The Trials and Tribulations of Typhoid

Ok, so typhoid is not a cakewalk.

This is what I know about malaria, having had it twice 3 years ago: it makes you feel like utter crap. You are tired but you can’t sleep. Everything aches- your head, your back, your non-existent muscles, your bones, your limbs, your eyeballs…. You have no appetite but something deep inside of you tells you you’re hungry because all you’ve had for two days is a Snickers bar and a Coke. You feel nauseous and smells (all of them) make it worse. You’re usually in a tropical climate without amenities so you’re hot, feverish, bored, and generally blah (a commonly used medical term in my family). What’s funny about all of these symptoms is that it’s not the actual malaria that makes you feel this way but rather the medicine that is supposed to make you feel better causing all of these maladies. The medicine lasts 3 days.

On the fourth day you feel like the sun has started shining again. You feel stronger and light-hearted. Your pants are looser and you’re enjoying the fact that you lost 5 lbs but also don’t feel guilty about the quantity of food you plan on eating during the day because you’re famished after not eating the previous 3 days. You smile more and just generally feel happy. There’s a bounce in your step and although you may have to take a nap from using the excess energy you just re-acquired too quickly, you happily tell people you feel SO MUCH BETTER!

This is what I know about typhoid- jack shit. I thought I knew it but I don’t. Typhoid is trickier. With malaria, I know that after the 3 days of pills I will most likely feel better. I thought the same thing about typhoid. I took all of my pills. The Monday after the beach I thought I was exhausted because I had spent the weekend traveling, getting too much sun (so much in fact that a woman who I thought was trying to sell me something and I was politely ignoring, followed me so she could get a picture of the radioactive-red white woman), and sleeping too little on Saturday night. On Tuesday I thought I just had the blahs. I tend to feel that way on Tuesdays after over overexerting myself on Mondays. On this same Tuesday, Sister Mary strongly suggested that I return to the clinic for another test. Meanwhile, my co-worker was feeling off as well. Between the both of us, we had the symptoms of typhoid but individually one of us was tired and the other had a runny tummy. I won’t go into specifics but horrific things happen in the bathroom when you have typhoid. Everyone is different in how they exhibit the symptoms and I felt lucky that I was not reproducing a horror movie on my bathroom visits. Nevertheless, claiming too much work (it really was a busy work week) we deflected Sister’s instructions, I mean suggestions, and promised to go to the clinic the next day.

Wednesday morning I knew something was wrong. I didn’t sleep well the night before, was nauseous, and had no appetite. Me not having an appetite is a big deal because I’m usually thinking about the next meal while washing up the previous meal’s dishes. I rolled into work late looking like death, managed to choke down a banana and a cup of tea, and didn’t fight Sister when she hustled us into the truck to the clinic. My co-worker was having a good day and had a big smile on her face. She felt fine, slept well, and wasn’t recreating cinematographic movies in the bathroom anymore. We again, guiltily, walked past the hundred people waiting and received tests. We returned to work for one more hour of internet and electricity and then got coconuts and a ride home.

On Thursday, I woke up fine. I had a class to teach. I was able to eat breakfast. I was ready to face the day. Sister called me and I asked how she was. “Oh, I’m fine but you’re not.” Apparently, my typhoid levels were concerning and she was having the driver pick my co-worker and me up and to take us to the hospital. “But I feel fine and I have to teach at the university today. Should I call in a substitute?” “I should think so,” was the clipped response. I was picked up by the driver and brought to the school to pick up my co-worker. Before we were put back in the truck, I was given my first and definitely not my last fiery lecture by this tiny Irish nun (later in the week she referred to the both of us as idiots). “You should have listened to me and gotten tested earlier. I’ve been here forty years. I think I know something about typhoid!” Her Irish brogue got stronger as she continued her tirade.  I’ve witnessed this sweet Sister get mad at other people but have never experienced any nuns’ wrath myself. I felt both chastised and the overwhelming urge to giggle. Luckily for my safety, I managed to suppress the second impulse.

Once we were safely tucked into the truck with nowhere to go, Sister Mary dropped the big news that we’d probably need drips. Having been stuck with needles for other medical purposes before in my life, I wasn’t worried about it, finding the entire experience amusing. My co-worker on the other hand got a caged animal look in her eye and immediately tensed up. We were ushered into the hospital and happily watched the news about the Queen’s impending jubilee while we waited. Sister secretly slipped into the doctor’s office and then came out with a knowing smirk. “You both need a drip.” Then this tiny slip of a woman wrestled my healthier sized co-worker back into the hospital as she tried to escape. The doctor in charge of us, also thwarted escape attempts by keeping up friendly conversation and pushing us into a hospital room.

The entire experience sounds scarier than it actually was. We, being employees of the infamous Sister Mary, were treated to one of the two air conditioned rooms in the hospital, which also happened to have a TV. To ease any discomfort or fear, the nurses sent in two visiting English doctors. We had each other for moral support and our own bathroom. Gearoid came with a Snickers, a Diet Coke (Diet Coke in Makeni was truly the highlight of my week!) and snarky comments (these comments were about how lucky we were to be in this room and the conditions experienced by the general population in the rest of the hospital. I did have massive white guilt but once again it was sadly suppressed by the comforts I was receiving. I swear my soul gets darker each day!). We each received 4 IV bags with antibiotics. She got to nap and listen to music while I was able to amuse myself with my Kindle and Bossypants by Tina Fey while CNN aired in the background. We joked with each other and made inappropriate comments that had the nurses amused (not so much by what we said but more by our uncontrollable giggling). It was a relaxing comfortable day- with of course the exception of a needle in my hand. I had some minor side effects but generally left the hospital 4 hours later with a bag of Tylenol and a bruise on my hand. 

The first time around- pills and coconut water

The second time around- 4 IV bags

I also received some amazing medical advice from one of the English doctors. What happened with my co-worker and I is that we had shared a water bottle the week before when we had low levels of typhoid. Our “alarmingly” high levels of typhoid were pretty similar and we only learned in the hospital that we can pass our typhoid back and forth (I know for a fact she didn’t take all of her tablets so I’m blaming this all on her). This new information had Gearoid worried so I asked the doctor if I could kiss my boyfriend without passing the typhoid. She paused for a moment and said matter-of-factly, “ Just don’t wipe your butt, touch your mouth, and then kiss him.” This new precaution has completely killed the romance in our relationship! (ßinsert sarcastic tone because I don’t want people to misinterpret the previous statement as fact.)

I don’t think I accidently ate more poop and got typhoid again. My low numbers just grew bigger. Most likely due to a lack of rest (and bottle sharing). The one thing I learned about typhoid is that it is highly unpredictable. One day you’re fine so you live life normally and push yourself to catch up from being too tired to accomplish everything the day before. They next day you suffer the consequences of the previous day’s activity by literally dragging your feet while walking and leaning on walls to support yourself during routine conversations with people. You’ll wake up one day and have a super healthy appetite and the next day you can barely keep down your coconut water. After the hospital, I spent the next few days in bed watching movies and reading books. I would go out for a few hours of activity and social interaction but would return exhausted. I think I’m getting better. My bedtime of 8:30 has slowly increased to 9:45PM. I’m listening to my body and resting up.

See I really am ok! This was taken 2 days after the hospital visit.

Tropical Diseases in Tropical Locales (posted late due to a tropical disease)

Last Monday started out really well. My work colleague and I called and reserved rooms on the beach for the weekend. We giggled excitedly over our respective laptops and chatted about the upcoming weekend and how long this work week would be. The next day I found out I had typhoid. Over the past weekend I had what I thought was a bout of food poisoning and believed my exhaustion was due to the heat. The lovely Irish nun who I work for gently bullied me into a truck and took me to a clinic another nun in her order ran. Arriving at the clinic with a renowned nun, Sister Mary has been in Sierra Leone for almost 40 years, allowed me the privilege of moving ahead of the overflowing waiting room and into the testing room where I gave enough blood for malaria and typhoid tests. I then returned to work hoping for the best.

Two hours later the results were in and revealed I had a small level of typhoid in my system. What immediately annoyed and disgusted me was that somehow someone’s poop had gotten into me. That’s how you get typhoid, by pretty much eating poop. I made my way back to the clinic and received six different types of pills that needed to be taken twice a day for 5 days. I then returned to work to be gently bullied back into a vehicle and taken home. Before arriving home, the driver stopped and bought me some coconuts. Drinking fresh coconut water was also on the menu of my health care plan. Whole coconuts still in the husk are sold individually. Before you get your coconut, the woman chops off the top and you sip the clear-ish water right from the fruit. When the water is gone, you can give the coconut back to the woman and she will machete the fruit out for you. One thing I quickly learned about coconuts here is that the fruit is not necessarily the dry crunchy fruit you get in the West. Many fresh coconuts have what is called “jelly” and the fruit is pretty much a slippery white floppy thing. Sounds appealing right? If you don’t have an issue with the texture of food, it’s not bad.

After our coconut stop, the driver then stopped at the grocery store so I could load up on feel good foods. This primarily consisted of a Snickers bar, juice, and a beer for Gearoid so he would leave my Snickers bar alone (this plan, unfortunately, didn’t work). I spent the next several days taking pills and naps. I still went to work but left early. Concerned co-workers wanted to rush me to the hospital (local people get really fearful when foreigners get local illnesses) but seriously the only symptom I had was exhaustion. Typhoid turned out to be a great excuse to sleep in, take naps, and eat lots of coconuts. Compared to malaria, which I had twice the last time I was in Sierra Leone, typhoid was a cakewalk (this would later prove to be wrong, but that’s another blog post) and the week which I believed would be slow flew by.

               By the end of the week, we had done enough logistical juggling and Jedi mind magic against the rainclouds to get ourselves in a van with 10 other people and left late Saturday afternoon for the beach. The 2 ½ hour drive was uneventful but the excitement we had really began to blossom when the ocean appeared on the left and the mountains on the right. Despite everything that makes this country so difficult and frustrating, it has an amazingly beautiful landscape and you often have to let go of the difficulties and frustrations to realize it. Gearoid commented himself on the ride to the beach how beautiful and green everything is in Sierra Leone after a good rain and how the last time we were in the country he was too angry and frustrated to appreciate the beauty.

We turned off the highway onto the requisite ridiculously bad road to make the last brief leg of the journey (I swear, there is a conspiracy to keep the beaches as beautiful as possible by making it almost impossible to get to them by not fixing the ludicrously bad roads that actually lead to the sand and surf) and were dismayed by the giant beach party taking place. Salonean hipsters wearing swimsuits and scarves, socks pulled up to their knees, and an assortment of other oddball accessories danced in the surf to a Rihanna song that would play no less than 20 more times on the giant oversized speakers. Beer bottles, water packets, and other trash indicated where they had partied and where they would continue to party. With disappointment on our faces, we made our way to the place we would be staying. Our host Levi, assured us the partygoers would be gone soon and dinner would be ready in 45 minutes (meaning 1.5 hours). We settled into our respective shacks, had a quick drink, and then walked along the beach as far away from the partiers as possible and took a sunset dip in the ocean. It was beautiful. Let me say- I am a complete water baby. I love the water and had planned to spend the entire weekend floating along with the waves, even contemplating forgoing dinner to stay in the surf.

               That didn’t go over well with my companions, mainly Gearoid, so I was peer-pressured out of the ocean but was rewarded with a delicious dinner of freshly caught and grilled lady fish, rice and stew, and fries. We spent the rest of the evening singing loudly to familiar tunes, having a few (or more) drinks, and enjoying each other’s company. At one point, we made the journey back to the beach and took an almost midnight swim. Parents and grandparents reading this post, please don’t get worried or upset. I wouldn’t be writing this part at all if I wasn’t safely back at work but I also fully acknowledge that it wasn’t the smartest idea any of us have ever had. It was amazingly beautiful though. We picked a stretch of beach that the party-goers had ignored. Gearoid, being less inclined to swim in the best of situations, agreed to stand on shore watching our stuff and shined a flashlight on us in the ocean. The water was calm, the sky was clear, the stars were endless, and behind Gearoid I could see the outlines of two tall impressive palm trees. In the water we noticed that our movements were igniting the phosphorescence of plankton.  It really was a tropical paradise.

               The next morning was considerably less magical. I hadn’t slept well, due to not having imbibed as much as my companions which made me cognizant enough of the fact that the mattress and pillow sucked, everything was slightly damp and sandy, and we were in a shack and an intruder could come in and steal my beloved Kindle despite the fact I was cuddling with it. It turns out I had imbibed enough to be more than slightly paranoid. The next morning, the beach had less appeal than it did in twilight. The brightness of the day showed the trash that partygoers had left, the mange on local dogs hoping for a scrap of food, and the woman taking a dump in our eye line behind some rocks we had planned on exploring later in the day. I was a less charming version of myself feeling like I was covered with grit and sand, functioning on about 2 hours of sleep, and after it took 3 hours for the host to make us a breakfast of cold toast and eggs. I escaped the group and found a couple of tables and chairs down the beach and stared at the gorgeous skyline. I swam in the ocean to clean the grit and sand away as well as my foul temperament. After a few more hours of the beach and a delicious lunch, we all became friendly again and loaded into the van to make the hot dusty journey back to Makeni. Like all experiences here, it was an adventure with both good and bad elements. Would I do it again? Definitely.

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. 

Arriving in Salone

*I wrote this on Monday evening after we arrived. It's written a little differently from my usual posts because it is straight out of my writing journal. I'm a little nervous to post something out of my journal but I thought it could more accurately not only our experiences but the feelings behind the experiences. I apologize again for no pictures.*

We arrived in Sweet Salone yesterday. When we landed, I still couldn’t believe we were back. Landing was a different experience this time. We arrived while it was still light and through the window I could see farms, rural houses, and green interrupted by the deep rust color of the land. Last time I arrived in the evening and I remember most distinctly the heat and how it quickly enveloped me in its embrace. It was completely dark making the heat’s touch more intense. The heat welcomed me this time as well. As soon as its warm embrace crept up my limbs a grin broke out on my face. I was really here. I was really back in Sierra Leone. The heat, confusion, chaos, and Krio of the airport reinforced my grin. I was really back.

The grin kept on through the chaos of immigration, managing our 7 bags, exchanging money, ignoring the impulse to speak Dutch in response to Krio, and dealing with friendly people trying to get tips from us. We were met by a driver from the university where we’ll be working. I breathed deeply through my nose and was reminded of the familiar scent that is Salone- sweat, heat, burnt earth, palm oil, and a subtle smokiness. My grin continued on the bumpy unpaved road and at the first yells of “opporto” (white man) from half-naked children. The grin didn’t disappear until our assumed 2 ½ hour drive to Makeni lengthened onwards to 4 hours.

We arrived at a dark compound that was a former leprosy camp. Hopefully, leprosy washes out of mattresses because we stayed for two nights in the converted guesthouse. We enjoyed an hour of power, courtesy of a generator, and running water. It was definitely more luxury than we were used to the last time we were in Makeni.

I woke up to the sound of the nuns who run the guesthouse singing and then drifted in and out of sleep while I heard children in the street, call to prayer, motor cycles, and general everyday life beginning. We spent our first day trying to adjust to being back and establishing a routine for ourselves. We were surprisingly successful, managing to send out approximately one email on the shoddy internet, finding a house to live in, and getting cell phones. As we walked around Makeni we noticed that there were changes but a lot was the same. Roads that were dirt lanes are now paved. There are sidewalks for pedestrians when before you had to walk on the street trying to avoid erratic vehicles. There are two grocery stores in town that have things we thought we would be without for 7 months- cheese, Haagen Daz ice cream, Baileys, and more. Granted these items are expensive and it’s difficult for us to justify paying so much for some little comfort when outside the grocery stores children and adults with polio and other afflictions beg for change. The poverty hasn’t changed. The children who sell wares instead of going to school haven’t changed. The phrase small-small, meaning slowly and generally used to refer to the level of progress, hasn’t changed.

After our first full day in Salone we sat on the porch of the guesthouse covered in bug spray and watched children in the street pretend to be members of a secret society. They sang, marched, pretended to collect money, and a couple of them acted like “devils.” For all of the newness and sameness, for the discouragement and the necessity of patience, there are moments like watching the children play in the street when my grin reappears and I think to myself- I’m really back.