Canadians have an extraordinary way of living with weather - all kinds of weather - from snow in May to rain in December. And, we talk about it, incessantly, it seems. We say things like, “oh, it looks like it’s going to be a nice day.” Or, “I hope it’ll be a nice day today.” We inquire about the weather when we talk to neighbours… We keep an eye on the sky, in other words. We regularly check the weather network for news of rain or snow or even the occasion sunny day. And, weather often makes front-page news… snowstorms, hail, floods, etc. Weather affects us all… all the time.
Here in Freetown – and probably throughout West Africa, weather is just not an issue. It’s sunny and hot… everyday! And no one seems to mind or notice the occasional deluge of rain and wind. We had a huge storm last night… The wind howled. The lightening lit the skies with firecracker precision. And the rain poured. Yet, in the morning, the sun was up. The humidity was back in full force. The ground was dry… and everyone got on with their day. I was in town today and no one commented on the storm. No one mentioned the heat. People continued to step over the open sewer drainage ditches… this time they were full of run-off… and no one batted an eye.
When I hike up the hill leading from my apartment to the street, I regularly greet the security guards, the construction workers, the kids and street vendors with niceties including, “it looks like it’ll be a nice day,” and they look rather shocked I’d even notice or mention it. For them, of course it’s going to be a nice day… It’s the same every day.
Sierra Leoneons don’t have to dress for the weather… there’s no such thing as a winter wardrobe or summer clothes. They don’t have a selection of hats. They don’t have a winter coat or snow boots… obviously. I remember someone saying, “there’s no such thing as inappropriate weather in Canada. It’s how you dress that’s inappropriate.” Here, linen pants (for the men) and cotton shirts is the norm and most appropriate choice of clothes – every day.
I’ve been told that there are basically two seasons here – dry and wet. And, I’ve heard we’re heading into the “rainy season.” Supposedly the “wet season” and rains are to begin sometime in June. I can’t wait because I love a good, sky-clearing, blood-curdling storm… However, I’ve also been told the temperature doesn’t drop… it stays in the thirties but apparently the skies do open and the rain falls. Maybe then people will start to talk about the weather and notice that one day’s weather is different from the next.
I’ll let you know…
Stephen
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Under a “slivery” moon...
Yeah, I know… the song actually goes, “…under a silvery moon” but tonight I’m sitting under the barest sliver of a new moon as it rises above the Atlantic. The sky is clear and I wish I knew more about the stars… I’m watching the moon’s progress and the slow emergence of millions of twinkling stars from the verandah of my apartment. Through the grates and above the concrete walls and razor-wire, of course. The tide is sliding back into the small bay, which we overlook… and the fishermen, who wade in the water, have gone back to their huts and rooms after a day of combing the low waters for crab, fish, lobster, shrimp and assorted other goodies to sell in the market.
I’m starting to notice the oddest things about Freetown. Yes, there are plenty of differences but some things are just unexplainable and I find myself becoming more and more curious about just how things work around here. Many of these observations have to do with international aid programs… and well-meaning NGO (non-governmental organizations), I’m sure.
While strolling back from our neighbourhood market, where I bought a delicious “pear” – actually, an avocado by Canadian definition, I saw a lovely woman carrying a finely woven basket on her head. Okay, that’s not unusual… but hanging over the side of the basket was a small, stuffed Homer Simpson doll, complete with yellow skin and blue pants. I couldn’t help but feel weird about the juxtaposition of such an American icon alongside the traditional basketry of West Africa. “Doh”, very strange.
The other day, I noticed my taxi driver wearing a “Relay for Life – Cancer Run” tee-shirt that came from Calgary, AB, and bore the date 2006. Okay, where did he get that? When I asked after his shirt, complimenting him as I expressed interest, he had no idea where Calgary was… and no idea that the “Relay for Life” was a fundraiser for the Canadian Cancer Society.
I can’t avoid a certain “tag” that keeps following me around… I’d asked our landlady, Mala, who’s been so kind and generous, about a set of sheets for my bed, which seems to be an odd size. The next day, she showed up with a folded sheet and tucked inside was a tag from “Value Village”, which, as many of you know, is my second designer of choice in Canada. (the first being Mark’s WorkWearHouse).
While in the market today, I noticed a shop selling electronics… one of many, by the way. And, since I’m in the market for a big-screen TV, NOT, I ventured into the crowded shop bombarded by local hip-hop music. The owner of the shop, Auruda, said they sell speakers… big, loud, honking speakers… reclaimed from recycling ships bound for China. They, the ships, often stop by this giant sea-port on their way down the coast. The shop buys – or steals – these speakers and reclaims and reassembles the parts into these huge boxes… and they’re very popular here. The sound quality is terrible… but they’re loud, and that’s what counts.
While I was with Samuel in his home area of KrooBay, I was given a lesson on making soap from a woman stirring a gelatinous mixture of ingredients in a small room in the middle of the slum. She explained the process and Samuel translated from her native Fuller language. The Fuller tribe is the third largest group in Sierra Leone. The soap is made with palm oil and an assortment of other ingredients culled from trees, plants and buckets of what looked like dirty water. In the end, I bought a small bag of her dried soap and used it this morning to hand-wash my expanding pile of dirty clothes. Miraculously, it foamed up and did a far superior job on my stained shirts and dusty pants. I’d been using small pouches of “Tide” from our expensive “ex-pat” grocery store but I’m now convinced that the homemade soap is the way to go.
Everyone has at least one mobile phone… and many carry more than one. There are three major suppliers of satellite phone service, Zain, which all the jhr folks use, Africell and Comium and the competition for customers is fierce. One of the little tricks these companies use is to limit the calls from one service to another… so, people have taken to carrying phones and service from each of the suppliers. A Zain phone is sometimes difficult to reach if you’re using an Africell service, for example. People might not have power for days on end; they may only eat one meal a day; and they probably work for free… but they carry two or three cell phones. Again, an interesting juxtaposition.
I’ve become a bit of a celebrity among the little children in our neighbourhood… There are about 30, ranging in age from about four to ten or twelve, who are home-schooled or sell things on the street and have extra time on their hands. They got a real “kick” out of my attempts to play soccer/football with them the other day. They were playing/kicking around a small bag of stones in an empty lot up the hill from the apartment. I regularly stop to chat and this time I tried to get in on their game… much to my own embarrassment and chagrin. I didn’t score a goal and they took great pride in teasing me, cajoling me and then trying to convince me to join them again another time. I’ll try to work on my goal-scoring skills in the meantime. They are incredibly affectionate and their smiles are infectious.
Checking in from Freetown… with lots more stories to tell.
Stephen
I’m starting to notice the oddest things about Freetown. Yes, there are plenty of differences but some things are just unexplainable and I find myself becoming more and more curious about just how things work around here. Many of these observations have to do with international aid programs… and well-meaning NGO (non-governmental organizations), I’m sure.
While strolling back from our neighbourhood market, where I bought a delicious “pear” – actually, an avocado by Canadian definition, I saw a lovely woman carrying a finely woven basket on her head. Okay, that’s not unusual… but hanging over the side of the basket was a small, stuffed Homer Simpson doll, complete with yellow skin and blue pants. I couldn’t help but feel weird about the juxtaposition of such an American icon alongside the traditional basketry of West Africa. “Doh”, very strange.
The other day, I noticed my taxi driver wearing a “Relay for Life – Cancer Run” tee-shirt that came from Calgary, AB, and bore the date 2006. Okay, where did he get that? When I asked after his shirt, complimenting him as I expressed interest, he had no idea where Calgary was… and no idea that the “Relay for Life” was a fundraiser for the Canadian Cancer Society.
I can’t avoid a certain “tag” that keeps following me around… I’d asked our landlady, Mala, who’s been so kind and generous, about a set of sheets for my bed, which seems to be an odd size. The next day, she showed up with a folded sheet and tucked inside was a tag from “Value Village”, which, as many of you know, is my second designer of choice in Canada. (the first being Mark’s WorkWearHouse).
While in the market today, I noticed a shop selling electronics… one of many, by the way. And, since I’m in the market for a big-screen TV, NOT, I ventured into the crowded shop bombarded by local hip-hop music. The owner of the shop, Auruda, said they sell speakers… big, loud, honking speakers… reclaimed from recycling ships bound for China. They, the ships, often stop by this giant sea-port on their way down the coast. The shop buys – or steals – these speakers and reclaims and reassembles the parts into these huge boxes… and they’re very popular here. The sound quality is terrible… but they’re loud, and that’s what counts.
While I was with Samuel in his home area of KrooBay, I was given a lesson on making soap from a woman stirring a gelatinous mixture of ingredients in a small room in the middle of the slum. She explained the process and Samuel translated from her native Fuller language. The Fuller tribe is the third largest group in Sierra Leone. The soap is made with palm oil and an assortment of other ingredients culled from trees, plants and buckets of what looked like dirty water. In the end, I bought a small bag of her dried soap and used it this morning to hand-wash my expanding pile of dirty clothes. Miraculously, it foamed up and did a far superior job on my stained shirts and dusty pants. I’d been using small pouches of “Tide” from our expensive “ex-pat” grocery store but I’m now convinced that the homemade soap is the way to go.
Everyone has at least one mobile phone… and many carry more than one. There are three major suppliers of satellite phone service, Zain, which all the jhr folks use, Africell and Comium and the competition for customers is fierce. One of the little tricks these companies use is to limit the calls from one service to another… so, people have taken to carrying phones and service from each of the suppliers. A Zain phone is sometimes difficult to reach if you’re using an Africell service, for example. People might not have power for days on end; they may only eat one meal a day; and they probably work for free… but they carry two or three cell phones. Again, an interesting juxtaposition.
I’ve become a bit of a celebrity among the little children in our neighbourhood… There are about 30, ranging in age from about four to ten or twelve, who are home-schooled or sell things on the street and have extra time on their hands. They got a real “kick” out of my attempts to play soccer/football with them the other day. They were playing/kicking around a small bag of stones in an empty lot up the hill from the apartment. I regularly stop to chat and this time I tried to get in on their game… much to my own embarrassment and chagrin. I didn’t score a goal and they took great pride in teasing me, cajoling me and then trying to convince me to join them again another time. I’ll try to work on my goal-scoring skills in the meantime. They are incredibly affectionate and their smiles are infectious.
Checking in from Freetown… with lots more stories to tell.
Stephen
Monday, May 25, 2009
Surreal Contrasts...
The drainage river at KrooBay... and Kent Beach... This is a place of extreme contrasts, for sure.
KrooBay and Kingtom
This fishing trawler had been landlocked for several days thanks to a low tide... People in KrooBay work in and around scavenging for anything to sell or use in the neighbourhood. Reclaimed land in this area is mainly from refuge that floats down the "river" during the rainy season. Yes, in Western terms, this is an environmental disaster... but when survival, food, shelter and clean water are a priority worrying about what floats into the ocean is less of an issue.
Kissy Road market
The Kissy 
Road market is a main thoroughfare through the city running past the clock tower, linking the east and west ends of Freetown. Saturday and Sunday are "market days" and obviously the busiest time of the week. Hundreds of thousands of vendors, shoppers and street people flock to the market... and one lone, white, Canadian with a camera.
Road market is a main thoroughfare through the city running past the clock tower, linking the east and west ends of Freetown. Saturday and Sunday are "market days" and obviously the busiest time of the week. Hundreds of thousands of vendors, shoppers and street people flock to the market... and one lone, white, Canadian with a camera.
Sometimes It's Surreal
Life in Africa can be consuming… intimate and exhilarating. So much is going on in this area of the world! Nigeria is erupting. Zimbabwe is facing severe food shortages. Sierra Leone is struggling through a media crisis… (the Sylvia Blyden case is exploding) Guinea continues to abuse people’s rights across the spectrum including the judiciary, health, children and women. And it just goes on and on. Yet, life seems to continue to tick along…
On Saturday, I loaded up my “shooting vest” (thanks to Mom and Dad) and spent the day lugging around my “big” camera, memory cards, glasses, notebooks, etc. while sweltering under the 40-degree sunshine. I walked down to a local football field, a dusty stone field where a group of 16 year olds were playing. There are some amazing players here and for many of them, soccer/football is an optimistic ticket out of the area. (Think inner city American basketball courts or home-based ice rinks in Canada) They are incredibly serious about their training, the games, their coach, etc. despite playing in flip-flops, sandals or even bare feet. I don’t know how they do it… but the dedication to the game was remarkable.
Then, I took a taxi into town to meet with a group of photographers I’d met last week. They operate a studio, of sorts, opposite one of the grocery stores I’ve frequented. The studio isn’t more than a room with an old Polaroid passport camera perched on the street in front. I’d stopped in there to have my picture taken for yet another identity card… this one for my IMC membership. Anyway, the group of up to fifty photographers hang around the studio… occasionally shooting a wedding or funeral. None of them have regular work and they shoot with the most basic of equipment… But, each of them have images from the war and I’m meeting with them again today to talk to them about preserving the images and documenting the re-development of Freetown and Sierra Leone. I emphasized the importance of those photographs to the history of Sierra Leone and I’ll try to encourage them to continue shooting… and documenting.
The four or five guys I met up with on Saturday are very keen to develop their connections with newspapers and magazines in the area so one of my workshops will be to bring these shooters together with newspaper reporters and editors… At the moment, the papers don’t use photography at all because they don’t have cameras. So, it kind of makes sense to try to get the cameras and photographers hooked up with the newspaper reporters and stories… and maybe get them all working together.
On Saturday, a very keen photographer named Samuel Karoma, offered to take me around Freetown to do some shooting… and in the middle of the afternoon, I jumped on the back of his little motorcycle and we zipped through traffic to central Freetown, a place called “PZ”, which is the busiest street/area in town. Kissy Road is the only street that connects the poorer area of East Freetown with West Freetown… and is the only artery through the city. It was chaos… and after parking his motorcycle, we strolled through the stalls, traffic, crowds, etc. Samuel kept very close… and repeatedly told me about the pickpockets, thieves, scammers and “nasties” that regularly hang out in the market. And, he kept telling me that as a white man, I was a prime target… So, he acted as security guard, tour operator, photo-guide and translator.
Samuel is a very interesting young man… very smart, eager and thoughtful… and a decent driver. Although, I had to keep telling him to “go slow” as he zipped between cars, curbs and crowds and my knees are rather banged up from getting a bit too close to neighbouring parked vehicles. Samuel ran for political office during the previous election and was very narrowly defeated in his efforts. He’s got all kinds of thoughts on how Freetown and Sierra Leone can rebuild…
After shooting at the market, Samuel took me to his apartment… in a place called Kroobay. The slums of Kroobay and Kingtom are linked by a bridge over a drainage ditch that regularly floods in the rainy season, hence the teetering scaffolds we gingerly traversed. The area, one of the poorest places in Sierra Leone, is home to about 5000 people who live in shacks, huts and small, makeshift buildings built on landfill, sewage and garbage that accumulates during the rainy season. I photographed the children, pigs, chickens and rats that occupy the area… and met some incredibly hard-working, proud people. One group was melting tin cans and moulding them into pots and pans. Another guy was building a two room house out of bricks of garbage for his family of five. I also met the local chief who sat in a darkened room with his three wives… officiating over the area. Despite the poverty, dirt and garbage, these people were proud, welcoming and open to my visit.
After visiting with Samuel’s sister in their room, we zipped back to the studio where we shared a drink… and talked about the importance of politics and people.
I’ll try to post some pictures to give you more of an idea of what it was like…
On Sunday… Jordan and I chartered a taxi to take us to Kent Beach, a deserted area about an hour east of the city. The beach was incredible… and not a soul in sight as we pitched our towels and bottles of water into a small, shaded hut. Then it was into the water… the gloriously warm, wavy Atlantic Ocean. The beach went on and on and I managed to stroll for almost an hour in one direction without seeing a single person.
I couldn’t help contrast this experience with the hustle and bustle of Kissy Road and the Clock tower market in central Freetown. On Saturday, I was pressing my way through hundreds of thousands of people… and on Sunday, I was alone with the birds, sand and waters of the Atlantic. It was surreal.
More later,
Stephen
On Saturday, I loaded up my “shooting vest” (thanks to Mom and Dad) and spent the day lugging around my “big” camera, memory cards, glasses, notebooks, etc. while sweltering under the 40-degree sunshine. I walked down to a local football field, a dusty stone field where a group of 16 year olds were playing. There are some amazing players here and for many of them, soccer/football is an optimistic ticket out of the area. (Think inner city American basketball courts or home-based ice rinks in Canada) They are incredibly serious about their training, the games, their coach, etc. despite playing in flip-flops, sandals or even bare feet. I don’t know how they do it… but the dedication to the game was remarkable.
Then, I took a taxi into town to meet with a group of photographers I’d met last week. They operate a studio, of sorts, opposite one of the grocery stores I’ve frequented. The studio isn’t more than a room with an old Polaroid passport camera perched on the street in front. I’d stopped in there to have my picture taken for yet another identity card… this one for my IMC membership. Anyway, the group of up to fifty photographers hang around the studio… occasionally shooting a wedding or funeral. None of them have regular work and they shoot with the most basic of equipment… But, each of them have images from the war and I’m meeting with them again today to talk to them about preserving the images and documenting the re-development of Freetown and Sierra Leone. I emphasized the importance of those photographs to the history of Sierra Leone and I’ll try to encourage them to continue shooting… and documenting.
The four or five guys I met up with on Saturday are very keen to develop their connections with newspapers and magazines in the area so one of my workshops will be to bring these shooters together with newspaper reporters and editors… At the moment, the papers don’t use photography at all because they don’t have cameras. So, it kind of makes sense to try to get the cameras and photographers hooked up with the newspaper reporters and stories… and maybe get them all working together.
On Saturday, a very keen photographer named Samuel Karoma, offered to take me around Freetown to do some shooting… and in the middle of the afternoon, I jumped on the back of his little motorcycle and we zipped through traffic to central Freetown, a place called “PZ”, which is the busiest street/area in town. Kissy Road is the only street that connects the poorer area of East Freetown with West Freetown… and is the only artery through the city. It was chaos… and after parking his motorcycle, we strolled through the stalls, traffic, crowds, etc. Samuel kept very close… and repeatedly told me about the pickpockets, thieves, scammers and “nasties” that regularly hang out in the market. And, he kept telling me that as a white man, I was a prime target… So, he acted as security guard, tour operator, photo-guide and translator.
Samuel is a very interesting young man… very smart, eager and thoughtful… and a decent driver. Although, I had to keep telling him to “go slow” as he zipped between cars, curbs and crowds and my knees are rather banged up from getting a bit too close to neighbouring parked vehicles. Samuel ran for political office during the previous election and was very narrowly defeated in his efforts. He’s got all kinds of thoughts on how Freetown and Sierra Leone can rebuild…
After shooting at the market, Samuel took me to his apartment… in a place called Kroobay. The slums of Kroobay and Kingtom are linked by a bridge over a drainage ditch that regularly floods in the rainy season, hence the teetering scaffolds we gingerly traversed. The area, one of the poorest places in Sierra Leone, is home to about 5000 people who live in shacks, huts and small, makeshift buildings built on landfill, sewage and garbage that accumulates during the rainy season. I photographed the children, pigs, chickens and rats that occupy the area… and met some incredibly hard-working, proud people. One group was melting tin cans and moulding them into pots and pans. Another guy was building a two room house out of bricks of garbage for his family of five. I also met the local chief who sat in a darkened room with his three wives… officiating over the area. Despite the poverty, dirt and garbage, these people were proud, welcoming and open to my visit.
After visiting with Samuel’s sister in their room, we zipped back to the studio where we shared a drink… and talked about the importance of politics and people.
I’ll try to post some pictures to give you more of an idea of what it was like…
On Sunday… Jordan and I chartered a taxi to take us to Kent Beach, a deserted area about an hour east of the city. The beach was incredible… and not a soul in sight as we pitched our towels and bottles of water into a small, shaded hut. Then it was into the water… the gloriously warm, wavy Atlantic Ocean. The beach went on and on and I managed to stroll for almost an hour in one direction without seeing a single person.
I couldn’t help contrast this experience with the hustle and bustle of Kissy Road and the Clock tower market in central Freetown. On Saturday, I was pressing my way through hundreds of thousands of people… and on Sunday, I was alone with the birds, sand and waters of the Atlantic. It was surreal.
More later,
Stephen
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
News of the day...
Dear Friends:
Thought I’d shoot along some news of the day from bustling Freetown. Perhaps “shoot” is an inappropriate word… "send" along some news from Freetown… that’s better.
Yesterday, I had a very interesting and insightful experience. The Independent Media Commission (IMC) hosted a press conference for local journalists and media owners. It was billed as “a dialogue between media stakeholders regarding the state of the media industry in Sierra Leone.”
Approximately 50 local reporters from radio, newspaper and television crammed into the small conference room of the IMC in Kissy House on Siaka Stevens Street (Stevens was the former President of Sierra Leone). The room was brutally hot and the conversation was rather heated.
The Independent Media Commission was first established in 2001 immediately following the civil war. (It took them four years to assemble and publish their “media code of practice”) They’ve worked very hard to establish this code of conduct and rules of practise for the media industry… and for the most part the journalists and publishers abide by their guidelines. Otherwise, the IMC has the legislative right to fine or even close a media outlet. So, most folks take it very seriously… and they’re quite closely connected to the government and the Ministry of Information, which has its inherent challenges, as I’m sure you can imagine.
The Chair of the IMC, a very powerful and articulate woman named Mrs. Bernadette Cole, opened the meeting with cautionary words… “My dear colleagues, it is an understatement to say that the peace we currently enjoy is rather fragile. A provocative statement, a message of hate or an insinuation of religious, tribal or ethnic animosity could whip up tension which could lead to complete breakdown of law and order. …it behoves the media sector to refrain from fanning the flames of divisiveness and discord among political parties and other groups in the society. The IMC therefore implores all journalists to be circumspect in the running of their media institutions and do all in their power to maintain our hard earned peace.”
In a local paper, the Standard Times, an article by Edetaen Ojo, also talked about the media industry in post-conflict countries. He says, “…the first signs of an emerging or spreading conflict have frequently manifested in the form of restrictions on media freedom and freedom of expression. These restrictions were either blatant and stringent or they were in the form of more subtle controls on the media, suppression of freedom of expression or the development of conflict-inciting media outlets.” He goes on to make the point that freedom of expression in the media industry is key to maintaining peace.
Obviously, Mr. Ojo’s opinion differs from that of the IMC. And, for the most part, I too see the restrictions, requests and threats from the IMC as a form of media self-censorship. The request from the IMC to not “fan the flames” and the threat of fines or worse, will limit the press in their role as watchdog, educator and protector of human rights. Is there a difference between “fanning the flames of divisiveness and discord” and straight, truthful, accurate reporting? I think so but that’s only my perception. And, when it comes to emerging countries, developing media industries, insecure governments or societies on the brink of peace, that line becomes very fine…
It’s sure a strange and interesting media environment. I should add that there are probably a dozen or so active newspapers on the streets of Freetown. Some are good while others are… less good. Radio stations outnumber newspapers mainly due to the subscription cost and a very low rate of literacy among potential readers. The radio stations share a very fragmented audience with vividly divided loyalties… a great number of niche radio stations, in other words, cater to small audiences. But, the newspapers that are produced here are a very influential form of education and action.
Other stories I’m following include a case where the publisher of Awareness Times, Dr. Sylvia Olayinka Blyden, has fled the area due to an ongoing police investigation. She wrote a story last week about how the government tried to fool a local community, the East Kailahun district, with a scheduled state visit from the First Lady of Sierra Leone, Sia Koroma. Blyden was tipped off that this visit would be from an imposter – an alleged “friend” of President Koroma, and not the real First Lady. (there were a lot of wink-winks and nudges about that term, of course) Police have targeted Blyden’s businesses, arrested her managers and harassed her customers while Blyden lays in hiding. The police have asked Blyden’s lawyers, and issued press releases, asking for her surrender to a local station but she’s yet to appear.
Of course, Blyden’s choice of headline for her story last week was rather scandalous, “President’s Concubine Revealed as Imposter”, which I’m sure raised some eyebrows and apparently achieved its desired impact… Presidential intervention. She should have known… but this is a technique that most of the papers here use regularly… scandalous headlines, yellow journalism and the “enquiring minds” approach to news. Other headlines from yesterday’s papers include… “Koroma Vexed, Ministers Worried,” “Girl 12, Raped,” and “Local Courts are Criminal”.
All the news that’s fit to print… or blog about…
From your roving friend,
Stephen
Thought I’d shoot along some news of the day from bustling Freetown. Perhaps “shoot” is an inappropriate word… "send" along some news from Freetown… that’s better.
Yesterday, I had a very interesting and insightful experience. The Independent Media Commission (IMC) hosted a press conference for local journalists and media owners. It was billed as “a dialogue between media stakeholders regarding the state of the media industry in Sierra Leone.”
Approximately 50 local reporters from radio, newspaper and television crammed into the small conference room of the IMC in Kissy House on Siaka Stevens Street (Stevens was the former President of Sierra Leone). The room was brutally hot and the conversation was rather heated.
The Independent Media Commission was first established in 2001 immediately following the civil war. (It took them four years to assemble and publish their “media code of practice”) They’ve worked very hard to establish this code of conduct and rules of practise for the media industry… and for the most part the journalists and publishers abide by their guidelines. Otherwise, the IMC has the legislative right to fine or even close a media outlet. So, most folks take it very seriously… and they’re quite closely connected to the government and the Ministry of Information, which has its inherent challenges, as I’m sure you can imagine.
The Chair of the IMC, a very powerful and articulate woman named Mrs. Bernadette Cole, opened the meeting with cautionary words… “My dear colleagues, it is an understatement to say that the peace we currently enjoy is rather fragile. A provocative statement, a message of hate or an insinuation of religious, tribal or ethnic animosity could whip up tension which could lead to complete breakdown of law and order. …it behoves the media sector to refrain from fanning the flames of divisiveness and discord among political parties and other groups in the society. The IMC therefore implores all journalists to be circumspect in the running of their media institutions and do all in their power to maintain our hard earned peace.”
In a local paper, the Standard Times, an article by Edetaen Ojo, also talked about the media industry in post-conflict countries. He says, “…the first signs of an emerging or spreading conflict have frequently manifested in the form of restrictions on media freedom and freedom of expression. These restrictions were either blatant and stringent or they were in the form of more subtle controls on the media, suppression of freedom of expression or the development of conflict-inciting media outlets.” He goes on to make the point that freedom of expression in the media industry is key to maintaining peace.
Obviously, Mr. Ojo’s opinion differs from that of the IMC. And, for the most part, I too see the restrictions, requests and threats from the IMC as a form of media self-censorship. The request from the IMC to not “fan the flames” and the threat of fines or worse, will limit the press in their role as watchdog, educator and protector of human rights. Is there a difference between “fanning the flames of divisiveness and discord” and straight, truthful, accurate reporting? I think so but that’s only my perception. And, when it comes to emerging countries, developing media industries, insecure governments or societies on the brink of peace, that line becomes very fine…
It’s sure a strange and interesting media environment. I should add that there are probably a dozen or so active newspapers on the streets of Freetown. Some are good while others are… less good. Radio stations outnumber newspapers mainly due to the subscription cost and a very low rate of literacy among potential readers. The radio stations share a very fragmented audience with vividly divided loyalties… a great number of niche radio stations, in other words, cater to small audiences. But, the newspapers that are produced here are a very influential form of education and action.
Other stories I’m following include a case where the publisher of Awareness Times, Dr. Sylvia Olayinka Blyden, has fled the area due to an ongoing police investigation. She wrote a story last week about how the government tried to fool a local community, the East Kailahun district, with a scheduled state visit from the First Lady of Sierra Leone, Sia Koroma. Blyden was tipped off that this visit would be from an imposter – an alleged “friend” of President Koroma, and not the real First Lady. (there were a lot of wink-winks and nudges about that term, of course) Police have targeted Blyden’s businesses, arrested her managers and harassed her customers while Blyden lays in hiding. The police have asked Blyden’s lawyers, and issued press releases, asking for her surrender to a local station but she’s yet to appear.
Of course, Blyden’s choice of headline for her story last week was rather scandalous, “President’s Concubine Revealed as Imposter”, which I’m sure raised some eyebrows and apparently achieved its desired impact… Presidential intervention. She should have known… but this is a technique that most of the papers here use regularly… scandalous headlines, yellow journalism and the “enquiring minds” approach to news. Other headlines from yesterday’s papers include… “Koroma Vexed, Ministers Worried,” “Girl 12, Raped,” and “Local Courts are Criminal”.
All the news that’s fit to print… or blog about…
From your roving friend,
Stephen
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Okay... life is sometimes grand! This is the beach get-away I mentioned previously. It's called, "Beach Two", for reasons that aren't exactly clear. But, the water was clear, the sand white, the skies blue... and the sun hot! What a paradise just a bumpy, 45 minute drive from central Freetown.Gotta love how quiet and serene life can be at times... sure makes me miss the cold climes of Canada. NOT.
I'm still trying to work out some way to write, research and blog from the beach. Any suggestions?
Settling in...
Dear Friends:
I’m sitting on the verandah of our new apartment in Aberdeen, a “quaint” neighbourhood in Freetown. Okay, quaint isn’t exactly the right word to describe it but for Freetown, this is about as twee as can be. We’re around the corner from the MSF offices and down the street from yet another UN initiative. (They’re everywhere here… and are very well regarded) I’m watching the evening sky turn a bright pink… clouds edged with light from the setting sun. It’s quite miraculous, actually. The verandah looks out over a small, walled enclosure we’re calling our courtyard, which in Africa has an entirely different meaning, as I’m sure you can imagine. Razor-wire and shards of glass top the eight foot tall wall… which is the norm around here.
It’s still brutally hot and humid and this “pasty white man” as I’m affectionately known, has melted, burned and sweated his way through almost two weeks of tropical Sierra Leone temperatures. Whew… But, the joke is that after several more weeks, I’ll resemble a native Sierra Leoneon. Okay, not quite.
I’m in my new, semi-permanent dwelling now after a week at a guest house near the national stadium in Freetown proper. It’s a bit of relief to be out of ear-shot of the soccer matches, Bob Marley celebrations (he died on May 11 and the concerts were deafening), political rallies and other assorted parties held at the stadium and on the practice fields.
Soldiers used to march/drill and clap on the fields very early in the morning, usually the most humid time of day here… It’s a wonder how any of them made it through the drills. I watched from the guest house balcony on several occasions and couldn’t believe the military activities going on there. Yes, there’s still a very real threat of uprising although the present government is actively working on keeping the peace while the leaders of the RUF (revolutionary united front, I think) sit in cells awaiting trials for all kinds of atrocities. Interestingly, May has been declared RUF month and there are celebrations and skirmishes arising across the country. Politics is rampant here… and everyone seems to be involved, educated and intrigued by what goes on in government offices. Very interesting indeed.
Today was my first official day “in the office”, which JHR operates on Pademba Road, a major thoroughfare through the city. It’s always busy… taxis, poda-podas (mini-vans usually loaded to the gills with passengers) and motorcycle taxis (too dangerous given the crazy road conditions and overly confident drivers). The honks and toots are continuous and thousands of people stroll past the office in a day. Whew… it makes this porch an oasis of peace amidst the bustle of the big city.
I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks in meetings with key media industry folks trying to put together a needs assessment. Yes, the development community jargon is rampant… and I’m trying to come to terms with the vagueness and development-speak I’ve been bombarded with. Strategic community development arising from increased dialogue amongst key industry programs… Okay… what it really means is that I’ll be meeting with journalists, editors, media owners and the Ministry of Information to ascertain what it is they think might be helpful from a media development organization like Journalists for Human Rights.
Following this needs assessment, I’ll be putting together an action plan that involves community forums (to increase dialogue among stakeholders) and student workshops (I’ll be working with the Mass Communications dept. at the university) I’ll also be teaching a journalism course at the university and another local college, which will be very interesting. They’re very eager to develop the local media and increasing readership, education, etc. while at the same time working towards developing more community awareness around human rights issues. Yes, I’ll need to bone up on the UN declaration of human rights, including the rights of the child and of women. The straight journalism stuff will be pretty basic, in western media terms, and I’m looking forward to teaching writing skills, interview techniques, photojournalism and story structure.
Yesterday was a huge reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Freetown… A Swiss couple I met at the guest house took three of us to the beach. Beach Two, to be exact, about an hour outside of Freetown proper. After a very rough ride through several villages, we arrived at the most pristine beach I’ve ever seen. The sand was pure white… and the waters of the Atlantic Ocean was clean and warm… excellent for swimming and bobbing through. The waves were lovely… high and powerful, which made for some fantastic body surfing and wave diving.
We set up a small beach umbrella and shared a lunch of fresh crab, smoked barracuda and pita bread… how civilized, don’t you think? And yes, this white man turned a lovely shade of lobster red about half way through the day… which made for a rather disturbed sleep, as you can imagine. But, it was so lovely to spend the day away… on an almost deserted beach. I have to get back there… and am trying to figure out how to report/teach journalism and human rights awareness from the beach. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful it was.
And then today… after several hours in the office, I shopped through the local market looking for sheets, vegetables, a handbag, a chopping block, etc. It’s absolutely chaotic on the market streets… and one has to be incredibly aware of what’s around. Taxis roar by, honking and swerving through the traffic. Street vendors outnumber the shops by about one hundred to one and they’re very eager to sell you a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste or a pair of jeans that still have the Value Village tag hanging from the pocket. Countless vendors ply their trade along the streets… and bargaining is the name of the game.
Of course, I must pay the “white man tax” on most of these things, which is just fine… but I have to remember to offer half what the item costs… we meet somewhere between the two extremes and I feel good about the “deal” I’m getting and they feel like they’re taxing the white man. Interestingly, my colleagues here in Freetown are of brown skin – an Indian woman and a mixed race young man from Manchester, UK. (Yes, I’ve had to become a Man U soccer fan in order to have something to talk to taxi drivers about). They, the two JHR trainers, are burdened by my “white presence” and we share lots of laughs about the differences in the way we’re all treated by the Sierra Leoneons. Jordan, the guy from the UK, has done experiments… He walks ahead of me and watches how people react to me strolling down the street… They and he can see me coming from blocks away. It’s the white-glow… apparently.
We still don’t have power for most of the evening… the national electric grid is hit and miss at best. So, when the power is on, we all madly dash to wall receptacles to charge our phones, computers, lamps and torches. We do, however, have running water… bracing, cold water but it’s a welcome relief to sunburn and humidity. I’m typing this letter by candlelight, which is romantic, I know. And, I ate my first home-cooked meal tonight… spaghetti, because I was missing Canadian comfort food. We have to boil all of our drinking water because there’s no such thing as treated municipal water… and bottled water is relatively expensive. So, there’s barely a lull in activity around here… whether I’m hand-washing my clothes or trying to replace burning candles. It’s sooo good though… fitting into life here in Africa. It makes me wonder about all the so-called necessities of life in Canada. Perhaps living a simpler life… with its hardships, energy, challenges and rewards is a better way to deal with the environment, the developing world, economic challenges and political woes.
I’m thrilled to be here… living up to the challenges and enjoying the rewards of life in Africa. I’m sure there’s more… but for now, I’ll sign off.
With great excitement and joy…
I remain yours,
Stephen
I’m sitting on the verandah of our new apartment in Aberdeen, a “quaint” neighbourhood in Freetown. Okay, quaint isn’t exactly the right word to describe it but for Freetown, this is about as twee as can be. We’re around the corner from the MSF offices and down the street from yet another UN initiative. (They’re everywhere here… and are very well regarded) I’m watching the evening sky turn a bright pink… clouds edged with light from the setting sun. It’s quite miraculous, actually. The verandah looks out over a small, walled enclosure we’re calling our courtyard, which in Africa has an entirely different meaning, as I’m sure you can imagine. Razor-wire and shards of glass top the eight foot tall wall… which is the norm around here.
It’s still brutally hot and humid and this “pasty white man” as I’m affectionately known, has melted, burned and sweated his way through almost two weeks of tropical Sierra Leone temperatures. Whew… But, the joke is that after several more weeks, I’ll resemble a native Sierra Leoneon. Okay, not quite.
I’m in my new, semi-permanent dwelling now after a week at a guest house near the national stadium in Freetown proper. It’s a bit of relief to be out of ear-shot of the soccer matches, Bob Marley celebrations (he died on May 11 and the concerts were deafening), political rallies and other assorted parties held at the stadium and on the practice fields.
Soldiers used to march/drill and clap on the fields very early in the morning, usually the most humid time of day here… It’s a wonder how any of them made it through the drills. I watched from the guest house balcony on several occasions and couldn’t believe the military activities going on there. Yes, there’s still a very real threat of uprising although the present government is actively working on keeping the peace while the leaders of the RUF (revolutionary united front, I think) sit in cells awaiting trials for all kinds of atrocities. Interestingly, May has been declared RUF month and there are celebrations and skirmishes arising across the country. Politics is rampant here… and everyone seems to be involved, educated and intrigued by what goes on in government offices. Very interesting indeed.
Today was my first official day “in the office”, which JHR operates on Pademba Road, a major thoroughfare through the city. It’s always busy… taxis, poda-podas (mini-vans usually loaded to the gills with passengers) and motorcycle taxis (too dangerous given the crazy road conditions and overly confident drivers). The honks and toots are continuous and thousands of people stroll past the office in a day. Whew… it makes this porch an oasis of peace amidst the bustle of the big city.
I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks in meetings with key media industry folks trying to put together a needs assessment. Yes, the development community jargon is rampant… and I’m trying to come to terms with the vagueness and development-speak I’ve been bombarded with. Strategic community development arising from increased dialogue amongst key industry programs… Okay… what it really means is that I’ll be meeting with journalists, editors, media owners and the Ministry of Information to ascertain what it is they think might be helpful from a media development organization like Journalists for Human Rights.
Following this needs assessment, I’ll be putting together an action plan that involves community forums (to increase dialogue among stakeholders) and student workshops (I’ll be working with the Mass Communications dept. at the university) I’ll also be teaching a journalism course at the university and another local college, which will be very interesting. They’re very eager to develop the local media and increasing readership, education, etc. while at the same time working towards developing more community awareness around human rights issues. Yes, I’ll need to bone up on the UN declaration of human rights, including the rights of the child and of women. The straight journalism stuff will be pretty basic, in western media terms, and I’m looking forward to teaching writing skills, interview techniques, photojournalism and story structure.
Yesterday was a huge reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Freetown… A Swiss couple I met at the guest house took three of us to the beach. Beach Two, to be exact, about an hour outside of Freetown proper. After a very rough ride through several villages, we arrived at the most pristine beach I’ve ever seen. The sand was pure white… and the waters of the Atlantic Ocean was clean and warm… excellent for swimming and bobbing through. The waves were lovely… high and powerful, which made for some fantastic body surfing and wave diving.
We set up a small beach umbrella and shared a lunch of fresh crab, smoked barracuda and pita bread… how civilized, don’t you think? And yes, this white man turned a lovely shade of lobster red about half way through the day… which made for a rather disturbed sleep, as you can imagine. But, it was so lovely to spend the day away… on an almost deserted beach. I have to get back there… and am trying to figure out how to report/teach journalism and human rights awareness from the beach. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful it was.
And then today… after several hours in the office, I shopped through the local market looking for sheets, vegetables, a handbag, a chopping block, etc. It’s absolutely chaotic on the market streets… and one has to be incredibly aware of what’s around. Taxis roar by, honking and swerving through the traffic. Street vendors outnumber the shops by about one hundred to one and they’re very eager to sell you a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste or a pair of jeans that still have the Value Village tag hanging from the pocket. Countless vendors ply their trade along the streets… and bargaining is the name of the game.
Of course, I must pay the “white man tax” on most of these things, which is just fine… but I have to remember to offer half what the item costs… we meet somewhere between the two extremes and I feel good about the “deal” I’m getting and they feel like they’re taxing the white man. Interestingly, my colleagues here in Freetown are of brown skin – an Indian woman and a mixed race young man from Manchester, UK. (Yes, I’ve had to become a Man U soccer fan in order to have something to talk to taxi drivers about). They, the two JHR trainers, are burdened by my “white presence” and we share lots of laughs about the differences in the way we’re all treated by the Sierra Leoneons. Jordan, the guy from the UK, has done experiments… He walks ahead of me and watches how people react to me strolling down the street… They and he can see me coming from blocks away. It’s the white-glow… apparently.
We still don’t have power for most of the evening… the national electric grid is hit and miss at best. So, when the power is on, we all madly dash to wall receptacles to charge our phones, computers, lamps and torches. We do, however, have running water… bracing, cold water but it’s a welcome relief to sunburn and humidity. I’m typing this letter by candlelight, which is romantic, I know. And, I ate my first home-cooked meal tonight… spaghetti, because I was missing Canadian comfort food. We have to boil all of our drinking water because there’s no such thing as treated municipal water… and bottled water is relatively expensive. So, there’s barely a lull in activity around here… whether I’m hand-washing my clothes or trying to replace burning candles. It’s sooo good though… fitting into life here in Africa. It makes me wonder about all the so-called necessities of life in Canada. Perhaps living a simpler life… with its hardships, energy, challenges and rewards is a better way to deal with the environment, the developing world, economic challenges and political woes.
I’m thrilled to be here… living up to the challenges and enjoying the rewards of life in Africa. I’m sure there’s more… but for now, I’ll sign off.
With great excitement and joy…
I remain yours,
Stephen
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