Last Day/Back Home

After a great night’s sleep we head down to breakfast and the Bintumani lets us down a little. The dining room is dark with fake flowers sellotaped to the walls and there is sadly no fruit or fruit juice, just toast, cornflakes and powdered milk.

Today is our shopping day so after a quick visit to the British Council (there isn’t much there and we can’t quite remember why we wanted to go anyway) Murray and FT take us to Big Market, James’ usual spot for adding to his collection of African masks. A huge indoor market, we walk around the many stalls selling baskets, cloth, terrible wooden carvings and great old masks. Taking James’ advice we buy a female mask which resembles a comedia del arte Pantalone and I fall in love with a wooden antelope head. Trying not be to be too obvious to leave room for later bartering, I inquire about its providence and am told it is from Kambia district and was worn on the head for harvest rituals. Greg is a little unsure but he will come around. We buy a few gifts (Temne baskets), pick up Moses from his fiancee’s pharmacy and go for lunch.

Lunch is at the Crown bakery – a place where westerners and diplomats eat. Moses and FT are somewhat aghast at the prices and although lunch is on us, it is embarrassing to be spending what would equate to a month’s wages for many people. That aside I have the best falafel I have ever tasted and at last find a fruit smoothie. Leones are a somewhat awkward currency and we only ever seem to have 5,000 notes. This has resulted in us giving away huge sums to local vendors when neither us nor them have any change (not something we minded), and here means that we are counting out 200,000 Leones in dirty, ripped and smelly notes forever.

After lunch it is time for the final goodbyes to the people who have most made this trip. Words can’t really express what we feel and I have no idea if Greg and I will ever return, so we hug and leave quickly.

Getting back to the UK was a long affair: the helicopter was quite an experience, the airport an endless queue and the flight was late and eventful as we had to return to unload some feisty passengers and their bags. Back home in a cold and rainy England I am struck by how blue the light is and how quiet everything feels. I have an African cold. Going to the supermarket feels, just for a moment, a little bit obscene. We are missing Toby and James, enjoying telling our stories and struggling with going back to work.

I am pleased to say that we completed the task that we set ourselves and in many ways I think exceeded it. Without this project we would never have been able to visit Kambia; there would be nothing for us to usefully do and we would be a drain on resources.

Back home we will continue to get updates about Kambia from James, hoping that the hospital situation resolves itself and a new political era does indeed bring new hope. But writing up this journal and looking at the photos, I know it will be many days before I have processed all of our many experiences and thoughts.

An afternoon in paradise

We get on the phone and strike a deal with the Hotel Bintumani, Freetown’s best. A special NGO rate of only $10 dollars more per night means that we will now hopefully get the few days relaxation we were after. The Bitumani sends a car and we pack up again. On arrival we find an enormous hotel that wouldn’t be out of place in Lanzarote. Slightly run down and seemingly empty, it is clean and is near the helicopter pad, so we congratulate ourselves on our wise decision.

Of course things don’t go smoothly here for more than a few minutes and another storm in a teacup arrives. We phone Astraeus, our airline to confirm our flights only to discover we should have done it last week in person and we are now only on standby. Greg is all for booking the first flight to Europe, but Moses visits the office and pleads our case to the management. A mixture of the fact we were in the bush and couldn’t turn up, combined with what we suspect was Moses begging them to take us off his hands, is successful. Another crisis diverted and we can hit the beach.

The Freetown peninsular has some of West Africa’s most beautiful beaches and for some reason I had imagined driving along a wide promenade with the beach on one side and palm trees on the other. How silly. On the road to Kambia, when you leave the tarmac surface of the West African highway for roads that resemble a four-wheel drive practice circuit, Murray jokes that you are leaving Africa and entering Sierra Leone. The peninsular road is pure Sierra Leone with some of the worst potholes and craters we encountered.

After maybe an hour we turn down a rubbish strewn lane to a car park, and come across the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. A long sweeping bay of white sand and lush vegetation, Lakka beach is sheltered by high hills and virtually deserted. Our guidebook fleetingly mentions a place called the Hard Rock Cafe, an amazingly quaint shack on some rocks serving local fish and chips. Greg and I tuck into chip butties whilst the others eat fresh Barracuda, we drink star beer and unwind. The afternoon sees us sunbathing and swimming in the warmest sea I have ever encountered. Bliss.

As we leave, the friendly owner of the Hard Rock Cafe shows us her guest rooms. Clean and modestly furnished rooms looking over the bay for approx £4 a night. Next time I bet James avoids Freetown altogether and heads straight to Lakka beach.

Incy wincy spider

We get up at 6.30am to finish packing, hoping to leave Kambia before 8am and be in Freetown by lunch. There are many sad goodbyes as we leave the base as everyone has turned up to wave us off. We finally get on the road at nine, and although we were not expecting an unbroken journey, we had hoped to get out of Checkpoint before we broke down. Another airlock and our top speed is now 5mph so Moses, FT and Murray take the ambulance to the mechanic whilst we wait at the Hotel African Village.

Feeling a little despondent we order cokes and settle ourselves in. I visit the hotel toilets and am pleased to come back with a report of a clean, flushing toilet. Two hours go by and we get word they are on their way back to collect us, so I make a last trip to the heavenly bathroom. A quick wee, and as I reach down to wipe I see a plate-sized spider emerging from the toilet bowl towards me. In a state of shock I jump off, slam against the door and run out, knickers still around my knees, laughing and crying hysterically. The others of course have to go and look and agree that I have just suffered a majorly traumatic incident. I am also out of Marlboro Lights and have resorted to smoking local menthols. It is indeed time to go.

The drive to Freetown, now in the full heat of the midday sun, takes four hours which is pretty good, although again, I sleep for most of the journey. We are dropped off at the Hotel Cabenda, one of Freetown’s best but still pretty grotty. We eat dinner at Alex’s Beach bar and restaurant, a lovely middle eastern eatery on the bay. I finally get some really good local food – vegetarian ground nut stew and rice – and a welcome glass of cold, dry white wine.

When we return to the hotel and ask at the bar for bottled water they shake their heads. “Run out” they mutter. With apparently no possibility of getting any more, we brush our teeth with Sprite and think about changing hotels.

Delayed due to fog

Toby and I are finally here. We arrived at Lunghi airport seven hours late due to fog at Gatwick, but we count ourselves lucky as yesterday’s flight only left a few hours before ours. So, after many strained phone calls, a hectic scrum to retrieve our food-stuffed bags and a half hearted interrogation from immigration about our intentions in the country, we are reunited with Greg and James who came out last week to make initial preparations for filming. It is 7am, so no time to sleep. Straight back to the Airport hotel for a shower and breakfast before heading into Freetown.