Jay in Sierra Leone

Great Day

2008-08-15T10:08:00.004-04:00

I wish I were a morning person, because I would do what I did on Thursday, every day. I got on my bike before sunrise, to see what I could see. I wanted to take some photos of the city waking up, with sun shining on the incredible Freetown buildings and houses.

Jared and I had planned this a couple times before, but rain spoiled the chance. This a.m. was not perfect – overcast – but nonetheless fun.

It was quite the day. By the time 1p.m. came: I had been to a local café twice for coffee (wasn’t open the first time); pulled over by the police twice, the second time my keys and DL were taken from me… but I managed to take charge of the scene and drive away after 20 mins of serious smoothing over, but I was late for my second coffee attempt; helped design a press release and report writing workshop; I went to a private prep school to investigate enrollment ideas and the bank to set up auto payments for a venture (stay tuned). All in all, quite the day. At sunset, the icing was placed on the cake when we went to the grand opening of the new Basha Bakery – our favourite hangout got a major facelift. The owners recognized us as valued customers and friends with a nice tour and free shawarmas! Opa! (Photo: Football match near our house)

And then the cherry on top of the day. Laura and I met with Auntie F.A. (the leader of the neighbour’s clan). She was overjoyed when we told her we wanted to help put Nasio through school. A group hug took place in the middle of the street. This was the last piece of the puzzle for starting our venture (more to come).

Here and there and everywhere: We haven’t had running water since June 25th! The whole neighbourhood is dry. We’re not too sure what the deal is. We hire guys to deliver water… check out Joseph carrying the huge jug. No joke. That is full of water. It’s unreal how strong he is for a little dude.

Living Large on a Large Piece of Land, if You’ve Got the Time

2008-08-11T08:23:00.006-04:00

I lied on my last post. I said that if I could lobby the government for two things it would be roundabouts and getting rid of change – as in pennies. I need to add a third. It’s about vacation. (I can’t believe this is part of my Sierra Leone blog! You should feel cheated)

Canadians have a good reputation abroad as being nice, like vanilla ice cream, and progressive, like vanilla ice cream with nuts. Sierra Leoneans seem to like us, but it is rumoured in my house that when this one Sierra Leonean saw one of our compatriots on the street (without ever having met him) he said “not another Canadian!” That’s so funny! As if a Sierra Leonean can peg a Canadian on the street! What does a Canadian look like?

There happen to be quite a few Canadians here. Locals sporting Tie Domi jerseys must be getting sick of being told “he’s awesome!”, or “you should burn that shirt!”. It must be confusing. (Photo: Congo Cross roundabout, getting a face lift)

Back to the vacation thing. When talking to expats from all over the world and Sierra Leoneans, I feel proud to be Canadian. People seem to respect Canada and even in frank and sometimes-heated conversations about politics, environment, human rights, government…, Canada gets good grades. Although I often have to point out that it’s a lot of smoke and mirrors – we are among the worst violators of the environment for example… living large on a large piece of land. The secret would be out if anybody really read anything about us.

Regardless, we are seen as progressive. But one place where I think we are still in the Stone Age is on the work-life balance issue. We’ve adopted the America live to work attitude, and I see that reflected in the attitudes of Sierra Leoneans who have been influenced by us.

Friends from other corners of the world are always shocked to hear that Canadians are - by law - entitled to only 10 days of vacation. This is against the law in most developed countries. The UK, Netherlands, Denmark, Aussie, NZ and many of our other friends have much more time away from work than we do. Maybe it’s no secret that they enjoy a healthier work-life balance. Canada has followed our amigos to the south when it comes to work-life balance. Maybe developing countries are taking this standard because it’s easier to gage performance on dollars, not good sense. “Look at the American machine. Let’s copy that!”

We should recognize our unique need for more time away from work. We are a huge country. I don’t think I know anyone who doesn’t have someone important – hi Mom – to see who lives a 401 length away. Do you know what it takes to get to Moosonee from Ottawa? How about Kingston to Sault Ste Marie. Ya. Punch that into Expedia.ca. You should first call expedia to ensure they have enough computer memory for the operation.

More evident is the madness and stress brought on by trying to take advantage of the short summer and escape some of the winter. It’s a game of chance. Should I take my vacation for a February escape and watch through my office window while others dance in the summer sunshine? Or should I take coma pills to get me through the winter and pray that it doesn’t rain on the week I took off in the summer? I am certain we have a culture case of “summer madness”. We have a short summer. You can probably count on your hands the number of days off you have. When it’s nice, you MUST take advantage or you’ll regret it come November. On a nice summer Saturday morning, Canadians scramble as if Godzilla is coming or it’s the last day on earth. …Dad putting the canoe on the top of the car. Mom filling the cooler. Kids crying. And a stop a Canadian Tire to buy a life jacket because you couldn’t find the one in storage. Most likely the kids used the life jacket as a goalie for street hockey, and now it’s packed away in the winter storage. But don’t worry; no one else is at Canadian Tire buying a life jacket on July 3rd. (Photo: Me and Ernie in the canoe without life jackets, approximately a half kilometer from the family and 890 klms from my office)

And I don’t buy this bull about “lost-man hours”. The economy would compensate and we’d be better off. I think it’s more about greed and consumption. Do we really need stores to be open on Sunday? But I do think Shopper Drug Mart should be open 24/7, 390 days a year because they now sell limited edition Harry Potter collectable magic cards – get back to work Dave!

It seems bizarre that I’m “complaining” about not having enough vacation time while I’m amongst a populous that needs more work just to get by, but I guess I see the trend. If you don’t develop a system that respects people’s time away from work from the beginning, it will be difficult to change the culture in the future.

I would lobby to double the vacation table across the board. If you know Ken Lewenza please forward this post to him. Thanks.

Here are some figures to ask your employer or Ken about.

Minimum vacation time around the world > legally required (most recent) by country. (Source NationMaster.com)

Which one doesn’t look like the other?

LOT A
Australia Not required, but 28 days is standard.
Austria 35 days, for elderly employees 42 days
Belgium 20 days, premium pay
Czech Republic 4 weeks
Denmark 6 weeks, of which 5 days can be "sold" back to the employer
Finland 35 days
France 5 weeks + 2 weeks of RTT (Reduction of Working Time) = 7 weeks.
Germany 4 weeks plus 9 to 13 bank holidays
Ireland 20 days, plus 9 public holidays
Italy 20-30 days plus 12 public holidays
Netherlands 4 weeks
New Zealand 4 weeks as of April 1, 2007
Norway 25 working days
Poland 20 business days
South Africa 21 consecutive days
Spain 30 calendar days
Sweden 25-32 working days, depending on age
Switzerland 28 days
United Kingdom 20 calendar days, plus 8 bank holidays

LOT B
United States Not required, but 7-21 days is standard for most employers. Typically, 10 working days with 8 national holidays.
Vietnam 10 working days.
China Not required
Hong Kong 7 days
Taiwan 7 days
Turkey 12 work days
Singapore 7 days
Korea, South 10 working days
Mexico 7 days
Canada 10 working days, determined by provincial law

The Roundabout and the Penny. Two Round Things.

2008-08-08T09:37:00.005-04:00

I have yet to see a functioning traffic light in Freetown, although traffic cops work major intersections during rush our. To the disapproval of many, I ride a motorbike through Freetown every day. But as I suspected, it is not as hard as it seems. (Photo: Road crossing downtown Freetown)

Sierra Leoneans drive their cars through intersections like they move on the dance floor – very close together, fluid and constantly moving with eyes scoping all the nearby players. By contrast most Canadians are as dangerous on the dance floor as they are on the road. The dancing is probably a gene thing, but our overdose on regulation and signage can be partly to blame for our driving habits which make our roads much more dangerous. I feel safer driving my bike in Salone than I do in Ottawa. No doubt speed is a factor. But in Freetown there are no marked lanes, few stop signs. Drivers must be cognizant of everything around them. Back home, drivers pay more attention to the plethora of signs than the people and other moving parts around them.

I’m watching Long Way Around about two guys who traveled around the world on their motorbikes (I’ve already referenced the show in a previous post). North America was the tail end of their trip. They had been accident free until they got to Calgary. Two days in Alberta and they were hit twice by Canadian drivers!!!! Interesting. (Photo: Round-about exit)

And the roundabouts. The beautifully functional traffic movers. I cannot help but smile while being shuffled into traffic by these wondrous wheels in the road. How did it escape the Canadian plan? I guess traffic lights save space. And we don’t have much space in Canada.

If I could lobby the government for 2 things, it wouldn’t be better health care or lowering taxes, it would be a) give us the roundabout, and b) stop with this childishness of adding tax on top of the merchant’s price so that “everyone can see how much tax is on each purchase”, as if tax is evil. This will stop the nonsensical psychological game of the $0.99, and more importantly rid us of the penny. And if you go that far, please dispose of the nickel and the dime too. Does anything cost less than a quarter these days? (Photo: Cyclists race Saturday morning on Wilkinson Rd.)

Really, who does this stuff? The States and its buddy Canada. If we want to fool everyone into thinking we’re not part of the States, we can do some minor remodeling with drastic results. Hello roundabout, good-bye change. That would be a fun makeover.

A roundabout is a type of road junction at which traffic enters a one-way stream around a central island. In the United States it is technically called a modern roundabout, to emphasize the distinction from the older, larger type of traffic circle.

Overall, roundabouts are statistically safer than both traffic circles and traditional intersections,^[1] with the exception that cyclists have a significantly increased crash rate at large roundabouts. Roundabouts do not cope as well with the traffic on motorways, highways, or similar fast roads.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Fear Monger

2008-08-01T06:27:00.004-04:00

I remember my first few days in Freetown. When in public: I had my money in my underwear; wouldn’t dare take my camera with me or pull out my cell phone; had a death grip on my backpack; watched for any sketchy potential thieves; all the while ensuring I was in an advantageous position to run for my life! Although my organization reinforced Salone’s good level of safety, they still gave us survival training and warned about theft and other potential dangers. There were also stories to harvest paranoia.

Now I’m walking around town like it’s my backyard. I’m so lackadaisical that people don’t have to steal things from me; I just give it to them. I left a bag of groceries in a taxi the other day. And the day before I left my motorbike on the outside of the compound, unlocked for hours. AND with the key in the ignition! (Photo: Beware! My hired bike guards. Killer (bottom) and the unnamed kitty.)

Security is relative. And he’s a relative of mine. I’ve worked in the industry for years and have extensive enforcement training and experience with outlaws. I also know how fear mongering works - I watch CNN when there’s nothing else on. People are scared of the unknown. For many on our side of the world, Africa is unknown.

To reassure some of my friends and family before I left for the unknown, I recommended they lookup the official Canadian travel advisories for Sierra Leone, Italy and Costa Rica. Check it out. You may be surprised. Italy reads like a gangster police file and Costa Rica’s profile may make you think twice about going there to catch some waves. When actor Ewan McGregor planned his trip around the world on a motorbike, his army of advisors charted the U.S.A. as the most dangerous part of the journey. Not the Road of Bones in Russia. Not mafia infested Kazakhstan. The U.S.A. And, by the way, what happened on that Greyhound bus in Manitoba? (Photo: Snap time on the football pitch)

I’m not saying that Freetown is Disney Land. But one must put things into perspective. It is not anarchy. Nonetheless one is subject to similar dynamics as in most cities such as theft. Many people I know have been pick-pocketed (a la Rome style). But I would go as far as saying that Freetown is exceptionally safe. Things that are commonplace in other towns I’ve lived in - bar fights (The Canadian in the Soo), random street fights with weapons (how about downtown Windsor?), arguing with police (too many to count) – are rare here. I’ve walked alone at 2 am in Freetown, many times. No problems. I’ve driven my bike around the peninsula. Nothing. (Except a couple young boys put up a roadblock demanding money. They had war paint on their faces. The small one was holding a spear. It was so cute!) (Photo: My buddies pose after a hard fought game of football when we spent most of the time wiping dog or goat poop off of Ibrahim's sandals)

The other night I was locked out of my house, forced to roam the streets of Freetown; shouting at my friend’s house from the road “Kev-on Nea-lon! Let me in!” Even though I tried to look cool, any would-be attacker could have identified be as easy prey. But I do wonder how long this will last. I don’t know what Sierra Leone was like before the war, but there has to be a boiling point, when the gap between the rich and the poor keeps expanding. The more developed, the more evident the gap? The more trouble?

Culture Shock?

2008-07-28T06:16:00.004-04:00

Well I’m back in Freetown. It’s rainy season, but people are saying that it has been raining less than usual. The air is fresh. It’s much easier to sleep at night.

I’m looking forward to having some time to consolidate my experiences here. My time back home didn’t provide for that. And I wasn’t taken aback by culture shock, or reverse culture shock. Something most-everyone said will happen. Does this mean I don’t have a pulse?

One huge difference between Canada and Sierra Leone is the waste factor. I swear Salone operates on no-less-than 150% capacity. If Salone were a hockey player, coaches would be proud. Although it would be a stretch to say that this efficiency is conscientious conservatism, it does, nonetheless, offer ideas for western consumption and more importantly provide some insight on the Salone culture. (Photo: Staff from my organisation hangout by the roadside)

Sierra Leoneans have a rich social life because their habits put people together. In the west single-serving habits create convenience, large amounts of waste and they also separate people. Freetown taxis run general routes and pick up extra passengers when a seat becomes available. I enjoy the customary procedure of greeting each passenger and joining the conversations. Some of my best memories so far have taken place in a Poda Poda or taxi. I am still taken aback when Salone strangers talk to me as if we are great friends. In the waiting room at the Driver License Office, strangers breakout into dynamic conversations - laughing, complaining, exchanging gossip and cell numbers. Remember, Freetown ain’t no village. It’s a big city. I’m wondering if they even have the word “stranger” in Krio.

Conversely, westerners try desperately not to make eye contact in public places. When I moved from smaller cities, the Sault and Windsor, to Toronto, I thought I was in the Twilight Zone every time I rode public transport. Never before had I been in a location with so many people with so little noise. No interaction between people. It took a couple of months to get used to. (Photo: Ibrahim models my cap)

Wednesday night in Freetown. I could not believe the amount of people on Aberdeen Road. People were everywhere. They aren’t just going from the apartment to Shoppers Drug Mart and back. It looks like a street party. But it’s Wednesday night? I looked at my watch to see if it’d tell me that it’s a special holiday or something. That was stupid. As if the watch is going to tell me that! And I don’t even have a watch! Maybe this is culture shock. I had already reverted back to western thinking - surely this was an organized party. Nope. It was just a beautiful, clear-skied Wednesday evening in Freetown.

Oddly enough, even for a white man, Freetown befriends you much quicker than it’s Canadian counterparts.

Pink Barbie Carry On

2008-07-06T00:11:00.001-04:00

I’m headed back home for a summer-time visit. Really excited to see family and friends. But right now I’m at Heathrow, in a typical long distance traveling state – slightly delusional on a mixture of sleep deprivation and cappuccino.

Any attempt of Zen accumulation is being destroyed by the traffic rubbing up against my seat – at a choke point. There are few seats left at the massive zone one lounge. I’ve noticed that Heathrow is declaring Kuala a lump of poo. (the gate board isn’t big enough to accommodate the city’s full name, so it’s Kuala Lumpu).

I like airports. People watching is fun. How do people become so different? So many people, adults and children, are running over toes with their large wheeled carry-ons as they race through the maze of people, making sure not to make eye contact. Then there’s this little girl who carefully navigates her pink Barbie bag past everyone’s limbs as she follows her dad who’s equally as cognizant of the other humans. This family may have missed their flight, but everyone smiled as they passed.

I’ve also noticed throughout my life that women (thanks mom) possess these special powers of humanity unlike any other animal we can talk to (although males may experience communication failure). This is why people in Sierra Leone are working hard to build the capacity of women to take on key decision-making roles in the government. These were just words I read before I got here. Now I understand.

I’ve heard it many times before “ if women were in charge of the world, it would be a better place”. I heard it, but never really listened (see failure to communicate). Little Barbie bag girl just tipped the logic balance in my brain, and I truly believe it now. There’s no way women would have allowed this to be part of a constitution “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” There would be no war in Iraq and there’s little chance children would go starving.

The Market Lady

2008-06-27T09:35:00.003-04:00

Last week I went to the big market in Freetown. This is where people go for souvenirs and maybe a new door for their house. White people get accosted by merchants trying to sell their wares. After 10 minutes or so the attention drains you. But I’ve done this several times now, and I feel like a pro. I know some of the market people by name and I’ve been here long enough to know what is for sale and the reasonable price. Now I feel like I’m visiting friends.

Although Mohammed has the stuff I want – cool regional tribal masks, and he can explain to me what they all mean -, I try to spend my money on the market women. My organization concentrates great effort to increase the power of marginalized Sierra Leoneans – most specifically women. Economic empowerment is a key element in the battle for gender equality and overall development of the country. And it is so ironic that I see the women doing all the work – working at the food markets; carrying stacks of wood, coal or water; cooking; cleaning; doing the laundry, all with a baby wrapped to her back.

Last time I was here I purchased some stuff from this lady (pictured), and I promised to come back to buy from her and her lady friend. They don’t have the selection to match their male counterparts. Looks to me like most of their merchandise was found or self-made, which is really cool. Although the big-shot guys have giant Salone masks and carvings, they also offer bead necklaces from china and trinkets from outside the country. There’s nothing worst than coming home from Africa with a souvenir from China. To the women, I try to convey that “made in Salone” is what people want, pointing to her beautiful clothes and hand made necklaces with a big smile, and turning up my nose to her neighbour’s beaded necklaces. The same one’s you can get on Yonge Street in Toronto.

Looking at her items, she points me to small husks, turtle shells and monkey bones. I explain to her that I cannot take these items back home because of Canadian law. But I find them interesting. And I test her knowledge about national law (call it a unofficial survey) by asking her if she has chimpanzee bones. “No, hunting chimpanzees is against the law”. Nice. I will report back to Bala.

I ask if I can take her picture (see my blog entry “SNAP!” explaining why you should ask people if you can take their picture, and tell them what you will use it for) holding the monkey bones because I want to show my friends back home. She is happy to oblige, and we move on to things I can take home.

Baby Laura

2008-06-23T06:54:00.003-04:00

A naming ceremony for a child is a bid deal in Africa. So Laura and I were very excited to be invited to the party in honour of baby Laura. No coincidence. Our neighbour’s baby is named after my roommate. She has been integrated as part of the family during the past 8 months. So much so that the children greet her everyday from work with big hugs and cheers.

Big Laura was a bit nervous before the event. She wasn’t certain of her ceremonial obligations. Was she supposed to sacrifice the goat and drink the blood? Worse, give a speech? Our offering was 3 cases of soda. (Photo: Mother Safi and baby Laura)

The setting was much like you might imagine for an African ceremony. Two giant old pots atop fires cooking something. Bright and fancy African dresses. People dancing to big drum beats. Chickens running around the goat. But, instead of mud huts and bongos, we were surrounded by tin houses, rusted out cars and the sound of rap music blaring from a nearby stereo. This is the difference between the settings you get in Freetown verses regional villages. (Photo: Laura is first to hold the baby after the official announcement.)

Everyone is a guest of honour. I was introduced as a close neighbour. Laura was all smiles to be the true guest of honour. Ushered in to hold the baby for photographs. Even though the name is supposed to be kept a secret until the ceremony, everyone knew. They all wanted to talk to Laura.

The goat was sacrificed the moment the baby’s name was announced. Then the celebration began. Popcorn and coke was passed around along with traditional African dishes. Neigbouring kids and beggars managed to sneak some food too. (Photo: The men watch and wait to time the sacrifice of the goat with the announcement of the name)

Nasio’s Big Day Out

2008-06-17T07:15:00.004-04:00

Nasio must have been good luck. Sierra Leone’s national football team won their first game in 5 years beating South Africa on a penalty kick. But Nasio was more impressed with the atmosphere and mostly the food.

I’m pretty sure this 5-year-old has never left the neighbourhood before I brought him to the stadium. He didn’t talk for the first hour. The taxi ride. Lining up at the gate. He was just taking it all in. People cheering. The big band playing. He loved watching the players warm-up.

His food intake was incredible. He would have eaten more, but I had to put a stop to it for fear of returning a sick little African boy to his guardians. It went something like this: one ice-cream plus half of mine (I must have been eating too slowly); one peace of fried chicken (I swear he ate the bones); one half bag of trail mix with M&Ms; about 2 cups of water; and a big bag of ground nuts.

Now all the kids in the hood want me to take them to the game! It’s tough to pick favourites, but Nasio and I have a bond. Absolutely nothing in common. I can barely understand his Krio, and he mine. But a strong connection nonetheless. He’s says “a get no padi” (I have no friends). But this is just a bad interpretation, because he has lots of friends. He just calls them brothers and sisters, as they do in Africa. If you live with them, then they are your brothers. He is an orphan, taken in by our neighbours. His “brothers” and “sisters” actually have blood links and mothers (and fathers somewhere). But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t look Sierra Leonean either. I’ll have to do some investigating, out of curiousity. (Photo: View of ground nut shrapnel at Nasio's feet)

But the big day out was a great success. Nothing stolen. No crying. Home-side win. And Nasio returned without a scratch. Maybe a stomachache. (Photo: Nasio watches the warm-ups through the fence)

Nigeria 1, Sierra Leone 0

2008-06-09T09:55:00.003-04:00

The national football team, the Sierra Leone Stars, was about to play its first game in the newly renovated (painted) stadium. There was a buzz in the city the morning of the match. Traffic was jammed. Poda-podas were bouncing around the city with fans spilling out the sides. There were massive queues at police stations where tickets were being sold.

I had visions of taking 6-year-old Nasio to the game, but people advised against it. Advice ranged from “don’t bring a camera” to “don’t go”, and “definitely don’t take a small boy with you!”

Government messages on the radio asked for peace and order, and warned that the game would be cancelled if crowds got out of hand. People were urged to show the rest of the world that Sierra Leone can hold international matches without problems.

I arrived at the stadium to see a giant, single-file line-up, snaking from the lone open gate to the street. No one was out of place. One behind the other. Few police. No barriers to manage the line. No shouting. No pushing. Just one huge, single-file line-up. It was quite the sight. There is more disorder in a grocery store queue back home.

At the gate (We jumped the queue. The crowd was so docile), police ushered us in. There was a bit of pushing and yelling at the choke point. My camera was strapped to my neck, two fold. But all this made the excitement.

It was a fabulous experience. The stadium is beautiful. And the Sierra Leoneans are good fans. The crowd was not dissimilar to what you’d get at an OHL hockey game. Loud people. People falling over. Noise makers. Yelling at players. The whole sports package. Except for a few differences. The other team’s fans are separated from everyone else by a large fence with barbwire. (Sens fans wish they’d do the same for Leaf fans at the Scotia Bank Place). I didn’t see washrooms. No booze allowed. And, did I mention that the Nigerian fans were separated by a large fence with barbwire?

I was incredibly impressed with the order of the event and the peacefulness of the fans. Especially when Nigeria scored with 5 mins left in the game to win. Their fans erupted. Even I wanted to jump the fence and fight the Nigerians! Or at least throw my Pringles tube at them. I hate to say it; because I love to sit in the Molson section at the Bell Centre with a large Creemore while watching the Habs, I am sure a drunken audience at this game would have spelled trouble. But I would have loved to have a cold Creemore or two during that game. :-)

We walked home. Everyone was disappointed with the loss. Sierra Leoneans hate being last at everything. But, when the team bus passed us on the crowded road, everyone stopped to clap and cheer. A beautiful and telling gesture.

The Stars play South Africa next week. Maybe I’ll take Nasio.

SNAP!

2008-06-03T07:50:00.005-04:00

One of the first Krio words you learn in Sierra Leone is “snap”. As in “a wan fo snap yu”. Can I take your picture? This is easier said than done.

On boxing day, against all my principles, me, my brother and my dad woke up at 6am to go stand in line at Future Shop for the chance to snag one of the 15 Canon Digital Rebel XL SLR Cameras on sale for a stupid price. A real bargain.

I was well equipped to take all kinds of pictures in Africa. The SLR camera is complemented with a 250 zoom lens with image-stabilizer and glare protection. I also have a pocket canon for those unexpected opportunities to catch a good shot. Needless to say I love taking photos, and was very excited to capture Africa. (Photo: Me working Jimmy the chimp at the Tacugama Sanctuary)

Well. The SLR stayed in its bag for a good month or so before capturing any light. And the baby canon has missed many great photo ops for being at home under my pillow. (I try to foil would-be thieves by storing my valuables in my dirty laundry and under my pillow)

Why you ask? In the beginning I just didn’t want to stick out more than I already did by walking around taking pictures of things and people. This is not Disney land or Manhattan. I wanted to blend in as much as possible and not look like a tourist.

But, the deeper reason is this: Sierra Leone is a poor country. Taking photos of poor has a distasteful element unless you are a journalist, a surveyor or scientist. And the people know it. Women don’t want to be photographed at their fruit stands in their work clothes no matter how beautiful I think the scene. Men will question why you are taking pictures of a street lined with garbage and rusted out cars. And so they should. They understand the equation. They feel that the white man is walking through a zoo and they are the attraction. (Photo: Fatama)

Now that I’ve been here for a while, I feel much more comfortable taking photographs. But I am very conscience of the relationship between the photographer and the subject. It is difficult to get “the” photo. In Kroo Bay – notorious slum of Freetown –, a place I really would like to capture for friends and family back home, I only felt comfortable to take the camera out once. I got quite a bit of grief from residents passing by. I respected them and put away the camera. Unfortunately, the two shots I did get do not capture the incredible slum built on a garbage dump – with kids and pigs playing in the river and women carrying coal and wood stacked two metres high on their heads.

Kids don’t have this concept in their heads yet. This is all normal to them. This is why I have tons of pictures of kids. And beaches of course. Looking at my photo album, one might think that Sierra Leone is all beach and full of kids. Hahaha. I am on a mission to get a more representative album, while doing my best to respect Sierra Leoneans and their home.

Some random photos from my first few months in Salone...

[Julian prepares dinner] [Tacugama Sanctuary worker carries baby chimp]

[Tacugama: Chimp reaches under fence to touch keeper's hand]

[Lakka: School kids dress up for special event]

[Kenema: Child hangs out for a 2-day workshop with his mother]

[One of the 2 ferries servicing Lungi airport. The better one]

[Freetown: Krio house with tailor shop]

[Vultures]

[Pulled over by the police]

[Diana or Diane, one of the twins tries out my helmet]

Marathon Meetings

2008-05-28T06:22:00.004-04:00

Meetings in Africa vs Canada. People sleep during meetings, same as in Canada. Today I was in a committee meeting set up by the minister of Land for legislation reform, when a lady awoke to the sound of her cell phone. She answered it, and began a loud conversation right in the middle of the meeting. I felt like I was in a Saturday Night Live skit. This is pretty standard in these parts. Also standard is an extreme disregard for punctuality. African’s openly call this BMT – Black Man Time. Really. Today’s important meeting was scheduled for 11am. A gathering of important people – Lawyers, Department heads and Directors. We made it just in time for the opening remarks, around 12:00. (Photo: Me. "Buy low, sell high". Freetown Market.)

I have learned to bring food to meetings, because they always morph into marathons, like the reality show Survivor. Very much like meetings back home. Not like home, people thank god a lot and sessions always start with prayers.

However, most shocking is the death rate of young people and its affects at the work place. It’s probably a lot more shocking for me than everyone else here. Yesterday Osman, of our maintenance staff, returned to work after a week of leave. His 1-year-old son died. Children are very susceptible to diseases like malaria, and parents tend not to take sick kids to the hospital until it’s too late. I know a few nurses and doctors in town, and the stories are incredibly shocking, like the high number of amputations due to advance infections – something we’re not used to in the west. (Photo: A female local council candidate register's for one of our capacity building programs. Her son sat with her throughout the 2-day session)

Ticker: The neighbours have expanded. The new baby has been named Laura, after my roommate. … Management picked a fine time to add Admin Manager to my responsibilities. The engine of the office – the secretary – has taken 3 weeks leave and our director has decided to fire a bunch of people. I am the messenger. It’s been almost 2 months since employees have received pay cheques – sponsor cash hasn’t made it to the bank account yet. … There is no gas (to power our stove) in our kitchen. There is no gas in Sierra Leone. The shipment has encountered further delays. Looks like I’m eating out again.

Road to Kenema is Half Paved

2008-05-28T06:08:00.005-04:00

Last week I traveled to Kenema (3rd largest town in the country) to oversee the implementation of a capacity building project. It was quite exciting to check out this part of the country.

A 6-hour drive took us over all kinds of terrain. I can tell you that broken paved road is worst than a good dirt road. Sierra Leone has a lot of broken road. Driving at night is very surreal. Eyes shine on the side of the highway reflecting headlights, but these aren’t animals, they’re people. The road is a free-for-all. The dominant driver dictates the flow. Our driver is good, going as fast he could while still maintaining a respectable degree of safety. I am sure that this trip took about 4 years off the life of the Toyota 4-Runner we hired. (Photo: View of Kenema from my "hotel" room. Hotel's name is Makasa Construction. Good service, and I had AC in my room. yes.)

The world is so small here, especially in Kenema. I ran into two friend journalists from Freetown – both Canadians. The development community is small and connected. Workers all seem to congregate at the better restaurants. So we all met at the Capitol for star beer and story telling.

This trip was a reminder to me that NGO is big business here. I must remind myself that my cash-strapped organization is seen as a truckload of money and prosperity when we drive into town. A large percent of the country’s GDP is donations. Thus the NGO sector to Sierra Leone is like silicone valley to the US. We drive nice cars, have offices and educated employees. We get to travel. We have money and power.

With my stipend, I took the field officer Mr. Tailu and Caesar, his assistant out for dinner. They make 200,000 leones ($65) and 100,000 a month respectively – when we have money to pay them! Mr. Tailu’s job is high profile. His predecessor is now running for mayor. We spend 3 hours over the course of 2 days at the radio station being interviewed about our project and taking questions from callers. Needless to say we were small-time celebrities by the time we sat down at the Capitol restaurant. (Photo: Caesar (Left) and Mr Tailu take a break from the workshop. Mr. Tailu reminisced about better times when the community centre was full of life - when kids played in the pool.)

The Most Unlucky Baby in the World

2008-05-22T13:54:00.005-04:00

A few people have been asking me about how the “world food crunch” is affecting Sierra Leone. So I’ve gone out on a little investigative reporting mission. Here’s what I’ve got.

There have been no riots or unrest due to food shortages in Sierra Leone, yet, even though the BBC reports that increases in food prices are hitting the hardest in West Africa. Sky rocketing food prices are in the news and on the minds of many here. A bag of rice has gone from 70,000 leones ($23) to 150,000 ($49) in the span of 6 months. Fuel continues to climb, currently at 16,500 ($5.50) a gallon.

The problem is compounded by the monopolized importing business, which is blamed for adding a premium on top of the already inflated prices. Sierra Leone is at the mercy of the world market because they are a net importer, which was not the case 25 years ago when they exported rice, fruit and other foods to neighbouring countries. (Photo: A boy and a pig search for something in their backyard - Kroo Bay)

People tell me that they simply reduce their intake of food, and replace items with less expensive alternatives. But that’s in Freetown. In the villages people are getting desperate. I hear stories of people getting food at work (if there is bread at a meeting) and taking it home to their kids. I am constantly giving change to our support-staff to buy lunch.

But there isn’t as much noise as I would expect. No rioting. No increase in stealing. Why? Is it that Sierra Leone is fresh off a decade of war and determined to keep the peace? It is the poor that would have to rise up, and they have little power to do so. Maybe. I also think that, although Sierra Leone is poor, they are not a starving state. They are poor because of mismanagement, corruption and conflict that destroyed their infrastructure. They have a wealth of riches. Fields are overgrown and fruit rot on the ground because people left their farms during the war. I think in the regions, the people are returning to their fields. They don’t need bags of rice. They need seeds and equipment.

The big problem lies with the refugees - the people who left the fields to save their limbs by hiding in Freetown during the war. They are still here, living in giant shantytowns under bridges and between buildings. Makeshift settlements that are becoming infamous, like Kroo Bay, which is built on a garbage dump, and others that are built on riverbanks, which flood in the rainy season. One western broadcaster is making a documentary called something like “the most unlucky baby in the world” – born in the worst slum, in the poorest country on earth. Sounds like a Disney product. eh!? (Photo: Kroo Bay settlement with Freetown in background)

It’s these people who live in the expensive Freetown with no capacity to grow food. This is where the trouble will come. Stay tuned.

Change of Pace. And Again

2008-05-16T13:36:00.003-04:00

Before my 2 weeks of vacation I was busy putting together programs and project proposals. It was a mad stretch of about 3 weeks when we submitted 6 proposals to Europe, the States and Canada. It was my first major task here – to get some cash flow to keep the organization afloat. They were all smallish proposals aimed at getting cash fast. In all, they would equal just over $120,000, which would buy us time to work on bigger more complex projects. I’m looking forward to trying to bring in roughly 3-quarters of a million from the EU and UN for a consortium of national NGOs.

It was painful to deal with the Canadian International Development Agency because they kept hounding us for more details and further explanation. I joked in the office about the a-holes in Canada, but really I was proud that my home country was so thorough and knowledgeable about undertaking projects in Sierra Leone – considering our nearest consulate is in the Ivory Coast. (Photo: "Dr." Joop and Mr J Brown. My partners in crime dine at the UN World Food Program cafe - our favourite meeting spot. We form the "3 white guys" of the organisation. JB cubed hasn't stuck. The 3 J's in our names, and the fact that we all sport some kind of beard. JB-cubed. No?)

The passion of my NGO is extremely high, however the overall business capacity is weak, and often paradoxical. Good governance? The organization must practice what it preaches!! And that’s something that myself and the 2 Euro imports – John the accountant and Joop the Admin manager – are beginning to install here. In the past, they took on projects without costing them properly, getting the organization into financial trouble. While I work on phase 2 of my responsibilities here – redeveloping the marketing strategy and tools – I will also commence building standard processes and practices for the NGO and train staff. We hope to have this place running smoothly by the time we leave.

So I came back from my vacation rested and ready for the next challenge. Good news already came from the UK and Canada awarding the requested grants. 2 for 2, not too shabby. Staff should get paid by next week, after a month and a half of waiting. And Joop, the admin manager, had to return home to tend to his ill daughter. I now have to take on his role as well as my own. It should be fun to run the day-to-day operations. Today? The secretary and receptionist are sick, one vehicle has no brakes, the generator has a dead alternator, there’s no toilet paper, the internet is down and the IT consultant doesn’t have a work contract.

The Canada-funded project begins Monday. That’s quick turnover even for western standards. I will be heading “up-line” (remote region) Sunday to manage the delivery, and monitor and evaluate the project in Kenema – building capacity of marginalized people for local council representation. Sierra Leone will hold the first local elections in over 30 years this summer. It is weird that there is a whole generation of people who don’t understand the government process because they haven’t been a part of it.

Needless to say, it looks like it’ll be another mad dash to my next break in July – home for a visit.

Who’s got gas?: Mel took my SL Bank card with her to Canada, but getting money out of my account didn’t seem to be much of a problem. I didn’t even have to show ID. Seriously. (read my “All Access Pass” blog entry to understand why). … We went through a 2-week stretch of little-to-no power, but its now back to a somewhat normal occurrence again – a few hours every evening, and a good stretch during the weekends. Rumour has it more generators are on the way courtesy World Bank. Freetown is determined to lose the stigma of being the only capital in the world without steady power. … The country feels so small and vulnerable. As if there are a few men and businesses that run the joint. There is a gas shortage (gas tanks to fuel stoves etc) caused by a mix up in paperwork, apparently. Now there are no gas tanks in the city. Everyone is waiting for that one shipment from Europe, from that one provider, all monopolized by the small and cutthroat import/export community. … Nasio’s got numbers 1 to 6 down pat now. I asked him to spell his name on his little portable chalkboard. I think we have some work to do. (Photo: Mary. I think. And Nasio. Not a flattering pic of Nasio. His right hand is fresh off being used as a fork for his Cassava leaf dinner. He's trying not to touch my leg. So thoughtful.)

Watin fo Chop?

2008-05-12T07:58:00.003-04:00

This entry is for my parents. They’ve only now stopped asking if I’m eating.

Watin fo chop? What’s for eats? Well well well. My perspective is probably warped, coming from a good-cooking family; my grandmother is from Calabria; I am (was) a pampered young professional – black angus steak after sushi washed down with a couple imported Belgium beers on a random Tuesday was a normal occurrence, and my kitchen in Ottawa was probably worth more than the whole house I live in here, times two. But aside from all that I would be happy to swim in pizza and smoked meat poutine with a chocolate milkshake from the Elgin Street Diner in my hand. I’m easy to please.

My parents worried. Even my colleagues worried that I wouldn’t get my pizza fix. Well you’ll be happy to know that there is pizza here. Just like home, I savour the time I spend with pizza. I get to a pizza once or twice a week. I even bought a bottle of Sweet Thai Chili sauce, which I take with me to Montanas’. Basically you can get all the basics – burgers, fries, chicken wraps, shawarmas, club sandwiches, soups, salads etc. (Photo: Barracuda with fries and shrimp with rice; and a yummy stewy sauce for the rice)

There is a good-sized expat community here, so there is a demand for this kind of food. Unfortunately the community is largely (earmuffs my UK friends) British, so, ya, the tastes are not in line with your typical Canadian, to say it politely! The “fabulous” pizza here is a 2 out of 10 on my scale - but the heat could be getting to my head. From my experience at some of the better hotels here, the cuisine is very middle-of-the-road, and sold as hi-end. There is a large Lebanese community monopolizing the import export business and serving up good hummus and wraps. And the Chinese have some flavour in Freetown.

But enough with the foreign food. The local chop is where the value, freshness and nutrition are found. Innovation, variety and availability are not hallmarks of Sierra Leonean dining. You get rice, maybe couscous, beans, potato leaves, chicken, unidentifiable meat and fish. Most dishes are rice with some sore of stew, which may include fish or unidentifiable meat.

Mangos, bananas and avocados fall from the trees, and maybe the vegetables do too. Maybe that’s why they look so bad at the markets. My stir-fry consists of eggplant and onion. Yum. Not! Not after the 10th time! The tomatoes look worst than the ones on the floor at Price Choppers.

Like most people say, you can find most everything here. It’s true. And now that I have wheels I can peruse a variety of markets in town. But I haven’t found nachos to go with my fresh guacamole yet! (Photo: Fresh oysters from the local village at River No. 2)

The best grub seems to be at the beach bars where you can get fresh lobster, shrimp, snapper and barracuda. And you get the feeling that Freetown is continually expanding. New beach restaurants appear overnight and there is rumour of a new sushi bar coming to town. Opa!

My favourite product of Freetown is the frozen yogurt. Such an anomaly in this oven-of-a-city. You spot the vendors easily. They carry their product in coolers in baby strollers. Each individual small bag is tied by hand. No labels. I was suspect at first, but now I seek these guys out every day!

Motorcycle Diaries

2008-05-06T13:29:00.003-04:00

On a Tuesday. Incredibly, all the ducks came in line and the motorbike was delivered in the afternoon. It looks good. It runs. The insurance is there. The plate is registered. We’re in business. The next day was less productive, but successful. I spend almost all day at the Road Transport Authority getting my license.

On Thursday morning Mel and I set out on a trip around the peninsula. The bike was packed. Tarp, mosquito net, clothes, water, sun block… it looked good. We made it to Spur Road, about 2 klms, when the clunker choked on the steep incline. It was 11am, 2 hours after estimated time of departure and the bike was dead. If it died in the hills of the peninsula then it would be a great story. But, at the Lumley Police Station?! Son-of-a-beetch! I was cursing my decision to get this jalopy of a bike. (Photo: Mel watches while Demba and co work on the bike)

But, getting a shiny new bike would have made us a target – because 2 whities on a dirt bike is inconspicuous -, and it wouldn’t bring about certain relationships, like the one that was forming between me and Demba, the bike mechanic. We already had a few small run-ins. He worked on fixing the bike in the first place. It was a dilapidated pile of poop only a week ago, now it’s still a pile, but the chain is oiled and the grips are new. I didn’t trust him then, but now the trust is building. In 15 minutes, he and his assistant arrive from the other side of town on their 1960s Honda 125. “I come, I come”.

The choke was broken, stuck on the on position. The two worked on the side of the road, to get it running, but it would need to go back to the shop for more work. Mel and I followed them into busy downtown. It wasn’t easy to keep the bike running while dodging people and chickens at the same time.

After an hour of reconstructive surgery, we finally left for our adventure. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination – I keep telling myself! In this case, it was true. Demba is a great contact. He and his assistants genuinely want to help and do good work. They asked for no money for the 2 hours of work except $1.60 for a new plug. And Mel. It was like a 3-ring circus came to Campbell Street. Kids want to touch her skin and men want to buy her from me. Mangos and a chicken won’t cut it. (Photo: Road on way to Waterloo)

Over the course of the next 4 days we explored the peninsula. We cut across the mountains to Waterloo. The roads were pretty rough. My mountain biking skills came in handy. In every village we passed, most everyone stopped to look and wave as the two white people passed through. Mel was loving it. By now she seemed comfortable with the attention and surprised with the friendliness of the Sierra Leoneans.

Until we got to Waterloo. The bike stalled at a busy intersection, and I couldn’t get it started. Within seconds we were swarmed by dozens of teens, who looked like RUF rebels without guns! A few jokes did little to dull their aggressiveness. They argued about how to fix the bike, and some wanted to get on the bike. There was no way I was letting anyone on the bike. After sweating it out for a few minutes, we got the bike running. (Photo: River No 2 Beach)

The ride was amazing. We passed people working in the fields, vultures and many villages on the way to beautiful beaches. We stayed the night at Franco’s’. The food was surprisingly delicious and the room was air-conditioned and super clean. It’ll probably go down as the nicest place I’ll stay at in SL. Go figure, its run by a bunch of Italians – complete with Italian dinner music and arguing in the kitchen.

After a night back in Freetown, we returned to River No 2 to camp for the night. River No 2 is beautiful. And the village does a great job of managing the beach and facilities.

The motorbiking part was a lot of fun. We were stopped by a few kids who erected a makeshift roadblock. They threatened us and demanded money. The young one, maybe 8 years old, was most aggressive. He had war paint on his face. It was cute. We did get pulled over by the real police on Beach Road in Freetown. I was excited to show my documents, but they only wanted to chat. They refused to look at my license. I dropped names of SL police officers I know for good measure. (Photo: Franco's Hotel at Sussex Beach)

RANDOM: Julian was up-country attending a naming ceremony while we were beaching it. He returned with gifts including 2 live chickens. They live with us now. He slaughtered one for dinner last night. Yum. … Vultures pooped on Mel. … We have had little power during the last week. Last night was the first night of power in a week. Maybe the government is running out of money to fuel the generators. … I met a girl from Deep River. Strange. … We went to a wedding celebration last Sunday. It wasn’t until later in the day we learned the bride and groom were not in the country.

Bruno: Love and Death at Tacugama

2008-04-23T09:55:00.002-04:00

Why do I feel that this won’t be the last time I write about Bruno? My colleagues back home uncovered articles and even saw a National Geographic TV special on the infamous killer chimp of Freetown. They told me to beware of the man-killing, baby-eating giant chimp still loose in Freetown after a dramatic escape from Tacugama, the chimpanzee sanctuary.

I had already met Bala, the founder of the sanctuary, on my first visit. But I wasn’t about to ask him about the details, especially after I learned that Bruno’s mother was killed by hunters, and kept as a pet. Bala rescued the baby chimp, malnourished to the point that he had no hair left. This was the start of the sanctuary, now home to more than 90-orphaned chimpanzees. (Sierra Leone is one of those countries that filled the order for your English grandmother’s 1950 Christmas gift – a monkey)

Last week I went to a screening of a Sierra Leone documentary “Wildlife after War” in which Bala and his chimps are featured (He has been in numerous documentaries). After the showing I got to share a couple of beers with the man himself. He’s a cool dude. Originally from Sri Lanka, but hasn’t been back in over 30 years.

Over a few Star beers, I got the scoop from the source. The senior chimp group, lead by Bruno, learned how to open the complex cage system and made a grand escape – 31 of them. Bruno the leader went down to the road to ensure the path was clear for the group. He met a cab with 3 passengers who thought it was quite the photo op. As the passengers flashed photos the cab driver attempted to scare Bruno off the road. This only upset the giant chimp. Bruno banged on the car severing some fingers of one passenger as the others ran for their lives. The driver ran up to the sanctuary to look for help, however he was met by the other 30 chimpanzees. They mauled him to death.
Over the course of a few months 27 of the 31 escapees returned to the sanctuary. Bruno and the other 3 are alive and well somewhere on the peninsula. Bala has made contact with all of them, but said Bruno won’t show his face. I have to remember my good chimp, bad chimp calls, and my machete when I go camping in the peninsula next week!

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Tacugama Website for more info on Bruno, Bala and how you can buy a monkey! no, you can't buy a monkey! but you can rent one for a party. no, that's a joke too. You can sponsor a chimp of your choice.
http://www.tacugama.com/

Happy Birthday Abraham!

2008-04-17T08:30:00.005-04:00

Little Abraham. He looks like a little man tonight with his big-boy African dress and slick new shaved hair cut. But he’s taken aback by all the abnormal action on his birthday. I don’t think he really knows what to do while the music plays and kids dance around him. On a normal evening he’d come running to hug my leg, pinch my skin and pet my beard but only the twins and Nasio catch me crashing the party.

I’m jacked to see what actually happens at a 2-year old’s birthday in Africa. About 15 kids sit on 8 chairs and wait while an uncle hooks up the stereo. I’m guessing musical chairs. The party won’t start without Auntie Efay leading everyone in prayer. Then, after about 30 mins of technical problems and several kiddy fights for chairs, and some crying – it wouldn’t be a party without crying –, the music starts and the kids dance. It takes Abraham quite a while to warm up to his party. Instead of the Western party recipe – kids hopped up on caffeine and sugar – these kids are delirious on hip-hop music and one lollipop.

In the video, Abraham sits on the chair in the background and lets out a couple cries of excitement as kids show off their advanced dancing skills. Nasio sports the light blue long sleeve shirt to the right.

Monday Mornin Comin' Down

2008-04-15T07:03:00.001-04:00

Today there is a Poda-Poda (city bus) strike. There has been a zero-tolerance police crackdown on illegal commercial drivers. Police have been fining drivers and confiscating motorcycles without proper documentation.

The poor conditions of this country cannot be attributed to a lack of baseline policy and law. It’s there. On the roads, they have been applying some of these laws recently. Vehicles have “life cards” – ownership documentation – which links the owner with the vehicle; tracks changes of ownership and maintenance; and even identifies the engine serial number (to track changes of engines).

This morning the roads were uncharacteristically bare. The few taxis were jammed with passengers. A city without its iconic Poda-Podas pouncing down the roads, blaring local tunes or obscure reggae music. It was a quiet Monday morning.

On the weekend I went to an ex-pat birthday part. Two live bands including Sierra Leone’s longest serving band. Local kids climbed the brick wall to peer into the club. If they were lucky they would have see Emerson, the country’s top music star. He is like a god here. His music screams out of most Poda-Podas on repeat. We were graced by his guest appearance.

All Access Pass: President Monteiro

2008-04-10T12:28:00.006-04:00

During my first week here my roommate Julian joked about his “all access pass”, while displaying his face ala Vana White. A white face gets you anywhere here. Walk past guards without at word at the British Consulate. Investigate a construction site. Enter the nicest hotel with no problems. Walk into a police station, and you’re the chief’s best friend automatically. Pretty much standard practice for my father at home. But he would have a field day here with the pass.

Pre-departure training set me on the path to think about these things. Jumping the queue seems harmless and fun. But what if it’s at the hospital? A white man’s bleeding baby toe trumps any emergency, even if a local has been waiting all day. And it’s all part of the African cultural package. All accepted without a peep or a mikey meow. The simple hierarchy is whiteman, than the richest to the poorest black man, than the woman and finally the child. (Photo: Me and Joseph Smith an intern with my organisation during an awareness campaign)

At the age of around 10, young boys are taught to serve tea at village gatherings. The whole lesson is to correctly determine the status of everyone, based on wealth, age, power and gender, and serve accordingly. Status can change based on the prosperity of the crop season, or marital status. Boys do this for years so that they eventual understand the hierarchy of the villages.

It is very evident at work. I get served first anytime there is tea or munchies. People in the streets either call me “white boy” or “sir”. Colleagues are starting to call me “professor”. Only if they knew my true identity! Hahahaha! Another older volunteer is branded “doctor”.

So. On Tuesday there is a huge lineup at the bank. After a few minutes of waiting, without any advancement, the manager picks me out of the line and takes me aside to personally complete my business. What do I do? I say “no thanks” of course. I’ll wait. Ya, right!! Not! I accept the service. I was also told not to force western morals and norms on people here! hahaaa! Maybe I’ll change my mind next time. I’ll have to think about it.

My skin may also be the reason I got some face time with the former President of Cape Verde last night at a dinner party. He was the guest of honour. It was pretty sweet to talk frankly with him about Sierra Leone’s problems and potential solutions. I expressed my disappointment about the transportation infrastructure, especially the airport and connection to the city and beautiful beaches, making it almost impossible for tourism and business to naturally flourish. He happily disagreed and pointed to job creation as the key requirement. But when I asked if he would return he laughed and said NO because of poor service from the airport to the hotel. “…first class on the ferry (from airport to Freetown)..” he laughs! Funny man. We joked for a while. He was concerned and surprised with the poor conditions of Sierra Leone. “… at the British Consulate, there was no water in the washroom! … there were lots of people at the meeting! … no water.” He scrunched his nose up to insure that I got the idea that the toilet was full of nice smelling refuse. I got the idea that he had to go really badly. And there was a long queue. That he jumped. Very Seinfeld-like. I invited him to Ottawa, and he invited me to his island country. He gave me his business card with a yahoo email account. (Photo: Shaking hands with Antonio Monteiro, former President of Cape Verde)

The Blue Star of Bintumani Guitar

2008-04-02T11:44:00.003-04:00

Monday marked a glorious day for me. Since I got to Freetown, I’ve been looking everywhere for a guitar. Monday I found it. A slick blue made-in-china classical guitar. It looks like a close relative of Nacho Guitar, the guitar I left in the good hands of my brother. It’s highly possible that Nacho has fallen victim to my nieces little hands by now.

To find it I had to go to PZ market. The heart of bustling Freetown. You seem to have 3 outlet choices for all things here. Almost like Canada – Walmart, Zellers or Sears. Here it’s the pharmacy, the market or the electronics shop. Some electronic shops advertise phones, motorcycles, furniture… and this one, musical instruments. They even had an electric guitar.

I’ve noticed several Montreal Canadiens jerseys of late. Even here they’re jumping on the bandwagon!!

Holding Hands

2008-04-01T10:33:00.003-04:00

So there I am. Standing at the busy Murray Town Junction, holding the hand of a Sierra Leonean man. For a long time. For the whole of our 5 minute conversation. The man is a colleague of mine. Men like to hold hands here. I think it’s a Muslim thing. He says he wants me to join him at church this weekend. You have to think quickly here, because everyone wants you to be their friend and do something with them. It’s tough. On the one hand you want to experience these things, but on the other hand you have to pick and choose and not disappoint. My standard line is to turn all offers down. “I can’t give you my cell number, it’s work only … I’d love to start a new religion with you, but my mother would be upset … your food looks nice, but I’ve already eaten … I can’t pay for your school, I am a volunteer … I may be white, but I’m not rich…”

But the truth is, I am rich. I have an education and I can leave anytime to premium health care and a rich country. Many people believe that corruption and abuse of power is widespread here because people only live for today. There is little planning for tomorrow. Even my organization CGG. They are going bankrupt. Our accountant is having a hard time putting measures in place to stop the bleeding and right the ship. The organization mitigation strategy is to pray to the lord. (Photo: Neighbourhood kids Abraham & Diane, or maybe Diana. I can't tell the twins apart. My house to the left across from the mango tree)

It is challenging to interact with people here for all these reasons. My guard is always up. I’m expecting everyone to ask me for something. Anyone you befriend will eventually ask you for help. I don’t blame them. It’s overwhelming because you truly want to help people. My roommate Laura has a huge heart. She’s always stretching her finances thin by helping everyone she knows – taking kids to the beach for lunch and a soda, paying for hospital treatments and finding jobs for people. One older volunteer bought a taxi for a local, and many others have paid for tuition fees for young people.

There are so many opportunities to do small things that would go so far. $50 would be enough to put a roof on the small school next to my house. The teacher is a local volunteer, but will be unable to keep classes going during the rainy season. It would be very easy to set up funds for schools or even individual students, but the infrastructure here is beyond bad. It’s non-existent. You cannot transfer money to accounts easily. Even a tourist cannot get money in Sierra Leone. You have to bring US$. A thriving tourist industry is waiting for a sniff of progress to boom. I’ve gotten money out of ATMs in the middle of the desert in Egypt. No such luck in Freetown.

UPDATE: We’ve got water. The pump is now working. Glorious shower and flushing toilet has returned.

Bonthe Island Adventure

2008-03-26T12:39:00.010-04:00

Six of us set out on a great adventure to Bonthe Island. We were armed with a satellite printout of the Island, about 40 klms east to west and 20 klms at the thickest part. No one knew much about the island, but by looking at the map, we were surely able to reach the big south beach from the main town, Bonthe, situated on the northeast side. Why not? If we see some wildlife and villagers on the way, it’d be a bonus.

It’s not easy to travel in Sierra Leone. The roads are terrible and the transportation options are limited to a) taxi – not good for country roads, b) poda-poda – a minivan retrofitted to carry 30 people not including roof capacity, and c) SUV – hiring an SUV is expensive and out of our price range. (Photo: In God We Trust - Osman's Poda-Poda parked on the road to Matru. James looking for a place to pee)

A last minute deal broke the night before we left that would get us an SUV with a driver to take us to Matru – an estimated 8-hour drive. From Matru we’d take a 4-hour boat ride to Bonthe Island. It would be nice to drive down in relative luxury for what seemed like a good bargain.

At 7am the driver arrived with the SUV. It was way too small for us. This sparked a 3-hour circus that had us arguing with several people involved with the rental outfit. They brought us an older SUV with retrofitted seats in the trunk space and a hole in the muffler. We all went down to the “garage” to get the muffler fixed. In our wisdom we refuse to pay a cent until the vehicle is fixed. They accused us of being stubborn white people. We were getting pissed because our great adventure was becoming derailed. We said “we’ll give you white person money if you give us white person service.” It was getting nasty. (Photo: Bonthe Island swamp bridge)

In the end, the repair was inadequate and they would not bargain the price down. So we walked. After an hour of trying to find someone to take us to Matru we met Osman, an older fellow – the best drivers to deal with. He agreed to take us to Matru in his poda-poda for 300,000 leones, a bargain.

50 klms of paved road gave way to dusty, dirty roads filled with potholes. Sticking your head out the window to catch the cool breeze seemed like a good idea until I noticed I was covered in dust. At Moyamba we ate lunch. Some of us already a bit travel weary and dehydrated.

Along the way we pass several villages while kids wave as we pass by. At junctions our driver stops to ask villagers the way to Matru. The odd person will offer groundnuts or bread for sale.

After crossing a river on a precarious ferry, we finally reach Matru. The sun is almost down. I make a courtesy call to a colleague. He lives here, and said he could find us a place to stay if needed. He arrives in a minute and points us to the guesthouse across the street. The tough part about dealing with Africans is that they assume all white people have tons of money. So I was worried that Joseph would set us up with an expensive place, when we were prepared to sleep under a tree. However the guesthouse was clean and cheap – 15,000 leones (about $5) (Photo: Osma's Poda-poda coming of the ferry in Matru)

The theme of the trip started taking shape. Don’t believe anything anyone says. Go with your gut instinct.

“When do the boats leave for Bonthe Island?”
“Around 11am”.

This was disappointing because we hoped to start our trek across the island that day. “Can we leave early, like 7 am?”
“Yes, charter!”

Charter is the kiss of death. This means that a white man will pay big bucks to charter a boat that would normally carry several dozen Africans.

“No charter”
“OK, ok”

With this much information we head down to the pier around 8 am. Of course we stop for breakfast. Groundnut stew with fish. Kids stand watching in amazement as we dine with their fathers. We ask if we can “snap” (Take a picture). Everyone is all smiles.

Once at the peer we confirm the boat leaves at 11ish. We hangout at the market where about 4-dozen kids follow us everywhere we go. (Photo: Rusty boating in Bonthe)

The 4-hour boat ride to Bonthe is packed but pleasurable. We get to mingle with the locals and watch villages pass along the way. Kids standing with spears waving as we pass. A few stops, much like highway 401 rest stops, where ladies sell bananas, plantains and of course fish to passengers.

We reach the town of Bonthe. It’s shore lined with several rusted out old ships. The village is beautiful. Straight footpath streets lined with palm trees and classic mud huts. The main street is home to old colonial buildings and many abandoned factories. There is “the Complex”, the only upscale resort on the island. They have cold water and real toilets. As white people, this is where we are ushered first. As we see the gate, we quickly turn back to the real end of town. At “the Complex” people arrive on “charter” speedboats or helicopters and don’t leave the compound. (Photo: Blacksmith making cutlasses)

Nadia averages about 4 guests per month. Now this is where we want to stay! The sun is low, and we’ve got a lot of organizing to do before tomorrow’s big adventure. We start with Nadia. She has lived here all her life.

“We want to walk to the south part of the island. To the beach.”
“You can’t do this. Only by charter boat.”
“No charter. We want to walk there”
“No. Impossible.”

Remember, don’t believe anything anyone says.

I don’t believe this for a minute. But after a couple of hours of interviewing several locals around the guest house, we get the same answer. Can’t walk there. It’s impossible.

It’s now dark. Moral of the group is low. We face the prospect of just hanging out in Bonthe, which is not bad at all. Just not very adventurous. Some of the group is willing to charter a boat to nearby turtle islands, an expensive 4-hour boat ride. I propose walking as far as we can, using the sun and a compass as a guide. No joke. Julian and Silas are game. So we set off looking for machetes, coconuts (we brought rum) and a local guide. The market was closed. It’s dark and the streets are spotted with candle lights. Very majestic. Surreal. This is when we run into Alpha. (Photo: Me and Silas with the blacksmith and our new cutlasses)

“Evenin. How de bodi, ya?”
“Fine”
“Watin na yu nam?”
“Alpha”
“Alpha, can you take us to the south beach?”
“Yes”
“We wan fo waka na beach”
“Yes, I can take you to DINGA”

Dinga was the magic word. A village that no one else had mentioned. (Photo: Julian and Super Pikin go to fetch water)

“Alpha, we wan fo buy cutlass (machete)”
“yes”
“you will take us there right now?”
“yes”

Alpha takes us to see a man about a cutlass. He will have two ready for us by 7am. Alpha is golden. We are all now super excited.

The sun is ready to rise the next morning. I take a bucket shower and pack my bag. The boys all spill out one by one. Alpha shows with his older brother Cru.

The sun is rising as we reach the cutlass house. In the back he is working on the final touches of our handmade machetes. The process was fascinating. He was molding and cutting steel with crude instruments and parts from old cars and ships. His kids stoked the fire as he worked the metal. The day was starting like a storybook. (Photo: Death Valley. A couple hours on the open plain at 38 degrees.)

Or guides walked us out of the village past an old airstrip with an old rusted out plane on the overgrown runway. For those who know me well, you know that I an in heaven already. Old buildings, ship wrecks and rusted out planes. I love this stuff. This island is my dream amusement park.

Every half hour or so, we would come across a village. It is customary to locate the chief and introduce yourself. This goes well almost all the time. In many cases the chief sends a scout with us to point us in the right direction. Sometimes the chief wants something, like the drunk chief who insisted on drinking from our precious water supply. (Photo: Swamp walk. Aplha in forground)

We’d often meet villagers on the path. Some scared. Some excited to see white people. At one stop we traded Pringles for Bamboo wine. It would have made a great Pringles commercial.

We hear monkeys but cannot spot them. Alpha isn’t keen to stick around when he recognizes the sound of a big monkey.

Then we reached the swamp. Stripped down to the undies and walk through. No one mentions crocodiles. It was enthralling. But the next one was longer, deeper and less exciting. It allowed for more time to think about crocs. (Photo: Walking around mangrove on the way home)

The variety of vegetation gave the impression that the Island was set up by Disney land. Every 2 to 4 klms the landscape changed from sand to swamp to jungle to open plain. The open plain was tough. I was dragging a bit. It was getting hot and the sun was almost unbearable. I kept imagining a lion running at me from the distance. I would be toast, even with my machete. I told everyone that I wanted it to open coconuts, but the truth is I wanted it for protection against snakes and crocs. But a lion. At this point, I wouldn’t even put up a fight! (don’t worry mom, there are no lions on the island. So they say)

At one village we gain two more guides. A little boy, later branded Super Pikin (Child) and his older brother. They know this part of the island better than Alpha and Cru. (Photo: Super Pikin catching a wave)

After about 5 hours of hiking we make it to the ocean. A beautiful site. We all jump into the ocean. The beach ran in each direction as far as the eye could see. Barren, save for a few clusters of huts and a nearby village. We soon attract a crowd, and bargain to setup camp at a half-built hut, not in use.

We may have been high on emotion, or stupefied from overexposure to the sun, but something told us it would be a good idea to ride the giant waves. The beach was steep, and the waves smashed you down about 10 feet to the sand. I bruised my heal and James lost his glasses. I noticed Alpha was not a good swimmer, but he and many villagers joined us swimming all afternoon. That evening we gathered from Alpha’s swollen eye that he was abused by the sea. His older brother was passed out in the hut for hours, exhausted from the trip, and/or lack of water. We joked that we were abusing our guides. Think it was partly true. (Photo: The destination - the beach)

The villagers brought us fresh fish. We feasted on fish and rice as a crowd watched our every move. We had to boil water from a nearby pond for our return journey tomorrow. The finished product was disgusting. Yellow pond water, with floaties that tasted like smoke.

We slept under mosquito nets within the shell structure of the hut. We had clothes and tools littered all over the place. I awoke in the middle of the night. It felt like rain on my face. But there were no clouds in the sky. Then I saw someone with a long stick reaching in our hut to steal Julian’s pants! I got up and yelled “Hey!” He ran away. (Photo: Our temporary home with village onlooker)

In the morning we realize a hat and a couple other things had gone missing. And that Alpah may have a concussion.

Super Pikin was fearless. He was the most resilient of the guides. He never got tired. He fetched the water and was everyone’s whipping boy. When asked how old he was, he could not say. Guess they don’t celebrate birthdays in the bush. I’d guess around 8 years old.

The Super Pikin ate enough food for all of us and started us toward home. We took a different route, which brought us to new villages on the ocean. Some of the chiefs were a bit more hardball on this path. Guess they would see more rich white yacht types on the east side. We had to trade 3 candles and a glass of rum for passage through one village. (Photo: Grant feeds our food)

We made it back before dark fall. Nadia made us groundnut stew with fish. At night I had dreams of insects crawling into my nose. I couldn’t sleep and I was nauseous.

In the morning I awake to the worst scenario. At the start of a long, grueling and uncomfortable trip home, I am sick. Food poisoning? Sun stroke? Dehydration? Maybe all three!? Not good timing. During a 14-hour journey home, I could care less what people think. I snuggle up to crabs and chickens on the floor of the boat. In the back of a police truck (they need to supplement their income somehow) I pray not to poop my pants or puke on the officer driving. A flat tire, but now puke. I made it alive. (Photo: Our guides eat dinner on a Frisbee)

Fail to Perform and We Will WHACK You…

2008-03-19T09:51:00.007-04:00

So, I’ve reached the 1-month mark. Life here is getting easier and more enjoyable. I’ve got a good grasp on the workings of my accommodations and office. And I feel like I know the city well. At least my end of town.

Names and faces are now familiar. Most nearby shop owners recognize me – although I’m definitely not inconspicuous! White man with dreads! Rasta! I get random hugs from grown men. Weird. Now the dreads are gone. A two-week experiment. It was much cooler… I will definitely do it again.

We just concluded a 3-day workshop at the office. 2 guys from Uganda and an America flew in to facilitate the commencement of an analysis of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC.) in Sierra Leone. Basically the TRC was a massive undertaking to document the human rights violations during the war and provide recommendations for the government to move forward. These kinds of commissions are fairly standard in light of South Africa’s TRC after the apartheid. How to deal with the aftermath of a major event such as war, in terms of reparations, impunity, amnesty, prosecution and the institutions and governance that design, implement and evaluated the process. I mean, this is huge. A massive undertaking. The final TRC report for Sierra Leone is 4 volumes. They include detailed accounts of human rights violations.

I have only read reports and summaries of the TRC. The past few days I was lucky enough to hear prominent Sierra Leoneans talk frankly about it’s current status. The TRC was the product of international and national interest. Our organization wants to insure the current government implements the recommendations of the TRC. To date few recommendations are imbedded in national policy, and none are linked to the TRC. In other words the government shows little desire to follow through with these obligations. Bad policy equals bad governance equals trouble. The TRC is the voice of the people and the international community (no doubt not perfect), and the government plays with fire when it doesn’t listen to the people. As a local song translates from Krio… “ if you (the government) fail to perform, we the people will whack you…”

The past couple of weekends I’ve been hanging at the beach. Some friends were involved in organizing a beach market for local traders – that was a lot of fun. I spent my money on food. (Top Photo: Performers at the market... Left Photo: Friends hiding from the hot sun under the market shelter; left to right, Desmond, Howard, Laura, Rosa and Anita AKA Frankie)

But this weekend is a long one – Easter. So a few of us will make the adventurous trek to Sherbro Island. First we must take a 10-hour “bus” ride, then 4-hour boat ride to Bonthe, the main town on the island. We’ll be looking for pigmy hippos and, of course, monkeys. I’m sure Easter dinner will be much different for me this year. Happy Easter to all. Have a Cadbury Creme Egg for me.

Zorro: Cleanest Thing on the Property

2008-03-13T12:20:00.007-04:00

My one-star accommodation has fallen to negative-star on the CAA rating system. The amenity crisis looks like this... Laundry guy is MIA. The plumber came yesterday, almost 2 weeks late. There was no water for 4 days. Then the big ground-floor tank was filled, but the pump broke. The plumber’s visit was useless because there is no power to diagnose the pump problem. No pump means no water for our tank (located on the roof) Thus diagnosing the multitude of plumbing problems in the bathroom was impossible. Follow?

It took me a few weeks to understand that a) our landlord is in Germany, b) our water pump is housed in the downstairs tenant’s yard, c) the pump switch is located at our neigbour’s house, d) the main water tank on the ground floor is filled randomly (haven’t figure out who does this), and e) our pump is powered by our neighbour’s generator, which is only on when he chooses/ is home. I’m guessing the architect for this set-up is an idiot savant, or British.

The leak we had in the bathroom two weeks ago (the original problem) pails in comparison to the fact that our water system is in shambles right now. We currently employ the bucket system. I am declaring a state of emergency. All my clothes, dirty. Me, dirty. Dishes, dirty. Zorro the dog is the cleanest thing on the property.

I probably wouldn’t be too bothered with having to fetch water for bucket showers, but somehow I managed to contract some sort of rash, which just ads to the annoyance. First diagnosed by everyone as heat rash (on my wrist. settle down.) It started on the weekend. It’s itchy. It spread after a few days to reveal itself as POISON IVY. I’m still not sure what it is, but my skin is reacting like it’s poison ivy. I tell everyone it’s malaria. It’s now in defeat stage, but still itchy.
(Photo Right: My stylist, Mariama; Photo Left: Zorro)

Lakka's Happy Dogs

2008-03-07T09:10:00.007-05:00

I’m 3-weeks into my adventure and I’ve put in a week at the office. I’m helping staff to develop programs and proposals for related funding. I’m learning a lot about funding sources and a little about the politics too.

Designing, developing, monitoring and evaluating programs has become my bread and butter back home, so that part should be a breeze. A current draft proposal is a nation-wide training scheme combined with policy changes (in-line with international standards) for the Sierra Leone Police. They have a bad habit of beating the lights out of detainees, while not allowing them access to their rights. As a former law enforcement officer, this is right up my ally. The current proposal is decent, but has some sustainability issues and poor performance measurement (a required of donors and, general, just good). It looks like I can help. But stay tuned. Things don’t run smoothly and logically in Africa! (Right: View from where i usually have lunch...Old Railway Line RD, close to CGG Office)

On Monday I sat in on a work-related press conference. At a classic colonial house in the core of bustling Freetown I saw first hand my NGO (CGG) in the spotlight. The Head Coordinator and key staff led the press conference. There were TV, radio and newspaper reporters. I was the only “white man” there. CGG was releasing a statement condemning recent violent protests. I was really impressed with the questions from the media and mostly from the responses from our lead people. The key people in my organizations are sharp and well educated. On the other end, our maintenance guys and drivers have only a slight grasp of English. This allows me to practice Krio.

On Saturday I went to the glorious beach village of Lakka. Once on the beach, the loudness and stink of Freetown quickly fades. It’s about 1 hour by “bus” (mini van) to get to Lakka. The bus doesn’t leave until there are 5 people per bench (the min vans are modified) – that’s about 20 people. We are at the back where there are windows. My knees are stabbing someone’s spleen. Some people just hang on to the back and ride the bumper. The ocean is very warm and clean at Lakka. You can fall asleep in the waves. Even the dogs are healthier here. Or at least they are alive.

On a beautify Saturday afternoon there are few people on the beach – a bit of a shock. Some need to “get away” more than others. Julian, my roommate, had two sleepless nights after a traumatic experience. While on his way to work, two ladies crammed into the taxi with a young girl. “Skin and bones”, she died on the way to the hospital while the others cried.

I sat down with the neighbourhood kids on Sunday. Hours later I’m sporting a new hairdo. It’s cooler, in both senses. Hahaha...I get looks from everyone. Now it’s ichy. On Monday I shut down CGG’s Internet service by downloading too many NHL replays. Opa! (I didn’t bother with the Sen’s replays) (Right: My office)

War and Development

2008-02-29T11:14:00.007-05:00

I have completed my in-country training. I learned a lot about the country, it’s people and development history. Here’s the dirty version:

1961 – Sierra Leone independent from UK.
1964 – the prime minister died and his brother was appointed to office. (Democracy slide begins?)
1967 to 86 – several coups took place.
1968 – Siaka Stevens became prime minister and turned SL into a republic state, thus he became President. He led with violence, using young men to fight opposition. These young men were sent to Cuba to train as fighters and became known as Siaka’s Dogs.
By 1977 there was no opposition. But students became fed-up with the government and revolted, almost over throwing the government. Violent rule continued. Things were really ruff by the mid 80s when Stevens brought military heads into government, not trusting his own corrupt party.
1989 – War broke out in neighbouring Liberia, spilling into Sierra Leone in 1991. The brutal civil war in Liberia played an undeniable role for the outbreak of fighting in Sierra Leone. The leader of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia reportedly helped form the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) under the command of a former Sierra Leone army corporal. In return, there were rewards of diamonds from Sierra Leone. The RUF launched its first attack in villages in Kailahun District in the diamond-rich Eastern Province of Sierra Leone in 1991.
1992 – the military, run by young leaders, staged a coup. In power, the military abused power including arbitrary arrests.
1996 – An internal coup was successful. A peace agreement was underway, but the civil society and the international community wanted a democratic election.
1996 – first democratic election in years. Peace accord signed.
1997 – Peace deal unravels, followed by another Military coup. The commonwealth suspends Sierra Leone; the UN imposes sanctions barring arms and fuel supply.
1998 – the West African “intervention force” ECOMOG drives rebels out of Freetown.
1999 – The rebels/RUF seize parts of Freetown from ECOMOG. After weeks of bitter fighting they are driven out, leaving behind 5,000 dead and a devastated city.
The UN intervenes.
1999 – May - A ceasefire is greeted with cautious optimism in Freetown amid hopes that eight years of civil war may soon be over.
2000 – May - Rebels close in on Freetown; 800 British paratroopers sent to Freetown to evacuate British citizens and to help secure the airport for UN peacekeepers.
2001 – May - Disarmament of rebels begins, and British-trained Sierra Leone army starts deploying in rebel-held areas.
2002 – January - War declared over. UN mission says disarmament of 45,000 fighters is complete.
2004 – February - Disarmament and rehabilitation of more than 70,000 civil war combatants officially completed.

Around this time development agencies started returning to Sierra Leone. In 2005 VSO SL reopened after shutting down in 1995. It was difficult at first to secure volunteers for placement in SL because of the fresh memory of the brutal civil war that left the country dilapidated and it’s people the most unfortunate in the world. VSO started with 5 volunteers in 2005, and now has around 48 in country. There seems to be an early return rate, as I see the names of volunteers stricken from the contact list.

This turbulent history is so recent. It is hard to believe coming from Canada. You can smell it in the air. I see the places where battles took place. It will take some time getting used to the fact that everyone you meet has been affected by the war. The kids across the street with no parents. They may have been victims of the war. Or maybe they fled to a neigbouring country. There are many more women than men here. You cannot go one block without seeing the victims of the RUF – amputees. Every current teenaged kid did not go to school during the 10-year civil war. He more-than-likely carried a gun and fought for one side or the other. Most of the educated professionals fled the country. Once a prestigious institution, the Sierra Leone University is now hopeless.

Desmond, was a military commander during the war. A strong man, now in his late twenties. No one messes with Desmond. Not just because he looks like he could win a battle against a gorilla, but because people know who he was. He’s now a driver for a group of development workers, and a close friend of us white dudes. I can only image what he did and saw. I feel that way about everyone I meet.

(Photo. Julian on our way home from work)

Development: Cold War. Sierra Leone aligned with the communists, thus training and development funding came from countries like Russia and China. Some of the nicest buildings including the national stadium were built by China.

In 1991 there was an emergency situation with food shortages and inflation. This is when aid relief started and continued until the war ended. After the war, some refugees returned and aid relief was slowly replaced by development funding.

Development is undertaken by many international agencies and NGOs. Big players like the UN and CARE (CARE is the longest standing, having been here since 1961). There are many local NGOs, like the one I work for (Campaign for Good Governance). Local NGOs are run by local people.

The development bodies are funded through various sources, but major funding comes from the likes of the World Bank, UK Foreign Affairs, the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) etc. They get there money from well-to-do tax payers! An interesting theme that keeps being mention is that funds for “relief” are much more sexy than “development”. So Sierra Leone, now out of the war and headline news, is seeing a major drop in funding support.

On the lighter side: Dirty. Everything is dirty here. Do not lick your fingers. Our water comes from a tank on the roof. When it’s empty we yell across the way to our neighbour (our landlord) to fill it up using his pump. No electricity no pump. No pump, no water. No water, no shower or toilet. Well, who takes a #2 when there’s no power. Yup. To the enjoyment of my roommates, it was preserved for a good half day till the power came on. My office is well equipped (SL standards). I even have AC in my office (shared with 4 others). But no water. Mango and Banana trees out my window. But no water. I must remember to ensure there is a bucket of water in the can before I go for my daily 10am meeting with John Brown. (I really do work with a John Brown).

And the Kids, they Cry.

2008-02-25T12:22:00.005-05:00

Thursday I finally felt like I did something for someone else. Until then, I had been taken by hand to do everything. After training, I stopped off at Abraham’s corner market for some coke (my caffeine substitute for coffee). On the way back I saw a boy surrounded by children in a field. He was trying to teach himself how to ride a motorbike. To the amazement of the neighbourhood kids, I delivered a 5 minute lesson and demonstration. It was pretty sweet. I hope he lends me his bike one day. But I’m sure I’ll brake it! Everything here is poorly made. This poor kids new motorbike will surely disintegrate in the rainy season weather.

The shit can walk. Pots, pans, hangers, strainers, forks and bowls. I’ve officially shopped at all the common-man’s places in Freetown – the supermarkets, the trade markets and street vendors. If the shit could talk, it would say “ I am crap that was molded into something like a plate; made in china to test for the lowest quality possible. I couldn’t make it to the US market because, even there, there is no market for brittle, lead-laced shapes of durable goods.” I swear our pots are made of tin foil.

And the kids, they cry. I’m getting more comfortable with the locals. It’s easy at times, like Friday morning walking to work, when a random small boy ran towards to me to give me a big hug. A good 20-second bear hug to the leg. The white guy has magic over small children!

In the afternoon, during our city orientation, I sat waiting for people to buy some tin foil shaped into everyday things. I was sitting beside a family of 8ish sierra leoneans. A small boy was eying me up. So I made a drill noise with my mouth and poked him in the gut. (classic kid trick). That was the start of a 10-minute uncontrollable screaming and crying fit by the little dude. I was pretty embarrassed. There was nothing I could do to calm this kid down. More drill noises just made it worst. Guess I have to pick my spots with kids.

I learned my lesson. So, Saturday night I put away the drill noises and poking finger and just sat outside my house, near the neighbours. I just sat there. And the kids started to come one by one. Like squirrels to nuts. First was the quiet but adventurous Na-sai-o. A 6 yr old orphan boy. A hi-five. A couple of smiles. No drill noises. He called for his “sistas”. Twins Diane and Diana (7-yrs old). Soon I was surrounded by about 8 kid, ages 2 to 8. And after sharing popcorn and practicing my Krio, I had about 10 small hands on my head. They practiced making African hair styles on my crop. By this time Na-sai-o was completely comfortable with me. Calling me a “uman” (woman) with my long hair. Petting my goatee, punching me and pulling down his pants to moon me. All the while laughing uncontrollably. We will definitely get along well.

Random sights. I’ve seen more Rod Brind’Amour jerseys (1) in Freetown than I have in the whole of Canada. Canada is worn everywhere here. it’s nice. It must mean our donations are making it here. 1 Edmonton Oiler toque. Several intramural hockey jerseys. A Transport Canada and McGill U T-shirt. And lots of beer promotional shirts with stuff like “the puck stops here…”. I rode home in a Mama Mia Taxi from Toronto. (they were donated to developing countries after the show’s promotion) . Sunday at the beach... there was a garbage protest last week. The city stopped picking up garbage, so the people just piled all their refuse in the middle of a main street. A few days later trucks picked up the pile. The next day, a massive load of garbage washed up on the local beach. hmmmm. We're talking serious garbage, including dog carcasses. We do not swim at this beach.

Crazytown and Bruno

2008-02-19T13:00:00.004-05:00

Where to begin. One – I made it safe and sound. All is good. Mom and Dad - please stop worrying and get some sleep! Two – Freetown is crazy. Customs and immigration was pretty much a free-for-all. The 20min car ride from the airport to the ferry was like a dream. I had been thinking about this journey for months, and now it’s a reality. The car lights light up the huts and women carrying bins of water and food on their heads along the road. Aside from car headlights and fires, it was pitch black.

I live with Julian (Kingston) and Laura (England) who’ve been here since October. We have a massive 4 bedroom second-floor apartment. One toilet that works and a shower.

We live in a pretty sweet neighbourhood… the neighbours already know my name. They’ve been waiting weeks to meet me. Jason. The white man living with the only two other white people in the hood. They are a bit confused with the one woman and two guys situation.

The lady across the street has a big family. I’m not good with numbers, but I’m gonna say about 10 kids. Most of them are orphans. They live in a little shack and an old van. I’ve gotta try to remember all their names!

VSO and the general volunteering community are very mindful of acclimatising new people. The first 48 hours have been very smooth thanks to Laura, Julian and Kate’s crew. VSO gave cash to others so that I won’t have to worry about finding and paying for food and transportation for the first week.

Against the advice of others (see mindful acclimatisation), I went with Laura to visit one of her AIDS patients. I had only spent 2 hours in the daylight in SL, and there I was in the impending-death ward in Freetown’s hospital. Not sure I could justly explain what I saw, but it’s something I will never forget.

I did a lot in my first weekend here, so for the sake of binary code conservation I will just write a few random thoughts to finish this blog entry… Its dusty and stinking HOT! It smells like the Algoma Steel Plant. The money looks like it was printed before Christ, and it smells like it is repeatedly soaked in crap and piss. We have a “guard” dog named Zorro. Everyone is super friendly, even the local weed dealer. There are very few white people around, but when you see one, you are best friends. So far I’ve met people from Windsor, Toronto, the Yukon and NYC. First breakfast was French toast with Canadian maple syrup courtesy Kate from Ottawa. Watched Sierra Leoneans sing-a-long to Shania Twain and Celine Dion at a local bar. Yes, shoot me now. We get a few hours of power each day. I once believed that Ottawa and Sault Ste Marie had the worst streets in the world. Wrong. (for Franco and the CSI team) I met Bruno’s parents. The chimp sanctuary was started for Bruno by his adoptive parents (an English couple) in 1995. I diplomatically asked about big Bruno. They didn’t tell me that he ripped the face of a taxi driver and ate two babies, but they say he is still at large! Along with 3 other chimps. So there is a real threat out there! Hahahha. I hope I see him on the street!

I start training tomorrow. Ready to learn some Krio.

Today London. Tomorrow Africa.

2008-02-14T16:35:00.004-05:00

I’m sitting in a tiny hotel room at Heathrow airport. Already had to move to a new room because I blew a fuse with all the stuff I had plugged in – trying to suck as much energy into my electronics as possible before I land in Freetown, where power is on as frequently as Kenny vs Spenny.

I think I’m prepared, even though vision may be a problem – my glasses were a casualty of my last weekend in Ottawa. I packed 2 bags totaling 27 kgs. Not bad. Only one long-sleeve item.

It was a couple weeks of “send-off” beers, good-byes and a bit of crying (not me! hahaha… although my nieces can put anyone on the brink)

I have 2 alarms set and a wakeup call for 5 am. Good night.

T-10 Days

2008-02-03T11:09:00.000-05:00

My flight to Sierra Leone is a little more than a week away. I’m having a nice relaxing Sunday after a couple weeks of draining preparations…. 4 wisdom teeth extractions (good timing!), 16 hours of moving in one day, 5 days of VSO training, malaria pill testing and multiple vaccinations– the last one, yellow fever, gave me a fever!

With most of the major prep work out of the way I’m starting to get excited about Sierra Leone and also sad to be leaving my friends and fam. It will be hard to step out of my life right now – great job, wonderful girlfriend, first place in my hockey pool ☺, my sports routines - and into a place where no one knows me and pizza may be hard to find!

My brother and some of the ‘boys’ are coming into town next weekend for a little party time, including Habs vs Sens. Then I’m off to the Soo on Sunday with a flight to London on Wednesday.

Until then, I’ll try to pack my life into 2 small bags!