Opporto Invasion

The beginning of June was important for two reasons. First it was Gearoid’s birthday. I felt like a crap girlfriend for not planning anything for him, especially considering the amazing birthday trip I received to Istanbul this year. At the last minute though, I was able to get him a Salonean football jersey and bake him a cake (it was a box cake but we put Flake candy bars in it to add some excitement). We also had a nice evening out with some friends.

Part of the reason behind the low key birthday celebrations was due to the other important event that took place on June 9^th. Makeni hosted a marathon. I’m not a 100% sure but I’m fairly confident that this was the first marathon ever in Sierra Leone and if it wasn’t the first in the country it was definitely the first in Makeni. An organization called Street Child of Sierra Leone, with the help of some supporting organizations, dealt with what I’m sure was a logistical nightmare to put on this event to raise money for their organization.

When I finally jumped on the “returning to Africa” bandwagon in late winter/early spring, I did research on which organizations to contact so I could do some meaningful volunteer work while I was in Sierra Leone. During the time of my research, I discovered that the marathon was taking place. Gearoid and I were both surprised for many reasons. June is the beginning of the rainy season and if it’s not raining it is extremely hot and definitely humid. Having just run a marathon in a cooler more ideal setting and having suffered in that cooler more ideal setting, the thought of anyone running in what we consider “hell on earth” (more because of how the sun stores residual heat in the town of Makeni rather than for other hellish-like attributes) was absurd. My soul and spirit were still healing from my own marathon experience and all thoughts of running any distance made me want to curl up and cry. Gearoid, on the other hand, seriously considered training for the half-marathon race (this of course never happened).

When we actually got to Makeni, some of the volunteers we met mentioned the marathon but their tones had a “yeah right, it’s never going to happen” cadence to them. We saw a few posters around and friends seemed to half-heartedly train for whichever race they committed to (there was a 5k, ½ marathon, and full marathon). We knew that for this supposed marathon over 200 foreigners were flying in to run or to cheer someone on who was running. The week of the race, we heard rumors from friends about the copious amounts of white people they saw on the streets. I saw maybe a handful more foreigners than usual but other than that, there was no indication this race was going to happen.

Having decided not to run any of the races, I decided instead to capitalize on the supposed hordes of foreigners descending upon Makeni by manning a craft table that benefitted St. Josephs (the hearing impaired school where I work). I had the tailors at the school make purses, kindle covers, laptop bags, jewelry, and other “westernized” African goods to sell. The morning of the race I woke up early to get to the race site. As I woke up, I was really happy that I wasn’t running and didn’t have to do any of the pre-running rituals that usually accompany a big race. I didn’t have to worry about if I slept, ate, or went the bathroom enough. I just got ready as usual and left.

The streets were quiet that morning and police walked around at various intersections waiting for something to happen. While at the school picking up the crafts, I heard an ambulance (something you never hear here) and went to the road to see what was going on. The first runners were making their way past St. Josephs. I clapped and cheered them on. My interest sparked the interest of the children who board at the school and we all stood together and watched the increasing number of runners. The students had no idea what was going on. They saw white people running and asked each other what was happening. They looked at my own white skin and signed to me asking if I was going to run. With a smile, I told them I wasn’t running and tried to explain how far these people were running. As more runners made their way past the school, I shouted hello and encouraged the children to wave. (Most of the runners were probably unaware that this was a school for the hearing impaired and I didn’t want to shock anyone-or make a spectacle of the children themselves- by encouraging a random cacophony of noise).

When we made it to the site of the finish line, I was really kind of surprised and shocked by the atmosphere. These people had pulled it off. There was a festive ambiance with a marching band performing while onlookers cheered for the 5k runners who were finishing the race.  At the finish line, runners were given very cool homemade wooden medals, a packet of water, and an energy bar. During the course of the morning, local performers came and entertained the growing crowd of spectators as runners of the different races trickled over the finish line. When the first person to finish the marathon came in, the crowd went wild. It was a Sierra Leonean and you couldn’t see him as he ran across the finish line because of the journalists, race attendants, and proud Saloneans who surrounded him. The fun and festive atmosphere made me regretful that I chose not to run one of the races and that I was so cynical of its potential success.

Waving to and watching the runners

The race did end up being successful. A ton of money was raised, the visitors brought some additional income to local merchants, and nobody died. We were really concerned about how the runners would cope with the difficulty of the race and the harsh weather conditions. However, people trained properly and the organizers put a lot of effort into medical care. Some aspects of the race were less comfortable to the runners than a race in the West would be. For example, at most organized races there are lines of porta-potties and lines of runners waiting for a turn in the portable toilets before start time. Race courses usually also have bathroom facilities set up along the course. Plumbing of any kind really is a luxury here and no such facilities were available to the runners. Before the race, the runners were told that if they needed to use the bathroom, to do it in the open to avoid possible snake bites. Along the race, they did as the locals did and relieved themselves in open air.

Many of the local people had no idea what was going on. They obviously saw the race but questioned what was happening. Gearoid’s research assistant stared at him in confusion as G cheered for a lone marathon runner coming up to the finish line. Gearoid had to explain that during races, people cheer for the runners as a way of offering encouragement. I asked the teachers I train to do a writing assignment about their thoughts on the marathon. Reading the assignments, I had to laugh out loud several times. One woman said that when she saw all of the people running- white and black- she thought something bad had happened until someone explained otherwise to her. Another man stated that these types of races are for foreigners and black people find it a waste of energy (meanwhile the world’s marathon winners are Africans). The lack of understanding is understandable when day to day life is spent trying to survive and do the best for your family. Despite the marathon and the changes in traffic patterns, the market continued as normal, laundry was done, and people went to work. After the race, with the exception of the 200 plus white people having dinner at a local expat restaurant, you wouldn’t know anything different had happened. Hopefully next year, the success will continue and the race will mean something more to both local people and the foreigners who come to run it.