The Delights of York Village

Part 2
The Delights of York village

I awoke early, ready to start saving whales. I had breakfast with Judit, a dutch girl and the only other volunteer here at the moment. She duly informed me of the situation, I recognised almost instantly that she was one of those morbid pessimistic types, she instantly told me about the huge boil on her armpit, how many times she's had the shits since being in Africa, and other personal horrors that I will not bore you with (as she bored me). 'The house' she continued 'has electricity from 7 – 11, powered by a noisy generator, there is no running water so we wash in the river, use sea water to flush the loo and collect rainwater for cooking and washing clothes and dishes. Last week a huge snake was in the kitchen, so we killed it with a broom'.
These slight inconveniences are out of my control so I'll have to roll with them, I thought. I then asked about the work the foundation did and was shocked by the answer:
'Nothing at the moment, the foundation has no money, we need an engine for the boat to see the whales, money should be sent in 2 weeks. We have a chicken farm with 5000 chickens, but not enough money to buy feed, the chickens are beginning to eat each other and aren't laying yet. And we sometimes teach in the school but they are on holiday.'
'So what do you do all day?'
'Nothing'
'Nothing at all?'
'I walk around the village sometimes and read my book by the sea'
I'll have to make my own fun, I thought. I then met the locals who work at the foundation:

Colin – the boss man, speaks excellent English, supports Liverpool and is good humoured.
Sarah – stays in the house with us, very attractive, good cook, kind hearted
Kamilo – Cool, laid back little guy, braided hair, likes spearfishing
Musa – Friendly, always skint, heavy smoker, ultimate womaniser
James – Quiet, likes a drink, possible dark horse

I spent the next four days exploring the village, with Kamilo, Musa and James and acquainting  myself with the diets, customs, habits and language. The houses are mostly made from rusty corrugated iron, dried compact muddy clay, dried grass and leaves for roofing and empty window frames. The people seem very welcoming, wide grins, shouting; 'hey whitey man, whats your name,' 'Look its Jesus Christ' and 'Kushe-o' (hello in Krio). The drinking water comes in 500ml clear plastic bags, and the method is to bite off on corner and squirt the contents into your mouth. The language is supposedly a kind of pigeon English, but I would say it is a bird smaller than a pigeon as it is difficult to grasp. It originates from the first English settlers here that used Freetown as the main west African port in the early 1800s. The language has evolved steadily away from this Dickensesque English, as has our own English evolved in a different direction. This means words like cutlass (for machete), vexed (for annoyed) and even bah humbug! are used commonly here. If spoken slowly the English origins of most phrases can be identified; Mi Coppa done done (I have ran out of money), I gotme a behlfull (i've just eaten) my favorite phrase so far is 'Blow ya nose' for 'do your flies up'. Whilst exploring the village I have seen the bat cave – a cave full of enormous bats, the local beaches, taken treks through the jungle – seeing vultures, lizards, armies of giant soldier ants, parrots and beautiful butterflies.

         My afternoons are mostly spent going fishing with kamilo, taking a snorkel, flippers and the giant speargun – an iron rod, sharpened at one end, and a notch near the other end which a tight elasticated cord is attached to, a trigger releases this spear; it is a similar mechanism to a crossbow, but longer and more slender.  I think it may be the most enjoyable hobby known to man, you slowly swim about admiring all the colourful fish and corals in the warm water, then every so often you see a big, tasty looking beast, you take a large breath and dive down, but not so fast that you scare it, you slowly stalk the fish looking down the long sharp arrow and then, when the time is right,'thunk' 'the arrow shoots forward, the fish flaps around impaled and helpless on the unexpected cold iron extension of human ingenuity. To top of the ultimate hobby, you then go home and fill your belly full of the lovely white meat, knowing it's sustainable, fresh and well deserved.

         'Christ on a bike' was a hilarious, and quite an indisputably English phrase that one laughing, gappy toothed old man shouted at me as I rode my bicycle along the stunning white sands of Tokeh beach. Tokeh was a former westerners paradise before the long and hideous recent civil war. Its incredible palm tree perimeter is studded with huge derelict roofless concrete buildings, former hotels, bars and playthings for the wealthy. There is a disused helicopter pad about 100 metres into the sea, that tourists used to be flown in on straight from Freetown airport. It seems that the older generation here are extremely warm and welcoming to foreigners, I find this a rare and wonderful occurrence, usually it is the olds that show the most hostility to those of oddly coloured skin and I don't just mean in Africa, we all have a racist gran, do we not?. I presume that seeing the white skins on the beach remind them of a former prosperity that was shattered by the war and gives hope for the restoration of the buildings and livelihoods in the future. Musa and I were tearing along in the sun on the wet sand when I noticed a strange sight, a white man! Walking along in the lapping waves, 'Hey whitey man' I shouted (as is customary) and when I got chatting, we soon realised that coincidentally we were both from Leicester. We decided to meet up for a drink later, especially as he (Tony) informed me that the beach huts he stayed in (just across the river from Tokeh and the only guesthouse for miles) sold COLD beers. A huge novelty in a hot climate with no electricity. Musa agreed to accompany me there in exchange for a couple of pints, and we continued our journey past the busy fishing boats and uncountable games of aggressive beach football.

         On returning to York an argument ensued with Colin about the roads being too dangerous to cycle back, with no lights, drunk in the dark, I then made the idiotic mistake of saying I did it all the time in England. 'In England!' he replied seething 'Where you have bike that works, lights in the road, driving laws, a fucking man to scrape you of the floor and drive you to fucking hospital, and.....' I cut him off, I'll just stay in the hotel for the night and get a room for Musa too. I set off after a quick river shower with 100 000 leones (around £15) in my wallet, more than enough to get myself and Musa drunk, fed, secure a comfortable bed and possibly (I was getting excited by this notion) a hot shower! I even took a range of shampoos, soaps, conditioners and moisturisers with me that other volunteers had left. After an hours cycle ride and a small rowing boat that took our bikes, ourselves and four old lady's that were carrying enormous loads on there heads across the river, we arrived at the river number 2 beach resort just before nightfall (the two big rivers near us are poetically named river number 1 and river number 2). We met Tony, ordered three cold and delicious refreshments and I then went about getting a room. 'Oh Moos, for da wan room wi too beds for da net' I asked in my best krio, '60 dollars' he replied. In a place were you can buy a slap up meaty meal for 30 pence, and the average daily wage is under a pound, I found this ridiculous. I set about haggling and Musa came to join me, the bastard wouldn't budge on the price, presumably because Tony was being equally ripped off and was within earshot. He told us he would pitch a tent on the beach for us for 100 000, I set forth a torrent of abuse and finished my drink with Tony, who sadly was moving on with his travels tomorrow, so we barely chattered. This now meant that we had to cycle home in the dark and leave immediately as the boat would stop running. We set off, had to pull the boatman away from eating his dinner, but he seemed happy, and then decided to cycle through the jungle instead of the road. Luckily the windy path of white sand was illuminated by the bright moon and navigating our way back to York was surprisingly easy, and quite enjoyable. I kept my promise to Musa and we got pissed on warm beer as he told me of his various sexual conquests and the secret society that he is part off (I am slowly and cunningly gathering more information about this and will allow this to remain a mystery until a future edition).

         Each evening we dine in 'Irenes restaurant', Irene has a healthy smile from ear to ear, and a large gut, so I trust her cooking. At dinner with Sarah and Judit on my third evening I decided to go for the Achete with Chicken, achete is an oily cous cous type food, with herbs and spices, very delicious, I ate it all up and devoured my spiced chicken leg, licking the bone clean. Sarah then turned to me and asked 'do you not like the chicken?',
'I loved it' I replied.
'So why don't you finish it'
I looked at her gone out, she read my expression and laughed. 'In Africa we eat all the chicken, good for the teeth'; she then continued to pick up the bone and chomp it down. I was gob smacked! But have to confess that as each day   I have steadily eaten more and more of my bone, after all we all want good teeth. During my few days in York I became good buddy's with Musa, he is from a tiny jungle village and grew up with no education and 12 brothers and sisters. He worked in the diamond mines during the war and then on fishing boats with Colin, I presume he got his job with the foundation for his good humour and charm. He seems to be mates with every single person we come across wherever we are, and has a girlfriend in every town. I am helping him learn to read and write and in return he invited me to spend four days visiting his mother in his family home in mende village, this is not on any map and inland about 40 miles from us (therefore one solid days travel). So we set off at 6 am leaving the rusty corrugated iron homes of York behind to visit the rural villages at the heart of the jungle, my most adventurous adventure to date.....