In Which There Are Three Types Of People In The World: Salones, Lebanese and Pumwis
on Zoe Page (Sierra Leone), 10/Oct/2010 06:22, 34 days ago
Maria has decided to stay in Kenema until the very last moment. She’s flying out at 11pm tomorrow but not heading to Freetown until the morning, so we have one last day. We head out to the waterfall, just outside of town. We leave Kenema and get onto the good road to Bo, but swerve off again almost immediately and follow a dirt track, bouncing around on the backof our Ocadas. Yesterday, when she was telling me about it, she said not to be fooled by anyone demanding money for entry, though there is often a man there claiming he is the caretaker and looks after the path. After today’s trip, all I can say is perhaps people should give him money as though wefind the right spot, the path is so overgrown we can’t even see the entrance, let alone the way down to the water we can hear thundering in the background. On the way back, my driver asks me if I know what a Pumwi is ‘as the children were calling that’. You don’t say: if Kenema kids are badenough, the ones in these remote villages are simply ecstatic at the sight of a foreigner. Through my helmet, and in the face of the slight breeze, we try to have a discussion about why the Lebanese are not Pumwis but by the end of it I’m still unsure. Even speeding past on the bikes, we stand out as outsiders, thought that might have something to do with my shorts and vest top, and the resulting amount of white flesh I am flashing. It's only as I look as passers by as we drive that I realise all the other women are in long skirts and conservative tops. No one is showing an ankle, let alonea knee. Oops.We stop the bikes at Choitrams, pop in for some essentials, and then continue on back to mine. We’ve essentially had them chartered for an hour and a half – not bad for £1.60. Maria goes off to do errands while I update by Spending Spreadsheet. In the absence of work, this is the only way I can get my Excel fix on a daily basis, plus it’s kinda cool to track what I’m paying out day byday. It will also go some way to proving whether or not it is possible to live on the country allowance.We go for lunch at the Falafel place, which actually sells mainly other stuff, but is still what we call it. Its varied menu is probably a good thing given that their Falafel is bright green in an unusual kind of way. It tastes near enough ok, though, and continues the local preference for serving chipsinsidea burger or wrap, rather than alongside. It’s not as good as the ones we had in Dubai, but I suspect I may be returning for some more wraps here in the future as, at 8000 Le, it is less than a 3rd the price of a dubious salad at Capitol.I unpack the stuff Maria has left here and am so glad I didn’t listen to Theresa who wanted me to go shopping mad when in Bo. Maria is leaving plates, bowls, cutlery, pots and pans. Everything a house needs to be going on with. My afternoon is successful: I figure out how to do the gas (something none of the men managed yesterday) and promptly boil the candles for the water filter, so it should be ready to use tomorrow. I fill the new kitchen cupboards with my Tupperware and newly acquired goodies, and wonder how we’re ever going to manage to share the 4 small shelves among the 5+ people they’re talking of accommodating in this house. Maria comesback for a farewell. She extended specially so she could do a handover, and should otherwise have left a couple of weeks ago. I know it’s only been 10 days but I’ve really got used to being able to ask her things. It’s going to feel really strange being the only VSO here when I wake up tomorrow morning. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really keeping my fingers crossed for work on Monday, otherwise I may end up stir crazy in a town with 1 ½ acceptable restaurants and nothing in the way of entertainment. While I’m not pining for England, I wouldn’t mind being in Mexico right now. Insurgentes, how I miss you with your cines, neverias and Sanbornes a plenty. I’ve not seen a single newspaper or book in the last 3 weeks here, let alone import copies of US Glamour.The ever present Junior pops up to see Maria off and to tell her God will guarantee a safe trip home as she came and helped Sierra Leone so kindly. He tells me the painters wanted to come again (!) today but I was out...once again, no one thought to ring me. So I give him back the keys and tell him to look after them tomorrow in case I am not in as I am going out.Where? To church?No, for a walk.But it is Sunday.Am I not going to church?No.But I went last week.Yes, because it was Maria’s leaving service.And you go to church in England.No I don’t. I’m not Christian.Oh, I am Muslim?It’s déjà vu all over again – Baltimore 2004, where they’re very tolerant of any religion ...as long as it’s Christianity or Judaism. I start locking up the door and leave this discussion for another time, but if he really thinks I’m Muslim (me, with my aforementioned highly inappropriateknee length shorts and indecently cut strappy top) he’s duncer than I thought.