Two months in and ten new insights

At the end of last year when I was making the decision to accept my placement to Sierra Leone I read a blog by Shona, a Scottish doctor, who was here in 2011.  I found it really engaging and particularly enjoyed her “ten things..”  posts so I’m going to borrow that format today.  Here are ten things I’ve come to realise after living in Freetown for two months, some may surprise you.

1.       Your friends, old and new, are special so never take them for granted

2.       You don’t have to exercise hard to sweat, just sitting down will do it.

3.       Sitting  for hours staring out to sea from my balcony is a wonderful way to pass the time

4.       A friend who I can be me with, laugh with and who brings perspective when I’m having a bad day is to be treasured - and I do.

5.       You don’t have to walk fast, strolling is good – just keep your eyes open for open drains and other trip hazards - pavements are a luxury and should be appreciated at all times

6.       Think once, think twice, think bike?  No, just think bike at all times as you never know where the blighters are coming from

7.       Cucumber is not the devil’s food  – in fact peeled in a salad it is actually quite pleasant

8.       It’s good to be spontaneous and not plan too far in advance - a week that starts empty is always filled by the end

9.       Always have your phone charged and topped up  - it’s your lifeline

10.    I’m a “whet gayl”!

Same but Different (part two)

Public Transport (cont’d)

Okadas

These motorbike taxis are the fastest way to get around town but they are also the most dangerous and I have sworn never to get on the back of one.  They weave in and out of traffic taking no regard for the rules of the road.  When walking I have to constantly check when crossing as they will happily ride on the wrong side if it is the fastest way to reach their destination.  The drivers are distinctive for their strange style.  I’m not quite sure why you need to wear a wooly hat in these temperatures but they do.  I think for some it is to make their head fit the crash helmet they are wearing but many don’t bother with such things.  The crash helmets can be taped together, have no chin strap or be a bicycle helmet – anything goes, none of which would help in an accident.  The driver’s name is on a plate on the front of the bike.  However, you can’t be sure that is who is driving as the bike may be shared between three so that it is running all day and night.  Needless to say they are not the most road worthy vehicles (but you can say that about taxis and podas too).

Walking

Walking has always been my preferred way of getting around London and I have adopted that approach in Freetown. Walking here, especially now the rainy season has come is full of unforeseen obstacles.  Pavements do exist, and I am very grateful there is one all the way between home and work.  The pavements cover storm drains and have holes in them to allow the water to spill out when the torrential rains come.  Sometimes, however, slabs are missing and you must beware as the drop down could be 5 or 6 feet.  The next obstacle can be a pile of rubbish on the pavement when they clear the ditches where it piles up.  You also have to negotiate your way around plies of sand when they are laying new pipes – which they seem to be doing everywhere. 

So there can be pavements but often as not there are not.  This is when it is very important to walk into the face of on-coming traffic.  The verges are uneven with many rocks to balance along or at the moment puddles to negotiate as the tarmac has worn away and there are numerous potholes.  We are only at the start of the rainy season and I hate to imagine the state of the roads at the end of it.  The road outside the flat seems to be washing down the hill and I have to pick my way through rocks to make it down past the houses to Main Motor Road. 

All that said I am unperturbed and still prefer to walk most places.  So much so that many people tell me that they have seen me walking.  All comment on the concentration on my face and the speed I go.

Housework

One decision I made in 2010 was to hire a cleaner – one of my better decisions, especially when it came to ironing.  Here we have a lady, Issata, who does our washing.  No washing machine but scrubbing board and brushes.  Our delicate Western clothes really do not appreciate such treatment and I have many a garment which is looking a bit bashed up.  I do wonder if they will survive at all the scrubbing.  Once washed it is hung on the balcony to dry.  Ironing is then outsourced to the houseboy downstairs as I do like to have my clothes ironed and he does a great job.

Cleaning has been more of an issue.  I did ask Issata to clean but was not too satisfied by the results so I have started doing it myself.  I follow the DSM routine: dust, sweep, mop.  Not too difficult you say but in the heat here I have had to resort to doing it in my underwear as I become such a sweaty mess.  A vision no one needs to see.  The kitchen and bathroom are fine but there is a huge amount of floor space in living area and balcony.  The sweeping is uncomfortable as the brushes are a bunch of reeds so you are constantly bent over.  Sweeping appears to be a national preoccupation here as I wake every morning the sound of my neighbours sweeping but there seems to be no thought of sweeping it up rather the aim is to sweep it around! 

My mop, it must be said, has seen better days but it does the job.  Of course the fun is always ending up at one end of the room with an expanse of wet floor in front of you and realising you have left the drying cloth in the bathroom.  Your feet are constantly filthy here so mopping the bathroom floor has become a bit of an obsession as it is always covered in mucky footprints.  Scrubbing out the bottom of the shower is another task that needs done twice a day as I am constantly showering.

Well that’s enough for this instalment.  Next time... ..shopping

These boots are made for walking

Gloucester and Leicester - in the UK two places that it would be impossible to include in a day’s walking, even for the LDWA, but perfectly so in Freetown.

A few Saturdays ago I was invited along for my first countryside walk to the village of Bathurst.  I’ve spent many hours walking the streets of Freetown going to and fro but had never escaped the city.   This escape required transportation to the start point and as a VSO I do not have access to a car. What I have learnt about my fellow expats is that they are generous to us volunteers.  So no car was no problem as we were given a lift up to the US Embassy from Congo Cross to begin the walk.  There was a group of about 10 who set off at 10.30ish carrying what we’d all taken to share for a picnic lunch and “plenti wata”.

Boy did we need that water.  The most challenging part of the morning was going up the open side of a hill with the sun beating down.  As we trudged up all I could wish for was Denis Healy eyebrows as mine were not substantial enough to keep the sweat from running into my eyes. We found shade at the top under a tree for more suntan lotion application and a drink. Phew!

On we walked taking in the lovely views.

Uphill we go - passing bemused locals

Beautiful tree

We carried on in search of the perfect picnic spot with shade and rocks to perch on. Once that was located it was time for a well deserved lunch stop.  Food can be challenging here due to the lack of availability and variety but I was impressed by what we shared: haloumi, chorizo, sausage, tabbouleh, guacamole, chickpea salad, quinoa salad and pineapple – a veritable feast. 

Fed and watered we strode on to a bridge where it was suggested we caught a taxi back to the cars rather than walking back up another hill to the Embassy.  This seemed like cheating to me so three of us decided to walk back through some villages.  It was hard in parts as the humidity and temperatures rose along with the inclines but 45 minutes later three, tired and sweaty, but very satisfied walkers reached the car.

How to end the walk?  By jumping into the IMATT pool that’s how.  Perfect.  IMATT is the military base that was set up to train and mentor Sierra Leonean forces after the war.  The complex has a Stepford Wives quality to it with manicured vegetation and small bungalows but it has a wonderful pool with a bar.  We relaxed in the water, lay on loungers to dry off and thoroughly enjoyed the downtime.  All finished off with some beers in a local bar when we made it back to Congo Cross. 

All in all a lovely Salone Saturday.

A Salone Wedding

Wednesday 18^th April 2012 – Brima Davowah weds Baby Hannah Conteh.

The invitation outlined the whole day’s events which started with a ceremony at a local mosque.  I was not invited to that part but only the reception in the evening.  The invite stated a start time of 7.00pm but I was soon informed that there was no point in arriving until after 8pm.  I was given a lift by Mr Bangura, with whom I share an office, who picked me up at 8.15pm.  As we approached the venue he asked me if I had my invitation – “no” I said.  Wrong answer!  When we arrived I saw why.  There were two burly security guards on the door demanding to see invitations before you could be let in.  This despite the fact I was wearing the same fabric as 50% of the people there.  Luckily Mr Bangura explained my ignorance and I was allowed to enter the hall.  It was thronging with people with tables set up towards the top table and rows of chairs at the back.  We were ushered to a table very close to the front so I was in a prime position for what was to come.

We sat down and awaited the arrival of the happy couple.  At 9.00pm they arrived resplendent in matching outfits.  Once they were seated the speeches started.  As is often the case in Sierra Leone the events began with a prayer and blessing.  The first speech was the introduction of the chairman/master of ceremonies.  To say this was comprehensive is an understatement as we were talked through his life from birth, schools, further education and jobs, including that as stand up comedian.  Once introduced his role was to keep all the speeches on track while entertaining the crowd with his act.  All of this in Krio, so I often got the gist but missed out on the details. 

It must be said that no-one here was scared of standing up to make a speech.  Once on a roll the chairman had to make quite an effort to curtail them.  The cake was blessed before it was cut and as this was a Muslim/Christian wedding this was done for both faiths.  Here are the happy couple cutting the cake.  There was a difference in tradition here from the UK as the best man and bridesmaid also cut the cake. 



The Bride and Groom



Apart from the speeches there were a number of musical interludes as we were entertained by a juggler/fire eater, a drag artist, a duo doing a mime to “There’s a Hole in my Bucket” and a Michel Jackson tribute act of dancers.  All very entertaining. 



There's a Hole in my Bucket



Liza

Next it was on to food from an enormous buffet and sparkling wine for the toasts.  While the food was being served – it seemed the line was never ending – the music started and I joined some ladies from the office to dance.  As I stood up I could feel many eyes upon me all with the question “Kan de whet gayl dance?”  Well I think I surprised them if the reaction in the office the next morning was anything to go by.  I was the talk of the corridor and more than one person told me that they’d heard I was showing off my moves.  Here we all are in our Asheobi before I headed home to bed at midnight – well it was a school night.


Bishola



Fatmatta



Enjoying the party

All in all a wonderful experience and I was very grateful to have been invited to share the happy occasion.

Handbags and Glad Rags (part two)

Moving on from the handbags it’s time to look at the glad rags. 

African prints are amazing for their brightness and bold patterns.  On every corner in Freetown there is a small wooden shed housing tailors with very old foot pedal sewing machines.  From these most unlikely places appear the most gorgeous outfits and I know as I have one!

Before coming I had been told that there would be many opportunities to have clothes made from scratch or from copying some favourite items.  At the bottom of the main Siaka Stevens Street there is a right hand turn that takes you into Print Alley.  Here there are an overwhelming range of fabrics.  I have been once so far but it is a bit of a TK Maxx experience as you have to be in the mood to work your way through the packed stalls.  My hand was forced on this however when I was invited to a wedding!  Yes here for only one month and I was  already off to a wedding.

Who was getting married?  The son of a lady at work but more of that in the next post as for the moment I want to concentrate on the frock.

What material to choose?  What design?  How do you choose a tailor?  Oh the worries.  The first question was answered easily as there is a tradition here called asheobi where people representing with bride or groom all wear the same fabric.  The mother of the groom therefore provided me with the lappas (that’s the measurement of cloth).

The next step was the tailor.  Luckily one of the secretaries at work was willing to share hers so on Thursday afternoon (the wedding being the following Wednesday) the tailors assistant appeared in my office to take the measurements.  This was all a trifle confusing as I had no idea what style I wanted so he took random measurements for bust, waist, hips, length of dress, sleeve and depth of neckline.  He was then dispatched to come back with a book of designs.  Oh my when that appeared it was mind boggling. I randomly picked a short style thinking that it would be the shape that was copied and not any of the design features.  Oh dear that is where I went wrong.

Monday came and still no dress.  I asked about it and was soundly told off for picking something too complicated given the time constraint.  Complicated?  It looked simple enough to me.  Tuesday provided the answer when it arrived.  There was an interesting satin section on the front that I did not expect.  This had been in the design I picked but I never thought the tailor would attempt to reproduce it as it involved alternating strips of ribbon fabric.  Undeterred I tried it on -  low and behold it nearly fitted- slightly tight across the chest but that was easily fixed as there was lots of extra fabric in the seams.  When the finished frock appeared the office was in uproar with cries of “Mabinty I like your style” coming down the corridor as I tried it on to show all the women and men!  Not too short and they loved the front section. All this for an all-in cost of Le 76,000 (£11.50).

So what does it look like?  Here you are the views of the front and back (nicely hung from the washing line) and finally me wearing it. 

Back view

the front

Dresses always look better on

What do you think?