One Year

It’s been a year… and sometimes I wonder where the time’s gone. At other times I dread the slow ticking of the clock and languid fluttering of calendar pages. A year ago, I left Calgary, drove across Canada to Toronto, boarded a plane and arrived in Freetown, Sierra Leone. And now, I can’t resist a bit of reflection – on a year in Africa – on a year away from home.

What strikes me first are the significant changes I’ve gone through on a personal level. Yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks… and I’m certainly still learning. That’s good… I’ve learned to be more patient, more resilient, more assertive, more direct, more in control – while at the same time feeling out of control most of the time. I’ve learned to see the world in a slightly different way. I’m positive… about a lot of things. I’m sure of several things I wasn’t sure of before. And, I’m directing things I wasn’t directing before… Perhaps it’s confidence. Perhaps it’s maturity... although I think I still have a lot of growing up left to do.

A year ago, I came to Sierra Leone as a facilitator/journalist to work with local reporters and media development folks on human rights awareness issues. I’m still doing that – now as Country Director. I still consider myself a journalist although I’m a “non-practicing/teaching” journalist. My circle of friends has changed. My connections to the world have changed. My living arrangements have changed significantly. And, it’s true… change is sometimes a good thing.

My life is almost completely different than it was a year ago. I won’t bore you with the comparisons… but rather I’d like to reflect on things as they are now.

I sleep under a mosquito net… sweating into pillows of chewed foam salvaged from the insides of discarded car seats. It’s “recycling” to the max yet when it’s a necessity it’s called “making due or making a living”. Everything is well-used, used again and then recycled into something else. I covet power… especially when I can turn on a fan and sleep in the breeze of circling blades.

I still have my morning cup of coffee but it’s now Nescafe instant with powdered milk. I wake at 6:00 a.m. and sit outside on the verandah watching the sunrise through the coconut trees and palm leaves in my fenced, razor-wired and glass shard-topped courtyard. I shower in cold water, or sometimes rely on bucket-baths, which isn’t so bad when the temperature hits 90 degrees by 7:00 a.m. I use a strong anti-bacterial soap… because even minor infections here can be deadly, as I’ve recently learned.

My days are varied – sometimes I’m teaching at Fourah Bay College, formerly the “Athens of West Africa” and now a long, long way from being the “Athens of anything”. It’s disheartening but also incredibly rewarding… influencing the next generation of reporters and journalists before they develop the predominant bad habits of those “downtown” media folks. I use chalkboards and white boards while students sit in dilapidated desks and chairs without backs. And today… we had to close the windows because the rain came so hard – and loud. Gotta love “higher” education in Sierra Leone.

I climb the stairs and hill out of my Freetown “oasis” to catch an okada (motorcycle taxi) at the junction of Aberdeen Road and Kosy Williams Dr. where I can also get “diamonds” (little hard candies) or a dried fish and gravy sandwich from a woman named Boah. My regular bike-rider’s name is Mohamed and he’s a very young guy who shows up precisely in time to usher me through traffic to work on time or class on time. I’ve acquired a reputation here as the “white-okada-rider in the African dress” – no, not literally a dress… but I regularly wear African suits – long shirts down to my knees and matching pants.

I have to say, I’ve made progress on my attempts at institutionalizing punctuality. Most folks rely on “BMT” or “black man’s time” which can be either ten minutes or three hours late. It’s a very common term/condition around here and it’s frustrating to this punctually-compulsive Canadian. The problem is… I never know when I can be late… When I’m in charge – lecturing or leading a workshop – I’m on time – and my students know this… and make every attempt to be in class when I start. But, when I’m a participant, I have to gauge what the event is, who’s running it, who’ll be there, etc. For example… if it’s a local event – I can be an hour late. If it’s an event hosted by the BBC or the UN, I can be ten minutes to a half hour late.

I was invited to a wedding reception recently and the invitation said, “Reception, arrival of bride and groom – 7:30 p.m.” Well, not gauging time and not understanding the tradition, I was there at 7:30 – only to wait till 10:00 p.m., when I couldn’t stay awake any longer… and headed home. I trust the reception went on at some point… and hopefully people showed up. When I left there were only about 10% of the guests sitting at long, lonely tables – wondering if or when we could crack open the bottles of wine.

Riding an okada is an interesting experience… we’re often on the “wrong” side of the road – the faded, sometimes non-existent lines are merely guidelines… Or we’re zipping between lanes of traffic – one coming towards me and the other travelling in the same direction – but usually at a standstill because the roads are so congested. I’ve taken to reading the fronts of the approaching poda-podas – minivans crammed to the rafters with people, chickens, fish, charcoal, etc. The poda drivers are very creative when it comes to painted slogans… and I have to smile as “John 3:16” or “Allah be Prazed” comes barrelling towards me. My thinking is I’ll never end up a hood ornament on a poda-poda with “God is the lit”, “Praze Allah”, “Shine the lite” painted on the front hood.

Okadas are the quickest, riskiest and most exposed form of transport around… but they are essential to the transportation community. Without them, the roads would be even more congested… and it would literally take me 1.5 hours in a taxi to get to the office where it takes me 20 minutes on the back of a bike. Of course the rains will dampen my okada-spirits significantly… and I’ll have to resort to a crowded, steamy, shitty little taxi when it’s pouring with rain.

It’s true what they say about “sweet Salone”… the people are incredibly friendly. I’ve been welcomed into people’s homes, lives, workplaces and families. It’s remarkable how willing most Sierra Leoneans are to share their lives. I’ve met some wonderful local folks… Elvis, for sure, our initial contact with everything Sierra Leonean – a very good man who knows everyone who’s anyone. Momoh, who works in the JHR office and continues to amaze me with his stamina for my frustration and wonderment at passing parades, the VP who’s motorcade zips by, the prisoners transported to the courts and back to Pademba Road prison, and other mundane things that happen in front of the jhr office. My landlords, Mala and Kishen, who welcomed three wayward journalists off the street a year ago, into their compound… although I’m still waiting (6 months now) for them to fix the mini-fridge. They are lovely people and upon Kishen’s return from a recent business trip, he surprised me with a gift set of “smelly stuff” – shower gel and a spray-thing of perfume. Guess I don’t smell too good lately… and he’s trying to help.

I arrived in Freetown with four others… trainers and journalists from Canada, the U.K. and from India. It was a pleasure getting to know these brilliant, talented, hard-working and enthusiastic folks. Yes, I became a bit of a “father-figure” to the group but it was all very good… Staying out late with Jordan, “the popular guy”. Commiserating with Chris-Bo over stomach issues and malaria. Talking photography and journalism with Allison. Trying to keep up to Sulak and her busy life. It was good… and although a couple of folks had to leave early, it was still a great experience. I’m thankful to the group for supporting and for being here.

People come and go in Sierra Leone – UN missions change, NGOs recruit and young people leave for greener pastures, contracts end, contracts begin, etc. etc. And, with this successive turnover of folks around here I’ve had a number of other roomies with whom I’ve become close friends. Lyla, Greg, Leah and Collin, Paul and Caroline, et al are wonderful people… whom I’m lucky to have gotten to know.

Yes, my life is almost totally different than it was a year ago…

·      I eat rice everyday – sometimes twice a day

·      Cassava leaf, potato leaf and groundnuts are my staples

·      Mango season is a celebration of juicy, ripe, delicious fruits

·      Nescafe I can live without… but can’t live without…

·      Fish – from giant barracuda to snapper to “minas”

·      Buying lunch from a bowl on the street from a dubious “chop shop”

·      Loud distorted music from “sets”

·      Star beer… locally brewed and dangerous after two

·      African peppers… enough to kill parasites, tingle the tongue and feel the next day

·      Powdered milk – where are the cows?

·      Buying provisions from Aminata and the Aberdeen market

·      Street stalls that sell everything from air fresheners to steering wheel covers

·      Beer and “burgers” (so-called) at Roy’s Beach Bar – close enough to the Atlantic to taste the salt water.

·      Watching Premier League “football” at Alex’s Sports bar – or at a shack in my neighbourhood

·      Malaria – and learning to become a mosquito hunter

·      Mould on everything during the rainy season

·      Police who openly and actively take bribes at almost every street corner

·      International phone calls that won’t go through or can’t come in

·      Struggling with hand-washing laundry

·      Politics in everything… if it’s not political – it’s not news and not life

·      Generators that don’t work… and inferior products dumped into Africa

·      “Jonx” or second-hand goods from the west – thank you Value Village and Sally Ann

·      Heat rash – sweating – carrying a towel at all times – fans…

·      Tan lines

·      No sweets – no twix bars or snickers bars

·      In your face religion

·      Horrible journalism

·      Paperwork

·      The UN – UNDP – UNPBF – UNIFEM – UNICEF, et al

·      Beaches and oceans…

Life is different… and the biggest adjustment of all – unreliable power and SLOOOWWW internet connections.

I’ve written blogs, reports, financial statements, letters, grant proposals, protest letters, journal entries and even the odd recommendation letter. It’s been an “interesting” year… and there’s more to come.

Never too old to learn a new trick or two… and I’ve learned a lot this past year. Thanks for coming along with me…

S/