Do you feel lucky?

I wake up to a disturbing noise. Today is our last day in Kambia and this evening we are due to have a party. We are now the proud owners of two goats, but have emotional attachments to Lucky, so named because he was spared on Christmas day. Keeping two hungry goats is unpractical, so we have agreed that the Maselleh goat (now known as Unlucky), will sacrifice himself for the feeding of our guests. At 6am, when I hear frantic and desperate bleating outside my window, I rush out imagining he is being slaughtered. In fact he is just cross that he has been put in the chicken coop. As a vegetarian for nearly twenty years, I put Unlucky out of my mind and get on with things.

Toby, James and I decide to go for an early morning walk to try and find the rapids you can see from Skandia house. We walk down to the market and along a track towards the river, finding a beautiful banana-lined path leading to a vegetable garden. It is green and lush and again we are surprised that if places like this can flourish, there is not more agriculture here. On the way back we buy bread from the market and Cassava chips from a local street vendor (which resemble hash browns) and take them home to serve them up with baked beans. A mighty cooked breakfast to set us up for a hectic day.

At 11am the cast gather inside with some of the base staff for the first screening. Apart from Israel and Abbas, who has been helping us with translations, no one else has seen it and there is much giggling as people see themselves on TV. Everyone loves it and I watch with a sense of amazement. I can’t really believe we have managed to produce a 30 minute film in such a short amount of time and under fairly trying conditions. I am really proud of us all, but nervous of how well it will be received in the villages.

It is great to be back in Barmoi and many friends gather for the screening. Makele, a witch doctor who appears in the film, greets us and again tries (with a twinkle in his eye) to get Greg to swap me for his daughter. We screen the film outside on a TV belonging to the clinic and attempt to get the small generator as far out of earshot as possible. About 50 people watch the screening and although they naturally laugh and point whenever someone they know comes on screen, on the whole they are transfixed. We leave Barmoi in a mixed state, delighted with the film’s reception and sorry to say goodbye to such lovely people.

Maselleh again seems much more ordered than Barmoi, but here our generator stops working so we have to mess around transferring our fuel into Isatu’s. Another 50 people gather to see the film and, because their village is featured less than Barmoi, are a much more attentive audience. Greg and I can’t watch the film again, so we take a walk around the village and return at the end to people asking for another viewing. Media literacy is not of prime importance in a district where many people cannot read, but these people are hungry for moving image and the film is again received brilliantly. We are reunited with Osman, whose mother proudly displays the Gap baby grow we gave her and there is much singing and clapping.

Whilst we are at the clinic, James is introduced to a woman who has walked from several villages away to see us. She is suffering from breast cancer and has come to ask for advice. With great sadness James explains that we are not doctors and that there is nothing we can do. He gives her some money to help support her family and we take her back to her village in the ambulance. We remind ourselves that the film is an important tool to support the clinics, but it is hard not to feel inadequate in the face of such suffering.

Our farewell party is attended by about 35 people (many of whom we don’t actually know) and FT’s wife Laura has cooked up an Unlucky African feast. I take my first taste of palm wine (bluergh) and we eat cold chips and prawn crackers. After food we have speeches. We thank all of the many people who have made our stay so enjoyable and comfortable. Moses and FT are brilliant and touching, talking about the importance of community and how grateful they are that we have put ourselves through such hardships. They mention malaria, cockroaches, the lack of electricity and our long working days, all of which pale into insignificance with the daily struggle of life out here and the great privilege and learning experience it has been for us.

The film is screened again for those who haven’t seen it, so Toby, James and I hide around the back to drink Gin and Tonics and reflect upon our visit. On rejoining the party we are glad to find out from a member of the hospital staff that an Italian agency runs a free breast cancer project in Freetown, including board, food and transport. Moses promises to get word to the woman near Maselleh.

As some of the actors leave they ask us for a phone numbers to stay in touch. James has first hand experience of ‘flashing’ by monosyllabic giggling kids, when someone rings you and hangs up immediately so that you ring back on your own credit, so I am glad that I can truthfully tell them my phone has been lost (stolen?) since Boxing day. I will miss Daniel and Salay, who considering their age and lack of experience, did an amazing job. Daniel has left school and is teaching to save up money for university. He would like to be a photographer but knows this is an unlikely profession in his country. Salay has three years left at school but is unsure she can afford the fees as her mother is blind. We promise to talk to Moses – schooling costs £150 a year and we may be able to find someone back in the UK to sponsor her.

Party ambulance

Another early start, another airlock, so we return again to the toukel to wait for some ‘fixing’. We sit and listen to music, showing Salay and Daniel (the actors) some photos of home and share our chocolate. This turns out to be a tragic waste of dark Green & Black, as they hate the bitter taste. I dig out some forest fruit skittles and they seem much happier. With two vehicles down we are attempting to borrow another ambulance from the hospital, but for some reason the police are involved. There is some suspicion as to what we are doing with all of these hospital-owned ambulances. Eventually Moses gets permission from the police and we get a new ambulance. We remove the stretcher from the back and pile in, ten of us and all our kit. As we thunder through the jungle with Emmerson blaring out, I sit on the cool box and smile at the absurdity of our party ambulance.

We pass the house we broke down at yesterday and exchange waves. Despite the fact we didn’t actually have a conversation with them, they feel like old friends. We finally reach Maselleh, a much longer drive than Barmoi, and are greeted by many brightly dressed TBAs. After a long welcome and speeches we are presented with some eggs and a goat (oh dear). Then we start filming with Osman, Sierra Leone’s most cutest baby (this time with the mother). Babies here seem very placid as they spend a lot of time on their mother’s backs and are often breast fed by many different people.

The Maselleh clinic really brings home to me how necessary Kambia Appeal’s support and the Lifecycle Ambulances are. The clinic is run by an amazing woman called Isatu, who commands considerable respect from the village. She is not paid, but lives at the clinic and relies on community support to survive. I find this shocking but it is apparently pretty common. Teachers and doctors also do not get paid until they have done a few years service.

Villagers come from over 14 miles away to be treated at the clinic, which has been recently renovated by The Kambia Appeal, and the Lifecycle Ambulances are already being used here to bring in patients who otherwise would have been carried many miles by hammock. The TBA Association is very strong and, like Barmoi, they are trying to start a small farm. Untrained TBAs are paid by the mother’s family to deliver a baby. The clinic is trying to encourage these women to get trained and bring their patients to the clinics. Setting up a small farm means they will secure a separate income and will be able to deliver babies much more safely.

At the end of filming, we interview Isatu about her work and the clinic’s needs and promise to use some of the money we have raised to help her get a birthing kit and to support the TBA association. As we leave, a rather mouthy local woman tells us we haven’t thanked the village enough for the gifts, so we make some more speeches and then head off.

Back at home, the base is very busy throughout the evening with visitors coming to talk about the state of affairs at the hospital. Moses and his associates are obviously very worried, but I still don’t understand how much of community seems content to let this happen. It looks like The Kambia Appeal will have to concentrate their work on the clinics and suspend its free caesarean programme, if things don’t sort themselves out.