I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas this year. Mine was very 'different...'
On Christmas Eve, I had decided to spend the night atop Mena Hill, a decent size peak overlooking Makeni from the West. I did this with Kieran, who arrived only three weeks ago from London to work on a mental health project. I managed to find some pork early in the morning, and it was very fresh (read; still warm). This we took atop the mountain along with several beers, and sleeping bags. We dont have a tent and figured it wasn't needed anyway, its dry season! After a pretty exhausting climb, we watched the town as the light dwindled, then gathered some wood for our fire, which we lit with tinder and sparks (Ray Mears would be proud). We then cooked our pork, drank our beers and feel asleep under the stars.
So we awoke early on Christmas day as the light and heat of the sun intensified rapidly. I remember especially looking down over the whole town that has become my home, as the mist crept away. We made a pretty rapid descent, and headed to my place. One day's hike and one night's camping in Africa had left my sticky, filthy and tired. A cold bucket shower left me clean and woken up, then I was treated to a quite fantastic breakfast of hash browns and French toast courtesy of Natasha and Gearoid.
We then headed to the hospital. Natasha volunteers at the 'Therapeutic Feeding Centre,' which is where malnourished children are treated. It is pretty grim that kids are starving to death here. The land is fertile, food is not in short supply, yet here are many kids going without. I'll refrain from too much detail but some of them are in a very bad way. Natasha had arranged to work on Christmas day, to try to give the kids some kind of treat, and I decided, like many others, to join her.
I'd like to say that I was a great help but to be honest I was just carrying equipment that they needed and helping to eventually set up a big screen and projector so they could watch some Tom and Jerry cartoons. The kids seemed to appreciate the effort, I think many of them enjoyed watching all the white people carrying things more than the cartoons!
We then went to the doctor's house to prepare a Christmas Dinner. It seems that all the expats in Makeni showed up, there were eleven of us in total. My job was to prepare the chicken. Score! So I barbequed the Christmas poultry whilst others prepared Garlic Bread, plantains, salad, and curried rice. Gearoid made his awesome roast potatoes. It actually felt like Christmas once we all sat around the garden table to eat, with lights draped over trees.
Boxing Day meant an early rise; a 7am kick off for Megbente FC in a friendly. We beat the team from Freetown 5-0 and then wasted the day lying around reading books.
The next day was eventful. I was drawing water from the well when Gearoid told me to go and look outside of the wall. I saw a bunch of kids laughing and carrying on. Then I looked closer. I was absolutely horrified. There was a dog, with its hind legs tied together with rope. On the other side of the rope, a 12 year old boy was dragging the dog down the road. The other children were beating the dog, kicking him, throwing rocks at him and smashing a water barrel into his skull. I had a moment of hesitation (not my dog, not my culture...) but I decided I couldn't let this happen on my doorstep and do nothing.
I approached the kids and told them to stop. I asked them what was going on. They said that they were going to kill the dog. When I asked why, they just kept saying that he was a bad dog. I asked if he had bitten anyone. No. It seemed like two kids had started it and others had joined in. There were around 15 kids, some as young as 8. There seemed to be no justification but boredom. Adults passed us and didn't seem to care that a group of kids were beating a dog to death.
I told them I was taking the dog, and started to cut the rope on his leg. He tried to bite me, but thankfully, didn't break the skin. Gearoid helped me chase some of the kids away, then we put the dog on a towel and took him into our compound.
He was in a bad way. Unable to walk, bleeding from his nose and mouth, he had wet himself and was finding it hard to breathe. I was going to put him out of his misery. For whatever reason, I hesitated, and we sat with him, gave him some water, and decided to wait until morning.
We called the vet the next day, and spent a lot of money on injections and treatment. I held his mouth open whilst the vest injected some medicine down his throat. Never once after we saved him did the dog try to bite me. He vomited a few times in the day, and we realised that he was in trouble as he was not eating, and more importantly, not drinking. He was still bleeding from his nose.
Almost exactly 24 hours after we saved him, he died. We said very little to each other, and immediately buried him in our garden.
The whole incident was very upsetting. It made me feel helpless. I could not save the dog. I could not make the children realise why I intervened. I could not make them see that abusing an animal is a stepping stone towards abusing a person. There was an eleven year long civil war here and the building blocks of the conflict remain. I'll always remember them laughing, and beating the life out of an animal for no reason. Like child soldiers.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
The Cup Final
Last Saturday I played for Megbente FC in the final of the MCH Cup. Here is the day as I remember it:
3pm: Gearoid and I join our team mates, who have set up a “Camp” at the nearby hospital. The Camp is a meeting place where we come together and prepare for the games. We listen to some Krio pop music and talk tactics. The atmosphere is relaxed.
3.30pm: We change into our shorts and socks, leaving our boots off for now. The camp is our outdoor changing room. The ceremony begins. We take turns to approach the village elder and have oil rubbed on our legs, hand, chest back and face. We then take a small amount of potent smelling liquid and rub that on our limbs.
3.45pm: We rub limes on our legs, and tuck a small piece of cassava leaf into our socks. This will protect us from injury.
4pm: The manager arrives, with new strips in hand. The boys are excited. He hands them out one by one, with a great deal of ceremony. In the absence of my usual number 7 shirt, I opt for the number 14. I am also presented with the captain's armband in the absence of our regular captain. I suspect that this honour is largely due to being one of the two token white men, but I accept it gladly.
4.15pm: We walk to the pitch and warm up. There are huge speakers blaring out crazy music. Children are dancing. A fast talking high pitched male voice occasionally interrupts the music to make announcements. There are around 200 people there to watch the game. We shake hands with the opposition, and prepare to kick off. I am nervous and it is even hotter than usual.
4.30pm: The game kicks off, it is fast paced and we look confident.
4.40pm: The ball spills loose on the edge of our box, I sprint out to clear it as an opponent lines up a shot. I narrowly get there first, but I go down hard on my left knee. I stand up, and feel the blood running down my leg. It is more than a trickle. I must have hit a rock and gashed it open. I try to run it off.
4.42pm: Adrenaline is a wonderful thing, and I start to feel comfortable running. I take advantage of a break in play to feel the wound. The bleeding is slowing. I wipe the blood on my face. The crowd love it, and start to chant my name.
4.50pm: Our star forward, Saio Conteh, scores a great header. The boys celebrate, I run to the sidelines to drink water.
5pm: I make a forward run, and slot Saio through alone with the keeper, he makes no mistake, and we are 2-0 up.
5.13pm: Just before half time, I hit a left foot volley from a corner, which is handballed off the line. Penalty. I am keen to take it. Saio needs one more goal for his hattrick and to be top scorer in the cup. I let him take it. 3-0
5.15pm: Half time. I drink half a litre of water, and stay on my feet, whilst the other boys sit in a circle on the side of the pitch. I wash out my knee with water. The cut is pretty deep, and it is full of dirt and sand. But it is not bleeding and I am running comfortably. I will continue.
5.30pm: The opposition kick off the second half. We win the ball straight from them, and I pass it to fellow midfielder, Tyson. He takes the ball half the length of the pitch, largely unchallenged, and passes the ball into the bottom corner. 4-0.
5.45pm: We give away a silly penalty. 4-1. The clean sheet is gone.
5.50pm: The manager uses his last substitution to replace me. I hand over the captain's armband, take a gentle jog from the pitch, as our supporters chant my name. This is unreal.
5.14pm: In the last minute of the game, the opposition deservedly score again, but it is too little too late. 4-2
5.15pm: The final whistle is blown. The crowd invade the pitch. The music blares out. I try to seek out opponents in the crowd to shake hands, but eventually give in to the high fives, handshakes and hugs that continually come my way from delighted villagers and children.
6.30pm: We take a break from the jubilations to shower and change. Blood stains my jeans within minutes. Suzie, a VSO nurse, cleans up my knee with iodine and dresses it. It hurts now!
7.30pm: We feast like heroes on goat meat and rice. The village can be heard from miles away. They have hired a generator and massive speakers. Krio pop bursts out and commands us to dance. People have set up on the floor wherever there is a space and are selling warm star beer and pega packs (imagine small ice pop packets filled with poor quality gin, or rum).
9pm: It is time for the presentation. The music stops. The village crowd around to see. People love ceremony here. We come forward one by one for our medals. They are very modest. The cup is brought forward, and, as captain, I am urged forward to accept it. I hold up the trophy like I have just won the world cup and the place erupts.
10.30pm: Someone brings me a glass of white wine – and its cold! It has been three months without such a luxury, and I enjoy it. When my cup is empty, it is filled once again with chilled wine; this time, it is red. Any cold drink is a blessing here, and I enjoy it. I begin to dance, and marvel at the clothes people are wearing. Many of the players have opted for white shirts. I have no idea how they manage to keep their clothes so clean, mine are always filthy here! The party is amazing. The moon is full, and spirits are high. Footballers from both teams dance together, old women in traditional dress dance with babies in their arms, children hold my hand everywhere I go, and old men smoke suspicious substances.
1pm: I party way too late, then walk along the highway back towards Makeni. After half an hour, a bike passes on the road and I manage to swing a ride back home. I fall asleep knowing that this day could only have happened to me here.
3pm: Gearoid and I join our team mates, who have set up a “Camp” at the nearby hospital. The Camp is a meeting place where we come together and prepare for the games. We listen to some Krio pop music and talk tactics. The atmosphere is relaxed.
3.30pm: We change into our shorts and socks, leaving our boots off for now. The camp is our outdoor changing room. The ceremony begins. We take turns to approach the village elder and have oil rubbed on our legs, hand, chest back and face. We then take a small amount of potent smelling liquid and rub that on our limbs.
3.45pm: We rub limes on our legs, and tuck a small piece of cassava leaf into our socks. This will protect us from injury.
4pm: The manager arrives, with new strips in hand. The boys are excited. He hands them out one by one, with a great deal of ceremony. In the absence of my usual number 7 shirt, I opt for the number 14. I am also presented with the captain's armband in the absence of our regular captain. I suspect that this honour is largely due to being one of the two token white men, but I accept it gladly.
4.15pm: We walk to the pitch and warm up. There are huge speakers blaring out crazy music. Children are dancing. A fast talking high pitched male voice occasionally interrupts the music to make announcements. There are around 200 people there to watch the game. We shake hands with the opposition, and prepare to kick off. I am nervous and it is even hotter than usual.
4.30pm: The game kicks off, it is fast paced and we look confident.
4.40pm: The ball spills loose on the edge of our box, I sprint out to clear it as an opponent lines up a shot. I narrowly get there first, but I go down hard on my left knee. I stand up, and feel the blood running down my leg. It is more than a trickle. I must have hit a rock and gashed it open. I try to run it off.
4.42pm: Adrenaline is a wonderful thing, and I start to feel comfortable running. I take advantage of a break in play to feel the wound. The bleeding is slowing. I wipe the blood on my face. The crowd love it, and start to chant my name.
4.50pm: Our star forward, Saio Conteh, scores a great header. The boys celebrate, I run to the sidelines to drink water.
5pm: I make a forward run, and slot Saio through alone with the keeper, he makes no mistake, and we are 2-0 up.
5.13pm: Just before half time, I hit a left foot volley from a corner, which is handballed off the line. Penalty. I am keen to take it. Saio needs one more goal for his hattrick and to be top scorer in the cup. I let him take it. 3-0
5.15pm: Half time. I drink half a litre of water, and stay on my feet, whilst the other boys sit in a circle on the side of the pitch. I wash out my knee with water. The cut is pretty deep, and it is full of dirt and sand. But it is not bleeding and I am running comfortably. I will continue.
5.30pm: The opposition kick off the second half. We win the ball straight from them, and I pass it to fellow midfielder, Tyson. He takes the ball half the length of the pitch, largely unchallenged, and passes the ball into the bottom corner. 4-0.
5.45pm: We give away a silly penalty. 4-1. The clean sheet is gone.
5.50pm: The manager uses his last substitution to replace me. I hand over the captain's armband, take a gentle jog from the pitch, as our supporters chant my name. This is unreal.
5.14pm: In the last minute of the game, the opposition deservedly score again, but it is too little too late. 4-2
5.15pm: The final whistle is blown. The crowd invade the pitch. The music blares out. I try to seek out opponents in the crowd to shake hands, but eventually give in to the high fives, handshakes and hugs that continually come my way from delighted villagers and children.
6.30pm: We take a break from the jubilations to shower and change. Blood stains my jeans within minutes. Suzie, a VSO nurse, cleans up my knee with iodine and dresses it. It hurts now!
7.30pm: We feast like heroes on goat meat and rice. The village can be heard from miles away. They have hired a generator and massive speakers. Krio pop bursts out and commands us to dance. People have set up on the floor wherever there is a space and are selling warm star beer and pega packs (imagine small ice pop packets filled with poor quality gin, or rum).
9pm: It is time for the presentation. The music stops. The village crowd around to see. People love ceremony here. We come forward one by one for our medals. They are very modest. The cup is brought forward, and, as captain, I am urged forward to accept it. I hold up the trophy like I have just won the world cup and the place erupts.
10.30pm: Someone brings me a glass of white wine – and its cold! It has been three months without such a luxury, and I enjoy it. When my cup is empty, it is filled once again with chilled wine; this time, it is red. Any cold drink is a blessing here, and I enjoy it. I begin to dance, and marvel at the clothes people are wearing. Many of the players have opted for white shirts. I have no idea how they manage to keep their clothes so clean, mine are always filthy here! The party is amazing. The moon is full, and spirits are high. Footballers from both teams dance together, old women in traditional dress dance with babies in their arms, children hold my hand everywhere I go, and old men smoke suspicious substances.
1pm: I party way too late, then walk along the highway back towards Makeni. After half an hour, a bike passes on the road and I manage to swing a ride back home. I fall asleep knowing that this day could only have happened to me here.
Friday, 12 December 2008
Know your Rights
Things often happen here that leave me confused as to whether I should laugh or cry. In a recent survey that Gearoid conducted for as local NGO, he asked a number of school children the question, “Do you know your rights as a child?” One answer will stick with me forever. It was, “Yes, I have the right to sweep, and the right to be punished.”
I seriously considered going home early, and cutting my losses, but things like that remind me of why I came here and renew my motivation to get things done. There is a reminder of some sort every day, so here I will remain and focus on making an impact.
After hefty delay and much ado, I was able to sit around a table with my VSO programme manager and the Deputy Mayor this week. I was expecting to have a heated argument, but the council seemed to be genuinely accepting of my reasons for leaving, and they appealed to me at length to change my mind, promising to take action to rectify the issues. This would involve firing a number of staff. After several hours of persuasion, I have agreed to wait another couple of weeks so that I can meet with the Mayor when he returns from Europe. When that happens (sometime between Christmas and New Year) we will discuss a way forward for the council, and a possible return to work for me. It seems I have more power than I had first realised.
Meanwhile, I am working for the college and finding myself with more free time than I would really like. My mind has wondered with several ideas of how to help people on an individual level. I know some very decent, intelligent, hard working people, who are stifled by lack of opportunity and intense poverty. People who I consider friends, and who I want to help because they never ask for it. I am going to start putting these ideas into action, so stay tuned.
I seriously considered going home early, and cutting my losses, but things like that remind me of why I came here and renew my motivation to get things done. There is a reminder of some sort every day, so here I will remain and focus on making an impact.
After hefty delay and much ado, I was able to sit around a table with my VSO programme manager and the Deputy Mayor this week. I was expecting to have a heated argument, but the council seemed to be genuinely accepting of my reasons for leaving, and they appealed to me at length to change my mind, promising to take action to rectify the issues. This would involve firing a number of staff. After several hours of persuasion, I have agreed to wait another couple of weeks so that I can meet with the Mayor when he returns from Europe. When that happens (sometime between Christmas and New Year) we will discuss a way forward for the council, and a possible return to work for me. It seems I have more power than I had first realised.
Meanwhile, I am working for the college and finding myself with more free time than I would really like. My mind has wondered with several ideas of how to help people on an individual level. I know some very decent, intelligent, hard working people, who are stifled by lack of opportunity and intense poverty. People who I consider friends, and who I want to help because they never ask for it. I am going to start putting these ideas into action, so stay tuned.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Big News
So, I quit my job.
I promised myself when I came here that I would stand by my principles and Makeni City Council has left me little option. I don't want to say much about why – this country has had more than its fair share of bad publicity in recent years, and I still want to be a part of its (hopefully positive) future.
So I find myself without a job in Sierra Leone. I don't plan on coming home just yet. VSO are not happy. They are coming to Makeni for a crisis meeting on Monday 8th. But I have a plan.
Father Joe has offered me a role as Project and Development Officer at Fatima. I have arranged to spend this week at the Fatima Institute, working voluntarily on some funding proposals and small scale projects. If that works out then I will be talking to VSO to try to transfer my placement. I have a good feeling, the projects look realistic and interesting, and I would be working under a very able and supportive boss. I would even have electricity at work (between 9am and 1pm at least)!
So that is the state of play. I am hopeful that VSO will transfer the placement, when they hear me out next Monday I'm sure they'll understand why I quit, and they have had volunteers working at Fatima in the past.
So I have a week of waiting. I will be playing in two league matches this week for Megbente, and I'll probably continue the prolific amount of reading and writing I have been doing lately whilst I wait for the resolution of my future here in West Africa. Watch this space!
I promised myself when I came here that I would stand by my principles and Makeni City Council has left me little option. I don't want to say much about why – this country has had more than its fair share of bad publicity in recent years, and I still want to be a part of its (hopefully positive) future.
So I find myself without a job in Sierra Leone. I don't plan on coming home just yet. VSO are not happy. They are coming to Makeni for a crisis meeting on Monday 8th. But I have a plan.
Father Joe has offered me a role as Project and Development Officer at Fatima. I have arranged to spend this week at the Fatima Institute, working voluntarily on some funding proposals and small scale projects. If that works out then I will be talking to VSO to try to transfer my placement. I have a good feeling, the projects look realistic and interesting, and I would be working under a very able and supportive boss. I would even have electricity at work (between 9am and 1pm at least)!
So that is the state of play. I am hopeful that VSO will transfer the placement, when they hear me out next Monday I'm sure they'll understand why I quit, and they have had volunteers working at Fatima in the past.
So I have a week of waiting. I will be playing in two league matches this week for Megbente, and I'll probably continue the prolific amount of reading and writing I have been doing lately whilst I wait for the resolution of my future here in West Africa. Watch this space!
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