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

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #6: I Met the Famous Y.S. Mansaray!

Una Kushe, after another long day of driving and red dust swallowing, we arrived in Fadugu. For those of you who haven't read it, "Black Man's Grave," is a book that two returned Peace Corps Volunteers, John Amman and Gary Stewart wrote about Sierra Leone's War. They had both been stationed in the village of Fadugu at different times and were receiving letters from villagers that contained more up to date information than what they could gather in the news. When they realized this, they decided to compile the letters and publish them chronologically with the story of the village, its people and how they were affected by the war.

Obviously, I have a pretty vested interest in this topic, I've read the book a couple of times, but it isn't every day one is able to meet those who've only lived in the imagination. To me and my little circle who have shared this book, these are our heroes, who've lived through this horror and persevered. And now I have the privilege to meet some of them, shake their hands and best of all, we are building our next school there.

We arrive at night. I take another outside shower, am assisted by a little girl, and since I am doing this with the headlamp on I doubt there is much one can't see from the outside. I know very well that most of the grandchildren are on the other side of the shower, (to be clear, am just topless, out of sheer terror and the fear of being rude have decided to keep pants and sneakers on) I don't think they were out there to be voyeuristic, but rather to assist me (the shower was
confusing, b/c it was a nailed up toilet and it was far out from the house) but to comfort myself I pretended to shout at them that they better not be looking, I know their granddad (AK Bangura) and I'm not afraid to name names. Part of me wishes the whole episode were filmed from their perspective, as I am sure I seemed pretty insane.

After we are clean and shown to our rooms in a back house at AK Bangura's house, we have dinner with YS Mansaray. Farah actually falls asleep at the table, so we force him to bed. No Palm wine or ceremony because it is so late. Then YS takes Jim and I on a walk through the town. Fadugu is still very much a market town. They have two "cinemas" where films (I think they were all Nigerian) are projected, and of course, one can buy popcorn. All of this is done via generator, as even though that IMF-funded hydro-electric dam is somewhat nearby, it will not be providing power to any of the villages, just major cities.

YS also takes us to meet some of the teachers and "community teachers." Over half of the teachers at Fadugu are community teachers, which means they are volunteers. There is (and has been for some time) a big problem with teachers getting paid on time if at all. So it is hard to find teachers. With a community leader like YS, around to inspire his village, Fadugu has the kind of spirit that turns out a force like that. It was really amazing to see. Many times I find myself wondering if he really sleeps.

The next morning, we went to see the school SLVP is helping with. Fadugu's school is overcrowded, a problem that is getting worse and worse because the hydro-electric damn is forcing villages from their homes and they are being relocated here (for example, one classroom has 85 children in it!). That is why we are building a smaller annex to catch the overflow so that they have normal (will still be really big class sizes by US standards at around 45 students). They have made extraordinary progress already. Jim was there just a few weeks ago and the ground had been cleared and the foundation had been laid. We are now back and the walls are 4 feet high.

Then one of (for me) the highlights started with the drumming by about 7 boys/young men led by 12 girls wearing white tops, grass skirts, with painted ankles. They marched across the school grounds to meet us, sang a long welcome song for us (which included our names), and man could these girls dance. They were all different ages. I suspect that it's kind of the cream of the crop, as I was later told that the Fadugu Cultural Dancing Team came in 1st out of 7 districts. Both Jim and I tried to video tape this, I of course ran out of memory at some point into it, and couldn't change the card then and there. But they were singing and turning, clapping, pausing, stomping, they had a leader who would blow a whistle to indicate position changes. And at one point, after the battery died, they pulled a shimmy move that would have been snapped up by the likes of
Beyonce in a heartbeat. My mouth was literally hanging open and I had to remember to smile so I looked as grateful and impressed as I felt.

It was too big to implant in the blog so here is the link to the YouTube post:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFE_hul5PA0

After their performance, scroll to the bottom to watch the poorly filmed video, we were given a tour of the school and their brick making facility, which was impressively fast (they have moist sand that they can just tightly pack (now, that dude has some muscles) and compress then let bake in the sun). Then we saw Y.S. Mansaray's office, which had impressive (all handwritten in the *fingers crossed* Mansaray font) records of teachers, students, grades, the history of the school, maps of Salone (the first that I'd seen and which I photographed extensively for selfish reasons, to simply have up to date ones).

We then saw a series of chiefs of varying levels until we got up to, and I could be wrong on this because I think there were about 4 different languages going on, none of which were English, the
Paramount Chief (a big deal, there are only 12 in Salone and these are sitting members of Government, like the US house of representatives). And I was able to hand over the last of the $USD. Liberating, because I was no longer responsible for it, and very fun, because it made them "gladi past mark" (very happy). With the progress they are making and the extensiveness of the estimate Y.S. was able to give us, we know that cash will put them at about half way finished. To everyone who contributed to that stack of $USD thank you so much, I hope you enjoy the video, it's as much yours as it is ours.

Then Y.S. took us on a daytime tour. We saw the house that John used to live in when he was a volunteer, yes, it's still standing. Unfortunately, it's one of the few buildings from before the war that seems to be left. I am getting better at identifying pre-war and post-war architecture. Pre-war structures have much more elaborate column work, post-war buildings look as though they were put up in a hurry and are much plainer looking. Sometimes we drive by and all we see are the 5 or 3 pillars sticking out of the forest indicating that there was once a building there. On the other hand, many people, like Farah and Albert are rebuilding directly on top of the old foundation, kind of a way to fly in the face of that destruction.

After walking through the market and seeing the graves of the former chiefs of the village (interestingly, only figures of authority are given elaborate gravesites in prominent places, what we might call a cemetery or something to that effect). Everyone else, regardless of religion is buried out in the bush. Not sure as to what if any kind of marker, coffin, ceremony, etc. goes on there, and definitely couldn't really ask about it. Definitely going to look into this when I get home as my curiosity is now getting the better of me.

In conclusion, Y.S. Mansaray and his descendants might be the coolest people on the planet.

Next update: Matru Jong (this is the town where the author of "A Long Way Gone, Memoirs of A Boy Solider" is from and began his journey)

Naim daht,
Mari (I only answer to this and/or Obama now)

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #5: "Thank You" and "Hello" Dinner by Candlelight with the Koronko Tribe

Una Kushe, we were off for a two day adventure into the northern territory of Sierra Leone. The first village we were to visit was Samaia-Bendugu. To say it is remote, is the understatement of the year. It's the 6th village after the police checkpoint, which comes about 5 villages after the last one on any of the 4 maps I was cross-referencing.

I've come to find police checkpoints humorous. Farah, who is driving us in a regular car (it is his village, so even though these roads were not really meant for jeeps let alone cars, he knows the way and will be the program manager should this project application get approved by the board). The policeman here tried to tell us we needed permission from the minister of power because they are building a big hydro-electric dam nearby. (Really, he wanted us to say, we had no such permission, and to give him some cash so he would let us pass). I don't feel horribly angry, because I know how underpaid he is, but we don't pay bribes. We argue, show passports, and promise not to look at the dam (we think the real reason may have to do with the discovery of valuable minerals nearby). At various checkpoints police outright ask for bottled water, oranges, etc, for no reason. Many times it was hard not to laugh outright. I just used the play dumb method and was pretty much ignored anyway because I was a woman and in the backseat.

Anyway, after an estimated 3 hour drive that took 5, through the treacherous mountains over a handful of bridges made with logs that had me reviewing the "when trapped in a car underwater, do x,y,z." We made it to Samaia-Bendugu (Bendugu for short) after night fall, just as the moon and one of the planets was rising. Bendugu needs safe drinking water. They have a well now, but it's open, which means animals can go in it, other gnarly bits can get into it, and it is only located in one spot, so if you don't live near the well, guess what the (usually) girls are spending their whole day doing instead of going to school?

They want what's called a Gravity Well (sounds cool, and is a smart system, using...gravity) to provide multiple pumps throughout the village so that everyone doesn't have to spend so much of their day fetching water. Our original plan had been to check out where they wanted to install it, but since the trip took so much longer than planned and we had to be in Fadugu the next day and we aren't engineers, we just made a promise to send our well contractor out to make an estimate. That left us to the ceremony...

First there was a lengthily discussion in Koronko (Koronko is both the name of the tribe of the people living in the 6 surrounding villages in that area and the language they speak) amongst the chief and elders as to what to give us. I was really hoping for NOT a goat.

As the discussion continued, we were taken to our lodging, Jim and I got rooms with a family and Farah slept with his family. After Jim and I "washed" (note a village shower, when there is no running water, is a pebbled surface, walled in by palm branches for privacy, with warmed water in a bucket and a cup, hopefully you remembered your soap and washcloth, PS Shelley, I owe you like a million dollars) we walked to Farah's house for dinner.

Farah's original house had been burnt to the ground by the RUF during the war. Most of the village had fled and returned when it was safe. In his tenacity, Farah immediately rebuilt a bafa (mud walls thatched roof, sturdy home) for his mother (this was going on for Farah while he was age 12-22). And is now in the process of rebuilding a more permanent structure for her, with bricks and a zinc (what we'd think of as aluminum or tin roofing, very common roofing material in W. Africa). When he saw the progress of the new home, he was overjoyed. it's almost complete and ready for roofing. Farah is a pretty amazing guy, it was lovely to see him so happy.

Then a table, two candles and some palm wine were all quickly produced for us. Palm wine is to Sierra Leone as Sake is to Japan or Champagne is to France. I'm told that the best vintages are those imbibed immediately upon being tapped which happens early in the day. As you can glean from the name, Palm wine comes from the sap of a palm tree. It's a little sweet a little sour and I took to it immediately. Of course:) I thought the Bendugu 8pm Vintage was lovely, and after 3 cups I was able to face the latrine, which is a small opening over a deep pit, covered by a piece of scrap zinc. The walls are more palm branches and the door is a World Food Program rice bag. I think it would have been easier to face if a bat hadn't flown at my head the first time I used it.

After we had some Palm Wine, we were serenaded (which, to god, I hope my recording comes out) by the women and some kids sitting around. They sang us a song in Koronko abut the moon and the stars. The lyrics are below, but essentially, it's a lullaby and a child's game, played while passing around a large fruit, when the song stops, whomever has the large fruit (the moon) is the chief and is honored for a brief time, then the song starts again. It reminded me of hot potato or duck duck goose, but in a nicer way. The melody is very catchy and I find myself humming it.

Nde lule lule lule.

Lule kenema lule.

Nde kele kele lule.

Kele kenema lule.

It roughly translates to, I am the star, I am the biggest star, I am the moon, I am the biggest moon (=chief). That is what everyone is singing in the video...scroll down to hear our serenade from the Koronko tribe.

Then we had dinner, African rice, with chicken and groundnut stew, and off to bed. I woke up early because I had to pee. I was given a plastic teapot with water in it. The only thing I understood was, ‘helpful during the war.’ Was this a chamber pot? I wasn't exactly sure if that was what she meant. I knew that if I peed in a non-chamber pot, it would pretty much be the rudest thing ever. So I held it until 5 am, put the headlamp on and faced the bats. Fortunately there weren't any. I also accidentally let a kitten inside, who as it turns out was a family pet,(inside/outside cat, all of them are) and he/she curled up on a big bag of rice in my room. We're buddies.

Then I sat quietly on the porch listening to the morning sounds of the village as dawn came. At first it was like being in a bird sanctuary. Not just roosters, but parrots, probably some bats, pigeons (which as it turns out, our family raises, but has to sell, b/c they think of them as pets and cannot eat them themselves), vultures, I saw one really cool looking giant black one with a Mohawk that is probably definitely endangered, it might be the last of its kind (ok, maybe not, but it was cool looking). Then women started coming out and starting cooking fires. Men started about their morning constitution. Tiny kids started with incredible feats of balance collecting water in 5 gallon jugs and carrying it back home on their heads in near darkness.

I was grateful for the one word I knew in Koronko, "Imwhale" which conveniently, means "thank you" and "hello" so it's very useful for someone in my position. The only other word I was able to pick up was Tubabu "foreigner" (I usually catch this in every language, because heaps of little kids follow us around shouting it, it would be more helpful, if they could shout things like, "where is the restroom," "I am grateful for this meal" but I am thankful for the language lesson nonetheless.)

We went to the Chief’s house for the formal meeting and gift presentation. There was translation English to Krio to Koronko about how the organization works, the approval process and that we need the village to pitch in too and help themselves so that everyone works to get what they want. Everyone seemed to like and understand the idea. ultimately, we were presented with a chicken, a bowl of rice, $1.70 US (in Le) and a goat (thankfully to be delivered via motorcycle, by Farah's very unfortunate brother, and hopefully it will actually go to Farah).

We had to hurry and leave because Fadugu was expecting us at 1pm, we had no cell reception there (oh yes, Salone, is totally up with the cell phone revolution, skipping land lines entirely). So we had to haul if we were to even get to somewhere that we could call YS and tell him we were going to be majorly (like 5 hours) late. So we were in a rudeness sandwich. It's really rude not to accept gifts (i.e. if someone offers you food, you eat it and if someone is expecting you, like a whole village and chiefs are going to be involved don't be 5 hours late.)

Somehow, Farah managed to minimize our rudeness in Bendugu, we just ate some of the rice with fish, not the chicken, which we were able to leave as it would have perished on the trip. And then it was off to meet the famous Y.S. Mansaray and all of the other people I'd been reading about in John's book, "Black Man's Grave," in the village of Fadugu. I will save that for the next update.

Cheers,
Mari (I was finally given an African name! Now if I can only get the 4 year old at our guest house to call me this instead of Mr. Jim, will be all set).