Disneyland Fortress

The ultimate reason that we’re here in Sierra Leone is because Gearoid is doing research. He is evaluating a European company that is creating bio-ethanol fuel by growing and processing sugar cane. Gearoid’s research in a nutshell is to see what local people think about the company. What are the benefits and the limitations? In his preparation to come back to Sierra Leone, Gearoid had been in contact with the people with the company and had discussed what kind of support if any he needed from the company. Gearoid’s only requests were access to the findings of a survey the company was completing and that they sign a MOU stating they won’t sue him if his findings aren’t positive of the company. The company was eager to agree to these terms and offered other amenities such as housing and transportation. Ethical Gearoid gave a firm “no thank you” because he wanted his research to be as unbiased as possible and it might affect the interpretation of his research if it was found out he was living in a house paid for by the company he was evaluating. A very valid ethical argument on his part.

Then we got here and reality set in. The place where Gearoid needs to conduct research is farther outside the city limits than he expected and transportation was going to be an issue. The housing situation in Makeni was another problem.  The oven that was our first house was uncomfortable, filthy, unprotected, and was making me sick- literally. While living in these conditions, after delivering his recently arrived graduate student to her company house, Gearoid found out how the other half lived. He made the mistake of telling me. Air conditioning was blowing the house to an almost too cold temperature. One of the people living in the house revealed he was in the bath when the doorbell rang. Bath?! Doorbell?! I stopped Gearoid at that point. I didn’t want to hear more and then promptly went to take my bucket shower by candlelight. 

Two days later with a heat rash covering most of my body and Gearoid surviving off of two hour of sleep, he broke down and said he would ask about company housing. I asked him numerous times about the impact on his research and he stated honestly that the effects mean nothing if he can’t do his research because he’s sick and unable to sleep. I smiled in the dark heat of our room and trying not to scratch my rash, fell fitfully to sleep thinking about air conditioning.

After a brief respite at a guesthouse, we were given the go-ahead to move into the company house. At this point, living in the company house is still a temporary solution but it may become permanent and if it doesn’t we have a better housing option lined up. Our new place is outside of town near the village where I used to work and Gearoid played football. In order to get to the house you have to turn off the main highway onto a narrow dirt road that is lined with a few houses but mostly large mango trees. After passing through the trees, the shade gradually disappears and the land is filled with construction sites of houses in various stages of completion. Some of the more establish houses already have small farms with groundnuts, pineapples, and cassava growing. After the shade, it soon becomes obvious where we’re heading. Large compound walls with barbed wire loom up in the distance. It is a Disneyland Fortress. All the house needs now is a neon sign that says “White People Live Here. All Others Keep Out.” Granted this was my first impression as I was immediately put at unease.

Large metal doors opened, after a brief conversation with the guards, letting us into the compound. The house is huge with two en-suite bedrooms, two other decent sized bedrooms with a shared bathroom, a spacious entry way, a living room outfitted with satellite television, a large kitchen with two fridges, a freezer and an oven, and a couple of terraces in case you want to sit outside. The air conditioning greeted our skin upon first entering. It felt refreshing and sinful at the same time. We dropped our bags off in our room and I walked around the house with my mouth gaped open. This house with all of its comforts made me very uncomfortable.

Just across the road were poorer families with no power, who sent their children down to a well to carry water back to the house. The safety of the compound walls made me feel unsafe as if there was a target on our backs that announced to everyone around us that we lived here. The other people who live in Disneyland Fortress only leave and arrive on the compound via big white trucks making our existence out in this village even more noticeable. When I introduced myself to the woman who comes daily to clean the house, she ran into the kitchen and asked what I needed. I tried to explain I just wanted to know her name. The guilt was oppressive. I felt like a failure for being unable to live in our old house without water and power and comfort. How unfair that I got to live in this comfort while others were living in poverty down the street?

Then I got my first night of uninterrupted sleep in the AC. I actually woke up feeling a little bit cold and searched my luggage for some socks and a light sweater. When I returned home that afternoon it was by foot and the guards all thought I was just trying to get exercise-not realizing that I didn’t have the luxury of a big white vehicle driving me around. After a sweaty walk it was a relief to walk into a cool and clean home. My laundry had been cleaned and ironed and was waiting for me in a neat pile. The dishes that had been dirtily covering the counter were cleaned and put away. I washed up and made myself a cup of tea and then sat and watched Days of Our Lives on the giant flat screen television. Was I really in Africa?

The truth is I got over my guilt really quickly. I’m not trying to justify anything. Yes, all of the work I do is on a voluntary basis. I walk and get public taxis. I go to the local market for groceries to make local food. I talk to people on my walks and say good morning and how are you in the local dialect. Yes, I do all of that and it doesn’t make me feel better about my current living conditions. What sadly makes me feel better is the cool AC. The effective daily cleaning woman- Francis- and that I can unwind with an hour of television. I can live almost more comfortably than I did in the Netherlands. All that griping I did about not having an oven- I have one now. I can watch the Food Network Channel. Our house in the Netherlands didn’t have satellite TV, AC, or Francis. I enjoy living comfortably and despite all my good intentions to be a giving unselfish person the comfort of the house has eliminated all feelings of guilt that originally arose from moving into Disneyland Fortress.

That’s not to say that Disneyland Fortress is not a house in Africa. A family of lizards lives behind the television and at night we are constantly battling all manner of bugs that somehow find their way into the house. If Francis didn’t come daily, the bugs might overtake the house. One night I came home late after a get together and flicked on the light to see a swarm of flying ants calmly climbing the walls and ceiling. The only place where I get reception on my cell phone is behind the refrigerator and I have to crouch there to send texts and make phone calls. The bad reception makes it impossible to have internet.  A few days ago I came home to see a headless tailless green mambo snake that the guards had killed as it attempted to get into the house. The path I have to walk everyday is littered with mango carcasses that have fallen from the tree and cracked opened into pulpy messes that attract all manner of creatures. At night, the path is even scarier. When meeting friends for a drink or for dinner after the sun has set, I only have a flashlight to light the way and along with avoiding puddles and mango messes, I’m also making sure no creatures come out and get me. The other night a passing frog almost gave me a heart attack.

One of our guards proudly displaying the deadly snake he killed. I think it became someone's dinner after this picture was taken.

The comforts of Disneyland Fortress are also weakening me to life outside of the house. Once I leave the cool interior for someplace in town that doesn’t have a fan or AC- which is most places- I get very hot and am unable to cool down. One night our generator ran out of fuel and I was unable to make my cup of tea. I complained to a friend that if we lived in a house without power I would have a thermos of hot water ready for tea but with no power in this house I was unable to use the electric kettle. She reminded me that I have a propane stove that has nothing to do with electricity and I could have still had tea. It didn’t even occur to me as I am completely addicted to power again. Despite my newfound weaknesses, I choose the comfort. Because if I am going to be here for 6 more months and want to retain my happiness and love and affection for this country, I honestly need comfort. Disneyland Fortress isn’t so bad. The AC is worth the new darkness on my soul.

I Promise I'm Not Miserable

A recent email from a good friend asked me to write about some happy things. I admit, my recent blog posts have been pretty morose and give the impression that I am miserable in Sierra Leone.  Honestly the first week was emotional and difficult for me. When Gearoid told me a year ago that he had to come back to Sierra Leone, I told him I wasn’t going with him. Along with other reasons, I didn’t want to have to face the difficult facts of life here. Starving children, animals, and adults. Children who should be in school doing hard labor instead. Blind beggars. Intelligent adults mangled by polio reduced to begging outside of a Western style grocery store. The list goes on and on. However, deep in my heart I knew I would come back. This country and the kind and beautiful people get under your skin in a way so that you’re forever attached to them.

So, I promise I’m not miserable. I had acute culture shock (and shock that I agreed to return) and a bad housing situation. After the first week, I’ve acclimated and am actually happier than I’ve been the last few months in the Netherlands. A big part of my happiness is that I’m working (albeit for free) and doing the kind of work that I enjoy. My first job is as a lecturer at the university here in Makeni (Unimak). I have taken over 3 classes from a nun who was overwhelmed with her course load. Unfortunately I’m teaching things that I learned in high school (the Merchant of Venice, how to write an essay, etc) which is a gross understatement of the state of education here but it gives me more experience teaching adults. I’m also using my recently acquired TEFL certificate to design and teach English courses at Unimak as well.

I’m in love with my other job which I pretty much created for myself. The last time I was here, I did some workshops for the teachers at St. Joseph’s School for the Hearing Impaired. This time around I have pretty much swooped in, am calling myself a curriculum specialist, designing a weekly training program, and I am organizing educational materials for the classrooms. Sister Mary, the nun who runs the school, doesn’t know what to think but assures me that she’s grateful. What she doesn’t realize is that she’s helping me out. When I left the States a year and a half ago, I also left a job that made me completely disillusioned with working in the field of education. I’ve spent the last 14 months in the Netherlands trying to “find” myself and think about what I really want to do for a career but it was only after returning here that I realized that this is what I love and want to do (please read this with a grain of salt- I say this now but can be pretty fickle and may change my mind again in the future).

That’s not to say that it is not frustrating as hell working here. I’m working with teachers who aren’t educated enough (some not all), who haven’t been paid and have an understandable lack of motivation, and who disappear and decide not to come to work. I have discovered a wealth of books and resources to be used in classrooms that are locked in storage for fear of them being stolen or destroyed. You have to move a mountain to move an anthill to get anything done here. Despite the frustration, I love the challenge and whenever I start feeling overwhelmed by all that needs to be done, I adopt the Salonean phrase- small small. I’m just happy to be working again.

In addition to work, we’ve also developed a social network here. Last time we were here, there were like 12 expats in town and anytime someone new came into town we invited them to dinner. We were a close knit group. Being in the same town without our friends was a little difficult, especially considering that the expat community now has a completely different dynamic. In the last few years big mining and farming companies have moved in meaning that expats are everywhere! There is even a new restaurant in town that functions as an expat hang out. I can get pancakes and pizza in Makeni. It’s absurd but delicious. Among all of these expats, we’ve found a group that we can relate to and have a fun with. The great thing about an expat community in a place like Sierra Leone is that relationships develop more quickly than they would back home. The awkward getting to know you period is pushed aside and genuine friendships develop without pretence. I’ve spent 14 months in the Netherlands trying to make friends and have accomplished that in a few weeks here. It’s hard to explain but with people who are living similarly to you and can relate to cultural and systemic issues (i.e. nobody showed up to the class I was supposed to teach or the generator broke down and I couldn’t Skype my mom on her birthday or the hotel in town with the only pool tried to charge a man for swimming when in fact he dived in fully clothed to save a drowning woman- by the way these are all true stories) you feel comfortable enough to open up more and to make your inappropriate and sarcastic jokes without fear of offending and alienating them.

My first lecture here. Everyone decided to watch the Charles Taylor case instead of coming to class.

So I’m happy here. I have a job. I have friends. And I’m living in a Disneyland fortress (more on that later). I just hope my happiness holds out and beats down the frustrations.

Tiwai Sanctuary

We had only been back in Makeni for 2 weeks but it felt like soooooooooo much longer. One night, when we were sweltering instead of sleeping at our old house, I reminded Gearoid that only one week ago we were in London and only two weeks ago he was returning to the Netherlands from San Diego. Time is different here. It is slower. A whole lot slower.

So after only two weeks back, we (mainly me) jumped on an offer to take a trip out of town. When you have an offer for a ride, you take it. Along with 4 other people, we got into a van and made the 5 ½ hour trip to Tiwai. Luckily most of it was paved and the part that wasn’t paved wasn’t as bad as it could have been. After the van trip, we waited patiently in a village and entertained the local kids with our whiteness. I don’t mean to come off as racist or anything but the truth is that some people here- mostly children-are entertained by what we foreigners do. For example- I got quite a few hoots and hollers when I was brushing my teeth one morning.

After serving as public entertainment, we made our way down to a motor boat and took the 5 minute river trip up to the island. It was beautiful. The trees loomed high and green over the light brown water. Small sandy islands dotted the river as we made our way to the sanctuary. We pulled up on a beach and were told that it was a safe place to swim. The entire boat trip, I had drilled our guide about the presence of crocodiles and with a laugh and a big grin he semi-assured me that we would be safe swimming at this little beach place. We unloaded the little boat and made a quick trek along a narrow path to the camp of the sanctuary. We were hot and thirsty after the trip but our hosts were determined to give us the required spiel.-This is not a zoo. The animals are wild. Do not wander past certain points without a guide. The guide costs this much. Don’t sleep with food in your tents. We have cold drinks.-After 20 minutes or so we were freed and quickly came to the conclusion that Tiwai was guilty of false advertising. The “raised platforms in treetop canopies” that we would be sleeping in were really tents outfitted with damp mattresses in a concrete structure. The “cold drinks” were lukewarm. The delicious menu with plenty of choices was pretty limited to what the cook wanted to make. Whatever, TIA (this is Africa) and we were here for an adventure.

Gearoid in front of a GIANT and ancient tree

Just a little aside, the cook- I mean the chef, was really entertaining to me. As a group we decided to pay for meals at the sanctuary instead of carting in food. The chef asked us what we wanted to eat and our only requests were cassava leaf one night and that everything be vegetarian. He asked what we wanted for lunch- cassava leaf- no I’ll make beans. What do you want for breakfast? Fruit and bread? No, I don’t have that. Gearoid eventually asked- what can you make for us?- I mean why give us a choice if you’ve already decided?-The chef then very passionately described what he would make for us. He listed and described each ingredient indicating with his thumb and forefinger how wonderful everything would be. It was as if we were in a proper restaurant with a French trained chef describing escargot instead of in a bug infested jungle describing beans and rice. Our tomato sauce for some Salonean pancakes was literally onions, salt, and ketchup cooked together but was described with such delight and precision that we smiled and dug in. In all fairness, although the food was simple, it was delicious and we had no complaints.

After our welcome lecture, I lathered on the sunscreen and decided to brave the river. Let me say that I know African rivers are a risk. There are the obvious things- snakes and crocodiles- but also the unseen ones such as invisible parasites and bugs. However, when the choices are a cool refreshing risky river or sitting sweating in the heat battling crawling and flying bugs, I will always choose the risky river. Admittedly, it was scary at first. Fish jumping out of the water made me scream and jump, things that go bump in the water freaked me out, and it took a good half hour for me to get comfortable. But once I reached an appropriate comfort level, I was all in. I was swimming out farther, floating, climbing on river rocks, having mock battles with the current, and was in a general state of bliss. The other members of our group only briefly braved the river before returning to the riverside hammocks, while I literally spent hours in it and was properly wrinkled when I got out. I spent most of the next day in the river as well. At one point, something nipped my foot and scared me out but two hours later I was back in the river until an epic rainstorm moved in.

Along with lounging in the river, we did take a few walks through the jungle. Our first walk was hilarious because we all thought the primates would jump from the trees revealing themselves to us. We quietly tiptoed along a narrow path making hand signals to each other to stop and stare at the leaves above us whenever we heard the slightest noise. In the end we saw one bird. It was pretty exciting though. The next morning we took a guided tour and saw three types of monkeys, tons of termites, a bird that sounds like a helicopter, and a giant ancient tree that’s roots we had to literally climb over. Our walk soon finished after a conversation about snakes in the forest. Are there snakes here? “Oh, yes. Black mambos, boa constrictors…..” Me- Do any of them go in the water? Bo Bo (our guide) No- a few.  Well thanks for answering so clearly!

Sleeping in the tents was an experience in itself. The first night it was hot and humid. We all literally laid in our separate tents exclaiming how hot it was and how it generally sucked. One member of our group, quietly left our moaning to go drink whiskey with some Polish visitors so he could fall asleep more easily. Another woman in our group, started exclaiming that she had a hornet in her tent, but her epi-pen was outside of the tent, and she was in the process of changing and didn’t have any underwear on. Despite her plight, the rest of us started laughing hysterically. The entire situation: the heat, the bugs thumping against the outside of our tent, the blood stains on my own tent, unknown animals howling in the not so far distance, the fact that we weren’t on raised platforms in the trees, and this worried underwearless woman with a hornet in her tent cracked us up. I looked at the preying mantis staring at me through the mesh of my tent and tried and failed to suppress the inappropriate laughter. (By the way, the woman with the hornet is ok and her epi-pen was not needed).

On our last day, we all woke up after a cooler night of sleep. Everything in our tents was slightly damp from the previous’ day’s rainstorm. The plan was one more boat ride on the river and a breakfast of bananas and sweet potatoes (with the awesome ketchup sauce) and we would be on our way. I was definitely ready to leave after breakfast. I am a two day camper at best and I had reached the capacity of my patience. I was tired of the bugs that traveled by all means possible to land on me (especially the one I found in my underwear!). I was tired of jumping with fear anytime something caused the bushes and trees near me to rustle. I desperately needed a shower and wanted to use a toilet that didn’t require me do battle with spiders to use the toilet paper. I was done done as they say here. Of course, we had to sit and wait for mysterious actions to take place before we were able to make our way back to the van. A lot of time is spent in Sierra Leone sitting and waiting for things to happen. Eventually we crossed the river for the last time and made the long hot dry trip back to Makeni. Despite all that did and didn’t happen, it was a worthy adventure.

Later in the week, examining pictures of the river boat ride, we discovered a crocodile. He hid when our boat came by but his place on the river was close enough to the spot where I had been swimming the entire weekend for me to forsake all African rivers in the future. 

Why Did We Come Back?

Why did we come back? This is what we continually asked ourselves our first week back. Why would we do this to ourselves? The heat was intense. Miserable. The only relief I got from the heat was a ride on the back of an okada (a motorcycle taxi) but some days even the wind from the ride felt like I was sitting in a windy hot oven. My small spot of heat rash quickly grew up my arms, onto my chest, and down to my feet. We drank copious amounts of water and treated ourselves to neon tinted soft serve ice cream that’s frozenness compensated for the chemical flavor.

Our days were spent trying to connect with people, looking for housing, furnishing our new house, and trying to avoid melting. Most of this meant sitting and waiting and questioning why we came back. Daytime wasn’t so bad. We would find and see things on the street or in our new neighborhood that made us smile, remembering the sweetness of the people here. We found a lady near our house who sold the 5 block beans and rice we used to get for breakfast. We walked through town admiring newly paved roads, sidewalks, and new buildings and businesses. Old Temne and Krio words found their way back into our head and out of our mouths as we communicated with locals. We enjoyed the familiar and delicious burn of our favorite African dishes. Familiar friendly faces reintroduced themselves to us. Children danced and called hello to us as we passed by on foot or by okada. Life wasn’t too bad.

Then night would come and we forgot all of the wonderful things that we love about this country. We were reminded again that everything is more difficult and time consuming here. For example- the simple task of flushing the toilet. Our house didn’t have running water and the well was almost dry because of the extended dry season. First you have to pull a tiny bucket of water from the newly deepened well and dump it into a bigger bucket. When the bigger bucket is filled, carefully carry it into the house to the bathroom (which happens to be off the kitchen) and dump the water through a handheld sieve into a big empty barrel. Imagine though that the bucket and sieve slip and half the bucket spills on the floor. Your sandals, which have red dust from outside on them, soak up the water and leave a trail of reddish brown footprints through the bathroom, kitchen, and hallway. You go outside and tell your irate partner, who is not only pulling tiny buckets of water but also serving as the neighborhood entertainment (a white man pulling buckets of water is not a usual sight), that half a bucket spilled and bear the less than pleasant response. You retort back something semi-rude and make your way back to the bathroom with another bucket of water. Imagine this time when you pour the bucket, the barrel shifts and a pipe under the sinks falls off completely dribbling dirty black water onto the already reddish brown floor. You return outside to your sweating and irate partner and share this new information. Again, there is an exchange of rude discourse. The third trip to fill the barrel goes well. As does the fourth and fifth. Finally, the barrel is full and you fill one more bucket to promptly dump in the disgusting toilet. After, mopping the bathroom, kitchen, and hallway floor in a way that looks like there is an equal distribution on reddish brown mud instead of just foot prints, you absentmindedly wash your hands in the defunct sink, causing a gush of water to fall on your just “cleaned” floor. After another round of mopping, you send your partner out for some much needed cold drinks- and not the non-alcoholic kind. Later, in the evening, while using the toilet, you see a tiny mouse run from the hole under the sink (where the pipe once was) and into the house. That is what it takes to flush the toilet.

Our first house. Gorgeous but hot.

This simple task actually filled our late afternoon and was a distraction from the usual boredom that sets in around 5 PM. By 7 PM, we were fed, bathed, and in our room. The real hell started then. Our room was a hot box. It was cooler outside but we stayed inside to avoid the risk of malaria. We literally spent 4 hours in our room one night lying awake sweating. I could actually feel my heat rash growing while Gearoid sat in front of the window with his head in his hands. We were both on the edge of tears questioning why we came back. Gearoid made promises of plane tickets home but I was too hot to consider anything. The next night, we stayed out and enjoyed cold beers at a new café in town until we couldn’t avoid going back to our hot room. With the sweat pooling between my neck and my pillow and the Krio pop party happening outside our window we considered our options.

The next day we moved into a guesthouse run by a friendly Irish nun who also runs a school where I am doing some work. The guesthouse is on the second floor which gave us a breeze. There is running water and electricity. Within 3 days my heat rash was under control and we started to remember why we came back to Salone. We stayed at the nun’s guesthouse for 5 days before finding new housing (more on that later). Last time we were here we lived with no running water or electricity but either because we’re older or global warming has made the heat extra intense, we can’t do it anymore. We came here for a reason but if we can’t sleep or the heat makes us sick, what good are we to anyone? We are in more comfortable accommodations now and are both busy with work. We remember again why we came here.