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.