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.