I write this, my first installment of my Sierra Leone blog, whilst lying in a bunkbed encased in mosquito cloth, it is dark as we only have electicity from 7 – 10pm but my laptop is charged, a huge thunderstorm is throwing glimpses of electric light into my room. It is the third evening here and I am beginning to feel relaxed. I have decided to embrace the rats and lizards as fellow room mates, but have to thoroughly check my bed before tightly encasing myself in my anti-animal netting. The house overlooks the sea and has a large patio area, it is situated in the jungle in a small fishing village called York. The people here are welcoming and fun to be around, before I talk about the village though, dear reader, allow me to tell you about my journey.
Heathrow – Paris – Conacky – Freetown – York Village
I arrived in Sierra Leone airport an hour late, my passport was checked and my yellow fever card examined by a man wearing tattered white robes with 'docta' written on his top pocket in marker pen. The baggage collection belt was surrounded by guys fighting to attend to the westerners, 'Ello Sir, whot you need? taxi? African tobacco?', 'I am fine' - I lied, trying to hide the bewilderment in my eyes. I managed to collect my bag and make for the exit, two men decided to accompany arguing in krio (the native language) I presume for ownership of the westerner, a small slap in the face from one to the other left me with just one guide. 'Sir, You need my help, people here, day teefs! I look after you, you my friend'. I was unconvinced but walked with him outside for lack of a better option. The sun was scorching, we were standing by a busy dirt road, motobike taxis all over the place, small wooden and corregated metal huts shackled together with rope and nails with large tattered cocacola signs above housed small shops selling cigarettes and drinks. I was meant to be meeting Abdul, my collector and courier, but he was nowhere to be seen, my new friend eyed me hungrily and I asked him if he new of abdul? 'No sometimes people don't show' I take you where you need' as he bekoned towards a taxi. 'I'll wait' I said, 'very dangerous here for you' he replied as he opened the taxi door. My initial fear of the place resided as I saw a giant African man running up to me with a little sign saying 'Philip tunstall'. Payment was demanded by my brief accomplice and 1 american dollar was payed with much gratitued. I walked towards my bodyguard feeling safe, my hero, Abdul! my protector is here! ... 'You!', he shouted, 'where you been? We miss da ferry now, you late, fook sake!' I tried to explain that my flight got delayed, and it was not my fault, but his English was broken and my krio was non-existant, he looked pissed off.
My flight was running on time from Paris, but had to make a stop in Conacky, the capital of Guinee, the neighbour of Sierra Leone. Here, most of the travelers disembarked, leaving about a 5th of uson the plane. The airport consisted of a large dusty track surrounded by the ruins of large old metal planes, this was surrounded by lush green forest and it was my first site of Africa. I could see the locals unloading the baggage out of my window, as could the Leone couple sitting behind me. 'teef' shouted the lady and as I looked closely, one of the baggage handlers was opening the zip pockets in a rucksack and filling up his own pockets. The air stewardess was grabbed and the captain was told. Now I watched the one hour of confusion, arguing and chaos from my window in which nothing was resolved and most people just sat and smoked in the sun. the culprit was nowhere to be seen and the security guys just kept scanning someone with a metal detector who wasn't anything to do with unloading the plane. This is why I was late Abdul! The plane continued to Freetown – Sierras capital. The airport is actually situated 10 miles over water away from the capital itself (bad town planning, possibly) so ferry, helicopter or speedboat are the only options to cross. Although due to my delay all of the options had either gone or were not financially viable. However Abdul had a plan.
Seven of us crammed into a small renault taxi, it had no windows and I sat in the front, squashed upto giant Abdul in the passenger seat, we waited for the driver to finish his business outside in the bustling car park. 'What you smoke?' Abdul asked, 'Drum tobacco' I replied, 'Show me!' I opened my bag accidently exposing my camera and phone. He grabbed it shut growling 'Never open in public! This is Africa!' I have never felt like such an idiotic tourist. We made our way to the docks, and I watched my new world go by, kids playing football, women carrying baskets of fruit or cloth on their heads, thin dogs sniffing around piles of rubbish, beautiful countryside, a giant lizard walking by the roadside, huge billboards reading 'Save Africa, get HIV tested today', 'A friend with HIV is still a friend', 'Kick Polio from Sierra Leone' and 'Buy Coca Cola'. We arrived at the dock, children smiled and said 'hello' to the novelty white man in town, Abdul argued boat business and money changed hands, we walked down to the beach, the long thin wooden boat was out in the water, anchored 30 meters from shore, I was given a makeshift life jacket and began to kick off my shoes. A teenager half my size ran up to me, 'no, no,no' he picked me up, flung me over his shoulder and waded me to the boat. The boat was called 'the Manchester United' and was painted brightly, it was around 80 feet long, with no benches so we sat around the edge, the boat began to leave, but was soon stopped by a man shouting from shore as more people were paying for a ride. We sat on the boat then for over an hour in chaotic commotion as everyone on the boat wanted to leave before nightfall. 'Oi Arbour Masta greedy basterd' was a recognisable and commonly used phrase in the arguing that commenced. But, Arbour Masta was a business man, not letting the boat leave until it was well overloaded, no matter how agitated his customers were becoming. With only a 15hp engine, it took over an hour to reach freetown it was dark and choppy, we had no lights and a storm was brewing, however I found in the warm sea breeze refershing and exhilarating, I chatted to a local guy my age, the self declared greatest rapper in Africa, he had wild eyes, good banter and a loud laugh.
We then arrived in Freetown, the world mecca of corruption. Abdul grabbed me by the hand, I felt like a child but wasn't ungrateful, we walked through a couple of streets, the buzz of iffy electrics overhead and the arguing of hustlers from every corner, we made it to a waiting car, the driver Maamed talked football with me as Abdul went to do some more 'business'. On his return I asked about changing money, I only had dollars and needed to pay him for his services and get some beer money. He made some calls and gave him some dollars, we waited on the main street at the side of the road, Maamed rolledup some African tobacco which he shared with me. I began feeling stoned and paranoia began to kick in, three hookers stood behind the car trying to seduce the passing traffic, one of which snook into the ditch next to the car to take a piss, I glanced accidently at her and was shown a swift middle finger. Some guys leaned up against the car arguing between themselves. Abdul told them to 'Fook off' they argued back and the only phrase I picked up was 'fookin white man in da back' they carried on leaning on the car. I began to feel overwhelmingly thirsty, having not drunk a thing since the plane, on which I took advantage of the free booze, this coupled with the strong weed, had turned my spit to sand. I asked if we could get a drink, 'Yes! Let us go to de pub'. I began to feel better already. We walked over the road, leaving Maamed to watch the car. It was a small very bright and busy cafe, music blaring from a tinny sound system and premier league highlights on the tv. Abdul ordered two star beers and then instructed me to sit on one of the plastic chairs, he then preceded to leave the bar. My beer went down to fast and I had no Leones (local currency) to buy another. Two guys came over, probably sensing my unease, 'what you want here? I get for you, weed, women' I told them I was ok but they sat with me and continued to try to get me to go with them, getting progressively more hostile 'Why you even here whiteman?' I found this hard to answer.
Just when I thought my great African adventure was a bad idea a massive black, blue eyed smiling guy came over. 'Hey man heard your accent, English yeah? spoken in strong cockney, he sat with me ordered a couple of beers and we chatted about Sierra Leone. 'Once you understand the place its great man!' He told the two guys to fuck off and that I was his friend. He was half leonen and here on business, what exactly he couldn't tell me, but I warmed to him and he gave me his number, saying if I got in any trouble he would help. We plan to go for drinks next time I was in Freetown. Abdul soon returned with the dollar-man as he liked to be called. He wore newyork bling and a silver cap, he tried to rip me off, counting my 20 dollar bills as 10s about three times in a row as he counted the money in front of me. My wits were frazzled but I pulled through, he said 'you have to tip me now, you are hard to cheat' with a big laugh and grin, I did. We piled back in the car and headed to York. Maamed asked if I wanted to buy some weed, I thought it only polite to say yes. I wanted some for a nice sunny day on the beach but somehow the tansaction involved me giving him 1000 leones (20p) and him giving me an enormous lit spliff. 'Welcome to africa, my buddy!' he said. I know he thought he was giving me a nice welcome, but the last thing I wanted was to indulge in a giant spliff at this time, however, I did not want to be rude. I smoked the beauty and fell asleep in the back. Only waking for the constant near misses with other traffic, there is no lines in the centre of the road and this causes mayhem, we were pushed into the grassland at the side a couple of times due to oncomers overtaking, horns and curse-words galore. Maameds driving tactic was to keep his left indicator on all the time so that oncomers would think he may just dart left at any second, thus slowing them down, but him remaining at a steady speed.
I finally arrived in York! We walked down a small lane to the house and found only one volunteer in residence and 5 local staff, they were welcoming and we chit-chatted for 20 minutes until the electricity ran out and I went to bed.
Day one complete! Alive, well, exhilarated, scared and sweaty.
Heathrow – Paris – Conacky – Freetown – York Village
I arrived in Sierra Leone airport an hour late, my passport was checked and my yellow fever card examined by a man wearing tattered white robes with 'docta' written on his top pocket in marker pen. The baggage collection belt was surrounded by guys fighting to attend to the westerners, 'Ello Sir, whot you need? taxi? African tobacco?', 'I am fine' - I lied, trying to hide the bewilderment in my eyes. I managed to collect my bag and make for the exit, two men decided to accompany arguing in krio (the native language) I presume for ownership of the westerner, a small slap in the face from one to the other left me with just one guide. 'Sir, You need my help, people here, day teefs! I look after you, you my friend'. I was unconvinced but walked with him outside for lack of a better option. The sun was scorching, we were standing by a busy dirt road, motobike taxis all over the place, small wooden and corregated metal huts shackled together with rope and nails with large tattered cocacola signs above housed small shops selling cigarettes and drinks. I was meant to be meeting Abdul, my collector and courier, but he was nowhere to be seen, my new friend eyed me hungrily and I asked him if he new of abdul? 'No sometimes people don't show' I take you where you need' as he bekoned towards a taxi. 'I'll wait' I said, 'very dangerous here for you' he replied as he opened the taxi door. My initial fear of the place resided as I saw a giant African man running up to me with a little sign saying 'Philip tunstall'. Payment was demanded by my brief accomplice and 1 american dollar was payed with much gratitued. I walked towards my bodyguard feeling safe, my hero, Abdul! my protector is here! ... 'You!', he shouted, 'where you been? We miss da ferry now, you late, fook sake!' I tried to explain that my flight got delayed, and it was not my fault, but his English was broken and my krio was non-existant, he looked pissed off.
My flight was running on time from Paris, but had to make a stop in Conacky, the capital of Guinee, the neighbour of Sierra Leone. Here, most of the travelers disembarked, leaving about a 5th of uson the plane. The airport consisted of a large dusty track surrounded by the ruins of large old metal planes, this was surrounded by lush green forest and it was my first site of Africa. I could see the locals unloading the baggage out of my window, as could the Leone couple sitting behind me. 'teef' shouted the lady and as I looked closely, one of the baggage handlers was opening the zip pockets in a rucksack and filling up his own pockets. The air stewardess was grabbed and the captain was told. Now I watched the one hour of confusion, arguing and chaos from my window in which nothing was resolved and most people just sat and smoked in the sun. the culprit was nowhere to be seen and the security guys just kept scanning someone with a metal detector who wasn't anything to do with unloading the plane. This is why I was late Abdul! The plane continued to Freetown – Sierras capital. The airport is actually situated 10 miles over water away from the capital itself (bad town planning, possibly) so ferry, helicopter or speedboat are the only options to cross. Although due to my delay all of the options had either gone or were not financially viable. However Abdul had a plan.
Seven of us crammed into a small renault taxi, it had no windows and I sat in the front, squashed upto giant Abdul in the passenger seat, we waited for the driver to finish his business outside in the bustling car park. 'What you smoke?' Abdul asked, 'Drum tobacco' I replied, 'Show me!' I opened my bag accidently exposing my camera and phone. He grabbed it shut growling 'Never open in public! This is Africa!' I have never felt like such an idiotic tourist. We made our way to the docks, and I watched my new world go by, kids playing football, women carrying baskets of fruit or cloth on their heads, thin dogs sniffing around piles of rubbish, beautiful countryside, a giant lizard walking by the roadside, huge billboards reading 'Save Africa, get HIV tested today', 'A friend with HIV is still a friend', 'Kick Polio from Sierra Leone' and 'Buy Coca Cola'. We arrived at the dock, children smiled and said 'hello' to the novelty white man in town, Abdul argued boat business and money changed hands, we walked down to the beach, the long thin wooden boat was out in the water, anchored 30 meters from shore, I was given a makeshift life jacket and began to kick off my shoes. A teenager half my size ran up to me, 'no, no,no' he picked me up, flung me over his shoulder and waded me to the boat. The boat was called 'the Manchester United' and was painted brightly, it was around 80 feet long, with no benches so we sat around the edge, the boat began to leave, but was soon stopped by a man shouting from shore as more people were paying for a ride. We sat on the boat then for over an hour in chaotic commotion as everyone on the boat wanted to leave before nightfall. 'Oi Arbour Masta greedy basterd' was a recognisable and commonly used phrase in the arguing that commenced. But, Arbour Masta was a business man, not letting the boat leave until it was well overloaded, no matter how agitated his customers were becoming. With only a 15hp engine, it took over an hour to reach freetown it was dark and choppy, we had no lights and a storm was brewing, however I found in the warm sea breeze refershing and exhilarating, I chatted to a local guy my age, the self declared greatest rapper in Africa, he had wild eyes, good banter and a loud laugh.
We then arrived in Freetown, the world mecca of corruption. Abdul grabbed me by the hand, I felt like a child but wasn't ungrateful, we walked through a couple of streets, the buzz of iffy electrics overhead and the arguing of hustlers from every corner, we made it to a waiting car, the driver Maamed talked football with me as Abdul went to do some more 'business'. On his return I asked about changing money, I only had dollars and needed to pay him for his services and get some beer money. He made some calls and gave him some dollars, we waited on the main street at the side of the road, Maamed rolledup some African tobacco which he shared with me. I began feeling stoned and paranoia began to kick in, three hookers stood behind the car trying to seduce the passing traffic, one of which snook into the ditch next to the car to take a piss, I glanced accidently at her and was shown a swift middle finger. Some guys leaned up against the car arguing between themselves. Abdul told them to 'Fook off' they argued back and the only phrase I picked up was 'fookin white man in da back' they carried on leaning on the car. I began to feel overwhelmingly thirsty, having not drunk a thing since the plane, on which I took advantage of the free booze, this coupled with the strong weed, had turned my spit to sand. I asked if we could get a drink, 'Yes! Let us go to de pub'. I began to feel better already. We walked over the road, leaving Maamed to watch the car. It was a small very bright and busy cafe, music blaring from a tinny sound system and premier league highlights on the tv. Abdul ordered two star beers and then instructed me to sit on one of the plastic chairs, he then preceded to leave the bar. My beer went down to fast and I had no Leones (local currency) to buy another. Two guys came over, probably sensing my unease, 'what you want here? I get for you, weed, women' I told them I was ok but they sat with me and continued to try to get me to go with them, getting progressively more hostile 'Why you even here whiteman?' I found this hard to answer.
Just when I thought my great African adventure was a bad idea a massive black, blue eyed smiling guy came over. 'Hey man heard your accent, English yeah? spoken in strong cockney, he sat with me ordered a couple of beers and we chatted about Sierra Leone. 'Once you understand the place its great man!' He told the two guys to fuck off and that I was his friend. He was half leonen and here on business, what exactly he couldn't tell me, but I warmed to him and he gave me his number, saying if I got in any trouble he would help. We plan to go for drinks next time I was in Freetown. Abdul soon returned with the dollar-man as he liked to be called. He wore newyork bling and a silver cap, he tried to rip me off, counting my 20 dollar bills as 10s about three times in a row as he counted the money in front of me. My wits were frazzled but I pulled through, he said 'you have to tip me now, you are hard to cheat' with a big laugh and grin, I did. We piled back in the car and headed to York. Maamed asked if I wanted to buy some weed, I thought it only polite to say yes. I wanted some for a nice sunny day on the beach but somehow the tansaction involved me giving him 1000 leones (20p) and him giving me an enormous lit spliff. 'Welcome to africa, my buddy!' he said. I know he thought he was giving me a nice welcome, but the last thing I wanted was to indulge in a giant spliff at this time, however, I did not want to be rude. I smoked the beauty and fell asleep in the back. Only waking for the constant near misses with other traffic, there is no lines in the centre of the road and this causes mayhem, we were pushed into the grassland at the side a couple of times due to oncomers overtaking, horns and curse-words galore. Maameds driving tactic was to keep his left indicator on all the time so that oncomers would think he may just dart left at any second, thus slowing them down, but him remaining at a steady speed.
I finally arrived in York! We walked down a small lane to the house and found only one volunteer in residence and 5 local staff, they were welcoming and we chit-chatted for 20 minutes until the electricity ran out and I went to bed.
Day one complete! Alive, well, exhilarated, scared and sweaty.
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