And the Kids, they Cry.

Thursday I finally felt like I did something for someone else. Until then, I had been taken by hand to do everything. After training, I stopped off at Abraham’s corner market for some coke (my caffeine substitute for coffee). On the way back I saw a boy surrounded by children in a field. He was trying to teach himself how to ride a motorbike. To the amazement of the neighbourhood kids, I delivered a 5 minute lesson and demonstration. It was pretty sweet. I hope he lends me his bike one day. But I’m sure I’ll brake it! Everything here is poorly made. This poor kids new motorbike will surely disintegrate in the rainy season weather.

The shit can walk. Pots, pans, hangers, strainers, forks and bowls. I’ve officially shopped at all the common-man’s places in Freetown – the supermarkets, the trade markets and street vendors. If the shit could talk, it would say “ I am crap that was molded into something like a plate; made in china to test for the lowest quality possible. I couldn’t make it to the US market because, even there, there is no market for brittle, lead-laced shapes of durable goods.” I swear our pots are made of tin foil.

And the kids, they cry. I’m getting more comfortable with the locals. It’s easy at times, like Friday morning walking to work, when a random small boy ran towards to me to give me a big hug. A good 20-second bear hug to the leg. The white guy has magic over small children!

In the afternoon, during our city orientation, I sat waiting for people to buy some tin foil shaped into everyday things. I was sitting beside a family of 8ish sierra leoneans. A small boy was eying me up. So I made a drill noise with my mouth and poked him in the gut. (classic kid trick). That was the start of a 10-minute uncontrollable screaming and crying fit by the little dude. I was pretty embarrassed. There was nothing I could do to calm this kid down. More drill noises just made it worst. Guess I have to pick my spots with kids.

I learned my lesson. So, Saturday night I put away the drill noises and poking finger and just sat outside my house, near the neighbours. I just sat there. And the kids started to come one by one. Like squirrels to nuts. First was the quiet but adventurous Na-sai-o. A 6 yr old orphan boy. A hi-five. A couple of smiles. No drill noises. He called for his “sistas”. Twins Diane and Diana (7-yrs old). Soon I was surrounded by about 8 kid, ages 2 to 8. And after sharing popcorn and practicing my Krio, I had about 10 small hands on my head. They practiced making African hair styles on my crop. By this time Na-sai-o was completely comfortable with me. Calling me a “uman” (woman) with my long hair. Petting my goatee, punching me and pulling down his pants to moon me. All the while laughing uncontrollably. We will definitely get along well.

Random sights. I’ve seen more Rod Brind’Amour jerseys (1) in Freetown than I have in the whole of Canada. Canada is worn everywhere here. it’s nice. It must mean our donations are making it here. 1 Edmonton Oiler toque. Several intramural hockey jerseys. A Transport Canada and McGill U T-shirt. And lots of beer promotional shirts with stuff like “the puck stops here…”. I rode home in a Mama Mia Taxi from Toronto. (they were donated to developing countries after the show’s promotion) . Sunday at the beach... there was a garbage protest last week. The city stopped picking up garbage, so the people just piled all their refuse in the middle of a main street. A few days later trucks picked up the pile. The next day, a massive load of garbage washed up on the local beach. hmmmm. We're talking serious garbage, including dog carcasses. We do not swim at this beach.