Part of the reason for returning to Freetown after a mere one night away was to join in the raucous celebrations and parties planned for the holiday week. Word of the first, notable affair made it’s way from the capital to me on the beach for good reason: the CEO of Sierra Rutile was hosting his annual Easter Sunday/Independence celebration. At the time I was only informed that there would be dancing, booze, and a pool, but that was enough to sway me back to the city. After linking up with my buddy Valeri - a dear mate from SIPA who has taken a short contract here in Freetown as well - for dinner and hearing that he knew the host, I was convinced the decision was for the better; little did I know the night would be the closest thing to Miami Vice this side of the Atlantic.
Freetown's finest, me and the Georgians, Walid making waves, Katy taking a puff, and dancing Swedes
The copious blue, white, and green painted rocks, flags, posters, and signage dotting the roads around town in honor of independence day, while sprightly and patriotic, paled in comparison to the decorated scene at the home of this local big wig. It wasn’t til after the fact that I learned he is cousin of the president and that before the conflict, rutile exports were the top earner for the government, netting 75 million dollars in revenue in 1990 alone. While there wasn’t much in the way of drug trafficking, prostitution or Cubanos, the vibe of the party had a decidedly new wave 305 thing going on given the lavish celebration in the midst of a place with so little. The lush surroundings, posh women, and handful of bars created an air of elitism that palpably wafted above the lap pool. Regardless, the host couldn’t have been lovelier nor the dancing more ridiculous, and I was left with only the slightest memory of an afternoon spent in a poverty-struck village.Freetown's finest, me and the Georgians, Walid making waves, Katy taking a puff, and dancing Swedes
Jubilation over the 50 year anniversary of Independence from Britain seemed to have overtaken everyone, with nearly every Freetowner donning blue, green, and white clothes and accessories, tons of villagers coming to the capital for the festivities, and all beaches, roads, and restaurants teeming with the hundreds of diaspora that made their way back to party. Mardi-gras style parades and presidential presentations were met by all night sea-side parties, major football games, and beach front revelry. Perhaps the highlight of the 5 days of festivities was a very relaxed party at the home of Alan, the only white Sierra Leonean guy I’ve met thus far, who happens to house the largest private collection of Sierra Leonean art in the world. The spectacular display, coupled with a handful of live musical performances, including a group of traditional Malian musicians (video forthcoming, fingers crossed!), was really something special.
Colin by the sea shore and a lobster lunch
independence day crew: martha, mohamed, valeri, katy, therese
Walid, wailin’
Malian Musicians
There was hardly a blink of professional accomplishment in the few working days of the week before the parties resumed, this time with a Royal Wedding celebration hosted by the British boys of IMATT, the International Military Army Training Team. No one seemed to mind the irony of celebrating the monarchy’s next family during the national festivities in honor of independence from said monarchy, most probably because of the ‘Fancy Dress’ code. Likewise, it was hard to focus on what many view as a dire lack of progress here over the past 50 years, with the bevy of revelers - ranging from miners cloaked in Africana-gear, to soldiers dressed as pirates and aid workers wearing their finest regalia and hats – in such high spirits after a week of such good fun.
No comments:
Post a Comment