Backlog, May 1: SL celebrations and adventures part 1 - Banana Islands, Tombo, and Bureh

The party that is my life in Sierra Leone just don't quit! It's basically been a week of celebrations (religious, royal, and other) from the moment we left the office last Thursday. “Quiz night” at the local Irish pub, followed by a sojourn into Freetown’s latest (and absurdly posh) night club, O-bar, to a late-nighter dance party at Atlantic bar, started off the extended holiday weekend in proper form. It was at this last bar the week prior that I sighted Katy – a gal that I had been e-introduced to when I was planning for work in Uganda, 6 years ago, by an undergraduate professor; despite a few online exchanges and a handful of mutual friends, we never met outside the context of facebook - who I creepily sauntered up to and inquired if it was in fact she. After both of our brains basically exploded by the serendipitous nature of the encounter at a beach bar in Sierra Leone, we became dear buddies, and over the past week, travel pals. Our adventure over the four day Easter holiday weekend took us to the Banana Islands, a paradisiacal retreat about 2 hours from Freetown, touted as Sierra Leone’s answer to Robinson Crusoe. The three islands, once a bastion for British slave trading, are now home to about a thousand people, with the ‘capital’ island offering a lovely guest house with 3 thatched roof huts, solar power, and beach-front bon fires.

After a quick 30 minute fishing boat trip from mainland, Katy and I stepped ashore to find a handful of familiar Freetown faces who would ultimately serve as excellent jungle-trekking partners and volleyball (err, banana-ball) teammates. We made our way across the island in search of relics and faunal-delights: half-buried canons and gravesites from British Navy men who passed on the island while stationed there after the abolition of slavery; washed up Portugeuse Man-O-War and massively tall termite hills; monkeys and babies; and fisherman and their finds (sea cucumbers!).

[local fisherman dive in the middle of the night to sources these sea cukes, which are then processed by two Chinese men that live on the island for the sole purpose of availing these buggers for consumption by the many Chinese who are working on infrastructure projects in SL]

The overall shortage of fresh water was made up for by the abundant lobster and fresh fruit, the absence of AC and fans by the sound of the sea crashing outside our quarters and a magnificent morning view.

Me and Katy by the sea, post volleyball

breakfast vista

While it wasn’t easy to peel ourselves off of the isles of Bananas, we mobilized and headed to Tombo town, home of the biggest fishing industry in Sierra Leone. Katy’s work is focused on fisheries and environmental protection, and a trip to Tombo meant a chance to speak with the leaders of Sierra Leone’s Artisanal Fisheries Union, SLAFU and a chance to tour the mainly Muslim coastal village.

In addition to telling us about their efforts to crack down on illegal fishing practices, sensitize fisherman to the hazards of overfishing, and a variety of other resource protection and capacity building initiatives, the guys of SLAFU were up for hosting a visit to the elite, and yet to be used, Tombo Fish Landing Facility. This facility, the nicest of any I’ve seen in the country thus far, was financed by foreign donors to alleviate the burden on the current landing zone in Tombo, as well as to enhance opportunities for industrial fishing fleets and export potential. The site hosts a fish bowl (for live catch), a boat repair shop, a huge processing unit (with maybe 50 sinks), a large drying room lined with clay stoves to dry fish, lockers, ice storage, bath houses, fuel stations, and a massive dock so that large boats can land and properly collect/hygienically process fishies for sale elsewhere (as opposed to the illegal offshore trade between artisanal fisherman and boats headed north to the Canary Islands). 

Despite these glamorous features, it’s been about 4 years since this facility has been developed and it has yet to be launched for use by the fishing communities. Moreover, the extent of artisanal fishing, shrimping and trawling activities here in Sierra Leone, where 80% of dietary protein comes from the sea, demands such robust landing sites for fish to be cleaned and processed, as well as facilities for boat and net repairs to keep the industry moving; here in Tombo the need is even greater as this coastal area is the most productive in the country. The fishermen of SLAFU gave us a tour of the fringes of the existing (hectic and filthy) landing zone, following the tour of the new facility, which made the need for the pristine and functional facility’s opening seem even more great. I heard a handful of reasons for why the site remains ‘unlaunched,’ ranging from the fact that there were too many rocks in the surrounding waters, to something about not being able to get fuel into the fuel tanks, but nothing that sufficiently justified the scenario.

net making and repair at the ‘old’ fish landing

Tombo’s boats and fisherman

Both excited by the visit and bewildered by the circumstance, we continued onwards up the peninsula for a late lunch and swim on Bureh beach hosted by a lovely gentleman named Prince William. After a few snaps of cute kids and beachfront football we wrapped up the natural-history/regional industry/relaxation tour that was our awesome first-weekend-out-of-Freetown adventure and headed back to the capital for continued celebrations…(to be continued!) 

backlog 3: first day to the field and first day at the beach

Erin took me on a lovely day trip to Lakka beach, about 40 minutes drive from our house, for a lazy day in the sun. We parked at a small seaside hotel and found a proprietor to quickly prepare us a lunch of fresh grilled barracuda, before relaxation commenced.

The place was fairly empty, with only one or two kids peddling small wares like necklaces and local masks. We set up shop, dined deliciously, and then had a major sighting...the glass eater. Now, I know that there is food insecurity within SaLone, but I've a feeling that very few resort to this!He, covered in body paint and sweat, approached us and encouraged us to watch and snap photos before he began to eat handfuls of broken, green glass followed by handfuls of hot, golden sand. We were both rather horrified and asked him to stop before he put the glass shards up towards his eyes, suggesting he would start slicing his eyeballs, Buñuel style. He stopped, rubbed his belly, and then regurgitated shards into a massive bowl, before telling me he's been doing this since the age of 8. I gave him the equivalent of 50 cents and have had nightmares ever since.Images below; proceed with caution!

Within a few days, I took to the field for my first site in order to assess how our tools are being used at Ministry health facilities. As luck would have it, and a bit easier on the eyes and mind than the prior visit, I returned to Lakka to visit the District hospital where I met with the Matron on duty, strapped on my 'Attendance Monitoring' hat, placed my best foot forward, and commenced doing spot checks on various staff supposed to be working the wards of the hospital. Pretty good report, all and all, with a few snaps to boot.

Backlog 2: The end of week one: SaLone sights and Seder.

boarding ‘the pelican’ boat at midnight

The 7 hour flight to London, 3 hour flight to Malaga, 2 hour refueling break, 4 hour flight to Lungi airport, and (after finding the helicopter unavailable) the 1 hour boat ride across a massive bay to reach Freetown at midnight were sufficient indication that my time here in Sierra Leone, and the realities of life within, would be hectic, constantly moving, and full of surprises.

After a full week in country, my amazement hasn’t ceased and I continually find new things to be excited by. Be it the constant availability of mango or lobster at any meal, the architecture, the azure sea viewed from every balcony and window, or the cacophony of Freetown’s horrendous traffic, my expectations have all been either completely off-base or completely exceeded.

The street scenes get me the most riled up every day. This is most likely because I spend an exorbitant amount of time in the car. There are no traffic signs or lights, but plenty of roundabouts and traffic ‘cops’ or directors, who only serve to make the congestion worse. The roads are bad and ‘induced dancing,’ as my lovely driver in Uganda, Nasuru, used to say when the potholes were so bad that the passengers bounced in unison, is the norm. From the time my driver here, the lovely Kebbeh, arrives to carry me to work at 8 am, to our late evening returns home (punctuated by day time meetings with Government officials across town and site-verification visits to hospitals in neighboring districts), I spend a lot of time ogling the sights of the streets. 

Constant sources of hilarity are the messages inscribed across the dashes or rear windows of other cars likewise stuck sitting in traffic. Many vehicles here have prolific messages splayed across their glass – I’ve seen those ranging from the grammatically incoherent to “do you it go,” to the religiously disturbing, like “covered in the blood of Jesus.” It also seems that everyone missed the memo on correct helmet use, as the many, many folks using Okadas (motorcycle taxis) for transport will don a hard plastic head covering yet they neglect to make use of the neck strap, which dangles by their jaw, unclipped, as they whiz through, with upwards of four passengers, the sitting 4-wheel drives (namely, white NGO landcruisers).

Possibly a more striking street scene to behold here is the mix of architectural styles and bizarre integration of socio-economic statuses across neighborhoods. On one block one might pass 2, fairly large, western style houses protected by cement walls and uniformed guards, a 3^rd that was partially completed – maybe 5 years ago – and now sits as a cinder-block-and-mortar -only home of squatter inhabitants, 4 or 5 corrugated tin and plywood shanty-town style shacks, and 1 or 2 mid-sized, wood-slatted, single-shuttered window’d, and zinc-roofed Krio-style houses. While the congregation of all these varied dwellings in one small area is shocking to my eye, it’s these last ones that fascinate me the most. Upon first sighting a Krio home, I blurted out “that looks like it belongs in south Georgia,” only to be quickly informed of the Krio housing tradition and culture brought to Sierra Leone by the thousands of returned slaves that were shipped here after the abolition of slavery (bringing many ‘western’ cultural elements, including building structure and style).

krio houses

Though I’m still parsing the overall culture and lay of the land, after a week I can confidently assert that Sierra Leoneans are proud and kind people. The scars of war haven’t been as visible to the unfamiliar eye as I anticipated; the scores of amputees we’ve heard of aren’t teeming left and right, the stories of forced conscription and sexual assault aren’t spoken of, and the “dirty face” of mineral mining and the extractive industry isn’t described in such dirty language. The number and breadth of NGOs here does, however, far exceed that which I imagined would still remain ten years down the line. Beyond these NGOs, though, the other facets of the economy, extractive industries included, have been far larger than I anticipated: the ‘market dominant ethnic minority’ of Lebanese business holders is striking – nearly every shop, bar, hotel, restaurant, or other company seems to be Lebanese owned. While this translates to excellent hummos and baba ganoush availability (as well as aesthetic services (at home bikini waxing, what?!) and aesthetically pleasing people), it also speaks about the status and function of local people within the SL economy. I haven’t quite put my finger on it yet, but poverty certainly looks different here than that within other African capitals I’ve visited. Once my finger is more articulately positioned on this, I’ll report back. In the mean time, I’ll share some street side snaps.

Before signing off, I’d be remiss to not mention the pleasantly surprising quality of Life opportunities for expatriots residing in Freetown. I’ve been lucky to shack up with my friend, teammate, and supervisor, Erin, and have taken residency (at least temporarily) at her (and Danielle’s!) abode on King St. Danielle’s sweet kitten, affectionately named Kitty, has taken a liking to me, and I to it, in addition to the gorgeous balcony, hot-water showers, large living room, and well appointed kitchen. Given the availability of the latter, and my love for annually hosting jewish-themed dinner parties, I welcomed myself to Sierra Leone /ingratiated myself with new friends by preparing a Passover Seder for 8. Our abbreviated Haggadah (downloaded from the web) helped order the affair, which felt like an extraordinarily special celebration of freedom, given SL’s own afflicted history. Some special shots of us celebrating freedom in Freetown:

Backlog entry 1: Updates, newness, and firsts; week of April 11.

As it’s been some time since my last entry on this here blog, a summary update feels justified. In the nearly two years that have passed, I’ve pulled off a few stunts, with all the most significant having emerged in response to the visit to Haiti described in my last post. In the course of completing my Master of International Affairs and Master of Public Health degrees, I produced my Thesis to develop a new partnership between Columbia University Medical Center and NGOs working in healthcare in Haiti to enable community based participatory research, community-based learning opportunities for future CUMC students, and to support capacity building of civil society in Haiti following the January 2010 earthquake. Beyond the academic blood and sweat devoted to Haiti, it’s worth mentioning (for the sake of digital self-documentation) that I also spent 2010 spearheading a project to get essential medical supplies to the largest private hospital in northern Haiti through the 100 Beds for Haiti campaign. These projects, coupled with new friends and loves, new neighborhoods, and new habits all factored heavily into my life since my last update, and it is the culmination of all of these happenings that has led to my current update. And so, random reader that still has this blog on his or her radar, here I am, reporting back, though this time from Freetown, Sierra Leone.

I’ve taken a consulting contract with the UK-office of an international management consultancy services company that has been sub-contracted to manage a program of technical support for the Ministry of Health and Sanitation (MoHS) of the Government of Sierra Leone. With funding from the UK’s Department for International Development (DfID), the overarching aim of the program is to “improve the financing, management, and delivery of sustainable and replicable pro-poor health services, to ensure the achievement of the [government’s] national Reproductive and Child Health (RCH) Strategic Plan,” for the purposes of reducing the maternal and child mortality rates in this country, which have been cited amongst the worst in the world.  Of course creating these changes requires comprehensive and quality health services, beginning with a strengthened health system, and as such, we are here providing technical assistance within the central level of Ministry, in the areas of Human Resources and Finance.

As the first year of this work, which began in February 2010, involved a massive cleaning of the Ministry’s entire Payroll (of approximately 8500 salaried employees) and the development of an Attendance Monitoring Program (in order to improve and systematize HR functionality), I am primarily here to wear an M&E (monitoring and evaluation) hat and to provide assistance to the Human Resources for Health (HRH) Support Unit which manages the pay and attendance program of the MoHS. While my work with HRH will involve processing monthly data submissions from government health facilities across the country, the bigger objective is training and building the capacity of Ministry staff in the utilization of the varied new processes and tools that have been developed thus far. With an initial contract of four months, I’m really quite excited by this opportunity and optimistic that the end of the current funding cycle in July (hence the four month contract) will be met with an extension or a renewal.

some of the ladies of the office

The program is certainly a departure from my past work, and some moments feel like bureaucracy building, but it’s fascinating to see it unfolding and I’m excited for all the newness: the questions, the sights, the smells, and the incessant heat that’s mitigated by discovery (AC unit tucked in the corner! College friends spied across the bar! Matzoh for sale at the Lebanese grocery!  Shandies (a refreshing mix of beer + sprite) on the beach! Visits to ‘Country Lodge’ for open-air patio brunches that overlook the city and the sea!)… and for the many firsts that this project presents: my first time in West Africa, first time working for a company, first go directly with a Government, first time in a post-conflict country ten years after war has ended highlighting the massive needs of development that remain after the relief has ended, as well as my first time leaving the US without certain confidence of a necessary return for more school.

lunchtime balcony vistas

And on that note, it’s back to work, dear readers. I can’t promise the most regular updates here, as there is ton of work to be done and the worst internet connectivity imaginable, but please do drop me notes/comments/questions and know that I’m aiming to keep y’all abreast as the newness continues to unfold.

Backlog: Haiti, the land of the leaning house

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen as much unsightly grime and trash as I witnessed in Haiti. And for the sheer overwhelmingness of it, the friendliness and socialability of the people there was just as surprising. Most people know that Haiti is the least developed country in the Americas, the most impoverished, neediest, and disheveled with the worst social and economic indicators in the hemisphere. What most people don’t think about, however, is how close Haiti is to our own national borders, the role that the US has had in economically orienting Haiti to its current position, and the fact that so many of Haiti’s cultural misgivings are a direct result of Western influence.

That being said, I too thought nothing of these aspects while hopping the border between the Dominican Republic and Haiti, on the shared (and relatively small) island of Hispaniola. Market day in the respective border towns of Dajabón and Ouanaminthe, viewed from the elevated safety of a Caribe Tours bus seat, painted the most fascinating juxtaposition of two economic polities. My heart skipped a beat when crossing the infamous bridge …upon seeing the striking differences just over a border demarcation, where blue-helmeted UN peace-keeping troops sat in front of Barbancourt-selling stalls as wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow carted off bags of charcoal from a nation suffering from the highest rates of deforestation in the world…

Market madness on the DR side of the Masacre river vs. the Haitian side:


Attractive transport options abound in Haiti!

I went to Haiti to visit my friend Edna, another student from the School of Public Health. A fellow Floridian by birth, Edna is passing an interesting and challenging summer in the country her parents escaped from some 25 years ago, learning the ins and outs of color lines and ecologically oriented human-rights, as an intern with SOIL. Edna and one of the co-founders of this incredible organization, Sasha, graciously hosted me and Kate, offering opportunities to see a part of the world very few have the opportunity, or interest, in understanding.

We visited Shada, a shanty-town slum on the outskirts of Cap. It’s difficult to express the depth of poverty and disenfranchisement witnessed within; for all the third world travel I’ve done, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like Shada. Some 15,000+ people live in a maze of streets with homes made of block and tin, separated by narrowly curved alley-ways strewn with trash and feces, stagnant sludge and decay, with an ever present and ever disturbing stench that wafts through the air. Sitting on the banks of the river running through Cap, Shada’s shoreline serves as a dumping area in the broadest sense – trash and human waste, and something of a pig-pen, separate homes from the water, at least during the non-storm season. During hurricanes past, rampant floods raise these waters and mud high into the lives and homes of individuals living in Shada.

At the same time, it shouldn’t be hard to imagine that, despite, or in spite of, the every day challenges to survive, the people of Shada were warm and inviting; during our walk we amalgamated a pack of children eager to follow us through the sewage lined streets, holding our hands, requesting pictures, and so on. We had the good fortune to witness a dance and rap performance by an awesome group of girls singing about female empowerment. We were welcomed to people’s homes in a way reminiscent of being a part of something. Visiting was, in no small part, made accessible to us by the incredibly gracious (both with guests in her home and with members of her new community) Sasha Kramer, the co-founder of SOIL who has become a hugely positive force for social change inside Shada.

The principle of “living with dignity” underscores the agenda of most, if not all, humanitarian organizations, and the general human rights ethos, and accordingly, I am hesitant to say that that the people of Shada – people strong, generous, and decidedly resilient – are living a life without dignity. But the reality of the scenario, the reality of the lives and the many atrocious conditions within this community, was beyond me.

It was confusing to be there, within Shada. My emotions vacillated in an irksome manner: I felt angered and on-edge, and then quickly I felt just fine. My friend Jean said something rather compelling about work here in the DR that really struck a chord with me:

“And what about all the shit that grates, boils blood, doesn’t compute? It hasn’t been long enough for me to see or process the half of it, yet I’m already feeling my rigid sense of moral uprightness and strict adherence to legality relax in delightful and horrifying ways.“

Reflecting on this, which has taken me days upon days to write, has been likewise confusing. It’s hard to visit a place like Shada and leave feeling complacent. But at the same time, it’s hard to leave feeling empowered to create change in the face of so many calamities. I do not want to come across as the hopeless development/humanitarian aid worker, as the people of Shada are not hopeless themselves. Having had my eyes widened to the complexities of Caribbean inequalities during this visit – highlighted not just by the differences across the border, but by the other things I had the fortune to do while in Haiti (coming in a subsequent entry) - I feel forever more grateful for the luxury of controlling my own life in a way that people living in Shada are still waiting for.