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

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?

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #7: Upcountry to meet President Koroma

Una Kushe, John, Farah and I got an early start that morning from Freetown all the way North to Koinadugu district and the town of Fadugu (the green dotted line if you can see it). We were curious about so many aspects of the journey. I first and foremost, was overwhelmed with glee that I would not be confronted with a constant pounding from a face full of iron dust as it was the rainy season. The con-side of this equation left older roads susceptible to potholes that quickly turned into impassable mudslides. But on the whole, we were all excited to see our old friends from Fadugu, \YS Mansaray, AK Bangura and Dennis Koroma who had played instrumental parts in John’s life as a volunteer and were now playing key roles in the nearly finished SLVP Primary School Project Management.

I was especially eager as this was going to be the longest amount of time I would have spent upcountry in one single village. I was looking forward to getting to know people better, having my celebrity wear off with little kids and hopefully getting people, especially women to open up to me a little more, as it turns out I will get my wish.

The trip went well, and we were delighted to see many road improvements (even since my last trip in January). We made a stop in Makeni to visit YS Mansaray, who is the current headmaster of the Fadugu School and is undergoing an intensive 3 week training course. He allowed us to sit in and greet some other teachers. I was happy with what I found, up to date materials on pertinent subjects in what was an effort driven by the Ministry of education and funded in part by Unicef.

We were then on our way, but in the meantime, John had some political landmines to sort out. I think every culture has one or two of these. I’ve found that with the Japanese and many far Eastern Cultures, it is table manners. With Muslim countries that practice Shriria law, one wants to mind their ps and qs very carefully. In West Africa, it is of critical importance to show respect to ones elders.

Our major disconnect came when we took an invitation to stay at the home of Dennis Koroma (not an elder' far left) but a very close friend of John. So the story goes, when John was in the Peace Corps Dennis was the one child that Dennis’ family chose to send to school. But if Dennis were to stay home, he couldn’t study, it was too noisy, there were too many demands placed on him with chores, etc. So John had plenty of room and had Dennis stay with him. John also helped teach Dennis to study. Dennis went on to get his Master’s degree (and marry a woman with her Master’s degree, Margaret, upper right, during the war. No small feat. But, there had been some miscommunication and it was a generally accepted rule that all guests of the town stayed with the retired headmaster (who did have a whole extra house for these purposes) AK Bangura. Luckily, John is a conflict negotiator for a living and settled it with 3 nights at the Koromas and 2 nights at the Banguras. Phew.

So we were welcomed at our first stop the Koromas. Margaret and Dennis, who I would guess are in their late 30s or early 40s have 5 children are the two most well educated people in Fadugu. Their children are just amazing. They have a son Pascal 14, who will be heading to high school, a daughter Bridget, 11, who in addition to keeping up her studies does a heavy amount of housework, a son Christopher, 10, who will go into high school the same year as Brigit, a daughter Evelyne, 7, and the apple of everyone’s eye, 5 year old Henry, or as he soon became known to us, President Henry Koroma (though it should be clear from the photos more on this later).

Also staying with them were their Aunt and Grandmother, 4 puppies and mother, 2 other large dogs (pictured here with Eveylne and Christopher), a pig farm, chickens and chicks, several cats that I thought were kittens based on size, one of which we nicknamed “the beggar.”

After a full day of driving, disarming potential political bombshells and greeting a zillion people (we hadn’t even started on chiefs yet). We went to sleep at a ridiculous 7pm skipping dinner altogether. But I think it was for the best, otherwise we would have gotten sick.

Next Up: Paying our respects to the chiefs.

Safu safu,
Mari

Don’t forget, if in SF on the weekend of Nov 7th; keep Saturday night free for our West African celebration!

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #6: A Reality Check from the US Embassy Causes a Quick Schedule Change

Una Kushe, we were up bright and early for our very official appointment with the Special Projects Coordinator at the US Embassy. We had several major agenda items for her. John and my Uncle are co-authoring a paper on Sierra Leonean Teacher’s Unions, we wanted to discuss the possibility of finding other organizations that could assist us with the Sambaia-Bendugu Gravity Well (see trip 1 update #5: “Thank You” and “Hello” Dinner by Candlelight with the Koronko Tribe) and other potential partner organizations operating within Sierra Leone, and I wanted to inquire about the reality of women’s rights.

I have to admit that with as much travelling as I have done, the US Embassy in Sierra Leone is the only one I’ve ever been to. It is a ridiculous display of wealth in the poorest country in the world. It’s made of marble and has a swimming pool. It is so big and sits on top of a hill (view from hill in photo above) in such a way that it can be used as a landmark. But there was a life sized cutout of Obama that I would have taken my own photo with had my camera not been on the prohibited items list and confiscated upon entry along with my bag, cell phone and almost everything else.

That said, I really liked our contact, Lindsay Kennedy and her boss, who was currently in Ghana, helping to usher Secretary Clinton around Africa is helping one of our villages, Mamaka (see photo of the completed school, left) with a “self help” grant. The concept of a small village like Mamaka applying for and receiving funding (less than $5,000USD) is something that was an ultimate goal of SLVP. Empowering a community to help themselves beyond the help we could provide. They are using the money for new school furniture and latrines. The grant works much the way our program does, the community does as much as it can and only asks for additional money to pay skilled labor and unavailable materials.

Lindsay was able to give us some limited information on the topics of the Teacher’s Union and the Gravity Well, but where she really came through was with her information on gender equality issues. I had originally planned to try to speak with some of the female leaders in the two communities we work in on the subject of women’s rights. Sierra Leonean legislation has come a long way gender based and domestic violence. But my concern, which was wholly reinforced by Lindsay, was that even though the laws existed to protect women and children, crimes are underreported, under-prosecuted and especially upcountry, where the law is the male chief, unenforced.

But she did give me hope. She turned me on to a new organization that was taking a fascinating approach throughout Africa, but had started in Sierra Leone. The organization, Male Association for Gender Equality (MAGE), realizes that one can tell women all day long about their rights, but if their rights aren’t honored, what is the point. The people we need to work with are the men. This organization takes that approach and works with men in communities throughout Africa to try to curb violence against women and children. She gave me his phone number and by the time I was home that afternoon, I had an appointment with the founder for the following week.

We left the Embassy energized but disgruntled because we couldn’t get appointments with anyone until at least a week later (it was Monday). That meant if we were going to squeeze in an extended trip to the very North of the country (Fadugu, to visit the site of the current project and John’s former village), several meetings with other NGOs, Sierra Leonean Civil Societies, visits with friends in Freetown and a trip to Mamaka (to see the school we’d finished last spring)…we were going to have to leave tomorrow!

Next Up: Upcountry here we come.

Safu safu,
Mari

Don’t forget, if in SF on the weekend of Nov 7th; keep Saturday night free for our West African celebration!

Also, if you visited slvp.org to donate in the past few days, it was down, but it is back up now. We know times are tough but even the tiniest bit goes a long way. Thanks:)

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #5: Killer 5 Year Olds Make Day Long Trips to the Airport Sound Easy

Una Kushe, the next day was Sunday and Farah was coming to get me at 11am to pick up my travelling companion, John, at the airport, who’s flight arrived at 7:30pm. No, those aren’t typos, due to the trip across the bay that separates Lungi International Airport (the only airport that now functions in Sierra Leone, there were several before the war) it takes hours to get to and from the airport. Then one also has to allow for rainy season tidal anomalies as the bay is actually several rivers dumping out into the Atlantic Ocean. On my own way in, we waited two hours for the tide to come back in for the grounded ferry (photo pictures beach right next to ferry departure point) to have enough room to maneuver close enough to the dock and allow cars on and off.

But after my breakfast, I was first determined to befriend the Kaikai’s daughter, Matta. I’d met Matta on my last trip and as she was only 4 and had spent nearly every evening and morning with my Uncle who had been staying at the guest house for six months had gotten to know him quite well, and referred to him as Mr. Yim and squealed with delight every time she saw him. I was determined to get the same reaction. I spent hours with her last time trying to get her to know my name, then my African pseudonym, hoping that would be easier, but the closest I came was Mrs. Yim upon my departure.

I had a good chance this time, I was going in first, and it was summer so Matta was bored. First, we looked for the cats that sometimes lived in the yard, no luck. Then she commented on my hair. It’s important to mention that I have no real idea of what she was saying, Matta is speaking Krio at a 5 year old level I am speaking English at an adult level. She can speak some English, but classroom stuff, like, “my birthday is in September.” One of the funniest things she said, was “Auntie, you no speak Krio, I no sabi (know) English,” as if to say, “why are you bothering talking. Just do what I want.” However, Matta’s mother is from a Francophone West African nation, so Matta also speaks some French, and it’s about the same level as my high school French.

What she wanted was to plant, or braid my hair (the next three photos are different examples of plant styles). I always show up at breakfast with semi wet combed out hair that looks like, well, crap. What, I am supposed to bring a hairdryer to a country with no electricity? Matta has no problem telling me something to the effect of my hair is a mess and needs to be planted like hers.

Matta, along with most Sierra Leonean women and girls suffer a weekly ritual where their hair is tightly pulled into short braids. There are a multitude of different styles, but it is the act that is of importance here, it is very very painful, if you don’t pull the braids tight enough, they don’t stay. In the city, very wealthy women and prostitutes have other hairstyles, running the gamut of those seen in the US, but for everyone else, the tight plant system is what is practical and affordable. And if one walks through a village or even Freetown on a Saturday or Sunday one will see girls and women having their hair planted by other women. It’s a ritual.

So, although I know this is not going to be successful, both due to Matta’s likely low skill level at hair styling, what with her being 5 and all, and the fact that my hair is way too long, thin and pin straight to ever hold a braid without a rubber band (I went to high school, I’ve tried). I figure, maybe if I let her play, she will remember my name, and be my friend. So I go and fetch my comb.

Matta makes fun of my comb, it’s a small pink travel comb, hey, I had nothing but carry-on. Then basically starts tearing at my hair. Makes one braid, it comes out. Yells at me unintelligibly. I try my best in French to convince her to do one big plant and then we can use the rubber band. She continues the horrifying course of torture. I spy a Barbie with dreadlocks and try to sit up so that we can play with it instead of me, before I go completely bald. This is where things get frightening.

She stops. Stands up on the chair so that she is whispering right into my ear and pinches my cheek and says something in Krio, but the gist was, “I am going to set your cheek on fire,” and then she grabs a lock of my hair and threatens to set it on fire. Did I just get an old fashioned secret society death threat from a five year old?

I’d had enough. I just picked her up and sat her down by her Barbie. I quickly pulled my hair into a bun when she wasn’t looking and let her rip out the remainder of Barbie’s hair. For the record, she did call me Mari, Miss. Auntie or Miss. Mari for the rest of the trip. But I have many more stories about the dark side of Matta.

Farah was on time to rescue me from further threats and we made our way to the Ferry. For more details on the airport ferry (see Sierra Leone trip 1 update #1 Miracle Bras with Actual Miracles and War Criminals who Actually See Courtrooms). The Ferry gets even livelier during Ramadan, it now has a loudspeaker and two, let’s call them comedians who do an act that culminates in asking for donations from Muslims and Christians to see which religion will win. I am told by my American Sierra Leonean friends that the Muslims always win during Muslim festivals and the Christians win during Christian holidays. I could understand very little, but apparently they were killing.

Luckily, John arrived on time and without incident. Farah was even able to eat something since we couldn’t leave the port until after sundown and he was fasting. I’d never seen him drink two cokes before. Although I’d been proud of myself for spending the weekend alone in Freetown, I was happy to have John join me. Now our work would begin.

John is the EVP of SLVP, the father of an eleven-year old and a Union Rep for the Cinematographer’s Guild. He was a Peace Corps volunteer in a village not far from where my Uncle was stationed in a town called Fadugu, where the school we are about to complete is located. He co-wrote a book (pictured left) on the war that devastated Sierra Leone, “Black Man’s Grave.” The book is both a factual historical account of events, and a collection of letters from community leaders in Fadugu. Several of which we will meet up with later in the journey. But first things first, the very next day, we had a meeting with a contact at the US Embassy.

Next Up: Reality check from the US Embassy and a change of plans.

Safu safu,
Mari

Don’t forget, if in SF on the weekend of Nov 7th; keep Saturday night free for our West African celebration!

Maureen's 2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #4: Vexed? Head to Mr. Bobby’s!

Una Kushe, with the rest of my afternoon free and a full belly of Foo Foo to work off, I decided to go for a walk down the usual walking path I used to take through Freetown in January, which basically follows the main street from my hotel down towards the center of town and the old cotton tree.

As it got hotter I started to look for some of my favorite stops (along the way, Photo left) for a refreshing Fanta, but alas nothing was open and, quite frankly, I was getting a little panicky. I know I am from Florida, but years of living in San Francisco have lowered my heat tolerance. I start spinning nightmare scenarios where I pass out from heat stroke and wake up in Sierra Leone’s only hospital with a dubious IV needle in my arm. Must…get…Fanta…

I finally found a small shop open with two older gentlemen sitting in it. I hadn’t been there before, and they didn’t seem super happy to have strange company, but the Fanta drive took over my feeling unwelcomed. I sipped my cool beverage and eavesdropped on their English conversation. It took me a few minutes to realize I could follow them. There was no real point for them to speak in English, they can all speak Krio, especially if they don’t want me to hear. Who are these guys? They complain about the motorcycle drivers going the wrong way up the street. They greet a gentleman who pulls up in a big SUV. They ask him if he wants a beer and he says no, as he is fasting (unusual, because were he a super strict Muslim, he would never be drinking beer).

I see an opening in the conversation and my boredom gets the better of my need to be polite and not further my countryman’s reputation as a “loud American” (never fear, only Europe really thinks that anyway, the rest of the world can’t tell English speakers apart 80% of the time). I find out that many of them are former government men. This explains the English vs. Krio too. Now I realize the opportunity I’ve stumbled into. Without revealing any of my identity, which may get me ousted, I ask them what they think of the current president, Koroma. They think he’s doing ok, but suggest that they think it is good to change parties often.

This casual comment worries me. Not that it’s widely accepted that Koroma is the great West African leader, but he’s not doing a bad job, which given the circumstances, would be very easy. To change political parties just for the sake of changing them doesn’t make much sense to me. I am sensing these fellows are with the party that is currently not in power, the Sierra Leone People's Party (SLPP). I think quietly to myself about how thankful that I am that I am not wearing my SLVP (no relation to that party or the current ruling party, the All People's Congress) T-shirt, chug my Fanta and move on.

Unfortunately, it was getting late and I would not have enough time to head all the way to the Cotton Tree and back to be home in time for 7:30 dinner, so I head back, but I will have time to kill along the way, time for more Fanta.

My next stop is a familiar one. This is an odd bar, “the China House,” where we watched the inauguration of Obama last January (Photo left). At this time of day, I am one of about 5 customers and the only one at the bar. I am so bored that I, again, insert myself into the conversation of the waitresses. They seem very pissed about something, I am picking up some of the Krio, but I know they can and will explain it to me because I essentially tipped my way into the conversation.

As it turns out, these 3 women, who work 7 days a week, one behind the bar, one on the floor and one as a floater, are entirely responsible for inventory losses. They’ve been tallying up the losses and then arguing who was responsible for which area, and they are getting vexed, that’s Krio for “angry,” with each other about the whole thing.

They are nice enough to explain it to me, but I cannot offer a solution. I ask them how much the discrepancy is…Le26,250 or $7USD. Ok, maybe I can. I tell them that it upsets me to see them fight and give them the $7. They say thanks but explain, that is just one night. This happens every single day. They are always trying to clear this up, 7 days a week.

I think back to my college job at a movie theater. I think my cash drawer was correct once in the 3 months that I worked there. Not that it ever came out of my paycheck. Or that I had to work 7 days a week, was supporting several children, and was thankful to have the job because it was keeping me from turning to prostitution. I hung my head in shame, finished my Fanta and left. Now I was vexed at my naiveté and the injustice of their situation.

Having successfully found zero friends and solved zero problems, but at the very least feeling hydrated, I am feeling confident enough to stop into Mr. Bobby’ for a drink. Mr. Bobby’s is one of the shadiest bars I’ve ever been to, it has no walls, a semi mud/cement floor and a roof made of tarp. The only reason I consider it safe is because I know everyone there as I’d been introduced last time by my Uncle, and was therefore, a protected customer.

This didn’t stop me from immediately announcing my status as a married woman, but I did have a well earned round with the much too regulars at Mr. Bobby’s. Star Beer, the local beer of Sierra Leone, and one of the only local beers produced in West Africa is a delight. Trust me, I’ve been trying to get it exported, you have no idea how hard this is, so far it has been easier to bring them back in well packed 6 packs. For a detailed description of Mr. Bobby’s patrons (see the Sierra Leone trip 1 update #2: Congratulations to General Obama).

I walked up the hill and took solace in Mrs. Kaikai’s (guest house owner) chop (chop is Krio for food) and looking forward to my traveling companion joining me the next day even though it will take a day to collect him at the airport.

I had a much needed good night's sleep at the "Simple Goal Guesthouse" (photo of my bed and A/C left). Since my last trip, I've realized that the Simple Goal is the Ritz-Carlton, complete with generator power until 1am (there is no electricity in Freetown) and even a TV that plays whatever of the 3 available channels the Kaikai's are watching. Usually Al Jazeera or BBC.

Next Up: The day’s journey to pick up my travelling companion and my 5 year old playmate threatens to set me on fire.

Safu safu,
Mari

Don’t forget, if in SF on the weekend of Nov 7th, keep Saturday night free for our West African celebration!

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #3: Freetown’s Best Personal Shoppers and Rainy vs. Dry

Una Kushe, luckily I did hear my two tiny simultaneous chirping clocks and woke up early enough to receive my first visitor, the coolest man in Salone (Krio for Sierra Leone), Mr. Sheku. Even his name is cool. It’s pronounced the way it looks. Sheku and my Uncle Jim were very close when Jim was in the Peace Corps some 30 years ago and have stayed in touch. Jim sent me with tuition money and photos for Sheku, which he was anxious to get.

Sheku is blessed with an intelligent bunch of children (he has one wife, not sure if he’s Muslim or Christian actually). I am particularly impressed by his older daughter Masereh, who has refused to marry until she finishes college. This is really unusual, if not downright difficult. And it’s not for lack of suitors either; she’s quite attractive, funny and intelligent. She just wants to be educated too. Unfortunately for Sheku, (and this will also eventually happen to Farah who is determined to send all 5 of his children to college, a total of $25K) while he is extraordinarily proud, he is struggling to pay for this. They will choose to pay tuition rather than eat, that is how high education is valued.

Then Farah picked us up and it was time to shop up a storm on the streets of Freetown with my two personal shoppers, Farah and Sheku. I knew this was going to be fun, the freedom to shop and not have to bargain myself, yay. I am crap at bargaining. First, we got an umbrella which they insisted on testing, there was yelling, handshakes, I pay: $5. Then we go to 3 cell phone vendors of varying degree of store construction from street cart to store with generator and A/C. Close inspection…I pay $32. A trip to the “ex-pat” grocery store so I can stock up on Tide, shampoo, TP and water (we got Farah some Nutella for his pickins Krio for children) and we were done.

Sheku had to get home so we dropped him off at the Poda Poda roundabout (Poda Podas are VW vans that pack as many humans as possible and drive like they are on acid, they are also considered part of the public transit system). And Farah wanted to show me how much development had gone on in the touristy (hey, I think there might be 5 or 7) beach section since I’d been gone.

First Farah and I grabbed lunch at this really cool place where he knew everyone. He’d had to delay his fast by a day the night before, so he could eat with me. That is one of the cool rules of Ramadan, if you have to miss a day, say you are ill and ordered to eat by your Dr, you can add those days up on the back end of the fast and you are still ok with god.

While fortunate for Farah, this led me to eat one of the top 5 most disgusting things I’ve ever had. I don’t say that lightly, I’ve eaten dog, raw jellyfish salad, fish spine and paste in various shapes as a breakfast dish, horse, and various insects. Something must be truly nasty to get into my top 5, that something is Foo Foo. Erica, I am coming after you. Foo Foo is difficult to describe as anything plant-based sounds innocuous enough, but it takes on the texture of a thick snot-like gelatin/paste and one is provided with a serving size of a small football. It’s made of rice, I believe, that or pure evil. It’s the only food in West Africa I’ve ever not liked. But I really didn’t like it. Never order this. Just trust me, save yourself.

After successfully keeping the small bites of Foo Foo down, we went on the driving tour. I was quite impressed with how much things had changed in only 7 months. Many hotels that looked like they would be vacant construction projects for eternity were now open for business. There were gaggles of people gathered on the beach and even some swimmers (ignoring the “Red Flag” = deadly riptide warnings).

After Farah dropped me off I had a chance to take my favorite walk into the heart of Freetown towards the 500 year old cotton tree where all the bats live. It’s unfathomably congested, there are holes in the sidewalks leading to the sewer below, one must be wary of motorcycles that go the wrong way down a one way street (we later learned that many of these unruly drivers are former RUF rebel fighters, referred to as Okada Riders, but some argue that they serve an essential service by ferrying passengers through the ridiculous traffic (all streets are single lane) of Freetown.)

But there is so much to be fascinated by as well. Most impressive still are the women who sell various items from gigantic (think exercise ball size) bowls balanced on their heads. They are doing all the evasive maneuvering I am, with their storefront, and should someone make a purchase, the bowl usually stays on the head for the entire transaction. I’ve seen this done by girls as young as 5.

Then I came to realize what was missing…the dust. The horrible chronic cough inducing Harmattan (sand from the Sahara) dust of the dry season was not turning everything a tinge of orange. The rainy season does make things stifling humid, Florida on steroids, and I grew up there, I have authority to make that kind of call. But it also makes things clear and lively. This will later lead to an over populace of insects when I go upcountry, but while I was in the city, it made everything feel a little cleaner.

Flowers were abundant, moss grew up the walls to obscure graffiti, there was even plant life in the sewer. And when it did rain, it rained with a quick fury that left everything a little cooler. The uproarious thunderstorms only happened at night and with such regularity that they had an almost soothing effect.

Were it not for millipedes (that photo is only a centipede), bullet ants, and the myriad of other insects that I will describe in detail, I would bestow my favorite season award to the Rainy Season by a landslide. But alas, my irrational fears, and some not so irrational as it will turn out, of insects will leave the current contest at a tie.

Next update: I become “vexed past mark” and must head to Mr. Bobby’s for a Star Beer.

Safu safu,
Mari

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #2: “The International Taxi”

Una Kushe, when we left off I was frantically searching the Wild West of the Lungi Airport for Farah. Panicked that he wouldn’t show up and worried about how I would ever get to my hotel safely without him, I fended off countless offers from shady helicopter operators (these old Russian helicopters that take daredevils across the bay for $100) and rickety rowboats that often sink. When I hear his familiar cry of happiness and search for his smile in the crowd.

Farah hugged me (really unusual, there isn’t much PDA in West Africa between married couples, and usually no contact save handshakes in varying degree of complexity between men and women, especially if one of them, in this case Farah, is Muslim.) I was kind of flattered that he broke his cultural taboos to adjust to my social norms. He is very international though. We concluded that his car should be called “The International Taxi.”

We spent the trip across the bay catching up on his 5 children. He is only 30, but married his brother’s wife after his brother was killed in the rebel war and adopted 3 of their children. Even though this is a pretty common practice, that saying, “it takes a village,” is actually practiced here. Farah felt like he needed to tell me the whole story of how this situation evolved rather than reducing it to the sentence I wrote above. I think because he is familiar with foreigners enough to know that someone might not see this as standard practice, but I thought it was a sensible move given the circumstances. He is a good man with a happy marriage and a wonderful father. This photo is of him with his three youngest on a day when we went to the beach last January.

One of the things I brought to him was this photo I took of him with his mother who I met in his home village, Sambaia-Bendugu (see the Sierra Leone trip 1 update #5: “Thank You” and “Hello” Dinner by Candlelight with the Koronko Tribe). She was amazing in her own right. She survived the war by hiding out for over a year in the bush (bush = wild jungle) and is in her 60s in a country where the average life-span of women is 40 years old. Farah has finished building a home for her, as hers was burned to the ground by rebels. He explained that he was so thrilled by the photo because very often people pass away and their loved ones are left with no photos of them. Without realizing it, we’d taken and given him the only photo of her that he’d ever had.

By the time we reached Freetown, it was dark. Farah was navigating crazy traffic and explained that it was aggravated because we were smack dab in the middle of the breaking of the fast on the first night of Ramadan. I am sure most of you know about the Muslim holiday of Ramadan. It is the month of fasting (very serious, no water even) from sunrise to sunset that is meant as a time to purify oneself, seek forgiveness for past sins and guidance from god. Because Islam follows the lunar calendar, Ramadan moves around every year. I think it likes to follow me to Islamic nations to make me feel less comfortable about drinking publicly before noon. (yes, joking) This is also why Egyptian daylight savings time was changing the night before, Egypt is a Muslim nation, Sierra Leone is about 60/40 or 50/50 Muslim/Christian depending on who you ask.

But what this also meant was that Farah was now starving and missing out on an important family gathering to get me to my hotel. We were both stressed. He eventually made it, I checked in to the very same room I stayed in last time and fell quickly to sleep. The next day was sure to be action packed, another good friend, Sheku (see the Sierra Leone trip 1 update #7: Matru Jong) was coming over at 9am. Hopefully I wake up.

Safu safu (take it easy),
Mari (Maureen)

2nd Trip to Sierra Leone #1: A Quick Stop in Khartoum and Other Surprises

Una Kushe (hello to everyone!), I am actually back in the US now, as this trip to Sierra Leone left me much more isolated from computers or even electricity for that matter. But, that isn’t always a bad thing, as it seems to generate more adventure and discovery (at least for me). This includes, but is not limited to, bullet (aka army) ants that flow like rivers(see photo to left, the dark line is entirely made of ants), crossing “monkey” bridges made by secret societies out of vines over scary rivers (photo below), death threats from 5 year olds, the sobering accounts of rebel attacks coupled with the triumphant leadership and joyful attitude that the friends I met last time greeted me with.

I would describe the overall difference between this trip and the January trip as much more intense (also wet as it was the rainy season). But in a good way, we accomplished a great deal, I was able to build on earlier knowledge and was granted trust on a deeper level. I think the highlight for me was interviewing 48 women, on camera, with the help of Margaret Koroma (who speaks 6 languages) on very intimate and sensitive topics regarding women’s rights, gender violence, equal education, child mortality and what they unanimously wanted, an education for all (meaning boys and girls) of their children. A true challenge in an impoverished nation with no free school system.

But, I will start at the beginning; I’ve done a blog this time, so I am only going to send out this email and a final email when the blog entries are finished. I estimate that it will be updated daily. I think this will work better as I can put the photos up too, and anyone new to the distribution list can check out the entries, photos and (new!) videos from the last trip (I know, this stuff is riveting, yes, that was meant as a joke).

As I did last time, the flight to Freetown, Sierra Leone was paid for with frequent flyer miles, meaning that I was at the mercy of Delta and their merry band of code-share partners. My flight to West Africa took 3 days and went something like this, San Francisco to Paris to Cairo (with a stopover in Khartoum, more on this in a sec) to Nairobi (stopover in Accra) to Freetown. Fun times.

A word to anyone traveling abroad right now, every airport in the world is good and freaked out about Swine Flu. But never fear, they are protecting us all from danger by making passengers fill out a card basically declaring if we have it or not. Super reassuring. It should be noted that the very expensive Yellow Fever card full of proof of how inoculated I am against exotic disease was checked for the first time ever upon entry into Sierra Leone (but no where else on this journey or in the 30+ countries I’ve passed through…ever).

Other than being really tiring, the flights were not much of a hassle, until I got to Egypt. I happen to arrive before midnight and depart after midnight on the very day that daylight savings changes (the reason will come in the next entry). Everyone was confused as to when the plane was actually leaving, what time it really was, etc. So I just park at the gate and wait…for hours.

While waiting and reading some nice infidel reading material (not to worry, I was very modestly dressed and had an emergency scarf, that I did actually use to cover my hair at one point when I found myself the only westerner in a lounge where everyone was praying) I realized that the flight was stopping in Khartoum. Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, the country where Darfur needs saving. I wasn’t even aware commercial airplanes were allowed to land there, and I certainly DO NOT want to ride on one!

Then I start to consider my company at the gate. People are going to Khartoum for two reasons, Aid or Profit, i.e., Good Guys or Bad Guys. And the Good Guys usually land in the Darfur section on UN planes. I hear a couple of guys (yes, I am the only woman on this plane) speaking English and ask them where they are going, “Khartoum.” I reply with something utterly stupid like, is it warm (no, the desert in August is freezing). Then ask them what kind of business they are in, “oil.” Yikes. No more small talk for me. Unfortunately, I was too tired to stay awake and see what I could out the window of Sudan at night, but I will get a better look on the way back.

When I finally get to Lungi airport in Sierra Leone, I am exhausted and anxious. I had been assured at the last minute that Farah (yes, the same Farrah from last time) would be there to meet me, but as I cleared customs with nothing more than a smile, I didn’t see him. Panic began to set in because I knew that it was a 30 min walk to the behemoth ferry that makes the 2 hour trip across the bay to Freetown and then it’s another 1 hour with traffic on one lane tiny roads to my hotel, a hotel that I cannot explain directions to unless the driver is very savvy and very not in the mood to rip me off. Basically, I am in huge trouble unless Farah shows…

I de go now,
Mari
(that is my African name, way easier to say helps me make friends as it’s a really common name)
aka Maureen

P.S. For everyone new to the list wondering why I am bothering you with travel stories from the poorest country in the world…I work with a great group of people, Sierra Leone Village Partnerships (SLVP). Our goal is to help remote villages help themselves. Sierra Leone is the country that was devastated by the 11 year rebel war (think Blood Diamond, that’s the country) and they are still living in burnt out houses, have no schools, hospitals, clean water, I could go on…We are making this visit to finish up our second school, discuss some pending projects and meet with other NGOs.

If you would like to learn more about Sierra Leone, SLVP or how you can help out, there is a lot you can do:

1. Visit our site to donate directly http://www.slvp.org/.

2. When you shop online, always start at http://www.goodshop.com/ and type in our organization, Sierra Leone Village Partnerships, you'll know you've got the right group, when you see (Tampa, FL). Every time you buy something after linking through that page, the retailer (and they are biggies, like Amazon, Gap, The North Face, Nike, iTunes and Target to name a few) makes donations to little old us.

3. If you'd like to learn more about Sierra Leone, pick up the book, “Black Man's Grave” at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Black-Mans-Grave-Letters-Sierra/dp/0979080827/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231022307&sr=8-1Itwas co-written by our EVP, a returned Peace Corps Volunteer, and my traveling buddy, John Amman. 50% of the proceeds go to fund SLVP projects.

4. Spread the word, forward my email/blog, tell people about SLVP and Sierra Leone.

5. To everyone in the Bay Area, or anyone who has some vacation time, our Holiday Fundraiser is going to be on Saturday, November 7th at 8pm. We will have West African food, music, trivia & prizes and of course a silent auction to help you get a jump on holiday shopping and raise funds for SLVP. I hope you can join us, look for the evite in a few weeks.

Maureen's Update from Ghana & NYC #10: Accra, Like Freetown, but with More Electricity and Paint and Back in the USA

Hello to all, (figured since I am home, I should try to speak English, it's been really hard for me because I picked up so much Krio, yes, am joking). Sorry for the near 2 month lag in the updates. At least one of them wasn't due to sheer laziness and culture shock (read: indulgence into 1st world luxuries). A few days upon returning I began to get daily headaches behind my eyes and my physician told me (as if I should have clearly guessed this) that my eyes were adjusting to no longer sitting in front of a computer screen for 8 hours a day, and now that I was returning to that pattern, they needed some help. Thus, I needed glasses before the updates could continue. The other month's worth of lag was due to TV watching and Cheeseburger eating, what can I say, I am only human.

Picking up where we left off...as I left Sierra Leone, it was much more emotional than I thought it would be. I took a twilight flight from Freetown to Accra, Ghana. Whole new country, without much difference. From what I hear, a lot of West Africa is like that, only subtle differences between these tiny countries that were carved out by colonial powers along arbitrary lines in the first place. The real differences lie between tribal cultures and level of development. That was one Ghana had on Sierra Leone big time, development. Where Sierra Leone (left) is the worst off of all the West African countries, Ghana is the best. To the naked eye, this doesn't really mean much.

As I flew over, I still saw pockets of black out, but they lessened as we got closer to the country's capital, Accra. Driving to the hotel, it honestly just looked like Sierra Leone with more electricity and a better paint job. Also, knowing no one, and having no idea what I was doing, I decided to play my night in Accra, "European Resort Style." Which means you just aren't going to see the real Africa at all. I paid through the nose for a super fancy resort that failed to meet me at the airport (rest assured, Lonely Planet will be hearing about this, mwhamwah) and had questionable sheets. Tony Blair (when a sitting PM) stayed here so I figured how bad could it be? As I got there, it dawned on me, upkeep. The common area was nice though, so I spent my one night there, hob knobbing with various flight crews, Air Kenya and Lufthansa were there, this is now the airline staff hotel of choice. The next morning I woke up at 5 min till sunrise (yes, dorkinator jones checked this ahead of time) to watch the sunrise over the beach that this pricey hotel is located on. So ok, paying through my nose had been worth it.

Not only was the sunrise over the Atlantic totally beautiful, no, I was not smart enough to bring a camera, too scared by exaggerated anti-theft signs plastered all over hotel, but I saw the only glimpse of real Ghana I had before catching my 10am flight back to JFK. I was able to comb the beach for shells, one of which I did keep, I know some frown on this practice, but I just kept one. Saw some weird jelly like creatures washed up that I (who am from Florida and am an amateur Marine Biologist) could not identify. And my favorite part, saw the Ghanaian Football (soccer) team practicing! Most of them were barefoot, some had on flip flops (can you imagine running in flip flops), and a few even had athletic looking footwear. They looked of college age and very serious so I couldn't resist asking what team they were. As it would happen they were the University of Ghana's team and another voyeur told me that if anyone from Ghana had a chance of getting recruited to a more high profile league like the European leagues, they would come from the barefoot group I was watching practice on the beach here at 6:15. There was broken glass on the beach.

I then realized I was super late and rushed to get my flight to JFK in the nick of time. Luckily the security in Accra was nowhere near the craziness in Sierra Leone, where I went through no less than 3 hand searches of my luggage including being asked to remove my camera battery, asked for several bribes (even though it's illegal to take currency out of the country) and the geniuses in front of me locked their hand luggage and I quote, "caused very very big problems" for airport security, no doubt costing the geniuses dearly.

NYC

Because my flight home was on Delta Airlines, boarding it made me feel a little bit more at home already. That was good because all the culture shock one would expect came in slower waves and wasn't what I expected. My friend and fellow SLVP member John met me at JFK and it was good see a familiar face, I think I find JFK more intimidating than several airports overseas, maybe even some of the ones I hit for the first time at night, at least Accra is small and you just know that you can forgive yourself for following your instinct to say no to everything. At JFK, it's America, you speak the language, you can read and you should know better.

It was weird to see huge highways and heavy traffic, bright lights and to be cold. We immediately started dishing on everything I'd seen as the village of Fadugu and especially the time I'd spent with Y.S. Mansaray which was so important to John, as he was the co-author of Black Man's Grave and had lived there before the war. As we went through my photos on my digital display, there were photos of burnt out buildings that I knew had existed when he'd lived there, I was scared to show them to him. But he took them in with silence and resignation, as if he were expecting them.

The next day was honored to partake in John's daily ritual with his son Lahy (he picks Lahy up from his mom's and takes him to school). Lahy is somewhat of a personal hero of mine, he speaks Japanese fluently, reads and writes it, is musically talented and freakishly skillful with maps. All things I strive to be yet fail at (oh and Lahy is I think 10). Then I went to John's office in Manhattan. John is a Union Representative for the Cinematographer's Guild, so naturally his office was totally cool. I was trying to act casual, but not doing a good job and I had an agenda while on my one day layover in NYC. I hadn't been there since the late 90s. I was dreading where I knew I had to go.

One would think that having just come from the second poorest country in the world would toughen me up a bit. Or perhaps my previous world tour that was inadvertently a tour of world atrocities (the island prison of Nelson Mandela, the site where Gandhi was assassinated, Anne Frank's house, Nanking, Nagasaki, the list goes on) would make me a little jaded. But I think it's different when it's on your turf and during your generation. So I got on the Subway (yes, with help) for the first time, and went to the World Trade Center.

I think what surprised me the most was how much things seemed to be going on like normal. Most of the people I saw there weren't tourists like me; they were New Yorkers, going about their day. The cops looked kind of bored. The actual site of ground zero was enormous and all fenced in. I did peek in and was happy with the flurry of activity. I worked hard not to really connect it with what had happened there or why. I worked hard not to compare it with the thousands of building shells littering Sierra Leone that will never be rebuilt and will simply be reclaimed by the bush. It was a bright and sunny day; I didn't have it in me to go there.

I think I would have if I had gone into the museum/memorial that has been put together. Time constraints didn't allow me to and maybe the same part of me that will not watch re-enactments or turn on the news every Sept, 11th didn't want to go in. I did lose it at the fire station a little. Just a little, nothing too embarrassing, this is New York, gotta keep my composure. And seeing the hustle and bustle of the city reminded me of why I liked it so much.

Then I made it back to John's office on the subway (by myself, yesss). And back home to SF, for a little while anyway:)

Cheers,
Maureen

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #9: Last Day in Freetown, but Not the Last Update After all

Una Kushe, I am now writing from the US, but this won't be the last update, there was too much to say about the trip home which included anothe country and city, but here I would like to cover my last time in Freetown. If this is the first of these you are getting, you may have been firewalled because I was sending emails from abroad through a corporate firewall, please let me know if you'd like the other copies, now that I have high speed again and a steady supply of electricity it's no big whoop to find emails, toggle, etc.

Getting on with the update, on our last day Jim and I decided to do the touristy thing and visit the Tacguma Chimpanzee Reserve. This is a very large forest right outside of Freetown where 92 Chimps live. Most of the chimps are reclaimed pets or worse stories, but basically, the reserve is doing awesome work. So awesome in fact that they had a break out a few years back. That is right a chimp breakout where a pack of 32 lead by one of the best stoners (meaning he was the alpha male with the best ability to throw rocks at the gawking humans, the keepers call these males stoners). The chimps were on the lamb, but within a few weeks most had returned to the comfort of the reserve except 4 including the head stoner, they were spotted doing well in the Gola forest, where there are actual wild chimps (that's the same forest where those two crazy guys were trying to get the recording of the endangered owl). They also have wild chimps that come onto the reserve, hang out for a bit and then leave at their leisure. We were impressed with their program, if you ever get to visit Salone, they have guesthouses there, allowing you to stay inside the forest and the proceeds go to help fund the reserve. Chimp-tastic.

Later that night we went out to dinner. Going out to eat at a restaurant almost always means we see other expats. This time was no different, and it being a small world, we bumped into a woman who'd been on the tour of the reserve with us earlier that day. We asked her to join us for dinner. She worked at another NGO that focused on children's and women's rights. I have to admit it was hard to talk to her about some of the stories she had about the abuses suffered by women and particularly sexual abuse inflicted upon female children by men in positions of power. Sierra Leone has come leaps and bounds in terms of legislation for women's and children's rights, but there is still a great deal of trouble with both enforcing and prosecuting perpetrators. All of the stories were nauseating and between dinner and reading the paper, there were too many to count, so I am not going to get into it in an email. It made me upset to know that it goes on, but it made me feel better to know that both the government and NGOs such as Becky's (that was her name) are making steps, however small, just like ours to do something about it.

Dinner was good, I had another Barracuda steak. And to add to the ambiance, the lights went out periodically. We ended up getting comfortable with this phenomenon after the first time and would just continue our conversation in the dark.

The next day I shed some of my unnecessary possessions at what Farah deemed the "good orphanage" which is scary to think that there is a bad one. I did get to walk through it because it was a Sunday and pretty much everyone was at church. It was more like a home for the disabled and an orphanage. Although the conditions were nowhere near up to what would be considered acceptable standards at home, they weren't bad for Freetown. Things looked clean and everyone looked well cared for. We had a good time trying to explain what soccer ball glue was, but eventually got that message across and then made a little boy very happy.

I also had an interesting experience dropping off what was left of my very large supply of lady products. These are not sold or widely used in West Africa, but I knew they would make some woman happy and last her at least 2 months (I deliberately over packed on that one, one does not want to be stranded without a product of that nature). But who to give it to? My Krio skills had improved, yes, but they only cover greetings, getting rid of guys who ask for my phone number/address more than 17 times in a row, and beer ordering, I don't think I could explain this one. I could only think of one person who'd I met earlier in the trip.

A few days before the inauguration (yes it is used as a marker of time in Sierra Leone too) I was looking for a Sierra Leone Stars Football Jersey and went into a store to ask if they had any. One of the women in the store stopped my ridiculous Krio attempts quickly and asked me where I was from. As it turns out, she was from Rhode Island (by way of Sierra Leone). Her mother was in her 90s and had stayed in Sierra Leone throughout the war. She had survived by hiding in the bush for some of it. The woman from Rhode Island, her name was Aisha, was starting a non-profit too. With her 12 siblings she takes turns returning to Salone and visiting her mother and repairing their village. Her family was from the heart of the diamond area and she said sometimes they would call home and rebels would answer the phone. The entire village had been destroyed. In the years since the war, this one family has rebuilt a whole village.

She was convinced God had brought me into the store. It could have been God, or Soccer fans would say, it was Soccer, but regardless, it was lucky we met. Their non-profit is still in the application phase and we talked for 3 hours about the process, and how we could help each other, tips etc. It turned out that was Aisha's last day in Salone and in a few weeks another sister would fly out to take her place. So near the end of the trip I came by her mother's shop with a "package" and a note for Aisha praying that the 90 year old mother would not be the one opening the package and wondering what the **** was this and that I would get the next sister. Luckily I did meet Mariama, and we talked for about an hour before I left my package with her (she said she could find plenty of women who would make good use of them) and I was on my way.

I've already heard from some of the friends I've met in Salone, including an email from Farah. Sure it wasn't a whole sentence, but Nicole, the woman doing the thesis on rape in wars that are not based on genocide is teaching him how to use gmail. And Aisha has left me a voice mail welcoming me home and thanking me for the package.

Next update: Ghana & NYC the trip home.

P.S. Some of you may have noticed the absence of spelling errors in this email vs. the previous ones, that is a total coincidence and has nothing at all to do with the fact that I have spellcheck again;)

I de go now,
Maureen (back home enjoying even pavement and constant electricity, will answer to given name)

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #8: Gofor and Exciting New Uses for Machetes

Una Kushe, the next day we had a lot of driving to do. Our first stop was the village of Gofor, which has a proposal in to build another school. This one had been destroyed in a storm (which was a refreshing change from the usual, "rebels burnt it to the ground"). When we arrived we saw a football field sized clearing that was almost clear of plant life but still had a bush here or a weed there.

We took a small walk down to another part of the village, where I made a few more kids cry (again, simple white face accident), saw a woman with a ludicrous amount of ridiculously large pineapples balanced on her head and when she put them on the ground so Farah could peruse her merchandise, they all jumped back. I ran over to see what the commotion was about. To be honest I was hoping to see a huge hairy spider, snake, monkey or other hideous creature.

But it was only a teeny tiny kitten that had been hitching a ride on her pineapple express. We all had a good laugh and the kitten ran off.

By the time we got back to the clearing, nearly the entire village was busy at work with machetes and shovels, women, kids of all ages and men, finishing the job clearing the field. We had a 3 language speech. English-->Krio-->Mende about what a great job everyone was doing with the progress of the clearing, who Jim and I were, how the application was doing (it's a really good application, we use it as an example actually), etc. Then everyone burst into song.

Here was my favorite new (to me) use of a machete #1: musical instrument. As the women sang (also including our names in the fashion of Fadugu) the men created the beat using whatever was available to them, and for the most part, it was farming equipment, machetes against shovels. They then followed us, it really felt like I was leading a parade, and heck yes I filmed it, (scroll down for the video) to the main center of the village where we were presented with...a goat!

Oh no, not another goat! Don't worry, I didn't name it. In case you've never heard the sound of a goat that is being made to do something it doesn't want to do, it is a very similar sound to that of a small child being hurt. Were I in show business and on that hilarious show, Inside the Actors Studio, I would definitely answer the questionnaire, "what sound or noise do you hate," with, "a goat in a trunk going over a speed bump."

But it was not a problem, because we were in a hurry, we could only stay for a small meal of rice and groundnut stew (yum), and we did take the goat with us back to Kenema where he was re-gifted (shhhh). This is super rude but since the givers were none the wiser we felt ok with it, and a) transporting a goat through all the police checkpoints between Kenema and Freetown would have gotten us in hot water and made us actually fineable b) the goat probably would have died in the trunk and c) do not think the guesthouse staff would be too keen on killing and cooking up a goat for us.

My second favorite alternative use of a machete happened on our way up to Kenema, while driving we interrupted several boys (age 10-12) playing cricket with a machete and an orange. "Car, game off." They are in the running for most creative of all time Sierra Leone Awards.

On the way back we dropped off the goat and per my insistence, I was permitted to attempt to purchase a diamond. My interest is in the practice of equitable mining in Salone. I knew that if I acted like I wanted to buy, I might get people to talk to me about the practices a little. I was in fact shown two stones (which to purchase and take out would have been illegal under both SL and US law but they were ready to sell to me anyway).

Many of you know about Blood Diamonds or Conflict Diamonds, which, according to several statistics and due to the Kimberly Process, only make up about 5% of the diamonds now in circulation. However, the diamonds offered to me would have been a nice example of how easy it is to work around that process, I could have asked if the miners were paid fairly and treated well (there is no "blood or conflict" here anymore, but most artisanal (where the digging is done by hand) mines anywhere in the world are not Disneyland).

If you happen to be in the market for a diamond, ask to see the Kimberly Process paperwork (it will help a little) and ask for one from Sierra Leone. It is doubtful that any US retailer will ever be able to tell you where the diamond came from, but if enough people ask, maybe it will become important, records will be kept and the network will be easier to trace.

I should probably go since some people want to kill me now (totally kidding, have not felt threatened whatsoever, ok, maybe a little, but only by insects). Even when I was "buying" my illegal diamonds, I was chatting it up with several really friendly gentlemen, how's the weather, where are you from, is it cold there, etc. American's we must sharpen our friendliness skills, Sierra Leone is going to cream us in the friendliness Olympics.

My time here is coming to a close, so my next update will be the last day in Freetown.

I gladi past mark, (something to the effect of, "I am the happiest I can be.")
Mari

Maureen's Update #7: Matru Jong

Una Kushe, after driving through the north, we headed back to Freetown, for a very quick overnight of real shower/laundry and then it was back out to the villages. We headed east this time. Jim (who is my uncle and was also in the Peace Corps in the 80s not sure if I
mentioned that) has a friend who he has kept in close contact with over the years, Sheku (pronounced Shake-ooh, and yes, he is cool enough to carry a name that cool).

Sheku recently got into the agricultural business, specifically, chicken. In what must have been an unfathomably hilarious to watch, but not to actually partake in kind of journey, Jim, Farah and Sheku drove the 6 hours from Freetown to Kenema with 400 chicks in the backseat of Farah's taxi. We were now headed back to Kenema to see the grown chicken (roosters to be specific), and for Jim to finally meet Sheku's mother, who is likely in her 70s and living in Matru Jong (I'd say an hour outside of Kenema, depending on both the road and the car).

We first arrived in Kenema, covered even worse than last time in red dust. Which as it turns out is actually iron rust (I had a magnet in my bag, the magnet liked the dust). I think that Sheku's mother thinks my natural skin color is orange. I know we have photos of it, but picture a coal miner who takes off his goggles, now instead of being covered in coal, I was covered in orange, save for where my sunglasses had been, creating a look that just reeked of awesomeness.

We did get real running water though, so I was overjoyed and took an hour and a half cold shower (which I didn't even realize was cold until thinking about it now, that's how happy I was that it was a real shower). We were staying at the "Pastoral Something or Other" which I
gathered was a massive piece of property owned by the Catholics, that also had a guesthouse, bar and restaurant, however, there was no missionary business to be found. All of the other guests were with either NGOs or there to go visit the nearby Gola Rainforest and capture sound recordings of a super endangered owl that is supposed to live only in that forest. Hats off to them. They "get" to live in the forest for 4 weeks. I am not sure how familiar they are with
bats, but they did look a little high to me.

The next day we went to Matru Jong to visit Sheku's mother. She had mentioned to Sheku that she didn't plan on dressing for the visit. Hey, she's 70, no one is expecting her to rumble out with her Sunday best on. I was a little startled when she greeted us in a traditional wrap around skirt and a tank top...with her left boob showing. So, she meant that literally, ok. After showing us through the house to the backyard (backyards are always where all the action is taking place) she introduced all the other family members and eventually did some re-tucking.

Then we asked if we could take a photo. She disappeared into the house and reemerged about 5 minutes later in her Sunday best. Matching skirt, shirt and head wrap in a deep aqua and white gara (sort of looks like tie-dye but with more elaborate patterns and colors) and a beaded
necklace with a dolphin on it. She looked stunning. We took several photos. Then we drank palm wine out of...a World Food Program plastic gallon container.

Every single bottle and container is reused, multiple times. You cannot buy a cold coke, Fanta or Star Beer in a bottle to go. You MUST give the bottle back then and there. I tried negotiating this, I was asked if I had another bottle to exchange, unfortunately I was not packing empty bottles with me. One of my most favorite cases of reuse was when a father pulled up with two twins in a self made wagon that had been fashioned out of the 5 gallon plastic canisters used to tote water/palm oil/other liquids and fixed with wheels and a rope. I have multiple photos of this as it was adorable and impressive in its ingenuity.

Anyway, after a bit of palm wine (a nice early morning vintage) we had some rice and groundnut (peanut) stew with chicken, very tasty. Mom refused or wasn't allowed (this was very unclear) to eat with us, and didn't eat after us, so maybe she just wasn't hungry? Then we were taken on a tour down to the river that eventually flows out to the sea and the island of Bonthe.

The river was awesome. For starters, I saw a (thank god) dead millipede. Yes, milli. Like the kind I've only ever seen in movies and entomology exhibits. It was half curled up and a little smushed but I'd say stretched out it would be about 10 inches long and an inch thick. Heck yes we took photos (adding to perceived weirdness). We saw hand carved canoes being launched with 2 people, one of whom was wearing mask/fins/snorkel and had spear fishing gear to catch
grouper (we asked, I guess there is a fresh water variety, I've eaten some in Freetown, I think that was the saltwater variety, was very tasty).

Then we went to where the ferry leaves daily for Bonthe island. We were followed through the market, the town actually, by kids, alerting us to our own resence "Pumwe" (I am totally spelling that phonetically, aka, wrong) which would be Mende for foreigner. Which is awesome, because I too, love that band.

Then we went to Sheku's chicken farm. Not much to report there, lots of chickens. Then dinner, a 3 hour shower, 3 star beers, and sleep. That night it rained. It is the only time it has rained since I’ve been here, but it's really helped keep the red dust to a minimum. For that I was very thankful indeed.

Next update: Gofor, the site of a future school and some of my favorite uses of machetes.

Cheers,
Mari