It was an eerie drive into town last Monday… I’d gotten up especially early to head downtown to replace my phone – the most important communication device in Sierra Leone, before going to the jhr office. I managed to catch my landlords, Mala and Krishen, in their car and asked for a lift into the central part of Freetown, where they own and operate two electronic shops – Mala replaced my stolen phone at a decent cost… and I managed to salvage my phone number through a variety of folks at the mobile service provider, Zain. I’m re-united with beloved and despised phone service, in other words.
The drive from Aberdeen (my neighbourhood) through Murray Town, around Congo Cross and along Siaka Stevens Street was abnormally quiet. It was eerie… and there were more people on the street than normal. I didn’t think much of it but as we drove into the central part of downtown, Krishen noticed that many of the shops were still closed. Crowds of people were everywhere but auto-traffic, crazy motorcycles and jammed poda-podas were non-existent. The streets had been taken over by throngs of people.
Krishen, a very intelligent and sensitive man, noted the “difference” in front of his shop… and warned me, “Stephen, the shops are closed and there are too many people on the street… it could mean trouble. Stay close to the car, just in case.” Krishen and Mala were here through the conflicts in the 90s and have seen trouble in Freetown before… I took his advice very seriously.
However, I was curious… and things seemed safe. (no echoes of explosions or gunfire seemed to indicate things were relatively safe) I explored a little farther afield to discover that the Sierra Leone Drivers Union was holding a “special meeting” at the National Stadium in central Freetown. In effect, the taxi drivers, the poda-poda “boys” and every other commercial transport vehicle were “on strike” – for the morning at least. They’d gathered at the Stadium – thousands and thousands – to protest against police harassment/extortion, huge fines, unnecessary arrests and poor working conditions.
People were late for work. Students, in the midst of exams, were late getting to school. Shopkeepers didn’t open their shops in the morning. Street vendors were stuck far afield and didn’t make it to their street corners. And, it felt like the city had shut down…
Several government folks addressed the throngs of drivers and recognized the newly appointed/elected executive of the Drivers Union. The event had its problems but by 2:00 p.m. many of the commercial drivers were back on the street. Throughout the day, I could hear loud roars from very crowded poda-podas. People rode the roofs (street surfing) of the mini-vans. Taxis carrying up to ten people roared around town. And, I never knew if they were celebrating or protesting.
By Tuesday morning, the city had returned to its normal hustle and bustle complete with commercial taxis, poda-podas and motorcycles ushering people to and from work, school, shops, homes, etc.
What struck me on Monday was how precariously close this city and this country are to uprisings, violence, outbursts of anger or frustration, and so on. People, Krishen and Mala included, are wary of what might happen… what “differences” in their routines could mean… what to do IF something were to happen. They’ve seen the signs before… Being in a “post-conflict” culture means people have to be constantly vigilant, aware and ready to act – in whatever manner will keep them safe.
The city was held hostage on Monday morning… a reluctant victim of no public transport system, a reliance on commercial taxis, a sprawling geographic footprint, corruption, poverty and frustration. Thankfully the hostage-takers/commercial drivers released the city, without violence, later that day.
Learning to walk before running…
Stephen
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The language barrier...
It’s “sort of” English… and I’ve heard it described as “broken English”, “bastardized English” and “an English dialect”. Krio is the predominant language here in Freetown… but is it a language on it’s own or is it a form of what we know as “proper” English? I have to admit, I’m struggling with this aspect of life here…
At times I feel like I’m speaking a different language… and at times I feel like I’m speaking a “broken” or “improper” version of what I learned in public school. My colleague, Sulakshana, said she feels “dumber” when she attempts to speak Krio and I know exactly what she means. And, I don’t know if I should be correcting the written version of Krio or if that’s what people understand as “English”. I wonder about “the Queen’s English” and I wonder about the many different forms of English I keep hearing.
I had dinner with two Americans the other night and Doug, a legal intern from the southern States, brought up the issue of “American English” vs the Queen’s English… and what we speak in Canada – “proper” English… or so we like to think. At another dinner engagement, I overheard some folks from the U.K. who obviously had a good grasp of the English language, accent and all.
I can’t tell you how many newspaper articles I’ve started to read and then given up on… because 1) the writing is so “bad” or 2) the structure is impossible to follow or 3) I just don’t understand the language. Is it written in English? Or, is it “bad” English? Or is it the English most Sierra Leoneons understand as “proper” English?
Here’s an example of something that ran in the paper just the other day. I think I know what the writer is trying to say… but it’s so awkward I couldn’t read past this paragraph. Oh, to clarify… Zain is a mobile phone/internet provider here in Sierra Leone.
“The sales profile of GSM operator Zain has nose-dived from the twelve billion Leones monthly margin to a paltry one billion Leones. Why this is happening for three months running, cannot be explained in terms of isolated global financial shock reflecting on the local economy.”
And here’s another example… taken straight from an e-mail sent by a fourth year mass communications student at a local college. I can’t decide if the barriers are language-based or simply a lack of literacy skills.
“am very much happy with your trainnig worskhop at fatima confrence hall , really we are much more inpress with the trainnig , because of this reason, i have total love for you , and admired at you so much keep it up Stephen i have never been in the professon but through your inpressive traing that you have given to us , i have love, concern and interest over the field , i discused with mitthew that i want to join you in your office an work, i need your direction and help hoping you to reply thanks from friend”
Here’s a snippet from a conversation I had in a taxi the other day… Driver: “how de day?” Response: “Day fine, how da day?” And, when I was getting out of the car, on the wrong side, apparently. Driver: “Take time, take time.” Which means be careful… and then, after I was safely on the side of the road he said, “go see come” which means “see you later”. And, spray-painted on walls I’ll sometimes read, “Nor da piss ya” which means, and I’m sure you got it, “don’t urinate here”.
And, while on the back of an okada I was instructed to say, “small small” which means to slow down and be careful… I guess I could also have also said, “take time, take time”. As you can imagine, Noam Chomsky and other esteemed linguists would have a field day in a place like this.
Of course, there’s also the local tribal languages… Mendes in the southern provinces and Temne (pronounced Temini) in the north. Freetown offers a cultural and linguistic melting pot… which makes for some interesting eavesdropping.
But, in any and all languages, conversation is usually animated, sometimes loud bordering on shouting and complete with arm waving and open hand gestures. Emphatic is how I’d describe all the languages spoken in Sierra Leone. And, emphasis is one thing I always understand… with a smile, a handshake and nod.
Smiling and nodding…
Stephen
At times I feel like I’m speaking a different language… and at times I feel like I’m speaking a “broken” or “improper” version of what I learned in public school. My colleague, Sulakshana, said she feels “dumber” when she attempts to speak Krio and I know exactly what she means. And, I don’t know if I should be correcting the written version of Krio or if that’s what people understand as “English”. I wonder about “the Queen’s English” and I wonder about the many different forms of English I keep hearing.
I had dinner with two Americans the other night and Doug, a legal intern from the southern States, brought up the issue of “American English” vs the Queen’s English… and what we speak in Canada – “proper” English… or so we like to think. At another dinner engagement, I overheard some folks from the U.K. who obviously had a good grasp of the English language, accent and all.
I can’t tell you how many newspaper articles I’ve started to read and then given up on… because 1) the writing is so “bad” or 2) the structure is impossible to follow or 3) I just don’t understand the language. Is it written in English? Or, is it “bad” English? Or is it the English most Sierra Leoneons understand as “proper” English?
Here’s an example of something that ran in the paper just the other day. I think I know what the writer is trying to say… but it’s so awkward I couldn’t read past this paragraph. Oh, to clarify… Zain is a mobile phone/internet provider here in Sierra Leone.
“The sales profile of GSM operator Zain has nose-dived from the twelve billion Leones monthly margin to a paltry one billion Leones. Why this is happening for three months running, cannot be explained in terms of isolated global financial shock reflecting on the local economy.”
And here’s another example… taken straight from an e-mail sent by a fourth year mass communications student at a local college. I can’t decide if the barriers are language-based or simply a lack of literacy skills.
“am very much happy with your trainnig worskhop at fatima confrence hall , really we are much more inpress with the trainnig , because of this reason, i have total love for you , and admired at you so much keep it up Stephen i have never been in the professon but through your inpressive traing that you have given to us , i have love, concern and interest over the field , i discused with mitthew that i want to join you in your office an work, i need your direction and help hoping you to reply thanks from friend”
Here’s a snippet from a conversation I had in a taxi the other day… Driver: “how de day?” Response: “Day fine, how da day?” And, when I was getting out of the car, on the wrong side, apparently. Driver: “Take time, take time.” Which means be careful… and then, after I was safely on the side of the road he said, “go see come” which means “see you later”. And, spray-painted on walls I’ll sometimes read, “Nor da piss ya” which means, and I’m sure you got it, “don’t urinate here”.
And, while on the back of an okada I was instructed to say, “small small” which means to slow down and be careful… I guess I could also have also said, “take time, take time”. As you can imagine, Noam Chomsky and other esteemed linguists would have a field day in a place like this.
Of course, there’s also the local tribal languages… Mendes in the southern provinces and Temne (pronounced Temini) in the north. Freetown offers a cultural and linguistic melting pot… which makes for some interesting eavesdropping.
But, in any and all languages, conversation is usually animated, sometimes loud bordering on shouting and complete with arm waving and open hand gestures. Emphatic is how I’d describe all the languages spoken in Sierra Leone. And, emphasis is one thing I always understand… with a smile, a handshake and nod.
Smiling and nodding…
Stephen
Monday, June 22, 2009
Learning about trust - naive or blind
I've had my first taste of how my naive trust can get me into trouble. Or, perhaps it was my blind stupidity. Sigh.
My flatmate, Jordan, and I escaped as per usual to the beach on Sunday. Again, we visited a previously unexplored beach... Mamma Beach, and to our delight, it was empty, pristine, sunny and absolutely lovely. Jordan, our esteemed driver Patrick and I set up "camp" at one end of the beach and were sure there was no one around... so sure, in fact, I left my beach bucket, radio, towel and "man-bag" under the shade of a palm tree as I gleefully splashed around in the ocean.
Soaked and rejuvenated, I returned to our encampment to discover my bag was missing. Oh dear... I had my glasses, notebook, camera, money, phone, etc. stored neatly inside and was immediately struck by the shock of being a victim of my own stupidity. Not to mention the potential hassles involved in replacing those things.
After a search of the hill and brush behind the beach, I found my bag - minus the money, camera and phone. "eh bo" as they say here... Yes, what a disappointment to discover I'd been robbed. But, they'd left the bag, my glasses (thank goodness), my small notebook (a version of a personal diary) and my trusted pens.
I reported the "crime" to the local security post, about a twenty minute walk into the nearby village, to a half-dressed "police officer" who immediately took out his handcuffs and notebook to document the incident. He dutifully wrote out the details of the crime and then said, "you should have left your belongings here at my post." Yeah but... I wanted my camera with me and I was expecting a call... so... No excuses, however. It was my own fault, in other words. Yes, he was correct.
Upon reflection I realize I'd let my guard slip. I'd become a tad over-confident and let my Canadian naivety trump my adopted Sierra Leoneon cautiousness. And really, when I think of it, despite the difficulty of replacing the phone and camera, and the loss of money, it was a rather mild reminder to be careful - at all times. What if it had been my computer? What if it had been my "shooting camera"? What if it had been a paycheque or rent money? I'd be devastated...
As it is, however, I've been reminded to be vigilant, cautious and careful of where and what I leave around. You never know... a difficult lesson has been learned - the hard way.
This will not dissuade me, however, from my almost weekly visits to the beach. It will not shake my resolve to explore and learn as much as I can about Sierra Leone. It will not derail my attempts to get to know people. But, I'll be careful... or more careful from now on.
Learning valuable lessons...
Stephen
My flatmate, Jordan, and I escaped as per usual to the beach on Sunday. Again, we visited a previously unexplored beach... Mamma Beach, and to our delight, it was empty, pristine, sunny and absolutely lovely. Jordan, our esteemed driver Patrick and I set up "camp" at one end of the beach and were sure there was no one around... so sure, in fact, I left my beach bucket, radio, towel and "man-bag" under the shade of a palm tree as I gleefully splashed around in the ocean.
Soaked and rejuvenated, I returned to our encampment to discover my bag was missing. Oh dear... I had my glasses, notebook, camera, money, phone, etc. stored neatly inside and was immediately struck by the shock of being a victim of my own stupidity. Not to mention the potential hassles involved in replacing those things.
After a search of the hill and brush behind the beach, I found my bag - minus the money, camera and phone. "eh bo" as they say here... Yes, what a disappointment to discover I'd been robbed. But, they'd left the bag, my glasses (thank goodness), my small notebook (a version of a personal diary) and my trusted pens.
I reported the "crime" to the local security post, about a twenty minute walk into the nearby village, to a half-dressed "police officer" who immediately took out his handcuffs and notebook to document the incident. He dutifully wrote out the details of the crime and then said, "you should have left your belongings here at my post." Yeah but... I wanted my camera with me and I was expecting a call... so... No excuses, however. It was my own fault, in other words. Yes, he was correct.
Upon reflection I realize I'd let my guard slip. I'd become a tad over-confident and let my Canadian naivety trump my adopted Sierra Leoneon cautiousness. And really, when I think of it, despite the difficulty of replacing the phone and camera, and the loss of money, it was a rather mild reminder to be careful - at all times. What if it had been my computer? What if it had been my "shooting camera"? What if it had been a paycheque or rent money? I'd be devastated...
As it is, however, I've been reminded to be vigilant, cautious and careful of where and what I leave around. You never know... a difficult lesson has been learned - the hard way.
This will not dissuade me, however, from my almost weekly visits to the beach. It will not shake my resolve to explore and learn as much as I can about Sierra Leone. It will not derail my attempts to get to know people. But, I'll be careful... or more careful from now on.
Learning valuable lessons...
Stephen
Monday, June 15, 2009
Meet me in Makeni… (How I love alliteration.)
Okay, the hotel doesn’t have running water, showers or flush toilets… and the beds are uncomfortably lumpy… There’s limited electricity from 7:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. (nothing during the day) The mosquito nets have holes in them… and the overhead fan makes enough noise to wake the dead (grinds, clangs, clunks and whirls…) The complimentary morning coffee is a pot of Nescafe and the “continental breakfast” is a small, under-cooked loaf of white bread with a dollop of margarine. Makeni is hot… dusty and noisy. And it certainly isn’t Freetown.
But, it does have some elusive charms including a “main drag” that looks like it’s a set from an old spaghetti western. I kept thinking I’d meet a cowboy or two as I strolled amidst the okadas (motorcycle taxis) and vending stalls. Many of the buildings are two storey colonial structures… balconies and railings line the streets and I swear I could hear a tinkering piano from deep in the bowels of a “saloon”. By the way, they spell “salon” (as in hair-dressing and “barbing”) as “saloon”… which takes me back to the days of marking term papers at Sheridan College.
The drive from Freetown through the countryside to Makeni was incredible. Scenes that reminded me of those made-for-TV docu-dramas about African wildlife and “primitive” villages were everywhere. Around every curve or over every hill, there appeared a small collection of mud huts with thatched roofs, subsistence gardens, clean clothes hung on tree branches to dry and young children in various states of dress.
I’ve just returned from hosting a two-day workshop on journalism and human rights at the Fatima Institute in Makeni. Makeni is about three and a half hours drive outside of Freetown… “into the provinces,” as they say. It’s remote, in other words. And the Fatima Institute is a lovely little college that started as a Catholic mission site. Most of you know how I feel about missionaries and Catholics. Yikes! The Institute is one of two colleges in the area and it hosts a mass communications program, under which I was invited to give my workshop.
The workshop, “reporting from the frontlines: getting the most from your subjects” was attended by approximately 60-70 reporters, students and college faculty. I arrived in Makeni on Friday at noon and by 2:00 p.m. was enthralling a hall full of eager, bright learners. Of course, the promise of dinner on Friday evening and a certificate presentation on Saturday evening helped fill the hall.
The workshop covered topics such as, the fundamentals of journalism, what is news, interview skills and then story outlines and structures. I’ve heard and read on the evaluation forms that they really enjoyed the participatory aspect of the workshop… and the “fun” of having a Canadian lecturer talk to the group. Interestingly, the cultural and language barriers weren’t as prevalent as I’d thought they’d be.
They, of course, didn’t “get” my references to hockey, the prime minister or the CBC news… but they enjoyed hearing stories about Canadian journalists.
There’s a strange phenomenon here (one of several) around “certificates”. It seems with every workshop a certificate is awarded to the participants. It denotes nothing but attendance but is highly valued. I think it’s probably due to the lack of formal education in the country. So, every workshop, every training session and almost every meeting awards a certificate… which is often laminated and carried around in a dirty, beat-up file folder. People, especially the journalists, covet these “awards” and in every meeting I’ve had with reporters, they swing them about proudly.
So, at the end of my two-day workshop, we held a formal certificate presentation ceremony… much like the ones I skipped when I graduated from anywhere. Photos were taken with certificates, hands were shaken, smiles were recorded on little video cameras… and there I was… matriculating in Makeni. (oh how I love alliteration)
Till next time,
Stephen
But, it does have some elusive charms including a “main drag” that looks like it’s a set from an old spaghetti western. I kept thinking I’d meet a cowboy or two as I strolled amidst the okadas (motorcycle taxis) and vending stalls. Many of the buildings are two storey colonial structures… balconies and railings line the streets and I swear I could hear a tinkering piano from deep in the bowels of a “saloon”. By the way, they spell “salon” (as in hair-dressing and “barbing”) as “saloon”… which takes me back to the days of marking term papers at Sheridan College.
The drive from Freetown through the countryside to Makeni was incredible. Scenes that reminded me of those made-for-TV docu-dramas about African wildlife and “primitive” villages were everywhere. Around every curve or over every hill, there appeared a small collection of mud huts with thatched roofs, subsistence gardens, clean clothes hung on tree branches to dry and young children in various states of dress.
I’ve just returned from hosting a two-day workshop on journalism and human rights at the Fatima Institute in Makeni. Makeni is about three and a half hours drive outside of Freetown… “into the provinces,” as they say. It’s remote, in other words. And the Fatima Institute is a lovely little college that started as a Catholic mission site. Most of you know how I feel about missionaries and Catholics. Yikes! The Institute is one of two colleges in the area and it hosts a mass communications program, under which I was invited to give my workshop.
The workshop, “reporting from the frontlines: getting the most from your subjects” was attended by approximately 60-70 reporters, students and college faculty. I arrived in Makeni on Friday at noon and by 2:00 p.m. was enthralling a hall full of eager, bright learners. Of course, the promise of dinner on Friday evening and a certificate presentation on Saturday evening helped fill the hall.
The workshop covered topics such as, the fundamentals of journalism, what is news, interview skills and then story outlines and structures. I’ve heard and read on the evaluation forms that they really enjoyed the participatory aspect of the workshop… and the “fun” of having a Canadian lecturer talk to the group. Interestingly, the cultural and language barriers weren’t as prevalent as I’d thought they’d be.
They, of course, didn’t “get” my references to hockey, the prime minister or the CBC news… but they enjoyed hearing stories about Canadian journalists.
There’s a strange phenomenon here (one of several) around “certificates”. It seems with every workshop a certificate is awarded to the participants. It denotes nothing but attendance but is highly valued. I think it’s probably due to the lack of formal education in the country. So, every workshop, every training session and almost every meeting awards a certificate… which is often laminated and carried around in a dirty, beat-up file folder. People, especially the journalists, covet these “awards” and in every meeting I’ve had with reporters, they swing them about proudly.
So, at the end of my two-day workshop, we held a formal certificate presentation ceremony… much like the ones I skipped when I graduated from anywhere. Photos were taken with certificates, hands were shaken, smiles were recorded on little video cameras… and there I was… matriculating in Makeni. (oh how I love alliteration)
Till next time,
Stephen
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Power? to the people...
Tuesday June 9, 2009 at 5:25 p.m. the power went out – again. We were fortunate to have power for most of the morning… before leaving the apartment for my meetings, etc. in the heart of the city. But, now that I’m home – my home away from home – no power, no lights, no fridge, no fans and unable to charge computers or phones. It’s incredible how much I – and the collective “we” – have come to depend on reliable sources of electricity. And here in Sierra Leone it’s never reliable and a constant topic of conversation.
There’s no rhyme nor reason as to when the power will be on or when it’s off. One day the power will be on during the day – when most people don’t need it. The next day we’ll have no power… and the next it’ll be on for a couple of hours late at night. It’s totally random. Or is it?
One of the other most talked about topics around here is corruption… from the police on the street to the highest levels of government. So, here’s my theory. There must be some guy who sits in a huge room full of switches that control where and when the power is distributed. And, depending on who makes their “payments” to my fictitious switch operator, that’s where the power will be channelled. I can see it now… a room full of wall switches, on and off, and this lone, powerful, electrifying guy sitting in his broken down swivel chair rolling himself from side to side flicking this switch and then that one. It’s an amusing thought.
We once had power in our apartment for an entire evening and into the night… I figure the guy in the switch room had flicked our neighbourhood’s toggle and then fallen asleep. It was a rare and wonderful treat to tuck in under my mosquito net and feel the fan swivelling it’s delicious swirl of cool air across the room. I awoke to a fully-charged phone and computer. And, I could shower in the dim light of my overhead bulb in the bathroom. I was getting used to cold showers in the dark… but morning power and light was a treat, a welcome relief thanks to my sleeping switch operator.
The National Power Authority (NPA) runs the electrical supply to the entire country and is based on Siaka Stevens Street in downtown Freetown. It relies on the Bumbuna Dam, a hydro-electric facility in the northern part of Sierra Leone. And, while driving back from Mile 91 last week, I could see the long lines of wires, most of which were badly damaged during the war. Interestingly, the dam is only fully operational during the rainy season… yet, to placate Sierra Leoneons, the All People’s Congress (APC) government continues to tell us that 24-hour power is almost here… any day now… possibly by the end of the month… or maybe even by Cmas. The “power date” continues to come and go… and no one really makes a fuss about missed deadlines, etc. Hmmm, it sounds suspicious to me.
It’s a wonder, really, why no one is looking into smaller solar powered alternatives given the consistent sunlight we experience. The power/electricity dilemma continues to be a source of international aid, however, and I wonder if governments, because they’re so heavily reliant on aid, are choosing to continue their pursuit of hydro power at the risk of losing aid dollars. But really… so much future investment depends on 24-hour power. Imagine having a factory that sits idle when there’s no power. Or, what about the offices downtown that operate on six to seven hours of power… at inconsistent times. Most office buildings run huge generators to even out the power supply at a tremendous cost to the environment, to pocket-books and to noise levels in the city. But to most, it’s a fact of life… and one that, while people talk about it, there doesn’t seem to be much anyone can do about it.
So, I have a stock of candles… and try to charge my computer and phone when I can. When the power’s on, I’m thrilled… and when it goes off, I complain. But, it’s just something I’m learning to live with – or without.
By candlelight,
Stephen
There’s no rhyme nor reason as to when the power will be on or when it’s off. One day the power will be on during the day – when most people don’t need it. The next day we’ll have no power… and the next it’ll be on for a couple of hours late at night. It’s totally random. Or is it?
One of the other most talked about topics around here is corruption… from the police on the street to the highest levels of government. So, here’s my theory. There must be some guy who sits in a huge room full of switches that control where and when the power is distributed. And, depending on who makes their “payments” to my fictitious switch operator, that’s where the power will be channelled. I can see it now… a room full of wall switches, on and off, and this lone, powerful, electrifying guy sitting in his broken down swivel chair rolling himself from side to side flicking this switch and then that one. It’s an amusing thought.
We once had power in our apartment for an entire evening and into the night… I figure the guy in the switch room had flicked our neighbourhood’s toggle and then fallen asleep. It was a rare and wonderful treat to tuck in under my mosquito net and feel the fan swivelling it’s delicious swirl of cool air across the room. I awoke to a fully-charged phone and computer. And, I could shower in the dim light of my overhead bulb in the bathroom. I was getting used to cold showers in the dark… but morning power and light was a treat, a welcome relief thanks to my sleeping switch operator.
The National Power Authority (NPA) runs the electrical supply to the entire country and is based on Siaka Stevens Street in downtown Freetown. It relies on the Bumbuna Dam, a hydro-electric facility in the northern part of Sierra Leone. And, while driving back from Mile 91 last week, I could see the long lines of wires, most of which were badly damaged during the war. Interestingly, the dam is only fully operational during the rainy season… yet, to placate Sierra Leoneons, the All People’s Congress (APC) government continues to tell us that 24-hour power is almost here… any day now… possibly by the end of the month… or maybe even by Cmas. The “power date” continues to come and go… and no one really makes a fuss about missed deadlines, etc. Hmmm, it sounds suspicious to me.
It’s a wonder, really, why no one is looking into smaller solar powered alternatives given the consistent sunlight we experience. The power/electricity dilemma continues to be a source of international aid, however, and I wonder if governments, because they’re so heavily reliant on aid, are choosing to continue their pursuit of hydro power at the risk of losing aid dollars. But really… so much future investment depends on 24-hour power. Imagine having a factory that sits idle when there’s no power. Or, what about the offices downtown that operate on six to seven hours of power… at inconsistent times. Most office buildings run huge generators to even out the power supply at a tremendous cost to the environment, to pocket-books and to noise levels in the city. But to most, it’s a fact of life… and one that, while people talk about it, there doesn’t seem to be much anyone can do about it.
So, I have a stock of candles… and try to charge my computer and phone when I can. When the power’s on, I’m thrilled… and when it goes off, I complain. But, it’s just something I’m learning to live with – or without.
By candlelight,
Stephen
Monday, June 1, 2009
Heading "up-country"
Other than heading to the local beaches, I've been sequestered in Freetown since my arrival. But tomorrow, I'm heading "up-country" to a place called, Mile 91, which, coincidentally is about 100 miles from Freetown. I'll be checking out the scenery, meeting some folks from several NGOs and hanging out with some African farmers. Maybe we can share shepherding secrets...
I'll be spending the night in the village and then traveling to another village, Yoni, to visit with an NGO that's operating some sort of computer/internet training program... Imagine, a computer lab in the middle of this tiny village. Should be interesting.
I'm looking forward to meeting lots of folks, (I'm brushing up on my Temne and Fuller language books) taking lots of photos and seeing the country.
Back soon,
Stephen
I'll be spending the night in the village and then traveling to another village, Yoni, to visit with an NGO that's operating some sort of computer/internet training program... Imagine, a computer lab in the middle of this tiny village. Should be interesting.
I'm looking forward to meeting lots of folks, (I'm brushing up on my Temne and Fuller language books) taking lots of photos and seeing the country.
Back soon,
Stephen
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