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).

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #4: When Someone Gives You a

Una Kushe, I just got back from my first overnight trip to Mamaka Village. We got there pretty early in the day, so rather than be too much of a huge disturbance in school, I just took the photos I needed and tried to quietly keep my distance. Then we discussed the meeting that we were going to have later with the village (I do mean the whole village, you have no idea how intimidating this is) about completing the school.

I met Yusef on my original visit to the school. He's in 3rd grade and I was surprised when he spoke English to me. This is quite a feat for a third grader considering this is his third language (most of his village speaks Temne, which is very difficult, at least to me, it took the entire two days for me to master "thank you" "momo" and "you're welcome" "yo"). Anyway, he and I clicked. He was the only kid that would smile in photos, and who was really talking to me that much.

Yusef is blind in his left eye. On my first visit, I didn't pay much attention to it. Not that blindness is something to sneeze at, but in a country with two major hospitals, no national healthcare program at all, and several natural diseases that cause blindness, I just assumed one of these factors had been the cause. After school that day he came and found me. He kind of climbed up the porch I was sitting on and I motioned him to come sit so we could chat. A bunch of older girls had already gathered and were giggling intermittently at me, we were going through the take your picture, show you, you laugh, now we're friends routine.

Yusef and I got to chatting and since he was wearing an Italy Soccer t-shirt I (so stupidly) asked him if he liked to play football. He pointed to his eye and shook his head. I asked him how that happened. I think he was explaining it to me in Krio because I caught the word mother. At this point I had scared away the girls because they were being kind of mean to Yusef. (Adult authority is an absolute, no need to make any verbal sense, loud noises and hand motions work fine). There were some grown ups gathered around the porch including Osman (the husband of Memuna, Albert's sister, I would estimate he's around 50) who speaks Temne, Krio and English. I asked Osman (pronounced Os like the o in yous, man like man) to translate and as he and the men on the porch listened to Yusef, they actually gasped and hung their heads.

Before Osman translated it back to me, and by this time I was nervous to hear it, he paused and took a deep breath. He said that Yusef and his younger sister were the children of the second wife who had been killed. The first wife, had been angry with the husband (still not clear as to if this man is Yusef's actual father or a step dad due to translation issues), and took it out on Yusef by putting cleaning fluid in his eye, blinding him.

Yusef was just looking at the floor. I was stunned and horrified, as were all the men on the porch. To be clear, this isn't commonplace. Osman, who is a fine example of what it means to be a man, went on to try to explain to me some of the complexities that can arise from having multiple wives (he only has one, he's just speaking on behalf of others). This is something I'd always wondered myself, after a handful of proposals in Egypt and India (always as wife #2 or #3) I not only refused, but would question my suitor as to how it would be that wife #1 really truly wouldn't get kind of P.O.ed at that situation. Not that it would justify unfathomably wretched child abuse, but even in the best case, I would agree with Osman's assessment that a lot of jealousies are going to erupt. That's in addition to the financial burden and other practicalities.

At that point I was having a difficult time not kidnapping Yusef and his sister (yes, Madonna-style). But since I am not Madonna, they technically have a father (even if he's a huge butthole), I would get arrested, I cannot properly raise two kids right now, who knows the multitude of implications taking them from their village to downtown San Francisco might have, and that I'd likely get arrested and thrown in a prison in Freetown (that doesn't sound fun, I bet there are really big spiders in there), I decided against it. For now, through a complex system of generous couriers, I am going to try to write him letters and send him things. I am also going to pay for Secondary School (like high school, but it isn't free here) for him and his sister. Not that this is some hugely expensive task, it's less than $500 USD for the whole thing per kid. Let me know if you are interested, lots of families can't afford it.

But, I still wish I could kidnap him. He's just a smart and kind little boy. And I am pretty sure that story will haunt me forever.

Getting back to the brighter aspects of my visit...a little later Memuna took me on a very long walk through the main street of the village. We were followed by a herd of pickins (children) and I felt a bit like the pied piper. We greeted everyone with good afternoon, which I could probably say but cannot spell, in Temne (oooh 3 words now!). Most of the houses are bafas (walls made out of stick frames, with mud walls and thatched roofs), but there are some made of cement, we passed the chief’s house and the bafa under which town meetings are held. Then we crossed a stream to Mamaka 2 (Mamaka 1 is so large that it has become 2 villages).

After the stream we got to open clearing. It's hard to describe the landscape of Sierra Leone. In many ways it reminds me of Florida, only less flat and the palm trees are nicer here. To the left there was a large pond with lily pads and tall, perfectly straight palm trees off in the distance. To the right there was a larger grassy clearing dotted with more beautiful palm trees. On the way back we saw men just emerge from the forest or the side of the road carrying hoes, they were done with their work day and coming home for dinner.

Just before twilight set in, Memuna asked me if I wanted to see Magbondo Village. Heck yes! Magbondo is about a 30 minute drive deeper into the, forest?, from Mamaka. They are in the midst of completing an application with SLVP for a Primary School as well. So Osman, Memuna, me, the Chief of Mamaka Village and Alie (the brother of another board member of SLVP, Willie) and the Chief's 2 year old son (who luckily was no longer scared, like, ready to cry scared, at the sight of me) jumped in the 4WD and drove deep on the one way dirt road to Magbondo.

We first arrived to find their school, a bafa similar to the one that Mamaka had originally constructed. I photographed away, as it was growing dark. Several grownups were running up to us, the first to reach us was an impressive teacher, the second was the headmaster (principal) who was filling out the application. Then they took me on a tour of their village too. It was beautiful, just like Mamaka. Magbondo is situated on a river and has a natural resource in the river's sand, which they not only use to build but are able to sell or trade to neighboring villages.

Their river was really beautiful. When we came upon it there were a couple of teenagers using a hollowed out tree canoe to transport a bike across the river. She was topless, but not facing me and far enough away that I could photograph them and not be rude. It was a classic bizarre phase of development photo. They also had a kind of baby palm tree forest where they were keeping the piles of sand they'd pulled up from the banks. You'll see the photos, it was really beautiful. Then I emerged from the baby palm forest to see most of the village elders (the whole village is 1,000 people) assembled. Yikes, um, am I supposed to say something? We haven’t even seen their proposal yet and we are now about 5 projects deep and I feel like I could drive in any direction and find 100 projects. Ok, smile, relax, and pretend they are an un-named large high tech company who's account I used to work on, who's "chief" was a big-time yeller.

Actually, it was fine. Memuna helped me out by showing the headmaster another application that we have in for a school that is similar in size to the one that they need. I explained to them about the working in partnership part, made sure they didn't think Osman, Memuna or I was getting paid (common misconception) and that the money comes from private citizens who are donating it. They were so grateful, that they gave me a goat! Here is where I made a large error. I couldn't help it, my goat was totally cute. I was so touched by the gesture, that I was working hard not to cry. While I did manage not to, we said our goodbyes and put the goat in the back of the 4WD and drove back to Mamaka in the dark.

As I was thinking of the goat that was pretty quiet save for a few bleats when we went over bumps, I decided to name him Kevin. To Kevin Luther, this is not meant to be personal, I've always liked the name, and I wanted to give my goat a nice Irish name. Just as an FYI to everyone, if someone gives you a goat as a thank you, it's probably best not to name it. I awoke the next morning to the sound of Kevin being dragged outside to have his throat slit. I quickly got dressed so I could say goodbye and of course, photograph the whole thing, I know, I'm sick. That was also a stupid move because I was then later offered an entire pot of pepper goat stew. I could only eat a small bite. The photos are pretty cool though, if you have a strong stomach, or would like motivation to become a vegetarian.

One more note on that evening and then I should go. Tomorrow we are leaving on a longer trip to visit 4 villages I don't think I will be back until Monday. After dinner that night on the porch one of the adults was shining his flashlight on the ceiling to deliberately watch the festival of insects going on. Very Temple of Doom. I felt my heart rate go up so decided I should remove myself from the situation and look at the stars. I've never seen so many stars. I've been on
safari in South Africa, to remote parts of Mongolia, and India where I thought I'd seen a pretty decent night sky. But I just stood there like an idiot with my mouth open for about 10 minutes before Osman came over and had to ask me what I was looking at. I think we were both perplexed. How had I never seen these many stars, several in different colors and shapes (no, I hadn't had too much palm wine). I think I’d just never been that far from a big bundle of lights before. I bet it looks even better with palm wine though, am looking forward to testing this theory.

Talk to you when I am back from "up country,"
Maureen

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone 3: Village Life and Nightlife

Una Kushe! I finally got to go up to Mamaka Village and see the Mamaka Primary school! Boy did we disrupt class. It was pretty much mayhem, especially since the doors are the last things that will be put on the school. So all the kids ran out as soon as they saw the 4WD drive up. And I now hear "porto" (Krio and Temne, which is Mamaka's tribal language, for white person, it comes from the word Portuguese, who were the first white people here) in my sleep, and very possibly wave and smile back as a natural response. Eventually, I came to know what it must feel like to be Brittany Spears. I didn't shave my head or anything, but to have that many little kids watching your every move. It's a lot of pressure. In total I've made 3 children cry with terror (yes, it was an accident).

The drive to Mamaka from Freetown is only partially paved and takes about 2 hours. It would likely take 1/3 that if the road were paved. Albert's (SLVP's President) son came with us for the visit to see his Aunts and Uncle. He's been in Freetown these past weeks to get engaged. Congratulations to the proud father! Anyways, Hassan, was telling me that the roads were last paved around 25 years ago. So, they might be in need of a touch up. When you think about it by our standards, they've held up remarkably well. Imagine if a US highway didn't get any maintenance for 25 years. It would probably be undrivable. But we drove this. And slowly, Hassan called it "slow motion" the government of Salone (Krio for Sierra Leone) is paving it again.

We had a traditional lunch of rice (staple crop, served at pretty much every meal I've had) groundnut (peanut) stew and "creatures." Creatures, is what I'm told Albert called the chicken and fish that were added to the mix for protein. After living with a host family in Japan, I think I'm traumatized about eating rituals. Luckily, I'd already been heavily prepped by my Uncle on how this would go. As guests, we would eat first, with the man of the house. Usually with your hands though, we are given spoons because our village knows we don't know what we are doing. When we're full, the plate goes to the women. When they're full the plate goes to the kids. Then, animals. Oh, and one of my favorite things, which fascinated me to no end and I am sure added to my weirdness was that there were chickens with chicks! Kittens, dogs, goats, even the occasional pig (though they were supposed to stay in their pen) running around. And to answer the big question...yes chickens are bloodthirsty cannibals…I have a photo of Hassan proving this.

I am going to write more about the school and the village and village life in my next update. But for this update, I want to do a 180 and talk about Freetown nightlife. My Uncle who is here on a Fulbright scholarship dealing with education is friends with the two other Fulbright scholars. One is an academic in his 50s we think, and the other went to a high school in my hometown (Eastlake class of ‘96) so we've become friends. She took me out with the younger expats to see what the "bar scene" was like on a Friday night here. (Otherwise, I would be in bed at 9).

The first bar we went to was like the foreigner holding tank, 100% ex-pats. I found it kind of odd. But apparently, that was not the usual, so we quickly had a drink there and went to "The Office" which is now the "it" bar in Salone. And it is. It was packed. They had a $7 US cover, which is a lot. It's a lot to even have a cover. Inside was wall to wall people and it was 50% local 50% ex-pat. I should mention here that the subject of Nicole's doctoral thesis is wars that were not necessarily genocidal in motivation during which a high incidence of rape occurred, why, and were there pre-existing conditions and/or red flags that could seen ahead of time to prevent this. She picked Salone and, therefore, as part of her research, highly enjoys chatting up prostitutes. Who, are quite nice actually. And, at what is a very expensive Friday night hotspot, one is bound to find quite a few. In fact, I think most of the ones that we spoke to had no interest in chatting up the guys we came with (most expats here are men, shocking) they wanted to talk to Nicole, because she talks to them, like they are real normal women which they are. It's understandable how under conditions which are Freetown, it might drive someone to do this to feed her baby. Victoria, tried to teach me to dance, but I explained to her what an uphill battle she was facing and she realized that my moving my left hip was dancing, and smiled and politely gave up.

So next up I get to go back to Mamaka village by myself for my first overnight in a village. I am very excited.

And a few administrative things, I think I am having some problems getting through corporate firewalls. If you notice that you aren't getting one of the updates, just let me know. I am not subtracting from the mailing list. Feel free to forward if someone asks or to send me your personal email if you think you are getting blocked.

Gung Hay Fat Choy! (We have a Chinatown complete with Fireworks here too:)

Maureen

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #2: Congratulations to General Obama

Una Kushe, I am starting to adjust to life in Freetown, the buzzing, busy capital of Sierra Leone. To give you an idea of how populous Freetown is, Sierra Leone is the size of South Carolina, filled with 5-6 million people 2/3 of which live in Freetown. Honking is a means of communication with pedestrians, "I might need to run you over, please move."

I happily delivered the final amount to the in-country Operations team of the Mamaka Primary School project! My first trip to the village is a day trip tomorrow. Naturally, I am very excited.

Yesterday was a great day to be in Africa. We watched it from a very full government bar/restaurant. After a brief scare that the power was going to go out right before he was introduced, it was smooth sailing for the venue. Other than a Brit at the bar, we were the only non Sierra Leoneans present. Everyone clapped when he was sworn in. I'm pretty sure I was the only one crying, but I'm not sure what the social constraints on public crying by men (most of the patrons were men) are. A lot of people let me take their picture (hard with adults, they will not look cheerful when you see photos and a lot hid alcohol). The best quote was from a man in a tie at the table next to ours who upon seeing the Bush helicopter said, "bye bye Bush. Off to Texas." There is no love lost for him here either. We see plenty of people in Obama t-shirts and a couple of people have even shouted "Obama!" at us (definitely beats "white man," which, I am not a huge fan of getting when alone.)

Have seen many very cool lizards and birds, and one monkey, but it was on someone's porch, so I am not really continuing it. I have high hopes for sightings when I travel to the bush. We've kind of developed a routine here, breakfast at 7:30, then walk to town (hour each way) and complete whatever tasks necessary, followed by an hour online, the reward for this is a Star Beer, Sierra Leone's national brew, quite tasty, at Mr. Bobby's. Mr. Bobby's is probably the most relaxed drinking establishment I've ever been to, I say this because it has no walls, and most of the roof is made of rice bag. Some of my friends at Mr. Bobby's are Mr. Terry Everyday Not Just Today and Shakes, who insists that I am going to become a Sierra Leonean and will only speak to me in Krio. The best thing about Mr. Bobby is how he refers to our new president, "General Obama."

In other news on the strange and unusual front, the symbol of Freetown (on their money, etc.) is this massive 500 year old cotton tree that is right outside their courthouse downtown. Hundreds of bats live in it. Apparently, they are doing a construction/beatification thing to the base of the tree and they upset the bats around the time we were walking by and the bats were all flying around in the middle of the day. It was nuts, an Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom level of bats swarming around in broad daylight in the very center of a city. I had to just stop and stand there.

Like I said, tomorrow is my first visit to Mamaka Village. I am very excited. I will be back with a full report as soon as possible. Thanks again to everyone who has made this possible.

I de go now,
Maureen

Maureen's Update from Sierra Leone #1: Miracle Bras with Actual Miracles & War Criminals who Actually See Courtrooms

Una Kushe (hello to everyone!), from Sierra Leone, Obviously, I got in ok, right off the bat I want all misspellings and incomplete words forgiven due to spotty internet. Now to important business, I was able to "smuggle" (*note to FBI, NSA, IRS, et all, use of quotation marks hereby connotes that I did declare this with US customs and therefore did nothing illegal), a full $16K in USD on my person, 12K of which went via miracle bra, the other 4 in a money belt. Without setting of any of the 6 metal detectors I went through or getting it stolen. It is now safe in our Fortress of a guest house (seriously, it has barbed wire and glass shards on the 10 foot walls that surround it). So I am no longer sweating my a$s off in two layers of unnecessary t-shirts. Thank you to everyone who contributed to the aforementioned padding:)

On the way here, the highlight of my journey was visiting the International Criminal Court in The Hague. I got to sit in on 2 hours of the trial of the former warlord, I'm sorry I mean president, of Liberia, Charles Taylor, who is the top level dude responsible for the war that started in Liberia and spilled over to Sierra Leone, which is why SL is still a total mess now. He was just right there, ok, behind glass, but just sitting there plain as day. His attorney was badgering a Liberian reporter who was thrown in prison 3 times for writing articles that denounced the Taylor regime. Based on the superbly irritating back and forth badgering of the defense attorney, asking the same question 90 thousand ways, I can see why this trial has been going on for almost 3 years now. I was disappointed to find myself one of 4 or 5 (people came and went, mostly press I think) in the gallery. There were 4 other trials going on at the ICC that day. Most of which were African, when I was leaving, I caught someone on the stairs and with broken French, managed to suss out that he was there for a trial involving war crimes in the Congo. And I think one of the other ones was for Uganda, but I'm not certain.

Then I had a day's flight across the continent, from Kenya to Freetown. I flew over Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo. I was able to follow where I was via lonely planet map and large rivers/lakes/mountains for a while until the expanse of forest in the DRC got me pretty lost. What I thought was pollution was actually the Harmattan winds (tiny sand) blowing south from the Sahara. They basically make everything look a little smoggy. Then we hit the Atlantic coast, stopped in Accra to change passengers and finally landed in Freetown.

Freetown's airport is actually very far away and separated by a large body of water from the city itself. There are 4 ways to get there. 1. Russian Helicopter (death sentence), 2. Ferry (our choice, more on this later), 3. Old fashioned speed boat with wet landing (for 30 cents US someone will carry you though) or hovercraft and 4. Taxi (about a 4 hour drive, not economical). The ferry was my real introduction to how daily life operates in FT. Conveniently, all of one's shopping can be done during transit. For example, planning on preparing a nice chicken dinner with cucumbers for the family tonight? Just pick up a live (total Golden Child moment) chicken and some cucumbers from the appropriate vendors while seated on the ferry, no sweat.

More to come, we're off to see the inauguration!

I de go now,
Maureen