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.
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