TIA continued. We meet the amputees.

June 5

 

The first day in the clinic. Dr.Barrie will be referred to as Bailor from here onwards, because we asked him what he would like us to call him and he chose Bailor. Bailor planned us an ambitious day – visiting al nine amputee camps. I'll try my best to describe what visiting an amputee camp for the first time is like. But first, three important new characters.

 

Allan Mayfield. He is a 59 year old American, who first volunteered in Africa a year and a half ago with Partners in Health in Burundi and has barely left since. His daughter went to Albert Einstein medical school with Dan Kelly, and according to Allan she is both his inspiration to volunteer abroad and a much better person than either him or her mother. He has been in Sierra Leone for two months helping NOW staff – and in particular Bailor – learn management skills, learn how to make budgets, learn how to make business plans, and in general has been helping out in any way he can.

 

Hamidu Barrie. I think his name is actually spelled Amhidu, or Ahmidu, but everyone says Hamidu. He is Dr. Barrie's nephew, and a fellow student of Jalloh's in the Peace and Conflict program at the University of Sierra Leone. He is quiet, soft-spoken, and very idealistic. He hopes to eventually work in the Democratic Republic of the Congo or Sudan to help those regions achieve peace. His official responsibility at NOW is to manage Katie and I, but in reality he is not so much a manager but instead a coworker who keeps us safe and makes sure we don't accidentally get into any trouble. So far he also seems to grasp careful business-like thinking very well; other than Allan, he is the main architect of the business plan for the palm kernel farm.I'm sure that many of my stories this summer will have Hamidu in them.

 

Sah Bindi. In Kono, the local language, "Sah" is the name of the eldest male child. "Siah" is the name of the eldest female child. Sah Bindi is the amputee liaison. He is the first amputee I met, and he is a very kind man. He has a bunch of children and lives in one of the concrete huts constructed  for the amputees in the area. Sah Bindi named me "Sah Christopher" and named Katie "Kumba Katie" (because Katie is the second daughter)

 

Now, the story of the amputee camps. I'm typing this from memory, and it happened a couple days ago. In the interest of narrative, I'll use dialogue, but none of it is word for word what was actually said. I'm not trying to record the precise events; more like capture the experience in words.

 

Alimame turned up the road (barely a path by North American standards; there was more growing on it than there is some gardens I've seen) and we bounced our way up a short steep hill. Even though the road was bad and we are seven hours of bumpy road outside of Freetown, there were ramshackle houses on all sides. The vehicle pulled to a stop, and we piled out over the front seat, leaving our bags carefully in the back. The amputee camps are not isolated from other people or habitation; they are right among the clay and tin houses of the other residents of Kono District.

            Katie, Hamidu, Sah Bindi and I all stepped out into the sun. Alimame reclined his seat and went to sleep. I'm sure he is also passionate about helping amputees, but that day he was a little annoyed that he we had arrived in Kono at 2am the night before and were working at 8am the next morning.

            There was already three or four children, tiny and probably less than eight, gathered round us. They just stood and stared, sometimes whispering to one another, until Katie reached out her hand and introduced herself warmly. "Hi..." The reactions of the kids varied – a couple of the girls' eyes burst wide open, and one stepped forward to put her hand in Katie's. One of the little boys was very purposefully not looking at us, but he was still very curious out of the corner of his eye. After Katie shook the hand of the first girl, two more girls came up and shook her hand quickly and then retreated back across the small space between us.

            The amputee camp itself was not large, but perhaps a little more organized than the average collection of houses in Sierra Leone. Hamidu told me "Perhaps seven houses in this camp..." I counted nine, but seven was close enough. Each of them were 26 by 22 ft (Jalloh and I paced them on Monday), and built out of concrete. They each have a shaded porch that is about seven feet deep by ten feet wide, and then three rooms on the inside, one twice as big as the other two. There are a number of windows in the concrete, but no electricity; when you look inside on a sunny day, it's dark. The roof  was a sheet of siding, perhaps tin. Each was painted with a sky blue stripe just below the roof, and then beige for the remainder.

            "Sah Bindi, who built the camps?"

            "hmm?" Sometimes I have to ask my questions a couple of times. Allan tells me that Sierra Leoneans don't like a lot of questions; I think it's because I ask them out of the blue in English, and Krio comes a lot more naturally to most people here.

            "Who built the amputee camps? And when?" I like a lot of questions. Some more good advice Allan has since given me: Ask a general question, because Sierra Leoneans love to talk. but numerous questions make them feel threatened and suspicious.

            "Ah, a Norwegian NGO built them. The first... in 2002... finishing 2003... then one in 2004, finishing 2005..."

            "So did they build all the camps?"

            "Yes, yes, all de camps."

            By this point a couple of older women had gathered. to be honest, there aren't many old people in Sierra Leone. The majority of people – and there are a lot of people – seem to be my age or younger. They introduced themselves; I don't remember their names. Katie and I smiled warmly and shook their hands. A boy brought out a couple of wooden chairs and a bench for us to sit on. Usually the adults shoo the children away, as if Katie and I would be offended by them. They're really cute, and especially in the amputee camp I felt their curiosity was completely genuine, not colored by a desire for our money. So I was kind of pleased when the older women didn't shoo them away. One little girl in particular was rocking back and forth on the bench where I was supposed to sit. So we didn't sit.

            Hamidu and Sah Bindi began relaying our message. Today was a whirlwind tour of amputee camps. We were planning to visit all nine. So at each one we stopped only for a few minutes – just long enough for Katie and I to introduce ourselves, and then for us to explain to them that we would be returning the following week to give some education about malaria, nutrition, pregnancy, and other health topics. Hamidu would say the message in Krio, which I can barely understand, and then Sah Bindi would translate into Kono, which I can't understand at all.

            It's not exactly clear to me the advantage gained by having Katie and I do the education modules instead of, for example, Sah Bindi or Hamidu. Perhaps it is that we can learn the content faster, or perhaps it is that our "whiteness" confers an authority to our words that is very important if we want the amputees and their dependents to learn the content. Note: On Monday Jalloh confirmed that this is definitely one of the reasons we are doing the health education and not just him and Amhidu.

            As we were talking, another woman, the oldest, came out. She was a double amputee, and dressed immaculately in a purple, green and black patterned dress. Here eyes sparkled with intelligence. Then, when we turned to go, and said goodbye to the shy and not-so-shy children, Hamidu softly grabbed my attention.

            "Chris, they have given you a gift, dees fruits. Maybe you should thank them." He handed me a black plastic bag of green oranges.

            "Oh, yeah! I'll go thank them." I went back around the vehicle and Hamidu pointed to the woman in purple.

            "Her, she is de one." She was already returning to the shade of one of the porches, so I caught up to her.

            "Thank you so much!" She nodded, smiling. I grasped her right stump in my two hands, and then turned to go. We woke up Alimamy and jolted our way out of the camp. Note: the oranges, although green as limes, were excellent.