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