Week 4.5 (ive written rather a lot, sorry)

"...it brought home to me how money alone will not solve Africa's problems. Until the Congo's economy is underpinned by the rule of law and transparency, it will remain stagnant, chaotic and unproductive"

Tim Butcher again, this time in Blood River, a repeat of Stanley's crossing of the Congo in the 1870's. Another fascinating look at modern Africa, as compared to an earlier colonial (in this case, pre-colonial) experience. While the Sierra Leone of Greene had changed, largely for the better, the Congo that Butcher faced is arguably in far worse condition that it was at independence in 1960, with fifty years of dictatorships and war leaving almost nothing standing. In contrast, the bloody civil wars of west Africa seem short and relatively tame, which only shows how brutal the Congo has been. 

On Wednesday and Thursday last week, I took my first trip 'up-line'. The term dates from when there used to be a narrow gauge train line from Freetown that spanned much of the country, meaning therefore, that most of the towns and settlements were up the line from Freetown. The railway was a victim of President Saika Stevens (our villain introduced last week), and was sold as scrap due to an unwillingness to fund maintenance, yet when asked years later, this action was apparently his only regret as president. The term has, at least, survived longer than the line, and is now used to describe the countryside, or indeed, any part of Sierra Leone that isn't Freetown. 

Driving out from Freetown, I got my first glimpse of the 'real Africa', or rather, the stereotype that many people expect to see. Roadside villages offered up the grass thatched mud huts, bare breasted ladies, smiling naked children and endless green. The three hour drive to Bo, Sierra Leone's second city, provided plenty of such villages, in rather the same way as Kazakhstan did, with miles of emptiness suddenly broken by a small village, here instead of apples, selling mangos or charcoal, and in two cases bush-meat - mainly shot wild monkeys - before again facing the jungle. Although this isn't the wild and untamed jungle that one might imagine, but rather a managed 'working forest'. It seemed as I sped past in rather colonial style (the NGO number plates on the YMCA Jeep ensuring we don't have to stop at roadblocks and police checkpoints), that there was a rotation system of scrub removal, with the branches collected for charcoal production, leaving only the palm trees and termite mounds standing. While this can't be great for the wild animal populations, it does as least seem to offer a sustainable solution to the country's cooking needs.

 (My ride- YMCA Sl's 2nd car)

The drive passes the Occra hills, famous for the home of the West Side Boys gang who tormented travellers during the civil war. Their most famous act was the kidnap of British troops, which led to their destruction in an SAS/Para rescue, and was the focus of one of the books I have already finished, Operation Barras by William Fowler.

Leaving Freetown on the new Chinese road, one spends much of the drive on the recently built Italian road, and the final part of the drive near Kenema, over in the east, is on a still under construction Korean one. Every village we passed contained the signs – in rather self-congratulatory style - of all the aid work provided by the world's charities- a school built by Concern, a food processing facility by Restless Development, a clinic by Medicine Sans Frontier etc. etc. It reminded me rather of Nagorno-Karabkh (the disputed area claimed by Armenia from Azerbaijan, which I visited last summer), where everything had been paid for by the Armenia diaspora in Europe and the US, and they seemed very keen on letting people know this. I am not sure that reminding people constantly that everything built in their country is paid for (and supervised) by foreigners is beneficial to a positive outlook. Although of course, if taxes here were actually paid, politicians didn't award themselves such inflated salaries and corruption stemmed, there might be enough money around to pay for such projects domestically.

 (Smiling primary school kids in Pujehan)

First night was spent at a Catholic retreat in Kenema, and offered my most peaceful night since arriving. Surrounded by palm trees, it was quiet and cool, and the air clean enough for fireflies, which I haven't seen since leaving Japan. The purpose of the trip was to visit local groups who had each received a £1000 EU funded micro-loan, and check that all was fine. The first group was made up largely of females, and their loan had been used to set up a number of the ladies as market traders. In a part of the country most severely ravaged by the war, it was great to see such a committed group, and while only a couple of them were literate, it hadn't stopped the success of their enterprise.

(While his parents attended the meeting, he was more interested in my bottle of water)

Leaving the Christian pocket of Freetown, the lack of churches, and the increased size of the mosques has certainly re-enforced the fact that this is a prominently Muslim country. It has been interesting for me, after studying Islamic architecture, to try and guess where the funding for the mosques has come from, based on the designs. Freetown's main mosque, with its large central dome and two minarets is clearly Ottoman in design, while most feature a four minareted square building, lacking a dome, and therefore a more Arabic influence. I have seen Iranian, Saudi and Yemeni flags on the sides of some, so at least some of my observations seem to be accurate.

Prices for fruit up-line are greatly cheaper, with five pineapples costing 10,000 leons, rather than 5,000 for one in Freetown, an this has meant a bonanza of fruit at home now. Dinner last night was simply pineapple and mango!

People in Sierra Leone are very friendly, and it is a national stereotype of which they are particularly proud. In almost any situation here, people will come and say hello, and make small talk. However, on an almost daily basis people ask me to 'be friends', which, after the initial pleasantries, is usually followed by a request for financial help. The association between white foreigner and money is, of course, normally an accurate one, with my (and the Sierra Leoneian volunteers as well) weekly stipend of £50 being double what might be considered the lowest working wage here for a maid or cleaner, yet it is the national minimum wage. Thankfully, a smile and simple 'no' seems to do the trick, with no apparently animosity, with the decision to ask in the first place seemingly following the “If you don't ask, you don't get” mentality.

I saw another devil last Saturday, this time at the head of a hunting secret society. About twenty members were walking down one of the major roads in Freetown, lead by an elaborately dressed devil, covered in large shells. The ability to disrupt traffic, without any need of a police escort again highlights the importance of such societies here. This was after coming back from a day spent at the beach at the annual YMCA trip. This time we were far enough away from Freetown for the water to be swim-able, and it was glorious; warm enough to be comfortable, while still refreshing, unlike Dubai's bath temperature waters. It was nice to see everyone from work in a social setting, letting their hair down (although this doesn't really apply here, with most people having shaved heads, upon which the ladies wear wigs), and it was a really fun day out. Every now and then local fishing boats would land and try to sell their catches, and added to the whole experience. Some of the locals from the nearby village also joined in the football games, including a very sweet deaf boy. With no apparent knowledge of sign language by people in the village, his life must be a very confusing one, yet we tried to be as inclusive as possible and were rewarded by his amazing smile. The day proved to be a highlight of my stay here so far.

(Hamilton Beach)

Week 4

“There was no law, no justice, just the legal trappings of a corrupt colossus that moved unhaltingly forward, engulfing everybody in its path.”

I may as well continue with the theme of starting every post with a literary review, this time The Devil that Danced on the Water by Aminatta Forna. As the daughter of one of Sierra Leone's most respected politicians in the early1970's, it is a very interesting look at the political situation before - and the hopes and dreams of the population following - independence, and documenting how the all too frequent slide into corruption and despotism that has plagued West African politics took hold, which ended in the framing and execution of Dr. Muhammed Forna for treason. The account, written through the experiences of the daughter, has reminded me a lot of Aung San Suu Kyi's story of her exile and time abroad, and both have shared many similar experiences as children of famous and ultimately doomed political figures. Army coups, sudden flights to safety, hiding from secret police, both stories have all the makings of a spy novel. It was amusing to learn that the Sierra Leone Daily Mail was as equally sensationalist, conservative and inflammatory as the UK tabloid namesake is today, both serving to alarm, rather than inform.

The main 'baddie' in Forna's account is the former president Saika Stevens, the man elected to stop the country descending into a one party dictatorship – the irony being that under him, that is exactly what happened. Initially very popular, his corrupt handling of the diamond fields and the ruthless way he treated anyone who criticised or opposed him quickly eroded his popularity, and the country began its downward slide. It is directly because of Stevens' actions that the civil war had the space and fuel with which to ignite twenty years later – massive youth unemployment, abject poverty, spiralling inflation, endemic corruption and an army kept under-funded and under-trained to avoid coup attempts. Little wonder that the RUF was able to easily recruit to its ranks - including many soldiers - on a mandate of anti-corruption and power to the people – the very same people they would attack and mutilate with such reckless abandon for the next fifteen years. It is with surprise then to see that one of the two major roads into town, along which I walk every day, is Saika Stevens Street. The country is either very good at forgiving, or just better at forgetting the negative parts of its history than most; Russia and the former Soviet States have renamed most of the former Stalin Streets.

(Gate at the original landing site of freed slaves, now the city hospital)

Last weekend, the UK volunteers and three of our counterparts visited Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary, which is pretty much the only tourist attraction in the country. It is an amazing locally run place, with a dedicated and well trained staff, doing a wonderful job of saving, rehabilitating and finally releasing into the wild orphaned and rescued chimpanzees. The only negative is that is it mainly foreigners who visit, or indeed show any interest at all in the plight of Sierra Leone's wildlife, and I feel for the constant battle the staff face in their work. Situated on the edge of the national park which covers most of the Freetown peninsular, the jungle was gloriously cool and quiet, and it was a shame we had to return to the city so soon. On the drive we passed the newly built US embassy, a suitably massive and impersonal concrete complex, sited miles outside of the city. The new Chinese road is the nicest I have seen in the country, and largely empty up here. The surrounding area is certainly leafier than the city but clear deforestation blights the view. Afterwards we visited two expat cafés down in the posh west side of town, and they fit the model around the world of such places: Arctic air-conditioning, smart and attentive staff, Wi-Fi, milkshakes and western food, as well as the usual assortment of cripples and beggars outside. The contrast between what is only offered to foreigners – at a hugely inflated price – and what locals receive down-town is huge. Indeed, it is almost incomparable, especially when it comes to customer service, with staff who seem to care even one iota about their job and their customers being a rare find.

Despite bringing a backpack full of books with me, I have read almost all of them, and set out on Sunday to the Victoria Park market to find some more. Once a focal point of city life, it has been fenced off and closed now for a number of years, a real shame as it is the only green spot in town. If you are after out-of-date textbooks, trashy novels or communist theory then you are in luck, and with only a couple of stalls open, I left with Leon Tolstoy's The Russian Revolution and a collection of three novels by Joseph Conrad, including Heart of Darkness, £4 for the lot. While I have a kindle with 30,000 odd books, I both prefer reading paper books and supporting reading where I can - I have seen very few people reading here. It being a Sunday, the streets were much quieter than normal, with only Muslims out shopping and working, while smartly dressed Christians made their way to and from church.

The park is near the presidential offices, and therefore has a strong military presence. I always find it interesting to see which country has trained and/or supplied a nation's army, based on the uniforms of the soldiers. With each of the major superpowers having their own camouflage design, this is somewhat easier than it sounds. In Armenia the soldiers used Russian designs, in Georgia it was American, and here the soldiers wear the distinctive British BDU pattern, a legacy of British involvement in bringing about the end of the civil war, and its continued role in training the armed forces.

I have been asked to talk about my host family, so here goes. I am staying with Claudius Taylor, his wife Chris and two kids, Claudius Jr (9) and Claudia (3), so remembering names certainly isn't a problem, and I will get a photo soon, I promise. Claudius is the director of the Y-Care programme here, and lives in a top floor apartment in down-town Freetown, a twenty minute walk to the YMCA. Simple but comfortable, it highlights both the priorities of Claudius, and the strange contrasts found in the city. We have no running water inside, instead relying on water carried up each day, yet have a – albeit manually refilled – toilet, and a huge flat screen TV with 400 channels (and at $100 a month for the package, consuming a sizable chunk of his salary). I had an interesting conversation with Claudius last night about life in Freetown during the war, and having read about the horrors, his candid recollections of daily life was very sobering. Despite the YMCA building being very close to the presidential offices, it was largely unscathed by the fighting, and became a refugee centre for YMCA members from across the country, at points being at 300% capacity. The staff were not left unscathed however, with a number of senior management being killed in the heaviest fighting which centred on the east of the city. Unlike the 'states' I visited last summer for my Masters dissertation, which still show visible signs of warfare (often on purpose as a propaganda tool) Freetown has been remarkably quick in patching up the architectural scars. The same of course, is impossible for the physical human ones, with the rebels (RUF) tactic of chopping of arms and hands ensuring that there are daily reminders of the war in the city, and making it that much harder to move forward.

I have also been asked to elaborate more about the food here. Rice is the staple carbohydrate, with fried plantain making a regular appearance (like a semi-sweet banana, very nice). On top of this goes a 'soup', normally made from cassava or potato leaf – and less often peanut - with (lots of) chilli and bits of fish and meat added. On the side may be a piece of fried fish or chicken. My favourite dish thus far is a bean stew, with fried plantains, and I will make sure to have the recipe before I leave – you have been warned! Mangos, bananas, papaya, avocado, coconut and oranges are all common, and popcorn, cashew and kola nuts are available everywhere.

(Mango tree)

In order to slow down my book consumption slightly, I have started watching a documentary series I brought with me, Cosmos. It is a fantastic look at the current extent of scientific human knowledge, centred around cosmology. It is presented in a very slick and clear format, and is remarkably approachable, even for those new to the topics covered. It is always nice to learn something while I am abroad, and this is most certainly aiding my knowledge on the subjects covered. While I don't think it is on TV in the UK , more information about it can be found here: http://www.cosmosontv.com. Despite being a Fox programme, the show is about as far away from the anti-science, pro-ignorance Fox News drivel as possible!

The thunderstorms are increasing in regularity, heralding as they do each year the onset of the rainy season, which lasts here from May to September, reaching its peak in July/August. This means less blue sky, and more overcast grey ones, yet the temperature hasn't really changed, being a steady 30-35degrees during the day, and 27-29 at night. Fine when the electricity works, but given the erratic nature of supply, that is not so often. Most houses and offices have their own generators but with the relatively high price of fuel (about half that of the UK), they are used sparingly. This lack of power also means lack of internet in offices, and is very disrupting to business and communication, and is something that certainly needs fixing if Sierra Leone ever wants to improve upon its woeful economic position as one of the world's poorest countries.

I monitored a gender conference held over two days at the YMCA, Transformative Masculinity organised by Barbara, an Austrian lady working here on gender issues, and facilitated by two very good African NGOs. Attended by most of the male staff here, as well as some local partners, it was great to see such a workshop in a country that is so heavily dominated by the masculine. It was interesting to note that when asked how many people in the room had ever had a female boss, only about half had - the YMCA here has never had any senior female staff. While 90% of the answers and comments here would be applicable back home, it is the 10% that makes the workshop here so important, as they are the ones unique to Sierra Leone. When combining a list of extreme 'male' characteristics, to the usual list of strength/aggression/drinking/womanising/lack of emotion, corruption was added, which certainly wouldn't be on one in the UK, and highlighted the cultural differences apparent at all levels. Arguing whether actions and beliefs relating to 'original sin' were cultural or natural characteristics was something I wasn't prepared for, and again wouldn't have surfaced at a general meeting in the UK. There was a heated debate on the secret societies that are still strong in rural areas, and for people in power, and the central role they take on topics such as FGM. Their function, to teach girls how to be women, and boys to be men, is at the very heart of the whole debate surrounding gender stereotypes here. Without change to the power of these societies, little social change will happen. The fact that were was a debate about it here though, with loud descenting voices was heartening to see though, suggesting the process has at least started.

Week 3

“The belly is a rascal. It doesn't remember how well you treated it yesterday, it'll cry out for more tomorrow.”

Week three is over, and two more books finished. The quote above is from Solzhenitsyn's One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich, one that I have waiting to read for a long time, but have never managed, the same with his Gulag Archipelago which I seem to have left at home. I thoroughly enjoyed his tomb of a book, 1914, while in Kazakhstan, thanks Jason. His expose of Stalin's prison camps earned him both a Nobel prize for literature and exile from the USSR, and seeing as he spent much of his time in northern Kazakhstan (and is the setting of this book), I can relate to his comments about the weather, if not the living conditions.

The second book this week is A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah, about his time as an orphan, refugee and child soldier during the first part of the civil war. It is an incredibly moving and eye opening look at the fighting, and the factors that drive some children into fighting. There have been a number of concerns raised over the accuracy of some of the accounts, and talking to Sierra Leonians about it, there is a feeling of over-dramatising of events, which may well be true, but I still believe it to be an important read for anyone interested in Sierra Leone and child soldiers.

It has struck me that I haven't yet talked about what the volunteers have been doing here, so that shall be the focus today! Although firstly a disclaimer – Two of the volunteers fell ill on the first day in country, and much of my time for last week was spent at the hospital. While both recovered, one decided to go home, which has further shrunk our team here, and meant another trip to the airport to see her off this morning.

Seeing as I was only able to visit a site last Monday morning, the SL team leader has been keeping up our supervisory roles. The volunteers have spent much of the week visiting all eight of the slums they will work in, attending community meetings, meeting the slum leaders, and getting a feel of the Y-Care programmes in each location.

The first Monday, where I was able to go along, was probably the most interesting visit of all, as it involved an emergency visit to Grey Bush slum, on a disaster prevention mandate. It had rained almost non-stop on Sunday, and at the time we had commented on how awesome the sheer volume of water falling was. However watching the national news that evening, it was reported that three people had died in a mudslide in one of the city's slums, quickly bringing home the realities of both the extreme weather here, and the daily dangers faced in the slums.

It was immediately clear where the slide had happened, with half of a hillside having collapsed into the houses underneath. Boulders the size of small cars littered the ground, as well as vast amounts of mud. Two people injured in the rock fall had died that night, increasing the death toll to five, and the mood was sombre. The role of the volunteers was to liaise with slum elders and spokespeople, and accurately ascertain the extent of the damage, and what help could be provided, as well as simply to show that people do care about the plight of slum dwellers. In subsequent return visits, shovels, pickaxes and wheelbarrows have been provided to the community to allow quicker response in the future (and to aid other community work), and a report taken to the mayor with recommendations on improving safety. With the second week of work finishing today, is it fair to say the volunteers are comfortably settled into their community projects.

 (Friendly slum coconut seller)

Right, back to my random thoughts and observations. Mangos are very much in season at the moment, and I am enjoying very much eating them every day. Haggling for a good deal has been a challenge, but so long as I have the energy, it can be fun. Avocados are also locally grown, and while they don't seem to feature in any local dishes, they make a tasty snack by themselves.

Week 2

“Feeling the cool wind of the night and smelling the good smell of Africa, I was altogether happy.” Hemingway

Firstly, I wish to thank everyone who donated to Y-Care and ensured I was able to come here. The generosity was very touching and I hope to convince you via this blog that your generosity was worth it!

In case anyone is new to reading one of my blog's, you will soon notice that while they follow a rough chronological order, they are predominately thoughts and observations from my daily life, and as such can be hard to follow, so apologies. Sticking with the literary theme from last week, I shall start with Ernest Hemingway's Green Hills of Africa, which I have just finished, my third book in two weeks. Focused around big game hunting in Kenya, it manages to remain interesting and engaging in Hemingway's simple style, and despite having no interest in hunting whatsoever, I found myself enjoying the book. Yes it is terribly dated, with the attitudes of colonial Africa abounding, yet that is hardly his fault and he manages to inject some sharp observation amongst the hunt commentary. I have included a few highlights here:

“Now, being in Africa, I was hungry for more of it, the changes of the seasons, the rains with no need to travel, the discomforts that you paid to make it real, the names of the trees, of the small animals, and all the birds, to know the language and have time to be it in and move slowly. I had loved the country all my life.”

“If you serve time for society, democracy, and the other things quite young, and declining any further enlistment make yourself responsible only to yourself, you exchange the pleasant, comforting stench of comrades for something that you can never feel in any other way than by yourself...or when you do something that people do not consider a serious occupation, and yet you know, truly, that it is as important, and always has been as important, and everything currently in fashion.”

“It's very hard to get anything true on anything you haven't seen yourself because the ones that fail have such bad press and the winners always lie so...You get your good dope always from the people, and when you can't talk with people and can't overhear you don't get anything that's of anything but journalistic value.”

“A continent ages quickly once we come. The natives live in harmony with it. But the foreigner destroys...The earth gets tired of being exploited...A country was made to be as we found it. We are the intruders and after we are dead we may have ruined it but it will still be there and we don't know what the net changes are.”

This last quote echoes the position Graham Greene held about foreign influence in Africa, and indeed both men exalt the 'primitive' Africa, despite writing about areas on opposite sides of the continent, as Greene wrote:

“It hadn't been left to itself; the whites had intruded, had not advanced, had simply stuck and withered there, leaving their pile of papers, relics of a religious impulse, sentimental, naïve, destined to failure.”

This talk of religion brings me nicely onto a local proverb I can across in the next book I am tackling, which looks at the role of the British soldiers in ending the recent brutal civil war,

“The same ship that brought the bible, also brought rum” (In Krio, the lingua franca here: Dat ship we bringg Baibul, na-in bringg rohm)

With its message that something bringing good might also bring bad at the same time, it is certainly pertinant to many situations, and its literal message is also accurate. Despite 70% of the country being Muslim, churches abound in Freetown, and their evangelical message is aided by posters advertising visiting pastors and speakers (these will make an interesting photo-essay, and I will look at curating the best ones I see). On my road there is a brand new US funded mega-church, the only new multi-story building in the area. With open sewers, stray dogs, and a huge slum very close, it strikes me that this 'gift' of the bible is largely missing the point of some of the main tenants of the religion. The energy and money directed to furthering Christianity, at the expense of directly and positively influencing people's lives seems a terrible shame to me. This is not to say that good work isn't being done- heck, I see every day what the YMCA is achieving, but there seems to me to be a disconnect between Christian values and practice.

 (Local church near the YMCA)

Rum, a term used to mean alcohol in general, is certainly popular. Imported Becks is seemingly everywhere, and at £1 a bottle, comparable to English prices i.e really expensive here. For example, you can get a meal of rice and potato leaf curry for the same price, and it is therefore surprising to see how much beer is drunk. Also popular are small plastic bags containing double shots of rum or gin (for 20p), and while I haven't yet seen anyone drink these, they litter street corners. Drinking water is also sold in these packets, similar to how milk is sold in Canada, and they contribute to the same litter, but I am not sure if this is worse than the extra plastic and energy needed to transport plastic bottles of water, which also cost twice as much to buy.

A former student (and current friend) from my time in Japan has noted that the 'devils' I mentioned in the last blog have striking similarities with a number of traditional ceremonies in Japan. While I remember seeing grotesque wooden masks in Shinto shrines, I never witnessed them in use, and I had forgotten the stories of the kappa – sprite like daemons. In Greene's Travelling without maps he mentions being carried by hammock when sick, and indeed, this palanquin-esque mode of transport is shared by tribal chiefs and Japanese aristocracy. I have also enjoyed the discovery that the use of a rising 'eehhhh' expression to show surprise strongly features here, as it did in Japan. They also both love rice. I am pretty sure we made a major discovery here, anyone looking for a PHD topic?

The increasing influence of China in Africa is hardly new, but it has been interesting to see how what they are doing here in Sierra Leone, and how it is viewed by the locals. Chinese involvement tends to be purely business in nature, lacking the humanitarian aid (or human rights stipulations) that Europe/USA uses, and as such is often viewed favourably by national leaders, if not so by their populations:. “You will build roads, and will buy our <natural resource>, and don't care about our <human rights violation>? Of course I will sign the trade agreement!” Here in SL, the Chinese are indeed in charge of several large road building and renovation projects, as well as attempting to improve the transport infrastructure in Freetown. In return, they have received very good rates on iron ore, and in principle, many more transport projects, including building a bridge across the bay to improve the current ferry situation. Talking with people here, they don't seem to mind this situation at all, as any attempt to improve the frankly terrible roads is popular. Indeed, there is no negative feeling towards the Chinese, and with a decline in the stray dog population being (unofficially) linked to the increase of Chinese workers in Freetown, their popularity is ever increasing. For the government, funding from China means that the endemic corruption, laws banning homosexuality and the prevalence of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM, with about 90% of women effected), is not questioned.

This past weekend has been my first real one here (as we had training sessions for the new volunteers last weekend), and it has been great fun. All the UK volunteers (UK-Vs from now on), and a number of their SL-Vs went to a local bar/night club, and it offered the first opportunity to let their hair down. It was a brutal way of finding out that white people just can't dance. We were left looking like wooden puppets compared to the smooth rhythm of the locals, although the overly sexual nature of the dancing was rather a shock. Music for me has always represented an energetic outlet, and the mosh pits at the punk-rock gigs of my youth are a million miles away from what is popular here, although thankfully there is a far better male-female ratio.

Saturday was beach day, although my carefully arranged plans unraveled rather quickly. It was an early - and relatively painless - reminder of the differences in time management and organisation that exists here, and I will both be better prepared, and more relaxed for next weekend. An afternoon on the lovely golden sands of Aberdeen (20mins drive from Freetown) was certainly a reward for everyone, and the football match was the highlight for me, with mixed teams of UK-Vs, SL-Vs and local ringers making for a good match. 30Mins in the sun though, and I had certainly earned my afternoon of reading in the shade. A place popular with the expat community had been recommended, and it was indeed nice, but was twice of price of anything in town.

Sunday, especially for members of the YMCA staff here, is church day, and gosh do they take it seriously. My personal beliefs on spiritually aside, I decided to go with my host family to their service, although at 3 ½ hours long, on wooden pews, I rather regretted my decision. Attending the main Methodist church in Freetown, it was consecrated in 1854, and features this amazing stained glass window, featuring a more multi-ethnic line up than most. 

The service was a mix of English and Krio, and with 200 people in attendance, the singing was rather lively. As if to prove my earlier point about dancing, the 84 year old lady with Parkinson's in front of me danced through the songs with more rhythm than I could ever manage. Letting my mind wander during the sermon (something about unity and holy trinity), I flicked through the bible and came across this passage in Ephesians 6, which struck me rather, being in a country founded by former slaves. 

⁵ Slaves, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling, in singleness of heart, as you obey Christ; ⁶ not only while being watched, and in order to please them, but as slaves of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart. ⁷ Render service with enthusiasm, as to the Lord and not to men and women, ⁸ knowing that whatever good we do, we will receive the same again from the Lord, whether we are slaves or free.

It is easy to see how the slave owning classes justified their actions through such passages, hiding behind religious texts while committing deplorable acts. 

In the afternoon, a few of the volunteers went to the national stadium to watch the YMCA basketball team play in the Freetown league. Champions for the last two seasons, they lost the first game of the season last week, and needed a victory. It was great fun, and the crowd were very supportive! The very basic facilities didn't diminish either the quality nor intensity of the play.

Sunday was also the 33^rd anniversary of Bob Marley's death, and despite Rastafarians making up only 1% of the population, they certainly enjoyed themselves, playing his vast back-catalogue at full blast well into the night. I had no idea he had recorded so many songs.

Week 1

As is so often the case, I unfortunately start this blog with a tale of woe. The two thousand word magnum opus I had been so lovingly crafting all week, somehow manage to become corrupted while working on the final lines, so I am forced to start again from scratch. Lacking the prose, whit and polish of the last document, I have endeavoured to recreate as much of the flavour as possible.

Starting this journey at Heathrow, where most foreign adventures depart these days, it was curious to see who exactly would be taking the flight to Monrovia (Liberia) via Freetown (Sierra Leone). As it turns out, 2/3rds were white, with the majority being middled aged business men, no doubt in the subterranean exploitative industries, along with a smattering of Canadian missionaries and two Peace Corps volunteers.

I sat next to Tom, the team leader for the Liberian team, and we couldn't have watched films less alike, as he giggled his way through The Wolf of Wall Street while I cried watching The Book Thief. One of my favourite books, the film was a good attempt at visualising the story, yet of course never as good as one's own imagination. At the coffee morning I held before leaving, John, who had been a VSO volunteer here in the 1970's, recommended taking a window seat, and it was certainly worth it, thank you! We flew over the Western reaches of the Sahara desert, with the yellow sand unbroken all the way to the sky, in a stark yellow and blue akin the Ukrainian flag.

Upon arrival at Freetown, one is greeted by a giant “Welcome to Sierra Leone” sign courtesy of our friends at Coca Cola, and given the popularity of the stuff here, it may just be an official sign. The other greeting is via the heat, closer to a slap in the face than a loving embrace.

With Freetown's airport lying across the bay from the city itself, there are three transport options; drive for four hours around, take the slow car ferry, or, as I did, take the bloody expensive speed boat. Met at the other side by Joseph, I was given a quick tour of down-town Freetown as I was driven to the YMCA, which would be my home for the first week.

 (View of Freetown when arriving by Ferry)

My initial thoughts are that Sierra Leone is rather a lot like India- the heat, the hustle and bustle and noise and dust and litter and stray dogs and terrible driving and spicy food and energy, all combine to produce an exciting, if exhausting environment.

Task #1 as team leader was to collect the main group of UK volunteers, who were flying out a few days after myself. A rather grander ordeal than was I experienced, we required two YMCA jeeps + drivers, plus Joseph and Claudius (the YMCA staff in charge of the Y-Care projects) and myself. This demanded using the local ferry across the harbour, at present a 1 ½ hour affair, given operating and maintenance issues (it used to take 30mins). Given the limited time-table, and the fact this was organised around the flight time-table, means a round-trip to the airport can take a long time, eight hours in our case. Which would have been fine, if someone had thought to check if the flight from London had left on time. Upon arrival at the airport, it was discovered that the flight had been cancelled, and the whole operation had to be repeated the following day, by which time it had started to feel rather normal to be sat in the 'first class lounge' on the ferry (along with ¼ of the ferry passengers), being subjected to loud and generic music on the TV. It did at least provide me with a chance to read, and I was able to start and finish Tim Butcher's Chasing the Devil, which repeated Graham Greene's trek through Sierra Leone and Liberia in 1935. As well as being a fascinating look at rural life in these countries, he went into more detail about the lesser known aspects of life here, namely the secret societies that abound, and the existence of 'devils'. These are people dressed up, rather than a purely spirit entity, and not evil in the same way as Satan, but seemingly are used as a way to enforce traditional tribal customs in this modern era. We in fact saw one while waiting for the return ferry from the airport, with a spectre dressed in an ugly black sacking, and wooden face mask was led past on a leash by three boys carrying bowls of liquid. Nothing was said, no music played, but a hushed quiet followed their procession, and it was at once both unnerving and fascinating to witness. 

(Spot the two YMCA jeeps, in the seemingly compulsory NGO white)

Greene called his trip to West Africa, described in the travel book Travelling without Maps, and a novel set here titled The Heart of the Matter, as a 'smash-and-grab raid into the primitive', and I liked this phrase. Any attempt to live in a new culture, even my three years in Japan, is merely a short intrusion into the country and culture. I travelled and experienced as much as possible in Japan, India and Kazakhstan, yet, in the context of Greene's phrase, all these have simply been a robbery of experiences. I am no more Japanese now than I was before I arrived there. Such 'raids' also seem to overwhelmingly take place in countries as alien from our own as is possible. “I spent three months living in Preston” not having quite the same ring about it, and it is this search for the 'primitive' that has long been an attraction for explorers, literary figures and myself. Not primitive in the derogatory sense of backwardness and poverty, but rather a simplicity, and authenticity that we have seemingly lost in our own cultures. While Kazakhs insisted we visit the shiny new monstrosity of a capital city, I had my heart set on journeying to remote cave mosques in the middle of the desert. My favourite experience in Japan was staying in the mountain top Buddhist temples of Koya-san. The organised chaos of Mumbai or Delhi held no attraction compared to the sensual overload of Varanassi, or the welcoming of Amritsar, or the natural beauty of Kashmir or the peace and quiet of Sikkim.

 

(View from the YMCA over Freetown, with a classic colonial house in the foreground)

So what then, will my raid in Sierra Leone consist of? It is hard to tell, limited as we are in these first three months to staying within the confines of the Freetown peninsular. But any opportunity to escape to the 'primitive' of the countryside will be seized upon with relish, an admission again, of the allure of the primitive.