The Celebrity Lifestyle

You know when celebrities complain about their fame and the intrusion on their personal and private lives? I totally get it. Before living in Sierra Leone, I would have jumped on the “Why are they complaining, they’re rich and famous” bandwagon. However, our experiences here have led me to sympathize with their plight. Ok, I know the lifestyle is not the same. I’m surrounded by people living in poverty, electricity is a privilege not a given, and I consider Diet Coke from the grocery store a luxury.

Admittedly, foreigners live better over here. We can afford transportation and don’t walk most places like locals do. We eat at “expensive” restaurants (i.e. Gearoid and I usually go to this one restaurant and after drinks and dinner we leave spending on average $5 but to a local person, that’s a lot of money for a meal for two) and drink the imported alcohol instead of the local beer (this is due more to fear of typhoid than snobbery). We take trips to the beach and order lobster and have the luxury of spending a weekend not working. Women like Aminata and Frances clean our houses and it is not out of the norm to make specific requests to them like “Can you clean my shoes for me?” If we can’t be bothered to go to the market we can ask someone to go for us and give them the equivalent of about 50 cents for their time. Those of us with drivers can go out drinking and know that the driver- who has probably been working since 6AM-will wait to bring us home whenever we’re ready. We sit by the pool on Saturdays and pretend that poor people are not just outside the walls. Well- the list goes on and as I write this I can sense the bitterness slipping into my tone. Too sum up, we live comfortably in a place that is often uncomfortable. We live in a manner that we couldn’t afford to back in our respective home countries. Admittedly, some people take advantage of the situation but there are others, like Gearoid and myself, who try to live comfortably without flaunting our “wealth” and taking advantage of the people here (i.e. we do not have a driver or a private vehicle for that matter).

Not being an actual celebrity (much to my disappointment) I’m only guessing how they experience life. Although not the same, the events below may be similar to events/experiences in their own lives.

·        Just like Norm, everybody knows our names or at least thinks they do. I can’t walk down the street without someone yelling Natasha, Tasha, Asha, Sarah, or Stephanie at me (the last two are other white girls who I am commonly mistaken for). Gearoid often goes by Millar here because, his name being difficult for Americans/Europeans to pronounce, is near impossible here. One time I was referred to as Millar’s wife. Some people actually yell my name with a “good morning” or “how are you?” but a lot of people just yell it to see if that really is my name. They seem surprised when I actually respond. If they don’t know our names, they just repeatedly chant “opporto” until acknowledged.

·        People think it’s ok to touch us. There’s a difference between a curious child trying to see if the white comes off when they rub your arm and older kids and adults who give you a pinch or try to hold your hand. The other day a girl literally came up to me and took my nose- you know, how you do with toddlers. When she went to honk my nose again and the bike I was on still sat there, I leaned away and said “no thank you” whilst urging the driver on. In what world is that ok? I will also reconsider taking any toddler’s nose again.

·        People follow us home. When we were staying at St. Joseph’s between houses, I went to the market one day. A man on the street greeted me and shook my hand and started talking about something he thought I knew about. I told him I wasn’t the same white woman he was confusing me with. Of course, I then had to tell him my name and he said he would walk some more with me. Luckily, a friend of his on the street attracted his attention and after I had to introduce myself to the friend I made my way to the market by myself. Later that day, as I was sitting on the balcony reading, the man stood on the street calling up to me. “Natasha! Don’t you remember me? We met today.” I told him I couldn’t invite him in because this was a school and annoyed, continued my reading inside. When we were living in the company house, Gearoid often had visitors as well. They would come and knock on the door and ask for jobs, money for surgery, or just to say hello.

·        People assume we know other “famous” people. Last time we were here, we were living in Syracuse, NY. When people heard the NY part of the answer, they excitedly asked if I knew Usher and Fifty Cents. When I tell people I lived in Washington DC they ask if I know President Obama.

·        People know where we go and what we do. Just like those tabloids I pretend not to read, people here know what’s going on with all of us. Strangers or mere acquaintances ask things like “How is your typhoid?” or “I heard you were working for this company and were offering people jobs.” One day I met a man who I had never seen before and he said he saw me the night before with 3 other women and one man at the local club Flamingos. He was completely right and it was completely creepy.

·        People assume we’re rich. By local standards, we are very wealthy. However, unless we break it down to every individual who approaches us how much we owe in car payments, student loans, and what it costs to live somewhere like America or Europe, people don’t get that we’re not walking ATMs. When going to change Euros with the moneychangers, they get excited at the “wads” of money they expect us to change to Leones. The 20 Euros we get changed is always accompanied by a look of disappointment. We’ve been asked several times to just provide $4,000 dollars to build a local school or give $800 to fix someone’s car. Although, this is technically possibly, we’re certainly not planning on living here for the rest of our lives and need this money for our own future. For example, one day we might want to own a house. While it’s ok for people here to live in their family homes for the rest of their lives, my parents have adjusted quite well (and rather quickly) to life with grown up children (i.e. we only visit and don’t move back in).

·        We get to skip the line. I have to admit that I feel quite guilty about this one. Lack of efficiency, minimal understanding of the value of time, and an unexplainable cultural power play mean that people spend a lot of time waiting. Excuse my language but going to the bank is dealing with one huge clusterfuck. There are no lines and if you are a person of importance or white, you can skip the crowd and visit the bank manager in the back of the building to be taken care of.  Luckily for me, Gearoid deals with the banking here and this system, or lack of system, drives him crazy. When he tries to be politically correct and avoids the “first line” of corruption of skipping the line he goes crazy with impatience. Forty-five minutes after seeing no progression except for the man who pushed past those with less status and made his way to the bank manager, Gearoid expressed his displeasure to the bank teller. She told him to go on to the back room. He explained that the people in front of him had been waiting longer.  She shrugged her shoulders and told him to go to the back room. He questioned her as to what these other people would do when the bank closed in 15 minutes? She told him to go to the back room. He exclaimed that this is corruption and left the bank angrily. Now he has developed a perfected science in which he will only go to the bank on certain days at certain times when he knows nobody will be there and he will not be persuaded to do things the “easy” way. Although I haven’t had to deal with the bank situation, the few times I’ve been sick have brought me to the local clinic. I guiltily walked past the hundred or so people camped out on the benches and floor, greeted the nun in charge, got blood taken, and then guiltily walked back out of the clinic. When it was confirmed that I had typhoid, because that’s what it usually was, I received a phone call, returned to the clinic and walked shamefacedly back to the pharmacist where I picked up my waiting meds. This is not the usual protocol for most people here. When I expressed my guilt, I was told not to worry about it because “I have a job,” i.e. your time is more valuable than theirs.

·        We wear oversized sunglasses so we don’t have to greet people. Everyone says “hello” and “how are you?” to everyone here. We don’t blend in and as a result, everyone and their mother and their third cousins come out to greet us. At first it seems like just a friendly thing you do here. However, after months of hellos it gets exhausting. Any sign of potential eye contact leads to greeting one another. Greetings often occur in multiple languages. After English, there’s Krio and then the 5 line Temne exchange. When you finish the multi-lingual greeting with one person, the next person is lined up waiting for his/her turn. The sunglasses not only serve as a barrier between us and society but also allow us to walk down the street in a semi-reasonable amount of time.

·        People are really interested in everything we do here. I once heard an interview with Jennifer Aniston talking about the paparazzi following her as she went to buy toilet paper. The same thing happens here. People cross the street to hear us converse with an ocada driver. They stop walking when they see us coming so they look at us up close. I often send Gearoid to the market to pick up dinner items and he comes home annoyed from the many people who giggled and commented on his actions. “The opporto is buying onions.” Giggle giggle. “The opporto is going it make African chop.” Giggle giggle. “The opporto uses African money.” Giggle giggle. If we’re sitting in a public space having a drink or conversing with other opportos, crowds form around us. People stand patiently leaning with a hand on their hip silently watching us. Most of the time we’re not doing anything interesting. However, I’m sure the few times we’ve made a spectacle of ourselves (I’m mostly referring to myself) by throwing a fit in the middle of the street because the rice and beans woman sold out, dancing and singing back at the “opporto” chanting children, and creating our own dance floor on an outdoor patio on a quiet Friday night have created lasting impressions and don’t dispel the stereotype that we’re “interesting” people.

·        People are shocked that we do normal things. I’ve had to fight a woman away from a broom I was using because she was shocked that I was sweeping. If the weather is bad, an employee at the school insists that she go to the market for me because there is no way I can deal with mud. Kids stare in amazement/amusement through our back fence and watch us eat, clean, and converse with each other. We hear comments like “Ha, a white man in Africa” or “The white buys African food” when we walk through town or the market. When we walk home, ocada drivers ask if we’re lost or need a ride. When we answer “no” they smile knowingly and congratulate and commend us for getting some exercise. When I share with people what I cooked for dinner the night before, they don’t believe that I cook for myself. I crack up the women at work with stories about how Gearoid folds laundry, cuts pineapple, and does other domestic chores. One woman warned me that he might find a better second wife if I keep making him do “woman’s work.”

·        We get propositioned all the time. Everyone asks to be our friend. I’m proposed to at least twice a month by ocada drivers- which is way more than I’ve been proposed to by Gearoid. The other week when walking home I was stopped and asked to be a woman’s girlfriend. I pointed to a giggling Gearoid and said I was with him. She told me not to over think it and just go with it. I really don’t remember what excuse I gave before I escaped her firm handhold. People tell us all the time they love us and an expat I know was even asked to be a perfect stranger’s lover. These people don’t know us at all but see us as status symbols and walking wallets. Although, I have to admit it is healthy to the ego to be told I’m good looking on a daily basis by perfect strangers.

·        People take our photographs. Last time I was here and worked at the feeding center, mothers sat their semi-soiled recently plumped up children on my lap and a traveling photographer took our picture. My picture is posted all around the northern region of Sierra Leone. My hope is that the mothers tell their friends and family that I’m the woman who taught them how to play and talk to their children. Most likely, I’m described as an opporto they know. This time around, my university students have been taking my picture. Some of them asked for me to pose with them and I begrudgingly did so. However, I caught others surreptitiously standing behind me and getting pictures taken while I was helping other students.  I’m pretty sure I’m on someone’s Facebook page tagged as their lecturer.

There is no anonymity for us here and I really do feel for those who have no privacy at all. I long for the days when I can walk down the street and nobody gives a damn- when I’m not yelled at, poked, taunted, laughed at, or even noticed. If we’re not celebrities here than we are definitely zoo animals. There are times we without a doubt feel trapped. Admittedly though, being able to afford fresh lobster softens the blow.

Totally (not) acting the celebrity. Despite the sunglasses on a rainy day, this situation could not be anymore un-glamorous. I'm standing next to a sewage river next to the prison wall outside of our compound.