Hloliday Time / Life

Holiday Time in Salone
Kabala is a magical place where for centuries Muslims and Christians have lived side by side peacefully sharing their respective religious holidays. The tribal customs and relationship with extended family are the glue and, while almost seamlessly intertwined, also seem to supersede loyalty to religious custom. And so the Christmas and New year Holiday is enjoyed equally by all and accounts for a rather extended display of cultural events including dances, visits from bush devils, sweets and general deviation from routine for about 2 weeks. Schools close and extended families begin to make the annual trek to Kabala – well known for it's New Year celebration on “the hill”. The huge build up to Christmas begins, shockingly for us Westerners, on December 24th! Preparations begin the day before, more or less, and involve finding a few festive decorations and planning the meal of jollof rice for a crowd. Some folks complained rather loudly about the Christmas carolers who had the audacity to come to our house a whole week before Christmas to sing and collect money for their group! Apparently, this was an unsanctioned trounce on tradition and the choir was verbally flogged. Nonetheless, from our perspective, the delay in festivities was a beautiful breath of fresh air and allowed us to enjoy the 24th and 25th fully.
Per our usual Oikos Hollow tradition, we tied a few tree branches together and placed some African cloth at it's base. We had brought a short string of battery powered lights to place on the tree and lit Xmas day. The kids woke and found their sock or hat nailed to the wall and filled with an 8 count box of Laughing Cow cheese wedges and a banana. This brought smiles and gratitude as the well liked cheese tends to be doled out carefully given its relative expense and our budget. Then it was off to the Christian Reform church for services. Everyone was decked out in their best gara (African tie dyed) cloth and the service was two full hours of voices lifted, hips swinging, hands clapping to the beat of drums, calabash shakers and keyboard. The remainder of the day was spent stuffing ourselves with Merah's amazing Jollof rice in the company of Peacemaker and family.

But let's get to New Year's Day!
A Kabala Specialty, indeed. Travelers from near and far descend en mass on Kabala to participate in the cultural events and general festivities. Even Salone's president, Bai Koroma, made the trip this year adding a special element of excitement to the celebration. On New year's Eve we managed to get a seat about 50 feet from President Koroma during the 11 tribe deep cultural presentations. Unfortunately, not all groups got to perform as there was much vying (at times fairly strenuous/physical) for some microphone time in front of the president by various Kabala entities.
The next order of business occurred on New Year's Day – it was time to climb “the hill”. Kabala is flanked on the West by a rather broad, high hill with a plateau like top. Some of the more adventurous (and usually young) New Year's adventurers make the VERY steep 30 – 40 minute rocky climb to enjoy the day overlooking the town of Kabala and partaking in various substances depending on the company they are keeping. In our case, that meant drinking a soda and having some biscuits. Some of the more enterprising folks had made their way up the hill the day before with a veritable shop full of goods to be sold the next day. One person even hauled up a generator so they could run a popcorn machine!! Many of the younger folks brought water to wash and their “bluff” clothes so they could change into them and walk around looking cool with and for their buddies. Per usual, we were dusty, dirty and under dressed for the occasion!
The view from Kabala Hill is breathtaking. Miles and miles of rolling, tree studded, sub Saharan savanna falls away in all directions. Villages are tucked in distant hollers or up on far away hills. Few are visible from our perch but I know they are there, quietly going about the business of surviving in Sierra Leone.
 


 





Hawa, our fearless and ever vigilant friend, nursemaid, cook strongly advised us to begin the descent to Kabala before the inebriated crowds began to get the same idea. Apparently, there tends to be a mad rush for the trail at some point which then turns into a chaotic throng of humanity in various states of inebriation. Her discomfort with staying on the rock seemed to grow by the minute, so we heeded her warning and started to pick our way down the rocky path. No sooner had we emerged into the Kargbo compound then a strange hum started to rise from right out of the trees. This hum of humanity quickly began to crescendo into a roar and then became a veritable cacophony of shrieks and screams. We continued to gaze upward and, much to our surprise and amazement, we saw a plume of dust rise above the trees along the route of the path we had descended what seemed like only moments before. An ominous, sobering experience at the time however it didn't translate into an influx of walking wounded to the clinic that day or the next as I expected. In fact, since the path taken leads next to our guesthouse, what we saw included groups of laughing, boisterous, adrenaline filled youth making their way past us towards town. Thus ended Holiday mode and we made our way toward post Holiday activities.

The Home Educated Attend School 
Kai, Haven and Ahmae spent parts of the next few weeks observing and participating in the Amadea and UMC Heritage Schools. They made some new friends and got an education in how school days unfold in Salone. It was a bit shocking for them to find out that kids are “flogged” if they misbehave or do not complete their homework or do poorly on tests. After discussing this technique with friends/other students, they found out that from the student perspective, flogging was an accepted and expected practice, and that true discipline could not exist without it. Agree or disagree, it was an education on many levels. Kai had an opportunity to spend a few days teaching math and seemed to really enjoy doing so. It's unclear how much additional time will be spent in school as our time is short here but we'll see and if they ever come back, they'll have a place to land that will welcome them wholeheartedly.

 




Bellay Uman Dun Cam
 (Belly Woman Done Come or Pregnant woman in labor has arrived)
The dry, cool, harmattan winds blow gently into our room well into the night. The fronds of a nearby oil palm tree scratched the corrugated tin roof rhythmically first this way, then that, a bit like the swinging of a hammock. On such a night, it's not unusual to find myself drifting in and out of sleep, enjoying the scents and sounds making their way through the mosquito screened window. Half awake yet, I hear the sound of flip flops on dirt road and then a voice in a full whisper said “Aunti Lisa, bellay uman dun cam”. I rise quickly, put on clothes I'm willing to have soiled in a birthing sorta way, grab a flashlight, and walk the fifty yards under moonlit sky to the unlit birthing room at the Nar Sarah clinic. Unfortunately, our solar power only provides light until about midnight.
Hawa was lying on one of the two delivery room beds quietly breathing through what appeared to be fairly active labor. Sarah Fofanah, community health worker/midwife was already there and preparing the equipment for delivery. She would murmur an occasional “Na foh bia” if Hawa was too vocal. This means, the pain is to be born/managed. Crying out is not a valued response to pain in this culture. Hawa changed positions frequently taking care to move her African lappa around her as she labored towards full dilation. A few minutes later we all heartily welcomed her healthy newborn on into the world. We then did what midwives do and Hawa did what new mothers do and the baby boy did what newborns do. The dark room remained dark as the babe was put to breast and Lisa entered the cool breeze of the starry night soon to be filled with the 5:00am morning call to prayer over the loudspeaker at the Kabala central Mosque. Allahamdulilai.
 

A Meandering Walk 


The sun hung gently in the afternoon sky creeping closer to the towering, forested Kabala Hill that keeps its 24 hr watch over this remote African town. Its mid afternoon and Michael and I prepare for one of our frequent walks into the town center about a 3/4 miles away. Although its really hard to tell distance because no one ever really walks a straight line there. Most take one of the many "by passes";roads that weave this way and that, kinda Kickapoo like, really, through back yards and side yards and over gutters and thru swamps.We've managed to memorize the landmarks over the last month. These include broken down cars, cabbage patches, the Paramount chief's compound, back yard wells, school yards. We weave thru people in much the same way exchanging greetings with the very young and the very old and everyone in between. Some call out 'white' and others holler "WHITE". Some call us by the names they have learned, "Auntie Lisa" and "Uncle Michael".

 


We walk by cooking fires with pots bubbling with country rice and stools where a ceramic bowl or plate is filled with some salable delicacy and usually tended by a child or old or young woman. Greetings are exchanged, some long and full, some quick but giving the clear message that ones presence and work has been acknowledged. We reach Thunder Hill market and converse easily with the groundnut lady who sells us 5 cups of roasted g'nuts for Le 9,000. Then up the road to the sugar lady where we buy two cups of white sugar to sweeten our morning coffee or tea. Across the street we meet with our Lebanese merchant friend to change dollars and buy some needed medicine for a neighbor child who has asthma. Greetings going into the store, greetings going out, greetings as we continue on our way to a vendor with a collapsible table selling a variety of tidbits. I purchase some sweet crackers to take to 8 yr old Aminata in the hospital. She managed to step too close to a cooking fire last week while wearing a skirt. It caught fire burning her thighs and yoni terribly. I've taken her under my wing and do her dressing changes every other day. Hopefully, the crackers will help her recovery from the pain of the procedure. She cries, as one wouldexpect, but is admonished by the nurses "Na foh bia" - It (the pain)is to be born/tolerated. She manages fine and I finish up and collect Michael from outside in the courtyard. We start to circle backtowards guesthouse working our way thru the swamp and by a house where we always take time to greet the Pa. He offers us freshly roasted groundnuts as a thank you and all round thoughtful gesture. Sweet.We aim for Pa Bah's and Kadiatu's shop where Michael purchase bread each morning. They are traditional Muslim Fullah's and tend to be the local bread makers among other talents. We sit on the small porch and narrow benches and share the discoveries of the day. Kadiatu's Ma is there as well as her Uncle - a nice surprise. Kai and Ahmae come over from the Lagunda restaurant where they were planning to imbibe their daily cold beverage of choice - only coke available today, though.They greet appropriately as they know it's expected and rewarded with praise from our new friends. We depart and cross the road to Abu Baka's place and order our drinks sipping them casually, unhurriedly over the next hour while discussing inconsequential things. The day dims quickly with dusk descending upon us by 6:30. So we say our thank yous and goodbyes and head into the grey punctuated by kerosene lights, motorcycle headlights, an occasional LED shop lamp and greeting hop our way to the guesthouse where we find Haven surrounded by the neighbor friends. We stop to say good night to Merah and Old Hawa first in Krio then in Koronko... Ma Soma Yo, I Kinden Ki - Yo  Good night and Sleep Fine.

 DEATH

I was struck the other day by a reaction I got from a 15 yo neighbor boy regarding the death of a 13 yo I had just seen at the hospital. I entered the hospital compound to the sounds of the mother wailing then into the ward where his wrapped body was lying on a bed in full view of the other ward patients. The 15 yo Foday started laughing at my account and obvious sympathetic leanings toward the Mom and he just belly laughed and said "What, did you think he wasn't going to die at some point?" He shook his head at me smiling. Silly white woman. Makes one pause, again, and again,and again.



The Dworschacks Arrival 

The Dworschack's, our home school buds and intrepid travelers, had committed to joining us in our African adventure some time ago. We had been anxiously awaiting and planning for their arrival for a number of weeks. Finally, the day to go to Freetown and facilitate their arrival thru airport and Freetown chaos arrived. First, we had to walk the mile into town at 4:00am in order to buy tickets and get on the pubic transport to F'Town. We were excited about the idea of sitting on a bus where the purchase of one ticket actually means one seat. Ah, but it's not actually that clear of a relationship in reality. First, all the luggage was loaded on top. It was stuffed into nets and secured as there were no racks. Then the passengers filed in and we had a seat number in our hand. We then watched with utter dismay as folding seats were set up in the bus aisle. These seats have no back so one can not hope to lean on anything and get any shut eye during the long 8 hr ride to Freetown. Then the chickens were placed on their respective owners laps or allowed to run freely under the seats all the time doing what chickens do best. The best part, however, was when dawn was peaking through and the first of the roosters started crowing in the morning on the bus. A combination of the chicken excrement, packed humanity and the intensifying humidity, the olfactory overload became, well, ...memorable. I truly Tel Gohd Tenki for windows that open.

We made our way to the Government Wharf constantly fighting being overcharged by taxis due to our skin color and finally got on the 6:30 ferry to Lungi. We enjoyed a beautiful, serene view of the bay and F'Town structures rising up the hill sides as dusk settled in. Remember, this capital of 3 million has yet to regain 24 electricity making for a muted scene at dusk. Bats are known to occupy the city and surrounding area and much to our surprise and delight, began their nightly hunt for insects just as we were on the ferry. We watched hundreds of them dipping here and there over the water, some flying high some just skimming the surface. They were much bigger than the ones we are used to seeing in the States.
Fortunately, the plane was on the time and we were able to collect our friends and whisk them back onto the ferry for the return ride to F'Town. We stayed at St Edward's Retreat House then caught the Very Early transport to Kabala. We missed getting on the one seat one ticket bus and managed to find an even more “cozy” vehicle giving the D's a chance to immerse quickly into life in Salone!