Today we walked into Lumley via the beach, which is not nearly as nice as Number 2 beach. We walked through a labyrinth of huts to get there. These often consist of pieces of corrugated iron held up by thick sticks. Some have walls, some don't. But as usual the children were wonderfully friendly and the palate of colors vibrant. Sierra Leone has been ranked the second poorest nation in the world, but somehow, although the people have little, it doesn't exude a sense of sickness, sadness, or misery.
In my walks I've often thought the sense of smell is as important as sight or sound. I don't have a particularly sensitive nose but today put me to the test. As we approached the beach dozens of vendors were selling fish - sardines, barracuda, flounder, groper, unidentifiable others. The stench of rotting fish was overpowering - like snorting bleach. We had to traverse a small river which I did so by removing my shoes and going barefooted. Now my feet are very itchy and as paranoia sets in I can feel the parasites burrowing into my soles.
The beach was taunting. From a distance the sand is white and wide and the water is blue, but up close there is nothing but plastic as far as the eye can see. Plastic bottles, plastic bags, a dirt smudged doll with a severed leg. Plastic lids, plastic baskets, plastic shoes. Dozens of fisherman pulling in nets like a tug-of-war with the ocean. Not surprisingly, no one else was taking a sunny stroll along the shore. Leaving the sand we stepped over tiny slime-filled rivulets covered with hundreds of tiny black crabs hurrying about their business. On our right was a soccer field covered in the same stagnant sludge, to our left a concrete walled chicken compound topped with vicious barbed wire coils (much like our house).
As we entered Lumley a man tapped me on the shoulder with the back of his hand and slurred "Iloveyoumyowner". Weirdly enough the same man approached me after leaving the Internet cafe and said the same thing. I asked Ishmael what he meant by that, and he replied that he was a mad man, which made me miss San Francisco.
That afternoon Chelsea and Tottenham were playing and we went to watch in a nearby bar. The television teetered precariously on an off-kilter table in front of orderly rows of red chairs The drinks menu consisted solely of Star Beer (Sierra Leonian), Heineken, and Maltizer (a disgusting but very popular drink that tastes like saccharine-drenched malt with the consistency of cough syrup). A girl in bright green sold chicken rolls and various infants lolled their weary heads. But besides the differences, some things are the same world over. Football seems a uniting force regardless of who you are cheering for and the people here are just as passionate about their teams as they would be in any English pub.
We had a delicious, spicy curry tonight, so my opinion of the food has improved.
