Then, the Staircase Collapsed

I was walking home last Friday, feeling happy and light (a welcome change from the usual burden of frustration and homesickness) when I discovered I could no longer access my second floor apartment. The concrete stairs constructed only 28 days before had collapsed, crushing our generator. We're extremely lucky no one was hurt, as Chris and I walked under on and under the stairs every day. Apparently the cement was mixed wrong and when the wooden supports were removed, the concrete cracked and came crashing down.

Our landlady, who is overbearing and well, an extremely awful human being, tried to convince us to move into the store below the apartment while she had the stairs fixed. But with no front windows, only one bed and a permanent smell of tobacco, Chris and I weren't going to go for that. We fought with her for more than an hour, when she finally agreed to give us our money back. Rent in Sierra Leone is collected all at once, rather than month to month. Chris and I were then faced with the challenge of getting our belongings out of the apartment. Using a wooden ladder, we climbed up to the second-storey and started to pack. By the time we were ready to climb down, a small crowd had gathered to watch the show unfold.

We made it down safely, but not before a crowd that grew to include at least 30 people had stopped by to see what has happening.

We lived at a guest house for four days and underwent the torturous process of looking for decent accommodation in a country where you don't understand the bargaining process or the actual prices of things. We eventually secured a house, which is large but a little rough around the edges. Chris killed two spiders almost the size of my hand that crawled out from behind the toilet. Our kitchen sink's drain doesn't lead anywhere - except the floor. We have no running water but there's a well at the back of the house.

You have to laugh at these things. If you don't you, you cry and cry, and it's hard to stop.

What's Your Rush?

Here in Sierra Leone, I’ve perfected the art of how to sit around without looking bored and how to yawn behind my hand. Nothing here moves too quickly, especially in Bo, and I’ve had some trouble adapting to the pace of life. For example, if a reporter says he will meet me at 10 a.m., I now know that really means 11 a.m., or maybe later. I was roped into being a judge at a high school beauty contest a few weeks ago and it was supposed to start at 8 p.m. My colleague Chris and I arrived promptly at 8 p.m. – our first mistake – and the event didn’t get going until 11:15. We ended up having to leave around midnight, as we were running a workshop the next morning, but we were told the event ran until 4 a.m. the next morning. I went to have photocopies made at a shop (whose sign said they did photocopying) and I was told to come back next month, when the machine would have arrived. When it rains here, it rains really hard and you have to wait inside until it stops, no matter where you are. I’ve spent many afternoons sitting inside restaurants waiting for the rain to ease up, twiddling my thumbs and playing with my cell phone.

The journalists here often ask me how journalism in Canada is different than journalism in Sierra Leone. There are a multitude of differences, but I usually tell them the pace of news is much quicker in Canada. News breaks and within minutes (and sometimes seconds), it’s on the radio, on Twitter, on blogs and on TV. It’s a race, I tell them, to get the best possible story in the least amount of time. If you take a break or miss a step, you’re quickly left behind. Journalism here doesn’t have that same sense of urgency. Last week, three out of the four reporters didn’t show up to work, so we cancelled the news. At 3 p.m. every day, we all pile into a vehicle that takes us to the radio station, which sits atop a mountain. When we arrive at the station, I expect the reporters to start working immediately, because the sooner we finish, the sooner we go home. But they hang around, chat and tease each other on benches set up outside. Sometimes it can take an hour for them to start writing. I want to snap my fingers and tell them to get to work, but that isn’t my job here. It’s a tricky balance as well, because many of these reporters are underpaid, some not paid at all, so who am I to gauge the appropriate level of dedication to their work?

Everything here takes time. The good thing about having so much time to sit around and wait is the opportunity to watch people. I often sit on the steps of the radio station’s office in the heart of the city and watch people walk by. The little kids stare at me in shock until I smile, and then I’ll usually get a smile back. Young boys try to sell me bras and underwear and women come by with mangoes and bananas. I try to relax and enjoy the time just sitting, although it goes against my nature, which demands that I be productive all the time. The last eight months of my life have been crammed with activity. I wrote a thesis proposal, wrote a second one, revised it 1,234 times, researched a documentary to film China and Hong Kong, applied for internships, interviewed for internships, had some excellent nights out in Whistler and Vancouver, worked part-time at the Vancouver Sun, flew to China and Hong Kong, helped film a documentary, helped write and edit the documentary, finished my thesis, finished my course work, applied for a job in Africa, got a job in Africa, packed up my apartment, packed for eight months in Africa, got five vaccinations and many malaria pills, hopped on a plane and now - here I am.

I suppose it’s a good idea to take a breather.

The Whole Country is Camping

Like many developing countries, Sierra Leone doesn’t have a consistent supply of electricity. Rebels destroyed the power infrastructure during the country’s brutal 11-year civil war as a way to disable communication between communities about their activities. Every year, the government makes very grand promises about bringing 24-hour electricity to the capital, Freetown. This year, the date for 24-hour power was in April, but that day came and went with little notice from the general public, I’m told. The government failing to keep their promises about upgrading infrastructure is nothing new and they apparently make the same promise every year. So, regular citizens continue to burn kerosene lanterns at night and the rich continue to run their generators, and people cope with the sporadic supply of electricity.

I live in Bo, the country’s second biggest city, where we’re supposed to have more reliable electricity during the rainy season. We’re powered by a hydroelectric dam in this area, so it makes sense to me when they say we’ll have 24-hours of power when the rainy season arrives. Well, the rainy season has pretty much arrived and we still go for five or six day stretches without any power at all. When we do get power, it’s an hour or two in the morning, when it’s really not needed. At first I was surprised and a little disappointed but slowly, I’ve just adapted to the situation.

Family and some friends laughed at me when I told them I’d be living in a country without stable electricity or running water. “It’s like the whole country is camping,” I said. This is funny, of course, because I hate camping. But I grew up in Vancouver, on the west coast of Canada, where it rains constantly. Every memory I have of camping involves sitting around a campfire with my Girl Guides troop, soaking wet, shivering and crying. For me, camping has to have a point. If all I am going to do is sit around, drink beer, get drenched and eat burnt hot dogs, I usually elect to stay home. I was willing to “camp” in Sierra Leone, because I believe in the importance of the work I’m doing.

Of course, I’m not entirely without electricity. We bought a generator and usually run in for three hours at night. Gas for three hours costs 14,800 Leones, which is about $5 Canadian. I use the three hours to charge my laptop and my cell phone and do anything important at home that requires good light. Chris and I sit in the living room, glued to our laptops, and enjoy the large fan we have set up. When we turn on our porch light, the neighbourhood kids come to sit under it and do their homework. Around 11 p.m., we’ll hear the generator started to sputter and rattle, letting us know we only have a little bit of time left. When the gas runs out, that’s usually a sign we should go to bed, but I often grab my headlamp (an extremely useful gift from my dad) and do some reading. But first I climb under my mosquito net, or else bugs attracted to the headlamp start smacking me in the face.

But no generator at night means we sleep without fans or air conditioning (not that we have air conditioning in the apartment). If the rumours about more stable power during the rainy season are true, I will relish the opportunity to sleep with a massive fan six inches from my face.

Snaps from Salone

My Internet has chosen to be particularly slow this week, which is why I've been light on the posting. I've decided to share some of the photos I've taken so far. Salone, by the way, is Krio for Sierra Leone. Krio is a version of English invented/adopted by freed slaves when they founded the capital, Freetown.

This man is a photojournalist. He took my picture, then I took his. He also told me he was 14-years-old. I think he was lying.

I know the boy on the left looks sad, but he actually asked me to take the photo. It's mostly women who carry items on their heads but boys do it too.

HIV/AIDS is a big concern in Sierra Leone, not to mention all of Africa. SL's infection rate is much lower than other African countries (I believe around 10 per cent) but many people still aren't aware of how the disease is spread. I'm not sure how effective these signs are, however, because of high illiteracy rates and the fact that most people speak Krio or Mende before English.

The sewers are open canals dug at the sides of the streets. They are regularly filled with garbage and when it rains, they will up fast with foul-smelling water. I have developed a fear of falling in the sewer.

Milk Products and Hot Showers

One month into this experience, I think I’ve earned the right to list the things I am missing about home.

Things I Miss:

- Fresh dairy products. Here it’s powdered milk and that’s it.
- Hot showers. I have running water but it’s cold. Sometimes the sun warms the water in the tank, which is on the roof, and I’ll get about a minute of warm water. It’s actually too hot out to have a hot shower, but I do miss the feeling of being really, really clean.
- Being anonymous. Everyone in town knows who we are. About 20 kids on the street scream “Alice!” when they see me. I don’t have the heart to tell them that’s only two-thirds of my name.
- Listening to music on my iPod as I walk. Doing that here is just asking to be robbed.
- Feeling cozy. Here I mostly feel sweaty.
- Identifiable green leafy vegetables. I’ve had the occasional lettuce leaf and cucumber here but the staple is the cassava leaf. There was also an experience with a cucumber and some maggots, but that’s a story for another day.
- Sleeping with covers. It’s too hot to do that here.
- Efficiency. It took me two hours to get 20 photocopies made yesterday.
- Fast broadband Internet. Mine is too slow to watch anything on YouTube.
- Set prices. Everything you buy here requires some bargaining.
- Familiar faces. Family, friends.
- Being (for the most part) invisible to the opposite sex. The guy selling meat on the street asked for my phone number today, which has never happened to me in Canada. Not that I don’t love a good flirting session alongside my street meat.

Things I Don’t Miss:

- Having to look fashionable. I could wear the exact same thing every day and nobody would care, which of course means I packed too much.
- Having to wear makeup. Here it just melts off your face so there really is no point.
- Blow drying my hair. It gets sweaty and goes straight into a ponytail, every day.
- Paying more than 30 cents for public transportation (a motorcycle taxi costs about 25 cents one-way)
- Being reminded that the economy is in ruins and that jobs are scarce

Apparently one list is longer than the other. I’m sure that will change as the months go by.