Before I left for Sierra Leone I picked up the Bradt travel guide at the MLK Library. The first bit about entering Freetown read something like, “The town’s architect did not put much thought into the airport and it is across the sea....Upon landing you must take a ferry, speed boat or helicopter to the main land. The ferry’s have been known the sink. The helicopters meet no safety standards.... There are no international ATM’s in Freetown, so bring all the cash you will need... {next paragraph} ....thieves are common in Freetown, never carry much cash on your at any point....” Needless to say, I was slightly terrified to go to a new, foreign African country.
After a week, I can only say the travel guide could not have been further from the truth. The people of Sierra Leone were never anything but gracious and helpful and kind. It’s as if tourism hasn’t spoiled the country, so white foreigners are seen as potential friends and not solely as a person to distribute cash to desperate looking children. I was not in Freetown long, but I did not see a single street child. Everyone was bustling about in their Ed Hardy (yes, you read that right) t-shirts. Any time I handed my bag to a chivalrous gentleman to get down from the bus or out of a rickety boat, the man and the bag were waiting for me 10 steps ahead.
In Freetown, people speak Krio which is it’s own language with hints of English. i.e. “howdabody?” response: “noproblem” It is spoken fast and passionately, as if English wasn’t hip enough for an energetic, peaceful country, so they shortened it and tweaked it until it worked.
The night I got there, we rode mini-buses with preachers, then gave up and walked past traffic and meandered our way to a comfortable bar on the beach for New Year’s Eve. We lit off some small fireworks, spent our evening with a fun, diverse group of ex-pats and locals and danced shamelessly until the early morning. Happy 2011. I hope you all had an enjoyable and memorable New Years too. The next morning we observed the national holiday with the rest of the crowd and went to a celebration for Sierra Leone’s 50th anniversary and took a nap under a palm tree on the beach. We ate chicken for dinner and went to sleep early. The next morning we began the journey to the village where Evan lives and spent 3 hours with two of us in the front seat of a crowded sedan. That day I learned I can sleep pretty much anywhere.
Jimmi Bagbo. The village of Jimmi, in the Bagbo district was beautiful and slow and friendly. I could not have been luckier to enter the village on the coat tails of Evan. The work he is doing there is impressive and the people adore him. The life (the heat, the calmness, the constant chattering children, the lack of schedules) could not suit him better. He is in his element, and it’s always a privilege to see a friend like that. The first afternoon I arrived we strolled through the town and introduced me to everyone, as it is rude to not do so, and the town gossip had likely spread as soon as I got off the bus.
The town is small, and the walk from his house to the school where he teaches would take about 10 mins on an American road. In Jimmi though, it takes an easy 45 minutes because you must stop and greet everyone that passes you. The rooster would start yelling at 5:30am and by 7:00am there were people passing the house saying good morning. You are never really alone in a place like that. In light of this, I learned a touch of Mende. I wouldn’t have had a choice, because people would have talked at me regardless if I knew enough to answer them. Everyone wants to know your name, where you come from and personally welcome you to their home. The response to almost everything is (spelling questionable) “Kaye goma” which means “Thanks be to God.” That response alone would get you through a 6 minute conversation about how you slept, how you ate, how your mother is, etc. And “Boa” means hello. So, at any point the silent space would erupt with “Evan! Boa?” from the dozens of children that can spot a white man from a mile away.
the regular visitors on evan's porch
lil susan
We went back to Jimmi from Freetown to see Evan’s home, and also because school was supposed to start on January 3rd, and Evan was due to be there to teach science to the secondary students. The trick though, is that nothing starts on time following a holiday. So, every morning we would walk to school and essentially be ridiculed by anyone we passed:
“Evan, where are you going this morning?”
“Today, I am going to school.”
“Eh! School?! No school. Next week there will be school, but not now.”
This was probably my favorite thing. Because for 4 days in a row we walked to school in teacher-appropriate clothes and every day someone new told Evan he was nuts. So, we would get to the school, greet the night watchmen, sit and read for thirty minutes and immediately walk back. One man offered a reasonable explanation. He told us that you have to tell people that school starts on the 3rd, so then they come back by the 10th. If you told everyone it started on the 10th, they would not come back until the 17th. Made sense, the white people just missed the memo. On our way back everyone would greet us again, although in their head they were probably thinking, “hmm, told you so...”
evan's confused about why there aren't children at the school
Following that necessary, daily display of dedication we would muster up some worth while activity that almost always ended in a nap. I made a pitiful attempt at hand washing 3 t-shirts that had become light brown and smelled foul. I played a lot of Frisbee with a smart, athletic 18-year old kid named Faiya and sat around with Evan’s counterpart, Mr. Jah and talked about anything that came to mind. I also met a charismatic man named Jimmy. His nick name was of course J.O.J. for Jimmy of Jimmi. He is pushing 60 and has dreams of becoming a cowboy in Texas. He already has the big hat, which I figure is more that half the battle. One day, Evan hung up his hammock for me to read in, and I sat down and immediately flipped over and scraped my arm. Embarrassing? yes. The scabs are still healing. The two toddlers that had wandered over to watch me climb in the hammock just stared at me straight faced in a pile on the ground.
faiya, myself and mr. jah
evan and i in his front yard
We went on fast bike rides on mountain bikes, I finished a (whole!) book, we sat for 3 hours by the river and fished, we made a vanilla cake for Evan’s birthday, I took daily bucket baths and every night ended with a good porch sit, flashlights, mix-tapes, dancing children and bed by 9pm. In a word, it was wonderful.
faiya fishing on the river
the big catch of the day!
decorating evan's birthday sign
the cake preparations
evan and his dutch oven
We made our way back to Freetown at 6am in a crowded pick-up truck, followed by a 2-hour transfer in Bo and another 4-hour crowded ride. While in Bo, however, I did get to try the local brew of choice, palm wine, at 10am while sitting in a thatch roof hut with other thirsty people looking for a little morning buzz. I also do quite love plantain chips and had 3 bags of them in the journey.
Our last night in Freetown was fun and we wandered around and devoured half a chicken and some Star beers, admiring left over Christmas decorations and always sweating. The last morning I made my way to the airport on the ferry (it didn’t sink!) and spent 4 hours reading a book in the airport. We left the hostel at 9am for a 5:30pm flight.
evan on the balcony of the hostel in freetown
men on the deck below me on the ferry
And, as a final tell-all sign, as I was sitting in the airport, a single mother just handed her baby to a complete stranger while she went to the bathroom. The guy just sat there, watching the TV, calmly holding the sleeping baby he had never met. I adored Sierra Leone and am infinitely happy I came.
a view of the pool from our balcony
kitchen
the living room
my bedroom
