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.