After the interminable wait in Ghana we were home free, or so we thought. We got off at Lungi, the Freetown airport. We cruised through immigration and yellow fever inspection in seconds and waited to collect our bags. And waited, and waited. After being told that no matter what, 'expect the unexpected', we had in fact expected our baggage to get lost, especially after three flight changes. We weren't disappointed. What that didn't translate to was, 'our baggage will be lost, we should bring extra supplies in our carry-on'.
We'd been determined to avoid having to pay a porter to carry our bags. They look very official but after 'helping' (used loosely, as they take the suitcase off the carousel and push it for two meters), they then ask for a tip. As our baggage didn't arrive we had no need for that. However, the queue to fill out a lost luggage form (of course they don't actually give you a real form) was 20 deep and the one order-taker was taking at least five minutes to 'serve' each person. A professional pusher-in took me under his wing and I ended up at the start of the queue. Normally I think that people that push in deserve negative karma points, but after 36 hours of flying it was the best tip I've ever spent.
Thank goodness for Haja, our stunningly beautiful and efficient Extra Mile programme coordinator who had somehow talked her way into the immigration area. She whisked us off in a taxi (they drive on the right, like in the States, but for some reason the steering wheel was also on the right - making being in the passenger side facing oncoming traffic rather hectic). We passed empty shells of houses, and everywhere hundreds and hundreds of people were milling around. After scaling a six foot wall (Ide was kind enough to help an old man with his chickens) we arrived at the ferry terminal which links Lungi and Freetown. Two hours later, when it was finally ready to leave we clambered up a slippery, oil greased ramp. I had been told to keep my handbag close to me and soon found out why. As we ascended, a huge group of men started pushing and shoving us. Apparently the goal is to make you let your bag loose so they can grab it. My days of playing rugby with my brother and our neighbors paid off and I was able to be just as pushy.
Haja:
The ferry itself was bizarre. Besides the stench of raw sewage, sweat, and asphalt which we have quickly become accustomed to, the view and weather at the top level of the ferry was rather delightful. There was a light breeze and the temperature was about 72 degrees. There was a television screen playing music videos of Sierra Leonians singing about Independence Day. Apparently it is a big deal here, especially as it is the 50th year of independence from Britain. The government had been given a large sum of money to put on a big celebration, but the money has gone missing - testament to the amount of corruption that takes place. At first the videos were benign, the annoyance factor begin that three songs were played in a loop over and over and over again, with someone switching the channel half way through each one. Then some type of advertisement featured, with round little blue alien creatures cut with a picture of a 300 pound woman in her underwear walking on a treadmill - I kid ye not.
After that the videos got a little darker including one that a journalist had taken during the civil war. While the RUF were responsible for the drugged child soldiers and mass civilian murder, rape, and amputations that you hear about in the media, the Nigerian-led UN forces were less than perfect. In the video, after a shoot-out between the rebels and the UN forces, a small child was left sitting against a brick building. The UN assumed that he was a rebel and forcibly dragged him to their truck. The film then showed another child being beaten by the UN forces - about six grown men kicking and hitting him on the ground until he was dead. The video then shot to an interview with the first child, who had been beaten so badly he could no longer talk or hear. Charming stuff to welcome newcomers to Sierra Leone. The TV then switched to a pair of comedians who were apparently very funny as the entire boat was rocking with laughter. Comedy in SL seems to consist of men screaming at each other but unfortunately we were not able to understand a thing.
English is the official language of Sierra Leone, but 97% of people speak Krio, which is impossible to understand. I have learned one phrase "how di bodi" which means, "how are you," and "tank god tenki a no die" which means "thank god I didn't die last night". The latter is meant literally, as the life expectancy here is very short. From different sources I have heard as low as 32 (for women) and as high as 41 (for men). This makes me the equivalent of an octogenarian.
Getting off the ferry (one hour ride) was as hectic as getting on. The good thing about the airline losing our baggage was that I probably would have lost it anyway. Either dropped it into the water, or had it grabbed off me. From there Haja (and Ishmael, who was kind enough to carry my carry-on bag) drove us in their SUV to Goderich, which is on the far west of Freetown. Without traffic the 13 mile drive is normally about 2 hours (!) but because everyone was out celebrating an early independence day it took closer to 3.
The first part of the drive was on paved streets, and went through an area called Kissy. It was somewhat reminiscent of the area around 6th and Market, but went on for miles and miles. Buildings with weary, faded advertising, remnants from a more prosperous time, houses with gaping windowless holes, billboards from decades ago peeling off battered, rusting corrugated iron. The only sign of modernity was from signs advertising "Africell" - a new telephone company (Sierra Leonians typically own about three cellphones each, to minimize the cost of calling between different networks). The difference (well, of course there are many) from San Francisco was the lack of homeless people. Everyone, families and all, crowded the street, but there were no huddles of stinking blankets and shopping trolleys. There were many vendors selling vegetables, chickens, water, cigarettes, but because of the lack of electricity, everything was lit by candlelight. Beatboxes featured every few blocks, cacophonous bursts of sound rising above the already raucous hubbub of people calling and cheering. Haja drove with a vengeance when the roads opened up enough to do so, honking every few seconds, dodging the hundreds of people walking the streets, and equally as many on motorcycles - helmet-less and unconcerned with which side of the road to drive on. We crossed a mountain with a sheer drop on the right of us (of course I was in the passenger seat on the right too) and soon enough the roads turned to dirt. As we neared our residence the dirt became rockier and rockier and eventually so rough that it would have been difficult to cross were we not in an SUV.
Pictures of Freetown:
The compound where the Extra Mile volunteers stay is quite nice. We have a large, airy room with a toilet and shower. When we finally arrived, at midnight (making our trip 45 hours since first checking in), there was no electricity. I hadn't been to the bathroom since the Dubai to Ghana leg, some 8 hours earlier, so naturally the first thing I did was race to the toilet with a candle, which I promptly smashed into the bathtub. Staggering to the toilet in the dark, I fell onto the seat, which immediately broke in half. Not a polite little crack (no pun intended) but both sides completely separating. To make matters worse the whole apparatus - lid, seat and all, proceeded to fall on the floor in slow motion, leaving me perched half way on and off. And, to add insult to injury, when flushed the water wouldn't stop running. So at one in the morning, in pitch darkness, no sleep for 24 hours, Ide and I stood frantically bailing dirty water into the sink. So much for health warnings about bacteria. With no clothes, no mosquito repellent, drenched in sweat we collapsed into bed. Ide of course was out like a light. I, on the hand, am an extremely light sleeper, and guess what? Our room is located next door to a disco. At about 3:00am I called uncle, took two sleeping pills, and was dead to the world. Fortunately the nightclub was closed the following night Instead I woke to the sound of dogs barking, chickens squawking, and shortly thereafter to a barking dog eating a squawking chicken (or maybe vice verse).
View from compound:
Stepping into the kitchen the next morning I spotted the little white offender. Half an hour later that chicken's neck was swinging in the wind, and shortly thereafter was featherless. Our dinner that night was delicious! Last night a goat joined the woof/caw/bark chorus, so maybe that is on the menu tonight. I hope so, because that fucking goat has been driving me crazy all day.
Chicken Before
Chicken After
Chicken dinner. Mmmm...
