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.