Is Sierra Leone ready for Tourism?

Once upon a time Sierra Leone was a prosperous nation and it was championed as the blueprint of a successful West Africa nation. Thousands came from the sub-region to be educated at our outstanding institutions. Tourists came from the world over to get a taste of this beautiful country and the lifestyle of its warm and hospitable people. However, one day, it all went wrong. In truth, the civil war was to destroy what was left of the already crumbling economy and dash the fragile hopes of the Sierra Leonean people who wished for a brighter future.

It has been six years since the war and Sierra Leone is looking to make up for lost time. It has a democratically elected government and a stable economy which is a pre-requisite for economic growth.

When I started Visit Sierra Leone (www.visitsierraleone.org) in 2004, Sierra Leone and Tourism were hardly mentioned in the same breath. It is certainly encouraging that the rest of the world now seems to be wakening to the potential of this industry in Sierra Leone. The talk of tourism is certainly getting louder and President Koroma has publicly stated that this is an industry he is looking to develop, which is great.

Make no mistake, the task facing the government is a huge one. To rebuild what has been destroyed over a period of over thirty years is not going to happen overnight. The Tourism sector can potentially offer much needed revenue stream to the economy. If managed properly, it will create jobs and will have a knock on effect on local economy. Take Ghana for example: the World Tourism and Travel Council’s 2004 Travel and Tourism Economic research states: “On a more specific basis in 2004, Ghana's Travel & Tourism Industry is expected to generate 4.8% of GDP and 193,722 jobs, while the broader Travel & Tourism Economy is expected to total 9.7% of GDP and 398,471 jobs.”

Whilst Sierra Leone tourism industry is not at the stage of our Ghanaian counterparts it highlights in real terms the potential benefits of proper planning.

If we are serious about moving developing our industry then more than just a verbal commitment is required. There needs to be the will and commitment to take this on.

The tourism ministry itself lacks sufficient capacity for this challenge which means a cross-ministry approach is the way forward as the tourism sector cannot be developed in isolation. A root and branch analysis is required; in short, we have to go back to basics.

Tackling negative perceptions on Sierra Leone…

This was the main reason I established VSL in the first place. I feel very strongly about this issue as I feel it is one of our biggest challenges and will involve huge costs. The important thing to note is that it affects not only Tourism but attracting Investment to Sierra Leone as a whole. The President has indicated the need for an attitudinal change campaign which is a great idea. I believe we should also seriously consider an International Communication Campaign. Sierra Leone needs to be re-branded. Some attitudes towards Sierra Leone are deeply entrenched in the minds of many, thanks to the graphics that came out during the conflict. Many have benefited from what I refer to as the Sierra Leone War Industry. These war DVDs, books, articles, documentaries which are still being showed in the international media only serve to perpetuate the image of a warring Sierra Leone. We need a more focused approach from the Information, Trade and Industry and Foreign Affairs Ministries. I’d also like to see the Diplomatic Offices take more of an assertive stance in communicating Sierra Leone’s progress. A “Positive Information” task force could be set up which includes representation from the above offices as well as that of Tourism and The Diaspora. One of the responsibilities of such a task force would be to challenge one-sided reports about Sierra Leone. One recent case from a couple of months ago was the broadcast of a documentary – Blood Diamonds – by Channel 5 in the UK. Not only was the program at least 5 years late but it also included graphic images of corpses littered along the streets of Freetown. This not only disrespected our dead but it also added nothing to the story – it was unnecessary. Or take the case of Leonardo Di Caprio’s movie ‘Blood Diamond’, where I was hoping the government at the time would use the international media - all of whom were covering the story - to talk about Sierra Leone and the positive strides we had taken so movie goers would be able to differentiate between past and present. It never came. Kazakhstan provides an example of how government’s can use the international media to their advantage. Recently Kazakhstan was the focus of the movie ‘Borat’, which portrayed the country in unflattering terms. The Kazakh government published angry four-page ads in the New York Times in an attempt to correct some of Borat’s claims. A tourism boom followed and some hotels reported a trebling of international visitors.

Customer Service…

Tourism is a service driven industry and for the most part, the service in this country is appalling. Imagine that you can quite easily pay over £1,500 to get to Sierra Leone only to have the most basic facilities and service. I often feel as though I’m being granted a favour even when I’m paying for a service with my hard earned cash. Consider that these days you can fly within Europe for £30, or get to The Gambia for half as much as it does to get here but you are treated to a superior level of service and professionalism. It’d be great to establish Customer Service Training Institutes which delivers students qualified to international level. Such qualifications must be made a requirement for working in tourist establishments and pay levels for staff should be reviewed. I know that the Milton Margai College of Education already has a faculty of Hotel and Tourism at the Brookfields Campus but their capacity to deliver high quality training is limited due to lack of adequate resources.

An ongoing training scheme would also be beneficial. It is in the interest of all stakeholders in the industry to see an increase in the service provided. So, twice a year for example, we could employ the services of an international consultant to provide a series of workshops for hoteliers, staff, wardens, the community etc.

Transfers…

The transfer situation – this is the proverbial pain in the ass. In the last year alone, we have seen one near miss from the helicopter, one crash which claimed over twenty lives and fire on the hovercraft. Both the helicopter and hovercraft are currently grounded. This is bad for business. The ferry, perceived as the safe option can add a few hours to your travel time just to get to the east of Freetown. You then have to negotiate your way through some pretty horrible traffic to get to any of the hotels in the west of town. Though there is often talk of a “Lungi Bridge”, in the short term getting good operators to offer proper and efficient service is the way forward. We may well need to see which operators are doing similar business in other countries and offer them ‘sweeteners’ to get them into Sierra Leone. I do however believe that a road connecting the airport and Freetown is probably the best bet. The Lungi to Rogberi Junction stretch is less than 30 miles and I wonder why no previous administration ever prioritised its construction. In most countries, people are used to driving for over a couple of hours from the airport to their destination. The psychological difference here is that once you get into your vehicle, you’re moving and getting your first view of the countryside - rather than just sitting at tagrin waiting hours for the ferry especially when flights arrive at awkward hours in the morning. This road will also connect to Waterloo which branches off into the peninsula route where the resorts are expected to be based. Hence, the traffic in the East can be avoided. Using other means of transfer such as the helicopter will add $140 (per person) to your holiday and if you're a family... well you do the math. The road will also hopefully bring development along the route.

Our Airport…

The first and last impression that visitors have of Sierra Leone is our airport, and its operations. It can be chaotic, especially on busy days and could be an intimidating introduction if you’re a first time visitor. Cutting down on amount of porters and putting them on the payroll, whilst adding value to the job may help. The airport is not a market, this only adds to the chaotic atmosphere. Serious consideration should also be put into installing CCTV cameras both for security and as a deterrent for questionable practices. The process especially for departures needs to be a bit smoother. I’ve heard whispers of plans to build a new airport (or extension), and whilst this might be a good thing going forward, we need to make sure we can efficiently run what we currently have and that staff are properly trained.

Making it easy to get here…

Just over a year or so ago, there was talk of a visa on arrival being introduced but this seems to have died a natural death. Allegedly, our diplomatic offices thought it would reduce the revenue derived from Visa applications. If this is the case, on one hand they have a point but on the other we need to look at the bigger picture. Our diplomatic representation worldwide is quite limited; we don’t have any in countries like Canada, Spain and Australia for example. With identity theft these days, folks may be uneasy putting their passports in the post. Could we work out a scheme for citizens of countries where we have no diplomatic representation they can apply for a visa on arrival? Remember we are competing with other well oiled tourism industries and we need to make Sierra Leone more competitive in the Global Tourism Market. We need to make it easier for folks to come here.

Infrastructure…

This is often cited as a main reason for lack of development in the tourism industry. Whilst it undoubtedly plays a part, some of the obstacles may well be overcome. For example, a map of Sierra Leone indicates an airfield in most of the major cities. Bo, Kenema, Daru, Kabala, Bonthe for example all (according to the map) has some sort of landing strip nearby. Again, attracting a reputable company (with a proven track record) to run internal flights may be an option. Identifying sites of touristic value and developing the infrastructure around them should also help overcome this challenge. The North for instance with Outamba Kilimi National Park, Loma Mountains, Bumbuna, and Lake Sonfon offers an interesting opportunity for tourism.

Education…

I talked to a couple of Belgian tourists who had booked their hotel through the visitsierraleone.org, just to find out about their experience in Sierra Leone. They said it was a great trip but one thing that surprised them was how no one would believe they were tourists. They had to be working for some NGO or on a project. Seems folks have just forgotten what tourists are. We need to educate the local community on who tourists are, what they are doing here and how they should be treated.

Sierra Leoneans should also be educated in about the value of our history and heritage sites. How many of us have heard about Outamba Kilimi National Park? Or know about De Ruyter’s stone? I believe the Monuments and Relics Commission are working on an audit of all such sites so we can have a clearer idea what we’re packaging for tourists.

And finally…

Having the commitment to move this industry on is vitally important for its development. I must commend the National Tourist Board who have been trying their best to make sure the industry stays alive – and this with limited resources. They have also been a great and consistent support to me since 2004 when I told them about plans for VSL. They have spearheaded all promotional efforts over the past 4 years and have been quite instrumental in acquiring funds for planning and marketing over the next five years. I hope their capacity will be further strengthened in the coming years.

There are still tough issues such as land ownership which have to be tackled head on. Sierra Leonean owned businesses should be encouraged to enter the sector and they must be given the support to grow - it is crucial that as much of the revenue derived from the sector stays in this country. There are plans and marketing programmes underway to stimulate the re-launching of the tourism sector but I think it is important that we do not ignore the basics for they are the foundation upon which a strong and sustainable tourism industry will be built.

The Best Part of Sierra Leone

The Best Part of Sierra Leone by Malaika Cheney-Coker

We’re warned before we get there by disappointed friends and relatives about the heat, the filth, the fact that electricity and constant water are still luxuries. And we hope they’ve been exaggerating, but then we get there and it’s sadly and absolutely true. But just as those of us JC’s see the poverty and problems so acutely, we also come with fresh eyes and appreciation for Sierra Leone’s beauty. In Freetown, we’ve probably each had our moments of awe. It could be the twinkling lights of the city seen from Hill station at night, or the sight of a beach as stunning and untouched as the prehistoric world must have been.

I have one such beach picture as my desktop wallpaper from my trip in December and I honestly cannot stop gawking at it. But the interesting thing for me during this trip was that for the first time, I thought that perhaps, the best thing about Sierra Leone may not be the natural beauty, or our abundant resources, but our people. This may hardly be profound revelation to the astute among us. But I’ve been used to hearing we Sierra Leoneans describe one another in less-than-appreciative terms. And yes, how can we deny the mentality of corruption, lawlessness, nepotism, and sense of entitlement that have accompanied us to the bottom of the human development index?

But we overcame a terrible war without letting more blood in retribution. We forgave. We accepted. We moved on. And we acted. Sierra Leoneans voted out the last government that didn’t do enough, in favor of a new government that just maybe (if our wildest hopes come true) will get us beyond paddling to rapid growth and rebirth. And it’s not just about the leaders. During my trip in December, I met many locals earnestly trying to make things better. Their jobs were a means of service, whether working with child healthcare, or education, or broadcast media, or writing books that encouraged patriotism.

I talked to people that were leaving successful lives overseas to return home and establish businesses or social services that are much needed in Sierra Leone. Conventional wisdom would say, surely these people have it backwards. True, they might seem a bit starry-eyed but maybe they are the ones who are really on to something.

Maybe we had to crash to be able to rise again. Maybe we have enough memories of hell to know that going back is not an option. I applaud all the Sierra Leoneans doing remarkable things for Sierra Leone whether at home or abroad, especially those at home who face the harsh day-to-day realities. Theirs, ours is a special love that perhaps we never even knew we had.

© Malaika Cheney-Coker. 2008.

Nataša's Freetown Encounters - Part 3 - Uncle Kalonko

Uncle Kalonko

It's my first night of nightclubbing in Freetown. We drive to Chez Nous, it's a meeting point, I am being introduced to some men by my friend. We roll down the car windows. One is »my uncle«, says my companion. »He has a buddha belly,« she says and stretches out her hand through the car window to give it a rub. It's a little bit provocative, but cute. She's like that all the time. We don't get out, we are already late so we move on.
Then we're off to Atlantic at the Lumley beach restaurant and night bar.

There are a lot of people there, many overdressed beautiful, and very young women, who have actually come to work. There are a lot of expats, and and some of them with the beautiful »working girls«. We stand in the middle. I feel a bit uncomfortable, exposed, self-conscious, unfamiliar. I stand straight. The Irish guy I came on the same flight noticed me, when I walked in with my friends, and came over with a vibrant »hi,« and extended arms, which patted me and hugged me, as if we were old friends. After all it was quite a rough flight, which connected all of us passengers, I guess. We tried to land twice in Monrovia, but not enough visibility, and then I don't want to mention the hovercraft journey as half of the people were sick, it was a windy summer night, in the rainy season. Yes, then we made a give-me-five gesture. We are both from Europe after all. Then he was off for more fun, more beer and company. It was Friday night, after all.

»Look at you, you've just come, and already you know people here,« laughs my companion. She is beautiful. Men literally drone around her, like bees on honey. It's not a coincidence, she plays with her predispositions, which she has been given in abundance, intellectually, and I watch her, and try to learn from her how to dress, how to express my femininity. Well, I am in a simple dress, black with white dots. I am not as bad as some young white volunteers in shorts and long t-shirt, and tewa sandals, who are having a good time nevertheless. No, I definitely don't want to look like them, I am in a dress. And I am older as well, I couldn't be like them, even if I wanted to.

I am being introduced. The usual questions arise. And explanations, where Slovenia is. Some men are good looking and fit, and some have the so called buddha bellies or borbor belles. Many of them know each other, Freetown is a small place. They are all proffesionals, businessmen, ingeneers, lawyers, and such.

I start chatting with one, he's a buddha belly guy, and quite short. Not that men here are tall. Soon he says: »So, how do you say you're beautiful in Slovenian?« he asks.
»Lepa si,« I answer. »Why do you ask?« I ask.
»Just interested,« he answers.
»Do you want to use it on me?« I ask. I am quite straight forward at times. And also not so inexperienced anymore.
»Well, yes,« he says. »We should go to Lakka this weekend together, to the beach, to have some grilled fish,« he says.
»Maybe,« I say. I smile. It's quite a usual proposal around here. But it's all just too transparent for me.

We soon move on to Old Skool, and there I dance with Patrick.

Nataša's Freetown Encounters - Part 2 - Alpha

This part is fiction, any resemblance to true characters is accidental .

Alpha

The evening was approaching, it was dusk. She just greeted her taxi driver friend, when someone from behind called her name. »Who else knows me now?« went through her head. She had been there for only a week. She turned around and saw a black Mercedes, one of the many of various conditions and ages on Freetown streets, stop in the middle of the road. This one was mud stricken, but new. It must had been driven on one of the many mud roads which in the rainy season substitute fun you get in Disney amusement parks, as the one to Lakka she had been to earlier in the day.

Its driver was half hanging out of his car and then climbed out of his seat and stood next to it. It was Alpha. She met him last year. They met a couple of times. But then he went back to Europe, and so did she. He stood there, and looked at her, like she was new. She walked over to his car and stopped in front of him, suddenly aware of her heavy backpack, hanging down one of her shoulders, of the plastic bags in her hands, of what she was wearing. His eyes glinted, it was just a flicker of a moment. His dreads were hidden under a cap, he had earrings, more than one, a heavy silver necklace with a silver dragon, a thick silver bracelet, a big silver ring. She recognized most of his jewelery from last year. He was trendy and youthful, but not young. He was not someone she would pick out from a group of men, not by style, not by appearance.

»What are you doing in town, I didn't know you were here,« his voice was loud, energetic. He sounded offended.
Suddenly she felt guilty, for no apparent reason. It was the way he said it. They only exchanged a couple of very brief mails, asking about how they were doing. No big explanations, not many words, never with him.
»We were not really in touch, were we?« she rhetorically asked.
He smiled to himself, somehow inwardly. It seemed as an agreement to what she said.
»Why have you come back?« he suddenly asked.
»I am working here,« she replied. Her short answer was followed by a moment of silence.
»Where are you staying?«
»Down there,« She waved vaguely towards the street at the bottom of which was her temporary home.
»Where, there?« and looked at a youth centre on the corner. His expression was saying, oh God not something so down the budget. »Are you alone?« he asked.
»What is this? An interrogation?« she felt it was getting a bit far.
There was more silence, and another inward smile.
»Can we meet?« he asked.
She thought. »I am quite busy.« She said it in a very formal tone. Her manner became strict, she somewhere found the authority she uses with children, when she knows they have to take her seriously. She was under control.
»Yes,« he said, in a small timid voice.
»Let me take your phone number,« She said, deciding not to give him hers. She pulled out her cell phone from the top pocket of her backpack. She held it in her hands, a nice fancy European Ericsson, with a video and camera and many lovely functions, which some time later got stolen. He looked at it, they were standing close.
»So, give me the number,« she said, holding it in her hand, ready to store it into her phone.
»Which have you got, Comium?« he asked.
»Celtel, just give me whichever.«
»033,« and then stopped. His right arm was resting on the top of the open car door. He looked up towards the sky, he seemed to be in deep thought.
»So, what, have you forgotten it?« she asked. She was a bit rude, and aware of that.
He continued, and stopped again. All of a sudden her phone turned into a live flapping fish fighting for life. It slipped from her hand, she fumbled after it, while it slid down against her body, and managed to recatch it at her bosom the last moment before it fell and crushed, crouching, her plastic bags swaying, her backpack slipped down to the elbow. She recomposed herself, as if nothing happened.
»Are your hands sweaty?« he asked. Now he was rude, his voice was loud. His car was full of silent immobile men, was it his friends, work mates or relatives? She looked at them, tried to find eye contact with either of them, to say we are all human, with our weaknesess. She wanted to dissolve her embarrasment. But they pretended they were not there, they had a blank expression, it was none of their business. They were mere passengers.
»Yeah, it's hot,« she said, and uncomfortably readjusted the backpack, swayed her body, and brought it back to initial position.
»So, are you going to tell it or not?« She regained at least part of her control. She was getting impatient, now she wanted this scene to end.

He told her the rest of the numbers, she pressed the digits on her Ericsson, and even before she saved it she was off, passed him, going around the car. »Enjoy the rest of your day,« she said not smiling, not nicely, very formally, turning around, just before she went down the street.

He stood still at the car door, then finally got all inside and drove off down, somewhere towards Aberdeen. She turned to the youth centre, walked through the entrance gate, towards one of the plastic tables with chairs, and sat down. She ordered a coke, and sipped it slowly, while the night approached.

Did You have a Good Friday? Judas Didn't ...

Did You have a Good Friday?  Judas Didn't ...

A snippet from last year's Good Friday homily as the preacher warmed to the popular theme of "let's all beat up on Judas":

"Of all the people in the bible, I can’t think of too many people who have a worse name than Judas Iscariot: have you ever known anybody named Judas?  What do you think would happen if you called someone a Judas?  He has gone down in history as one of the worst betrayers in all the bible.  Oh, there are other bad guys of the bible: Pharaoh, Pilate, Ahab, Herod ... all come to mind.  But I don’t think any can beat ol’ Judas for sheer detestability.  After all, you sort of expected all of them to be wicked: all of them were corrupt rulers, but Judas takes the cake because not only was he bad, but he betrayed a friend ..."

And so say all of us, I suspect?  Do those gleeful chants of "Judas dai don tidey, wi go berram tumara ...!"  still ring out in the Freetown byways as they did when I was a boy growing up in the "Isten"?  I’m kinda assuming here that everyone’s familiar with the phenomena of "Judas Beatings” but just in case you’re not, you can choose between googling P.E.H. Hair’s scholarly account ("Beating Judas in Freetown") or settling for this extract from a travelblog I stumbled on recently:

“Early in the morning on Goodfriday, kids throughout the city gather Johnks (used clothes, "deadman's clothes) and stuff them with straw, creating a scarecrow - with pipe, hat, sunglasses and scarf - to resemble Judas.

Then they wait for the church bell to signal the end of the morning mass.
As soon as the first bell is beaten, kids all over the Freetown peninsula start the annual "Flogging of Judas", which means:

They drag the scarecrows along the streets, beating and bashing them with sticks, kicking them, drowning them in the open sewers and literally slaughter them.

-Dis is so he must to know that he did badd to the Jissus! I was told by a group of kids as they dragged what was left of Judas - a torn and soaked sweater - out of the water at Mama Beach.”

(In Search of King Solomon's Mines: Bobbie Nystrom

http://www.travelblog.org/Africa/Sierra-Leone/Freetown/blog-53426.html)

Participating in that Good Friday ritual of beating Judas was one of the annual highpoints of my childhood, although I will freely admit that I had no strong views about the guy Judas at the time and in fact I had a very ulterior, irreligious reason for joining in so enthusiastically: it was the closest thing to dancing “kaka debul” in the street that I could get involved in without getting my behind walloped by my granny for “consorting with street boys”, so I made the most of my couple of “control-free” hours.

And yet, even then, what pleasure I derived from being part of that enterprise was usually modulated by a certain discomfort at the idea that so much of that energy was being expended on a beating. As I grew older I began to doubt more and more just how much folks like Judas, guys who had been caught stealing chickens and children who got the recitation of their multiplication tables wrong deserved the beatings they inevitably got in our part of the world. I also became somewhat convinced that beating-up-on-Judas was an almost inevitable consequence of the neo-Victorian "beating-up-on-people industry" which was the accompanying backdrop to my childhood in Freetown.

It’s a conviction that does depend on some blurring of historical timelines, of course, and the effortless linkage of all these aforementioned disparate constituencies (Messiah-betrayer, poultry-pilferer and mathematical-malcontent alike) in a common victimhood does require some imaginative plot-mapping, but the more I thought of it the clearer the connections seemed to be.

I’m sticking with the Judas and Jesus story just for the moment, and might return to the chickens and the “times tables” another time (hopefully before the cock’s crowed three times). Let’s remind ourselves why me and my childhood pals beat up on the Judas guy (and there’s no reason, surely, to doubt the authoritative testimony of the beaters themselves); it was:

… so he must to know that he did badd to the Jissus!

There is certainly that general perception, even among people who aren’t christians, that Judas is a traitor who deserves to be despised and hence to be both literally and figuratively beaten up on. The expression “give a dog a bad name and hang him for it” takes on a whole new significance where Judas is concerned, especially if we believe St Matthew’s version of the betrayal story (which has the wretched fellow returning the bribe he’d accepted and then hanging himself). As the preacher’s words quoted above make plain, my nan could certainly have done much worse than calling her dog “Sidom Luk”; she could have called him “Judas” and watched him being kicked, stoned and clubbed to death by the “street children” in the space of a week.

There is, though--as one would expect in this bipolar world of ours--another branch of Judas Studies which sees him as a guy “more sinned against than sinning”. The best rendition of this alternative “Justice for Judas” appeal I have read is, admittedly, from a work of fiction, but it is both an impressive and persuasive read nevertheless. I’m referring here to “The Last Temptation of Christ” (the novel, not Scorcese’s eponymous film, which, I confess, I have never seen because I seriously believe the Pope wasn’t kidding when he said I will go to hell if I do) and to the presentation in that work of Judas’s motives as foregrounded in a knowledge that Jesus wanted to be betrayed so that the scriptures would be fulfilled; to the claim that Judas was the only one of his friends/disciples with the dedication and belief in Christ’s destiny to assist him in fulfilling that destiny.

But the balance of evidence, history and popular opinion is very much against Judas; he is therefore fated to be beaten up on in our writings for all eternity, and although there is no biblical “authority” for the beatings I participated in so enthusiastically in Freetown, they are likely to continue for just as long. Interestingly, a number of orthodox and catholic churches/communities in Europe and South America have “Judas Burning” rituals which usually involve hanging an effigy of the “traitor” on Good Friday then setting it/him alight on Easter Sunday night. But beating Judas is a rather unique variation on the theme which Freetown’s christian communities are known to share with a certain South American nation: Brazil (in parts of Brazil, the saturday between Good friday and Easter is called “Hallelujah Saturday” and that’s the day when neighbourhood kids take to the street on their Judas-beating excursions). The fascinating criss-cross of cultural influences consequent on the transatlantic slave trade are clearly in evidence yet again here.

(Judas Beating in Brazil)

But for a really bizarre (and eminently practical) variation on the “Beating-up-on-people” theme, look no further than the Wan Chai province of China, from where this South China Morning Post account comes:

Shouted curses and the sound of shoes banging on cement echoed around Wan Chai yesterday as crowds gathered for the traditional practice of "beating the devil" to take revenge on their enemies.
For $50 a pop, ritual performers battered paper effigies of workplace enemies while shouting appropriate imprecations. While the practice appeals to older women, growing numbers of young people have adopted it in recent years.
Among the queues that snaked around Canal Road was a Mr Yeung, 24, who went with his girlfriend to deal a blow to "kings and queens of gossip" in her workplace. "Though I am only 24, I am quite superstitious and I believe in the practice of beating the devil. I think it really works," he said.
"My girlfriend has had some trouble at work in the past two years. She's been dragged into gossip by vicious colleagues, so we came to beat them."
Another young pair was Mr Yip, 26, and his friend, Ms Ho.
"Hateful colleagues are everywhere. Many friends want to come too, but they have to work. I'm off today, so I'll help them beat those they dislike at work," Mr Yip said.
They almost lost count as they asked a ritual performer to curse numerous coworkers for themselves and their friends - at $50 per enemy.

© MMVIII

Kayode R. Robbin-Coker

Chelmsford, UK

Sierra Leone - still NOT very business friendly

Seven months later, doing business in Sierra Leone is as easy as 1, 2.. er.. (a[ x] - 3q) +r(2) /7(x)

When news came out in June 2007 that The Business Registration Act passed unopposed, including the removal of the advance tax payment on registration, it was applauded in many circles as a crucial step towards making Sierra Leone more business friendly. Yay! I even bigged it up in the June 07 newsletter. There was even talk that the registration process should only take 24hrs after completed registration is submitted. Fantastic!

So in December I took my “returnee from the Diaspora” self accompanied by my brother-in-law to enquire about this new 3 step registration process and if I could really get through the registration in 24hrs. The dude from the NRA started going through the list of steps we had to go through, it started getting confusing, but even more so when he said we then needed to go to NRA to pay our tax. Hold up… “TAX? WHICH TAX?”… “bu.. but the advance tax has been abolished!” He shot us that look that said “young man, don’ tell me what I know.”

Anyway, we were a bit shocked so I decided to do my own enquiries. It turns out the guy from the NRA was indeed right. Even though, this list of wonderful things that would make Sierra Leone a much more friendly place to do business had been passed in Parliament since JUNE 2007, it had not been gazetted by the President. Until that is done, it’s as good as never been passed.

Well, Mr President, I know you told us about how you want to run the country as a business and even in this interview with Newsweek (just last week) you said “And we have continued to make our country investment-friendly. We are reducing the time it takes to establish a business, reducing the cost of production, trying to do away with the administrative barriers to business.” Please… Gazette! Gazette! Gazette!

So what was it like? Registering this business? First off, whenever I mentioned (to anyone who knew) that I'd be doing this whole looking at the process thing. Their response was almost always "Why don't you get someone else to do it? Why don't you get a lawyer to do it?" Well, registering a sole proprietorship should be pretty easy... and secondly eliminating the need for lawyers in the registration process was also part of this shiny new Acts of Parliament.

Day 1

So walking into the Registrars office at Roxy building was like walking into a dungeon. I could hear the clicking and clacking of typewriters from the entrance. As I made my way to the first floor I scanned the rooms... not a computer in sight. I was directed to an individual who seemed to have no intention whatsoever to help me. This fellow would not even acknowledge your presence. Anyway, it turned out you need permission from the Permanent Secretary for Ministry of Trade in order to use "Sierra Leone" in your business name. I had thought this would be a tricky development but it turned out to be quite straightforward. The PS asked me to write a formal letter of application, which I did and I collected the approval a couple of days later.

Day 3

Armed with my letter of approval from the PS I headed back to Roxy building to complete the forms. I had done one form but needed to do a second for another name which didn't need approval so I thought it would be simple enough. I was told they'd run out of forms, so I'd have to come back the next day to complete the application. "no forms?" He said they were usually supplied and they'd run out.. now had there been a computer somewhere...

I also needed to do a photocopy of the first completed form but they didn't have any machines in the building (even though they could make some money from this), so the only option is to walk about 150 metres down the road for access to a copier. Then back again.

Day 4

With both forms now complete I was told to go make payment downstairs. When I got to the office I was told by the cashier, that I should talk to some guys outside as she was busy. Initially she said I should come back tomorrow.I was like, "we make payment to you right?" She replied in the affirmative. "So why do I need to talk to those guys outside?" With some pressure we agreed I'd leave the forms and the money (for both forms) and come back in the afternoon to collect it. Seeing as one had other things to do, I couldn't make it back that afternoon but came back the next working day.

Day 5

I went straight to her office, and she confirmed she'd processed the forms and I should ask the guys outside (yes, those guys again). I asked them about the forms.. had they seen it? and they did that thing that's happened to me twice in Sierra Leone. They said no without checking. They said it must have been sent upstairs... so I ran upstairs to my not so friendly friend who was processing the registration. Of course... you know what happened next... he hadn't seen it and insisted it must be downstairs. So there i was running back down the stairs, patience starting to wear thin. I met these guys again and insisted that the forms must be with them. They pretended not to hear me... I told them that I still had enough energy and wasn't worn out yet, if that's what they were trying to do. I just stood there. Eventually, one of them looks amongst the papers on his desk and abracadabra! My forms.

The puzzling thing was that there was only receipt for one of the forms but I was confident I'd paid for both. The cashier insisted I only left money for one but every instinct told me otherwise. I should really have asked her to count the money in my presence. So I had to go pay for the second form (again).

My next step was to go to NRA to go pay my TAX IN ADVANCE, and because of where the business is registered meant a trip to the other side of town. From Walpole Street to Lumley.

Day 6

I must admit, by this time I was getting really fed up so I decided to find a guy on the inside (by recommendation) who would sort out the papers - for a 'facilitation' fee, not only for himself but for some of his superiors who needed to do some signing (or something). He would call me when it was ready.

Day 9

I got the forms back 3 days later but now I needed to get a tax clearance and because of some questionable practices in the past, the only person currently issuing this is the Commissioner of Income tax. Again, due to insider help, I was able to get this much faster than it should have been. The commissioner was actually quite helpful and it turns out we must have been at Fourah Bay College around the same time. Young, dynamic individual.

Day 10

Back to Roxy Building (by now I had a genuine fear of the place) to pay another fee for License and Registration. Now my not so friendly friend was 'off sick' on this day and I met another guy. Now he was a lot more keen.. very helpful.. looked through some of the forms from NRA and said they had not been filled in correctly, he made some changes. He said he'd seen me coming but I'd only go to the other guy. He  said he'd sort it our for me, no problem! He asked me to leave the forms and the fee, and he'd make sure everything was processed and he'd call me. I took his number and intended to pester him.

Day 12

He calls me to let me know my forms where done. It was actually on my birthday.. so what a gift! And off to Roxy I go... he does indeed show me my registration and license. Then he flashes me my receipt but then says the receipt stays with them. Huh? So I said can I see for my own records? He shuffles uncomfortably and mumbles something about Company Policy and how I could get him into trouble. At this point, I'm just confused so I insisted again that he shows me the receipt... then he comes out with a line I'll remember for some time yet. He said he'd taken an "Oath of Secrecy" at which point I nearly exploded. I'm like "Oath of secrecy to see MY receipt? for MY money paid?" He then relented. By then I was honestly too pissed off to make any sense of the receipt.

So there. 24hrs it is not! My experience proves to me that nothing has changed. That Roxy building is one of the most archaic buildings I've ever been in. Not a single computer in site and I just loved the way they'd move typewriters from desk to desk. Laptop eat your heart out! I even heard that everyone has there own [typewriter] ribbon so when it's your turn to use it, you get out your ribbon and attach it.

I know a lot of folks had done some serious work to make sure changes were passed in parliament and I commend them for that but that now seems like a half way job.. I'd like to see the different parties to this DFID, Sierra Leone Business Forum, SLIPA, Chamber of Commerce, Ministry of Trade, Members of the Diaspora apply some pressure so that this new Act is made ACTive changes and we can hopefully get on the road to being more business friendly...and hopefully sort out Roxy Building on the way.

Love conquers all

He's 93 and she's 87. Though they've been family friends for a long time, my visit was unplanned and I ended up at their house, I'm ashamed to say... also driven by hunger. My mum suggested I stop by as it was their 63rd Wedding anniversary.. so that I did.

What I saw made my heart melt... and any doubts I had about the sanctity of the institution of marriage were put to rest. I wondered if they make them like this anymore.. LOL. As age does to the best of us he is not as active as he used to be but she has dedicated her life to making him comfortable. Even when she had an accident and damaged her knee a few months ago, she refused to say in hospital because she had to go home and take care of him. I watched them as they sat there holding hands it had a profound effect on me.

 

Surely this is what it's all about.. after all those years.. for better for worse.. in sickness and in health.. They've seen Salone through its best.. and worst.. and they're still standing. Still together... dressed in "wan kine" aschobi.

I'd been thinking this is something that should be shared and what better day than today. Happy Valentine's Day folks.. best wishes to you and yours.. Love is alive.

Gramma Milli and Grampa George.. Happy Valentines day to you!!!

Nataša's Sierra Leone Revisited - Part 2 - SLPP Preelection Rally (Freetown, July 2007)

It was a rainy and slow Saturday morning in Freetown. It was the rainy season so nothing was wrong with that. I idled around in my family homestay. I had a long sleep, after spending most of the previous night nightclubbing. I was trying to figure out how to spend the rest of the day. Bakie said, »I am going to the SLPP rally. Do you want to come with me?« »Yes, that would be interesting,« I said.

Bakie, who I always saw in wonderful African print dresses, changed into an SLPP casual wear, trousers, SLPP T-shirt in green white print, an SLPP visor cap, and a black raincoat.
We got into the car, Bakie, me with a camera, Sahr, and Hamid. They were all SLPP supporters of course. Bakie was driving. As soon as we managed to conquer the steep incline of the rough road with our small Japanese car to join the main one, we got into a traffic jam. People, SLPP supporters were all heading to the National Stadium.
Bakie said, »We'll have a look at the coming in, and then we'll go to the Aquapark to attend a birthday celebration of a friend«.
»Everything is fine with me,« I answered. I was just a guest, a newcomer, a foreigner, all in one.

***

We stood at the entrance of the National Stadium, and watched the crowds coming. It was drizzling. People were walking by, they were chanting, singing, marching, blowing horns, waving and dancing. They were singing »Solo B, Solo B di bomba«, and other slogans.
The excitement of being part of a big gathering got into them. Also alchocol got into some of them, making them even more festive, even bold, all in green and white, T-shirts, scarves, dresses, some had palm leaves in their heads, some were costumed into green palm trees. Bakie had an umbrella with a palm tree pattern.

I was standing at the side, but everyone noticed me. I was the only white person at this preelection meeting as far as I could see. So everyone waved at me, cheered me, and also stopped in front of me, to perform a bit just for me. I had a camera, and took pictures. Some supporters came very close to me or even surrounded me, and Sahr pulled me back, and protected me. I was having a bit of attention myself again. It was getting to me, all this preelection heat, I was glad my rain jacket was greenish.

Then we were off, Sahr, Hamid and myself had to join Bakie at a birthday party reception for a ten year old boy of Bakie's old friend, at Aquapark.
We just got there on time. They were gathered, and a lady was giving a talk to honour the boy, and the God, for getting him to where he was. The boy was clearly uncomfortable, getting all the attention, and you could see he couldn't wait for it to be over. His mother stood next to him, his younger brother was somewhere in the crowd.
»Where is the father?« I asked.
»He died last year,« Bakie said. »They called her at work, because he was not feeling well, he was sick, and by the time she came, he was gone.«
»A stroke, » I thought. »What a shame.«
»I was the bestwoman at the wedding,« Bakie said. »I introduced them. There is the boy's younger brother,« she pointed towards a lively boy of an age of five.

The reception was well attended. Ladies, mothers, friends helped distribute plates of food for children first, and then for us adults. It was delicious and by then I was starving. We were sitting on the plastic chairs, under the roof on an open air outdoor patio, looking at the ocean, and at the bridge to Aberdeen, and eating while the rain slowly drizzled.
Then we got back to the car, returning to the SLPP rally, our stomachs full.
»This is where we thought you were going to live at first,« said Bakie, when we drove back. It was a nice house very near the Aqua park.
»It would be nice,« I said. »But it's really nice to be with you as well,« I added. I was still surprised to see such nice houses on streets, that would in my country lead to nowhere. Mud, holes, barely drivable.

We were off to the stadium. This time we parked in the stadium parking lot, and walked towards it. More people were coming. Buses from the provinces were parked around the stadium. Vendors were selling some food and snacks, boiled corn, or sandwiches. There were a lot of young beggars around, street children. A bigger boy took something from a smaller one. Must have been some money The smaller one got very upset, and ran like a bull into the bigger one, shouting and crying. The bigger one was stronger, and beat him. I wanted to stop them, to set this right. I stood as frozen. Then Sahr pulled me on, it was not on me to settle things there. I was sorry it was so.

We got to the tribune, we passed a large group of child beggars in wheelchairs, with crutches. We got to one of the entrances, where most of the important SLPP people were sitting. Sitting up there we met some SLPP politicians, who walked around and shook hands with people, also with Bakie, and me, as I was with her. The audience in that part was filling up the space, but in the whole stadium it seemed scarce. People were trickling in, but not in large hoards. I was expecting a bigger turnout. I wanted to go back out and get some chewing gum. That seemed to be a problem. Bakie asked Hamid to come with me. The door to that section was by that time guarded by several big and strong guards, to keep newcomers out, this secton was then full. They let us out, and Hamid talked to them to let us back in later on.
»I am white so they will remember me«, I thought.
We had to walk out of the stadium to one of the stalls outside. I bought some Black diamond mint candies, and Chicklet chewing gum. I figured the evening was yet to be long, and I had a bad breath.

We got back, this time I gave some change to the young disabled beggars, who were quietly waiting around near the entrance. They worked in a group, you gave money to one for all of them. We had some problems passing by some SLPP palm costumed supporters standing in front of the entrance door, and blocking the way.

The stadium looked like an old socialist building. The toilets smelled badly when we got back.It must had been around 6.00 p.m. The programme hadn't started yet. There were some honda drivers, who managed to get into the stadium field, and started driving in circles of the running track, while performing some acrobatic moves, legs up, or standing up on the motorbike. This was not an organised programme but an improvised one. It gave some pleasure to the waiting and bored spectators. The police nevertheless tried to stop them, but not with much success, until one of them fell, when a policewoman stopped them by literally getting in his way.

There was an improvised wooden stage, and several singers followed each other to sing on a playback. It finally got dark, and it seemed the official part was about to start some time soon. There was a reporter somewhere not far from where I was sitting, with a cameraman, writing something into his notebook, and waiting just as patiently as us.
Finally some cars with the politicians started driving into the arena of the stadium, they honked and turned on the blares, the supporters cheered, the cars made a circle around and stopped. Many supporters ran into the field. It seemed to be a problem, they had to get them out, to start the programme, but the police didn't seem to be in control of the situation, and quite some of the bold supporters were a bit drunk by then. They just made them run from one part of the stadium to the other. It was around 8.p.m., when I finally gave up. The official programme with speeches had still not started. Waiting for me became too tedious. I was just an onlooker. I left with Sahr.

We got to the main street from the stadium, and caught a shared taxi. It was not easy, there were a lot of us, Sahr used me to get us in. I was white and a woman. Then he squeezed himself into the full taxi as well. We talked a bit, I felt safe with Sahr, he took good care of me. He was a salesman traveling around Sierra Leone, selling herb medicine for some company. He said »I am going to buy you a necklace to go with your bracelets«, but he never did. I actually saw him only once again on another occasion. He was on his business trips most of his time.

When we got back home, we went to watch a Nigerian film in the living room with the rest of the extended family, who took all the places on the sofas, and chairs around, and the floor. I fell asleep in the chair with my head on the dining table, and later drunken from sleep shuffled into my beloved queen bedded room, mumbling »Good night« to everyone. It was a long day.

NATIONAL CLEANING SATURDAYS; A GOOD IDEA GONE SOUR

Back in the Wide-eyed days of Valentine Strassers’ NPRC military rulership, the youth taking ownership of their communities began to dedicate themselves to beautifying and cleaning exercises. From painting murals in honour of the forefathers of modern Sierra Leonean history to planting trees and cleaning gutters; somewhere between the nostalgia of all this ownership came the National Cleaning Day Saturdays. It came into law that on the last Saturday of every month that Freetownians far and wide should pick up their brooms, curl their backs, and bend down low majestically stroking the earth to gather and dispose of their rubbish. The evolution of the National Cleaning Day was connected with the Citywide need of the young, old, and the disenfranchised of Pa Shekie and Momoh’s APC regimes to reclaim a piece of what was for so long denied them; civic participation.

The youth dedicated themselves many times without pay to changing the face of the city and I believe for the first time in a while we as the wider Freetown community began to take more pride in our environment. I even remember a recirculation of the Sierra Leone 50 Heroes Booklet…Or was it commissioned at that time, I’m not sure. For some odd reason Pato Banton’s Go Pato comes to mind as the song that captured the upbeat feeling in the city at the time, especially the line where he says “ to all the youth I stand and salute cause they stay in line with the reggae root”. I also recall that during this same period “One Love, Respect” was a popular manner in which people greeted each other. Yes, in the early days of the NPRC people where hopeful, eager for change, and willing to do the necessary to contribute to it.

But almost 15 years later, is the National Cleaning Saturday recently re-implemented by the new government as useful to the current post war, post overcrowded, post lack of sufficient dump trucks, post Youth Employment Scheme Freetown. I hear that the National Cleaning Saturday is in the hands of the Vice President’s Office and not Freetown City Council that is generally charged with cleaning the city. Conceptually, getting the people to stop everything they’re doing one Saturday a month to clean their surroundings is good but when the rubbish removed from the gutters ends up as mounds on major street roads then one has to wonder if this very good idea has not gone totally sour. Without adequate planning and resources the National Cleaning Saturday becomes not only counter productive but a waste of time and energy. The Cleaning Day needs to be accompanied with a City-Wide public education campaign spearheaded by the Ministry of Health, and an effective mechanism for disposing of the rubbish that people gather.

Right now in Banana Water, my very own neighbourhood; when people gather rubbish whether cleaning day or not, they dump it in the ocean. The rubbish stays exactly where they put it; on the banks. People have reclaimed what previously was sandy beach to turn into homes…there is a whole community leaving at Olohshoro on reclaimed land from the ocean. Many of them not only lack running water but also toilet facilities. Hence, the ocean is home to their doo doo and their dump. A friend recently pointed out to me the economic question of the National Cleaning Saturday…If no one is allowed to leave their homes until midday on an important business day as Saturday, imagine how much money is lost in revenue on that day alone to the businesses and the government who loses out on tax payer leones.

This is a new government and more importantly it is the people’s government even more so than the NPRC regime was: a democratically elected one. City dwellers that almost unanimously voted for this APC government will I’m sure be as willing to follow any well thought out and implemented cleaning system that is put in place. But let us not hold on to the relics of time, and hand me down solutions such as the National Cleaning Saturdays. Our new government should use this unique opportunity to find a lasting and maybe even revenue generating means to keeping the city clean. Personally, I would start by imposing a fine on any man who unzips his pants and pees onto a wall or a gutter….Nor Piss Na Ya. Freetown is being pissed on by the gallons everyday by men and boys who think that because it can be whipped out easily that they should. What if women started opening their wrappers and butuing to piss all over the country…An equal rights campaign to not be out pissed by the men. If we are going to piss on our country lets do it together, Di man dem piss na di right, di uman dem na di let. Amin

The Beckam Visits Sierra Leone

(photo Courtesy of timesofmalta.com)

When my friend told me that David Beckham was in town, I went Black Rob on him “Like Whoa”. He was surprised I didn’t know but then again I think he’s got more sources of local information that I do. Even before I asked him what the hunk himself was doing in Sierra Leone I knew it had to be an Angelina Jolie. Almost as if he read my mind, he said, “as a goodwill Ambassador”. “I hate when these stars use us as publicity stunts” me says “yeah but its good publicity for Sierra Leone” says he.

In the business of development (which for Sierra Leone’s purposes means developing a thriving private sector and attracting investors and not donors…No Amartya Sen “development as freedom”) is having headlines read that Goodwill Ambassador Beckham visits Sierra Leone useful for us as a country? When people come to your country on goodwill missions it means that the conditions in your country are deplorable as I guess they are here. But though this is the image that NGOs may want to portray of Sierra Leone because it gets more projects funded, I’m not sure that the government at this very crucial time in our nation’s history actually wants more donors than investment. Beckham is hot. Sierra Leonean boys and men like others much like them all over Africa who are fascinated by European and British football adore Beckham but that’s where it stops. Beckham coming to Sierra Leone is not really going to help us fight against infant mortality. What the government needs foremost is the will to take on infant and maternal death rates as an important if not the most crucial health issue in this country. Then the government needs to devise a plan to combat this problem and then finally the funds to implement the plan. I am aware of a World Bank Grant to Sierra Leone to the Ministry of Health to improve infant/maternal death rates that was approved last year but has still yet to have funds released therefore the project has not started.

A week before Beckam came my uncle sent me a link to a UNICEF report on infant mortality in Sierra Leone…as I have said before, they are the worst in the world; 270 out of 1000 children born in this country will die before they are 5 years old (But truly not the children of rich parents who can afford to send their wives to deliver overseas and understand the need for and can afford regular health check ups for their kids. As is the truth everywhere; Income inequality means unequal access). I guess what UNICEF hopes for is that the headlines will read Beckham visits Sierra Leone and someone checking out that link on google or wherever, would want to know why he visited and then maybe in the process learn about infant mortality rates in Sierra Leone and elsewhere and care about it enough to take action; which in this case would mean donating to UNICEF. I’m guessing that studies have shown that this is the most affective way to draw attention to these kinds of issues and that we’re not receiving bad press just so Beckham can be in the press.

On his blog Beckham writes:

I was also humbled by the people of Sierra Leone who despite the problems they face, keep smiling and are hopeful for the future. They made me feel extremely welcome in their country and I will never forget the experience. One in four children die in Sierra Leone before they reach the age of five and many of the diseases that children suffer can be prevented. I genuinely hope that by visiting the affected areas and spending time with some of the people there, it will draw the world’s attention towards the problems children face not only in Sierra Leone but similar situations across the world. If you want to make a donation to the fantastic work that UNICEF does then please click here.

Clearly he wasn’t talking about all the people in Sierra Leone, as he wasn’t lucky enough to meet me. But statements like his puts all the people of Sierra Leone in one basket “Sufferin and Smilin”…Ah Fela your wisdom is endless. I wonder what the youths dem would say cause they are not smiling at all in fact they’ve made it clear that they are disgruntled… “Man dem no gladi”. I guess no one would give money if he said, “I went to Sierra Leone and the people are so miserable and hopeless, they can’t even crack a smile.” If you’re going to be a poor African in need you have to smile :-)

One of the gossip blogs writing about Sierra Leone much like i feared reported that:

“Hollywood soccer hunk David Beckham has handed out free soccer lessons to star struck children in the poverty-stricken African nation of Sierra Leone. The LA Galaxy star has jetted to the tiny African state as part of his role as a United Nations Children's Fund goodwill ambassador.”

Who wants to be from or better yet visit the tiny poverty stricken African nation of Sierra Leone? I guess we should be thankful that potential investors to this country will not look to gossip blogs to collect information on the state of the nation. But regular everyday folks do read these kinds of blogs and for those of us who believe that bringing tourists to Sierra Leone could add a boost to the economy certain adjectives like “poverty-stricken” is like a jab to the ribs. Who knows maybe tourism revenues could change infant and maternal mortality rates in Sierra Leone? Actually, I think that might be a more sustainable solution than any amount of money one would donate to UNICEF on account of Beckham’s visit. So should we be more focused on the amount of people who are going to give to UNICEF because of this visit or those who have been turned away in fear of this tiny African state? On sait jamais!

In an article CHILD MORTALITY HIGHEST IN SIERRA LEONE, Associated Press Writer Eliane Engeler writes:

Sierra Leone, where a civil war raged from 1991 to 2002, is unable to offer sufficient health services to its citizens, like many war-torn countries such as Angola and Afghanistan, the report said.
Steven Ngaujah, a nurse at Brookfields Community Hospital in Sierra Leone's capital, Freetown, said many parents in his community are too poor to bring children in for checkups.
Annie Brima, also a nurse in the capital, said, "When these children fall ill, instead of the mothers taking them to the nearest hospital immediately, they prefer to 'pepper doctor'" — treat them at home.

SAVE THE CHILDREN, SAVE THE COUNTRY
A good informative read would be Medecins Sans Frontier Report on Health in Sierra Leone from 2006

Claiming Ishmael Beah And Standing By Him

Last weekend an article was written in the Australian claiming that Ishmael Beah may have gotten the dates and length of the time spent as a child soldier wrong. Supposedly, the attack that separated Ishmael from his family happened in 1995 and not in ’93 and he may have spent 2months fighting in the army instead of 2 years. It also means that he was 15years old and not 13 during the period in question. Someone posted a comment on my blog calling Ishmael a ‘fraud’ and several other individuals have made similar comments on the Global Voices Online discussion of A Long Way Gone.

Do I think he’s a fraud? Does it matter that it was 2months instead of 2 years? Would my perception of the book be different if I had read the story as having happened to a 15 year old boy in 1995 for 2months?

Ishmael Beah’s “A Long Way Gone” will now and always serve as a testimony of children caught the world over in civil conflicts; victims and perpetrators of violence. Ishmael will always be a hero for surviving his ordeal and living and learning to write about it. There are those who may feel as though they’ve been duped by Ishmael, his mother, and his publishers. But the question remains to be answered as to whether he intentionally misled his readers or if he simply got it all mixed up in the effort to remember and forget his past. I have met Ishmael, listened to him, talked to him and laughed with him and I believe every word of his story and I do not think that he would lie or mislead anyone intentionally

I wonder if Africans who have read the book (especially Sierra Leoneans) will feel as troubled by the question of dates as by others. Culturally, our relationship to time is different from western notions of time. This unique relationship to time affects the way we tell stories and the way we remember things. While Westerners are likely to refer to the year something happened and then the event, for us the focus is usually on the event itself. Time alone is not important….Events make time important. I am not saying that Ishmael or Africans for that matter do not understand or subscribe to established standards of time rather, that the focus for me is more so on what happened to Ishmael and how it happened.

Clearly, his publishers could have done more research to make sure that the dates in A Long Way Gone were in sync with public records of events in Sierra Leone. That information is easy to be culled as proven by the contributors/writers of the article in the Australian. Granted we do not know for certain if their sources are legitimate, and if they are enough to disprove Ishmael’s memory of the dates. Personally, I think that who ever and for what ever reason, some people do not want to believe that Ishmael Beah is capable of writing his book, being so articulate, after having experienced such an ordeal. The truth however, is that Ishmael is capable.

Why did the publishers not go through the trouble of finding out???....Maybe they thought, “another African memoir of war…Oh well, get it out soon as possible.”

Regardless of what you might think of this time controversy, the book is still amazingly brilliant. Ishmael Beah is a survivor and a great writer!

A part of me wishes his ordeal was just for two months….But then again “2 months” can also seem like two years when everyday is filled with brutality, isolation, loss, and violence.

ISHMAEL DEFENDS HIMSELF AGAINST RUMORS & ACCUSATIONS

The Value of Friendship, For Yeanoh Kohbo Foot

When I was a kid I had two homes, my father’s single family unit at Aberdeen Police Barracks and my maternal grandparents’ home at Banana Wata. My dad’s house was like a prison, and I was always inside of it watching kids who I wasn’t allowed to play with have what seemed like, the time of their lives. I hated it. No running wild and free, no play cook, no accra, no noise, and certainly no fun…there was so little play time outside that my clothes were always sparkling clean.

Banana Wata was totally different…one word to describe it…HEAVEN. It had all the ingredients for child’s play: more children than I could count, lots of dirt, bushes, wide open spaces, and porous non existent fences that linked me to “temne compound”.
The cool neighbourhood kids who could be counted in my posse included “yamba bozin” , “mummy for ya namina” “adama lengi lengi lek peppeh bod” “ zainabu” “ol’ men” “mama yo” “malado” “yeanoh kobo foot” and yours truly “Vickie eng mot”
The “eng mot” was a reference to my comparatively large bottom lip (now totally in vogue) then a taunting that could bring me to tears.

I was obsessed with playing and since I didn’t have any chores at home I usually took it upon myself to round the troops. Sometimes I’d be so eager to play that I’d go to my friends’ homes and voluntarily sweep a compound or wash dishes. The quicker my friends’ chores were done the more time we’d have to play
Many times I was turned away from homes
“aunty good afternoon, yeanoh day”
“yes in day wok, wetin apin”
“A cam call am fo go play”
“go wait na os, in go cam way in done”
Sometimes they would come, many times they wouldn’t

I had two best friends from ‘temne compound’: “Mummy fo ya namina” and “ yeanoh kohbo foot”. They were both at least three or four years older than me but in the world of not enough to eat at home and sometimes heavy chores; puberty was delayed and made it possible for us too look the same age….well atleast I thought we did
Actually, I never thought of their age. The only thing that ever bothered me was “oostem u day done so we go go play?”

Back then I didn’t know they were poor, that we were from different social classes. When my friend “Adama lengi lengi lek peppeh bod” died she wasn’t a statistic of infant mortality rather a victim of witchcraft. We knew this because an old lady that died within weeks of her death was said to have “proved” or confessed to being a witch and responsible for Adama’s death. Weeks after her death, the old witch was behind many of my nightmares. When bats came to the plum tree by our bedroom window, neighbours from temne compound would come out past midnight with their pots and pans to sing and curse the bats…everything between “u mami im bombo” to “basta pekin”. Supposedly, the bats were witches in their supernatural state, hence why they only came out at night.

Many nights I slept half in fear of those bats and half infuriated by the noise of the anti bat crusaders preventing me from fully entering into my bat nightmares. The plum trees have since been chopped down.

Today my grandmother had a meeting with the women from the local mosque, being the oldest, she’s head of the women’s group. One of the members of the group is my friend Yeanoh’s mother. I don’t remember her name but when I say “aunty”, luckily it need not be followed by a name.
“ aunty appi nyu iya, na so fo get pikin?”
“Vickie ow di bodi”
“fine”
“aunty i don tay way ah see u oh”
“na Yeanoh, na im bin wan die na mi an”
When I came to town 6 months ago Yeanoh was pregnant. I went to visit her but she wasn’t home and somewhere between my everyday hustle and shuffle I didn’t go back.
“Oona noh bin ker am go ospitul?”
“Na Marie Stopes, na day-in noh ivin ‘ol di pikin”
“She lost the baby?” (I say in english to delay the familiarity of what I’d just heard)
“Aunty ah go cam na os tiday”
“Okay Vickie”

As she walks away I feel like the air is closing in on me. I walk into the house several times but each time I forget what I’m searching for. The thought that Yeanoh Kobo foot carried her baby for nine months and she almost dies giving birth and she never gets to hold her baby breaks my heart. As I process the thoughts and feel guilty and sad for not having known earlier, I remember the statistics of infant mortality and maternal death rate in Sierra Leone; they are the worst in the world. Getting pregnant here is like playing Russian roulette.

Yeanoh and I were inseparable as kids. But 13 years of time and difference, our friendship is frozen in the past. All we know how to do together is play. There is no room for sharing secrets, pains, and frustrations. As much empathy as I could feel for her, I could never understand what’s she’s gone through or what life has been for her over the past couple years, and I’m afraid some of my problems may seem trivial compared to hers.

When I visit her what am I going to say? I’ve developed this nasty habit of using jokes as a protective mechanism for feeling..but I doubt I’ll find the right thing to say to get a smile out of Yeanoh. I am anxious about my impending visit to Yeanoh’s house. On the one hand I feel that its my fault that we are no longer friends, it was I who left so I should’ve reached out to her when I moved back. I am also asking myself, how can I help Yeanoh…Will she even want my help? Would it be insulting to offer her money, even though I know that though money wont change anything, that’ll reduce some of her present worries.….I don’t know what to do, but we’ll see.

Banana Islands, December 2007

Islands to remember...

In the court yard of Kent Village’s flamboyant beach front bar, Push Garden, JCs, Home base, Returnees, and Tourists relax after the first leg of the VSL 2007 Banana Island Trip. Small talk gradually turned into sustained laughs among the group against the sounds of waves breaking ashore on the Kent Beach. Push Garden’s round, low-thatched hut in the center of this sandy Rastafarian compound provided cover from the midday sun for the young lovers among us. The tourist from Austin standing in the shade of the proverbial sycamore tree remarked on the beauty all around him – the cool faces and breath-taking smiles from the largely female group in front of him, the lush green mountains in the background, and the view of the Atlantic beach front. The conversations were about the sights and sounds of urban, peri-urban, and rural sceneries that the group enjoyed from their air-conditioned mini-buses as we made our trip to Kent from Freetown.

The trip to Banana Island was planned to begin promptly at 8:30am from M&G Enterprises at Congo Cross. Jiwoh single-handedly extended the departure time by an hour. However, when he finally arrived he came with a bag of toffee as a peace offering, which he distributed like rice at a political rally. The group boarded two air-conditioned mini-buses and one Land Rover and made its way to Kent through the mountain villages of Regent, Charlotte, and Bathurst and Grafton. The bumpy ride through the hillside was followed by a smooth ride to Kent on the newly built peninsula road.

The boarding call

Bimbola, tour organizer and founder of VSL, interrupted the “Rastaman” vibes at Kent Beach to announce that the boat was ready for boarding. The first group made its way through the relics of old seawalls and down a rock laden path to a cove where the canopy-top canoe colorfully labeled “Banana Island Guest-House” waited. On the way down, the group was treated to the sight and smell of fresh fish being carried up. The final call to board meant removing your shoes to wade through the knee-high water and climbing into the canoe. Safety first and all passengers were required to don an orange life jacket. Under the expertise of our able crew, the canopied canoe cruised out of the cove and into the deep blue sea with the outline of Banana Islands in the horizon.

While waiting for the canoe to return, the second group hurdled in the round hut and more Sweet Salone small talk ensued. The conversation flowed from experiences with Ghana Airways (perhaps we were all hoping that the canoe trip across to Banana Islands will top the services of Ghana Airways) to tales aptly dubbed ‘Only in Salone.’ Only in Salone can you see a bride mounted on the back of an Okada (motorcycle taxis) leaving the limo trapped in traffic. Only in Salone can the honk from a car be interpreted by a pedestrian as a call to move into the street.

Soon, it was time for the second group to board the canoe. The canoe ride was the experience of a lifetime for many in the group. Almost everyone was apprehensive about being so close to the water – some covered their anxiety with loud jokes while others were silent as the canoe cut through the gentle waves of the Atlantic. During the 20 min canoe ride, the captain at the stern pointed out Cape Shilling Island, Mr. Wolf –the submerged rock face and its victim a Chinese trawler, uninhabited big Allen Island. Banana Islands stood reassuringly ahead at all time and encouraged more moco talk as we approached it shores.

On the approach into Dublin, Banana Islands, the guest house’s round chalets with patios could be scene against the backdrop of rich foliage of trees. We were welcomed ashore by the aroma and sights of barbequing grouper and ‘country fowl’. The familiar sounds from the first group added to the welcome of the disembarking second group. We were all happy to be back together again as one big VSL group.

The Repas

On our arrival, a round of cold drinks was served, including fresh jelly water lightly chilled. Lunch included rice, barbecued chicken, barbecued fish, couscous, garlic sauce, stew, and greens. The highlight of the meal was dessert, which was a salad of coconut jelly, paw-paw, and banana in coconut juice with a touch of lime – served in individual coconut shells. On seeing the dessert presentation, the group bursts into spontaneous chants of “VSL VSL!”

The Walk

After a sumptuous lunch, the group set out on a walk across the island with our tour guide, ‘K Plus.’ We saw old colonial lookouts where cannons hide amongst over-grown grass, the Banana Island Museum founded by the Carleton Carew Foundation, the Slave Grave Pit (where apparently the buried alive slaves who were deemed not strong enough to work in plantations), remains of the St Luke’s Church, Zion Methodist Church, the cemetery, and more. We were heralded with stories about the island and islanders (including the dead who direct the course of their journey to the grade – ask K-plus about this story.)

The Return

Enlightened, exhausted, and expectations exceeded, the group returned to the guest house cove and assembled for the return trip across to Kent. Evening tides had already set in and so the waves were higher than we had experienced earlier in the day. Apart from the sound of the waves rocking against the boat the return was a much quieter trip – whether it was because fellow journeyers were tired from their busy day or just anxious to return to dry land only they can say. In contrast to the scenic journey through the mountain hills our return was through the city of Freetown on a Friday evening. We were welcomed by throngs of people, cars, and “okadas” who, like us, were making their way home after a busy day.

In all, Banana Islands was a great experience. We will definitely go back. Next time perhaps we’ll spend the night at one of the lovely chalets. Thanks VisitSierraLeone.org and Abimbola for showing us another part of our beautiful country. Next stop, Tiwai Islands?

Adrian & Bidemi.

More pictures on the VSL Facebook Group

Presidential get together for JCs, BC, JCs from Kalangbai and Returnees

When the invitation from His Excellency the President and the First Lady was dropped off for me I was quite impressed. "Wow.. the President requests the pleasure of my company?!" but then I heard the event was advertised on Radio 98.1, and I fell straight back down to earth, it wasn't an exclusive affair. The event was the "End of year Holiday Makers get-together". Interesting. Anyhow, I turned up armed with my camera and was promptly told by a security guard that I shouldn't cross this imaginary line here. Same dude, who later said that the government will soon sell off Celtel along with some other 20 odd parastatals up for privatisation. That provided some light relief, and was also probably the first time  I laughed heartily without a sound... for fear of being told I'd crossed that line and kicked out.

Anyway, the event itself was quite a spectacle and the turnout was massive. I got there a bit late and the President had done his rounds going round for some chit chat and shaking hands. There were about 6 speakers before the President himself had the final say. The ministers for the regions all had their say in addition to the ministers of Finance and Employment. I enjoyed listening to the Minister for the North. He sold the North quite well and I had to agree that the North is one of the most beautiful areas in the country with very promising tourism potential. It is unfortunate that the past APC regime, in power for 27 years had neglected this region even though they are perceived to be a Northern party. Maybe this administration will do different.

All speakers reiterated the role of the Diaspora in aiding the economic development of Sierra Leone and according to the Finance Minister's calculations the Diaspora currently send back just under a billion dollars a year, through remittances. Another common theme was that they'd delivered on their electricity promise.

When the President spoke, he didn't disappoint. He is a good speaker and a charismatic individual at that. The ladies in particular seem to love the man. He speech was concise and to the point. My only pet-hate is that Presidents of this country never seem to stand up when they give their speeches. I had watched Kabbah and Berewa do the same thing during the investment forum. I had also seen Koroma do it on December 20. I dislike it. Firstly, you are less visible to most of the people you are addressing and secondly there is no opportunity for non-verbal communication. You should be up there showing folks you are energetic and up for the challenge.. hell, some people will even feed off the energy you emit. Like I said, it's a pet hate.

He spoke about the challenges facing the country and reaffirmed his commitment to the cause.

The response from the Diaspora came from Akie Deen who among other things talked about the airline industry and called for a national airline. Interestingly this prompted Alpha Kanu then declared that the National Airline (SNA) will be reinstated by Easter. Why no one had mentioned this earlier is still a puzzle to me. I also doubt the amount of thought put into that statement before it was made as the SNA saga is an entirely different can of worms.

At the end the President again went round shaking hands with folks and this time I got lucky. I told him I was happy with his plans for tourism in Sierra Leone but I doubt he heard me. There was noise, mostly from women, all clamouring for the hand of the special one.

 

Note: JCs = Just Cam (Sierra Leonean holiday maker, just arrived)
BCs = Blant Cam (Frequent Sierra Leonean holiday maker)
JCs from Kalangbai = (slang, came from a song, I think it refers to wanna be JCs)
Returnees = Members of the Diaspora who have returned home

Losing my laptop to find a Medecine Man-Witch Doctor

Three weekends ago I was invited to an all white party somewhere in Murraytown. What forced me and my home girls to go wasn’t so much the party but the clothing possibilities. My best friend Adama took the big leap two weeks ago and moved to Freetown. She’s here to start her own fashion company..ASCHOBI DESIGNS BY ADAMA KAI (infoaschobi@gmail.com) . The party was an opportunity to show off some of her designs. So off we went to Malama Thomas Street in search of the right kind of fabric that we could rock to the party. With only 24hrs to sew the three dresses the tailor was definitely stressed. We pulled “operation make di clos” just in time to make it to the party. Three looking pretty in white jumped in my mom’s ride and headed for Murray Town

When we got there the party seemed very empty…how you gonna show off a dre