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.

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.

A walk through the town

Today has been set aside for filming odds and ends and recording sound, so in the morning James and I are taken to the HIV house by Alusine from the hospital, who runs this project with Action Aid.

As we walk through Kambia town he describes the area as it used to be with tarmac roads, electricity and infrastructure like the postal service. There are few middle aged men here because so many died during the war, but those we have met, like Moses and FT, are incredibly well educated compared to the younger people we encounter. We talk about the economy, the lack of job opportunities and the fact that even a senior civil servant would only earn a maximum of 150,000 Leones a month (£25). The democratic election has inspired hope for the future but as we walk by the wrecked old buildings listening to Alusine’s stories, the lasting effects of the brutal ten-year civil war are put into sharp relief.

The HIV house is set back from the road, and exists as a membership organisation for HIV positive women to get free drugs and medial treatment and to provide support for each other. We meet about twenty women, many of them with children and some who travel far to visit the house. They tell us about the micro grants they have received to set up small businesses: each woman pays back 5,000 Leones to a month to the project and they would like to expand to employ a coordinator and eventually become self-sustaining.

The programme also runs a sensitisation programme, to try and remove the stigma associated with HIV and educate people about safe sex, but many of these women have not even told their husbands about their status. Both Alusine and the woman we meet from Action Aid remark on the change in these women since they joined the project and gained a reason for optimism. My auntie Val has given me some baby clothes from Gap where she works in the US and I leave a bag with the women, who are very pleased.

In the afternoon we record drumming and singing for the film’s sound track. Then, as James is feeling ill and Greg is on the final edit, Toby and I walk to Hassan’s for a beer, to thank him for the coconuts and to say goodbye. Isatu is there as usual and I leave her with a packet of Haribo star mix.

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.

Breakdowns and baby snatching

Up at 6am and off at 7am for the first day in Maselleh. Unfortunately we don’t make it out of Kambia town due to an airlock in the vehicle. The lack of petrol stations in Sierra Leone mean that diesel has often been through numerous dirty bottles and jerry cans before it gets put in, causing dirt to create airlocks. We don’t have the correct spanner for the job, despite this being a regular occurrence (forward planning does not seem to happen much) so Alhajie is called for. He arrives with Moses (and a flat tire on his bike) and is unable to fix it. So another ambulance is called for.

We change over the kit and get on our way. Another 30 minutes on, in the middle of the bush, we stop again. This time we seem to be stuck in first gear and the ambulance cannot go on. Half of the party sets off to try and find a spot with mobile service and we gravitate towards a local house. The children are very scared of us here and run away, much to their parents’ amusement. We sit next to their fire with them for an hour or so, before deciding to walk to a market town we passed a few miles back. At the market we buy a delicious local version of sesame snacks and eventually the original vehicle (sans airlock) comes to pick us up. We return to Kambia town as we don’t fancy our chances of making it to Maselleh and decide to film the scenes in Kambia instead.

In the afternoon we head to some scrub land to film the first part of the Sick Pekin film. For this we need a pekin (baby). We mention this to Israel en route and he stops the ambulance, jumps out and grabs a nearby baby. He plonks it on my lap and we drive on. Without the mother. Not exactly equity guidelines but no-one seems worried.

Back at home after filming there is no sign of Abbas, so James and I attempt to start the fire. Luckily he rescues us just in time, and advises us always to wait for him as we are “very, very bad’ at lighting fires. I am glad Abbas feels he has the upper hand as he has been incredibly helpful but often fails to understand our strange Western ways. We are careful not to abuse his time when he is supposed to be revising but our insistence on doing our own laundry and washing up (mainly to ensure hot water is used) has meant he is often cast in the role of Dobby, the house elf who can’t do enough to help.

More pasta and a Heinz pudding, then a boy arrives from Hassan’s with a bag of coconuts. Bless him, we had asked him if it was possible to get fresh coconuts in Kambia and he has sourced some for us.

New Year’s Day

Not much to report today as I am presenting early signs of malaria and the long working days are taking their toll. Or maybe I have a hangover.

This is compounded by the fact that there is cockroach armageddon in the toilet. So far about thirty have been killed (it was all going so well) and the chickens are currently eating their dead bodies. Greg and James have been busy stamping, Moses and FT are laughing at our “waging war with the insects” and I am vowing to avoid the loo for the next 24 hours.

We take a walk to the river and around the town (this time narrowly avoiding the secret society), but sit most of the day in the base going slightly toukel mad.

New Year’s Eve

A day off, so we head to Kambia’s other main tourist attraction, catfish well. Toby and I are shocked to discover Greg and James have already been without us. This is something that has been built up in our minds since reading about it in Dr Mike’s Kambia journal.

So, just across the impressive Chinese-built bridge, we turn down a bumpy lane and get out of the truck. The tension mounts as we walk past a house and down a hill to the local well. FT lifts the cover off for us and we throw in the bread we have brought. And there it is. A very very large catfish. Apparently it was put in to keep the water clean and this one was named “Stop the war’ by the Norwegians who put it there. As we return to Kambia and head to the market, I feel strangely satisfied with the simplicity of the experience.

Unfortunately the market trip was not so successful. We have run out of fresh vegetables and hoped to get some more at Checkpoint. We find tiny aubergines (they call them garden eggs) some okra, limes and oranges but not much else. We will have to survive on pasta and pesto for the remainder of our trip as we haven’t hired a cook and the local food is not brilliantly vegetarian friendly.

We take our daily hot shower provided courtesy of the solar showers we have taken with us, which are quite amazing. After 3 hours in the sun the water is scalding and needs to be mixed with cold, but is quite necessary as one trip in the ambulance will have you covered from head to toe in a cloud of thick red dust.

Back in the Toukel we drink Mojitos and Champagne to see in the New Year and then call our friends. The UK seems very far away but I feel incredibly privileged to be here and quite emotional. Or maybe that is the rum.

Heads, shoulders…

Our last day in Barmoi and we finish filming early, so we stick around and have some fun. We decide to film the children running behind the ambulance (in a bit of a comic relief moment) to end the film. As I usher them down to the other end of the village I realise they are copying me, so I start to skip and wave my hands. As they also copy this, I try something else. Having 20 African children singing heads, shoulders, knees and toes with me was a magic moment.

We pay the Barmoi actors and get them to sign release forms. Everyone seems to be either a Bangura or a Kamara and I am told this is true across the whole of the district. School must get pretty confusing. Each of them get 10,000 Leones ‘feedin’ money and 10,000 Leones fee per day. This works out to just over £3, a very handsome amount in their economy. We return to the base for a lunch of beans on toast (yum) and then to the hospital to film the last scene.

We are unsure what we will find at the Hospital as over Christmas there has been some trouble. It is hard for us to understand exactly what has taken place or the gravity of the situation but it seems some local members of the APC (the new governing party) disapprove of non-Kambians working in the hospital and have made allegations and threats towards the Chief Medical Officer and his team who have now left. It is pretty shocking to us that local pettiness can have such results, especially when there is only one doctor to cover the whole district. The few troublemakers involved seem not to understand the fact that finding new trained staff will not be possible. Everyone is unsure whether those who have left will return.

The hospital is very quiet with few patients, but we film outside using one of the Cheltenham Scholars to play a doctor and the concluding scene of the first story is done. On the way out we stop at Hassan’s, the only bar in Kambia, for a beer. I meet (another) Isatu, Hassan’s adopted daughter who plonks herself on my lap and proceeds to examine me in detail. Touching my skin, my face and my breasts she is transfixed by my white skin and very giggly, but doesn’t say a word.

As we walk back to the base, many people shout James’ name and seem to know we come from Cheltenham (well, we have all lived there in the past). People in the town often refer to the ‘link’ between Kambia and Cheltenham and despite knowing how long the Kambia Appeal has operated here, I am surprised by how well known the project is and how deeply grateful people are.