Notes from

Sierra Leone

A Short, Glittering Tale

19 July 2005

“It was the time of the junta; at that time Valentine Strasser was in power. I was in Kono and there I bought a diamond and I sold it again. Soon after, a couple of big military men showed up at my door and said, ‘We heard that you have bought and sold a diamond. That diamond belongs to His Excellency, and now you must come with us.’ I said, ‘No problem, my brothers. But why not let us use my car? I have a Jeep.’ So we drove down from Kono all the way to Freetown to the State House. They took me to Strasser and I said to him, ‘Your Excellency, I would like to speak with you alone.’ Strasser said, ‘No problem. Leave us!’ and I said to him, ‘Your Excellency, I have bought a diamond and I have sold it, but it is your diamond. I cannot bring you the diamond again, but let me try to make things right. Just send me someone you trust and I will make you your present.’ Strasser was very pleased and let me go back, and everyone was so surprised to see me back in Kono the next day! And later he sent his man and I parcelled up the money and gave it to him.”

“You gave him all the money from that diamond?!”

“No, not all the money, but I gave him four thousand dollars. These men had power, and when they have power you have to do for them what they want. So he never bothered me after that.”

Ali paused. His daughter smiled vaguely, looking over the veranda railing at the to’s and fro’s of people passing below on Hangha Road. Unlike Freetown, where the only light at night downtown is the orange glow from the kerosene flames of bread-sellers, you can actually see people passing here because Kenema is somewhat regularly supplied with current from a hydroelectric dam. The sidewalks are also wide, allowing people to walk with a dignity that is lacking in Freetown; in the capital city, one is forced to pick around the gaping holes in the sidewalk in the dark like rats, desperately hoping not to stumble into the gutters below.

“Oh, but at that time Strasser was addicted to drugs. Coke.” He held up his hand as if holding a pipe. “He had to have at least five grams a day. And when he was on coke, he couldn’t talk to anybody. He couldn’t say anything at all. Then later he was kicked out, and he went to Conakry and people said he was there begging for five thousand francs. Can you imagine, a head of state, begging for five thousand!”

I put the wooden mouthpiece of the argila to my lips and pulled apple-flavored air in from the water pipe. It gurgled as I inhaled. Exhaling, I commented, “No wonder his rule fell apart if he was addicted to coke. But he’s alive still, isn’t he? I think my colleague pointed out his house to me in Grafton. A white house, off that turnoff that goes back down through the hills towards eastern Freetown.”

“Yes, maybe that’s it. Someone must be supporting him now. He wants to run for election now.”

Next article: Indecent Dressing

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Copyright © 2005 Julie Greene