Fun facts about chimpanzees:
*They share 98% of our DNA
*They are 5 times stronger than a man
*They are highly social and live in communities
*There are an estimated 4-7,000 living in Sierra Leone
*They are super cute!!

We spent last night in the jungle at a chimp reserve that works to rehabilitate abandoned, injured and sick chimps. Today we hiked to a lake and then waterfall (with the help of our two small but knowledgeable guides). It is certainly a beautiful country. I will miss this place.

picnic on leister peek overlooking freetown










stephen's death grip on his first motor bike. to be fair it was pouring rain for most of it and the roads really do take horrible to a whole new level.








the beach!!!!!!












me blending in at the market. stephen was a bit overwhelmed with the 'white man' shouts every 10 seconds. i am looking forward to the return of anonymity (plus flushing toilets, a real bug free bed, cheese, real chocolate...)









celebration dinner after our wild adventure in the bush. yes, that is real champagne we are drinking!!!

Bintumani

Disclaimer: this post is written by Stephen who has had a more recent introduction to Sierra Leone
After 6 hours of walking, Becca had given up on the car coming to get us. We had spent the previous days navigating through Sierra Leone to get to Mt. Bintumani and were tired from walking in the African sun and humidity. The route to the mountain is not simple. A six hour bus ride from Freetown to Kabala is the first and simplest step. Then the haggling begins. Finding a way to travel the 40 odd miles from Kabala to the village of Sinekuro is first hurdle. Having been here for six months, Becca is a master negotiator, and dove into the task of talking with every motorbike and 4x4 driver in Kabala. After hours (and hours) of searching we finally found a car willing to take us to Sinekuro. Or rather, close to Sinekuro. It turns out that in rainy season the Seki River level rises enough that it is impassable to cars. We were assured by the guide book and by the drivers that our village was only an hour and a half walk from the river. After 4 hours of bouncing down a nasty dirt road we arrived at the river and happily bid our ride goodbye with plans to meet them a few days later back at the river. The 1.5 hour walk from the river ended up being 3.5 hours in full African sun, including a meeting with the chief and elders of a small community we mistakenly took for our destination only to discover it was another hour this time in the rain until we arrived exhausted in Sinekuro where, once again, meeting with the chief and hours of haggling were required to agree on a price for the guide to take us to the mountain.

Once on the mountain we had an amazing time. The hike started in the village farms and thick forest but as we came to our camp the forest opened to lush grass looking more like Scotland than Africa. The air was cool (finally), the views amazing, and it was fun to compare with our last hikes on Mt. Adams in New Hampshire and in Utah. We also got to try some local flavor including an 8am dose of palm wine, which smells like rotten egg, the ubiquitous rice and sauce, and snacks of groundnuts (peanuts). Unfortunately we did not get to try the tortoise.

The route back also proved interesting as we trekked the 7.5 miles back to the river and debated whether or not our drivers would return for us. After crossing the river, we began to get nervous that our diver might have forgotten us. When we arrived at the next village, our fears were confirmed when a woman told us that "The white car come to the river and look for you yesterday. It go home." Our driver had come a day early...

We still don't know what the hell this lady was talking about. After another hour or two of dejected walking we heard the roar of a land cruiser. Our driver had had a flat tire. After filling the car with people and food to sell at the market (including chickens that kept pecking at Becca's feet) we arrived in Kabala and took the next bus to Freetown. Now to celebrate with a nice bottle of champagne that managed to find a way from London to Freetown in my bag!!!

Stephen sucking on a bag of water in Kabala getting ready for the next round of negotiating.










Becca holding a bird that the village kids brought her.








Our guide and his dinner (who peed and pooped on him in one last act of defiance)...











Mount Bintimani in the morning light.









Our camp on the mountain.









View from camp.










View from near the top.







The trail to the top going straight up.


















Becca crossing the Seki River.













Happy to see the driver (although not as happy to start negotiating the price again)

dehn ple futbol (they play soccer)

Yesterday, we put on a football game at the juvenile prison. If you remember, I posted a while back about interviewing boys from the prison. Their requests were so simple and really stuck with me, especially their desire to play football. CVT often puts on community activities. Football is a great way to build community and provide a positive outlet for one's emotions. So, I got permission from my supervisor and the prison to organize a match.

The boys are not allowed to leave the prison so they cleared the field in the back. Everyone was out working, some hacking away with machetes, others removing large rocks and debris, and a few fashioning goals out of sticks. The results were passable, although a little worrisome as most of the boys do not own shoes and thus had to play barefoot. I refereed the game. The boys were great, really great. No fights, very little fouls and not a single person questioned any of my decisions!!

We even got a few drops of rain. As most of you know, playing soccer in the rain is one of my all time favorite things. All in all a good time and a perfect afternoon.

Here is some of what I see: an expensive house in the bush (possibly where the chief resides), a more typical grass and mud hut, a young girl dressed in tribal clothing followed by one impressive woman, a family walking and lots of beach (filled with people and harmattan haze the day before Easter, locals playing soccer at sunset and today with claire and looming thunder clouds).

"Justice"

Last week, I saw a person being stoned. Hardly recognizable as a human, covered in dirt and blood, he moaned. People threw stones and a large crowd watched.

The UN Convention Against Torture defines torture as ” ...any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him, or a third person, information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person.”

Could this fit the definition any more precisely?

The irony and horror of our position, 2 counselors (who specialize and work with torture victims) driving in a car plastered with the logo “Center for Victims of Torture”, was so clear me. Our mission is to “heal the wound of torture on individuals, their families and their communities and to STOP torture worldwide” and yet we merely drove past.

I was stunned. I felt sick to my stomach and appalled.

My bottom line is that I do not think that stoning a person is ever ok no matter the alleged crime. Yet, it is a form of tribal or vigilante justice, and even I, on reflection, have to admit that ‘justice’ has some merit. There is no formal, functioning justice system here. If you want to file a police report you have to pay them and still nothing happens. So in this void, vigilante justice prevails. A society where there is no punishment or consequence for crime is a dangerous society, especially in a place where poverty and suffering are so ripe. These very public displays of punishment do act as an effective deterrent and crime rates here, I would wager, are lower than in NY City. I feel perfectly comfortable walking down the street alone at 2am.

This topic led me to the inevitable comparison with our justice system. Our’s certainly is not without flaws: the death penalty (where we have killed innocent people), our skewed death row populous, skewed overall populous of 'criminals', disproportionate sentences for similar crimes (i.e. crack vs cocaine)… Even sadder is the fact that we spend more money to incarcerate people in the US than to educate them. “It costs approximately $52 a day to house, feed and secure a prisoner. Surprisingly, we spend approximately $25 a day to educate a student in a public school.” Despite extensive input of financial resources, we still have some of the highest crime rates. How can warehousing individuals do any good for our society? A black man is more likely to go to jail than go to college in the US. Is this the kind of justice we want to export abroad?

Clearly our model is not one to be held up on a pedestal and neither is their’s. The removed nature of our system makes it more palpable for sure but arguably no more humane or fair and perhaps even less effective. It is a depressing subject with no easy solutions on any side of the oceans.

Today was one of those days that make all the frustrations and doubts worthwhile and reminded me just why I am here. According to one of my 13 year old clients, “We call ourselves the ‘Helping Group’ because that is what we do” and that sums up what I am doing or hoping to do here. These ten girls walked into our office as shy, self-conscious, unassuming girls who would not look me in the eye, let alone speak to me, and in ten weeks transformed into loud, passionate young women who know how to move and even managed to remember and apply every week's topic!!

We a it? (What do I eat?)

To all of my foodie friends, this one is for you.


crayfish at the beach served with the typical couscous and onions sauce, yum!







black tumbler, a pinkish furry seedpod hides inside that you suck on, very sweet and amusing to eat.



This is me eating an orange. They shave off the outside, you bite off the top and then suck out the juice. It is nice and clean and satisfying.



...Of course I couldn't write about food and not put cassava leaves in. Soaked in palm oil and spices, leaves (cassava or potato) over rice is our country staple.


Served in a plastic bag (Sierra Leone version of take-out), this is my FAVORITE street food and the only one that includes real vegetables! A fried cassava grain with hot sauce served with spaghetti (I pass on that), lettuce, onion, tomato, cucumber, hard-boiled egg, fried plantains and a whole fish!!! Then they top it with ketchup and mayonnaise (this country has a love affair with mayonnaise that I simply cannot embrace).

Yogurt, or some relative of it. They do not have milk in this country so I am still confused on how they make it or what is in it. On a hot day, which is literally everyday here, it is the perfect snack. This delightful treat, served partially frozen, is what fills the coolers of baby carriages here (see picture from first or second blog). Bite off the corner and enjoy!!!


Lastly, here is a picture of Fatmata and her vegetable stand holding up some palm oil for effect.

Condemnation and Confinement of Youth

Today, my survey brought me to a place that captured the heartbreak of Sierra Leone, a youth prison. Boys age 10-17, committed for 6 months to 3 years for various offensives, live beyond barbwire and metal bars. I do not know the specifics of these boys’ stories but I do not have to. In my opinion there is nothing, absolutely nothing, a 10 year old can do that deserves 3 years wasted behind bars.

Beaten into submission and subjected to a life of complete control and dependence, these boys presented as scared, docile creatures. Their requests were so simple and basic. “I would like help to return to school.” “I would like the office to help us get medical service and footwear.” “Our movements are very restricted. If you can help us to play football, I would like it very much.” School, medical care and football (soccer to us) so simple and yet, so far out of reach for these boys.

Why is Sierra Leone poor?

There are so many explanations, but the complete disregard for its youth, as was so painfully clear with the condemnation and confinement of these boys, is definitely high on my list. Yet, even in the depths of their despair, glimmers of hope and resilience survived. When asked about our program, “What does CVT do?” these were some of their responses:

“They (CVT) teach us to be better people for tomorrow. They encourage us. We call our group ‘One Family’ and they became our family. I was an orphan, but now I have a family again.”
“CVT works with people whose heart is spoiled and help them make their heart whole again.”
“They advise torture victims, like me. They treat us fine, fine and help us believe in a future, my future.”

So, the true tragedy of Sierra Leone is its lack of investment in its children. UNICEF estimates that 68% of children attend primary school and that number declines to an even more pathetic 20% for secondary school. School, medical care and football, yes, these things would make a huge difference for the boys I spoke with and the entire country.

Surveys

After what seemed like an interminable wait, nothing happens quickly in this country, I have finally commenced my survey. I created a satisfaction survey to assess people’s opinion of the program and find out how the program could be improved. My goal is to interview 200 clients, although this seems less feasible every day. Each interview takes approximately 20 minutes. I am accompanied by one of the PSC who acts as my translator and community liaison.

After two week of surveys, I have a love hate relationship with them. I love being fully enmeshed in the community. I get to see communities that I never new existed. I have the privilege of spending time talking to people and listening to their experiences. And of course, I am learning a great deal. But, and these are big buts, logistics are a nightmare.

Simply finding clients is arduous. We have a master list of all clients. However, glaringly absent is information such as addresses and phone numbers since our clients do not have these. We know only what community they lived in at the time of participation. Many clients have relocated back to their villages, some have moved within the communities and others are simply out. So we wander around aimlessly in the hot, hot sun asking people if they know where to find so and so. Turns out, I am a planner. I like things to be on time and organized. This is hopeless and laughable here, and it is driving me a bit crazy. (On a side note, I attempted to go to this cultural competition on Monday night with friends. It was suppose to start at 6, so we went at 7:30. By 10 it still had not started so we bailed. I don’t think I will ever get used to African time.)

Confidentiality is another headache. We are interviewing in very poor areas where even a bench is a rare luxury. As a result I am often forced to conduct the interview outside, which often leads to an enormous crowd. Additionally, confidentiality seems culturally incomprehensible. People do not want to talk alone and there seems to be no understanding of privacy. People invite their mother, sister, neighbor and random child to come sit with us during the interview. I think this is most likely a combination of the communal nature of society here and the fact that talking to a ‘white girl’ connotes importance and they are anxious to display that. Stopping the interview to disperse the crowd seems to only insight more interest and draw larger crowds. The concept of confidentiality seems to be solely a western construction and completely incongruous with Sierra Leoneans. Even giving the introduction to the survey, explaining that the survey is anonymous and their names will not be reported with their answers, seems to confound people as evident in this participants response, “No, no you use my name. This is my name. I want people to know.” I wonder if confidentiality is necessary or if it is just a way of me imposing my value system on them.

The mere structure of the questions is problematic. One chunk of the survey asks participants to respond on a scale (strongly disagree, disagree, neutral, agree, strongly agree). This concept does not seem to translate well into Krio as all responses are either strongly disagree or strongly agree. These people have strong opinions. I have yet to receive any answers in the middle. Actually, it was not until my 10th interview that I received any ‘strongly disagree’ answers. I was thrilled to finally find someone disenchanted with the program. My translator did not share this sentiment and proceeded to lecture the participant about not being grateful for the services, ugg!! Luckily, I know enough Krio to intervene and explain that we wanted honest answers and I greatly appreciated his willingness to share his experience with us.

The overwhelmingly positive response is another problem and has me thinking about the neutrality of the survey. It is possible that people are simply pleased with the services. Or despite my preamble that participants will not receive any benefits for participation, nor will there be any consequences blah blah blah, there might be some feeling that if they give positive responses they are more likely to receive additional service. Or that people are so deprived that they are overjoyed with any program. Additionally, people are not taught to think critically here. When asking them to critique a program and provide suggestions for improvement or examples of what they dislike, I am met with blank stares.

Translation is probably my biggest headache of all. I know enough Krio that I know my translator does not translate things accurately. One of the questions I ask is, "What does CVT do?" An interviewee responded, "CVT heals your heart by talking, not with pill medicine like doctors, but with words and it makes you feel happy." What a great sentence and perfect qualitative data but the translation I received was "they make you better by talking.”

Easter

It was a rough start to a great day. I woke up hung-over from too many mango margaritas the night before but managed to pull myself together, refuel on one glorious mini-bag of Cadbury eggs my mom had the foresight to send with me in January and convince Erlan to come to church. The rest of our friends bailed, opting instead for the beach. Throw out all your conceptualization of quiet, reverent church. At the Vine Memorial Baptist Mission, the noise level competes with that of a booming nightclub, the dress is more entertaining and the energy is palpable and contagious. These people can really belch out a tune and they take every opportunity to do so. They dance with equal enthusiasm, hips gyrating, hands clapping. You can feel their faith. Loud amped up drumming and some bold African dresses make the scene complete. People here, young, old, fat or thin are not afraid to make a fashion statement and wear vibrant, bold colors.

For the afternoon, we hopped on some motorbikes and roared off to Baptist falls. After a few stumbles, one fall for Erlan and one marriage proposal for me, we made it dust-covered to the trail. Hiking through the village toward the falls, we accumulated an entourage of young boys ranging in age from 1-16 (picture to come soon!). Together we splashed in the water, climbed the waterfall and shared a snack of groundnut-pineapple sandwiches (one of my favorites, and a big hit with everyone). Unable to find a ride back, Erlan and I hiked the two hours back to town and finished the day with some warm beer. It was a very happy Easter indeed.

Me in my African Easter dress and beads! My camera is having problems, so I was stuck documenting the morning with my computer.