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.