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