Rhythm 2 - Peninsular adventures

As it snows you all into oblivion back in the UK, I thought I’d send you an update as we build up to the alternative festive period here in Sierra Leone. Read on, and you might just get a pictorial surprise at the end (no peaking, which of course you will).

Enjoy.

If you go down to the beach today...
On the peninsular around Freetown, there are numerous beaches with varying opinions on which is the best. The accepted logic is that the beach called River Number 2 (RN2) is probably the best allrounder, and I must admit I concur (so far). Having been to Laka beach the first weekend I arrived, we have now been the RN2 twice in the last seven days. I could regale how beautiful the sand is, how inviting the waves are, how soothing it is to have a cold Sprite when you need refreshment from bat and ball, and even how I’ve managed to avoid sunburn (using Factor 50 warpaint) – but that would be boring.

When we were arriving at the beach last weekend, we happened upon a rather interesting sight outside one of the houses on the road leading to it – a seemingly ritual hanging of 9 teddy bears! With my allergies, I’m all for keeping ones material bedfellow clean and house dust free, but this seemed like cruelty on a massive scale. When leaving RN2 in the evening, we just couldn’t help but take a picture, which you should be able to see on my Facebook profile – http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150107503502110&set=a.457041382109.244465.611592109 – and I would imagine you’d agree how it wasn’t an opportunity to miss!

Aces high
So it was Laura’s birthday on the 9th, and rest assured we celebrated in style the following Saturday. This included grilled barracuda (for me, at least), Star beer (the local tipple, and actually very palatable), Laura being sung happy birthday by the band at the bar we we’re in, and ending with the phenomenon that is...Aces nightclub.

The biggest nightclub I’ve been in for some time – perhaps since the days of Tokyo Joe’s in Preston in 1999 – Aces is something to behold. And you’d better hold onto your pocket, or you won’t see what’s in it any time soon – my empty wallet was stolen without me knowing a smidgen about it. My old ‘take the rest of your money out of your wallet and put it in your back pocket so it’s easy to access when inebriated’ trick worked a treat.

The music here is a sort of reggae and r’n’b composite, with lots of excellent Krio (the local dialect) phrases within the lyrics, and you can’t help but move to it. Rihanna and Sean Paul also feature a lot, which make me move less. However, whatever you’re dancing to (or not, as it goes) at Aces, you are also producing so much perspiration that you’d better embrace it or you’d better go home. For anyone who understands the phrase “concert legs” you’ll know exactly what I mean!

Dress for success
Pleasingly, I’m already enjoying my work here immensely. Yes, it’s only been office-based so far, but I’m learning so much already that I’m itching to get to work every day. It’s an odd feeling, as I’m sure many can imagine.

The funny side of my work is what I’m wearing. My standard issue attire is linen trousers (like wearing pyjamas to work – amazing), Birkenstock sandals (I used to hate them but I’m a believer now) and a different check shirt (no, I’m not a cowboy) for each day of the week. Snazzy, I would say – but two things come to mind regularly. Firstly, how much I’m probably and rightly ridiculed by national and international staff for wearing the same combination every day, and secondly, how hilarious it is when I look down at my legs and feet. I’ve seamlessly gone from skinny jeans and Converse to baggy linen trousers and sandals in two weeks. Joy.

The WAGs that are worth worrying about
The organisation I work for is doing some amazing work with our Children and Youth, Protection and Development (CYPD), Gender-based Violence (GBV) and Health programmes. Throughout my series of blogs, I would imagine I’ll elaborate about them a lot, especially when I go to the field.

However, I’ve already found one idiosyncrasy within one of the GBV projects – WAGs. Unsurprisingly, we’re not talking about the likes of Colleen Rooney, Danielle Lloyd or even Christine Bleakley, but Women’s Action Groups. These WAGs aren’t worrying about which velour tracksuit to wear to take the bin out, they are taking action to try and free themselves and their communities from sexual and domestic violence, which significant numbers of women still suffer from in Sierra Leone on a regular basis. A sobering thought, when you think about the UK media culture in which the real issues are supplanted by the trivialities of whether Cheryl Cole’s (now a former WAG, of course) outfit suited her this week on Karaoke Factor.

Watch your neck
On a less serious note, but also on the work front, I was issued with a new laptop on arrival at the office. Which was pleasing, but I’ve since come to realise that the pathway to hunchdom is getting shorter and shorter. Laptops are the way forward, yes, but I do feel like by 2030 (if not earlier) the evolutionary process back towards apes will be almost complete. We’ll all have repetitive strain injuries – and thus have hands like claws – and we will be so hunched that we’ll be looking up at laptop screens instead of down.

I am, of course, looking down on the screen I’m writing this on right now. Mark my words, we’ll all be of Notre Dame before too long.

Santa rides his sleigh (well, his trolley actually)
Given that Sierra Leone is around 60% Muslim, you’d expect there to be very little in the way of the same symbols that the UK would ordinarily mark Christmas with. You’d be wrong, however, as it seems to be quite the opposite.

The best ones so far have been a plastic Christmas tree that has foam balls popping out of the top of it to replicate snowfall – amazing, I so want one – and a Santa model in our local supermarket, with a trolley-full of presents. Very, very odd, but suitably in-keeping (see what I did there?) with the randomness of life in Freetown. I love it here.

This blog’s random sport shirt
I’ve been looking around since my last blog for one that meets my very high standards, and only yesterday I found the one:

Norwich City’s green away shirt, circa 2005!

The great thing about this one is that Lotus was then their shirt sponsor, very niche. This has special relevance for two reasons – one, in that I wondered straight away whether Delia would approve, and secondly that I actually know a Norwich fan. Kate, this one’s for you!

Other interesting sport factoids are that there are apparently some Wolves fans here (according to some Sierra Leonean chaps called Dennis and Mohamed I met in the sea, who also commented on how good Laura and I were at swimming – he thought we had flippers on), and that we saw a minibus carrying people to the beach that had been donated by Manchester City Supporters Club. I’ve now found some online evidence of why it’s here – http://www.mcfcfans.co.uk/blog/$blog/2010/08/23/manchester_city_take_the_bus_to_sierra_leone – which all sounds grand. Keep it up, crazy rich Abu Dhabi owners.

Signing off (not driving home) for Christmas
I’ll be taking note of all the intriguing goings-on over the break here in Sierra Leone, so make sure you check Facebook for the link to the next one. In the meantime, as it’s a suitably snowy festive period back in Blighty, what better comparison than our e-Christmas card/picture type thing:

Have a grand one, and make sure you’re all keeping in contact with yours truly.

Ciao, D.

Rhythm 1 - Starting out

So by now you’ll all have forgotten who I am, surely. Therefore, I’m going to make sure you remember my ugly mug by regaling various tales from our Sierra Leonean adventure on this here blog.

I actually hate the word blog, but I like the name of mine. Think Michael Stipe, when he sings about Circadian Rhythms in Daysleeper, and you’re half way there. For those not in the know, many people from here call their country ‘Salone’ – much like we refer to Britain as Blighty. Thus ‘Salonian Rhythms’ sounded quite catchy. To me, at least.

Anyhoo, long story short time – rather than diarise my thoughts chronologically, I’m going to make profound statements about our experiences and simply elaborate on them. Easy.

Enjoy your flight
So the flight was predictably late in arriving in Freetown, which I’d sort of bargained for anyway. Saying that, it was a shock to even make it to Heathrow given the “wear your mittens for the sub-zero conditions” across the UK before I left. Thankfully, CT and SM were on hand with a 4.30am start from Wolverhampton which meant I was all checked in a good four hours before the flight was due to leave.

After the stresses and strains of getting everything ready before I left – apologies to anyone who I shunned or irked in the last week – I had a predictably emotional meltdown when leaving the parents. It lasted a while, too, but soon gave way to rage when the flight was delayed and especially when I had a run-in with an Air Steward.

On the flight were two Sierra Leonean women who were a little worse for wear. What I mean by that is they couldn’t really walk very well, and thus getting to the toilet proved troublesome for one of them in particular. So when she was struggling royally to get there, stick firmly grasped, I made the point to the Air Steward that if she fell over he might have a big problem on his hands. At which point I was summoned for a massive dressing down at the rear of the plane.

Understandably, he explained that if you can’t walk to the toilet then you shouldn’t be able to board unaccompanied, but he was relentless in saying that I’d “advertised” the fact that they appeared uncompassionate and thus made him look bad. After a pretty heated debate, mainly due to his manners being so awful, I sat down and shut up. And looked away the other two times the women ambled to the toilet.

Remember to bring your sea legs
There are two ways of getting to the mainland from the airport, which is on a peninsular some way away from the city – one being the helicopter, piloted by crazy drunken Ukrainian men (allegedly, of course) and notorious for crashing into the drink, with the other being the Pelican boat. As any sane(ish) person would, I took the boat.

This entailed being fleeced for $4 by porters who moved my bag approximately 5 yards, a fraught minibus journey towards the port, and for me, a British bloke who totally denigrated the job I am here to do. His precise view was to take all aid money out of Africa right away, and that me being here was effectively a pointless expedition where I’ll “have fun” but won’t make a jot of difference to people’s lives.

So I got rid of him (not in the water, I might add at this juncture), and sat next to the nice Jehovah’s Witness chap from Birmingham who I was sat next to on the plane. He didn’t really explain what he was doing in Sierra Leone, and I didn’t dare ask. And before you ask, no I haven’t converted.

Avoid being thrown in the British Military swimming pool
On my third night here, Laura had swagged us an invited to the IMATT (International Military Assistance Training Team) Christmas Party. For those not in the know, like me, that incorporates members of the British Military – Generals only, I think – training the army of Sierra Leone to do their job better. Yay for us.

The party itself was a very surreal affair, with delights such as lobster and barracuda on the menu from a voluptuous buffet area. Beyond that was an army only raffle for some excellent Freetown-based prizes, and a “money tree” in which anyone could win a share of the collective pot. We didn’t, of course, with an army person who sold the tickets getting a big share of the winnings. Fix.

The entertainment came in the shape of very odd Christmas music blaring out (Stay Another Day by East 17 was my personal highlight), and a few interesting musical acts. One being a Craig David impersonator – vocally if not lyrically – who had some major technical issues, and another chap who sounded like he was singing Motown SingStar. Very badly.

The culmination of the evening was rather predictable, with various inebriated squaddies being thrown into the swimming pool that the whole event was staged around. At that point, we were as far away as possible. I didn’t want the dye from my new black linen trousers getting everywhere.

Don’t bring layers
The temperature here has to be experienced to be believed. Any glance on the BBC Weather site for Freetown should be treated with total scepticism, given that it’s said rain for about the last month. Trust me, it’s not rained one jot yet – aside from within my pores! (It has actually rained since I scribed this bit, and pretty damn hard as it goes)

This isn’t quite three-showers-a-day like Thailand induces in August, it’s more that you simply don’t dare venture into the sun (or away from a fan or air-con unit) for more than 10 minutes at a time. Plus there’s no guarantee you could have three showers a day even if you wanted to, given the water shortage! Thus some kind of flannel or cloth to mop ones brow/neck/arms is a must, unless you want to look like you’ve just come out of the shower. All of the time.

Having said that, I consider myself someone who can acclimatise relatively quickly to heat. We’ll see how that bold statement goes. Luckily my office has air-con throughout, and a generator that allegedly never fails, so at least I’m quids in from 8.30am to 5.30pm, Monday to Friday.

Embrace the carbs
Despite appearances, I’ve always been one for carbs. Lots of them, so if you show me food with some ruffage in it, I’ll lap it up like a cat. If you consider that pork crunch (the processed version of pork scratchings) is my favourite snack food, it’s no surprise I love bad food.

In Sierra Leone, it looks like I’m onto a winner for carb and bad food intake. So far I’ve had such wonderfully filling foods as jollof rice, beef with black eye beans, cous cous, lots of fried chicken and an ‘egg’ burger – which is simply a beefburger with a fried egg on top. Joy.

This blog’s random sport shirt
Being something of a sport fiend – show me the sport in any quiz and I’ll get at least 8 by myself, as many will know – I’ve decided that I’m going to catalogue my favourite sport shirt that I’ve seen in between blog posts.

And this blog’s winner is…St Helen’s Rugby League, circa 2002!

I was never a fan of St Helens, a I chose instead to glory hunt by supporting Wigan in the 90’s, but seeing their shirt as I arrived at the airport really cheered me up after the four hour delay. I wonder who’ll be next, and whether I’ll see a Wolves shirt in the time we’re here. Let’s hope so, as I’ll be wearing mine from time to time!

Signing off
Right then, almost done. There’s loads more to tell, but it can wait – if you’ve read all 1,450 words of this then jolly well done anyway. However, rest assured that Laura and I are doing great here and are really enjoying what we’re doing. Yawn, yawn.

It’s actually Laura’s birthday today, so if she hasn’t replied to any many happy returns (who actually says that?) messages it’s because she’s “up country” – which basically means she’s “in the field” – which basically means she’s unlikely to have had access to the usual communications channels. I may be wrong, though.

Hope all is jolly in the UK, would be lovely to hear from any of you on FB or snail email. There’ll probably be another of these diatribes before Queen’s Speech Day, so look out for more random musings from yours untruly.

Ciao, for now,

D.