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!