A go si bak (Goodbye)

In the past saying goodbyes and terminating with clients have been challenging for me. Clients often cry and I have often felt emotionally torn and truly saddened. It seems that there is always more to be done and often there is an explicit call for more, making me feel inadequate for not accomplishing it before, as well as for not continuing and finishing it. For this reason I have been dreading the end of my first group. I expected to feel sad but surprisingly I did not. I am struggling to articulate just how I felt. Ambivalent is not the right word. I was disappointed to have the group end but also ready. I had no feelings of devastation and no desire to continue.

On reflection, numerous possibilities for this sentiment come to mind. Perhaps I am cold, have become hardened by doing this type of work and no longer get as invested or attached to my clients. This is not an explanation I am keen to believe. Or maybe the difference can be attributed to the obvious cultural and linguistic barriers present. Everything is more fluid in this culture. There is not even a proper word for goodbye, rather the exact translation for the Krio phrase "A go si bak" is "I will see you again." While I cannot deny that this could be part of the explanation, I am confident in saying that it was neither the complete nor majority explanation.

More likely, I believe that it can be attributed to the style and emphasis of group work that directs its energy towards group cohesion, placing the emphasis on group members not the therapeutic relationship between client and counselor. This in effect decreases the reliance and even dependence on the counselor. Evidence of this, and in my opinion our success, comes in the fact that the girls appeared to share my sentiments on termination, appearing slightly forlorn but more self-confident and ready to move forward. The girls have created strong bonds among themselves and developed a plan to continue seeing and supporting one another. Today was not to say goodbye to their friends and new support network, it was to say goodbye to the leaders they no longer needed. Focusing on and encouraging the continuation of that relationship and the hope that it brings was an easy and enjoyable substitute from the sadness.

On a sweet side note, the girls presented us with a small gift, a homemade card and a framed thank you poster. These girls have nothing by our Western standards, yet still, they pooled their resources to give us a thank you and show how much the group meant. The gesture was truly moving and touched my heart. It was clear that it meant a lot to them, as they glowed with pride and formally presented it to us. For me it was a sign of their unity and a reclaiming of their dignity and value. I felt as I imagine a proud parent feels seeing their children all grown up and handling things gracefully with maturity beyond their years. I was even more honored afterward when I found out that no group has ever done this in the 9-year history of CVT in Sierra Leone!

Bunce Island

Last weekend, I visited Bunce Island. During its operation, from 1668 until 1807, British slave traders purchased, imprisoned, and loaded up an estimated 50,000 slaves on this very island. Bunce has been called “a little piece of Africa that was destroyed to build America.” The island provided an almost exclusive supply of slaves to be sold in South Carolina, Georgia, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts.

Today it appears dilapidated with crumbling walls succumbing to encroaching jungle, half buried cannons still bearing their colonial crowns, millions of bats who claimed the old dungeon and unlikely lilies offering a sweet surprise. Despite the decrepit state, the island holds an undeniable piece of history. Stepping onto its shores was a haunting but memorable experience. Our guide, a local elder, paddled over in a dugout canoe to give us a tour that was endearing but not overly informative. The most interesting thing I learned was that female slaves were twice the price of their male counterparts, a fact that made the feminist side of me grin with agreement until the humane side regained its righteous indignation against it all.

De Wok (The work)

I don’t talk much about my work because I am unsure of what, how much and how to articulate and share my experience. Since I am about half way through my time here, a bit of reflections on what I am doing seems appropriate. I am doing direct clinical work, conducting trainings and developing/conducting a survey of clients.

I co-facilitate two trauma groups and conduct assessments and follow-ups with my clients in the groups. Currently my groups are on week 6 and week 7 of a ten week session. The groups are great but also very challenging and emotionally draining. Attempting to conduct meaningful counseling when the clients are in ongoing trafficking situations proves frustrating and often greatly disheartening. Hearing that one of my girls was beaten because she was late with the water, that another was not given food for 2 days because she didn’t sell enough fish or that still another was told to go find a man and please him so that he would buy her medicine for her cold, is horrible. Knowing this and then sending them home seems unethical, yet the alternative, call the police or send them back to their village, is even less desirable. In spite of this, I have witnessed their resilient spirit; I have seen the group cohesion develop as the girls become able to trust and support one another; I have felt the relief that sharing their burdens brings; I have experienced the breakdown in the walls of isolation; and I have observed hope in what seems the most unlikely of places and times. Still it is hard and I know why the burn out is so high in this profession.

I thought that my heart and passion were in clinical work. I love working directly with clients. But it turns out that I also love trainings. They have been a welcome break from the emotional ride of my groups. Today, I conducted a workshop on Solution Focused Therapy. I won’t bore all the non-social work readers with the details but let it suffice to say that it is a therapy approach that I especially like and turns out loved teaching. The psychosocial counselors were more engaged than usual and totally got it. They came up with great examples and asked thought provoking questions. We had a wonderful debate about cultural relevance and what clients it should and should not be used with, all very stimulating.

Lastly, I am finally ready to embark on my survey. Gathering input, creating the survey and getting approvals has been a painstakingly slow process. I am attempting to interview 500 clients from our program to assess their satisfaction with services as compared to symptom reduction, type of service, length of service, counselor, etc. Bear in mind that addresses and telephone numbers are luxuries that our clients do not have. Instead I have information about the general area (below the big hill near the small store in…) that they once lived. Tracking them down or attempting to do so will defiantly keep me busy.

That is more or less my work. Questions? Comments? Is anyone even reading this?

taksi en onda (taxis and motorbikes)

Public transportation is a way to get around, a great place to practice Krio and a prime place for a pick-up. After all they have a truly captive audience. The other day, my motorbike driver took ‘captive’ to another level informing me that he would not take me to my destination unless I gave him my phone number. Last week alone I had three marriage proposals from taxi drivers. Upon my refusal their first response is always “is this because I am black?" Men take note, threatening kidnapping and proposing marriage before asking such trivial factoids as names is not a good way to find a wife.

Taxis are usually small compacts that honk relentlessly if there is anything resembling space in or even on the car (yes, outside of the city it is perfectly acceptable for people to sit on the car). Keep in mind, room for another paying passenger is not constrained by our western requirement of personal space. No one blinks an eye when you cram 7 or 8 people into a small compact we would reserve for 4.

Yesterday, I think we actually broke a record. In the back seat we had four adults and then two kids, probably 6-8 year olds, on laps (children do not pay when they are with an adult and thus do not get a seat). In the front seat there were two adults in the passenger seat along with a baby and a toddler (no child safety laws here) and then the driver’s seat had the driver and another passenger. Yes, count it, that is TWELVE people in a small compact! Did I mention the trunk had 4 chickens and a goat?!

Efficiency is the name of the game. Really it is a simple equation, the more people they can fit in and the faster they can get someplace the more money they make. Taxi riding is not for the faint of heart. It seems like you are on a high speed chase, racing down the road speeding past cars, motorbikes, podapodas and endless pedestrians with little regard.

Just when I thought I knew what to expect, hold on and brace myself for a wild ride, I get a curve ball. A driver who seemed to embrace the attitude, “it is not about the destination but the journey.” The other night my driver stopped to pee, bought a fish sandwich on the beach followed it with a soda from the next vendor, added a kabob a little further down then stopped to pee again all before dropping me off a mere 5K down the road. So much for starting to know what is going on, Sierra Leone is full of surprises!

We go si bak mi padi (see you later my friend)

It was a great week of activities but really hard and sad saying goodbye. Monday, we took motorbikes to Lakka for one last mile swim and a sunset dinner of lobster and barracuda. Tuesday, we hiked Leister peek for a sunset picnic (homemade hummus, roasted eggplant and plantains, cucumber and tomato salad, pita bread and pineapple) in the clouds overlooking the peninsula. Then ended the night with Salone Star beers. Wednesday, we ran and did pilates on Lumley beach, ate some street food and said goodbyes sharing one last pineapple at the helipad. See, now the problem with this description is that for each day I keep wanting to say, "But the best thing was..." as if there is any one thing that could be described as "the best." Despite how amazing all the activities and places are, and they really are, the one thing that is better than all the rest is the friends. It is not really what we do but whom we do it with. I will miss you Sangeetha.