May - Weekly Journal 9th - 15th

New! Pikin Treasures Lilie & Junior

There I am in the Hope Centre hounded by a group of triumphant casted legs ortho children who had thought it a great achievement to throw down their crutches, scramble over before hanging off my clothes to balance whilst pleading to be picked up. This inevitably ends up in a few scoobydoo scrappydoo fights along the way and Me shouting ‘Oi!’ every time I see a punch flying out the corner of my eye. With a few cheeky diverts I managed to wriggle free to go and find Bassey.

As I approached the terrace Bassey appeared hand-in-hand with a beautiful little girl: “Look who I found Clara.” She stood motionless with her arms straight by her sides like a soldier. Nothing registered in her expressions. She just stood and stared ahead. As I talked softly to her Bassey took her hand to put it in mine. Her hand rapidly withdrew in horror and fear of touching the white man.

“Here we go again” I thought. Sometimes overcoming the white skin intolerance is a hurdle almost impossible to overcome.  I turned away weary from the severity of my rejection. Then, in one last attempt I turned round, held my arms out towards her saying, “Come, come”.

To my complete surprise she fell forward in her soldier stance right into my arms. From the moment I caught her she wrapped herself around me in a deep cuddle; even tucking her head into my neck. Needless to say, I stood bewildered by the sequence of her reactions.

Upon finding her mama I discovered that this was four year old Lilie Konteh. She had suffered severe burns a year ago after falling into a pot of boiling water. Her entire arm and torso on the right side of her body was scarred and the skin on the upper arm and torso had fused leaving her with only her hand functioning.

Whilst in my arms Lilie relaxed into a close cuddle which, considering we were strangers, I found immensely trusting. Her mama was astonished by the drastic change in Lilie. She was usually extrovert and cheeky. This began to concern me. Later on I discovered that Lilie was so ashamed of her skin, in colour and condition, that she gave me the only thing she could; her love.  This revelation was choking in its tragic sadness.

Soon after the cuddling episode I became aware of a great twist in Lilie’s story. She had a brother friend called Junior Lamboy who also had an appointment with Mercy Ships. Junior is a sweet little five year old boy. He also has a burnt hand from falling into a frying pan on the fire. The mamas had met in a supermarket at home a year ago and united in the strongest of friendships.

New! Pikin Treasure Hawanatu

Just as I strolled up the dock to the Gangway I caught a sight that captured my heart with a smile.  A Mama was lifting her tiny daughter up in the air whilst her daughter squealed with delight. There was such joy and banter between them. Hawanatu Jalloh is two years old. She burnt her feet walking over hot charcoals in the ground. Often the cooking is done on a fire in the ground. When the cooking is finished the burning charcoals are covered with dirt to keep the heat until the fire is needed again. There is nothing visible to indicate the fire burning under the ground.

 

Church Leaders Conference

There is nothing like an early start in Freetown before the humid trash smog sets in. Within a few minutes we had jumped into a taxi with no other hanger on passengers, which incidentally is highly unusual.

Upon arrival I was a little disappointed with a notably shabby hotel although this is a realistic environment in Freetown I had a flicker of hope of somewhere with a little more hygieneJ.   It’s the sort of place you hold your nose and pray, regardless of faith or religion, that you will survive the one minute ‘to go and relief yourself’ whilst doing an incredible contortionist act to avoid touching literally ANYTHING! Followed by showering in antibacterial gel with crazed lunatic gestures from the mere thought of entering such an environment, (in case you’re not on top form I’m referring to the toilet).  

Settling into the conference I sat at the back ready to yawn or doze at the first opportunity. Well, honestly, a church leaders conference is not the most motivating of topics to cover (Texas requested an article). As I listened I became drawn into the content. This was no ordinary church talk. The expectation was a crazed bible bashing yet the approach and tones of the speaker was engaging; in fact astoundingly sane and with a profound meaning.

After absorbing the content I found myself respecting their approach with great hope. The speaker was Chris Ampadu, an African man with a successful business background. He taught the Samaritan Strategy. (Readers at this point, please, stop your wave of complacency). The message is simple. The church needs to learn to offer unconditional love to local communities. Unconditional love translates to helping and doing things to support the communities e.g. children’s crèches, filling potholes in the road, picking up litter.  These are basic infrastructures, facilities and services in developed countries that are provided as a requirement.

In Sierra Leone, barely any basic facilities are present. The reason the teaching is profound is because it is a new concept against the grain of the current African mindset. It teaches the benefits of time management, work and development trough love. If all the churches initiated small basic projects to help their communities the nation would be on the brink of transformation. Change needs to start somewhere so instead of people praying in church on Sunday and doing nothing. The people of the church can lead the way through example. The most crucial point was that it was highlighted that no preaching should occur when doing work to help the communities. The communities will be free to investigate the reason the church is helping them if they choose to. Now that’s really quite remarkable!

Namina Returns Home

‘The’ day arrived. There was no warning. A phone call. Just a phone call to advise she was being discharged. My mind was racing. This was not meant to happen at this time. There had been no planning or preparation. This was one of the challenging moments that you’ve received hundred warnings about yet when it happens you have no idea it’s happening.

The world was flashing by as I rushed to Outpatients. Gasping for breath and reeling in this sudden departure I noted immediately that Namina was in fine form. She was creating usual havoc by spinning around on the nurses stools with legs flailing kicking everything and everyone in sight. The room was filled with noisy chatter and the somewhat constant 'Namina!' in various tones and accents.

Then Dan the Nurse appeared. The disco music flared up and he gestured to Namina to take to the dancefloor in the crowded waiting area. She performed to the crowd with confidence and relished every moment of the attention. Her now chunkier body with an eyeraising big belly rocked and writhed with admirable rhythm, especially for a recently traumatised little girl.

This was the moment the final dressing was removed to reveal her healed face in all its glory. The minimal scarring was impressive despite her drooping eye. Namina was also suitably impressed, holding up the mirror to admire her enhanced face. "Namina, you look fine", "oh yes! So fine!", "Aha! Beautiful girl"....and so the adoring compliments came flooding in whilst Namina sat grumpily pouting in secret appreciation on the chair. Sometimes she really is impossible!

It was time for her departure back to the Hope Centre for a night before going home. Retrieving media footage only increased the pressure and stress of this situation. As we reached the dockside Namina began to run across the dock. So I yelled and yelled and insisted she came back to join us.

This was far from the calm loving departures of other treasured pikins.

After a successful photo shoot involving Namina climbing into a Mercy Ships truck I was made aware I had seconds to bide my farewells. Panic hung heavily in the air. Wara gripped my hands, stared deep into eyes and whispered "Clara! I go home?" She was overcome by anxiety and struggled to say more but the words clung to her throat. I focused on those deeply fearful eyes. All the life challenges to survive at home were hauntingly clear. There was nothing more to do than a brief hug. Then I walked, waved and continued walking without looking back.

Imagine an ice cold bucket of water thrown over your head. Out of nowhere the tidal wave of sadness drenched my heart and so the sobbing began.  Hopelessness prevailed.

Rains

This is the first week the rains have started. Only at night but the trash problem is now at an excruciating level. Divers go down twice daily into the heavily polluted water to remove rubbish getting caught in the inlets for the cooling system. The undercurrents are extremely powerful. If any of the divers let go of the safety rope they would be pounded against the barnacled rusting dock wall. Visibility is very low so each and every journey is is a life risking venture.

May - Weekly Journal 2nd - 8th

Clean Hands Hope Centre Training

After receiving an order from Texas to cover Health Education for patients I rushed to meet the off ship co-ordinator. Timing was not of the essence because I discovered that the co-ordinator had other projects to attend to for the next few weeks. So I valiantly volunteered to perform the training myself. Besides this would give me hands on practice which is a perfect base to write from.

The topic recommended was ‘Cleaning Hands’ and maybe to use ‘flour’ as a prop for demonstrating transferring germs. I decided to prepare some laminated picture cards to show germs and how they can transfer from anything you touch into your food before showing how to clean hands.  Bassey, my loyal ally, was very excited about this new venture where he would need to teach the patients when translating into Krio language.

Upon arriving at the Hope Centre we spent a good fifteen collecting patients from various locations in the compound before training started. In front of me there was a massive plastic bowl filled with flour and an empty bowl with a few 2 litres bottle of water at the ready.  As I launched into each step Bassey wet his hands, dipped them in flour before walking amongst the patients shaking their hands, touching their arms and chairs leaving bright white flour fingerprints everywhere.  The patient crowd were delighted!  Things looked like they might get messy which the pikins found tremendously exciting.

As the teaching came to a close Bassey and I demonstrated the hand actions to wash hands and, of course, sung a verse of the Tenki song.  All the patients joined in without hesitation. This is one of the great strengths of the African people. If they hear anything remotely like a melody the African clapping rhythms kick in and suddenly there’s a chorus of joyful voices singing (although not always in tune!).

Now it was time for practical activity which, in itself, brought a healthy dose of fun into the mix. The patients were invited to come and splash their hands in water, dip them in a bowl of flour, follow a trail of coloured paper around the grounds to place their handprints on until they reached the garden tap.  Here is where Bassey was exuberantly singing whilst he helped them soap their hands and rub the now sticky dough mixture from their hands.

This was all wonderful except only the pikins with their caregivers joined in.  I encouraged all the adult patients to at least go and wash their hands with soap. They sat in silence. So, I used my best Krio and urged them to go and join in. They continued to ignore me despite my eventual pleas and the shouting and prodding from the day workers. The issue was that many had never washed their hands properly before so with such poor healthcare facilities and few medicines available the germs kill children usually through diarrhoea. This education, if applied, will save lives.

Suddenly I had a lightbulb flash idea. “Anyone who washes their hands can have a photo!” I boomed across the terrace.  The commotion was unbelievable! Thirty adults ran towards me and the bowl of flour. I will never forget the dread as I watched the crowd descend upon me.

Needless to say there was an impressive amount of white floured hands waving in the air before the adults huddled around the tap.  As they were washing their hands I then had the task of informing the Mercy Ships photographer that I had bribed the entire patient group with a photo. After aa raised eyebrow glare she turned and beamed “let’s have a group shot”, so she gathered all the patients again for a ‘snap snap’.  By now the fun had become infectious and all the team also wanted photos with floured white hands. So the fun continued. Good job done with the satisfaction that for the first time these vulnerable people were given knowledge to help protect their lives. 

Spiderman is Fictional: Spider Boy is Real

Spiderman climbs to places no-one else can and always investigates the goings-on in town. He is an awesome fictional hero. Now, I would like to introduce Spider Boy. He literally tip-toes around like a spider and is always on a path of discovery. He is a remarkable new pikin because he is real.  Here is a summary of his story:

Seven years ago beautiful baby Abdul was born into the world. The joy of his birth ended abruptly when his mother abandoned him.

Abdul was born with severely deformed legs. In most African societies this is understood to be an evil curse on the child. Without a mother to feed and nourish him his future survival looked bleak and hopeless.

In this tragic situation Abdul was left at the mercy of his father to fend for their lives. Despite the heart-break suffered and the tough challenges ahead, his father, Simeon, bravely poured his love on his baby son. He would determinedly fight against the odds.

Abdul flourished into a fine boy supported by his father’s relentless love. His father had great hopes for his future. After school, Abdul spent many hours chatting with his father to satisfy his inquisitive mind. It was during these times that Simeon strengthened his son’s hope. Abdul had dreams to become a doctor. These were precious moments uniting their love together.

One day they heard about Mercy Ships and Abdul was offered treatment to straighten his crippled legs. It has been a long painful treatment. Courageously, Simeon gave up everything to be constantly by Abdul’s side. His dedicated focus has raised his son’s confidence and brought shared laughter as Abdul learns to walk with straight legs for the first time in his life. “His faith has grown stronger and stronger forever” beams Abdul’s proud father. This journey has united their abundant love as they walk towards a bright future together.

He has been with Mercy Ships for a few weeks. It is only now I noticed this extraordinary character who displayed strong determination with a charismatic mischievousness. For those of you who know me….spiders are never tolerated anywhere in the vicinity of ‘me’. So when this incredible boy constantly scuttled across my path walking with 90 degree casted legs and crutches like a spider; there was a precious bond from his smile to mine otherwise I would have run a million miles in the opposite direction.

Cheshire Home Visit

Despite my hectic work schedule I had been drawn to join a Mercy Ministry. It would be a welcome change to help people with a prime focus to give everything in my heart; with no business writing. So I jumped at the opportunity to work with the Cheshire Home. They are a UK organisation who is sponsoring a school for children with polio. There are boarding quarters and for a handful of orphans this is also home.

Tiffany, (a clever, chic, mum), leads the ministry so we set off for a 15 minute walk to the school just beyond the dock. After half an hour of dodging container trucks skidding up mini dust tornados we were only just reaching the end of the dock. The sunshine is refreshingly wonderful with the exception of grimy dust sticking to every pore on your skin in the fierce humidity. The fun of the venture was rapidly fading.  “It’ll be safe and quiet when we leave the dock” Tiffany reassured me.

Upon leaving the dock there was a wide tree-lined road. It greeted us with satisfactory relief. Suddenly with a wild tooting we jumped onto the tree banks as two mega- lorries hurtled towards each other.  On reflection this was a dual of testosterone (I can find no other reason for the insanity of the driving). Shortly afterwards we were back on track and arriving at the school which was accessed through a bedraggled car mechanic yard.

As the gate creaked open there were a few squeals of delight. A couple of the children excitedly hobbled down the path to greet us. The landscape reminded me of Little House on the Prairie. It resembled a pretty farm yard with rustic buildings. There was a herd of goats including a month old kid which I found fascinating to follow in its random skips and leaps around the garden until the ram decided to angrily stomp the ground. The challenge wasn’t worth the risk; goats do have elements of unpredictability and silliness in their nature.  Of course there were an impressive amount of chickens and cockerels which cock-a-doodle-dood at regular intervals. In fact all the chickens really looked like healthy, well-fed, normal chickens.

We found the school leaders under the main school building weaving fabric. This was truly impressive. They had made primitive yarning machines and had threads stretched over at least fifteen metres. The fabric produced was black and white striped woollen weave from goat’s wool. The wooden weaving invention made a hollow clicking in a rhythmic beat that was therapeutically relaxing. After recovering from the stress of our journey it was time to visit the children.

  

First task was to help wash clothes at the well. The scrubbing board was missing so we were left to scrub by hand instead. After we started Tiffany was called to help a child so I continued to try and hand wash. It was more active than I had anticipated. To pump the water required the strength from both arms to force down the lever. Never-the-less I have to say that it was a fulfilling task. Eventually a young girl peeped out from behind a nearby van and after a few giggles approached me in a veil of shyness.

She decided to take photos of me washing whilst chattering away about the school and her friends there. She touched me with her shy sweetness despite falling with my camera in her hand! After hanging the washing, under her instruction, we met with some more of the children who lay on the terraced walkways to play a card memory game.

The most prevalent part of the experience was the revelation that these orphaned children valued all your efforts to spend time with them (of course they try to hide this at the time). To me it was a lovely time. To them it was a treasured time. When reflecting on this time I realised how special they felt for someone to sit and play their favourite game and just let them ‘be’. Suddenly it hit home how fulfilling these ministries are for everyone involved.

June - Weekly Journal 6th - 12th

Update: Abu at Home

Abu affectionately known as BuBu by his Mama has been treated by surgery and Ponseti casting since the start of the mission. In fact, he was the second Ponseti patient to be treated.  His mama, Fatmata, was mentioned in previous journals. She had suffered daily flogging by her husband so took the step to move in with her mama when she returned home.  I had become concerned a few weeks ago when she became withdrawn revealing a deep sadness and struggle to survive without any family support.

This week I decided it was a priority to visit her at home. Unfortunately the mobile numbers she gave didn’t work with the exception of Abu’s papa number. Despite this we (photographer, Bassey and I) hopped into the Land Rover and made our way to her home.

Upon reaching the centre of town we drove through a wonderfully colourful market. All the fruits were presented in symmetrical mosaic structures on tables underneath the rainbow umbrellas. We stopped for a quick shop to buy some fresh nutritional food as a gift for Fatmata.  The enthusiastic stall owners ran over with the best of the best fruit so I could examine their goods. A bursting bag of delicious fruits and five minutes later we found ourselves on a steep terracotta dirt road. At the bottom of the road we parked up outside a cream bungalow. We had arrived at Number 29. 

Climbing out of the car I glanced round to see Fatmata squealing with delight, with Abu wrapped around her hip, and waving before dashing behind washing hung beside the house. When approaching the house we were directed to follow the side of the house to two concrete shanty houses behind. The last shanty house is Fatmata’s house. I think there were about five buildings of various constructions that had the same address.

Fatmata stood beaming beside her house. The corrugated roof covered the breeze block walls.  Inside the first room was little bigger than a porch with a wooden bench and stacks of multi-coloured plastic bowls. This was the living room. The hallway led to a small double bedroom consisting of a small double bed, bedside table and a rope to hang all the clothes on. The walls remain undecorated as paint is expensive and would no doubt peel away becoming mouldy in the high humidity. This is home for Fatmata, baby Abu and Abu’s grandma. They all sleep in the same bed.

 Outside we sat on a wooden bench. It was glorious. Baby Abu had grown and had bright clear skin except for a boil on his upper arm. Fatmata showed me photos of herself before becoming a mama. She was a cool chic urban lady with model looks. It’s funny when I compliment her; she blushes, giggles with embarrassment and hides behind the nearest fabric she can get her hands on.

At one point a neighbour popped over to introduce herself and her toddler daughter. The idea is sweet, the reality is disastrous. It becomes evidently clear that her daughter has never set her eyes upon a white person before. The tears begin before increasing to a heavy sobbing and then crescendos into wild hysterical screaming when I touch her hand. Her reactions were so extreme her mama almost dropped her. I have learnt to stay in the same spot continuing to talk quietly to the child and the mama. After the hysterical reaction to touching the hands I gently rub the child’s back and continue to talk quietly. It usually clams the reaction but as in this case I face the look of utter contempt and despair when the tears cease. Nevermind. The more visits the more positive the reaction. For anyone who may face this situation I would strongly advise not to take reactions personally or your heart will break with rejection. Be a friend to the world but never expect the world to be friends with you.

As we chat, the neighbours are bent over vigorously scrubbing clothes on a washing board on a bowl of impressively soapy water. Their energy and fitness is admirable. In contrast, washing machines seem cumbersome and ineffective. I have never seen clothes so dazzlingly bright, clean and ironed to perfection as there is in African. With all our modern appliances we think we have it easy and maybe this is so in terms of time but not necessarily in effectiveness. It’s a remarkable insight into living. One thing is for sure; the West is all too quick judge in its ignorance.

Eventually Fatmata’s best friend comes to greet us. She has a beautiful baby girl, Yeama, of similar age to Abu. Dressed to impress in an adorable little flower dress with hair in perfect round little knots she has certainly made an impression on little Abu. He was delighted to meet his playmates and affectionately introduced himself.  I hope one day they will marry…such a perfect match!

Soon it was time to go.  As we left the neighbourhood came out of hiding to offer an enthusiastic farewell. A rewarding and fulfilling time.

Transformation Story: First Visit to a New Patient’s Home

Finally the day arrived to visit a future patient at home prior to admission. The patient is a one year old deaf and blind baby girl who has been given an appointment card at a medical screening. She is due to be admitted to the ship next Monday.

It was a rocky ride on the dirt roads. After a number of random stops to ask directions, (very few houses have any visible street numbers and there is a rather higgledy piggledy construction of buildings somewhere vaguely near the apparent road), we parked up on the hillside. The path, or a route that I’m still not convinced was a path, snaked down steep rocks on the hillside to a small two room concrete building.

Typically the houses consist of a lounge and bedroom. The bathing and ‘only when you’ve desperately got to go’ facilities are communal areas hidden somewhere in the neighbourhood. The kitchen is simply a round clay stove outside on the terrace or the bush land.

On approaching the last few rocks I found myself clinging to a rickety wooden rail. ‘Steep’ was an enormous understatement as I held my breath with utter concentration to step down. Of course the gentlemen in the team excitedly leaped down the hill ahead of me (which would have been unheard of in Jane Austen times). I made a mental note to explain how to guide a lady down a cliffside treacherous path whilst calling to them “Wait for me!”

On the terrace we were silently greeted by a small inquisitive crowd of children from the neighbouring houses. We stepped into the house into the cool darkness. A wave of excited anticipation lingered in the air. Instinctively we became aware we were heading for a deeply moving experience.

The room was pleasantly presented with two small sofas either side of a coffee table and an armchair at the end. An elderly older lady bopped the baby girl on her lap whilst the mama stood smiling with a twinkle of excitement in her eyes.

During the interview the mama, Marianne, displayed a strong, beautiful loving bond with her baby daughter. It was deeply satisfying to observe their unity. So many African mothers are emotionally wrecked hence, their children are severely deprived in what little care they receive.

As I watched it was so overwhelming to observe the love and naïve expectations of Marianne in view of her daughter’s future. When asked how the treatment will impact their lives the mama could only assure us that she would be happy. It was alarmingly obvious that she had no idea the transformation that would take place. Next week her daughter will see her face for the first time. One of Christina’s senses will be restored to its full functioning capacity. She will be able to move around by herself and go outside. At the moment the breeze hurts her eyes so she stays inside all the time either in her walker or sat with her family. It is a lonely isolating world.

Before the trip to the patient home I thought the visit would be interesting to understand the home environment before the healing journey began. Instead it has introduced a new fundamental dimension to the story.  This brings the reality of transformation to life.

Abdul's Papa to Receive Mercy Ships Care

 My dear little spider boy, Abdul Vandi, is progressing incredibly well and now there is a double transformation story unfolding. His papa, Simeon, has had a whispering hoarse voice since he was only seven years old. He had constant major ear infections and therefore has spent the majority of his life whispering. It gravely affected his education as his communication was so limited.

During Abdul’s treatment with Mercy Ships Simeon courageously asked if the doctors were able to assess his voice problem. His journey is about to commence when a world class maxial facial doctor has agreed to diagnose him on July 18^th.  If there is some treatment to cure Simeon it will be the first double transformation patient story. This will be an incredible father/son story to tell the world.

Burkett's Lymphoma update

It’s time for the third chemotherapy treatment for Soriba. Upon arriving at the hospital ward Sorieba and his mama were sat on a bench waiting for the imminent arrival of the life-saving medicine.

It was a different experience on this visit. Sorieba was tired so he was quiet and distracted. However, the facial tumour had reduced approximately 50% since our previous visit. I sat with him complimenting his face and his courage. Although his smiles were reserved the fact remains that this is an incredibly courageous boy. It was not the time to have quality time so reluctantly I held his hand smiling my goodbyes before walking away with a lump in my throat. The next three weeks will be sink or swim, make or break, live or die.

Pastor Moses chat

This week Pastor Moses and I had a catch up over a starbucks coffee (always a real treat, especially with raspberry and dark chocolate syrups, which are allowed because the milk is so skinny it’s barely white water).

Pastor Moses(left) & I at the Church Leaders Conference

He is ridiculously busy being the right hand man for the Africa Mercy ship MD yet he always has a sparkling smile and a hug for me.  He simply radiates all things positive ,happy and loving.  Meeting him can only be described as bathing in a waterfall of love. This is a family love.  Now you’ll understand why this always lights up my day when I bump into him.

I’ve asked Pastor Moses to give some advice to my day worker friends Jonathan and Mariama who have a church in the early stages of development so we talked through the possibilities for them. They are planning to open an orphanage with support of the church however their church is struggling in its early stages.

So we discussed the possibilities of them joining a large established church but taking responsibility for the outreach into the community to enable their orphanage to come to fruition. There is so much need for provision for children. Many children find themselves abandoned and fending for themselves.  It is a horrendously dangerous survival for them. Needless to say orphanges run by those with loving hearts and business experience is rare and desperately needed to save these precious lives.

Dental appointment

Let’s face it; on Mercy Ships there are some of the world’s best doctors and surgeons. This is a true fact. There are the most talented doctors who are globally recognised in their respective fields of specialism. Imagine now why I now write to tell you that I had a dental appointment with Dag Tvselt. He x-rayed my teeth in less than one minute and after a further 30 seconds declared that my teeth were fine. Of course delivered with a reassuring smile. So my friend Sandra cleaned and polished my teeth and now I have a white smile and the knowledge that my teeth are in fine form as confirmed by the world’s best!

African Wedding

Traditional African wedding was a fascinating invitation. Imagine the array of vibrant fabrics and melodic singing. The experience was so far from the imagined celebration. The journey there was an adventure in itself.

Mamba had organised his friend to collect Sandra and I. At the dock gates Mamba stood waiting. His friend had cancelled the transport. So we set off to jump in a taxi. Unfortunately there were few taxis and Mamba had no intention of wasting such money so we were encouraged to jump into the poda-poda instead. The poda-poda is a Scooby doo camper van with small benches in the back. About twenty people squeeze inside at one time. It is the Sierra Leonean version of a bus.

Luckily for us the back seat was free so we scrambled in. It was at this point I realised wearing a white top may not have been the best choice. All we needed were some chickens and a goat on top and we would have been set to travel the country.

It seemed that we were randomly dropped off to embark on the next leg of the journey in a taxi and then we were dropped off again. This time we were in a large car-park full of motorbikes. Dread filled my veins. I was wearing a tight sarong. Sandra thought this was a wonderfully hilarious situation announcing that she would film me trying to get onto the back of a bike. Luckily, at this point, a car beeped and Mamba’s cousin arrived to take us along the dusty back streets to the wedding house.

The wedding is held in the bride’s parents house. The elders in both families gather in the sitting room for ceremonial discussions, prays and anointments whilst the bride hides in another room. In the meantime the wedding guests pop into the sitting room now and again to see what is happening. All the wedding guests were witting outside in an alleyway beside the house and in the street. After a lifetime of waiting there is a sudden explosive cheer. The bride has entered the sitting room. The elders all give an account of whether she will be a goof woman and wife to the Bridegroom who has only just arrived and waits in the street.

During this ceremony the bride holds a lace fabric for all the guests donate money. After numerous ceremonial debates led by an uncle the Bridegroom is invited to enter to greet the bride and put on rings. The marriage is over. In fact I discovered that the Bridegroom isn’t required to attend the marriage in a tradition wedding because the families decide whether the bride is accepted for the bridegroom.

At this point it seems evident to be an arranged marriage however I discovered it is far from what the ceremony leads you to believe. In this case, the Sierra Leonean bride lives in America and met her future husband on Facebook. After a year of online dating she returned to Sierra Leone three weeks ago to meet her online lover and upon meeting they decided to marry: A very brave decision considering the circumstances.

School presentation

It’s the end of the school year so I received a gracious invitation to the International Monserri School performance. The children were nursery to Grade One.  It was a delightful experience. There were children from many nations. Their theme this year was ‘everyone in the world smiles in the same language’.

The event was held on a covered outside terrace with a small wooden stage and handmade stage curtains. All the performances were delivered with confident, happy, children bouncing with excitement.  It was quite a moving experience and a testament to us all to see children from around the world in happy unthreatened friendships. If only the world could learn from this. I’m so proud of Jenny who brings the twinkling happiness to the children through a strong educational program. Great times!