Minds and Money: Reinvesting in Sierra Leone

Minds and Money: Reinvesting in Sierra Leone By Vickie Remoe-Doherty
As Printed In the African Magazine (5/28/07)

When I received my green card in 2003- the second semester of my freshman year at Haverford College- the final peace accord ending the war in Sierra Leone had been signed in Lomé a year earlier. With my green card in hand I was sure that I would be in Sweet Sierra Leone before the end of the year. But so much had happened since, I had cried with my father watching Sorious Samura's Cry Freetown on CNN. My heart ached for the countless amputee men, women, and children living all over the country. Knowing what I did, I couldn't go back home empty handed. I rallied some friends to put together a calendar which we could sell to raise money for several hundred families living in the S. Rokel Amputee Camp in Freetown. We didn't have a dime to start the project so I sent a letter to the president of the college outlining our plan and the situation in Sierra Leone. Two days later, I was in his office pitching the calendar to him. A week later he wrote a check for 500 dollars to jump start the project. The entire calendar was created in the space of weeks. My friends and I raised 2000 dollars that semester that I took with me to Sierra Leone after receiving a grant from Haverford College's Center for Peace & Global Citizenship. Two thousand dollars translated into 200 bags of rice for families at the camp. After returning home in 2003, I affirmed two things: the first was that I loved Sierra Leone and the second that I had to do everything in my power to contribute to rebuilding my country. Since then I have returned to Sierra Leone four times. Each time I go back the experience is more enlightening and I become more aware of the colossal task ahead of rebuilding Sweet Salone.

As I graduated from college last year, I was overwhelmed by the need to go back home. But questions about the amount and quality of the contribution I could make to Sierra Leone with no money and a first degree in Political Science and French filled my mind. With no skills of which to boast except for a boatload of knowledge on Sierra Leone from my thesis research, a strong commitment to social and economic justice and an even stronger sense of service, I had to make a plan to succeed. I asked my self two questions: (1) What is most needed in Sierra Leone? (2) Based on where I am in my life now, how can I best contribute to that need? After brainstorming over the course of several weeks the THINK-BUILD-CHANGE-SALONE (TBCS) INITIATIVE was born. The goal of the initiative was to ensure that Sierra Leoneans at home and abroad could participate in the nation's rebirth. The venture would include an internship program that enabled youth living back home to gain work experience with NGOs, and businesses. It is my responsibility to raise funds to cover stipends for the youth as they participate in the program. The other aspect of the Initiative was to encourage Sierra Leoneans in the diaspora to volunteer their time with NGOs when they were at home on vacation. This meant setting up a website so that diasporans would be able to find out about on going development projects in which they could participate before they arrived.

After developing the Initiative, I realized that it was not a one woman task. I needed help. Serendipity happened as I discovered Sierra Visions Inc.- a three year old non profit organization started by young Sierra Leonean professionals living in the US. Sierra Visions recruits professionals from the diaspora with cutting edge expertise to conduct training sessions in Sierra Leone in an effort to reverse the country's brain drain into a brain gain. These training sessions are provided free of charge to the public with support from corporate sponsors in Sierra Leone such as the SBTS group, Access Point Africa, and recently added Celtel SL LTD. The organization liked my idea and believed that it would merge well with some of their on going projects. By January of this year I was a member of Sierra Visions, Inc and program manager for the THINK-BUILD-CHANGE-SALONE (TBCS) INITIATIVE. The past couple months have been spent raising financial support for the project. This has been no easy feat but I've received really great feedback from the Sierra Leone community and I'm moving back to Sierra Leone in two weeks to begin implementing the project.

One of the biggest issues after job training will be work placement. That's where the private sector comes in. Private sector development needs to occur at a faster pace if Sierra Leone is going to move from the bottom of the United Nations Human Development Index. Last year the GoSL and the UK DFID embarked on the "Sierra Leone: Back in Business" Campaign; an effort to bring investors back into Sierra Leone.

Unfortunately, when poor countries are wooing potential investors they usually embark on what I term as "state led prostitution." The government is forced to barter itself and its resources to any one willing to bid (not even the highest bidder). In the name of privatization and foreign direct investment many African nations, including Sierra Leone, have given tax breaks and signed deals that favor the foreign companies' interests more than their own national interests. These investors make opportunistic deals to avoid corporate social responsibility or restrictions in other countries that respect their citizen's welfare. The tricky thing about this unequal system is that the market is highly competitive. "It's a prostitute eat prostitute world." There is always the threat that another state in Africa or elsewhere could make a more attractive offer to the investing client. The question for states like Sierra Leone then becomes: "How can I make my country attractive for investment and avoid these pitfalls?"

Luckily, and rarely, an investor comes along that believes in corporate social responsibility and is willing to invest capital in human development and national welfare. Celtel International B.V, SBTS Group, and Access Point Africa are doing just that in Sierra Leone proving that corporate responsibility and profit are not mutually exclusive. In 2000 when the biggest investor in the country was probably the UNAMSIL peace keepers; CELTEL International B.V became one of the first multinational companies to begin operations in Sierra Leone. Since then many other companies have followed suit.

Celtel has even opened a training academy in Freetown that will bring "world class educational opportunity combined with the depth and speed of information technology and the internet" to Sierra Leone. If Sierra Leoneans are endowed with cutting edge skills then companies like Celtel will reduce their dependence on foreign expats. With this training academy, Celtel is making a decision to not only invest in infrastructure but also in people. Infrastructural developments are good but without skills, brain power, and leadership; buildings and roads will crumble and decay. Another example of Celtel's commitment to Corporate Social Responsibility in Sierra Leone is the recently launched the "Build Our Nation" campaign. The goal of this campaign is to provide much needed school supplies and books to secondary schools in need. The company has set aside a total of Le. 450 million (150,724 dollars) for the first year of implementation. Additionally, the "Come. Back Home" Campaign in an effort to recruit Sierra Leoneans and other Africans in the diaspora who are interested in living and working in Africa to join their corporate family. The company will be participating in career fairs in the UK and the US during the course of this year to make Sierra Leoneans aware of the opportunities available with Celtel.

Last year AccessPoint Africa Incorporated (APA) with CEO Conrad Coyanda-Parkzes hosted a free community training class at its Bo Internetworking center. The training class was provided as a collaborative effort between Sierra Visions and The African Network-TAN. Participants in the training included student and professionals from local institutions such as Bo Town Council, Bo Kenema Power Systems (BKPS), SLBS, Bo Government Hospital and Njala University. The training introduced participants to Internet concepts and covered different areas including the use of search engines, and email registration.


The efforts of these companies, NGOs, and concerned individuals doing all they can to contribute to Sierra Leone's development is exactly what the nation needs to take advantage of the recent international media attention garnered by best selling author Ishmael Beah and the Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars. The journey ahead is going to be long and hard but it is far from impossible. As I leave for Sierra Leone in the next couple days, I am excited, happy, and optimistic not only for myself but because I know that change is possible and on the way. Sierra Leone is back in business and moving forward one step at a time.

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.

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 11 - Am I a Spy?

I talked with Mohamed the caretaker, he would try to arrange me a motorbike with a driver to visit the villages around. I wanted someone who spoke the language, and who knew local customs. I wanted to come as a friend's friend, to visit, not as a silly spectator, I didn't just want to come and watch them. I could join the UN missions, if I stayed around longer, said Mohamed. He would come with me, if he had time.

But next morning it rained heavily, The sky was grey, and clogged with clouds, the bamboo wood in the construction of the house squeaked stretching from the dampness, the flowering hibiscus bush in the garden was beaten severely by the raindrops, the roads were muddy, and full of puddles. The rain seemed incessant, obstinate, dominating. It made you retreat and wait. I stayed in the house, and read, my book, books I found lying around in the house, I found some tea, but couldn't make it, the generator was off. Noone came to visit me while it was raining. Everyone hid in their shelters. It tired out after a few hours, but the clouds were still hanging low, promising more water for plants, animals, people. It was too late to organise a longer ride, to do anything ambitious today. I had plenty of time for myself. More time to compensate for the time I haven't got at home.

Simpson came over with a bunch of bananas as a gift, sat down on the soft sofa in my spacious living room, and told me his wife was cooking lunch for me that day. She was making a groundnut soup, he remembered it was one of my favourite dishes. That was fancy, and they had to use meat for that. I was touched. He also arranged at work for some time off, to come with me around to the villages, when it stopped raining in the afternoon. “Is it OK with your wife?” I asked. “That is no problem, you shouldn't worry yourself, you'll meet my wife,” he said. He suggested we walk to a nearby village, where some of his relatives live. It was just a small village, he said, a couple of miles away, within walking distance, but that was then perfect with me. It was not a good day to drive around far. I was happy to go with him, he will help me communicate, they spoke Mende here, and not that I could speak Krio but for a few phrases.

Seinya dropped by for a visit as well. She came by regularly, sometimes with her daughter, sometimes without. She sat in my house, and we talked, or just sat in silence, or I played with Fati. The silence in between our talks made me uncomfortable. I took over conversation, asked questions in such cases, talked and said more than I wanted. And felt it was wearing me out. Silence in social settings is a sign of uneasiness, I learned at home. She watched me and smiled, leaning back on the sofa, while I was sweating. I had to take it easy, I realised. If there is not much to say, then just wait, was how Seinya or Simpson managed this. Words and thoughts have to come naturally, if they don't, it's no problem. Another thing I learned.

Something was troubling Seinya. I could see her worried expression, which did not wear away with my days in Zimmi. After a couple of days she came for a visit with a purpose. She wanted to discuss about her personal problem, that lingered in the air, whenever we were together. It was a financial issue. She was a single mother, of two teenage girls going to school in Bo, and the little Fati. Her husband divorced her, and stopped participating financially, he had two other wives. She had to provide for her three children by herself, as well as for the rest of her extended family. Her job contract was ending by the end of the year, leaving her professional future uncertain. The salary was low, and coming in late, the foreign NGOs from this area were moving to Liberia, together with the repatriated refugees. I felt with her. Sierra Leone with all its economic problems made life for many really difficult, which was so more real, when you faced it through countless personal stories. On the other hand her situation resembled problems quite a few women faced in my country as well, where the statistics says, every second and a half marriage breaks up. I could understand Seinya's need. For her I was a link to the wealthy world. She was hoping I could help her in some way, most likely providing a financial resource. I had mixed feelings about this. She was my friend here, but I didn't really know her that well. I knew she could use a help, but at the same time I could see so many people who needed help here, even more than her. I promised to see what could be done, and left her enough money for a bag of rice. I think she had bigger ambitions with me than that. The dream solution for Seinya would be to start a midwife clinic, as that is her proffession, which of course she would need funds for. That is something that would be needed in the area as well. We spoke of pregnancies, and deliveries, complications, and death statistics. It was quite bad, to put it mildly. Seven women died in Zimmi just in the month before, because of complications at birth delivery. She visited some, during pregnancy, and told them to go to the clinic, but women most often didn't, there was no money for that. Complications were quite often connected to bad health conditions, and malnutrition. Seinya was frustrated about this, and I got depressed. Sometimes in such situations I felt, we all needed to help this world get better, do something practical, whatever we could. Academic career suddenly seemed so out of place. So, could I help start a clinic? For something like that, I would need to be more than just a passer- by. And then, I would probably choose to fund or find donors for projects in the field I know better.

*

Simpson took me to a nearby village. He put on his spotless white trousers. He came with his walkman, earplugs in, listening to a Steady Bongo - Lansana Sherif tape. Off we went, and soon we took the side road out of Zimmi toward the river, where our village lay. We passed houses and fields, some people were at home, they stopped in their work around the house, or in the fields, and waved, exchanged greetings, comments with Simpson. Sometimes they came to us, and we got introduced. Everyone greeted us, everyone noticed us. Many were acquaintances, friends, or relatives. Some were just interested, how Simpson found me. Simpson spoke to me about Zimmi, about himself. When I asked about the music he listened, he lent me the walkman. I listened to No Girlfriend Business, and loved it, listened to it all the way to the village and further to the river and back, dancing to it, and laughing and singing to the texts. Simpson was smiling. I didn't know I missed the music so much. I felt like a little girl. He wanted to give me the tape, but I was going to buy Sierra Leonean music in Freetown. I promised Simpson to send him some tapes with Slovenian music.

The village was small, with a few houses and almost deserted, most of the inhabitants were out on the fields. The chief was old and emaciated, his clothes were worn out. He sat in the shade, in front of one of the houses, resting in an old chair. We came to greet him, and I handed him some money, being greatful to be a visitor. It pleased him, and made him smile. In one of the houses there were some women and a lot of small children. They were in the middle of quiet house chores in the shade of the indoors. They came out, when they saw me, and we greeted. On of the little girls started crying, when she saw me. The women laughed at her, and she wailed louder, when I tried to come closer to make friends with her. I didn't have to go far to scare a child with my otherness. I retreated and went out and around the house to get out of her sight. There were carpets of palm oil seeds being dried on the ground. Three goats were taking a rest under the shade of a roof in the middle of the village. It was calm and quiet. We went further down the path to the wide lazy river. It was shady, clean and peaceful, I wished I could take a swim. I took off my flip flops and waded at the bank of the river. There was a boat made od a single piece of log, waiting on the other side of the bank. Then we went back the same way to Zimmi, walkman headphones on my head again. Simpson let me be with myself, walking in front of me. We walked through the town to its other side, and came to a bridge, where the road would take us further down to a nearby diamond mine. I kept taking pictures, of children, bush, streets, houses, whatever seemed worth taking a picture of. If there were people involved, I asked for permission. They didn't mind, but in this case I had to do with portraits. I was in the mood for photography.

Once again back in the centre of Zimmi, Simpson told me, we have to return to the police office, which we passed, as I was being called. I thought he was making a joke, I didn't hear anything. I didn't notice them calling me. I followed Simpson back some sixty yards. Their office was strategically located, with the good view of the main street. It comprised of a desk with a chair and a table with benches on either side. One was sitting at the desk, another couple of them at the table. They were in the middle of lunch, having some couscous with chicken. By then I was hungry. We greeted and then they asked me to sit down on the bench at their table.
“So, we have seen you around the last couple of days,” one of them started in a serious tone hid position demanded, still finishing his meal.
“You've been snapping all around. Who are you and what is your mission here? You know we had a war here, and we are very near Liberian border,” continued the other one in the same manner the first one embarked on.
I immediately took my formal voice and articulation to explain myself. I used my most proffesional title in introducing myself. It flashed through my mind they could confiscate my pictures in the camera. I explained the best of reasons I had, what I was doing there, also involving my professional interest. I did it without much thought. Simpson was watching the different me. I was not the same person that was dancing around not long ago.
It seemed the policemen were satisfied with my answer, they were just doing their job. I felt nothing unpleasant was going to happen after all. They were respectful and nice, though still very serious. Nevertheless my lighthearted mood was shaken. It was still a small interrogation. I was no longer just a harmless incognito traveller I wanted to be, who was making friends with the local people. I was also a possible spy.

Simpson introduced me to his lovely wife. She was cooking in her makeshift kitchen. It was just a thatched roof to the ground right next to the junction, you had to bend to get in. I passed it many times before. I sat there with her for a while, and watched her cook. She was busy, but in a good mood, soft and calm. She and Simpson got on well, he told me so, but you could also see. “She was cool, she took it easy,” he often told me. She was a good wife. Her food smelled delicious. She fetched a plastic basket, and put in pots with food for me and I put in the water in a plastic bag I bought. She also put in some bananas for desert or snack. I couldn't wait to have my lunch. I enjoyed my meal, shared it with my friends, there was plenty.

Simpson and Seinya came back in the evening. Simpson stayed for a long time to watch TV, we found a programme with a Nigerian movie. It reminded me on the Mexican soap operas my aunt likes to watch at home. The story was complex. There was a woman who was the sister to a brother who fell in love with the girl who worked for them. He made her pregnant. The sister didn't like the simple but god and pious girl her brother chose, and always treated her badly. She intrigued, and made the brother believe, the child was not his. There was a lot of suffering involved from all the protagonists, at one point or another. The pregnant woman died at birth. With all the side stories, which would take space of another blog, the story ended well. The sister redeemed before she died, and the brother finally took care of his baby son. Simpson was really enjoying it all. I almost fell asleep, but wanted him to see it to the end. Nigerian films are looong.

As much as I wanted to go on to other villages, or at least stay, I decided to leave early next morning. I wanted to get in touch with my mother. On the arrival to Zimmi I discovered there was no cell phone coverage there. That was quite inconvenient in my case at the time. I was concerned for my mother's health condition, it was not stable, and I wanted to check on her. My friends informed me a couple of months later, when I was back home, they finally got coverage, and that would not be the problem again next time I come.

I was going to Kenema, Simpson and Seinya arranged everything with the bus driver. They came to fetch me at the compound, carried my bag, and walked with me to the bus stop. I had a reserved seat on the bus, when I came there in the morning. My friends and some children waited, until the bus left, and waved me goodbye. I knew some wished they were in my shoes. Especially Simpson. He told me so. Kenema for him would be a great adventure. I had to reflect my privilege again, the freedom of moving around, coming to distant places so far from home. For me Kenema was just the next stop, for some of them it could be the ultimate fun. I was hoping, almost promising myself to come back again to visit them, and stay a longer time. And then I will take some friends on a trip to Kenema. Yes, it was friends, I was leaving behind.

Nataša's Sierra Leone Adventure - Part 10 - No Girlfriend Business

I woke up the next day and walked around. I met with Seinya, and her lovely one year old daughter Fati, who fluttered around in a lace dress. Seinya was not fluttery at all, I could see something was worrying her, making her spirit heavy. I was wondering what it was, but it did not seem appropriate to ask someone you knew so little. She introduced me to her friend Simpson, another local NGO worker, an electrician who worked for Caritas. He was a cool guy, relaxed, and not pushy, and I felt comfortable in his company. I wandered around the town. There were so many disabled people, people with limbs missing, on crutches, sitting around, not doing much. Most of them too young to be invalids. The massacre and devastation of the war seemed still so fresh, the consequences so vivid.

I had seen this before, I thought, when I was in Bosnia, the first time two years after the war there, and then several times later. And Bosnia I knew from before so I could compare. The first time I drove through Sarajevo from the airport, I started to cry uncontrollably. Just at the look of the blackened skyscraper skeletons, big holes in the walls of buildings, numerous small holes done by snipers in the still lived in buildings, the burnt down National Library. Deserted villages. Even worse in the charming Mostar with the collapsed medieval bridge. The atmosphere was just dead. I was depressed. Then I met people, friends, colleagues. We went out, and they spoke of horror, fears, hunger, pain. And then the survival strategies. About those they spoke with so much black humour, and on such a positive note – on several occasions - in the end we all laughed to how they all fought to find a small chunk of a tinned sardine in a big pot of boiled rice, the food that landed out of the sky as UN help to civilians, to save them from starvation. The spirit can basically survive anything.

You could see that in Zimmi as well. The life definitely went on. People cooked, they farmed, they went to work, and had children, they travelled, played football, and joked. Their lives continued, however scarred they had been by the deaths and losses of the beloved ones.

I went to the market, which was lively, and bought a pineapple, I had some more tea. Then I went to the school next door to my compound, and wanted to take some photos of the children. All of a sudden they swarmed around me, several classes of children of various ages. They were lively, some a bit wild. I had to use my teacher authority to make some order, they all wanted to stand right in front of me to be in the picture, all wanting to be in the front row. I spoke louder, in a more determined voice, showing them with my hands where I wanted each of them to stand, the smaller ones in front, the bigger at the back. If I moved back, they followed me like a big hive, giggling and chattering. A teacher came, helped me control the crowd, and posed for the picture as well. Wonderful pictures of children with so many different expressions, brown faces, big eyes, all in blue uniforms. Great colours!

I walked on, and on the other side of the street further on watched a football game played by local boys, all in copies of shirts of the famous football players such as Zidane, Ronaldo, Beckham, Essien. They were all aspiring to become good football players one day, maybe even make a career which would take them abroad. Football a ticket out of poverty, the chance for a better life, a wish of many African boys. I am sure there were a lot of young talents among them to be discovered.

In the afternoon Simpson came over, and accompanied me on my walk out of the village, and down the road, that led further on to Liberia. Everyone asked me, if I was on my way to Monrovia. I wished I was, we were not far away from the border crossing. It suddenly seemed so easy, accesible, a normal way to continue the journey. But I had a single entry visa, and a return ticket from Freetown. We got to the first police checkpoint outside the village, and I sat down with the policemen to have a talk with them. There were five or six of them, just sitting there, not having to do much. The local people were walking back and forth from their fields on the other side of the checkpoint, carrying bundles, vegetables, firewood, and tools. There was very little traffic. Actually none while I was around. I told them a little about Slovenia and myself. They listened with interest, they wouldn't mind talking longer. But at this point I was with Simpson, and followed his guidance. I knew he thought it was enough. So we said farewell.

***

I took pictures everywhere. The countryside was beautiful, it was deep green, and fertile. A lot of people, adults, and children came back from the fields with their hoes or sometimes vegetables, as the day was approaching its end. In Zimmi it rained more often than in Freetown, so I spent some time just in the house, and read a thick book I brought with me. When the rains came, that was a wonderful excuse to idle in bed. I loved the sound of it heavily pattering on the roof, the feeling that the time had stopped. Just being by myself, and taking a nap in the middle of the day. I really was on holidays, and left everything behind, work as well. What luxury!

Simpson came by again after work, and we went out in the afternoon. While watching another football match by adolescent boys on the local playground, someone came to introduce himself. He was a medical nurse for Caritas, his name was Kanei. I could see Kanei had a strategy of approaching. He did not encounter me by accident. He was following me around for a while, down the couple of streets Zimmi provided, waiting for the right moment to meet with me. The football field seemed to him to be the most appropriate. He was really trying hard to be my friend, much too hard. Saw in me an opportunity of a better life. The more I casually tried to explain him, I was not the right person to help him come to Europe, just because I was from Europe myself, the more persistent he was. Simpson smiled to himself, I could see he found it amusing. I invited both guys for a drink, but declined to accompany the medical nurse around, to visit his patients, and see, how he gave penicilin jabs. My father was a doctor, and I saw him work many times, I apologised. I wished him good luck, also in finding someone for a life companion. That's how desperate men sometimes get, not having the right opportunities, I thought. I had to hide sometimes from him in the next days, as he was a persistent felow, looking for me all around. We laughed about that with Simpson. He was one clever guy, and knew how to stay near me, no propositions, just offering his presence. And he also spoke openly of his family, his wife and children.

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.