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