July 4th in Sierra Leone

Night falls very quickly in Sierra Leone. Being much closer to the equator, day turns to night with much greater speed, the light noticeably dimming around me as I sit on the veranda with my family and several neighbors. Looking out onto our small yard, several small faces peered back at me. Watching and following the new odd white man is the evening's entertainment for many of the local children. As new and eye opening as my surroundings are, the strangest thing in a strange land is the stranger.

But being a stranger can here can open wonderful doors. Walking home from school I was greeted by a man on his veranda. Walking to meet me in the road, we talked for 15 minutes about the educational system in the country. Sierra Leone was once known as the Athens of Africa, as it was home to the first university south of the Sahara and a major hub of English language education. He told me that he regretted not being able to host a PC teacher in his home but that he was so glad to see Peace Corps in the community and back in Salone.

After dark, my family and I often retire into the sitting room for an hour or so before bed. Occasionally my brother and sisters and I engage in academic work, but most often we make our own fun. A pack of UNO cards was a very solid investment which my sisters picked up in only a few games. Most often though, my family watches pirated Nigerian DVDs. Nollywood as it is called produces some of the most heinously hilarious cinema; not through intentional comedy, but through its lack of writing, editing, direction, production value, and acting. Nigeria's interpretation of The Exorcist was particularly  in the so-bad-its-good vein. Watching this film about the occult, I asked Mama Abibatu if this was like witch-gun in Sierra Leone. She turned and said to me with strong concern, “who told you about witch-gun?”

Though the population is very pious, the belief in witchcraft is very strong and wide spread. There are certainly still native medicine men and spirit doctors in rural areas. Many people get Mende marks on their arms, a series of small black lines which protect from evil curses. Should a person with the marks be handed a plate of poisoned food, their arms would shake uncontrollably causing them to drop it. Small dots on the ankle symbolizing snake bites are believed to protect from the real thing. My mother said that such evil magic is very real and but that I must not get the marks as “they are the mark of the demon.” It matters not if witchcraft is real, what matters is that people believe that it is real. Witch-gun is a greatly feared curse that kills suddenly and from afar. And death comes unexpectedly here. A week ago or so a young man about 16 died from disease in a house I pass on the walk to school. Yesterday morning a neighbor, a middle aged woman, died in the night. Two other people in the neighborhood have died recently. Though mothers who have given birth recently, infants, and those with HIV or malaria can receive free government health care, a myriad of tropical diseases kill many before their time. Talking with a neighbor named John, he said that he lost his father at a young age and that people die each day in Sierra Leone. At the moment my host mother is in Freetown to attend the funeral of her aunt. My friends and family here though focus on each day as it comes. They mourn, but remember that life of for the living.

I am here with perhaps the best medical coverage I will ever enjoy. As a Federal employee abroad, I have completely free access to 24 hour care and the best medical services available. Should I become very ill I can be taken to another country or back to the US until I receive a clean bill of health. The resources I have by virtue of my status will always form a thin film between me an my surroundings, whether I like it or not.

Peace Corps will give me what they call a living stipend meant to allow me a standard of living comparable to that of my peers, my peers being other teachers in a village school. In reality though, this living stipend is so high by local standards that it is in actuality a salary, comparable to that of a principal's in a major city. I will easily be the best paid person at my village school. With reasonable economy I will be able to save, travel around the country, have moderate disposable income, and live very well. My standard of living will be governed not so much by my income, but by the goods and services available in my community. My monthly income will be 1,200,000 Leones, or ~ $280, or $9 a day. Your tax dollars at work. 10,000 Leones (~$2.25) is the largest denomination of currency and some small shops will not take them as some stores in the US won't accept $50s or $100s. My brother Alfred  wanted to take a computer class at his school but the family was unable to afford it. The cost was L50,000 (~$11.25), so I gave the money to my mother to pay for it. While I was glad I could do this, it was one of many realizations of the enormous recourse disparity between me and the many, $11.25 in the grand scheme of things for me being a drop in the ocean. One morning in my room I opened a new stick of deodorant that I had brought with me from the US, and not having a waste basket I put the small disposable oval piece of plastic on the top of the stick in my pocket to dispose of later. That day visiting a small village our group was being followed by a crowd of young children, per usual, and a very young girl pulled on my finger. I thought of the small piece of plastic and pulled it from my pocket. Her face lit up as if I had given her an iPhone 5, and she went to show her friends. While I could let my position of hyper-privilege make me feel guilty or despondent, I have yet to meet a Sierra Leonean who has resented me for it or made me feel negatively conscious of it. My family has never asked me for money. And so my feeling is simply that it is what it is, feeling bad will not change anything, and I do not let it weight heavily upon me.

My neighbor drives a Mercedes SUV. He also has satellite TV and a massive speaker system in his plush living room. I do not want my accounts of the great material privation I have seen be the sole description I offer of Sierra Leoneans' living standards. While my neighbor is a district councilman, affluence and material comfort is certainly enjoyed by the professional class. Another Peace Corps trainee lives in the home of a surgeon who works in the local government hospital and who went to medical school in the US. Their home and others like it would not be out of place in an American suburb, the only difference being the high wall topped with razor wire and shards of broken glass which surround the house. While it is not unusual to see the occasional display of wealth and comfort, the most interesting are those examples of 1st world technology or luxury which appear completely out of context. As my neighbor was cooking on an outside charcoal stove, she took out her phone, pulled up my Facebook page and friend requested me. I had to wait to go to an internet cafe several days latter before I could accept. Some small stands on the street offer the use of a laptop by the half hour, the machine powered by cables attached to a car battery. Cells phones and cellular communication is perhaps the most beneficial technology which has in recent years permeated the African continent. Solar powered cell towers are free from the frequent disruptions in the national power grid, and pre paid top-up cards sold on each corner are the solution to payment in a country with no functioning postal system for billing. Cell phones are ubiquitous, grandmothers to young children have them and most towns have strong coverage. I have resorted to telling people that my phone is a Peace Corps work phone so as to not give out my number so frequently. Just like every other country in the world Sierra Leone has its haves and have-nots. 

On the Saturday following July 4^th, the Peace Corps held a celebratory day at our school compound. From all across the country, current Peace Corps volunteers who have been in Sierra Leone for a year came to Bo. At this stage of my training, I now know how little I know and how far I have to go. So seeing and talking with other young Americans who have integrated into their communities, speak Krio fluently, are skilled teachers, and who have gained the knowledge and many small abilities necessary to live and thrive in Sierra Leone was very encouraging. We had an American a meal as could be made: baked bean burgers, oscar mayer hot dogs, no-bake peanut butter cookies, a mountain of fresh bread, a heaping fruit salad, and ice cold ginger beer and sweet tea. While it was not like the fare enjoyed by the firework watchers on Boston's esplanade, the familiar tastes were what we needed after countless meals of rice and green leaf sauce. Never has so relatively simple a meal been so greatly appreciated and enjoyed. We all gored ourselves like foie gras geese. Afterwards we all piled into the Peace Corps Landcruisers and went off to a local large football field for the showdown match, the Peace Corps group vs. our Sierra Leonean teachers. The small concrete stands were filled with locals and children pressed up against the chain link fence around the field to watch the spectacle. As not everyone could play, I graciously volunteered to be a spectator for the game. Shortly after it began I walked into town and returned with a purchased plastic packet of gin which I emptied into a bitter lemon soda. The other Peace Corps in the peanut gallery were similarly enjoying the game. I have never been a patriotic flag waver but the July 4^th celebrations with a group of young expats in Sierra Leone was a wonderful day. Being away from America makes one realize and appreciate a little more what it's all about. 

On a rainy Saturday morning, 40 other Peace Corps and I piled into a chartered government bus meant for 30 and headed east one hour to the city of Kenema. The rain created a haze through which we could see the forms of steep hills covered in thick foliage and lush trees protruded through the mist. As we motored along we past billboards advertizing banks offering hadj pilgrimage savings accounts and others of a bedroom scene with a giant condom with a smiling face, arms and legs, saying “I am Mr. Condom! I prevent HIV and STIs!” Kenema is the largest city in the eastern region which is also where Sierra Leone's diamonds lie just under the earth. This makes Kenema a hub of the countries diamond trade. Along the main street of town, offices behind high walls sport signs of glistening gems and the offers of quick wealth. In other parts of the country, Sierra Leone also boasts rich deposits of gold, bauxite, and rutile. Though these industries are regulated by the government, one could argue that these resources have been more of a curse than a blessing. Sierra Leone is home to a large Lebanese population who own many shops, stores and businesses. Leb-marts are western style supermarkets owned by the Lebanese found in many large towns and each cluster of expats has a restaurant to cater to its palate. Lebanese restaurants are very good here and after a long walk around Kenema in the gently falling rain, I was eagerly looked forward to a fine meal. A plate of thick hummus and bread was devoured as was a plate of atecheke, a light fluffy grain topped with lettuce, cucumber, tomato, chunks of fish and hard-boiled egg, and rings of ketchup and mayonnaise. The effect was a highly satisfying greasy cannonball in my stomach. I almost never drink soda in the US but here it is one of the few cold drinks available, and as it is made with cane sugar and not high fructose corn syrup, it is much richer in flavor. This meal came to 17,000 Leone, or ~$3.80, yet it felt extravagant for me. It is astonishing how fast one recalibrates to the relative value of the local currency and price of goods and services.

At least once or twice a day during our training we have had language class. These are in groups of only 4 students with a Sierra Leonean teacher. Our primary language is Krio which is the universal lingua franca, and after we learn our site location we will begin to learn the local tribal language. One recent language class stands out as particularly memorable, as we walked about the neighborhood practicing our language with the people we met. On a recent language proficiency interview I scored intermediate low; not bad all things considered and I feel it beginning to snowball. The neighborhood of New York City is a patchwork of colorful concrete houses perhaps a 75ft or so apart from each other with open gravel yards, gardens of corn and other crops and palm trees in between, with dirt roads and paths connecting them. We went to an open front tailor's shop where a young man hunched over a Singer treadle sewing machine. Stacks of bright cloth filled the shelves and the walls were covered with posters of the various Africana fashion designs offered by the artisan. The other students and I tried out our faltering broken Krio and I made a mental note to return to have a set of matching pants and shirt made for L60,000, L30,000 for labor and the same for the cloth. Leaving the shop we walked down the sandy main street of NYC and I purchased one of my favorite pieces of street food, a ground-nut bar. Street food here is wonderful and the fare includes huge hunks of pineapple, sweet and dense balls of fried dough the size of a baseball, packets of cold mineral water, ginger beer, sweet tea, and crispy wafers of savory bread the size of a DVD case. My personal favorites are kildrivers, a crumbly sugary shortbread cookie so named because their delicious taste is so great that it distracts drivers leading to their demise, and ground-nut bars. Ground-nuts are almost identical to peanuts and they are made into a peanut butter like spread, combined with sugar and flower and baked into a rich bar. Any of these items run about L500, or 10 cents, are sold from containers carried by young children on their heads, and are highly satisfying, especially as they are made fresh daily. Off the main street we entered a house's  front yard and were greeted by the large family, who invited us to sit with them. As we practiced our Krio I purchased a coconut from the father for 30 cents and with a few deft taps of his machete, called a cutlass here, the top came off and I drank the cool slightly sweet delicious water. The pulpy heart of the fresh coconut was savored and shared between the other PCVs and I as at least ten small children silently watched. That was one language class; it was wonderful to realize and feel that while each aspect of just that one hour was new and infinitely fascinating, I feel comfortable and at ease. On so many occasions I have though how I wish I could plug my friends and family into my senses for just 5 min and experience something as simple and wonderful as walking down the street with all of the amazing details which I cannot capture.                

Kabo!

The first sight of the coast of Sierra Leone from the window of the plane gave me a heartening warm thrill and brought an immediate grin of excitement. As we descended to Lungi Airport I could see short red cliffs descending into the surf and an expanse of green shrub land with steely gray snaking rivers leading to the sea through the holes in the clouds. When the wheels of our plane touched the runway, all 43 new Peace Corps Salone 4 Trainees cheered and clapped together that, after months of anticipation, we were finally on the ground in Sierra Leone.

           

PC Salone 4 is the 4^th group to come to Sierra Leone since Peace Corps activities resumed here after a 20 year hiatus. There are 43 of us in total from each corner of the country. The age range is roughly 22-27 years old, and all of us have graduated from universities in the last several years with a myriad of degrees. Over the coming months we will be trained to be English, Math, and Science teachers in the Sierra Leone school system, in addition to learning how to stay healthy in a new and radical climate, safe in a new environment, how to conduct secondary projects, how to travel around the country, and most importantly, how to speak the Krio Language and the local tribal language of our site. More on that to come. The most wonderful thing about the group is that we have instant solidarity and camaraderie. Though we come from diverse backgrounds, we all share an excited and nervous energy for the journey ahead, expectant all the unknown major challenges and successes that we know are in store.  

Stepping out of the gleaming Brussels Air jet onto the top of the open stairs descending to the tarmac, I was greeted by the bronze setting sun and grainy palm trees swaying gently in the warm evening breeze. The air was heavy with that indefinable heavy sticky sweetness of tropical Africa. To this pungent aroma was added the smell of sweaty body odor as I entered the crowded terminal. Though it must read as slightly noxious, being enveloped in that environment again brought to me the thrill of remembering all my adventured in Tanzania, knowing that I was at the very start of an even greater experience.

Lungi Airport is on the northern mouth of Freetown Harbor, one of the best natural ports in the world, and the city itself is on the southern side at the head of the Freetown Peninsula. Now dark, the Peace Corps bus drove onto the chartered ferry to take us across the harbor. We spilled out and climbed to the passenger deck as the rusty hulk slid out into the inky black water. The lights of Freetown flickered ahead of us; a blanket of short buildings and houses which cover the rolling hills of the city like moss. In the distance huge billowy clouds were internally illuminated a deep purple by bolts of lightning. We arrived at our modest guest house where we would be living for the next 5 days. Though the building had plumbing it lacked running water. No matter, for a large barrel in the bathroom allowed for a soothing cold bucket bath. At the time of this writing, I have yet to have a hot shower. But in this heat a hot shower is the last thing I want, and a cold bucket shower is blissfully rejuvenating. I fell asleep that night under the white silky mosquito net, happy to be in Africa again.

That night the rains came. For those who have never experienced it, the rains in a place with a wet/dry climate cycle are something to behold, especially in Sierra Leone, one of the hottest wettest places on earth. That night I was awoken about 2 a.m. by a deluge the likes of which I had never seen before. Sleeping on the top floor of the guest house under a zinc sheet metal roof didn't help. The water doesn't fall but is expelled from the sky with the force of a fire hose. Sweeping waves of water lashed against the building and lightning crashed in the sky louder than tympani. An hour later all was peaceful again. The rain comes and goes over the day in both long and short and mild and intense intervals, bringing a welcome relief from the intense heat. I have been told that come August it can rain for days at a time.

The few days in Freetown were spent at a small Catholic school where we received the beginning of our orientation and lengthy training. We have a great deal to learn and cover over twelve weeks of Pre Service Training before we are sworn in as official Peace Corps Volunteers on August 28^th. In our classroom in the school a painting of an aryan patrician Jesus looked down over us. In the churches I have hereto visited I am always slightly miffed by the iconography of the white god over his black flock. Faith in Sierra Leone though is a wonderful thing which I will return to later. I won't bore the reader with a lengthy list of the myriad of topics we are covering in training, but they are designed to give us the all skills we will need to stay healthy, safe, and be effective in the various capacities in which we will serve over the next two and a quarter years. And they are doing a very good job. Our language and cultural teachers are all Sierra Leonean; they are our friends as much as our teachers, trouncing us in football after classes.

           

That first full day was the first time we felt the full force of the withering Sierra Leonean heat. I can't quantify the temperature, but it's really freakin' hot man. It wouldn't be so bad if not for the heavy humidity which at times can give the air the weight of a blanket. Fortunately, I have already begun to acclimate to my new climate though I expect the state of being drenched in sweat to become the new norm. In Bo, the second largest city in the country where I am writing this, it is warmer than on the coast. Sierra Leoneans have described the wet season as cool and the dry season as “far too hot.” If they think the dry season is too hot, I'm scared to think how I'll fare when the real heat comes.

Later in the day we went to the school football field, a much loved rough sandy pitch with a few weeds and a hewn wooden goal post. Football is called the beautiful game and it truly is here in Sierra Leone as it is ubiquitous and a great equalizer. They say in Sierra Leone that there are Christians and Muslims but Football is the national religion. The Peace Corps kids immediately started playing a friendly pickup match against some of the school boys. As everyone went skins it was a rather easy to tell the teams and one of the Sierra Leoneans spectators kept calling out: “Blacks have the ball! Whites have the ball!” Watching the young men from the school play it was evident in their skill that they had been playing for years while we looked like enthusiastic amateurs by comparison. Afterwards we all slapped each other on the back and walked off the field to dinner together, the score ending 0-1 Sierra Leoneans. Looking at the entire scene, the sprawl of Freetown, the football game, and the setting sun behind a massive cottonwood tree with dozens of roosting crows in the corner of the field, one of the Peace Corps guys said, “Whoa, we're really here.”     

The next day, the 21^st, we each received a gift from the ministry of education, a local made Africana tie-dye shirt or dress, in a style called gara. While most everyone in Sierra Leone wears normal western style clothes, each Friday it is the de facto national custom to wear Africana clothing. And this Friday we were to meet the President, the honorable Earnest Bai Koroma. Clad in our new attire we squeezed into the waiting Peace Corps Landcruisers and shot through Freetown, a normally impossible feat enabled by a police escort. The escort was not for our protection but to ease our movement as Freetown makes Boston in rush-hour seem mild. Also, the escort and the reception itself at State House, Sierra Leone's White House, were signs of the very high regard in which Peace Corps in held here. Sierra Leone was the 2^nd nation Peace Corps ever worked in, only 9 months after the nation gained independence from Britain in 1961. For over thirty years PC worked here until the civil war caused us to pull out in the early 90s.

State House was a relatively unadorned building, faded white-wash with blue trim and AC units protruding from each window. Ushered into a blissfully chilled reception room, we sat as several government ministers and the US Ambassador came in. We stood as the President entered and the national anthem was played over a sound system with the sound quality of a wind up victrola. State House's tired appearance could be seen warranting renewal, but in fact shows that the government is more concerned with governance and using its limited funds where they are needed than in superficial appearances. In turn we were addressed by a minister in the Ministry of Education and the Ambassador. The Minister spoke of the importance of the work we will be doing as teachers and to highlight his point, said that Sierra Leone's youth is a “time bomb.” The majority of the population is under 18, and if that group has no realistic possibility of a meaningful future, they will become hopeless, unemployed, and dissatisfied. This was one of the contributing factors which caused the 1991-2002 civil war. I must truly compliment the straightforward frankness of the government officials we have met, a sharp contrast to their counterparts in the US. Ambassador Owen then spoke of the great personal effect a Peace Corps teacher can have in his or her community. President Koroma himself is an example of this. Growing up, his village hosted a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) and his mother and the PCV worked very closely together and formed a close bond. As President, Koroma has a tearful reunion in Washington with the PCV he had known so well as a child. After his second term is completed, the President intends to dedicate his time and energy after leaving office to making sure the youth of his nation do indeed have a meaningful future.    

On the 23^rd of June we traveled 4 hours inland from Freetown to Bo, the second biggest city in Sierra Leone. Over the bus ride we passed rolling hills of thick tropical forest, lush and heavy from the frequent rains, plains of scrub brush, and patches of cleared forest where locals collected wood for fuel and construction. All along the way we passed small roadside villages; cinder block houses with corrugated metal roofs rusting in the sun, small wooden shops packed with wares, and people milling about on their daily routines. We stopped in one such hamlet and the bus was surrounded by young men and women offering biscuits, bottles of water, packs of cigarettes, bars of soap, loafs of fresh bread and other small items for sale from large plastic basins balanced perfectly on their heads. But the best were the fresh slices of pineapple. When a given fruit is in season, it is abundant, cheap, and delicious. A perfectly ripe sweet pineapple dripping with juice and bursting with flavor was instantly devoured by the author and at 500 Leone (10 cents), was worth every penny. Motoring along, each time I made eye contact and waved to someone, man or woman, young or old, a broad smile would spread across their face and an enthusiastic wave was given in return.  

The genuine friendliness and warmth which countless Sierra Leoneans have shown to me and the other Peace Corps Trainees is truly touching and hard to appreciate unless you have experienced it yourself. Our teachers have become our close friends and they have said that the people of their nation are inordinately welcoming towards strangers, a sentiment born out by the innumerable times strangers have come up to us to say we are welcome in Salone and that they are glad to see us here. Once we say that we are Peace Corps their welcoming becomes even more effusive as the Corps enjoys a very positive and wide spread reputation here. Greeting people each morning is a very important ritual and the more one is social, the more Sierra Leoneans open their homes and hearts.   

Arriving in Bo, we came to a stop in a small walled compound outside of the main city center. This was the school where we will be meeting each day for our pre service training. Palm and mango trees line the edge of the school and the classrooms are large concrete and tile open rooms with plastic chairs. On the day of our arrival, we met our host families with whom we will be living for the next 11 weeks. Under a large shade awning were gathered all of our families, mothers and daughters in colorful Africana dresses and elaborate hats, fathers and sons in dress shirts and trousers, all eagerly scanning the assembled cluster of newcomers for their new son or daughter with as much nervous excitement as we were looking at them. Having learned to introduce ourself in Krio, the Peace Corps Trainees were instructed to go up to a family group and say hello and keep introducing ourselves until we found our family. At last I found my mother, Abibatu Koroma, and she threw her arms around me and all my nervousness evaporated. With her was my new brother, Alfred Koroma. After a large communal meal of rice and cassava leaf, my family and I made our way out of the school and down the gravel road to my new home in New York City.

NYC is a neighborhood/suburb of Bo and I must say it is infinitely lusher and calmer than its American counterpart. Walking down the dirt road past pastel colored concrete homes with their gardens of corn, fufu, cassava and other produce, we were greeted by friendly waves and welcomes from the neighbors we passed relaxing on their verandas. Large trees provided a canopy of shade as we weaved through yards and gardens to reach our house. Small children yelled “puimoy” (white person), and my mother, brother, and I began to get to know each other. From the first moment I met the Koroma's I have felt at home and welcome part of the family. This was made all the more heartfelt by their gift of a new name:  Schembe Koroma, the name of the family's grandfather and the name by which I am now known to my friends and family in the community. (My family has no relation to the President, Koroma is like the surname Smith in the US).

Arriving at home, I met for the first time my new family. Blessing is my 3 year old sister; Each day when I come home she yells my name and runs to meet me, jumping up into my arms and holding my hand as I enter the house. Melvina is 8 and has a quiet but wonderfully kind personality. Both girls are sitting around me as I type this, listening to my softly playing Mozart. Anytime I work on my assignments or write in my journal, they eagerly and silently join me and are the most heartfelt company. My 12 year old sister Fiona is a sassy spitfire who teases me about my pronunciation of Krio though all the girls are eager and glad to help me practice (that and I'm sure I provide some entertainment value). Alfred is 16 and is a wonderful brother, showing me all about NYC, taking me to meet his friends and slowly teaching me all the small intricacies and subtleties I need to know to be comfortable and navigate my new home. At times he can be withdrawn and taciturn, but what adolescent isn't. He has been a huge support for me as I settle into my new routine. In Sierra Leone the extended family is much closer than in the US and serves as a larger nuclear family. Grandma Mamehawa lives here with us and though she speaks only limited Krio, speaking instead the infinitely more difficult language of the family's tribal group, Mende, each day she gives me the quiet love and sage solace that only a grandmother can. I have only been able to meet my father, Mouhamed Koroma, 42, on one occasion but he is a kind man who deeply loves his family. As the sole bread winner, his employment as a driver for an NGO takes his all over the country and only allows him to be home on the occasional weekend. Most of all there is Mama Abibatu, 37. Each day she does so much for me and shows me so much love. Each day she must do the great many thinks necessary to keep the house in order and take care of her family and each day she makes wonders happen with the most limited of physical and monetary resources. But the love of her family is so clear and the care she gives to me is truly touching. She has said she prays to God that I will be stationed somewhere close to Bo so that she and the family will be able to see me often. Unfortunately though I most likely will be stationed in the north of the country as this is primarily where Salone 2 is posted, whom Salone 4 will be replacing. I must say that the full rich personalities of my family and the warmth they have shown me is impossible to capture in a blog post with my limited writing skills. Indeed no post I could share with my friends and family back in the US could encapsulate and do justice to the feel of being in Sierra Leone.

The house Father built for his family that we all call home is a one story concrete house painted yellow with red trim. A slanted metal roof creates the a strong waterfall in the rain under which I frequently indulge in the most refreshing of showers. The first time I did this, I stood in the pounding rain, the scene illuminated by massive bursts of lightning and howled to the sky with laughter at the sheer awesomeness of the moment. Inside there is a comfortable family room with plush couches, arm chairs and a low table which would not be out of place in an American living room. A small dining room adjoins the parlor with a simple wooden table and a few chairs. I am the only one who has used this table in my time here so far. The family eats outside at the outdoor kitchen around the charcoal stove and I eat alone in the dining room. Occasionally my young sisters will sit and watch me eat. This is because I am a guest and it is a courtesy afforded to me by Sierra Leonean custom. I have asked my family if I can eat with them and Mama has said yes but so far I have not been able to. This is also the case for virtually all the PC trainee and their host families. Our house has 5 modest bedrooms, one for Mama and Papa, one for Grandma, one for my brother Alfred, one for the sisters, and one for me. My room is like the others in the house; ~10x10 ft, a window with bars to deter thieves, and the majority of the space is taken up by a twin size bed. The mattress is a foam slab but I have no problem passing out under my mosquito net after a full day. Peace Corps has also provided me with a metal foot locker, padlock, and water filter. While the house has electrical outlets, we have never had electricity while I have been here and the lightbulb sockets in the walls and ceiling are empty. Neighbors' houses do have power and I think our lack of electricity is a cost saving measure. Outside is an outhouse with a concrete tiled toilet seat over a pit latrine. The outhouse also serves as a place for a bucket shower and is comfortable and very utile in both functions. While it would appear and feel spartan for most of my readers, my home is very comfortable with all the accommodations and amenities I could need. Looking out from the back of the house, I can see a large open area filled with rows of corn, high grass, and a sandy football field. High palm trees and swaying broad leafs line the open area and narrow footpaths crisscross through the grass, a view more placid than many in the New York city on the other side of the Atlantic.

My first day with the Koroma family, my brother took me to a local football game between two local club teams. As we walked to the field I passed the small local shop with a solar panel where cell phones could be charged, the large tent which serves as an Evangelical Born Again church which can be heard from miles away, and the wells and water pumps shared by several houses. We are fortunate as the Koroma's have a well right in the front yard. At the football match I stood with my brother on the sidelines and as people came up to me and introduced themselves, saying that I was welcome and that they were glad the we were all here, I felt that despite the tremendous challenges which will come that I am in the right place. Reaching into my pocket I felt my wallet and felt a sudden pang. Sierra Leone is near the bottom of the UN development index, has one of the highest infant mortality rates in the world, the majority of adults are illiterate, very few people have access to adequate medical care, and the physical and social infrastructure of the country is still recovering from the civil war. Peace Corps gives me a generous living stipend which will easily make me the best paid teacher in my school, and I have 24 hour access to impeccable medical care. And I know eventually I will return to the US. The people who have shown me so much warmth have had such fewer opportunities than the tremendous ones I have been blessed with simply because of where we were born.

The next day I went with Alfred into Bo to attend Sunday service at the Flaming Bible Church. The church was a small square building with fans spinning wildly from the low ceiling. Rows of plastic chairs  covered the vinyl floor up to a raised podium. At the front of the church was a banner reading (I am not joking): FLAMING BIBLE EVANGELICAL MINISTRY – 2013 – My Year Of Great Enhancement And Enlargement! Amen to that. For two hours the 200 plus congregation sang their hearts out and shouted AMENS and HALLELUJAHS to the minister's passionate sermon. The congregation certainly demonstrated their belief that the power of a prayer is proportional to the decibels at which it is delivered. After the service I was greeted by the minister who thanked be for coming and many extended a heartfelt blessing.

Faith is Sierra Leone is a sight to behold. Everybody that I have met holds dear and strong religious faith and this is true across the nation. “I tell God thank you,” and “God is great” in Krio are both ways of saying hello on the street and Islamic greetings are also frequently used in conversation. Statistically the country is roughly 70% Muslim, 20% Christian of every denomination, and 10% indigenous beliefs, but in actuality the faiths cross pollinate a great deal.  The beautiful thing to watch though is how there is no religious animosity or tension in the nation and I am not just saying that. My family is mostly Christian but our Grandmother is Muslim, and friend groups and neighborhoods are not marked by religious division or prejudices. Each public meeting begins with 30 sec of silence for both Christian and Muslim prayers, and students of one faith certainly attend Muslim, Catholic or other religious schools without having to compromise their own beliefs. Religious differences really aren't evan a blip on the radar. Just don't be an atheist. As an agnostic, I just say I'm Christian to save myself a lot of long awkward conversations.

After church, Alfred took me for a stroll around Bo. For those who have never walked through a large sub-Saharan African town / small city, it is a sight to behold. Please forgive the generalization but there were sights walking around Bo that were reminiscent of Arusha in Tanzania other places I have visited. Downtown Bo is a cacophony of vibrant sounds and colors. Lorries rumble down the crowded streets past mini bussed painted with icons of Jesus, Lil Wayne or Obama, packed with dozens of passengers.  Derelict Hondas and Toyotas kept running long past what one would think possible vie with NGO Landcruisers with their long whip antenna and sleek Mercedes and Land Rovers. Motorcycle taxis and couriers weave and shoot with breathtaking agility around them all. On the sidewalks women sit roasting corn over pans of coals and young boys offer packets of deliciously cold water or fresh loafs of bread from baskets on their heads. No building rises above a few stories and on the street level open stalls and stores sell every kind of good and ware imaginable; flat screen TVs and radios blair English football matches next to stacks of counterfeit DVDs of the latest American films. Belts and hand bags hang in profusion next to the jerseys of famous football teams and second hand clothes with icons from all across the world. Hardware stalls offer ever kind of tool, lock, bolt and nut, and paper tables offer the national textbooks, pens and pads, and Bibles and Qurans in all the national languages. Posters for sale of the Manchester United or Chelsea football squads hang next to massive prints of Jesus and the Kaaba. Light shops twinkle with hundreds of LDC lamps and torches, powered by bricks of shrink-wrapped Chinese batteries. Should what you want not be immediately available, there are craftsmen, artisans, carpenters and mechanics who can make almost anything from almost nothing with ingenuity and resourcefulness not found on my continent. Treadle sewing machines hum as tailors create exquisite custom Africana suites and dresses for less than the cost of a t-shirt in the US. Lebanese diamond merchant offices with signs of glistening gems sit next to squat concrete and glass banks. The national office of the S.L.P.P., the Sierra Leone People's Party which is currently the opposition party, proudly displays a large sign of its candidate for the next presidential election. Music from boomboxes and radios of American Top 40 hits and local Africana beats join and the hum of hundreds of motors and voices to create a low rumble as the streets of the downtown pulses with an energy that is both organic and mechanical. While this could be overwhelming, I drank in all the sights, sounds and smells. Regrettably I have no pictures of downtown as of yet as I did not want to have my camera out until I gain a more thorough feel of my surroundings. When I expressed a desire to purchase an umbrella for the inevitable rain, Alfred said to give him the money as he would be able to get a much lower price as a Sierra Leonean than I would as a white “puymoi.” We shared a small loaf of fresh bread, 10 cents, and two Cokes, each 50 cents. Walking home we cut through the quiet campus of the Bo school. This prestigious 107 year old junior secondary school and senior secondary school (the equivalent of grades 6-12) has a sprawling green campus of grassy quads and football fields. Two story dormitories named London, Manchester, Edinburg, and Paris stand around a center field with a pavilion bearing the sign “Manners Maketh The Man.”

Back at home Mama Abibatu had dinner waiting. Sierra Leonean cuisine is based on the national crops. Far and away the staple is rice. I have eaten it every day, sometimes for two meals, and always with a thick sauce made from either casava (a heavy green leaf) or fufu (a light green leaf). My favorite rice sauce is ground-nut soup, a spicy peanut and onion mix. Sierra Leonean ground hot pepper sauce makes Tabasco taste mild. For breakfast I have often had a pile of fried plantains, or a stack of pancakes not unlike our own. Often though it is two hard boiled eggs and a small loaf of bread which I slather in mayo, by far the most common condiment, to make egg salad sandwiches. For both breakfast and dinner I have also been given fried chicken legs and fried fish, thats the whole fish, but the tiny bones and skin add a nice little crunch. The fresh fruit and vegetables are the best though, but these are seasonal. Now is pineapple season, in turn oranges, mangos, avocados, and bananas will come into profusion at the local markets. A cup of Nescafe coffee or Tetley tea with powered milk always accompanies a meal and my mother puts in no less than 4 sugar cubes.                  

Peace Corps Salone 4 has been in Sierra Leone for ~3 weeks but it feels like 3 months; we have been doing and seeing so much and everything is new and different. On top of that the professional training that occupies the majority of our week days is a massive amount to digest. What I have written here is the tip of the iceberg of what I have seen thus far and is a drop in the ocean to what I will see in the weeks and months to come. My apologies if this lengthy post is disjointed as I wrote it over the course of a week before taking it to the local internet cafe on a flash drive. With any luck I will also be able to upload photos to my Tumblr, also called Samuel in Salone. My access to the internet will be sporadic but anyone can always call me at my new number, +232-786-16173. The photos and words I am able to share don”t do Sierra Leone justice and I wish you could all could be here or look through my eyes for just 5 minutes. I will try to post again when I can, and I send my love to you all.