If you didn't know already, Katie is keeping a better log of what we do than I am. It's at perambulating.wordpress.com . Sporadic internet until now means that these first blog entries are all going to come in a rush. In general, please comment freely, and I will try and read them all in good time. If you just want to email me your comments and reactions, that's cool too. Tell me what you would like to hear about that I haven't mentioned, and what you would like to hear more about that I have mentioned. In particular, if you have any questions for any of the characters, or about any of them, let me know. I recommend reading in chronological order, but you're welcome to jump around.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Diamonds and infants in the road.
June 9
Today we got lost. It happens, especially when the streets are not straight, maps don't exist, and you've only walked the pathway once before. Nonetheless, it set off some cartographical aspirations – we're going to make a map of Koidu Town. Or at least those parts that we use to get to and from the clinic and Sunshine, my new favorite eatery.
So we started late on our morning of health education. Jalloh and I were going to set off to finish all the houses in Domah, but no one was home. So we trekked down the road back past the clinic to Koyou-1.
"You know, in Kono, de people dey always walk with dere eyes down." The Krio accent sounds very cool.
"For diamonds?"
"Yeah, for diamonds, cause you never know, you never know. Maybe I'm a lucky man, maybe I find a diamond."
"Huh. Maybe,"
"Before, before the war, you could just walk along a road like this and find diamonds, just right dere. But den de rebels came, and dey took everything."
"Oh... they traded them for guns, right?"
"Yeah, dey did."
Silence, walking, hot. The sun is really hot. There's not really any shade near the clinic, which was nearby. We were walking at 'Africa speed' – just a step per minute short of breaking into a sweat.
"You know, my family, we used to spend a month every summer, at a big lake two hours from where I live."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, it was so big you can't see across it, it looks like the ocean. And there's a big beach, too, kind of like the beaches in Freetown. On the beach there are strips of rocks, and once some guy told us that we should look for rocks with holes in them."
"Rocks with holes in them?"
"Yeah, holey rocks. They're really good luck, apparently. So at first we never found them. But eventually we got really good at seeing them, and it's the same, we were always looking down, looking for holey rocks."
Jalloh laughed.
A bit later, Jalloh bent down and picked up a little pointy speck of glass. I'm pretty sure it was glass; he thought it was a diamond. Maybe it is a diamond. I'm no expert.
Eventually we got to Koyou-1. Katie and Ahmidu were sitting, surrounded by a small crowd of Africans. We skipped over them and went to the furthest house. Koyou-1 is very much in the middle of a larger community, but it's only six houses. We sat down with an old woman, a single amputee. We shook hands in the African way, grip, change the grip upwards, grip again, squeeze as you pull away, and then place your palm firmly on your heart. "Me nem na Sahr Christopher." I mostly introduce myself with my "Kono name." Most people laugh; unfortunately this lady was just confused.
"Me nem na Jalloh."
"... nem na Kumba." She mumbled, but it wasn't a senile old-person mumble, more of a wary, suspicious, no longer strong but whip-smart mumble.
I explained to her in halting Krio, with help from Jalloh, that we were there to talk about some health education topics, and that I was trying to learn Krio but that Jalloh would translate for me when it was necessary. Then I launched into the module – the malaria module – that I had memorized the night before. I'll post it as its own blog entry.
"Me na student, we commot amputee clinic... How for stop malaria, you fo sleep unda mosquita tent... I wan ask two-three question for know if you done understand..."
At the end of the malaria module, a young woman, Maryam, came and sat on the corner of the porch with us. As she sat down she pulled her little girl out of the fabric-tie-snuggly and held her in her arms. Most kids are absolutely fascinated with my skin; they touch me and then quickly pull back their hands and look at them, to see if the white rubbed off. But teenagers are apathetic (what a surprise) and very small children are terrified. Sometimes slightly older kids will torment the smallest ones by dragging them near me. I like to see that, it puts things in perspective. By that I mean, the children here are not the starving stills with soulful eyes that you see in WorldVision ads; they're mean and cute, curious and sweet, playful, loud, messy, excitable.
Again we explained the nutrition module very carefully, finding out all about the woman's daughter. The daughter was 16 months old, and completely terrified of me. Fortunately she overcame her terror and fell asleep, and then when she woke up she seemed not to remember that I hadn't always been there.
All of sudden everyone stood up.
"Stand up." Jalloh told me softly.
I stood up. My mind was suddenly racing. Some women, dressed in magnificent colorful African dresses, were walking slowly down the side of the road. Rebels? Soldiers? Procession? Should I be scared? Run? What's going on?
The woman in front was holding a mat, rolled up.
"A baby has died." Jalloh spoke softly.
I guess the baby was in the mat. They passed slowly, and I was struck by one young woman at the end. Her cheekbones were very bony, and her hair was pulled into tiny tight braids. She wore a brilliant blue dress with orange and green patterns, and her face was wet; perhaps with tears.
Eventually everyone sat down again. "Where do they take the baby, Jalloh?"
"To the cemetary, jus down the road."
We continued with out modules. The attendance fluctuated; we were only briefly interesting to a group of schoolchildren in green uniforms, and then interesting for a bit longer to a talkative, smiling woman and a man wearing a UN AIDS shirt. The woman asked, "What do you do when you know your man has not been faithful, but he refuse to wear a condom?"
Uhh... I said something meaningless, I forget what.
"No, I mean, does the woman have the right to abstain?" Wow, cultural minefield. How do I answer without alienating her, without her thinking that I know nothing about her situation? It was hard; I knew almost nothing about her situation. Well, Jalloh is a good filter.
"Yes, you have the right. But you have to be smart. It's like when an employee is bad, you have to go to the boss. So you have to convince his family he is wrong, you have to go talk to doctors at the clinic, you have to get his friends to convince him. You have to be strong and smart."
The woman was momentarily satisfied; I'm not sure if I helped at all. The man in the UNAIDS shirt thought it was a good answer. I hope he wasn't the man in the question...
Later, the young woman in the brilliant blue dress returned. Her named, it turned out, was Elizabeth. She was carrying a bunch of cloth in a bowl on her head, and the infant's mat in her hand. When we introduced ourselves she smiled at us, and I couldn't figure out how she had fit into the procession. It seemed important, especially given that the precise section I was discussing was the "Family Planning" module, wherein we try and convince the amputees and their dependents of the economic advantages of small families.
Some people here think that AIDS is a white man conspiracy to prevent black people from reproducing. So you can understand why, right after the death of an infant, I was a bit uneasy about stating the advantages of small families, especially in front of someone directly involved.
In the end, Elizabeth waved goodbye, in the middle of one of Jalloh's translations, and she walked away. The bowl never moved a millimeter, and the mat was gathered under her arm.
We made a map of the route across Koidu Town from the clinic to "Uncle Ben's Guest House" where we are staying, using a compass, clipboard, and pen. Soon we will time the sections to get a more accurate sense of scale. Near the end of our walk home, which takes about an hour, we were being followed by four kids, for about ten minutes. They were just following us and saying "White man." in thick Krio accents. I once heard Allan respond to someone calling him "White man" by saying "Black man!"; I like that, and I've used it a couple times. No one seems to notice. When the kids were following us, after I noted that they really had nothing else to do, Katie said with a smile, "Well, it's like if you saw a purple man. Would you trail him and shout 'Purple man!'?"
I love mangoes
June 9
I love mangoes. They are cheap (6 cents each, for the small ones, free from the tree in front of the clinic), gorgeously ripe, and everywhere. Katie loves buying food from random street vendors; I think that's a short road to a long time in the bathroom, but we can rinse off mangoes. So, the last couple nights we sat down around 8pm to feast on the mangoes that we got earlier in the day. They are incredible, albeit a bit stringy, and we're going to have to get more tomorrow. I say that because I spent about fifteen minutes making sure there was not even the tiniest scrap of edible mango remaining on the peel; it was a bit over the top. We had a big mango today, the biggest one I've ever had, and it was also the best mango I've ever had. Katie, however, is a veteran of traveling in China and Taiwan, and was not nearly as impressed. She told me I will definitely have better mangoes before leaving. That's okay with me.
It's a bit odd to me, though, that we don't see more people eating mangoes. They're delicious and they're everywhere, and in some spots the ground is covered with mango pits, but in general I haven't seen people eating them.
Greta – enjoying her comeback tour. Technology – not doing so well.
June 9
Greta is doing well. One of the songs I like to sing on her is the synth-heavy "Africa" by Toto (it sounds very different on acoustic guitar; I think better), and one of the lines in that song is "I heard some rains, down in Africa..." Well, tonight, we heard some rains. It was intense. The tin roofs magnify the sound of all the raindrops and wind, and the end result is somewhere between a dull pounding and a pulsating roar. It's very hot and humid during the day, and almost every night we've had low-level thunderstorms roll through. Tonight, though, it was a pretty serious one. I stood out on the porch, supposedly safe from rain but actually getting pelted with spray off the ground and from the rain. The wind and rain ripped across the opposing building in sheets, filling the air with gray mist. The outdoor lighting on the opposing building is mostly incandescent bulbs hanging by their cords; they're given about a foot and a half of cord, so the wind was playing havoc with them. They bounced around behind the gray sheets of rain. The only other person outside was a very disgruntled looking security man who was sitting and watching the entrance for cars. I think he shook his head at me once, as if to say "You're crazy. Go inside." Eventually I went in, and not long after the rain died away.
Greta may be doing well, but rumour has it the Eee is not. Bailor took it back to Freetown, and it's experiencing some sort of bizarre hard drive error, right when it boots up. That's pretty annoying, because we chose the Eee specifically for its reliability. At this early stage it's definitely a manufacture error. On the other hand, it may work out alright, due to the fact that Amazon has a 30 day guarantee, and Allan is returning to North America on the 26th of June, 29 days after we bought it. To be honest, I've definitely encountered more tech problems than I've solved since arriving. Let me just enumerate some of the (more or less) unexpected obstacles:
- No one has legitimate copies of windows. They are all weird, virus-ridden, and inexplicably lacking important drivers, such as monitor drivers that let you have anything more than 4-bit resolution.
- The internet connection, when it isn't in Freetown like it has been for the last four days, has a download speed of 1 kb/s, and 4 kb/s when it's raging. I never thought I'd ever care about kilobytes again; I was wrong. Incidentally, that may limit the number of photos posted to the blog. More importantly, it prevents us from downloading drivers for the desktop computer and Bailor's old laptop.
- Despite the slow internet, somehow every computer has managed to download some of the internet's finest hard-drive slowing filth. Using them is a bit like running in quicksand. We improved the desktop by wiping it and then reinstalling windows... but now the resolution is 4 bits. Just like I never thought I'd meet a real kilobyte, I also never thought I'd meet a single digit screen resolution.
- There is no power unless we turn on the generator, which costs about one USD per hour to run. That's not small change here in Kono. Plus, the generator often runs out of oil, and then it has to go off for an hour and a half while someone gets oil...
- Bailor's old laptop doesn't have the right drivers to use the wireless modem, our internet, which is effectively a cellphone on a USB cord. That's created a bit of a chicken and egg problem.
- Even if we get the computers working, there is no one at the clinic full time who could even find the "Control Panel"; they are learning how to use Word and Excel.
- Tech support? In Kono? To be fair, there are some reps in Freetown. But I don't think NOW has ever used them. The main computer problem-solving tool is really the internet, and when the problems take down the internet, or when it's not around,
That's made me revise my hopes for setting up OpenMRS here at the clinic. They need a reliable, cheaper source of power and one or two people with more computer expertise, or else a computer system is just a disaster waiting to happen. Nonetheless, we'll still make a prototype version; by that I mean we will design all the forms and set it up on the computers, to wait for the day when it makes sense.
I'm keeping a list of some possible tech solutions for the clinic, solutions of the kind that would attract an Engineers Without Borders group from a university. Near the top is definitely some solar power – the clinic gets sun all day when it isn't raining, and presently it only rains at night. If you have any other ideas, please post them – we're all in this together, and the people of Kono and NOW need the help.
Health education broken telephone
June 8
The vehicle has gone to Freetown, so we had to wake up early to walk to the clinic. It takes about one hour to do the walk, and since we don't yet know the way, Amhidu came to meet us. There isn't a map of Koidu Town, but my plan is to wander around with my compass a bit and see if I can make a rough sketch for Katie, me and any future interns.
The reason we woke up early was to give education modules at the amputee camp nearest the clinic. It's called Dorma. Dorma has 16 houses, and is just ten minutes walk from the clinic. To speed up our progress, we split into two teams: Katie and Amhidu, Jalloh and me. The idea was that Amhidu and Jalloh would serve as interpreters from English to Krio. Of course, some of the amputees only spoke Kono and Krio, so sometimes we needed to add a third layer of translation. I'm not new to teaching material similar in style to the health modules, but I found it difficult to keep the attention of the amputees and their dependents while we played our game of health education broken telephone.
It's the planting season, so many of the houses were mostly empty. According to Bailor, the idea was that we would go from house to house, and give the presentation before a rapt audience of at most ten people. That way everyone would see the presentation and remain attentive throughout. In reality, the first presentation was well attended simply because of the "white man." (Katie is also a "white man" for many Sierra Leoneans, despite the fact she is Asian.) Note: Katie is also 'Libanese,' Bengali, 'Chinese Man!,' and 'White Woman!' as far as globalization goes, she's the real deal. But even that attendance was fluid and inconstant, with people wandering over and wandering away. The next three houses at which Jalloh and I presented were almost empty, with one or two people in them at most. There were also few people near by to bring over to listen. One house was inhabited only by a women in a multilayered pink and patterned dress. At first we thought she spoke only Kono, which was right, but when we found a young woman perhaps my age to translate, she explained to us that the real problem was that the woman's ears had been chopped off, and so she couldn't hear well. The young woman, Rebecca, didn't seem too interested either – she was holding a one month old baby wrapped up in cloth on her back.
"I think we probably should make it shorter... there are two challenges, one is that the woman cannot hear well, and one is that she," Jalloh gestured to the rail-thin young interpreter into Kono, "will have to yell whatever we say to her [the older woman]." I nodded. Okay.
Bailor had given us a pretty comprehensive outline of six modules to cover – malaria, nutrition, iodine, HIV/AIDS, family planning, and tuberculosis. I figured that the most important were probably malaria and nutrition, and Jalloh figured HIV/AIDS was also very important. So we gave the malaria module, alternating between my English, Jalloh's Krio, and Rebecca's shouted Kono. It was slow, and pretty much impossible to keep Digba's (the old woman's) attention. I was fascinated by how the woman had tied the baby on to her back – it was nestled in the small of her back, supported by a wide swath of cloth tied tightly around her middle. Rebecca herself had high cheekbones and a slightly listless gaze. For most of the time she seemed as if she wasn't paying attention, but every now and then she would spark to life and laugh at Digba's attempts to understand.
"She no understand." We were asking about how HIV/AIDS spreads. Apparently Digba didn't understand the idea that it spread through unprotected sex.
Before the HIV/AIDS section, we covered the nutrition section. A large portion of the nutrition section deals with the importance of breastfeeding.
"How old is he?" Jalloh translated –
One month on the twelfth.
"So you breastfeed him?"
Yes.
"That's good... it's the safest, right? The breastmilk is completely clean, free from germs. And it's free, and easy to get, and it has everything the baby wants to be strong." Sometimes Jalloh's Krio phrasings slip into the English versions of the modules. I figure there is no point in using words like sterile, or nutrition, because Jalloh translates them down into terms like "clean" and "food to make you strong."
Rebecca nodded, slightly disinterested. She wasn't translating for Digba, because Digba was too old for children. We didn't argue.
"How long will you breastfeed him?"
A year and six months, eighteen months. I started to ask if she fed the baby water or food yet, but Jalloh translated something Rebecca had said.
"They are doing much education about this at the hospital now, that's what she says."
"Oh, okay. That's good. Well, ask her when she will first give her son food and water."
Eight months. That's perfect – in this place, the germs from food and water can prove too tough for infant immune systems.
"And when you feed him, make sure you use cup and spoon, not the hand, because the hand is dirty. It's much easier to clean the cup and spoon." Jalloh translated, plus adding in that another reason for using a cup and spoon is that with hand feeding you can sometimes choke the child. He turned back to me.
"She's going to translate for her[Digba]. It's the way of things here, you know. She might feed the baby, she has to know."
Rebecca shouted at Digba in Kono, then excused herself to put the baby to sleep. She returned shortly, now wearing a beige T-shirt like you would find at the Goodwill store.
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.
TIA continued. The long journey.
June 4
We drove out to Kono today. We meant to leave around twelve, but instead we left around five. During the journey, we met a couple more important characters.
National Organization for WellBody: Okay, we didn't actually meet during the drive. But it's an important character nonetheless. NOW is the Sierra Leonean twin of GAF. It's administered by Dr. Barrie, and employs drivers, nurses, pharmacists, amputee liaisons,
Jalloh: Jalloh is a Peace and Conflict student from the first graduating class of the program at the University of Sierra Leone. He's not right out of high school, but since he is bashful about his age I'll be guarded here. In order to complete his degree he needs to do an internship, and since he is a neighbor of the Barries in Freetown, he is doing his internship with NOW this summer. He's very outgoing, tells lots of stories, and calls me "Christo!" with a great big smile on his face. I think we may be doing some education modules together next week. Otherwise he works at the clerk's desk. His true interests lie in anthropological-style investigation of the amputee population; in particular he is writing about the impact of school fees on the amputees and their dependents. School fees, you ask? Yep. This is a note from the future, but on June 8 we met a 45 year old man with 7 children. He pointed to 100 USD per year in school fees in five children, all while sitting on the porch of his two room concrete box with no electricity, no running water. And he pointed with his only hand. It's not hard to imagine what the effect of school fees might be on such a family. On the other hand, it's fair to point out that perhaps the fact that school is expensive filters out the families and children that would not take it seriously. It's hard to think of ways that we could measure which strategy will be better for Kono and Sierra Leone in the long run. It's very emotionally compelling to advocate for free education for all, and that's certainly my position; it comes from thinking about the problem from a perspective of margins of error. Given that we don't have data about the long term effects of the two systems, to which side would we rather err – giving education too easily, or too reticently?
Alimamy, aka Cuyba (Ky as in sky, ba as in bah humbug). The driver. He used to drive "poda poda", which are the crazy Volkswagon hippie vans that rocket around the country with passengers on both the in and outside. He drives NOW's 1994 Nissan SUV, and threads it through some impossible situations. Sometimes we'll be driving in the right hand lane, coming up on a slower moving van on the right. In the oncoming lane are two motorbikes and a car. It looks like a disaster, but Alimamy honks, zips out into the middle of the road, and the motorbikes get the heck out of the way. Everyone zooms by with centimeters to spare, and nobody bats an eye. The rules of the road in Sierra Leone are guidelines at very best. He loves to eat, and always lurks around Allan, the expat you will meet soon, during meals, because Allan can't always finish all his food.
TIA continued. Not in Kansas...
June 3
Today I learned that you wouldn't believe the things people can carry on their heads. Baskets, nuts, towels stacked five feet high, bags of sand, entire palm trees, construction materials, dozens of eggs, half-empty trays of food. It's incredible.
What struck me today are both the incredible barriers between Sierra Leone and the simplest efficiencies of North American life. We drove to a hospital, Lakka. It was at the end of a thirty minute long, pothole stricken dirt road (still in Freetown). At no point along the road were there less than ten people in view. There were construction sites, campfires, shacks, goats, pigs, kids, adults, motorbikes, eighteen-wheelers with bumpers tied on by rope, little Volkswagon hippie vans emblazoned with religious slogans and carrying small armies of people. It was an adventure. When we arrived, we knocked on the door of the reference lab for all of Sierra Leone. They make the media for all the TB sputum test conducted in the country. There were two men working there, one of whom was just sitting at an empty desk. Dr. Barrie discussed an idea for collaboration – specifically, he had gone to the Gates Foundation to ask about upgrading the lab in Kono, and they had responded by saying they wanted to upgrade the labs everywhere. So Dr. Barrie went to the reference lab.
The man in charge was proud of his work. The reference lab held labs all across Sierra Leone accountable. The lab was clean, the equipment pristine albeit old, and the lone lab tech in sight was working industriously. The man in charge came across as competent and careful, fully aware of his responsibility.
Dr. Barrie, on the other hand, just wanted to know what the clinic lacked; where it was weak.
Perhaps you can see the issue? Any attempts to ask about areas where updgrades might be needed were construed as mild insinuations that his lab was insufficient in some way. At one point, Dr. Barrie asked the manager how many people worked in the lab. Before responding, he thought for a moment. Then he asked his lone worker. "Six." replied the worker. Nonetheless, the manager later maintained that all of his (six?) workers were fully trained in every possible way, and that there was probably more of a need for equipment than training from the Gates foundation.
Luckily Dr. Barrie was roundabout enough, and no feathers were ruffled. He left the lab manager with his number and some time to let him come up with the idea of upgrading on his own.
During the conversation, Dr. Barrie's phone rang. There was already a phone on the table, his, and then he took two more phones out of his pockets. You might ask why (I did, mentally. We didn't find out until later.) It turns out that there are three major cell carriers in Sierra Leone – Africell, Zain, and (I forgot). Calls work on a pay-as-you-go basis, but rates are much higher for calls between carriers as opposed to within them. Dr. Barrie gets a lot of calls. And so it saves him and his friends, coworkers, and whoever else phones him if he has a phone from each major carrier.
TIA: for better (the goal of GAF and our internships) or for worse (the end of my day today.)
June 2
Today was actually about forty hours long. The night before we left, I stayed up until the sun chased me to bed for a bit, making sure the printer and computer were compatible. The Eee computer looks like it will be a good choice, but I had to change it to a different distribution of Linux because the preloaded one was not being widely maintained. In any case, now I’m lying in a bed in an International Hostel in
When Katie and I landed in
We missed the 6:30pm ferry, so we had to wait until 9. We wandered over towards a stand that seemed to be selling drinks and then a woman pulled out a table, tablecloth, and chairs for us. We all talked until the ferry came, occasionally shooing away beggars and intrepid phone card salesmen. At some point, Amadu chuckled and said “TIA... this is
My second impression of
A brief yelling match between Dr. Barrie and the owner of the ferry ensued. It’s pretty clear that the crowd of pickpockets were not passengers on the ferry; they were probably the bag boys that just waited around. The ferry owner seemed interested in keeping this incident quiet, and assured me that this was the first wallet ever stolen on his ferry. That’s a little unbelievable. I may get it back, if the thief pilfered the cash right there and then dropped the wallet. But I probably won’t get it back.
The wallet contained ~83 USD, ~5 CAD, my American and Canadian bank cards, two credit cards, my health card, my student card, my driver’s license, the medical insurance card from GreatWestLife, my London library card, and my family’s Roger’s membership, which I accidentally took with me to Sierra Leone...
The thing is, I wasn’t angry at all. First, it didn’t seem like getting angry would do anything. Second, while it sucks to be robbed, I didn’t lose all that much money, none of the cards are needed while I’m here in
They also stole Katie’s glasses, which turns out to be much more inconvenient than my wallet!
I wonder what the thief is doing with the cash. While I’m not condoning his theft at all – I would love to still have my ID cards and cash – it’s pretty clear that he needs it more than I do. More than anything, this has made me think of the weird parallels between begging, theft, and aid. That’s all for now.
Quick disclaimer for all those who are now worried: I’m getting all my money for the summer from the NGO, and my passport, student visa, and travel insurance are all being stored safely at Dr. Barrie’s house for the entire summer. This was already the plan; I would have given him the contents of my wallet as well. He has given us ID cards for in-country use.
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