Preparations and Landing in Salone...

Yet another adventure begins as mom and dad drop me off at the LAX airport and worry about what I am about to get myself into. From their end, I cannot imagine what the difference this trip will be from any other…except maybe three months away and being pretty disconnected. I mean I have definitely left for 6 weeks at a time without calling home more than maybe once…and this time I have a cell phone. And when I have emailed home on previous trips, it seems to go unnoticed and mostly without reply.

Nonetheless, my parents dropped me off, and for once, I wanted to cry. I really am not sure why…it may have been because I didn’t have my usual travel companions with me, or because I was going to be working for someone else without having too much say in the work. I guess I wouldn’t even really know that since work hasn’t even started yet…but…I was actually sad.

I texted Carolina, who is also interning in Salone for the summer, to see if she had yet checked in. I hadn’t received a reply for hours and got worried she had backed out of it. As I got into the security line, I kept looking around for her as if she would just walk right up to me. But she didn’t. I started to get really worried as I was walking up to the gate as people were boarding and I still hadn’t heard from her. I sat down to make some last calls before I took off, and as I got in line to board, I saw her turned around in line in front of me excitedly waving. This helped part of the anxiety and wonder of whether I was going to be on this adventure on my own.

I knew having Carol with me this summer would be great for so many reasons. Of course I would have one of my dearest friends from my program with me, which is always wonderful. But I will also just have a familiar face near me, in general. But I also just knew that a part of me that likes being nurturing would be kicked into gear, and that I would want to take care of and protect Carol. Not that she needed it, but it made me turn on a part of me that I needed to have on and be alert for this summer.

Regardless of how much I fly, I haven’t been completely comfortable with it in years. As I have gotten older, and maybe realized how much more I want to do in my life, I have grown to be more afraid of flying. However, this is the first time I flew without any concern whatsoever. Again, maybe it was because I had Carol with me and I wanted to seem strong…or maybe it is because I am on the right path and this whole trip is meant to be.

To further convince me that there “are no coincidences” (thank you, Celestine Prophecies), I met an American woman from Sierra Leone who was returning home after being away for 20 years. I met her as we both ran to use the restroom on the flight from London to Freetown. Well, we stopped in Marrakesh to fill up on gas, but as we were waiting for 45 minutes, we were not allowed to use the restroom. When they finally allowed us to, many of us ran to the back…but then were immediately told to sit down.

So we just sat in the back as we took off again, so that when we were allowed to take off our seatbelts, we would be one of the first allowed in the bathroom. I learned that she was actually from the San Fernando Valley, and was an epidemiologist for the LA Sheriff’s Department. She is here with the West African Medical Mission where she will be teaching classes in public health at various universities in Freetown…from what she was told anyway. I have learned there is much discrepancy between what to expect and what is real. Anyway, I thought about how perfect the project seemed to be for mom. I mean, a public health/epidemiological project in Freetown, especially as a lecturer, so mom’s hands don’t have to get TOO dirty just yet.

Overall, the flights were easy. As always, I got sneezy and stuffy on the planes. It never fails. I didn’t sleep too much, but I definitely rested my eyes a ton on the flights. I think a part of me got anxious about Sergio, my supposed subtenant, and how that all was going to play out. Then I realized that I was probably creating my own anxiety, and had nothing to worry about…regardless of what happened with him. I seem to do that to myself – not allow myself to just relax and be present. I often find myself creating more work for no reason.

Then I started thinking about Fall 2011, and what it will look like. I am SO Type A that of course I have to plan my semester the summer before…before I am even at my summer internship. But I was thinking about my capstone, and trying to come up with what I want my research to actually be. Is it looking at the significance of forgiveness? I mean, I am in the perfect place to learn how it is possible. After so many atrocities in the Civil War, so many communities came together to reconcile. They did it on their own and not by any governmental mandate. They did it because they truly understood the importance of forgiving one another…and the need for one another to truly rehabilitate their society. I want to learn how they did it and how they do it…is it something engrained? Something that has been a part of their culture for generations or did they have to learn it for this last awful event?

I also thought about the significance of storytelling, especially in the realm of trauma healing. Of course, this just made me excited about getting home and applying what I learn to Word Play! and the youth we will be working with. I would love the opportunity to apply the curriculum to former child soldiers, “war babies”, and others who have a special need to share their stories with the world. Where better to implement storytelling than in a culture rich of oral histories?! A part of me feels like this research may be more applicable to myself and my community at home. However, I also know the need to learn forgiveness within the West, and how misunderstood it means. Our huge human egos often tell us that to apologize or to forgive is a sign of weakness…holding grudges, being angry, and placing blame feels more natural to many of us.

This is just an example of all the thoughts going through my head on the flights. On the London leg, I noticed there were many white people. It just made me realize how many people were probably going to be in Freetown doing various projects. One part of me immediately got annoyed because it reminded me of northern Uganda and all the various NGOs who saturated it. It didn’t bother me that people wanted to help, obviously, but it somewhat created a culture of entitlement. It hindered the people from trying to help themselves, and instead create their own solutions and be self-reliant. The other part of me realized these people were probably no different from myself – people who care to make this world a better place, and want to learn from the locals, as well.

UPON LANDING

As Veronica suggested, I looked at Carolina when we landed and told her to take a deep breath before we really hit the frenzy that is the Freetown airport. As soon as the plane doors opened, we booked it to the front of the immigration line so we wouldn’t waste time there. Ann-Marie, the lady we were in communication with about our lodging, had apparently sent a guy named Ibissa to take care of us. We saw my name on the torn up cardboard, and went to him. She sang high praises of him and how reliable he was, so I figured I would have to trust him. We got through immigration quickly, and our bags came in no time. As we went through customs in seconds, people started to swarm us to get in a taxi, etc. We knew we had Ibissa, so we let all the drivers know. For some reason, Ibissa kept leaving us telling us he would be right back. I am not quite sure why. While we were waiting for him at one point, he told me to exchange my money and buy my sim card. Before I left the States, the exchange rate was supposed to be 1 to 4480. When I exchanged money at the airport, it was closer to 4300…I thought I had no choice, so I exchanged $60. I also bought my sim card, which I found out later was overpriced. This was what was suggested to me by various individuals, but I wish I would’ve waited. As we waited for Ibissa to reappear, a second man asked us for our bag tags. I explained I already showed another guy but he insisted to know the name of the man who checked. I looked at him in disbelief – did he notice that I wasn’t exactly a local who would know the names of the airport employees? He honestly got pretty ticked that I couldn’t identify which man had asked for my tags earlier. As I was trying to balance all my bags to look for the bag tag again, the gentleman who had checked earlier came to our rescue and told him he had already checked. The jerk looked at me and said, “If you had been able to tell me who it was earlier, I wouldn’t have asked so much”. I thought to myself, “Please tell me other people in this country will be kinder than this man.” Finally, Ibissa came back.

Then, after we finally exited the airport, we walked over to Pelican water taxi. I had heard there were various ports of entry in Freetown, but Ibissa helped us purchase the $40 (USD) tickets for the water taxi and load us into a van to the port. There was no rhyme or reason to what was going on…you couldn’t tell who worked where or if they were just locals walking around. Once I got in the van, I noticed my bags weren’t there, and the driver kept promising a few of us that the bags would show up at the port, as well, but in a different van. Why we trusted them, I don’t know. And I didn’t lock up my bags. Ibissa said goodbye and said a driver would pick us up at the other side of the bay. He then told me that Ann-Marie told him I had a gift for him. For the life of me, I could not understand what this gift was. I asked him to call Ann-Marie so I could speak to her and clarify what gift I was to give him. She informed me that he means a tip and could not help me figure out how much I should give him. I gave him the equivalent of $1 and when he asked for more to give his friend, I had to say no and walk away. I know they are in more need than me, but I also don’t really have much at this point in my life. Anyway, after we said goodbye to Ibissa and he assured us our bags would find us on the boat, we left for the dock.

I had a moment of concern, and then thought “T.I.A.” – as much as it doesn’t seem to make sense, somehow it does to them. So I figured all would be fine, and it was. We got to the water taxi and waited a few minutes for the bags to load onto the boat. When we were finally allowed onto the dock made of mismatched wooden planks that ferociously rocked to the waves, we attempted to board the small speedboat that was to carry approximately 15 passengers and 30 pieces of luggage. Thankfully, Carolina and my luggage made it into the boat, but many bags were just hanging out on the front of boat, jumping up and down with the breaks. It was quite entertaining. After about 30 minutes and several laughing fits later, Carolina and I got to the other side of the bay.

Whoever was in charge of planning the Freetown airport was high...on crack. There is no doubt. They decided to build it on the other side of the bay where you would either have to drive hours around the peninsula to actually get into Freetown, take a helicopter in (and I hear the Russian pilots are drunk on vodka as they fly you), or take a couple water options. The Pelican water taxi seems to be most popular and supposedly one of the safest ways to get in. Once again, T.I.A.

When we got off the boat, and they started bringing out our bags, Carolina realizes she lost our baggage tags. We had a moment of stress, but since our driver wasn’t there yet, we figured we had time to find the tags. The workers realized we were a tad stressed and asked us to point out our bags and identify ourselves by names (to the bag tags). So, thankfully we were able to get our bags and we waited for our driver. Everyone else was already out of there. A few minutes later, a green Toyota 4Runner pulls up and they can tell we are waiting for them. Before proper introductions, our bags go in the trunk and we jump inside the vehicle. Mama Samara picked us up with Mr. Santos, her driver, and her daughter, Effe. Mama Samara is a heavy set African woman with a deep laugh and a beautiful accent. I definitely thought we would fall in love with her. The three of them made small talk with us and helped us learn a few words in Krio. They laughed at us as we attempted to use our new words.

We drove through Aberdeen and Lumley Beach. It looked beautiful although it was pitch black without street lamps. As we drove up to the compound, it reminded me again of the first night in Kampala when we drove to NAME’s house. As we parked, 5 or 6 dogs ran up barking. For a second, I got scared hoping they wouldn’t always bark at us…but I also appreciated the security. The next day we met Jungle, Doggy, Olivetti, Echo, Fifi, and 50 cent. At some point, we noticed that Echo’s ears were both cut up and raw, almost still bloody. Apparently they all get into fights with one another but not too often. A little disturbing, but…

We walked into a small room with AC blaring…and one bed. At first, I was so tired I didn’t realize this wasn’t the room we signed up for. I just wanted a bed. Then, we asked one of the kids, Emma, in the house if there was another room with a private bath and two beds. They pointed to another room across from ours and said a guy from Denmark lived in it. Apparently the room next to ours was empty, but we figured we would just sleep in the one room at least that night until we understood what was going on a bit more. Later, we find out Emma is sleeping in the other room. Our British roommate, Helen, is coming in a week, so I wonder what happens to Emma at that point. Plus, why does she get a room and not the other kids? Anyway…We were confused and a tad upset, but got ready for bed. They then told us that the lights would be turned off at midnight. I figured they meant we had a curfew at midnight, which was weird, but ultimately I didn’t care. But no. They meant they turn off the generator at midnight. I didn’t know how it would feel without the AC, so I didn’t bug too much about it. But did I learn QUICKLY what that meant.