A Fire

Rachel Jackson, a friend of mine from the UK currently living in Freetown, writes about life in Sierra Leone:

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I don’t know how to tell this story.

At 9.30pm on Thursday 6th September, seconds from my door, a family of five sat together in their home, made of corrugated iron and wood. Two boys and two young women sat together on a wooden bench, while a third woman knelt re-filling the small generator with kerosene. There was very little room between their house and the next, so the generator sat in the doorway. The woman bent to empty her bottle of fuel, but she did not switch off the generator. A tiny spark flashed, it hit the fuel and exploded in her face. Lighted fuel splashed everywhere, covering the walls and ceiling, dousing another woman’s leg. The three women screamed, the two boys tried to hide. The walls were alight, the ceiling was alight and the only exit was blocked by the unstable, burning generator. The only escape was through the fire. They all ran forward into the worst of the flames.

In a stone house, in the middle of 100 or so wooden shacks, I sat with two friends. We heard the screams. By the time we’d grabbed shoes and water, the fire had spread to at least ten more dwellings and hundreds of people were running, screaming and dragging mattresses, pots, pans everything they owned out of their tiny shacks, desperate to save what little they had. We ran forward, towards the fire, past people running with children and belongings. We were separated; the boys gave what little water we had to men standing on burning rooftops. I ran forward looking for anyone injured or any children separated in the panic. The fire kept growing. I lost my shoes, I barely noticed.

I turned a corner and I found her, the woman with the fuel. She was naked, sat on the floor with people running by her. Her skin lay in tatters around her. She was white under her black skin, burnt to her fat. Her face, her arms, her legs, her stomach. Everywhere. I grabbed at men for help, they kept running. I screamed for my friends. As I turned around a little boy was dropped next to the woman, his legs were white. People kept running. I screamed for my friends. Patrick came and carried the boy away to somewhere cooler and calmer. As the boy lay on the ground shaking, he cried “I don’t want to die”.

I stayed with the woman. I tried to pick her up, her skin fell off in my hands. A man stopped and put her on his back. Thank god, the fire was getting closer.

Another friend was asleep at home, the fire was raging towards our house, so I ran back. I passed Patrick and the boy, lying on the floor, they asked for painkillers.

I woke Joanne by screaming “fire!” and carried on to ransack the house for blankets and painkillers. There was no water. There is no electricity, but the flames lit up the room. My hands were shaking. I paused to lock the door. Looters were a possibility. Should I have done that? The boy was waiting.

By this time, a two year old baby girl is dead. She was trapped in one of the first houses. Later, friends will see her father, crying, inconsolable. But for now, no one has realised.

I throw the painkillers to Patrick and run back towards the fire. I search, but I can’t find anyone else injured. I join Leigh in grabbing people’s belongings and moving them away. The fire is still growing, it’s been twenty minutes. The buckets are running low, there’s just no water.

I run out to the road. I pass a fire engine, finally. It’s stuck in one of the many ditches, too far away to reach the fire. I pass Patrick running back to the house. He’s found a taxi driver for the boy, the driver wants money. I reach the boy, his name is Bassay and he’s gritted his teeth so tightly that he can’t make a sound. His legs are horrifying. I try not to look. I hold his hand. Before we can set off, the taxi driver wants him out. The money is taking too long. A man lifts him, he can’t avoid brushing his legs. Bassay grits harder. He is silent.

Eventually we find a taxi, there’s no mention of money, my skin colour is enough. I don’t mention that I have nothing to give him. My pockets are empty. We set off to Emergency, its 45 minutes out of town. The road is the worst in Sierra Leone. We bump over potholes. I hold Bassay’s hand tightly, I try to keep him warm. He is silent still. A little soldier, but he’s starting to go into shock, he’s fighting unconsciousness. I don’t know what to do.

Suddenly another taxi bumps towards us, they scream that the hospital won’t let anyone in. It’s been a wasted journey. The mass of white legs in the headlights, draped over headrests and dashboard, tells us they’re from the fire. More of the women have been found then.

We head back into town, nearly an hour and a half has passed since the generator exploded. We reach the hospital. The sight is unbelievable. There are three more women with horrific burns, clothes melted to them, the smell of burnt skin. We sit in an office. There is one bed and one wheelchair, the rest sit on chairs. They are whimpering.

No one seems sure what to do. Or is it that no one seems interested? The time ticks by. No morphine arrives, everyone is starting to shack uncontrollably, there are puddles of fluid around Bassay’s burnt feet. I squeeze his hand. I think it’s more for me than him. Patrick is there, he’s paid the driver, he hums to Bassay. We wait. The women are moved one by one. There are no stretchers, their family carries them, skin comes away. An hour and a half after we arrived, a doctor casually beckons us forward.

They scrape off his skin. He cries, he squeezes my hand. There is no one else here for him, his family is burnt. They bring a bowl of dirty water, it has his sister’s skin in it. They wash his legs, he screams. I grit my teeth, I want to cry, but I can’t, not yet. They wrap his legs in the thinnest gauze and a nurse arrives to apply Vaseline. She scrapes the sides, the bottom, the lid. There is little left. There was only one pot of Vaseline, there were four victims. The nurse uses the same instrument on all the wounded. Transmission of disease is not considered.

Finally at 1.30am, four hours after the accident, Bassay and the others are settled into bed. No sheets, no disinfectant, we leave reluctantly. We’ve given the hospital money, but they warn us it’s not enough. We must come back tomorrow.

The fire is out. I fall into bed, too tired to cry.

The next day we go to the hospital, they’re not there. We didn’t come soon enough with the money. They were thrown out. I can’t imagine…they cannot walk. We presume they took a taxi to Emergency. We go there.

We find Bassay and another boy there; Abass. The sign says “25% II degree burns”. They’re being well cared for. I nearly cry right there with relief. The hospital is run by Italians. I feel guilty to be so happy, the Europeans are here, it’ll be ok. My faith in African medicine is being tested. The women are not there, they were turned away. There are rumours they are in a third hospital, it costs 200,000le a night to stay there, that’s around 35pound, no one here has that money. We speak to the family, they have enough money for a week. But they have no house, no food, no clothes, the man we speak to is shoeless.

There is no ending to this story. I don’t know what to do. The woman I found on the floor has 1st degree burns to 50% of her body. She is awake, smiling, even moving. She will probably die. Infection will kill her if she is forced to leave the hospital, which she will do in 3 days time.

We have no money to keep her there, if we used all of our savings she could stay for a month. Her burns are so severe, that given the lack of treatment and sanitation, she will probably die anyway. I’m trying to think positively, it’s difficult. I don’t know what to do. I held her in my arms. She is alive.

This wouldn’t happen where I come from.


On Thursday 6th September 2007 in Freetown, Sierra Leone, twelve dwellings were burnt to the ground. Approximately 60 people were left homeless. A little girl was killed. Bassay, his cousin Abass and his sisters will have to fight to live for the rest of their lives. The people here say that that’s life, that’s Africa. No one knows, no one notices, another fire, another dead child. This note is a small record of all that was lost. It is not meaningless, it was not small, it has not gone unnoticed.

If this note seemed contrived, pretentious, affected…the usual. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell this story.

Elections, Round Two

The election run-off seems to have gone peacefully yesterday. The BBC reports (with a less than stellar article):

Voters in Sierra Leone have gone to the polls for the decisive second round of a closely-fought presidential election.

Tensions have been high following the first round last month, which did not produce a clear winner.

The ruling party's candidate, Solomon Berewa, and opposition candidate Ernest Koroma are in the run-off.

The first round was widely praised for being free and fair and a positive step forward for a country still recovering from a decade-long civil war.

The result of this presidential election is likely to be very close and that is one reason why the tension has increased recently in several areas of the country.

At times this has led to violence but only isolated cases. For most Sierra Leonians the number one priority is peace.

from S Leoneans vote in run-off poll


In other news, here's two articles about SL, one concerning investment and the other UK foreign policy:

Returning diaspora help rebuild battered Sierra Leone


Britain has foreign policy fans in Sierra Leone

Africa Working Group

I'm pleased to announce that we'll be working with the African Working Group on Peace and Conflict, an recently established US-based organization that focuses on an exploration of the best policies to create "constructive change and peace-building" in the African world. We'll working together to release a number of the images from the projects this summer in Sierra Leone.

An Election Excerpt

As promised (and a few weeks late, as usual) you may find below a short description of my role in the August 11 elections. It is an excerpt from a report I wrote for Sewanee about my internship in Sierra Leone, so I apologize in advance if it seems excessively self-centered. Enjoy!

Questions/Comments?
Email me at pauledixon@gmail.com!

-Paul

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11 am, August 11. Outside Lumley, Freetown.

The mob pushed in on us.

Emmanuel shoved by, shouting "Snap everything, Paul!" before vanishing into the crowd.

Angry faces stared at us four Westerners - Rachel from England, Joanne from Ireland, Patrick from Australia and myself, a quiet American college sophomore disgorged from the chilly interior of a British Airways jetliner into the morass of Freetown, Sierra Leone a mere two months before. It was my first time existing in the potpourri of countries that make up a vast and complex region of the world commonly known as Africa.

They jostled around us, fighting for the chance to speak. We had only arrived at the polling station thirty seconds before, hopping out of Emmanuel's decrepit sedan that had a tendency to stall when we went uphill, a common occurrence in Freetown, a costal city rapidly sprawling up into the surrounding mountains, struggling to accommodate refugees fleeing West Africa's conflicts. After a decade of war Freetown isn't much besides a gridlock of impromptu football games on decaying streets, but for the human beings, referred to in the sanitary development literature authored by United Nations and World Bank consultants as "Internally Displaced Persons" and "War Affected Individuals," who watched their sisters be raped by international peacekeepers, their parents decapitated and their own arms hacked off with a machete, even the slums of Freetown may seem to be a beautiful oasis of progress.

No one knows exactly how they manage to survive. Twenty years ago the slum-dwellers could eek out an subsistence-agriculture existence on plots of land upcountry cleared from unrelenting jungle, but the pavement of Freetown, a relic of the euphoric development of the post-Independence era forty years ago, allows for only the occasional hillside garden constantly in danger of being swept to sea during the onslaught of the rainy season. Most days the slum-dwellers hawk their wares in the streets - bread and pastries cooked over a charcoal fire, plantains and pineapples, plastic packets of water, imported goods: sausage from Brazil, rice from Vietnam, crackers from Turkey, orange juice bottled in Lebanon but grown in Florida, windshield wipers and car antennas from China, cheese from South Africa, cell phone faceplates from India. The more fortunate shop keepers sit behind their counters, surrounded by an equally global assortment of goods and spend their days waiting for customers listening to battery powered radios and are shielded from the hot sun or pouring rain by a zinc sheeting roof. The slum-dwellers who have some skill spend the day toiling at community cooperatives as carpenters or metalworkers crafting furniture and other household items. Those who know how to drive rent a car from a wealthy family member, neighbor or friend - everyone seems to have at leas one well-off acquaintance - and drive passengers around the city for 800 Leones - the equivalent of 27 American cents. The women, for the most part, do back breaking work cleaning and cooking outside the shacks of plastic refugee sheeting, dirt floors, cinder blocks and zinc sheets that are considered houses while also taking care of a flock of children. The children are sometimes their own, sometimes the neighbor’s who is selling goods at the market, sometimes their 14-year-old daughter's. The children happily play among the rocks and gravel for a few years before they are sent to school if the family has enough money to pay school fees, but if the family isn't doing so well financially or if a brother has taken educational priority over his sister (who is just expected to get married in a few years anyway, so why bother with education?), then the child will be sent out into the streets to beg and sell rice and fish sauce from brightly colored plastic containers. Since there's only so much money that can be made in a country where the vast majority of people live a single US dollar a day, such efforts at entrepreneurship are often futile, so many of the youth take to the streets to play football to a sound track of car horns and Sierra Leonean pop music.

Today was different. There were no youth with their footballs, no sellers hawking their goods or radios blaring music. Instead, the residents of the slums queued in lines snaking across schools, churches and mosques. Some had arrived during the early hours of the morning and had been patiently standing for hours - this was the most important day for their country in the past five years, as their mark on the ballot today would determine the nation's direction, electing a leader to chart a course out of the troubled waters of African politics into a realm of the seemingly unachievable goals of good governance: transparency, accountability, democracy...

As an International Observer, I was supposed to help ensure the elections were the first stop along that journey to good governance - specifically free and fair. Rachel, Patrick and Joanne scurried about, talking to voters, local observers, party officials and polling station staff and recording their observations. I had two cameras hanging from my neck and a notebook bulging from my pocket. Emmanuel, the Sierra Leonean director of the Society for Democratic Initiative (SDI), has been driving us around all day to various polling stations; up until now they had been peaceful, with only a few minor violations of electoral policies, such as seals not be correctly placed on ballot boxes. The Lumley station, however, had hundreds of screaming people outside it surrounding a green SUV.

As observers, we were not supposed to participate in the electoral process, but to simply watch and write down the proceedings. However, now we were in the middle of a mob threatening to attack the owner of the vehicle. We were between the car and the mob, and if we didn't intervene, it would only be a matter of seconds before the screaming mass of people ripped the car apart. We struggled to understand the local language and gradually pieced together the story: the owner of the vehicle apparently had stolen a ballot box from the polling station and had hundreds of empty ballots in his trunk. An lady, her face chiseled by long hours under the African sun, clenched my wrist and pulled me to the back of the vehicle where several young men were preparing to rip the trunk off the car and take back the supposedly missing ballot box. I was between them and the car. They paused when they saw me, as if I would support them in their rather violent solution to the problem. I looked around. Rachel, Joanne and Patrick were on the other side of the vehicle, talking to the owner of the car. I was alone in a sea of black faces.

I wasn't ready for that. I had never been to Africa before, but I had taken some political science classes and read a few books, so I thought I was prepared. I had malaria medicines, extra batteries for my cameras, and a rain jacket for the rainy season. I knew the textbook definitions for the political development catchphrases: good governance, transparency, and accountability. But nothing could have prepared me for that moment, standing alone between an angry mob and a car and its owner. I was only 18, having convinced Emmanuel into allowing me to observe the elections with SDI, thinking I could just take pictures all day and watch from a distance if violence broke out. Suddenly however, a mob of Sierra Leoneans were expecting me to help them. I wasn't sure what to do.

I raised my hands. The mob paused and began to quiet down, waiting for me to issue a decree like a prophet delivering a sermon. I had a young man who appeared to be one of the mob's leaders explain what they wanted. I was probably ten years younger than the majority of the people in front of me, but my pale white skin had thrust me into the spotlight. This was their election, their problems and yet they wanted me to sort it out for them. I thought of what would happen if a foreigner came to my home and observed the elections; that person would be considered an invader trying to influence the democratic process, but I was being treated as a messiah sent to alleviate their suffering. I glanced around, hoping one of the other Westerners would wade towards me. It didn't look promising. I stalled for time by “snapping” a few pictures of the rear of the car; which seemed to satisfy the mob. Two teenagers approached with stones in their hands, ready to smash the windows so they could pull the suspected ballot box from the back of the car. I turned and peered through the tinted glass – but I failed to see any election materials in the car.

I glanced over at Rachel and Joanne, who seemed to be in a similar situation and were talking to the vexed owner of the car. Rachel saw my desperate glance pleading for help and had the owner open one of the doors to the car so she could look for the supposedly stolen election materials, which he adamantly denied having. Joanne and I distracted the people on either side of the car, asking them to explain again the problem.

Rachel couldn't find any stolen ballots, but she did find a box which contained SLPP (the incumbent political party) registration cards, which were perfectly legal to have as they were not “sensitive” voting materials. We explained that to the mob. They weren't very happy about it – most were APC (the opposition party) supporters, but as they calmed down they realized that ripping the car to shreds wouldn't accomplish much. The situation de-escalated. They thought we were saving their elections, and I guess we did calm down the crowd. But we didn't really do all that much besides evaluate the situation, identify and investigate the root cause, and announce our findings– something they certainly didn't need us Westerners to fly thousands of miles to their country to do for them. They could have easily done the same thing, but instead they were ready to turn to violence. Why?

Violence Continues...

"Election clashes in Sierra Leone"
There will be a "peace rally" tomorrow, so the leaders are hoping that will defuse the situation...but I'm not so sure it will have much effect. Either way, I'm not too worried until after the results from the run-off come out...and even then, the daily struggle of life will continue.

Tension...

It appears that things aren't going as smoothly as we all had hoped...

BBC: Emergency threat in Sierra Leone

It's difficult to say what the situation on the ground actually is, especially with the SLPP currently losing the elections and the TV station the BBC quotes being state run (ie pro-SLPP). The article fails to mention that the smaller of the two opposition parties, the PMDC, is a break away faction of the SLPP. Since the PMDC is only a year or so old, the deeply tribal & traditional voting patterns may re-emerge as the PMDC regulars return to the SLPP, despite Margai, head of the PMDC, pledging his support for the APC. We'll see how the situation develops.

through their eyes

I promise to upload my entries from the last few days of the trip (including elections) in the next few days...sorry it has taken so long!

Below is an email I wrote to a few friends... If anyone would like to be involved, let me know! (pauledixon@gmail.com).
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As most of you know, I've been in Sierra Leone the last few months teaching photography and literacy at a youth center. Although I spent the vast majority of my time showing students how to hold a camera or write English, occasionally one of my students would share an experience or thought that our world needs to hear.

Out of a desire to share those moments, I am hoping to create a website and book of their work. Additionally, I'll be holding an exhibition here at Sewanee (my university). I would love to devote the next few months to this project, but I don't have the talent - or the time - to do it all. As many of you are far more creative than I could ever hope to be, I would greatly appreciate any assistance you could offer. Below I've outlined what we're hoping to accomplish, but please do not feel that this list is exhaustive - if you have any ideas or suggestions, send it my way ( pauledixon@gmail.com ) and we'll incorporate it into the project.

Since very few people outside of Sierra Leone have seen the images and writings we'll be working with, here is a photograph and a few words by Sahr, one of my more talented students:

From Project

Thanks!
-Paul

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The Material

-Student photographs and writing. This was my project; I had the kids write and take pictures about themselves, family and community. I have all their writing and pictures...some are incredible, most are so-so but still impressive given their "war-affected youth" backgrounds. The writing really gives meaning to the pictures. This could easily be made into book and online format. I've attached a sample that I quickly put together in photoshop

-Short stories on peace and conflict collected by Amanda Blount in 2006. We'll scan these in, as Amanda wants to try to see if we can get the kids handwriting.

-National Identity project - short poems by the students on their perceptions of Sierra Leone, with photographs of the author and video clips of the students reading their poems. Sara did this with the kids; I'm not sure of the best way to present this. The book could have the poems and their portraits; the online version could do some cool stuff with flash and the text /audio/video...I'm not qualified to do it though.

-My photographs. These focus on democracy & development.

-Anything else you want to add.

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How you can help

(A few of these require geographic proximity to Sewanee, but most can be done from anywhere....)

-Typing up the students' writing from my project...I did most of this already for the exhibition we had in SL, but there's more that needs to happen. (Sewanee area only)

-Editing/proofing the writing...the students' english isn't the best, so the writing needs a bit of editing; at the same time, we want to preserve as much of the students voice as possible. This is a difficult line to walk... (Sewanee area only)

-Selecting students images to use...requires a bit of knowledge of Adobe Lightroom ( or I can show you how...it's not difficult). I've done most of this already with the students...just with 8000+ images from the trip, there's a few sections I haven't gotten around to yet. (Sewanee area only)

-Making website with Photography images and writings...this could be easily done in Lightroom, or could be done in a more customized manner in Dreamweaver or similar.

-Making some sort of flash/website/video with the national identity project...you can take this one pretty much wherever you want; I have the material but haven't started it yet. (this could be integrated into the photography website)

-Scanning and preparing Amanda's stories for publication. (Sewanee area only)

-My pictures are a bit more orient towards macro-scale politics and development - not the personal work of the kids - and I don't have any text for the images...if any history/political sci/development/english/journalism/etc oriented people out there would like to help me research and write accompanying text, that'd be fantastic. The Africa Working Group on Peace and Conflict ( www.africaworkinggroup.org ) has expressed interest in displaying our democracy/development material.

-making book of everything...hopefully within the next month, but at the very latest in time for christmas. We will either use Blurb.com or apple's Aperture books or if you have other ideas, suggestions are more than welcome... Any proceeds from the book (it won't be much, but it's a start) will likely go to an organization ( Me Na Borbor Pain - http://apps.facebook.com/sponsor-me/campaign/66 ) a friend of mine by the name of Tamara has founded to help students in SL with their school fees. This organization is only a few weeks old, so if you have ideas for it, you can certainly become more involved.

-brainstorming creative ways to display these (esp to a wider audience than just the usual "cafe" culture type people that go to art gallery openings) ...right now I'm hoping to do a book, a website, and an exhibition here at Sewanee. I'd like these (especially the website) to be interactive in some way rather than just a mere slideshow. If you have thoughts or other venues you'd like to display the material, let me know!

Home...

Here's a few pictures from the elections:

Sierra Leone Elections

I'll write more about how the last few days went, but as I've been traveling for the past two days, I'm off to sleep... I miss Salone!

Rest day [Friday, August 10]

9:50am: Today seems unusually quiet. It has been raining all morning, and it seems like everyone is staying home. Many of the INGO's have reduced their hours today or even closed. Other than the lack of people on the streets, it seems just like a normal day during rainy season. People are hiding away from the rain, waiting for tomorrow and the excitement it will bring.

Rallies! [Monday-Thursday, August 6-9]

Monday
-went to HU for most of the day and began finishing up my work there.

Tuesday
-HU in the morning, then came to iEARN for a few hours. In the taxi back to town someone gave me a flyer proclaiming “No Election Violence!”
-went out to Kissy with Moses to photograph the MCW community center and then met with Victor from NYAF to discuss a few possible programs for the future. Had to walk through the PMDC rally. Saw Charles Margai, the PMDC candidate. Lots of shouting and screaming.
-ate dinner (well freshly grilled meat and Guinness) with Alfred, the MCW foreman, at a very relaxed restaurant in Kissy.

Wednesday
-APC rallies all day today. APC is the largest party in the Freetown area and had shut down many of the roads; the entire city seemed to be wearing red. Political rallies are about 1% politics and 99% screaming, yelling, drinking, smoking and dancing.
-had to walk back from HU due to the traffic from the rallies.
-Thousands of people, but quite peaceful.
-UNDP is out driving around blaring “no election violence” messages.
-met up with a friend from the States and went out to Aberdeen for dinner, after fighting our way through the APC rallies. First to Alex’s for some fantastic chips (fries in the US), cheese and chilli, and then walked down Lumley beach in search of grilled fish, finding whole grilled snapper for 20000. Harry picked us up and after dropping off my friend up near Signal Hill, we met Adam and a few of his friends at Lagoonda before returning to the YMCA.

Thursday
-went to the National Electoral Commission Press Conference at the British Coucnil…the international media is here in full force. Also saw various democracy “experts” who are here helping with the electoral process and ensuring all goes smoothly. NEC seems quite confident things will go smoothly on Saturday. Hopefully they’re right – these elections are “make or break for our country,” to quote NEC.
-attended the SLPP rally at the National stadium with a few of the boys from iEARN. I would say it’s more of a party than anything political, but it’s fantastic to see so many people (the stadium was packed, for the second day in a row with yesterday the APC filling the area) participating in the democratic process, even if that participation is dancing on top of a lorry swerving down the street and blaring songs for passerbys to dance to….it’s a bit different than the US.

The 3 major political parties have all held their rallies (PMDC/Tues, APC/Wed, SLPP/Thurs) and they were all relatively peaceful celebrations of each party w/o much confrontation between opposing sides. Tomorrow (Friday) is a rest day and I’m not sure exactly what will happen, but the polls will open on Saturday at 7 am. All indications are towards a peaceful polling day, although there are reports of violence and house burnings upcountry. The INGOS are all taking extra precautions and many have closed their offices for the next few days. Most people are more concerned the day results are announced. Both BBC (I think) and allafrica.com have fairly decent coverage of SL if you want to follow along. I’ll try to post a bit more frequently, as NEC has a media center with free internet at the British Council. Unfortunately with my computer out of commission pictures are looking a bit impossible, but I’ll see what I can do.

The Exhibition [Sunday, August 5]

Rachel, Moses and I arranged the photographs and writings on the posters by candlight in wee hours of the morning (12-1 am). Then we went down the street to Krio Windys, a bar that hosts a huge party on at Bathurst Street every night (and keeps us awake at the YMCA). It was hopping, but "Ejectment Notice" (a politically charged song) came on, and the APC people appeared out of nowhere and started going crazy...we went back to the Y. The water was on for the first time in three (four?) days, so I took a candlelit shower before going to bed.

Went to church with Jokella. The priest talked about corruption and the elections in his homily - walked a very fine line of staying non-partisian. Afterwards two "Voter Educators" came and showed everyone how to mark the ballots.

Exhibition went well, although not many non-iEARN people showed up, although all the YMCA crowd was there which was fantastic. It was still really good and the kids were very excited to see their work mounted and hanging on the wall. Andrew, Alpha (one of the students) and I all made a few comments.

Went to Alex's in Aberdeen to celebrate finishing the photo project. It was my first real meal in a few days...so good esp after running with Osman for two hours on Saturday. Although i must admit that, for the price, nothing beats mammas.

A crowd of maybe 100 EU election observers came into Alex's and proceeded to drink the evening away. Oliver, Leigh and I grabbed a few egg rolls from the EU food table...I couldn't resist. I hadn't seen that many white people since leaving London - it was strange. They all were having a good time, but looked so out of place, all dressed up and in general just not seeing the "real" Salone.

And so it goes [Saturday, August 4]

Signs of the elections are everywhere All indications point toward a peaceful polling day, although this is the first true Sierra Leonean election since the war, as the the 2002 elections still had significant UN support, so everything is up in the air.

Sierra Leone hasn't been very nice to anything electronic that I brought...my computer seems to have been reduced to a heap of shiny white plastic. The fans whirl around at high speeds but it doesn't do much else besides make cryptic beaping sounds. I think the regular power surges involved with running on generators fried the internal organs of my iBook...

Such computer trauma will put a damper on this blog. I spent nearly five hours today in the internet cafe, re-typing the captions and writings (my original typed version is trapped inside the iBook) to go along with my students photographs. I left a group in charge of making all the logistics happen, so hopefully all goes well at the exhibition tomorrow. We'll see.

As I can't upload the accompaning photographs, you will have to be satisfied with a few selections of their writings:

3: Love for one another
This area is peaceful and lovely environment so
every one living in this place must be peaceful and must have love for one
another.
But is love actually flowing among Sierra Leoneans?
Well I
don't think Sierra Leoneans really have love for each other because one man in
his own selfish desire will want to grab a hold of everything and leave others
behind to suffer. Does that really show love? I believe no.
If every Sierra
Leonean practices that habit of loving one another as God above loves us all,
and as illustrated by the peaceful conditions in this picture, I believe things
may be better than ever before.
-Sahr

5: Faithful Friends never stop Loving
I try to keep the faith, skip the pain
off by meeting with friends to make fun, playing games and interacting with
young people in the society so that we can share the ideas up to these fine.
Things shall remain the same and these make me feel upset all the time about my
way of life, I feel like I am a loser and am greatly disappointed by my country,
out of all our beaches and preaches made out of poverty strategies still my life
is getting into mess.
-Mamadu

A potpourri of happenings [July 29-August 3)

Preparations for the students exhibition this Sunday August 5 have taken most of my time the last few days, so I haven't been able to post much at all. In an attempt to catch up, here's a flurry of highlights from the last few days:

Sunday, July 29
-had dinner at the Country Lodge, a posh restuarant and hotel overlooking the entire city from Hill Station, with a Professor from GA Tech who is here doing research on the TRC and also observing the elections. In short, the SL TRC had $5 million of funding, while the Special Court's trial of Charles Taylor will cost $200 million.

Monday, July 30
-Tamara left for the UK :(
-went to iEARN and began finalizing the student's work with them
-stopped by Timap for Justice and printed invitations for the exhibtion
-spent way too much money (really just $10, but Le 30,000 seems huge) at Choitrams buying western food - I can't wait to come home!

Tuesday, July 31
-Went to iEARN
-Went shopping with Marian and purchased some cloth; one seller tried to offer me "culture," which is the generic name for any necklace / jewelery items. I told him I already had "boku culture" (too much culture).
-met Arwin and Oliver, two filmmakers funded by CIDA who just arrived to make a film about youth here in SL

Wednesday, August 1
-Ran intervals with Osman. I fell way behind, but this random guy on the street starting yelling at me to go faster and ran along with me for a few meters, shouting. It was great.
-Delivered invitations and press releases for the exhibition with Mamadu to various organizations around the city - the postal service is really just in name only, so anytime you need to send things, it's you have to hand deliver them. Eventually I just gave the remaining press releases to Mamadu and Sahr to take around, as I had to get back to teaching with the other students.
-the exhibition is titled "Salon insai wi yei" or Sierra Leone through our eyes
-went to the "Launching of the Youth Enterprise Development Project." The UNDP and Ministry of Youth & Sport have sponsored a plethora of projects around the country encouraging youth employment and education, and at this event the organizers thanked all the various individuals involved. The vice president was supposed to attend, but he was too busy campaigning.
-bought a Newsweek at Choitrams. In my humble opinion, the international version of Newsweek is so much better than the American version.
-typed my students writings about their pictures. Took almost six hours and I didn't even finish - their handwriting can be a bit challenging to read at times


Thursday, August 2
-after an early morning rain, the sun appeared for the first time in a week. so nice. finally dried my clothes out.
-witnessed a "no election violence" parade organized by a Liberia/Sierra Leone coalition of women. Everyone was dressed in white and peacefully marching down the street - a wonderful change from a summer of political events.
-election observers and international officials are here in full force; there's been UN motorcades flying about the city for the last few days full of men dressed in suits from Europe, the US and Asia - all looking quite out of place in SL.
-Went to iEARN, worked for the morning & afternoon.
-Jess (iEARN intern) has spent the last six weeks translating Shakespeare's Julius Caesar with the students into Krio and they have begun rehearsals. Sometime next week they will be producing the play - I can't wait.
-Went to Charles, the tailor, with Jyoti. I'm getting three shirts made for Le15000 each. I can't wait.
-Osman brought me an entire grocery bag worth of raw groundnuts. I'm not exactly sure what do to with all of them.

Friday, August 3
-ran with Osman. One guy shouted out "white boy go fo jog. I like dat!" It's going to be so boring running back in the USA - no one will shout out or yell or scream. No dogs, taxis, podas, lorries, or people with car batteries on their heads to avoid.
-"dey don lok di taps" - the water taps all over the city have been shut off for the second day in a row. No one knows why, but there's no water. rumblings of politically motivations abound.
-I’ve been trying to find a way to photograph the elections…so after getting approval from Emmanuel, the director at SDI, the NGO where Rachel (from the UK works), I had four passport pictures made and rushed across town to the NEC (national electoral commission)…I’m now an official international election observer working with the “Independent Election Monitoring Group” …. should be interesting.

I apologize for not posting any pictures recently - maybe next week I'll have time...The press release for the photography exhibition is below:

Salon insai wi yei:
An exhibition of photographs and text by the youth of Freetown
iEARN Sierra Leone, a non-governmental organization based in Freetown which works to directly rehabilitate Sierra Leonean youths through education in “creative writing, music, drama, computer skills and literacy, filmmaking, and fine arts” has been working this year to enable the youth of Sierra Leone for creative self-expression by establishing an educational program focusing on photography and literacy. This program was developed by several university students and professors of The University of the South in the United States in cooperation with iEARN Sierra Leone, National iEARN director Andrew Benson Greene stated the photography project has enabled youth to enter a previously foreign “creative world of digital media that will ultimately make a real difference throughout their life.”

The program has been based at the iEARN Freetown office and has worked with almost fifty students, ranging in age from 13 to 29, from throughout the surrounding urban areas. Using the physical facilities of iEARN and equipment secured from a variety of private donors in the United Sates, the youth have explored their world through the camera lens. Students have both documented their own lives and turned the camera outwards to their society. During these important times of national transition, the youth have photographically discovered their changing society, beginning at the familial level – where the socioeconomic changes of modernization impact most fundamentally. Then, using their photographs as a foundation, they have discussed their experiences and expectations as they mature into citizens fully participating in the development and governance of Sierra Leone. This discussion has been encouraged by personal reflection and writing stemming from their photographs.

The youth’s work will be displayed from 3-6 PM on Sunday, 5 August 2007 at the West Africa Methodist Collegiate School Hall, Wilkinson Road, Freetown. Representatives from youth and civil society-serving organizations in Freetown, educators, the media, community members and the general public are all invited to view this exhibition entitled “Salon insai wi yei.” The exhibition is free of charge and all are encouraged to attend, even if only for a few minutes.

For more information, please contact iEARN National Director Andrew Benson Greene at 33.531.251, iEARN Photography Co-ordinator Paul Dixon at 33.796.623 or iEARN Photography Student Co-ordinator Mamadu Bah at 30.415.085.

Education [Saturday, July 28]

Never have I witnessed such a fury of bargaining. Mariam was ruthless. She knew what the prices were supposed to be - her aunt sells cloth - and had even tried a few neighboring shops first, testing the prices. The sellers saw our - Jyoti, Dabney, Mags and myself - white skin and the prices jumped - but Mariam shot them right back down, repeating endlessly "de scool peking" - they're school children. We ended up not buying anything, as Mariam couldn't get the prices low enough, so we decided to just come back next week when we could buy more things and bargain harder - many of the things we wanted were sold out today anyways.

I had woken up to the usual pounding on my door, but it started raining as I was lacing up my shoes. Osman doesn't like running in the rain - it's too cold for him and as clothes never actually dry in the rainy season, you avoid getting wet at all costs - so we sat on my bed, talking and waiting for the rains to stop.

After an hour of waiting, I told Osman I needed to get some work done, so he left my room, head heavy with disappointment. He looked so sad...

I wrote out lesson plans for my final two weeks. It's so easy on paper to schedule out the classes, but in practice, it's next to impossible to actually make them happen. I'm hoping to finish up the family and self portrait pictures these next few days, having the students write reflections on their pictures I printed out. We'll use that material for the exhibition, mounting their writings - we'll probably have to type them out to make them legible - and pictures on their own poster. That will probably take us through the rest of this week, hopefully finishing up by Friday. I was hoping to go upcountry to Port Loko for a few days next week to visit the Red Cross rehabilitation center, but it doesn't look like that will happen as it will take too long for my students to prepare everything for the exhibition on August 5. If all goes well (by Sierra Leonean standards), a few of the students will do the "dream" section of my lesson plan, but as all six of the original student cameras I brought have gone missing, it will be rather difficult. However, Mags brought two more with her from London, so maybe we'll be able to pull it off.

The rain continued all day, although most of the students showed up anyways at iEARN, although not all the staff made it in. I handed out the students pictures - I've never seen some of those kids so happy. We did some writing about the photographs, but most of them wanted to take them home to finish, so I let them do so - I had asked them to write quite a bit. A few trickled in a little later, so I had to teach the class a second time. While I'm teaching photography, I've probably done more work with them on writing than on photography. Most of them have excellent oral english, but written - it's a bit rough at times. I'll put a list of prompts on the board - describe your picture, what do the details reveal, what is outside the picture that is important, your feelings -and ask them to write for twenty minutes about the picture. I'm just looking for page of free writing, but I usually get very formal responses that treat the prompts as questions which must be answered. Creative expression is simply not valued in the educational system here...

Mags, Jyoti and I took a taxi through the rain to Crown Bakery to exchange money. Usually I just give Mohamed a $100 bill (larger denominations get better rates) to exchange, but as I needed to pay for July and August at the YMCA, I had to exchange quite a bit. You can exchange money on the street, but only the Lebanese-owned stores will give you the actual Le 3000 : $1 rate. We couldn't resist the aromas emanating from the ovens, so we all had a cup of tea and a few croissants.

I was bringing my hard plastic shell camera case - it's the size of a small carry-on piece of luggage - back from iEARN, as I had been using it to lock up the cameras, but with no cameras left, there was no need to have it at the center anymore. The taxi driver kept getting upset whenever the case tapped against the window - I guess he thought the window would shatter from the impact. Personally, I wouldn't have minded too much, as a broken window would have provided some much needed ventilation - the taxi drivers turn the heat all the way up on the cars and close the windows when it's raining, so conditions in the interior quickly approach sauna-like temperatures. The Sierra Leoneans shiver, bundled up in winter coats and wool caps, while I sweat to death, wearing a short-sleeved shirt.

After returning from Crown, we went shopping in Victoria Park and PZ with Mariam. Mariam is Moses older sister who has been helping Tamara with her research. After barely surviving the war, Mariam was able to scavenge enough money from working and from relatives to bribe the scholarship officials at Jallah - the second largest university in SL. While that sounds incredibly unethical to a Western mindset, that's simply how admissions work here in Salone - and if she hadn't done so, she never would have been able to go to university despite having near-perfect marks (grades) in secondary school. She finished up at Jalloh and is hoping to be able to go abroad to the UK for graduate study, as the British Council has a few scholarships for such study...although even such foreign scholarships are not immune to corruption. One of the three British scholarships this year went to theson of one of the government ministers, who certainly doesn't need it - ministers are some of the wealthiest people in the country, driving around the city in motorcades of brand new luxury SUV's.

I bought a few yards of cloth - it's about Le 3000 for one yard. I stopped by Mohamed's egg stall - he hadn't sold any eggs in the last two days as the rains had been too heavy. I bought a dozen from him and gave them to Mama, who scrambled them up into a fantastical egg and potato dish. So good. It was Tamara's last night at Mama's - she's leaving on Monday - and as going away present for Mama and Mariama she had made them CD of her native Australian music...Men at Work's "Land Down Under" was a fantastical escape from 8 weeks of Sierra Leonean hip-hop.

To celebrate Tamara's last night, we all went out to Lagoonda, which Lonely Planet describes as a "slick disco." I'll have an entire post about it, as Lagoonda simply cannot mesh with the Sierra Leone I know, but you'll have to wait until I have more time to write about it.

I apologize for falling behind in my posts, life has been rather hectic the last few days, preparing for the exhibition this weekend and elections the next…will catch up eventually.

Planning [Friday, July 27]

After waiting for the morning rains to calm, I ventured over to iEARN in the hope of finding activity and students - unfortunately, there were a few students, but no director, as Andrew was apparently at a meeting somewhere. I was supposed to finalize with Andrew the plans for the exhibition in the morning, but as he hadn't arrived, I went to town with Mamadu Bah to buy posters for the students to mount their photographs and text. Mamadu is a stellar photographer and an amazing person; he's one of my students but has taken quite the leadership role in planning the exhibition - it's been wonderful having someone who actually does what they say they will, especially in a city that loves to talk without ever actually doing anything.

It was pouring down rain, which complicated buying paper a bit, as many of the shops were semi-closed. Eventually, we bought the posters and some paper; we returned to iEARN, but I wasn't able to finalize the exhibition plans as Andrew was still at the meeting.

Yesterday, Mamadu had met with the principal of West African Methodist Collegiate, his former secondary school. (He's completed the US equivalent of 11th grade, but his family can't afford the $50 required for him to finish his last year of secondary school.) Mamadu sweet-talked (although I'm sure me not being there helped as well - when people see me in person, most immediately assume that I can pay any amount they demand) the principal into giving us the hall for Le 100,000, but needed to orally confirm the reservation before the workday was over, so I told Mamadu to reserve it and I'd handle getting official approval (and hopefully funding) from Andrew later.

I returned to the YMCA. Once the electricity came on at 7, I finished printing the youth's photographs using a small 4x6 Kodak photo printer that I brought along with me. I talked to Beth for a bit - Beth has been staying at the YMCA, and was supposed to leave tonight, but BA decided to cancel her flight for no reason. Originally from Texas, Beth is currently in New York working in social justice for the Methodist church. After Mama's excellent dinner, I fell asleep to the sounds of the rainy season, finally here in full force - it's been raining for the past three days.

The Mosque [Thursday, July 26]

I stared down at my pale feet, alone in a sea of freshly scrubbed black feet lined up along stripes of black on the navy blue carpet. The rows of feet were only interrupted by plastic bags separating our sandals from the sacred floor.

Some men wore traditional African attire complete with the usual hat; others bright plastic colored Nike sweat-suits and American football jerseys stamped with "50 CENT" in ragged lettering.

Outward appearance didn't seem to matter. For the first time in two months there were no people staring, no shouts of "white boy," no hushed whispers, no indication that I was different in any way. No one reached for my pocket or held out their hand, waiting for a few coins. There was more important matters at hand.

They ran their fingers down their prayer beads, eyes fixed upwards, gazing through the fluorescent lights purple with age flickering on the white pillars and illuminating a thick blue stripe that encircled the walls.

The loudspeaker crackled a few arabic words. The men cried out a chant in response and immediately hundreds of bodies fell to the floor, their lips quivering with prayer millimeters from the dark carpet. I clumsily imitated Osman as he stood, bowed and prostrated himself.

Earlier in the day, I went with Tamara, Mags (both iEARN interns) and Mariam (Moses's older sister) to a morning conference on women's rights at TEDEWOSIL, (I have no idea what the acronym stands for) but their motto is "Thorough Empowerment and Development for Women and Girls in Sierra Leone." It's run by an incredibly charismatic lady who works to provide job training for impoverished girls. I'm not exactly sure what the conference was about as most of the speeches were in Krio, but, like most events in Sierra Leone, it began with a prayer that was followed by a plethora of speakers rambling on in a mixture of Krio, English, and development-speak. I wasn't really paying attention, trying to convince my camera work properly when the man presiding at the conference (on woman's rights!) said "woman are such tolerant animals." The three of us westerners exchanged shocked glances - this was a conference on woman's rights, after all, but we seem to be alone in considering his statement to be a bit demeaning.

After the conference, I went to iEARN and continued planning the exhibition with a few of the students. We went to one the schools to ask if we could use their hall, but the principal demanded Le 350,000, claiming that's the price set by the school board. I tried to explain that we weren't doing this to make money, but he didn't seem to understand the concept. Despite several of my students coming from that school, I was only able to bargain him down to 250,000. (Everything is negotiable is Freetown, even strict prices supposedly set by school boards.) Still, there's no way we could afford that, as I will probably be paying for the exhibition out of my own pocket... We returned to iEARN, where I asked Andrew to go talk to the ministry about possibly funding the exhibition while Mamadu went to go talk the principal at his own school, WAM Collegiate, about using their hall for the exhibition.

That evening, I had met Osman, my running partner, at his house in Eastern Freetown by the clocktower. He lives with one of his father's friends who owns a three story building that is still under construction, but when a city is as overcrowded as Freetown, that is only a minor annoyance.

Osman asked me what I wanted to drink - Sprite, Fanta, Coke, or Vimto. I attempted to refuse, knowing those 300 mL of chilled refreshment would cost more than Osman could afford. It was futile. Osman vanished, leaving me sitting on a second story balcony in the usual white plastic chair. I stared out at a battle between a line of parked podas, a line of podas creeping down the road, and the masses of people meandering, all squeezed onto a tiny one way street constrained by open sewers on either side.

One of his cousins and her friend sat opposite me on the balcony, engaged in a popular board game. They ignored me. Osman returned with a single frigid Sprite perspiring in the evening air. Two other cousins - both named Mariatu - swarmed around the two of us, talking excitedly, their Krio heavily intoned with the Barrie's family native Fullah language. The elder Mariatu was sent for a bottle opener, and returned with a rusting piece of metal inscribed with "STAR" - the local beer. We moved inside to a tattered couch. A poster of Mecca hung above us. I drank the last of the Sprite. The others kept chattering above the din of the streets just outside. Two teenage boys walked through the room, lugging a generator and a precious gallon of fuel. Although generators are usually too expensive for a single family, it seems that just about everyone shares one with a neighbor, lighting up the city in the twilight hours.

We walked through the streets over to the mosque. We did not go in, but instead around to the side, where Osman showed me how wash my face, arms and feet at a long concrete bench and sink, although the water was don don for the day so we had to buy two plastic bags of water for a few block (one block is Le 100). We slipped our sandals back on for the short walk over to the entrance. I put my sandals in a plastic bag and walked up the step into the mosque.

After about twenty minutes of prayer, Osman and I dodged our way through the streets still pulsating in the early hours of the night until we reached a friend's store.

Mohamed Bah manages a typical small shop. The interior is only big enough for a wooden bench and a small chair; tonight Mohamed was helping two younger Muslim men interpret the Koran. The two students pondered the Arabic letters, sometimes pausing to ask Mohamed for clarification. His face lit by candle, Mohamed quietly told me about the "beauty of Islam;" those who grow up Muslim "don't care about the faith, but converts in the West - they can research on the computer and know everything about the Koran and Islam. They're good Muslims."

My phone rang, providing an excuse to leave the cramped shop and return to the relative luxury of the YMCA. Osman insisted on walking me through the crowded streets of PZ before leaving me alone to walk the last half mile to the YMCA on the dark streets near the statehouse and Ministry of Defense. Darkness pervaded the city streets, nearly deserted except for dogs milling about, lapping water from puddles and barking at invisible opponents.

Visiting a friend [Wednesday, July 25]

After enjoying a mango for breakfast, I braved the rains and ran a few errands. Things go slowly here, so things that should only take a few minutes stretch into hours. I didn't manage to get to iEARN until the late afternoon, but had a very productive meeting with four of my students on planning their photography exhibition - it's going to be a challenging two weeks as we organize an exhibition on a shoestring budget...

Dabney, Sahr (a Liberian refugee & student at iEARN), and myself took a poda over to Lumley to visit Harry for dinner. He rents a small room from a family who lives up on a hill above Lumley junction and had his landlady make us cassava and chicken. We had bought fuel for his generator, so we were able to watch Sierra Leonean music videos while we waited for the rains to stop.

We eventually made our way back to town and I worked on printing the student's pictures for a bit. I hadn't been feeling too great during the day, so I flipped through Adam's "Where there is no Doctor" book and came to stare at a list of malaria symptoms which seemed to include every possible problem and eventually just decided I could just ignore the queasiness for the time being - thankfully, I felt better a few hours later.

Rain... [Tuesday, July 24]

I woke up to my alarm at six thirty, but the rains had commenced, so I went back to sleep to the soothing sound of the rain pounding against the zinc roofs outside my window. Life pretty much halts in Freetown when it starts to rain, and if one doesn't absolutely have to go somewhere, one simply stays at home, so I played Sierra Leonean and sat at the YMCA, writing and trying to figure out how to best spend the three weeks I have left in Sierra Leone.

I arrived at iEARN around noon and continued reviewing pictures with my students for a few hours, although the center was rather inactive with the rain I then met Rachel at the supermarket to buy food for dinner - Adam had purchased a kerosene stove and accompanying cookware. We decided to make curry and couscous, but we had problems finding a package of curry spice that had directions on the back - there's no "5 minute meal" on these curry packages. We finally discovered a package that had a recipe which involved chickpeas and a few other items. We stopped by the market to buy some fruit and vegetables - I just wanted to buy one mango, but the woman would only sell me six. Anyways, about ten of us enjoyed the curry which was incredibly spicy but still tasty. Moses and I made fried plantains, which, although not quite like Mama's, were delicious.

Corruption? [Monday, July 23]

I followed the security guard down dimly hall, past closed doors, past mounds of moldy mail in United States Post Office plastic boxes, past empty bowls full of fish bones, past unlabeled hallways. The guard halted and pointed to an open doorway where rays of light poured out into the dusty corridor. My eyes adjusted to the sunlit room as a man behind a desk slowly scrapped the last of his bowl of rice and fish sauce. Boxes were piled around, most smashed and crumpled. Many were destined for a certain Alex in Zimbabwe, but it looked like they had been piled up here for quite some time and would likely remain here for all eternity. Nothing in the room hinted at the 21st century - the room looked as if it hadn't changed since the British left the country nearly fifty years ago.

Food fell out of the man's mouth as he motioned for me to sit down. I handed him my delivery slip. He slowly read it, then asked for ID. I handed him my driver's license, which he painstakingly copied down onto the back of the delivery slip. Then he stood up and disappeared into a locked room across the hallway. A few minutes he returned with a rather crumpled, but wonderfully familiar, blue and white USPS box. He sat down and motioned for me to do likewise, saying we would have to wait for the customs official to come and inspect the box. A second man came by and handed me a few envelopes addressed to various individuals at iEARN, saying he was a friend of Andrew, iEARN's director. This friend then brought me and the package over to a desk in the corner, where a man - clearly in charge of the room - sat on a chair behind a desk heaped high with papers and scales.

They talked for a bit in Krio; the boss turned to me and said "I'd like to help you." He paused, as if waiting for me to do something, before continuing, "the customs officer will have to inspect the package, but..."

I could take my chances with customs - but what if the customs official demanded the goodies sure to be inside?

I asked him "How much?" to which he replied "What are you going to give me?"

"Ten?"

The boss and the friend laughed. "Twenty!"

With no desire to spend the morning haggling over a suitable amount, I pulled out a stack of bills and counted out four 5000 notes and handed them to the boss. The friend waited expectantly. I handed him a single 5000.

Satisfied, the boss motioned towards my still unopened package on the desk and flicked his wrist towards the door. I walked out, back into the dim maze of dusty corridors.

- - - - - - -


I went with Osman for an early morning jaunt around town before heading over to to Crown Bakery, where I enjoyed sugar and lime covered pancakes with Amanda and Adam - it was Amanda's going-away breakfast, as she would be flying home to America later this evening. On the way back from Crown Bakery, I stopped by the (only) post office to pick up a package my mom had sent six weeks ago.

After an interesting thirty minutes at the post office, I went back to the YMCA for a bit. Dabney and I then walked over to iEARN with Sahr, one of our students who is a Liberian refugee who is stuck in legal limbo here in Sierra Leone - he has no documentation that he exists, so he can't leave. He's hoping to apply to university in the United States, but first has to obtain some proof of his existence.

I spent an uneventful afternoon at the YMCA before returning to the YMCA. Yet another intern arrived this weekend - Mags, from the UK, will hopefully be working with me on the photography project, but she might do some HR and non-profit management work with the staff at iEARN as well.

We returned to the YMCA and watched a beautiful sunset from the balcony before eating dinner at Kiemans. After dinner I walked into my room to find glass covering the floor, as the the light-bulb had exploded and sent glass pieces raining down on my belongings...thankfully, Mohamed came and soon had everything perfectly clean again.

Cooking Lessons! [Sunday, July 22]

“I give you nice price…say 40 thousand."
"No no. 20!"
"35!"
"I'll give you 25 and no more..."

And so goes shopping in a country where everything is negotiable. Amanda and I were at the the Lumley Beach Market on a Sunday afternoon, purchasing a few touristy items to take back home with us. We had gone to Royal Hall in Aberdeen for a late brunch and after contemplating a few bush animals that roamed the grounds specificallly for the viewing pleasure of foreigners like ourselves, we walked down the beach to the market. After enough screaming and shouting at the market, we went to "Harri's Beach Bar" and chilled under a thatch umbrella, watching a seemingly countless number of football games that stopped only when an errant ball had to be retrieved from the ocean.

The owner of Kieman's, who we simply call Mama, had promised to show us how to cook Groundnut Stew, so Rachel, Amanda and myself went to Kiemans, where Mama had set up three chairs for us in the kitchen and taught us how to make her scrumptious groundnut stew - it was just like the Food Network!

As it was Amanda's last day, Patricia, one of the Miracle Corners SL board members, invited Amanda and Harry to come over to her house for dinner.

As I stepped out of her immaculate Mercedes-Benz SUV that she had picked us up in, I was so amazed by her beautiful house that I failed to notice my backpack was unzipped. My cameras toppled out and landed with a sickening thud on the concrete. Thankfully, my (well actually it's on loan from my father...) 35 mm film camera is nearly indestructible and was only scratched...but my brand new digital SLR didn't fair so well and, despite the exterior plastic not even showing any signs of damage, the lens mount broke in half. Thankfully, it it still functions as long as you hold the lens just right and don't move it too much....after returning home I managed to duck tape it all back together.

Patricia spent about thirty years working the US and has dual US-SL citizenship, but after the war ended she returned to Freetown where she now owns KTI travel. She had an interesting perspective on Sierra Leone as one of the few members of the African diaspora who manage to return to their home country. She's dedicated her time here in SL to promoting tourism - it's only a matter of time before Sierra Leone's beaches are once again filled with tourists from Europe. We had a fantastic dinner on her balcony overlooking Freetown as some "sentimental" music (what Sierra Leoneans call Celion Dion and the like) played in the background.

It was a wonderful break from the hustle and bustle of town...unfortunately, all things come to an end and we soon found ourselves in a taxi with a crazy man from Ghana who claimed to have spent "much time" in New York City, but when we asked him what part of NY, he said Boston. He was continually insulting the US and Sierra Leone - he insisted that Ghana was better becuase it has 42 embassies around the world while Sierra Leone only has 14...anyways, the Sierra Leonean taxi driver and the two of us were quite relieved when he finally got out of the car.