Then, the Staircase Collapsed

I was walking home last Friday, feeling happy and light (a welcome change from the usual burden of frustration and homesickness) when I discovered I could no longer access my second floor apartment. The concrete stairs constructed only 28 days before had collapsed, crushing our generator. We're extremely lucky no one was hurt, as Chris and I walked under on and under the stairs every day. Apparently the cement was mixed wrong and when the wooden supports were removed, the concrete cracked and came crashing down.

Our landlady, who is overbearing and well, an extremely awful human being, tried to convince us to move into the store below the apartment while she had the stairs fixed. But with no front windows, only one bed and a permanent smell of tobacco, Chris and I weren't going to go for that. We fought with her for more than an hour, when she finally agreed to give us our money back. Rent in Sierra Leone is collected all at once, rather than month to month. Chris and I were then faced with the challenge of getting our belongings out of the apartment. Using a wooden ladder, we climbed up to the second-storey and started to pack. By the time we were ready to climb down, a small crowd had gathered to watch the show unfold.

We made it down safely, but not before a crowd that grew to include at least 30 people had stopped by to see what has happening.

We lived at a guest house for four days and underwent the torturous process of looking for decent accommodation in a country where you don't understand the bargaining process or the actual prices of things. We eventually secured a house, which is large but a little rough around the edges. Chris killed two spiders almost the size of my hand that crawled out from behind the toilet. Our kitchen sink's drain doesn't lead anywhere - except the floor. We have no running water but there's a well at the back of the house.

You have to laugh at these things. If you don't you, you cry and cry, and it's hard to stop.