Notes fromSierra Leone |
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Dis en DatMarch through June2004
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I’ve collected a few of my scattered notes here. I’m calling them ‘dis en dat’ (this and that) after my favorite ‘dis en dat curry’ at Madame Posseh’s restaurant. Madame Posseh, by the way, told me she bought her land for 700 leones in the ‘70s; today, that could buy two onions or half a Coke or three cigarettes or a few tablespoons of groundnut paste… Menus (23 March 2004). Menus in Sierra Leone, where they exist, are mere suggestions of what dishes might be available in reality or in the wishful thinking of the cook. It is equally likely that well-phrased prodding might lead to other dishes, while the dishes listed are not available. For instance, flambéed bananas at Indochine. Bananas are so ubiquitous the street sellers practically give them away to get rid of them before the fruit rots in the damp heat. “I’d like the flambéed bananas, Madam,” said I. “Oh, oh, we no get bananas. Banana no dae.” If they didn’t have the Phoenix bird’s nest with shrimp and bamboo, I would understand. But no bananas? Then again, here very little makes sense, so the absence of the ubiquitous is abundantly sensical. Pizza (March 2004). We were at the office late and ordered pizza. There were leftovers, so Christof brought them to the radio operator and the guard. “Here, would you like some pizza?” They gave uncertain looks. Christof tried again: “… Have you ever had pizza?” Cole said, “Well, I have heard of it.” The next day, Christof checked back with Cole: “So did you have the pizza? What did you think?” Cole replied hesitantly, “Well, it was all right, really.” I’m not sure that cheese suits Sierra Leonean taste buds. Also note that the people of European descent and a few nomadic herding tribes are anomalies for being able drink milk long after the weaning age, while most of the world is lactose intolerant. Thomasia said (March 2004). “We are not poor; I mean, we might be poor in things and houses because we have nothing here, it is all destroyed, but we are not poor as people.” She was angry at being looked down upon by the ‘superior’ classes. Housing (April 2004). Had a fight over whether national (i.e. local staff) and expats should live together. I felt like it was all against me. One expat said “I want to come home and be able to bitch about national staff, but I can’t do that if the national staff live there.” Another, who was a national staff in his own country and then became an expat when posted here, said, “it is not a question of justice and benefits; they can have their own house and the expats have their own house… it is not racism or discrimination or something like that; even when I was a national staff I never wanted to live with expats… we just want some privacy.” A third expat simply said, “You don’t understand, we are really foreigners here.” But we will continue being such foreigners if we build walls for ourselves! Who can wear what? (19 April 2004). I wear African dresses to the office each Friday, as do all the other Sierra Leonean women (they often dress in western clothing on other days). Patrick saw me and said deridingly, “I really have to commend you on your dress. Especially that booble on the top! You going native?” “What? Me?” I said, startled. “And you, Saffea, you’re always wearing Western clothes! It’s all those years abroad, eh?” Saffea responded good-naturedly “Well, it is called globalization actually. Like my jeans: jeans aren’t really American anymore, they are for all people.” And I said: “And I can wear this in America!” OK, well, I could wear the skirt anyhow. The whole outfit might bring a few stares. Driving in town (28 April 2004). I’m on Pademba Road driving into town. Traffic is inching along. Freetown is always in a jam. A tall man in an olive suit with a Chinese collar has seen someone he recognizes and they are exchanging greetings, hands joined in a long shake. I imagine different backdrops behind them: Washington DC, or perhaps----? But actually the backdrop is the burnt shell of a building, in front of which is the rusty burnt shell of a car, on top of which clothing is drying. We inch past Sim Street and Fergusson Street. A parade of people cross in front of us topped by wide plastic and ceramic bowls in which they display their wares. A woman passes with a plate of green oranges on her head. A man passes holding a plastic folder. I wonder what makes him look so much more prestigious than those around him? He is not dressed very differently. Beggars are approaching the car. They work in pairs: a blind or lame parent, a child leading them to each vehicle that passes to beg money, food, anything but especially money. Sometimes I am shamed by a taxi driver, with so much less than me who gives more than me. Pop songs (19 May 2004). This song must resonate with so many of the people in Freetown. Freetown is estimated to hold about one-third of the population of Sierra Leone, all searching for opportunities but finding very little.
Wi stil dae na di siti Translation:
Here we are still in the city Another popular song, sung mostly in Temne, begins: ‘I am a white man in Sierra Leone. I have come to take your diamonds, and you will be educated!’ It choruses ‘Apatu iyemadi’, or ‘white man, give me food.’ Ever since that song became popular, people started calling out ‘Apatu iyemadi’ when I or other apatus passed. They are not really asking for food and don’t really expect us to understand. I learned how to respond ‘Minesu, iyemadi’ or ‘me too, give me food,’ which usually brings amused laughter. Woman palaver (4 June 2004). Here’s a scenario that was common before the war, Saffea tells me, and is connected with the problem of the ‘disgruntled youth,’ which is universally held to be a leading contributing factor to the war: Chief has harem of six or so young wives. The wives serve to bait young guys. If a guy has an affair with one of the chief’s wives, or is suspected of having such an affair, a woman palaver will be turned against him and he will be conscripted for what is in essence slave labour, say to spend two years building a rice farm for the chief.
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