daily life

 

I have finished my first week of work, and have settled into some idea of the lifestyle I will live here.  The mornings have been cool and breezy (at least in comparison to the rest of the day) giving me the little incentive I need to start my day with a sunrise run.  I am not the only one to wake up with the sun, many are already out and busily starting their day.

Daily chores take on a whole new meaning here.  Even in my home, with it’s fairly modern westernized appliances.  To wash the dishes requires washing in a bucket of tap water and rinsing with water that has been boiled to be clean.  Although we do have a washing machine, it is small and must be filled with water for each load.  The laundry is then hung out to dry (which in this humidity and during the rainy season is a relative determination).  Then every article of clothing must be ironed to kill the fly eggs that have been laid in the clothing, so they don’t hatch into your skin.  And unfortunately, contrary to my usual behavior, clothes must be washed every time they’re worn unless sweat stains become a new fashion statement and body odor the new perfume.  Sweeping and mopping the dust and dirt that get tracked in or falls from the ceiling as the ceiling ants nibble away must be done every day and food for the guards prepared from scratch. I was a little uncomfortable at first with the idea of having Marie, our wonderful house help, come every day to do the things I feel should be household responsibilities.  But I have quickly discovered that if she did not, we would spend the extent of our days cleaning, instead of working for and loving on the people we have come to this country to serve.  Also, for Marie this is much-needed employment.  A job that means life for her and her family, although it costs us little.

And while we are so taken care of by Marie, we are also protected by Mohammad, the day guard, and Ali and Jr., the night guards.  Our house is considered a compound because it is surrounded with high walls and barbed wire.  We have a very large iron gate with a little door to walk through.  The guards are wonderfully friendly.  I feel extremely safe.  There is a compound just up the road that has been abandoned since the war.  Over the wall, you can see bullet holes in the upstairs windows.  Reminders of the war are everywhere, although it’s hard to know what was destroyed by the rebels and what has been destroyed by this harsh climate.  The heat, humidity and heavy rains make it difficult for anything to last.

When I leave the house for work at 8:15 I take the path less traveled, at least by vehicles.  The road is so steep and broken leading down, I don’t think a car would make it if it tried.  I have begun to recognize the same faces I will pass every morning with a ‘good morning!’ and a ‘how de bodi?’  ‘Fine, fine’ or ‘to go tanki’ is the correct reply.  When I get down to Wilkinson Road, it is busy with traffic and people with places to go.  The market stands have started to open up selling fruit, vegetables, bread, eggs, candy, soda, phone credit and other random things.  And the day is filled with horns that interrupt the voices and street sounds.  The roads may be dirty, but they are so colorful.  Women wrapped in lapas of every shade and pattern with bright bowls filled with anything and everything atop their heads.  Market stalls painted in bright orange, pink, yellow and blue. Taxis and poda podas (old van-like mini-buses) with mismatched doors, bright yellow hoods and hand painted sayings scribbled across the back usually claiming praises to Jesus, Allah or Manchester United. 

The colorful street is matched by the colorful voices that sing shamelessly out at the start of each day in the office, a beautiful dissonance of clanging voices calling out praises to God.  We meet at the FAAST (Faith Alliance Against Slavery and Trafficking) staff at our office just off Wilkinson Road at 8:30 am for devotions.  It is a time of singing praises and listening to the Word brought by a different staff member each morning.  It has been a time of learning about my colleagues and their own, sometimes different, cultural perspectives of the same God whom we love and serve. 

I have mixed feelings about being back in an office environment.  While it is not quite the business suit professional high-rise office experience that I had in DC, it is very customary for Sierra Leoneans to dress quite “smart” for their jobs and although the atmosphere is relaxed, I still find it hard to be indoors all day sitting on possibly the least comfortable chairs possible until the work day ends at 5.

I have started organizing my thoughts and ideas about the work I will do throughout my time here.  While I will be writing alot of stories and have started talking with the staff about some ideas, I am also recognizing the importance of the communications training I will be doing.  I am thinking that to best benefit the program long-term I want to develop the training manual and conduct the training early on in my time so that the staff can work on writing stories themselves while I’m here to coach them and edit.

During my workday I have also started Kiro lessons.  The language seems relatively easy since it has so many similarities to a sort of pidgin English.  It was created when Freetown was the British colony of Freedom, where slaves who were pardoned from the Americas and Britain were taken.  These slaves brought back broken American English and broken British English, which mixed with the local tribal languages.  It actually seems much more practical and simple than the English we speak, using more phonetic ways of spelling and speaking and structuring sentences.  For example, the common greeting ‘how are you?’ is asked ‘ow de bodi?’ (how is your body) And verbs and nouns never change tense, just a tense indicator before it.  For example, ‘a don go to Freetown’ is ‘I went to Freetown.’ Simple, beautiful, messy, chaos. 

While proper English is spoken and taught in all schools, anyone with even a little education knows English.  But learning Krio will help me to understand everyday talk and will help me establish mutual respect with people.  They love it when I try, although they think it’s pretty funny.  Everyone here truly is extremely friendly and always wears a smile.  

Well, except maybe all the people crammed into the tiny taxi cab I take home. Transportation in Freetown is a crazy experience in and of itself that I will try my best to explain, but to be honest, it is an experience you just need to have someday.  You will never complain about traffic, bad drivers or road rage ever again. The taxis run more as public transportation than taxis we are used to, on specific routes yet not always so specific, more like specific directions.  They will cram in as many people as possible and pick more up on the way who are going in the same direction.  There is one-way transport, which will take you a specific distance (although you can get out anywhere along the way but you still pay the 800 leones one-way fare approximately 25 cents).  Then you catch another taxi to go the next leg of the journey, unless the driver is willing to take you two-way (for an additional 800 leones) which usually only happens if someone else is traveling that direction as well, if there is someone else to pick up or if you offer him more money.  In other words, lots of people cram into cars that drive way too fast on extremely crowded streets yelling and pointing in different directions, driving on every side of the road, and never looking to see if someone is coming before weaving in and out of the mess.  I heard someone say that you just worry about what’s in front of you and honk to let anyone and everyone know you're there.  You never worry about what’s behind you because they will worry about you. I just hope and pray to get in the general area of where I am going.  Poda-podas are similar, except they are vans that cram even more people in making the driver have an even harder time hearing.  It is an experience I have not had yet, and may try to avoid.  They may be cheaper, but for 50 cents, a taxi ride home is enough of an adventure for me. 

Whew!  I’ll save the after work adventures for another time.  But as promised, here are a few pictures of my daily life in Sierra Leone. (I added some photos to the previous post as well)

 

 

The FAAST office and Anti-slavery advocacy posters.

 

 

 

Beautiful beaches (River #2)...

 

 

 

and beautiful new friends.