Great Day

I wish I were a morning person, because I would do what I did on Thursday, every day. I got on my bike before sunrise, to see what I could see. I wanted to take some photos of the city waking up, with sun shining on the incredible Freetown buildings and houses.

Jared and I had planned this a couple times before, but rain spoiled the chance. This a.m. was not perfect – overcast – but nonetheless fun.

It was quite the day. By the time 1p.m. came: I had been to a local café twice for coffee (wasn’t open the first time); pulled over by the police twice, the second time my keys and DL were taken from me… but I managed to take charge of the scene and drive away after 20 mins of serious smoothing over, but I was late for my second coffee attempt; helped design a press release and report writing workshop; I went to a private prep school to investigate enrollment ideas and the bank to set up auto payments for a venture (stay tuned). All in all, quite the day. At sunset, the icing was placed on the cake when we went to the grand opening of the new Basha Bakery – our favourite hangout got a major facelift. The owners recognized us as valued customers and friends with a nice tour and free shawarmas! Opa! (Photo: Football match near our house)

And then the cherry on top of the day. Laura and I met with Auntie F.A. (the leader of the neighbour’s clan). She was overjoyed when we told her we wanted to help put Nasio through school. A group hug took place in the middle of the street. This was the last piece of the puzzle for starting our venture (more to come).

Here and there and everywhere: We haven’t had running water since June 25th! The whole neighbourhood is dry. We’re not too sure what the deal is. We hire guys to deliver water… check out Joseph carrying the huge jug. No joke. That is full of water. It’s unreal how strong he is for a little dude.

Living Large on a Large Piece of Land, if You’ve Got the Time

I lied on my last post. I said that if I could lobby the government for two things it would be roundabouts and getting rid of change – as in pennies. I need to add a third. It’s about vacation. (I can’t believe this is part of my Sierra Leone blog! You should feel cheated)

Canadians have a good reputation abroad as being nice, like vanilla ice cream, and progressive, like vanilla ice cream with nuts. Sierra Leoneans seem to like us, but it is rumoured in my house that when this one Sierra Leonean saw one of our compatriots on the street (without ever having met him) he said “not another Canadian!” That’s so funny! As if a Sierra Leonean can peg a Canadian on the street! What does a Canadian look like?

There happen to be quite a few Canadians here. Locals sporting Tie Domi jerseys must be getting sick of being told “he’s awesome!”, or “you should burn that shirt!”. It must be confusing. (Photo: Congo Cross roundabout, getting a face lift)

Back to the vacation thing. When talking to expats from all over the world and Sierra Leoneans, I feel proud to be Canadian. People seem to respect Canada and even in frank and sometimes-heated conversations about politics, environment, human rights, government…, Canada gets good grades. Although I often have to point out that it’s a lot of smoke and mirrors – we are among the worst violators of the environment for example… living large on a large piece of land. The secret would be out if anybody really read anything about us.

Regardless, we are seen as progressive. But one place where I think we are still in the Stone Age is on the work-life balance issue. We’ve adopted the America live to work attitude, and I see that reflected in the attitudes of Sierra Leoneans who have been influenced by us.

Friends from other corners of the world are always shocked to hear that Canadians are - by law - entitled to only 10 days of vacation. This is against the law in most developed countries. The UK, Netherlands, Denmark, Aussie, NZ and many of our other friends have much more time away from work than we do. Maybe it’s no secret that they enjoy a healthier work-life balance. Canada has followed our amigos to the south when it comes to work-life balance. Maybe developing countries are taking this standard because it’s easier to gage performance on dollars, not good sense. “Look at the American machine. Let’s copy that!”

We should recognize our unique need for more time away from work. We are a huge country. I don’t think I know anyone who doesn’t have someone important – hi Mom – to see who lives a 401 length away. Do you know what it takes to get to Moosonee from Ottawa? How about Kingston to Sault Ste Marie. Ya. Punch that into Expedia.ca. You should first call expedia to ensure they have enough computer memory for the operation.

More evident is the madness and stress brought on by trying to take advantage of the short summer and escape some of the winter. It’s a game of chance. Should I take my vacation for a February escape and watch through my office window while others dance in the summer sunshine? Or should I take coma pills to get me through the winter and pray that it doesn’t rain on the week I took off in the summer? I am certain we have a culture case of “summer madness”. We have a short summer. You can probably count on your hands the number of days off you have. When it’s nice, you MUST take advantage or you’ll regret it come November. On a nice summer Saturday morning, Canadians scramble as if Godzilla is coming or it’s the last day on earth. …Dad putting the canoe on the top of the car. Mom filling the cooler. Kids crying. And a stop a Canadian Tire to buy a life jacket because you couldn’t find the one in storage. Most likely the kids used the life jacket as a goalie for street hockey, and now it’s packed away in the winter storage. But don’t worry; no one else is at Canadian Tire buying a life jacket on July 3rd. (Photo: Me and Ernie in the canoe without life jackets, approximately a half kilometer from the family and 890 klms from my office)

And I don’t buy this bull about “lost-man hours”. The economy would compensate and we’d be better off. I think it’s more about greed and consumption. Do we really need stores to be open on Sunday? But I do think Shopper Drug Mart should be open 24/7, 390 days a year because they now sell limited edition Harry Potter collectable magic cards – get back to work Dave!

It seems bizarre that I’m “complaining” about not having enough vacation time while I’m amongst a populous that needs more work just to get by, but I guess I see the trend. If you don’t develop a system that respects people’s time away from work from the beginning, it will be difficult to change the culture in the future.

I would lobby to double the vacation table across the board. If you know Ken Lewenza please forward this post to him. Thanks.

Here are some figures to ask your employer or Ken about.

Minimum vacation time around the world > legally required (most recent) by country. (Source NationMaster.com)

Which one doesn’t look like the other?

LOT A
Australia Not required, but 28 days is standard.
Austria 35 days, for elderly employees 42 days
Belgium 20 days, premium pay
Czech Republic 4 weeks
Denmark 6 weeks, of which 5 days can be "sold" back to the employer
Finland 35 days
France 5 weeks + 2 weeks of RTT (Reduction of Working Time) = 7 weeks.
Germany 4 weeks plus 9 to 13 bank holidays
Ireland 20 days, plus 9 public holidays
Italy 20-30 days plus 12 public holidays
Netherlands 4 weeks
New Zealand 4 weeks as of April 1, 2007
Norway 25 working days
Poland 20 business days
South Africa 21 consecutive days
Spain 30 calendar days
Sweden 25-32 working days, depending on age
Switzerland 28 days
United Kingdom 20 calendar days, plus 8 bank holidays

LOT B
United States Not required, but 7-21 days is standard for most employers. Typically, 10 working days with 8 national holidays.
Vietnam 10 working days.
China Not required
Hong Kong 7 days
Taiwan 7 days
Turkey 12 work days
Singapore 7 days
Korea, South 10 working days
Mexico 7 days
Canada 10 working days, determined by provincial law

The Roundabout and the Penny. Two Round Things.

I have yet to see a functioning traffic light in Freetown, although traffic cops work major intersections during rush our. To the disapproval of many, I ride a motorbike through Freetown every day. But as I suspected, it is not as hard as it seems. (Photo: Road crossing downtown Freetown)

Sierra Leoneans drive their cars through intersections like they move on the dance floor – very close together, fluid and constantly moving with eyes scoping all the nearby players. By contrast most Canadians are as dangerous on the dance floor as they are on the road. The dancing is probably a gene thing, but our overdose on regulation and signage can be partly to blame for our driving habits which make our roads much more dangerous. I feel safer driving my bike in Salone than I do in Ottawa. No doubt speed is a factor. But in Freetown there are no marked lanes, few stop signs. Drivers must be cognizant of everything around them. Back home, drivers pay more attention to the plethora of signs than the people and other moving parts around them.

I’m watching Long Way Around about two guys who traveled around the world on their motorbikes (I’ve already referenced the show in a previous post). North America was the tail end of their trip. They had been accident free until they got to Calgary. Two days in Alberta and they were hit twice by Canadian drivers!!!! Interesting. (Photo: Round-about exit)

And the roundabouts. The beautifully functional traffic movers. I cannot help but smile while being shuffled into traffic by these wondrous wheels in the road. How did it escape the Canadian plan? I guess traffic lights save space. And we don’t have much space in Canada.

If I could lobby the government for 2 things, it wouldn’t be better health care or lowering taxes, it would be a) give us the roundabout, and b) stop with this childishness of adding tax on top of the merchant’s price so that “everyone can see how much tax is on each purchase”, as if tax is evil. This will stop the nonsensical psychological game of the $0.99, and more importantly rid us of the penny. And if you go that far, please dispose of the nickel and the dime too. Does anything cost less than a quarter these days? (Photo: Cyclists race Saturday morning on Wilkinson Rd.)

Really, who does this stuff? The States and its buddy Canada. If we want to fool everyone into thinking we’re not part of the States, we can do some minor remodeling with drastic results. Hello roundabout, good-bye change. That would be a fun makeover.

A roundabout is a type of road junction at which traffic enters a one-way stream around a central island. In the United States it is technically called a modern roundabout, to emphasize the distinction from the older, larger type of traffic circle.

Overall, roundabouts are statistically safer than both traffic circles and traditional intersections,^[1] with the exception that cyclists have a significantly increased crash rate at large roundabouts. Roundabouts do not cope as well with the traffic on motorways, highways, or similar fast roads.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Fear Monger

I remember my first few days in Freetown. When in public: I had my money in my underwear; wouldn’t dare take my camera with me or pull out my cell phone; had a death grip on my backpack; watched for any sketchy potential thieves; all the while ensuring I was in an advantageous position to run for my life! Although my organization reinforced Salone’s good level of safety, they still gave us survival training and warned about theft and other potential dangers. There were also stories to harvest paranoia.

Now I’m walking around town like it’s my backyard. I’m so lackadaisical that people don’t have to steal things from me; I just give it to them. I left a bag of groceries in a taxi the other day. And the day before I left my motorbike on the outside of the compound, unlocked for hours. AND with the key in the ignition! (Photo: Beware! My hired bike guards. Killer (bottom) and the unnamed kitty.)

Security is relative. And he’s a relative of mine. I’ve worked in the industry for years and have extensive enforcement training and experience with outlaws. I also know how fear mongering works - I watch CNN when there’s nothing else on. People are scared of the unknown. For many on our side of the world, Africa is unknown.

To reassure some of my friends and family before I left for the unknown, I recommended they lookup the official Canadian travel advisories for Sierra Leone, Italy and Costa Rica. Check it out. You may be surprised. Italy reads like a gangster police file and Costa Rica’s profile may make you think twice about going there to catch some waves. When actor Ewan McGregor planned his trip around the world on a motorbike, his army of advisors charted the U.S.A. as the most dangerous part of the journey. Not the Road of Bones in Russia. Not mafia infested Kazakhstan. The U.S.A. And, by the way, what happened on that Greyhound bus in Manitoba? (Photo: Snap time on the football pitch)

I’m not saying that Freetown is Disney Land. But one must put things into perspective. It is not anarchy. Nonetheless one is subject to similar dynamics as in most cities such as theft. Many people I know have been pick-pocketed (a la Rome style). But I would go as far as saying that Freetown is exceptionally safe. Things that are commonplace in other towns I’ve lived in - bar fights (The Canadian in the Soo), random street fights with weapons (how about downtown Windsor?), arguing with police (too many to count) – are rare here. I’ve walked alone at 2 am in Freetown, many times. No problems. I’ve driven my bike around the peninsula. Nothing. (Except a couple young boys put up a roadblock demanding money. They had war paint on their faces. The small one was holding a spear. It was so cute!) (Photo: My buddies pose after a hard fought game of football when we spent most of the time wiping dog or goat poop off of Ibrahim's sandals)

The other night I was locked out of my house, forced to roam the streets of Freetown; shouting at my friend’s house from the road “Kev-on Nea-lon! Let me in!” Even though I tried to look cool, any would-be attacker could have identified be as easy prey. But I do wonder how long this will last. I don’t know what Sierra Leone was like before the war, but there has to be a boiling point, when the gap between the rich and the poor keeps expanding. The more developed, the more evident the gap? The more trouble?

Culture Shock?

Well I’m back in Freetown. It’s rainy season, but people are saying that it has been raining less than usual. The air is fresh. It’s much easier to sleep at night.

I’m looking forward to having some time to consolidate my experiences here. My time back home didn’t provide for that. And I wasn’t taken aback by culture shock, or reverse culture shock. Something most-everyone said will happen. Does this mean I don’t have a pulse?

One huge difference between Canada and Sierra Leone is the waste factor. I swear Salone operates on no-less-than 150% capacity. If Salone were a hockey player, coaches would be proud. Although it would be a stretch to say that this efficiency is conscientious conservatism, it does, nonetheless, offer ideas for western consumption and more importantly provide some insight on the Salone culture. (Photo: Staff from my organisation hangout by the roadside)

Sierra Leoneans have a rich social life because their habits put people together. In the west single-serving habits create convenience, large amounts of waste and they also separate people. Freetown taxis run general routes and pick up extra passengers when a seat becomes available. I enjoy the customary procedure of greeting each passenger and joining the conversations. Some of my best memories so far have taken place in a Poda Poda or taxi. I am still taken aback when Salone strangers talk to me as if we are great friends. In the waiting room at the Driver License Office, strangers breakout into dynamic conversations - laughing, complaining, exchanging gossip and cell numbers. Remember, Freetown ain’t no village. It’s a big city. I’m wondering if they even have the word “stranger” in Krio.

Conversely, westerners try desperately not to make eye contact in public places. When I moved from smaller cities, the Sault and Windsor, to Toronto, I thought I was in the Twilight Zone every time I rode public transport. Never before had I been in a location with so many people with so little noise. No interaction between people. It took a couple of months to get used to. (Photo: Ibrahim models my cap)

Wednesday night in Freetown. I could not believe the amount of people on Aberdeen Road. People were everywhere. They aren’t just going from the apartment to Shoppers Drug Mart and back. It looks like a street party. But it’s Wednesday night? I looked at my watch to see if it’d tell me that it’s a special holiday or something. That was stupid. As if the watch is going to tell me that! And I don’t even have a watch! Maybe this is culture shock. I had already reverted back to western thinking - surely this was an organized party. Nope. It was just a beautiful, clear-skied Wednesday evening in Freetown.

Oddly enough, even for a white man, Freetown befriends you much quicker than it’s Canadian counterparts.

Pink Barbie Carry On

I’m headed back home for a summer-time visit. Really excited to see family and friends. But right now I’m at Heathrow, in a typical long distance traveling state – slightly delusional on a mixture of sleep deprivation and cappuccino.

Any attempt of Zen accumulation is being destroyed by the traffic rubbing up against my seat – at a choke point. There are few seats left at the massive zone one lounge. I’ve noticed that Heathrow is declaring Kuala a lump of poo. (the gate board isn’t big enough to accommodate the city’s full name, so it’s Kuala Lumpu).

I like airports. People watching is fun. How do people become so different? So many people, adults and children, are running over toes with their large wheeled carry-ons as they race through the maze of people, making sure not to make eye contact. Then there’s this little girl who carefully navigates her pink Barbie bag past everyone’s limbs as she follows her dad who’s equally as cognizant of the other humans. This family may have missed their flight, but everyone smiled as they passed.

I’ve also noticed throughout my life that women (thanks mom) possess these special powers of humanity unlike any other animal we can talk to (although males may experience communication failure). This is why people in Sierra Leone are working hard to build the capacity of women to take on key decision-making roles in the government. These were just words I read before I got here. Now I understand.

I’ve heard it many times before “ if women were in charge of the world, it would be a better place”. I heard it, but never really listened (see failure to communicate). Little Barbie bag girl just tipped the logic balance in my brain, and I truly believe it now. There’s no way women would have allowed this to be part of a constitution “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” There would be no war in Iraq and there’s little chance children would go starving.

The Market Lady

Last week I went to the big market in Freetown. This is where people go for souvenirs and maybe a new door for their house. White people get accosted by merchants trying to sell their wares. After 10 minutes or so the attention drains you. But I’ve done this several times now, and I feel like a pro. I know some of the market people by name and I’ve been here long enough to know what is for sale and the reasonable price. Now I feel like I’m visiting friends.

Although Mohammed has the stuff I want – cool regional tribal masks, and he can explain to me what they all mean -, I try to spend my money on the market women. My organization concentrates great effort to increase the power of marginalized Sierra Leoneans – most specifically women. Economic empowerment is a key element in the battle for gender equality and overall development of the country. And it is so ironic that I see the women doing all the work – working at the food markets; carrying stacks of wood, coal or water; cooking; cleaning; doing the laundry, all with a baby wrapped to her back.

Last time I was here I purchased some stuff from this lady (pictured), and I promised to come back to buy from her and her lady friend. They don’t have the selection to match their male counterparts. Looks to me like most of their merchandise was found or self-made, which is really cool. Although the big-shot guys have giant Salone masks and carvings, they also offer bead necklaces from china and trinkets from outside the country. There’s nothing worst than coming home from Africa with a souvenir from China. To the women, I try to convey that “made in Salone” is what people want, pointing to her beautiful clothes and hand made necklaces with a big smile, and turning up my nose to her neighbour’s beaded necklaces. The same one’s you can get on Yonge Street in Toronto.

Looking at her items, she points me to small husks, turtle shells and monkey bones. I explain to her that I cannot take these items back home because of Canadian law. But I find them interesting. And I test her knowledge about national law (call it a unofficial survey) by asking her if she has chimpanzee bones. “No, hunting chimpanzees is against the law”. Nice. I will report back to Bala.

I ask if I can take her picture (see my blog entry “SNAP!” explaining why you should ask people if you can take their picture, and tell them what you will use it for) holding the monkey bones because I want to show my friends back home. She is happy to oblige, and we move on to things I can take home.

Baby Laura

A naming ceremony for a child is a bid deal in Africa. So Laura and I were very excited to be invited to the party in honour of baby Laura. No coincidence. Our neighbour’s baby is named after my roommate. She has been integrated as part of the family during the past 8 months. So much so that the children greet her everyday from work with big hugs and cheers.

Big Laura was a bit nervous before the event. She wasn’t certain of her ceremonial obligations. Was she supposed to sacrifice the goat and drink the blood? Worse, give a speech? Our offering was 3 cases of soda. (Photo: Mother Safi and baby Laura)

The setting was much like you might imagine for an African ceremony. Two giant old pots atop fires cooking something. Bright and fancy African dresses. People dancing to big drum beats. Chickens running around the goat. But, instead of mud huts and bongos, we were surrounded by tin houses, rusted out cars and the sound of rap music blaring from a nearby stereo. This is the difference between the settings you get in Freetown verses regional villages. (Photo: Laura is first to hold the baby after the official announcement.)

Everyone is a guest of honour. I was introduced as a close neighbour. Laura was all smiles to be the true guest of honour. Ushered in to hold the baby for photographs. Even though the name is supposed to be kept a secret until the ceremony, everyone knew. They all wanted to talk to Laura.

The goat was sacrificed the moment the baby’s name was announced. Then the celebration began. Popcorn and coke was passed around along with traditional African dishes. Neigbouring kids and beggars managed to sneak some food too. (Photo: The men watch and wait to time the sacrifice of the goat with the announcement of the name)

Nasio’s Big Day Out

Nasio must have been good luck. Sierra Leone’s national football team won their first game in 5 years beating South Africa on a penalty kick. But Nasio was more impressed with the atmosphere and mostly the food.

I’m pretty sure this 5-year-old has never left the neighbourhood before I brought him to the stadium. He didn’t talk for the first hour. The taxi ride. Lining up at the gate. He was just taking it all in. People cheering. The big band playing. He loved watching the players warm-up.

His food intake was incredible. He would have eaten more, but I had to put a stop to it for fear of returning a sick little African boy to his guardians. It went something like this: one ice-cream plus half of mine (I must have been eating too slowly); one peace of fried chicken (I swear he ate the bones); one half bag of trail mix with M&Ms; about 2 cups of water; and a big bag of ground nuts.

Now all the kids in the hood want me to take them to the game! It’s tough to pick favourites, but Nasio and I have a bond. Absolutely nothing in common. I can barely understand his Krio, and he mine. But a strong connection nonetheless. He’s says “a get no padi” (I have no friends). But this is just a bad interpretation, because he has lots of friends. He just calls them brothers and sisters, as they do in Africa. If you live with them, then they are your brothers. He is an orphan, taken in by our neighbours. His “brothers” and “sisters” actually have blood links and mothers (and fathers somewhere). But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t look Sierra Leonean either. I’ll have to do some investigating, out of curiousity. (Photo: View of ground nut shrapnel at Nasio's feet)

But the big day out was a great success. Nothing stolen. No crying. Home-side win. And Nasio returned without a scratch. Maybe a stomachache. (Photo: Nasio watches the warm-ups through the fence)

Nigeria 1, Sierra Leone 0

The national football team, the Sierra Leone Stars, was about to play its first game in the newly renovated (painted) stadium. There was a buzz in the city the morning of the match. Traffic was jammed. Poda-podas were bouncing around the city with fans spilling out the sides. There were massive queues at police stations where tickets were being sold.

I had visions of taking 6-year-old Nasio to the game, but people advised against it. Advice ranged from “don’t bring a camera” to “don’t go”, and “definitely don’t take a small boy with you!”

Government messages on the radio asked for peace and order, and warned that the game would be cancelled if crowds got out of hand. People were urged to show the rest of the world that Sierra Leone can hold international matches without problems.

I arrived at the stadium to see a giant, single-file line-up, snaking from the lone open gate to the street. No one was out of place. One behind the other. Few police. No barriers to manage the line. No shouting. No pushing. Just one huge, single-file line-up. It was quite the sight. There is more disorder in a grocery store queue back home.

At the gate (We jumped the queue. The crowd was so docile), police ushered us in. There was a bit of pushing and yelling at the choke point. My camera was strapped to my neck, two fold. But all this made the excitement.

It was a fabulous experience. The stadium is beautiful. And the Sierra Leoneans are good fans. The crowd was not dissimilar to what you’d get at an OHL hockey game. Loud people. People falling over. Noise makers. Yelling at players. The whole sports package. Except for a few differences. The other team’s fans are separated from everyone else by a large fence with barbwire. (Sens fans wish they’d do the same for Leaf fans at the Scotia Bank Place). I didn’t see washrooms. No booze allowed. And, did I mention that the Nigerian fans were separated by a large fence with barbwire?

I was incredibly impressed with the order of the event and the peacefulness of the fans. Especially when Nigeria scored with 5 mins left in the game to win. Their fans erupted. Even I wanted to jump the fence and fight the Nigerians! Or at least throw my Pringles tube at them. I hate to say it; because I love to sit in the Molson section at the Bell Centre with a large Creemore while watching the Habs, I am sure a drunken audience at this game would have spelled trouble. But I would have loved to have a cold Creemore or two during that game. :-)

We walked home. Everyone was disappointed with the loss. Sierra Leoneans hate being last at everything. But, when the team bus passed us on the crowded road, everyone stopped to clap and cheer. A beautiful and telling gesture.

The Stars play South Africa next week. Maybe I’ll take Nasio.

SNAP!

One of the first Krio words you learn in Sierra Leone is “snap”. As in “a wan fo snap yu”. Can I take your picture? This is easier said than done.

On boxing day, against all my principles, me, my brother and my dad woke up at 6am to go stand in line at Future Shop for the chance to snag one of the 15 Canon Digital Rebel XL SLR Cameras on sale for a stupid price. A real bargain.

I was well equipped to take all kinds of pictures in Africa. The SLR camera is complemented with a 250 zoom lens with image-stabilizer and glare protection. I also have a pocket canon for those unexpected opportunities to catch a good shot. Needless to say I love taking photos, and was very excited to capture Africa. (Photo: Me working Jimmy the chimp at the Tacugama Sanctuary)

Well. The SLR stayed in its bag for a good month or so before capturing any light. And the baby canon has missed many great photo ops for being at home under my pillow. (I try to foil would-be thieves by storing my valuables in my dirty laundry and under my pillow)

Why you ask? In the beginning I just didn’t want to stick out more than I already did by walking around taking pictures of things and people. This is not Disney land or Manhattan. I wanted to blend in as much as possible and not look like a tourist.

But, the deeper reason is this: Sierra Leone is a poor country. Taking photos of poor has a distasteful element unless you are a journalist, a surveyor or scientist. And the people know it. Women don’t want to be photographed at their fruit stands in their work clothes no matter how beautiful I think the scene. Men will question why you are taking pictures of a street lined with garbage and rusted out cars. And so they should. They understand the equation. They feel that the white man is walking through a zoo and they are the attraction. (Photo: Fatama)

Now that I’ve been here for a while, I feel much more comfortable taking photographs. But I am very conscience of the relationship between the photographer and the subject. It is difficult to get “the” photo. In Kroo Bay – notorious slum of Freetown –, a place I really would like to capture for friends and family back home, I only felt comfortable to take the camera out once. I got quite a bit of grief from residents passing by. I respected them and put away the camera. Unfortunately, the two shots I did get do not capture the incredible slum built on a garbage dump – with kids and pigs playing in the river and women carrying coal and wood stacked two metres high on their heads.

Kids don’t have this concept in their heads yet. This is all normal to them. This is why I have tons of pictures of kids. And beaches of course. Looking at my photo album, one might think that Sierra Leone is all beach and full of kids. Hahaha. I am on a mission to get a more representative album, while doing my best to respect Sierra Leoneans and their home.

Some random photos from my first few months in Salone...

[Julian prepares dinner] [Tacugama Sanctuary worker carries baby chimp]

[Tacugama: Chimp reaches under fence to touch keeper's hand]

[Lakka: School kids dress up for special event]

[Kenema: Child hangs out for a 2-day workshop with his mother]

[One of the 2 ferries servicing Lungi airport. The better one]

[Freetown: Krio house with tailor shop]

[Vultures]

[Pulled over by the police]

[Diana or Diane, one of the twins tries out my helmet]

Marathon Meetings

Meetings in Africa vs Canada. People sleep during meetings, same as in Canada. Today I was in a committee meeting set up by the minister of Land for legislation reform, when a lady awoke to the sound of her cell phone. She answered it, and began a loud conversation right in the middle of the meeting. I felt like I was in a Saturday Night Live skit. This is pretty standard in these parts. Also standard is an extreme disregard for punctuality. African’s openly call this BMT – Black Man Time. Really. Today’s important meeting was scheduled for 11am. A gathering of important people – Lawyers, Department heads and Directors. We made it just in time for the opening remarks, around 12:00. (Photo: Me. "Buy low, sell high". Freetown Market.)

I have learned to bring food to meetings, because they always morph into marathons, like the reality show Survivor. Very much like meetings back home. Not like home, people thank god a lot and sessions always start with prayers.

However, most shocking is the death rate of young people and its affects at the work place. It’s probably a lot more shocking for me than everyone else here. Yesterday Osman, of our maintenance staff, returned to work after a week of leave. His 1-year-old son died. Children are very susceptible to diseases like malaria, and parents tend not to take sick kids to the hospital until it’s too late. I know a few nurses and doctors in town, and the stories are incredibly shocking, like the high number of amputations due to advance infections – something we’re not used to in the west. (Photo: A female local council candidate register's for one of our capacity building programs. Her son sat with her throughout the 2-day session)

Ticker: The neighbours have expanded. The new baby has been named Laura, after my roommate. … Management picked a fine time to add Admin Manager to my responsibilities. The engine of the office – the secretary – has taken 3 weeks leave and our director has decided to fire a bunch of people. I am the messenger. It’s been almost 2 months since employees have received pay cheques – sponsor cash hasn’t made it to the bank account yet. … There is no gas (to power our stove) in our kitchen. There is no gas in Sierra Leone. The shipment has encountered further delays. Looks like I’m eating out again.

Road to Kenema is Half Paved

Last week I traveled to Kenema (3rd largest town in the country) to oversee the implementation of a capacity building project. It was quite exciting to check out this part of the country.

A 6-hour drive took us over all kinds of terrain. I can tell you that broken paved road is worst than a good dirt road. Sierra Leone has a lot of broken road. Driving at night is very surreal. Eyes shine on the side of the highway reflecting headlights, but these aren’t animals, they’re people. The road is a free-for-all. The dominant driver dictates the flow. Our driver is good, going as fast he could while still maintaining a respectable degree of safety. I am sure that this trip took about 4 years off the life of the Toyota 4-Runner we hired. (Photo: View of Kenema from my "hotel" room. Hotel's name is Makasa Construction. Good service, and I had AC in my room. yes.)

The world is so small here, especially in Kenema. I ran into two friend journalists from Freetown – both Canadians. The development community is small and connected. Workers all seem to congregate at the better restaurants. So we all met at the Capitol for star beer and story telling.

This trip was a reminder to me that NGO is big business here. I must remind myself that my cash-strapped organization is seen as a truckload of money and prosperity when we drive into town. A large percent of the country’s GDP is donations. Thus the NGO sector to Sierra Leone is like silicone valley to the US. We drive nice cars, have offices and educated employees. We get to travel. We have money and power.

With my stipend, I took the field officer Mr. Tailu and Caesar, his assistant out for dinner. They make 200,000 leones ($65) and 100,000 a month respectively – when we have money to pay them! Mr. Tailu’s job is high profile. His predecessor is now running for mayor. We spend 3 hours over the course of 2 days at the radio station being interviewed about our project and taking questions from callers. Needless to say we were small-time celebrities by the time we sat down at the Capitol restaurant. (Photo: Caesar (Left) and Mr Tailu take a break from the workshop. Mr. Tailu reminisced about better times when the community centre was full of life - when kids played in the pool.)

The Most Unlucky Baby in the World

A few people have been asking me about how the “world food crunch” is affecting Sierra Leone. So I’ve gone out on a little investigative reporting mission. Here’s what I’ve got.

There have been no riots or unrest due to food shortages in Sierra Leone, yet, even though the BBC reports that increases in food prices are hitting the hardest in West Africa. Sky rocketing food prices are in the news and on the minds of many here. A bag of rice has gone from 70,000 leones ($23) to 150,000 ($49) in the span of 6 months. Fuel continues to climb, currently at 16,500 ($5.50) a gallon.

The problem is compounded by the monopolized importing business, which is blamed for adding a premium on top of the already inflated prices. Sierra Leone is at the mercy of the world market because they are a net importer, which was not the case 25 years ago when they exported rice, fruit and other foods to neighbouring countries. (Photo: A boy and a pig search for something in their backyard - Kroo Bay)

People tell me that they simply reduce their intake of food, and replace items with less expensive alternatives. But that’s in Freetown. In the villages people are getting desperate. I hear stories of people getting food at work (if there is bread at a meeting) and taking it home to their kids. I am constantly giving change to our support-staff to buy lunch.

But there isn’t as much noise as I would expect. No rioting. No increase in stealing. Why? Is it that Sierra Leone is fresh off a decade of war and determined to keep the peace? It is the poor that would have to rise up, and they have little power to do so. Maybe. I also think that, although Sierra Leone is poor, they are not a starving state. They are poor because of mismanagement, corruption and conflict that destroyed their infrastructure. They have a wealth of riches. Fields are overgrown and fruit rot on the ground because people left their farms during the war. I think in the regions, the people are returning to their fields. They don’t need bags of rice. They need seeds and equipment.

The big problem lies with the refugees - the people who left the fields to save their limbs by hiding in Freetown during the war. They are still here, living in giant shantytowns under bridges and between buildings. Makeshift settlements that are becoming infamous, like Kroo Bay, which is built on a garbage dump, and others that are built on riverbanks, which flood in the rainy season. One western broadcaster is making a documentary called something like “the most unlucky baby in the world” – born in the worst slum, in the poorest country on earth. Sounds like a Disney product. eh!? (Photo: Kroo Bay settlement with Freetown in background)

It’s these people who live in the expensive Freetown with no capacity to grow food. This is where the trouble will come. Stay tuned.

Change of Pace. And Again

Before my 2 weeks of vacation I was busy putting together programs and project proposals. It was a mad stretch of about 3 weeks when we submitted 6 proposals to Europe, the States and Canada. It was my first major task here – to get some cash flow to keep the organization afloat. They were all smallish proposals aimed at getting cash fast. In all, they would equal just over $120,000, which would buy us time to work on bigger more complex projects. I’m looking forward to trying to bring in roughly 3-quarters of a million from the EU and UN for a consortium of national NGOs.

It was painful to deal with the Canadian International Development Agency because they kept hounding us for more details and further explanation. I joked in the office about the a-holes in Canada, but really I was proud that my home country was so thorough and knowledgeable about undertaking projects in Sierra Leone – considering our nearest consulate is in the Ivory Coast. (Photo: "Dr." Joop and Mr J Brown. My partners in crime dine at the UN World Food Program cafe - our favourite meeting spot. We form the "3 white guys" of the organisation. JB cubed hasn't stuck. The 3 J's in our names, and the fact that we all sport some kind of beard. JB-cubed. No?)

The passion of my NGO is extremely high, however the overall business capacity is weak, and often paradoxical. Good governance? The organization must practice what it preaches!! And that’s something that myself and the 2 Euro imports – John the accountant and Joop the Admin manager – are beginning to install here. In the past, they took on projects without costing them properly, getting the organization into financial trouble. While I work on phase 2 of my responsibilities here – redeveloping the marketing strategy and tools – I will also commence building standard processes and practices for the NGO and train staff. We hope to have this place running smoothly by the time we leave.

So I came back from my vacation rested and ready for the next challenge. Good news already came from the UK and Canada awarding the requested grants. 2 for 2, not too shabby. Staff should get paid by next week, after a month and a half of waiting. And Joop, the admin manager, had to return home to tend to his ill daughter. I now have to take on his role as well as my own. It should be fun to run the day-to-day operations. Today? The secretary and receptionist are sick, one vehicle has no brakes, the generator has a dead alternator, there’s no toilet paper, the internet is down and the IT consultant doesn’t have a work contract.

The Canada-funded project begins Monday. That’s quick turnover even for western standards. I will be heading “up-line” (remote region) Sunday to manage the delivery, and monitor and evaluate the project in Kenema – building capacity of marginalized people for local council representation. Sierra Leone will hold the first local elections in over 30 years this summer. It is weird that there is a whole generation of people who don’t understand the government process because they haven’t been a part of it.

Needless to say, it looks like it’ll be another mad dash to my next break in July – home for a visit.

Who’s got gas?: Mel took my SL Bank card with her to Canada, but getting money out of my account didn’t seem to be much of a problem. I didn’t even have to show ID. Seriously. (read my “All Access Pass” blog entry to understand why). … We went through a 2-week stretch of little-to-no power, but its now back to a somewhat normal occurrence again – a few hours every evening, and a good stretch during the weekends. Rumour has it more generators are on the way courtesy World Bank. Freetown is determined to lose the stigma of being the only capital in the world without steady power. … The country feels so small and vulnerable. As if there are a few men and businesses that run the joint. There is a gas shortage (gas tanks to fuel stoves etc) caused by a mix up in paperwork, apparently. Now there are no gas tanks in the city. Everyone is waiting for that one shipment from Europe, from that one provider, all monopolized by the small and cutthroat import/export community. … Nasio’s got numbers 1 to 6 down pat now. I asked him to spell his name on his little portable chalkboard. I think we have some work to do. (Photo: Mary. I think. And Nasio. Not a flattering pic of Nasio. His right hand is fresh off being used as a fork for his Cassava leaf dinner. He's trying not to touch my leg. So thoughtful.)

Watin fo Chop?

This entry is for my parents. They’ve only now stopped asking if I’m eating.

Watin fo chop? What’s for eats? Well well well. My perspective is probably warped, coming from a good-cooking family; my grandmother is from Calabria; I am (was) a pampered young professional – black angus steak after sushi washed down with a couple imported Belgium beers on a random Tuesday was a normal occurrence, and my kitchen in Ottawa was probably worth more than the whole house I live in here, times two. But aside from all that I would be happy to swim in pizza and smoked meat poutine with a chocolate milkshake from the Elgin Street Diner in my hand. I’m easy to please.

My parents worried. Even my colleagues worried that I wouldn’t get my pizza fix. Well you’ll be happy to know that there is pizza here. Just like home, I savour the time I spend with pizza. I get to a pizza once or twice a week. I even bought a bottle of Sweet Thai Chili sauce, which I take with me to Montanas’. Basically you can get all the basics – burgers, fries, chicken wraps, shawarmas, club sandwiches, soups, salads etc. (Photo: Barracuda with fries and shrimp with rice; and a yummy stewy sauce for the rice)

There is a good-sized expat community here, so there is a demand for this kind of food. Unfortunately the community is largely (earmuffs my UK friends) British, so, ya, the tastes are not in line with your typical Canadian, to say it politely! The “fabulous” pizza here is a 2 out of 10 on my scale - but the heat could be getting to my head. From my experience at some of the better hotels here, the cuisine is very middle-of-the-road, and sold as hi-end. There is a large Lebanese community monopolizing the import export business and serving up good hummus and wraps. And the Chinese have some flavour in Freetown.

But enough with the foreign food. The local chop is where the value, freshness and nutrition are found. Innovation, variety and availability are not hallmarks of Sierra Leonean dining. You get rice, maybe couscous, beans, potato leaves, chicken, unidentifiable meat and fish. Most dishes are rice with some sore of stew, which may include fish or unidentifiable meat.

Mangos, bananas and avocados fall from the trees, and maybe the vegetables do too. Maybe that’s why they look so bad at the markets. My stir-fry consists of eggplant and onion. Yum. Not! Not after the 10th time! The tomatoes look worst than the ones on the floor at Price Choppers.

Like most people say, you can find most everything here. It’s true. And now that I have wheels I can peruse a variety of markets in town. But I haven’t found nachos to go with my fresh guacamole yet! (Photo: Fresh oysters from the local village at River No. 2)

The best grub seems to be at the beach bars where you can get fresh lobster, shrimp, snapper and barracuda. And you get the feeling that Freetown is continually expanding. New beach restaurants appear overnight and there is rumour of a new sushi bar coming to town. Opa!

My favourite product of Freetown is the frozen yogurt. Such an anomaly in this oven-of-a-city. You spot the vendors easily. They carry their product in coolers in baby strollers. Each individual small bag is tied by hand. No labels. I was suspect at first, but now I seek these guys out every day!

Motorcycle Diaries

On a Tuesday. Incredibly, all the ducks came in line and the motorbike was delivered in the afternoon. It looks good. It runs. The insurance is there. The plate is registered. We’re in business. The next day was less productive, but successful. I spend almost all day at the Road Transport Authority getting my license.

On Thursday morning Mel and I set out on a trip around the peninsula. The bike was packed. Tarp, mosquito net, clothes, water, sun block… it looked good. We made it to Spur Road, about 2 klms, when the clunker choked on the steep incline. It was 11am, 2 hours after estimated time of departure and the bike was dead. If it died in the hills of the peninsula then it would be a great story. But, at the Lumley Police Station?! Son-of-a-beetch! I was cursing my decision to get this jalopy of a bike. (Photo: Mel watches while Demba and co work on the bike)

But, getting a shiny new bike would have made us a target – because 2 whities on a dirt bike is inconspicuous -, and it wouldn’t bring about certain relationships, like the one that was forming between me and Demba, the bike mechanic. We already had a few small run-ins. He worked on fixing the bike in the first place. It was a dilapidated pile of poop only a week ago, now it’s still a pile, but the chain is oiled and the grips are new. I didn’t trust him then, but now the trust is building. In 15 minutes, he and his assistant arrive from the other side of town on their 1960s Honda 125. “I come, I come”.

The choke was broken, stuck on the on position. The two worked on the side of the road, to get it running, but it would need to go back to the shop for more work. Mel and I followed them into busy downtown. It wasn’t easy to keep the bike running while dodging people and chickens at the same time.

After an hour of reconstructive surgery, we finally left for our adventure. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination – I keep telling myself! In this case, it was true. Demba is a great contact. He and his assistants genuinely want to help and do good work. They asked for no money for the 2 hours of work except $1.60 for a new plug. And Mel. It was like a 3-ring circus came to Campbell Street. Kids want to touch her skin and men want to buy her from me. Mangos and a chicken won’t cut it. (Photo: Road on way to Waterloo)

Over the course of the next 4 days we explored the peninsula. We cut across the mountains to Waterloo. The roads were pretty rough. My mountain biking skills came in handy. In every village we passed, most everyone stopped to look and wave as the two white people passed through. Mel was loving it. By now she seemed comfortable with the attention and surprised with the friendliness of the Sierra Leoneans.

Until we got to Waterloo. The bike stalled at a busy intersection, and I couldn’t get it started. Within seconds we were swarmed by dozens of teens, who looked like RUF rebels without guns! A few jokes did little to dull their aggressiveness. They argued about how to fix the bike, and some wanted to get on the bike. There was no way I was letting anyone on the bike. After sweating it out for a few minutes, we got the bike running. (Photo: River No 2 Beach)

The ride was amazing. We passed people working in the fields, vultures and many villages on the way to beautiful beaches. We stayed the night at Franco’s’. The food was surprisingly delicious and the room was air-conditioned and super clean. It’ll probably go down as the nicest place I’ll stay at in SL. Go figure, its run by a bunch of Italians – complete with Italian dinner music and arguing in the kitchen.

After a night back in Freetown, we returned to River No 2 to camp for the night. River No 2 is beautiful. And the village does a great job of managing the beach and facilities.

The motorbiking part was a lot of fun. We were stopped by a few kids who erected a makeshift roadblock. They threatened us and demanded money. The young one, maybe 8 years old, was most aggressive. He had war paint on his face. It was cute. We did get pulled over by the real police on Beach Road in Freetown. I was excited to show my documents, but they only wanted to chat. They refused to look at my license. I dropped names of SL police officers I know for good measure. (Photo: Franco's Hotel at Sussex Beach)

RANDOM: Julian was up-country attending a naming ceremony while we were beaching it. He returned with gifts including 2 live chickens. They live with us now. He slaughtered one for dinner last night. Yum. … Vultures pooped on Mel. … We have had little power during the last week. Last night was the first night of power in a week. Maybe the government is running out of money to fuel the generators. … I met a girl from Deep River. Strange. … We went to a wedding celebration last Sunday. It wasn’t until later in the day we learned the bride and groom were not in the country.

Bruno: Love and Death at Tacugama

Why do I feel that this won’t be the last time I write about Bruno? My colleagues back home uncovered articles and even saw a National Geographic TV special on the infamous killer chimp of Freetown. They told me to beware of the man-killing, baby-eating giant chimp still loose in Freetown after a dramatic escape from Tacugama, the chimpanzee sanctuary.

I had already met Bala, the founder of the sanctuary, on my first visit. But I wasn’t about to ask him about the details, especially after I learned that Bruno’s mother was killed by hunters, and kept as a pet. Bala rescued the baby chimp, malnourished to the point that he had no hair left. This was the start of the sanctuary, now home to more than 90-orphaned chimpanzees. (Sierra Leone is one of those countries that filled the order for your English grandmother’s 1950 Christmas gift – a monkey)

Last week I went to a screening of a Sierra Leone documentary “Wildlife after War” in which Bala and his chimps are featured (He has been in numerous documentaries). After the showing I got to share a couple of beers with the man himself. He’s a cool dude. Originally from Sri Lanka, but hasn’t been back in over 30 years.

Over a few Star beers, I got the scoop from the source. The senior chimp group, lead by Bruno, learned how to open the complex cage system and made a grand escape – 31 of them. Bruno the leader went down to the road to ensure the path was clear for the group. He met a cab with 3 passengers who thought it was quite the photo op. As the passengers flashed photos the cab driver attempted to scare Bruno off the road. This only upset the giant chimp. Bruno banged on the car severing some fingers of one passenger as the others ran for their lives. The driver ran up to the sanctuary to look for help, however he was met by the other 30 chimpanzees. They mauled him to death.
Over the course of a few months 27 of the 31 escapees returned to the sanctuary. Bruno and the other 3 are alive and well somewhere on the peninsula. Bala has made contact with all of them, but said Bruno won’t show his face. I have to remember my good chimp, bad chimp calls, and my machete when I go camping in the peninsula next week!

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Tacugama Website for more info on Bruno, Bala and how you can buy a monkey! no, you can't buy a monkey! but you can rent one for a party. no, that's a joke too. You can sponsor a chimp of your choice.
http://www.tacugama.com/