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
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