Amputees

Had an emotional day. We toured Eastern Radio which is on the top of a hill… nearly flipped the truck trying to climb the 90-degree gravel road slope. Wouldn’t want to tackle that in the rains. The facilities there are impressive and Rob seems to be running things very well.

The SLAJ Kenema rep. told us that he expects violence during the election. More young people are supporting the PMDC. The organization that runs the election is run by a guy appointed by the president. Rob says there’s a bunch of youths in Kenema who are just waiting for the election to riot

Then we met with the Amputees and War Wounded Association. Their chairman, who lost his arm in a bomb blast, told us about the lack of support they’ve been getting from the government, and one by one they took the mike to air their grievances. How sad to see young kids missing limbs, and despite the international attention, they have very little help from Sierra Leone. One NGO offered to build houses for them for free but the government wouldn’t give them land because they wanted to sell it at a high price to the NGO, who couldn’t afford it. Typical.

As we drove around the city, the chairman on the back of a motorcycle stopped us and begged that we follow him so we could see how poorly the amputees were living. He took us to a one-room shack (no stove, no nothing, just a bed) where an old man who had both of his arms cut off was living. Living is an exaggeration. He was about 70 and had absolutely nothing. It was one thing to see the perpetrators of Operation Cut Hands… quite another to meet the victims.

Kenema

Publisher still in jail as we head to Kenema. It’s only about 200 miles away but it took us 8 hours over horrible roads… arrived in the evening at the Pastoral Centre where Rob (the Kenema JHR guy who’s stationed at Eastern Radio) set us up. The accommodations are primitive but nice. The best shower I’ve had in Africa.

We went out to the Capitol, basically the only good restaurant in Kenema. Had probably the best chicken I’ve ever eaten… pepper chicken… delicious! And as always good hummus.

View from my Room

Fallout from the Gaddafi visit. One of the things that was remarkable was that Gaddafi was implicated by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in the rebel activity here… he helped train both Liberia’s Charles Taylor and RUF’s Sankoh, yet thousands came out to cheer him, and SL President Kabbah was happy to hug him in public. Very strange. Part of Kabbah’s speech as I mentioned included the long list of things Gaddafi gave SL, such as rice etc. Turns out the people have never seen any of the rice or money. One of the SL newspapers wrote a big cover article saying: “Gaddafi exposes Government” and attributed that long shopping list to Gaddafi, which was wrong. Yesterday that newspaper, the Standard Times, was raided by police. I went to interview the publisher, who confessed to being intimidated, and joined him later at the police station where he was “invited” to attend. I waited for a long time while he, his lawyer and the police conferred.

Odd aside: while I waited, I talked to one of the Assistant Superintendants of Police and chatted to him in his office. He mentioned he is not just a policeman but an artist. He pulled out a Fisher Price-looking plastic tape recorder and proceeded to play a song he wrote and sang urging people to come out for the elections. It was somewhat surreal—next door a journalist was in custody and this guy was playing me his songs. Turns out he also recorded one supporting the ruling party (SLPP). He saw no conflict at all with the assistant police chief writing a jingle for the government party.

Anyhow, it struck me how few reporters were following the story of their imprisoned comrade. Myself and a young reporter from Skyy Radio waited in the rain for the meeting to finish. Turns out it’s a “state matter” so they will have to wait for the government to act before they can release him. It doesn’t look good. Atrocious. The paper did err by messing up the attribution but this could have been remedied with a simple correction or retraction. Instead, the publisher will probably spend a couple of days in jail. So much for a free press. Very discouraging.

Forah Bay

Another day of running around. At the Stop Press café, someone scared me by coming up to my table and trying to sell me a switch-blade, which he proceeded to pop open a little too close to my body. Then a woman came in trying to sell me a live crayfish, which she carried in her hand. Odd place. Ate next to a shrew, then a family of rats as big as groundhogs came up from the sewer. The fun never stops at that place.

Went to ABC TV with Jen. Very nice facilities… reception area, leather couches, Jen has her own office, there’s a green room, and beautiful panoramic view of Freetown from the roof. Williette, the woman who runs ABC, is beautiful and sounds very competent, but as with all of the other managers, want the JHR journalist to run everything while they take a break.

Elvis has done none of the things I asked him to. So frustrating.

Stopped in to the centre for former child soldiers which had housed the young man Ishmael Beah who wrote a book about his experiences, to great acclaim in the US. I would like to do a story with them.

Went to a music conference at night. It was one-of-a-kind because they had a whole slate of live SL bands performing. Apparently the tradition in the last 10 years has been lip-synching, so the culture minister is trying to encourage bands to start recording their own music. Sad.

Gaddafi

Interesting day. Spent most of it within a couple of feet of Moammar Gaddhafi. He was supposed to be there at “8am”… I predicted 11 or 12. Turned into 2pm. Waited in the National Stadium… I went home and showered in the meantime but the girls stayed and baked in the sun. The initial arrival was less-than-promising… a skirmish broke out at the door because they wouldn’t let women in with their heads uncovered.

Finally he arrived in the stadium in a fleet of cars with bodyguards running by the side. They did a couple of laps of the stadium, so the bodyguards must have run the equivalent of a 1500m race. He got out and waved and made his way to his spot, about 2 meters away from me and the rest of the press. He looked ridiculous… a cross between Motley Crue’s Tommy Lee and Liberace. He was wearing a white leisure suit with a green emblem of Africa painted over the heart, which from afar looked like a stain. He had white boots with high heels, and sunglasses which reflected all the hues of the rainbow. His stringy, almost Gherry Curl hair is receding. He was introduced by SL President Kabbah, who made a long list of the money, Mercedes and rice that Libya gave SL, and what a friend Gaddafi is to Africa. Gaddafi’s speech was mostly empty rhetoric, telling Africans not to go to Europe, that Europeans should come to Africa as workers and slaves, and not the reverse. At one point he asked the crowd in English: “Who feeds you? Africa or Europe?” Nobody in the crowd replied. “Answer me!” he said, and repeated the question but nobody said a word, so he was forced to shout: “Africa!” It was an embarrassing display all-round. It didn’t help that they chose that moment to distribute cookies in the women’s section of the crowd, so while he was talking about how Africa is a land of plenty, hundreds of veiled SLeonean women were hollering and screaming in the stands as they fought to get closer to the man flinging cookies to them.

Gaddafi was a Boy Scout. At least so said his security chief, a crazed South African, himself a Boy Scout.

Have discovered the best hummus in the world across the road. Long live the Lebanese!

Passport Picture in Street

Everywhere in SL you see the big NGO 4x4s. I call them unicorns because they’re white and have an enormous antennae like a horn sticking up from the trunk.

On the street they were selling little shirts for children… one of them was a singlet with a picture of violent thug rapper 50 Cent on it—with a picture of a bullet hole over the spot where the child’s heart would be. Need any more proof of the devastating effect of modern rap on African youths all over the world?

The streets are unbelievably loud—not just because of the shouting and incessant honking but because there is no electricity so everyone is running a generator. You can’t escape the noise. It’s as if someone were following you around day and night with a lawn mower. When it rains, it sounds as if you’re standing next to a waterfall.

Even though we have cockroaches and only have electricity a couple of hours a day and no hot water, it’s sometimes easy to forget that we’re living in the 2nd poorest country in the world. And sometimes it isn’t. Today, eating at a restaurant outside, an old woman wandered into the courtyard and started begging for money. Usually I tune them out, especially the young people who could at least try to find work or do something useful. But it’s impossible for people with disabilities and the elderly. And this woman—I don’t know if it was something in her face or her mannerisms or her voice, but it was like I was looking at Granny (who passed away around this time last year). As if she had come back to remind me that this could have been her. That it could have been us. But I was born in Canada and this woman was born here and now she will finish off her life poor and alone, begging rich people like me for scraps. The waitress shooed the old woman away and it broke my heart. I know that you can’t help everyone, I know that teaching journalists to stop parroting press releases and start pressing the government for solutions will help in the long run. But it won’t help her. That’s what I tell myself so I can sleep at night. But tonight I can’t sleep… because one African patron at the restaurant sitting next to me did reach into his pocket and throw the old woman a few coins. And I didn’t.

Boy on the Beach

Spent most of the day writing and working at the beach. Played with the locals… didn’t distinguish myself but wasn’t a total embarrassment. The sand is the colour and consistency of brown sugar.

Someone in a car and a loudspeaker keeps driving up and down the road announcing that tomorrow, Brother Ghadafi, one of the most respected African leaders, will be in Freetown. I wonder what he wants.

Scared to turn on more than one light at a time.

Avril Lavigne

Filmed Danny at work… no-one showed up to his training session and they didn’t come to work until midday. He was tired and frustrated.

On the street, women who were eating from a pot full of rice invited me to eat with them, which was nice. Went into the bar across the road for a Coke—poster of Canadian rocker Avril Lavigne on the wall—and again was invited to eat from the communal pot of rice, salt and tuna. Overheard a woman talking about how foreigners were ruining the country—turns out she’s a young teacher that hasn’t been paid in 10 months, very dissatisfied with the government, yet says she won’t vote because she doesn’t see the point. She doesn’t seem to understand that there won’t be any change otherwise. It’s a metaphor for the country. She was aware enough to point out that in Guinea they burned down one of the minister’s houses to protest and complained that SLeoneans are too passive. I’d start with voting before burning anyone’s house down.

Went to the beach at sundown, had a nice run and some pushups to try to keep fit. Jen and Nam joined Greg and local reporter ABJ who works at ABC at a pirate-themed ex-pat party. I stayed in to work.

I decided to cut my hair with my electric razor. Big mistake. Despite unplugging the fridge and turning off all appliances, half-way through the power cut out. Our generator blew. So I was forced to cut my hair with a face razor in the dark. I’m now completely bald and weak from the blood loss. I’m also cursing the cheap towel I bought, which doesn’t dry you it just redistributes the water evenly across your body.

Nam's rash - bedbugs?

On advice from a friend went to the National Stadium in search for a gym. Found it—it’s being used by the national weightlifting team, who were only too pleased to invite me to join them. Next door was the national boxing team, and apparently I will start training with them next week too!

Elvis, who cancelled our meeting because of the death of his aunt, then said that he had been sick and didn’t make it to the funeral. However he told Nam that he was out of town. What a character. He informed me that he rented a hall at an expensive hotel for $300 to host our first workshop—an obscene amount. A) JHR doesn’t have that kind of money (at least they won’t pay for actually useful things like textbooks that I ordered etc.), and B) an ostentatious show of wealth is not exactly in keeping with the message we’re trying to send.

Ordered JHR business cards and ID cards… quite a formal process at the business centre. I had to write and sign a letter to the company requesting them. SLeoneans can be the most needlessly formal people, no doubt the British colonial influence.

Went out with Jen… started off at Andrew’s Sports Bar, horrible ex-pat and ex-pat rock band, then left for China House for some excellent African music, then to Patty’s for a mix of locals and ex-pats, lots of reggae. We traveled around with our landlord Reggie and his souped up SUV, parked out front, didn’t have to pay cover. Stayed out surprisingly late, had fun discussion about love with Jen. She, apparently would date Michael Moore.

Balcony with Laundry

Went to office and gave Elvis my plan for the 8 months. Lots of work ahead and not too much time in between for travel, which I might want to remedy. Thought of 8 OK workshops but it’s the school ones which will be killer I think. I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

When we left we paid Reggie a million Leones for the fuel—not sustainable so we bought a generator, too small I think. I wanted the 3.5 KW but he cheaped out and got the 2.7. Now we can’t operate a hair dryer and an iron at the same time. Will also somehow have to turn off the fridge in order to take a shower. Not sure how that will work.

Saw the doctor’s office—it is tiny and disgusting so I hope we don’t have to go there.

Some strange British man came to the office, he works for some radio station in a village which sounds like it would be fun to go to. Came home, Reggie our landlord (spent a lot of time in the US, only 30 but already owns several businesses) got his crew to set up the new generator—what a good guy in that sense. He shows up immediately and gets everything done.

Had a great conversation with the guy in TO who runs a CBC international show—seemed interested in getting stuff, and gave contacts for other shows including Dispatches. Would love to file some pieces, will work hard on them.

Ate some mediocre veggie pasta that Danny made, logged a bit more footage (am having troubles still with dropped frames, though seems better if using external drive and fan on it to cool).

Reading Henighan’s memoir on his time in Aden. I didn’t really like his fantasy book but this is great stuff as he would say—interesting, good insights into a time gone by, plus wonderful writing in its own right. Inspired to keep journal for archival purposes. Will also photograph every day.

Warmish night, still killing cockroaches, but night is quiet. Raining again. This rain probably will drive me mad by the end of July. Will my boots live to see that day? Life under a mosquito net is hot but oddly comforting.

More views from our house

Got up early, went to Special Court for Sierra Leone. Big huge cement compound with lots of facilities… first running water I’ve seen, air conditioning, functioning library, internet, media production facility. Was with Rob who was filing pictures for AP. Didn’t surrender my phone or passport as they asked, which was wise. Shot a bit, went to the main court. The three men were surrounded by bulletproof glass and security guards. They were in glasses, suits, in their early 30s, looked like African businessmen. Lots written on the banality of evil of course but I did see it there. No emotion, no remorse. One man’s defense strategy was simply to claim that it was a case of mistaken identity. One bent over a couple of times, but not overcome with the weight of his crimes, just upset that he finally got caught. Creepy. It was like sitting near Hitler. Hard to comprehend that they had done so many evil deeds; killing nuns, showing up with a bag of hands. They were the ones referred to in the movies and books about giving their victims the option of “short sleeves and long sleeves.” I just wanted to ask them ‘why’, and was reminded of the lady selling vegetables at our car window on the road who, when I said ‘no,’ yelled ‘why?’ It seemed so existential at the time. So heart-wrenching. But for her, that was the real tragedy… she didn’t care about those men. She needed money, that is the only issue she cares about. The trial is for us, for the west that didn’t react, so that we can feel good… that justice is done. But justice is far from done. There were family members there, no reaction when the guilty verdict was read. Of course it won’t bring dead ones back, won’t re-grow arms, as everyone is fond of pointing out. However I had a grim satisfaction as the judge read out the verdicts, of marking a big G on every count. It all seems so unreal. Maybe it’s the Blood Diamond effect. I re-watched the movie the other night while I was here. I was the bar where Leo meets the journalist—but the bar isn’t real, it was shot in South Africa. The only thing that resonated was that Leo was using the same notebook as I do. An odd piece of trivia—hardly the soul-searching truth the movie is meant to expose. Rather than bring the horror home, the movie has a strange distancing effect, as though the whole thing isn’t real. Being here, though, makes it real. As the men stand to hear their verdict, my hair stands on end. Evil can be felt through bulletproof glass.

When it was over, we went to library and waited for Rob to log footage. It took him forever, I was hot, I phoned CBC as it was the first time a charge of recruiting child soldiers had been prosecuted, left messages in case they wanted me to file and wrote a story in case they needed it. Problems because Rob shot in NTSC format and the court cameras shot PAL. Hours and hours later, cut the footage, then thanks to Peter the press officer (interesting story: white guy from Minnesota speaks Kreo, married a local, and bitter that they’re getting rid of him in favour of a cheaper but less able local) let us FTP it to Associated Press in Dakar. Rob bought us beers but I did not feel my day’s work (totally volunteer) was appreciated. Certainly he didn’t credited with any help at AP, and he wouldn’t have been able to file a thing without me editing all of his footage. Went back home and tried to be positive but I think they sensed my resentment. Was also worried earlier because Elvis cancelled our meeting. Again.

View from our Windows

The view of the front of our building, and from our living room window.

Filmed a bit of Danny’s arrival at work… 8:30am and they only showed up at around 10:30am. The same thing happened to Nam. African time is no joke, but it’s strange to see such sloth in a media environment in which speed and immediacy are paramount.

Elvis our country director cancelled the meeting I was supposed to have with him to discuss the 8-month plan.

First Trip to Beach

Talked to roommates about changing our normally secretive and competitive journalistic behaviour and instead cooperating and helping each other on our stories. Instead of 4 individuals, to consider this a newsroom of sorts. We’ll see if it takes.

Decided to drive down to the beach… about 10 minutes away, L800. The beach is unbelievable… sand, water is the warmest I’ve ever felt, bar none—Caribbean, Indian Ocean… it’s about 10 degrees warmer than my shower. I’m thinking of shaving in the ocean. Soccer pitches abound on the sand… dudes in $200 cleats playing in the muddy sand! But they’re too awesome to join, sadly. Soap is not a common luxury here. One of the soccer players walked by, assaulting us with the funk of a thousand years. The smell stayed about five minutes after he left. Just as we were about to left got caught up in a huge downpour. We took shelter in a nearby bar, where a visiting troupe of 3 musicians—two youngish girls and one guy—started singing a cappella traditional African songs, clapping along and playing an odd instrument that was half-percussion, half-strings. Very neat. Once the rain abated we walked to Angels where I had a barracuda steak—absolutely delicious fresh fish with a hot side sauce. Magic. On the TV they had the SABC feed of the FIFA Under-20 World Cup… taking place in, among other Canadian cities, Ottawa! What a world.

My Desk

Discussed the door policy with roommates: with all of our priceless video and computer equipment we have to make sure workmen and other visitors don’t see it lying around, and we can no longer just open the door to anyone who knocks.

Made our evacuation plan. Kind of scary to have to discuss what happens if there’s a violent coup and we have to flee the country. Even scarier that Liberia is our safest escape route.

Greg, the former ABC TV trainer who’s still here doing a documentary about Sierra Leonean music, plays soccer, so he collected me and took me to the pitch. He promised me there were no locals—I’m afraid to play with them because they’re too good—and said it was just ex-pats and Lebanese, but of course there were plenty of Sierra Leoneans playing and watching in the stands. Did OK, strong on defense but scared to touch the ball. Had trouble playing on sand and with running shoes, whereas they all had cleats of course. They’re just naturals with the ball but at least I can keep up. Looking forward to learning and improving. Was driven home by some Frenchmen working on a water project in an outlying area and am sorry I was too shy to ask for their numbers. I really enjoy speaking French and would love to practice.

Danced like a fiend all night to African music at China House... have been looking for a bar like that for two years in Africa! Live band playing real African music from all over the continent. They seemed to be playing all the greatest hits from major artists (covers), but despite our huge music collection spanning so many countries, I only recognized 2 songs all night, so I'm looking forward to discovering more artists and songs. Will have to find awesome song called Leave Me Alone. There were lots of middle-aged African women there, fun to dance with but some of them were a little odd—one of them started dancing with me then pinched my penis, not once but twice. I yelped with pain and implored her not to do that again but she went for me again, so I had to decamp. They sell fried chicken and hotdogs at the front, and at the bar where you get your drinks they have a bag full of roasted fish. Danny had one and proclaimed it delicious, so against my better judgement I ordered one… turned out to be one of the most delicious pieces of fish I’ve ever had!

Kids on Kroo Town Road

Useless trivia: in Blood Diamonds when Leonardo diCaprio hands the reporter his notebook with all of the diamond smuggler contact numbers, he uses the exact same Croxley JD356 notebook that I've been writing in for years. Odd.

Visited Radio Democracy where Nam will be working, also run by an extremely dynamic woman, and the Concord Times, where Danny will be working. Lethargy prevailed. Reporters barely lifted their heads from their keyboards to acknowlege us.

Things are much more developed than I thought, though of course all is relative. I had drinks at Paddy’s, the restaurant that was in Blood Diamonds last night, while a bunch of SLeoneans did a boy band-style choreograph dance routine (complete with outfits) to Jamaican dancehall. This is a weird-ass country.

Mosquitoes are bad at night. Rob who was here for eight months got malaria seven times. Something to look forward to. Am taking the paranoia-inducing mefloquine but am not prone to insanity so hope for the best.

Wilkinson House

It's hot as hell but cooler than I thought, about on par with Ghana. We have running water and electricity from 7pm-1am from a loud generator outside.

My co-workers (two worked for Much Music) are young and very funny and fun. They seem like very good people. Rob, one of the trainers who has been here for 8 months already narrowly escaped death at the hands of a mob in Guinea and was hospitalized with cholera so caution is needed.

We’re going around to different media outlets and organizations with Ben and Nikki from JHR. We visited the JHR office (no phone, no computer, no fax, no internet, no photocopier. Two desks and electricity for 4 hours a day). Visited the UNIOSIL (UN in Sierra Leone) compound… a city unto itself. Lunched at the Crown Bakery with its awesome air conditioning, fresh pineapple juice, and only visibly gay man in Sierra Leone (the manager or owner).

Then met with SLAJ (Sierra Leone Association of Journalists) in a tiny office where they refused to make eye contact with the women, could hardly hear over the roar of the generator. Two years ago one of their members was killed by police. Met with the Independent Media Commission (their version of the CRTC), run by a very intelligent woman at a nice facility. I have found almost everywhere in Africa that the women are more intelligent, more passionate, more reasonable and more committed to change. Africa would be better off if the ratio of men/women politicians and leaders were reversed. IMC also houses ABC TV, which is off-air because they’re missing a part. Their expecting either a part to arrive from Italy, or an Italian to arrive to fix it.

Then went to Forah Bay College, the main university in Freetown where I’ll be doing some training sessions. Their jlism dept has digital editing and better radio setup than we had at Carleton, but the students took us aside as told us they aren’t actually allowed to touch it.

Arrival in Freetown

This is our JHR group from left to right.

Rob works out in distant region of Kenema.
-? I'm not sure who the black guy in the second row is.
-Danny, who will be stationed at the newspaper
-KB
-Jen, ex Much-Music VJ will work at the currently defunct TV station
-Elvis, our country director from SL
-Nam, ex Much-Music VJ, born in Uganda, grew up in Canada, stationed at Radio Democracy


Trip here went perfectly... as pleasant as a 24-hour journey can be. Elvis the country director even met me at the airport which was awesome because the ferry is nowhere near the airport, and the ferry that my colleagues took a day earlier crashed into another ferry at the dock... it made some of the international papers for some reason. Anyhow, a relief not to have to take the helicopter... Togo (all the people in the helicopter crash were Togolese sports officials) is now suing the SLeonean gvmt because the helicopter company had no insurance. Ah, Africa.

The ferry was a dismal affair… it didn’t leave for at least two hours. While waiting, met an amazing woman Hawa Turay who started a school for girls in Bo. She was on the same flight, returned from some fundraising in Europe. She spoke of the problems they were having, her vision for the future. Really and amazing woman, and the kind of project Oprah would support.

Elvis and I drank beers—the local Star which isn’t too bad—waiting for the ferry to take off, and Danny and Jen both phoned to say ‘welcome’ which was a nice touch. Eventually we arrived, my roommates left me a shawarma for dinner which I devoured, and went to sleep on a sheetless bed in a filthy room. Apparently the windows had been left open during the month no-one was in the apartment, and the rain was running in rivulets through the room. My mattress was still damp. Good times. This is worse than I expected.