ALLISON CROSS

God is everywhere in Sierra Leone. Sometimes he’s Jesus and sometimes he’s Allah, but words praising his existence are plastered all over NGOs, schools, hair salons, stores, restaurants and vehicles. Gospel music blasts from massive, low-quality speakers on the streets. Muslim calls to prayer ring out five times a day. The subject of God tends to surface when people exchange pleasantries. Someone will ask: How-di-body? (Which is Krio for: “How are you?”) The respondent will almost always say, “Body fine. Thank God.” (Body fine means: I’m doing well/fine). There aren’t many ex-patriots living in Bo, and the first ones I met in my first few weeks here were Mormon and Jehovah’s Witness missionaries. When the staircase collapsed at my old apartment, my landlord kept throwing her hands together and praising Allah, claiming it was the work of God that kept me from getting hurt. I think we were just gosh-darn lucky.

Joseph, the news editor at Chris’ radio station (which happens to be a Christian station) has nicknamed me “Wondrous Cross,” which apparently is the name of a hymn. People love my last name here. I say, “Cross – as in cross the street.” And they say, “Cross – as in Jesus on the cross.”

My first night in Freetown, one of our drivers, a loud and joyful man named Lamin, asked me if I was a Christian. I told him that technically I was, as I had been baptized in the Anglican Church. I told him I didn’t practice any religion and that in Canada, people subscribe to many religions but that many subscribe to nothing at all. He leaned towards me, a sober look on his face.

“Muslim. Christian. It doesn’t matter what you are,” he said. “But you have to pick one.”

Most Sierra Leoneans are either Muslim or Christian, while some practice traditional tribal religions. The two religions live fairly peacefully with one another in this country, although there is some pronounced resentment between the two. Occasionally people will remark to me slyly that there is a Muslim “problem” in Sierra Leone. Muslims actually outnumber Christians, but the former aren’t as concerned with recruitment as the latter. I’ve been invited to church on many occasions, and despite being very curious about the services, I’ve always declined. The polite Canadian in me wants to say yes, but I know if I give in to one Sunday service, the invitations will only increase. I have difficulty explaining the fact that I don’t go to church. No reason I give seems to satisfy the people perplexed by the fact that I spend my Sundays at home. I sometimes explain that I wasn’t raised going to church. If I’m feeling brave, I’ll say I don’t agree with the teachings of the Bible. Most people don’t like this, and will launch into a diatribe about how I need God in my life. I’ll explain that I have incredible admiration for the devout and for their willingness to help people and to support each other when they need it. But I try to explain that this respect doesn’t mean I am willing to join them in their faith.

It’s a precarious position to be in, one I’m sure is experienced by people living in their own countries and by people living abroad: to attempt to respect the beliefs of those around you, while firmly holding on to your own.