When the Odd Becomes Ordinary
Wednesday, July 15, 2009 at 05:10AM After 10 weeks in Sierra Leone, the things about this country that once felt alien have started to feel surprisingly normal. I’m used to sleeping with a mosquito net draped around my bed, with nothing more than a sheet for warmth. Boiling water on a tiny camp stove on my porch for oatmeal and instant coffee has become a part of my morning routine. When I haul up buckets of water from my well for a shower, I don’t think about how primitive this is, but about how awesome my arms will look when this is all over. I’m used to the oppressive humidity of this country and my constant sweating. Without a second thought, I regularly yell at motorcycle drivers who try to rip me off.
But things that would seriously disturb or scandalize Canadians or Americans have also become unremarkable to me. Riding in a taxi with my colleague Jordan out to the edge of Freetown, where I’d catch a bush taxi to Bo, we noticed a couple chasing after another taxi. The taxi had driven off with its trunk open, with the couple’s luggage crammed in the back. We just laughed. I just shrug when I see a family of four, including a tiny baby, climb aboard a motorcycle built for two, and go speeding down a dirt road.
On my way back to Bo after a weekend in Freetown, the car I was riding in (built for five but crammed with eight people), got a flat tire along a deserted stretch of road. But I didn’t panic, as I would certainly do in Canada. I was delighted at the chance to use the bathroom and when I returned, the tire had been changed and we were ready to go.
One of my neighbours in Bo is a woman I think is about 60 years old. If the weather is hot, she wears only a lappa (a long, colourful piece of cloth), tied around her waist. Her massive breasts swing back and forth as she waves hello to me, making it clear she’s never worn a bra in her entire life. At first I blushed and looked away, but now I just smile and wave back. Breasts aren’t sexual in Sierra Leone, as they feed children. It’s all about the backside – but that’s a blog entry for another time.
But there are far more disturbing things that have become commonplace for me. It’s not uncommon to see young children sleeping in front of stores in Bo in the middle of the day. They lay sprawled out on filthy blankets, clearly exhausted by the mid-day heat. I can’t tell if they have parents, or if they live on the streets. Stray dogs are everywhere, searching for food in the gutters, their bodies covered with open sores and flies.
It’s a stomach-churning realization that there’s little I can to do help, and that to maintain my sanity, I have to walk past the street kids and the stray dogs. I’ll occasionally buy a child a coconut or hand out some change, but beyond that, I’m just left feeling overwhelmed and helpless.
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