One Year Later...

It's over. Done-done, as they say in Sierra Leone. Given the rather strange twists and turns of the past year, I'm not sure whether to lament its passing or just breathe a sigh of relief. Mixed emotions, you might call it. Four friends and I gave ourselves the best farewell party in Makeni history, takin' over the hillside Scout Hall with more than 100 friends, coworkers, friends of friends, DJs, scouts, random uninvited dudes, and kids from the 'hood below.

[The banner in the photo is a reference to a very popular song in Africa called "Do Me" in case you were wondering.]













Pa Foday (left) was my neighbor. Monsignor (right) was a cleaner where I worked. I went on a little giving spree before I left, and these two share the award for best reaction to the gift. Pa Foday never asked me for anything -- a simple hello or a wave from across the compound was good enough for him. Monsignor, on the other hand, could beg with the best of them -- "Ohhh my friend, today the belly is empty!" Their happiness at the sight of a used bedsheet or a pair of beat-up shoes was good to see. I liked these two because it was clear that, regardless of their approach to seeking help, a little respect was always more important than the spare change or leftover food I might have to offer.

Mackay, Rachael and I blending together in our crisp new White-Man-Leaving-Africa gift shirts.

Last year in Sierra Leone, in one word? Unforgettable. Whether or not I did any good for the country, I don't know. But I certainly hope Sierra Leoneans can rise out of poverty one day. The government doesn't always give me much confidence. 'Paradise,' the beach bar in this photo, was demolished recently (along with many other popular bars) as part of a government "beautification" project. Read my friend Jared's story from The National.

Moyamba Mamba?

On a visit to our fellow volunteer Dale, who’s been marooned in Moyamba all year, we got a taste of small-town Sierra Leone, where life moves at an even more glacial pace than in Makeni. But that’s what made it great.

Dale’s house sits right on a river near a beautiful stick bridge that he helped build, with pumpkin patches and banana trees all around. I wanted to go tubing down the narrow river, but in the absence of tube-like objects, we decided to float and scoot our bodies downstream. Over the rocks and around the dam we went, and then I saw it. A snake reared its slimy head about 10 yards in front of us and zipped straight across the river with its head above water the whole way. It seemed to have popped up and surveyed the scene like a cartoon submarine (look left, look right), spied us and darted for cover. Smart snake. We did exactly the same, abandoning our simple river cruise in a heartbeat.

Me, Helen, Diya, Dale, James, and a bamboo backyard bench.

My best teenage reporter for Pikin News was jailed a couple weeks ago for stealing various things (including, oddly enough, a laminator) from his parents and selling them off to friends. A visit to a Sierra Leonean police station is a bit like walking into The Andy Griffith Show – minus the electricity. The boy slept a few nights in a cell at the back of the station. As I waited for the cop to bring him out and talk to me, I noticed the number of suspects in custody was written on a chalkboard. That number went up from 27 to 30 while I stood there. I imagined them fighting for the five beds and sitting around with nothing to say but, “So…what are you in for?” “Stole my mom's laminator again.”

My story about the lack of morphine in Sierra Leone aired on a public radio show called World Vision Report. Listen here.

Rainy Routine Breaker

Living in Makeni is kinda like swimming the length of a pool underwater. It’s a fun challenge, but after a while you just gotta come up for air. Itching for a breather, we took a weekend at Sierra Leone’s old faithful: the beach. August is the rainiest month of the rainy season, but we didn’t care. We just wanted out.

On arrival in the tiny fishing village at Mama Beach, we saw the wooden sign nailed to a tree. Warning: Poro Society Area – KEEP OUT. Given the mystery and rumors surrounding this male secret society, we weren’t sure what to make of this. James summoned the courage to ask an old man about it, and he replied, “Oh, that’s just to keep the tourists away.” Ah ha. Tourists. Yes, wouldn’t want to see any of those around here…

Funny thing about the beach in the off-season, the guest houses are all closed. Go figure. So up the hill and down the empty road we trod, four crazy foreigners looking for a taxi in the pouring rain. We took shelter in a cozy security post beside the road, where the guard was reading the New Testament and simply described the jumble of giant, rusted equipment behind him as “The Company.”

Eventually we flagged down a taxi to Kent, where we persuaded the lone guest house to take us in. Despite one ultra-rainy day, the weekend was filled with naps and swims, frisbees and lobsters. In other words, success.

The kids and I went to a rural village to report on early marriage. During the village chief’s interview, he kept repeating something like this: “It is unacceptable to send your child to marriage before she reaches the age of fourteen or fifteen!” After that she’s fair game, sell at any price, he seemed to be saying. Some people have a different definition of the term early marriage.

On the same trip, we went to mass and the priest asked “What is it that brings happiness to your life?” and waited for answers. Right away, a man in a back pew shouted “Rum!” That drew a few laughs (though it wasn’t a joke), but then he was one-upped by the next guy who very earnestly said, “Well, the time that I can really feel true happiness…is after I go toilet.” Amen, brother.

Deep Thoughts...

Sierra Leone is the color of a baseball field. Betcha no one else has noticed that.

As it turns out, burning trash is a great way to pass the time.

If you are a radio station and you play the same 5-second sound bite more than twice in a row, I will not listen to you.

So you have two free hands, but you'd still rather carry that spiral notebook on your head. Really?

I don't care how many mosquitoes he may have eaten. Given the choice between helping a broken-winged bat and watching him die, I shall take the latter every time.

Everyone lives in a 'compound.' I thought that term was reserved for Branch Davidians and Mormon fundamentalists in Texas? At least that's what CNN told me.

Suddenly, corned beef in a can is delicious. What happened?

If I had a nickel for every time I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of sweeping...

It is sometimes more important to get that new phone with the hottest hip-hop ringtone than it is to eat.

I am white, so I must be James or Mike or Jim. Or Lebanese or Chinese. This must be how bald black men felt back in the day when white kids would gawk: "Look! Is that Michael Jordan?!"

If today you have not eaten rice, then today you have not eaten.

The Lone Tourists

People don't come to Sierra Leone for vacation. Except for my parents. On their arrival, we pushed and shoved our way through a crowd of taxi drivers fighting (literally) for our business outside the airport. By the time we reached the motel, it was 2 AM; we had waited three hours for the ferry to Freetown and traversed ultra-bumpy roads, my dad stepped into a hole in the sidewalk, and a man in nothing but a Speedo welcomed us to our room which had no towels and a missing bed. Ah, welcome to my life.

In 10 days of African adventure, my parents zipped around on the back of motorbikes (including once with luggage on the world's worst road), took ice-cold bucket baths, ate street meat of unknown origin, slept under mosquito nets on broken beds, climbed a 15-foot ladder to watch chimpanzees from a treehouse in the forest, nearly got swept out to sea by a strong current, drove through the middle of a political rally, got hassled at police checkpoints, and danced in church. They deserve a trophy. Sierra Leone: If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

The kids of Makeni were thrilled with the white strangers. These are my little neighbors, sporting their patriotic visors and soccer ball courtesy of Mom and Dad.

Some kid stole my watch the other day at the river. Add it to my long list of lost luxuries: Mets hat (stolen while camping), watch (stolen while swimming), $50 (stolen while dancing), laptop (struck by lightning), boxers (stretched by laundry boy), flashlights (too many to remember), college t-shirt (forgotten at friend's house), cooking gas (now unavailable in town), water pump (broken), generator (always broken), towel (vanished in laundry), cell phone (soaked in river), and phone chargers (zapped by unstable power).

There was a huge drug seizure at the airport last weekend. A United Nations friend of ours was evacuated from Port Loko (near the airport) because he is the only white man in town and local residents suspected him of involvement. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in the Wild West...

Bintumaniacs

Climbing the second highest mountain in West Africa during the rainy season without a tent or a plan didn't seem like the brightest idea. I went into the trip with a healthy dose of pessimism, but we did indeed scale Mount Bintumani (6,000 feet) -- bottom to top in one long day.

Five of us guys hired a beastly old Nissan Patrol to power us along the "road" from the northern town of Kabala to Sinikoro village near the base of the mountain. Over two rivers and through the woods, the 60-mile journey took us five hours.

We reached the village and slept in the chief's house. Below, Jared presents the chief with some tea and small money to keep him happy. All agreed that our brief stay there was rather surreal.

Four village boys scored jobs as guides and porters for us, and we hit the trail. Though I had a relatively small backpack, it was maybe the most difficult hike of my life. Straight up for five hours. Finally we burst out of the dense jungle and into a grassy savanna that seemed like heaven.

My victory dance after the upward march.

Then some dudes were waiting for us on top of a big rock, and one of them, 'The Director,' was the only one who knew the way to the summit. Yes it was a scam, but we were in a race against the sun so we followed him up and away.

I spent most of that night huddled by the fire with a bunch of strangers under a hut, trying desperately to keep warm enough to sleep through the howling winds. Note to self: bring warm stuff to mountain. But we returned unscathed in the end, albeit with very sore knees.

The next weekend I went to the National Stadium in Freetown to watch the Sierra Leone national soccer team (the Leone Stars) pull off a shocking upset of South Africa (1-0). The best part was after the game: we hitched a ride in the bed of a police pickup truck and ended up right in front of the team's motorcade, speeding through the streets filled with screaming fans.

This is Africa

My Italian friend Anna, who is a United Nations human rights officer, invited a few of us to help her give a workshop on "Journalism and Human Rights" in Kambia (see Dec. 19 post). It turned out to be quite an eye-opening weekend. First, we heard loud screams right outside the gate at our friend Doctor Tom's house. A woman was flogging her 12-year-old sister because she had nabbed a handful of cassava leaves from the family pot. The shirtless girl cried the pain away while her sister laughed and we tried to gently explain why child abuse is wrong.

The next day Tom gave us a partial tour of the government hospital where he works. We saw a just-arrived three-year-old boy with cerebral malaria. He had been convulsing and when we showed up he moaned in bed while his terrified mother wept in the corner and his father tried to take him home. We moved to the newly opened Therapeutic Feeding Center where seven severely malnourished children sat in their mothers' laps. The current global food crisis directly affects most people here as they simply eat less because food is too expensive. Kambia Hospital admits new cases everyday and the demand is far more than they can accomodate. Finally we moved to a much happier ward next door: Maternity. There we saw two sets of newborn twins. Tom had just delivered two of the tiny tots by C-section the day before. Supposedly they've been named Dr. Tom.

On the workshop's final day, we split the reporters into groups and set out to record one human rights-related interview in town. My group chose the local police station to interview a 14-year-old girl who had been allegedly raped by her teacher. When we arrived, she was seated next to another girl and a woman. The woman had accused her ex-husband of quietly selling her daughter to someone in Freetown three years ago, and the daughter had recently been spotted selling water in the streets there. The other girl was being forced into early marriage by her family. Then, after our uncomfortable interview, a rather dishevelled woman arrived holding her two-year-old's limp body. The little boy had a bloody nose, beaten unconscious by his father. They raced to the hospital and Tom took care of them (they were fine). I left there with my head spinning. It was like a roll call of topics from the kids' news show I produce: sexual exploitation, child trafficking, early marriage, child abuse -- all in one small room in the span of about 20 minutes. Just another day at a Sierra Leone police station.

And back in Makeni, the rainy season is on its way and lightning struck my laptop, killing it on the spot. Sigh. All I can do is shrug it off and remember what they say: T.I.A. -- This is Africa.

Guinea Up and Go Conakrazy

I went to Conakry, the capital of Guinea, which borders Sierra Leone. It's less than 100 miles from here, but a world apart. Guinea is a former French colony, so they speak French and there's an amazing cafe where we enjoyed a $20 buffet. That's more than twice my daily budget here, but oh boy was it worth it. The music is great there -- we went to a jazz bar one night and ended up hanging out with the band. I traveled with 4 Canadian journalists, 2 Irish teachers, 1 Scottish doctor, and a partridge in a pear tree. Strangely enough, we went largely unnoticed in the streets. White people just aren't such a big deal there. A nice change from Sierra Leone.

Guinea is a dictatorship and they're not afraid to show it. Mean-looking soldiers with big guns greeted us as soon as we crossed the border, examined our passports and immunization records at late-night checkpoints in town, and collected countless bribes from our poor taxi drivers. We somehow escaped Guinea without paying a single bribe. Luckily they weren't very persistent with their demands. Just say no.

We rented a house at the Catholic Mission in Conakry. For whatever reason, they have a crocodile. See that door? Yeah, it's held shut with a bit of twine. Not what you want to see when your bedroom is just around the corner. Above is one of our shaky attempts to feed the thing.

This insane tree climber picked mangoes and dropped them into a big sack that I held at the bottom. He was probably 40 feet high. I knew my time as a left fielder would pay off someday.

We took this boat to a small island and the man above was a constant source of entertainment. He belted out religious songs in French and wouldn't let us touch the water (much less swim) because the devil would get us. Here he's practicing his English by reading our guidebook. Rachael and random guy on the right look very impressed.

Goodnight, Conakry.

Slogans Galore

A poda-poda or truck in Sierra Leone isn't complete without a slogan painted on front and back. Many are religious, some are public service announcements, others are just plain whack.

Take your pick:

Loose You Face (smile!)
God's Time Is The Best
Manners Make Man
All Eyes On Me
Respect The Elders
Relax, God Is In Control
God Bless Islam
Mother's Blessing
Respect Woman
Respect Police
Nor Vex (Don't be angry)
In God We Trust
God Bless The Owner
To Be A Man Is Not Easy
Back Up

Temne Magic

I went to a sleepy town called Mile 91 (named for its distance from Freetown) for the 15th Anniversary celebration of James' employer, The Future in Our Hands. It featured a lively display of traditional dancing and magic from the Temne tribe.

This is James bustin' a move with a Temne dancer. Check out the smiles all around. They love it.

Mackay: "Impossible! It's too small, he can't fit in there. No way." Guess what happened next.

The woman in blue is a ferocious drummer. The little kid in blue is a huge Giants fan.

Secret societies are big here. A youth society performed ritual dances, featuring this 'devil' who wore Hello Kitty mittens as he twirled.

They Said It Couldn't Be Done

Five other dudes and I went to Sherbro Island for Easter. We rented this poda-poda for the long, bumpy journey and then jumped on a 4-hour boat ride down a beautiful river to reach Bonthe, a curious old town on the island.

From Bonthe we planned to find a beach on the other side of the island for camping. Easier said than done. We asked around and the general consensus was that boats were too expensive for a volunteer budget and hiking there was too difficult. However, one local man said it best: "Oh, there is no path. It will not be possible to reach there...but you are on a mission and you cannot be stopped." So we found a random boy to guide us and set out the next morning.

On the way out of town, we watched this blacksmith make machetes for us (just in case). Very impressive.

During the hike, we trekked across this swamp (James, Jason, and guides Alpha and Crew above) and sank into mud up to our thighs. We passed through lots of tiny villages along the way and stopped briefly to greet the chief of each one. Six white guys with giant packs entering their remote village must have been a sight to see.

After five hours, we reached the promised land: miles of untouched beach stretching as far as the eye could see. The beachfront villagers of Gbalo greeted us with open arms. Most of them didn't speak a word of English or Krio (they speak the island language, Sherbro). Above, our new friends watch as we transform their hut into our camp for the night.

Dinner and I, together at last.

The hike back to Bonthe included a drinking water shortage, an endless march through 100-degree desert, a rattlesnake, a village swim, and a dugout canoe ride along the island coast. We all came back in one piece. Mission accomplished.

Make Some Noise

We saw a rapper named Bu-Berry perform at the soccer field on Saturday night. It was expectedly lame, so my friend Mackay said "Hey, let's get up on stage" as a way to combat boredom. Soon enough, six of us bounded up onto the rickety setup and were greeted by a thunderous roar from a few hundred of our closest Makeni friends. We danced around like fools for one song and then backed away before we completely stole the show from the poor guy. But honestly, Bu-Berry needed us. After our cameo he screamed into the mike, "Make some noise for the white people!!" Oh, what a night.

Believe it or not, a few hours later I was sitting in the second row of the cathedral for Palm Sunday mass. Different crowd from the night before, I think.

In other news, my radio feature about Maine ice fishing aired on the NPR show Weekend America and is featured on the public radio website Hearing Voices. Check it out.

What's My Name?

My friends somehow convinced me to grow this wacky beard-ish thing. Should it stay or should it go?

I am a man of many names here. My African name is Issifu (or my spelling: Izzy-foo), in honor of a little kid with a runny nose I met at the beach. Our friend Yamba recently started calling me Emmanuel Grant "because it sounds good." My last name usually becomes either Fullah (an African tribe) or Fulham (an English soccer team). And Pa Foday, the ancient man who sleeps in a burned-out building near my front door, apparently thinks my name is Mr. Brown. My neighbor once asked him why he calls me that. He slowly lifted his head to look at me and stammered, "Notto you name?" Fair enough, old Pa. Call me as you wish.

I camped on the beach last weekend with four other guys. We slept under palm-branch huts with the crabs until a giant rainstorm soaked us and we went running for shelter at the nearby beach bar. The next day we were supposed to eat giant lobsters that my friend Mohamed had been saving for us, but they were stolen overnight. When we finally left, there were no taxis in sight because of the fuel crisis (a gallon of gas shot up to about $7 over the weekend). With no other option, we walked a couple miles up the road, kicking around half a coconut shell until we found a lone taxi ready to overcharge us.

Then it was on to Freetown for a Filipino karaoke party. It was fairly uneventful until a bunch of Filipino girls started line dancing to a heavily accented rendition of Achy Breaky Heart. Fantastic.

Game Time

Apparently it's Track and Field season. Last week I took a bus full of radio kids to "Sports Day" at a school in Magburaka, 20 minutes from here. Everyone ran in their socks or barefoot on the dirt track, just like in Chariots of Fire. All running events ended with someone passing out at the finish line or before -- guess no one told them to hydrate before the race. My girls ran a 4x100 meter relay as special guests from Radio Maria and they finished a solid second place. The boys were supposed to run, but they were preempted when chaotic victory celebrations on the field after every race forced the organizers to quit early. The above photo is from this week's Sports Day at Saint Francis secondary school for boys, which is next door to my workplace.

Some highlights from Magburaka:

My personal favorite event -- the Tug-of-Peace.

The Disabled 100 meters. The girl in yellow busted out with an amazing victory dance when she was given her award of one Snickers.

These kids are fast.

I helped another VSO with kid control at the Makeni library on Saturday. After coloring and lots of Play-doh fun, we played a fine game of chicken-chicken-monkey. You never see ducks or geese around here anyway. And it's funnier with that name.

The Ex-Combatant Life

Last week's Pikin News topic was street children. We interviewed a 14-year-old boy named Franklin who lives in the town square and is a former rebel soldier. That means he couldn't have been more than 6 years old when he was taken from his family, given an AK-47 and forced to join the Revolutionary United Front. He now sleeps on top of tables in the market and pushes wheelbarrow loads to pay for his school fees. Franklin hasn't seen his family since the war.

Speaking of boy soldiers, you should read A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. Rumors have begun here that a Hollywood film called Child Soldier (based on this book) is in the works and a crew is coming to Makeni next month to begin research. They're rushing to finish building the new hotel in town to accommodate them. So I hear.

An Unexpected Visitor

Yesterday was a good day. I saw David Beckham! You know, the British soccer star married to Posh Spice -- arguably the world's most famous man (outside the US). He visited in his role as UNICEF Goodwill ambassador. A fellow VSO helped organize his visit to a local hospital, but the whole thing was a covert operation so she couldn't tell any of us about it. Otherwise the entire population of Sierra Leone would have flocked to Makeni. Rumors were flying around town in the afternoon, so I decided to see for myself. A coworker and I caught the last five minutes of his appearance, just long enough to snap a few photos and brag to friends. Still can't figure out how I lived in New York City for a year and a half without seeing one big star, but I come to freakin' Makeni, Sierra Leone and get this close to David Beckham. Crazy.

Click here to read more about Beckham's visit.

We climbed one of the local hills (sort of Enchanted Rock-like), which was nice but not easy. This is James, me, ABJ and the requisite random boy with slingshot, strikin' a pose. We asked that boy what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, "I want to go to America." We asked what he would do there. "Wash toilets." Sigh.

Finally, Pikin News was much better this week...virtually hiccup-free. The topic was the Child Rights Act which Sierra Leone passed in 2007. But we did have to settle for a replacement studio guest because our first choice was the UNICEF officer and, well -- Beckham was in town.

If You're in Austin...

StoryCorps Book Tour
BookPeople, 6th & Lamar, Austin TX
January 29th, 7:30 PM

Dave Isay, founder of StoryCorps, will speak and sign books. You can go and send African greetings for me.

Listening is an Act of Love reached number 18 on the New York Times bestseller list. Big thanks to all of you who snagged a copy.

The World We Want

Click here to listen to a short radio piece the kids and I produced for our debut edition of Pikin News last month.

The kids interviewed are speaking Krio, saying things like "I want a world where...there is light/water/food/good roads, where they pay our teachers, where kids have rights, where we don't suffer..." etc.

I apologize for getting a bad children's song stuck in your head.

A Day in the Life of Me

I wrote this for the VSO website:

Jerry calls my name softly from outside the window. It’s 7:15 – time for my morning run with the local boy who washes our clothes. The 20-minute jog is filled with little kids yelling “White man!” in the Temne language, and I usually greet several people I know along the way, given the small size of Makeni. After the run, I enjoy the luxury of a quick shower, but I try to conserve water so as to delay the need to crank up the generator and pump water from the well again. I eat some bread, bananas or green oranges for breakfast and take my antimalarial pill, then hop on my bicycle for the 10-minute ride to work.

I park the bike in my shared office at Radio Maria at 9am, then walk next door to the Fatima Institute, where my students are waiting in class. I give a small lecture on proper radio interviewing techniques and give some practical recording equipment training. At 11:00, I head back to the radio station to train staff and volunteers how to use the computer audio editing software in the studio. There is no electricity supply in Makeni, so at 12:15 the power is cut off to give the generators a rest. Once the power is gone, the people are gone.

I find an ‘okada,’ or motorbike, at the nearby junction and take it to the middle of town, where I have three main choices for lunch. They all serve the same dishes, depending on what’s been prepared that day, but I go to my favorite one to get a hefty plateful of jollof rice with meat. It beats the other option of cassava leaves or some variation on cassava leaves. There is always another VSO friend or two in the restaurant, so we go to the market together afterwards for the day’s shopping. I pick up some green beans or pasta at the only true mini-mart in town, then find some good local bread and oranges from the street vendors. Then I take an okada home and try to rest for a couple hours in the blazing afternoon heat. I sit on the porch and chat with the neighbors, listen to the radio, and watch people file into the ‘poyo’ hut next door to drink palm wine to their heart’s content. Before leaving, I boil a pot of water and pour it in the filter for drinking later.

By the time I return to work at 4pm, the power is back on and I am sweating. A lot. I take a minute’s refuge in the radio station’s only air conditioned room, then I meet with a large group of kids who are producing a children’s radio news program with me. I work with them for a while under the big mango tree out front, and then they disperse before dark. That’s my cue to attempt to connect to the internet at the Fatima Institute, which has the only public internet access in town. After a drink or a small bite to eat from the student canteen, I take my flashlight down the road, strap on my helmet, and hold on for the okada ride to another VSO house just up the highway from my own.

Since I am useless in a kitchen, my VSO friends are nice enough to feed me delicious Indian food for dinner. We eat by candlelight, talk about the day’s ups and downs, and share some chocolates that some kind soul has brought from Freetown.

I walk along the dark road to my house, greet the night watchman and go inside to light some candles. By this time I am exhausted, it is dark, and there is nothing to do except go to bed. I do my best to stay awake until 10pm, and then I can’t take it anymore. The bed is calling my name. I crawl under the mosquito net and roll onto my tie-dyed gara bed sheet. I try to tune out the roar of the football fans in the hut across the street and get ready for another day in Sierra Leone.

Island Xmas + Mountain New Year

I spent Christmas on Banana Island where Julian, Diya, Jayne (VSO friends) and I did a whole bunch of nothing for four days. When you order lobster for dinner, they swim out to the trap just offshore and grab one for you. It's that kind of place. We saw a few monkeys in the forest and plenty of bats at the beach -- this time they spared me their poop, thank goodness. Banana Island was an important part of the Atlantic slave trade, so they have a modest museum just outside the guest house. A wacky little woman gave us the museum tour. At one point she picked up two whip-like sticks and said with a straight face, "This is what they used back then to flog the slaves...and this one is what we use now to flog our children." How do you respond to that? It was pretty funny in a sad kind of way if you know what I mean.

On the way to the island, I also visited Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary, where they are rehabilitating chimps that were rescued from captivity. Chimp genes are 98% the same as humans, so it's interesting to watch them. But the whole place is very un-zoo-like since the idea is to eventually reintegrate them into the wild. Unfortunately, Tacugama is now famous for a recent tragedy where some adult chimps escaped their enclosure, were spooked by a truck full of people and ended up killing one man. Tacugama survived the war, so I'm sure it will recover from that incident. Oh, and they have a chimp named Grant. Sweet.

Our final vacation stop was Kabala, which is the coldest town in Sierra Leone. It's super hot in the afternoon, but at night it is actually sweater-worthy cold. We danced around a bonfire all night at a super-fun club on New Year's Eve, then we hiked up to a mountaintop celebration on New Year's Day. The mountain was beautiful until the entire town's population showed up all at once -- then it was just hot and crowded. But I tried my luck at the ring toss and won a package of cookies, so I hiked back down the steep trail a happy man.

Best wishes for 2008...