"...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)
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