Tuesday, November 24, 2009

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #9: I'm Sorry, Did Someone Say Monkey Bridge?

Una Kushe,
After all the formality, we were ready for action, but we got way more than we asked for. The first night that we’d arrived at the Koroma’s house there had been mention of a trip to the neighboring village, Kafugo town, to visit Denis’ father and see the church where he ministered. While we were speaking of this, Denis’ wife, Margaret, let out a high pitched screech. When we pressed her for what the concern was, she told us she was, “thinking of the Monkey Bridge and how much it frightened her.”

I’m sorry, did you say, Monkey Bridge? Well, yes, that does sound frightening. The morning of our departure, I was amped up for our two mile walk in the blazing sun (oh yes, I will get sunburned like it’s amateur hour, much to the amusement of many little kids who’d never seen sunburn) to Kafugo town. While I knew it would be nice to meet Denis’ father (meeting anyone over 40 here is a big deal) and I was mildly excited about the church, let’s be honest, I was all about crossing that Monkey Bridge, and pretending to be brave while doing it.

Along the road to Kafugo town, we saw subsistence farmers working the fields. We visited Denis’ family (even though his father wasn't home) and his church. We were honored to meet the chief of Kafugo too. We also ran across several curious kids who always refer to us as father (even me, when I am by myself) because normally a white person here is a priest or preacher. And the insect highlight was a lone Scarab beetle, yes, the kind that ancient Egyptians linked to Khepri, the god of the rising sun, simply walking down the road.

Then, Dennis turned abruptly into the brush on the side of the road; we’d reached it, the infamous Monkey Bridge. Constructed of vines using a secret technique in the dead of night by the Gbangbani society, the Monkey Bridge always existed but was often rebuilt or repaired, especially in the heavy rainy season that we were now experiencing.

It looked like something out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I see why Margaret was frightened; she is the one in the town with sense. It got tiny at the center where it passed over gushing water. Although I didn’t look down as advised by Dennis, I did think about the possibility of survival, including the likelihood of animal and parasite attack. After deciding I would surely perish, I’ve concluded that I am certainly braver than Harrison Ford. Where’s my invitation to the Tonight Show?

Safu safu,
Mari

Next up: Don’t Humbug Me, Margaret & I Hear from 48 Women of Fadugu

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #8: Chiefs on Film

Una Kushe, the next day we got to the business of paying our respects to the chiefs. This is a widely known tradition (it was even in my Lonely Planet guide) in a large part of West Africa. If you wander around in a rural area ruled by a chief (be it officially or unofficially from a governmental standpoint) you are expected to pay your respects.

In Sierra Leone, Paramount Chiefs (that’s the highest level, and you will find him in pink, center) are actual ruling members of the government. I’ve met some, so essentially, I’m another degree closer to Kevin Bacon. Then there are lower levels of chiefs, complicated electoral processes based on secret society membership (no, not kidding) and in each district there is a chief of each tribe. So the net net is, Fadugu has one Paramount Chief and 3 chiefs, one for each tribe that lives there, Limba, Mandingo and Fula. And below the Chief there is the Speaker.

To pay respects, we have to visit and bring gifts to all of these gentlemen. *One of the complaints lobbied by the women I interviewed was that they had no voice in their government. This is largely unchangeable in the Northern area because of the secret society electoral system. However, in the South, another tribe, the Mende tribe has elected female chiefs.

Needless to say, this took the entire day. Luckily, John was well acquainted with the intricacies of this custom and brought appropriate gifts…branded merchandise. John’s day job is a business representative for the Cinematographer’s Guild and he gathered up some of the leftover Guild hats and Kodak Caps and we went running around the village. Translating from Mandingo to Krio to English or from Limba or from Fula.

But we paid our respects and essentially got permission to stay in Fadugu from all the chiefs. And a very nice Muslim blessing from one of the speakers, none of which I understood, but some of which was later translated. He is seated with the collection of chiefs pictured here.




Safu safu,

Mari

Next Up: I’m Sorry, Did You Say Monkey Bridge?