparent strategy, leaving his current fishing job, to talk with me. I was his however scarce hope to help him move somewhere onward from where he was then and there. He knew getting to Europe could be a bit far-fetched, but he also knew it would not hurt to try. He then started teasing the crab, who moved back in the washbasin defensively thrusting forward and opening its claws. Eventually it got hold of his finger over the base of the nail. Edward's face reflected pain, but he bravely hid it, and laughed. The crab didn't let go, he couldn't open its claw. He started hitting it, and finally tried to break it off. He had to kill it, I looked away, it was a massacre, I emphatised with the poor animal. The crabs owner wasn't too happy with the mutilated animal either, but what could she do.

Edward kept persuading me to go swimming with him. It was hot, but in that situation I was definitely in no swimming mood, and didn't feel like I wanted to take off my clothes in the first place. Eventually Edward gave up on me, and ran into the water by himself, showing off and splashing around, diving into the water. He took his time, and I decided not to wait for him, but slowly walked back down the beach. When I was quite a distance away, I could see someone riding a bycicle on the street calling and waving. Don't you recognise me the man asked. It was Edward. He was quite disappointed I didn't wait for him to come out. By then I told him once more to stay cool, and after a while he understood.

Next day I wanted to go to Lakka, but arriving to Lumley junction, there was no shared taxi around at that time, so I took a poda poda to Goderich instead. I walked through the whole village all the way to the beach, and loved it there, it was really peaceful. I felt so safe and took a swim leaving my things on the shore, and it was fine. Noone seemed to care about me, and it made a nice change.

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 4 - A Business Meeting

Next morning I decided to try have a business meeting. I dressed up, into what I could find of the few things I had in my bag, and pulled out a nice embroidered reddish shirt in wrinkled material. I wanted to meet someone in charge at one of the Sierra Leone Centres, but never managed to get in touch with them in advance. I found the location the day before on Wallace Johnson street downtown. They had an office in an old colonial decrepit but still impressive building with large windows. There was an exchange office on the ground floor. On the gate hung a sign in block letter writing with the centre's name, its missions and contact address with phone numbers and website page.

That day the front gate was open. I went down a narrow alley and mounted up a wooden steep staircase at the back. I came to an empty and quiet hall, noone seemed to be around. I knocked and tried to open a couple of doors but they were locked, then managed to enter the room at the end of the hall. Out of the hustle and bustle of city life I came into an oasis of quiet and calm, and nothingness. The colonial wooden interior together with the peaceful atmosphere made me feel like I stepped back in time. The only sign of life the fan on the ceiling slowly slashing the thick hot air. The atmosphere was powerful.

There was a desk, which was completely empty, the computer was turned off, an old display cabinet on the left, with rather empty and dusty shelves, a couple of old withered books lying forgottenly somewhere inside. No more other books to be seen, no posters or paintings on the walls. The room seemed uninhabited. Only then I noticed someone sitting behind a bureau desk in the far corner. He was deeply immersed in his work, leaning over the desk, drawing some straight lines with a technical pencil and a ruler over a big plan. He didn't mind me at all.

There was another door to the right leading from the office to the adjoining room, and it was half closed. I could see a bench, and someone on it lying down. This pencil scribbling and fan swishing silence had to be finally interrupted to introduce myself. The man behind his desk looked up, and at me, then called a couple of times to the lady sleeping in the next room by her name. Overcome with a feeling of guilt I realised, that we woke her up from a deep sleep. She got up, and literally staggered into the room, not knowing for a moment where or who she was. She was beautiful, with deer-like eyes, with an elaborate braided hairstyle, and a wonderful African printed outfit. She was all dressed up for work, but it didn't seem there was much to do around. I was one of the few visitors here.

She sat me down behind the desk, facing the turned off computer, and herself on the other side. I told her what I was there for, and presented a card. She was the centre's secretary, and explained to me the gentlemen-in-charge I was looking for was away, he was touring in Europe. She was not sure where exactly in Europe, maybe London, and other places. She also did not know when exactly he was due back. He left a while ago, several weeks, so he should be back some time soon. He was gone for more than a month now, so, maybe he would be back by the end of the month. The man in the corner agreed. So he was touring in Europe, and I was touring in Sierra Leone, my tour a bit different I thought. I gave my contact address in Sierra Leone, to call me when he would be back, and she wrote them down. Noone ever did.

By coincidence I actually met the gentlemen I was looking for when I arrived to Freetown a few weeks later, a day before I left back home. While walking around, I passed the centre, and took a picture. The guard came running out, I made him quite angry, taking a photo of the building without asking for permission. Do you want to speak to the boss, he asked? Do you want to see my boss, he repeated. I sure do, I answered. And so I came to meet the centre's Executive Secretary on spot. He was back from his tour and the Berlin conference. He sat in a different office, this one was full of books, papers, and pictures, a creative mess, as it should be. We talked a bit, I found out about their projects, about creative writing workshops they were organising, about book publishing, fund raising for everything, as they started from scratch, when he moved back from London during the war. I could personally meet some writers and get acquainted with projects, but unfortunately had no more time on me. They were definitely very busy, working on interesting projects, and doing good stuff. I met another lady there, who, I understood, was also on the board. They were both in Slovenia before, at a conference there, they spoke of my country in admiring terms, and agreed, how lovely it was. We spoke of our common African and Slovenian writer acquaintances, realised once again how small the world was. We promised to stay in touch. They would send some new short stories by Sierra Leonean writers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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