The Journey Home
on Shona in Sierra Leone (Sierra Leone), 11/Jun/2011 10:25, 34 days ago
Usually I have a fairly easy (although long) journey home travelling with Sandra and chatting with her. Sometimes she is at a meeting in town so I get public transport home.This is the journey I have made a few days this week: I leave the hospital and walk along some back roads, past children collecting water from a stand-pipe, a lady selling barbequed corn on the cob and a couple of tailors. I walk past a conglomeration of poda podas on Bombay Street narrowly avoiding falling into an open sewer as I dodge other people walking past. I turn left up Patton Street, and walk past many people selling rice, onions, tomato puree, groundnut paste, pineapples, mangoes, a few more tailors and other people sitting and chatting. Others are selling things from baskets on their heads. Some men call out to me“White girl white girl”, or “baby baby.” I stop to buy some pineapple slices as a snack. I reach the top of Patton St and turn right onto Kissy Road. I have to watch where I’m going in case there are gaps in the pavement! I walk past a health clinic, a furniture store (not a shop as such –all the furniture is out on the street). I get hissed at a few times. I stop to buy some bananas and a mango from the side of the road. Some women call me over to look at some tie-dyed dresses, and I promise I’ll be back there to look again. I constantly hear the sounds of Sierra Leonean music and people shouting out what they are selling.I keep walking on Kissy Road, past a clothes shop, and a red Royal Mail post box (!), past more people selling fruit, avocadoes and ground nuts, past some beggars and amputees and a man who looks like he might be dead (but he’s not – I’ve seen him there a few times and he is actually just sleeping on the pavement in the middle of the day…) I reach Eastern Police Station where I stop to buy a coconut. The seller machetes off the top so I can drink the milk, then machetes it in half and scoops out the meat. Yum. So refreshing. Eastern Police and the Clocktower are at the meeting points of five roads and is one of the busiest intersections of human and vehicle traffic in Freetown. I see the police somewhat ineffectually trying to control the traffic. I cross over Kissy Road, endangering my life in the processas Okadas speed past. I walk past more street sellers and turn left off Goderich Street onto an alley I can walk up with no vehicle traffic. Past the people selling grilled chicken (it smells so good, I must try it sometime) and popcorn. Past a lady selling “kill driver” biscuits (these are like shortbread and are delicious – but no idea why they are called kill driver biscuits). A man shouts to me “white girl white girl”. He is standing on top of a building and says he “wants a few minutes of my time”. I keep walking.I walk on up the alley, past more people selling all sorts of stuff. I walk over a bridge; either side is an open rubbish tip. I get hissed at five more times. Some other people call“Oputo” (white person). I walk over a broken pipe, pouring gallons of precious water into the street. I reach Regent Road, where the poda poda stop is. I am lucky; there is an empty poda waiting; the “apprentice” shouting “Abadeen Abadeen”. I confirm I am going to Congo Cross and jump in. So do 21 others, including 3 children. And a live chicken. I am seated in the second row – strategically near the door. I have never managed to get out of a poda in a ladylike fashion so the nearer the door the better. I say “Aftanoon” to the people seated around me. The base of the music booms out from the loudspeakers. The poda does an impressive three point turn – how they don’t hit any of the oncoming traffic I don’t know. The “apprentice” leans out the door as we start moving, collecting more customers. We get stuck in non-moving traffic on Circular Road for about twentyminutes. I am sweating profusely. People call the street sellers to the poda to buy cold water and snacks. Finally, we get going. Around some back streets. Down Campbell Street. Around St John’s roundabout. Past the Youi (?spelling) building (where the Ministry of Health and Sanitation is). We speed over Peace Bridge. So called because the UNAMSIL forces stopped the Rebels here during the war. It’s a dual carriageway and everyone speeds over it. In an overcrowded poda I always worry we will tip as we speed around the corner. Thankfully we don’t and we are on Main Motor Road. I ask the apprentice to “lef me na moks” (let me out at the mosque). I only have to squeeze past on person, rather than the normal four or five. I am still sweating profusely.I cross the road and head up“Sewer Alley”. I say “Kushe-o” (hello) to the lovely old lady. Some kids rush up to take my hand and say hello. I duck down under the washing line as I say “Kushe-o” to a little boy we call Spiderman and the carpenters. Some children say “Sheena Sheena” to greet me (this is how manypeople say my name – the other pronunciation is “Sonia”). Mussa at the shop reminds me that I need to bring back two empty bottles of Star. I chat in Krio with Millicent for a few minutes. I turn the corner and wave to the people who are fixing the massive hole in our road. I open the sqeaky gate. It has taken nearly an hour and a half to go about 5km. I am home.