In Which There Is Every Day A Little Death
on Zoe Page (Sierra Leone), 05/Oct/2010 18:55, 34 days ago
I am walking to work when a child collars me. He greets me and then walks beside me for a while despite my cheery yet firm,“Good bye”. We’re crossing Hangha Road and he takes it upon himself to help me, but when we get to the other side he asks me for money. I’m quite tempted to tell him that in our country helping old ladies across the road is just what nice people do. Given the life expectancy here, and my peculiar status as an unmarried, childless, 20-something, I am quite the old maid already.5 minutes later, a woman collars me. She saw me at the hospital yesterday. She wants to walk with me, but will show me a short cut. It is anything but, as she leads me across a football pitch, round by some schools (the children all neatly lined up outside, dressed in their colourful uniforms), through a market, into and out of the slums, and, finally, through the local petting zoo (or not...maybe it’s just where the hens, chicks, goats and sheep hang out with some kittens and lazy dogs). It takes us way longer than it should. She mutters something about exercise. I want to tell her that when I exercise, it’s not in my work clothes, on the way to a day in the office. I sweat enough just walking around here, let alone power walking through the backstreets. When we get to work I am unimpressed and vow not to be so easily lead tomorrow.9am: The Under 5s clinic is busy, but the offices are locked up so I sit and wait. I have been told the Matron will be here about 9– 9.30am9:10am: A group of MCH Aides flock around me. One of Dr S’s people speaks to them. From what I can gather, there has been another death. He asks them to write their name and a figure (the amount they will donate to the family?) on a piece of paper, then they all leave.9.25am: Dr S appears and goes into his office9:30am: I am beckoned in9.33am: I am dismissed until Friday. That’s right. A combination of Dr S’s work in Freetown, plus last night’s ‘instantaneous death’ (of a member of staff in some kind of RTA) mean there is nothing for me to do, and no one for me to talk to. There is something on on Friday which I can come back for, but in the meantime, I have the policy doc for Community Services to read9:40am: Theresa rings. Yesterday I had apologetic emails from her and from Daniel regarding the state of the house. She is calling for a catch up and to tell me she is ill. Daniel, she says, should be coming to Kenema to Sort Things Out. She asks me about work but seems unconcerned by my tale. She says I need to decide what I will be doing and then sit Dr S down and tell him next week. This is the equivalent of me starting work in Stockport and marching into Chris Burke or Richard Popplewell and telling them my plans for the year, without asking them what it is they want me to do and/or are paying me for. It is...odd.I wander home. I stop for bread from a stall, and at Leader Price because it’s air conditioned and I always need provisions. Today it is fake chocolate spread (half the price of Nutella, which costs £6 a jar) and curry powder. For lunch I have Ritz sandwiches and wonder if the cheese counts as dairy. It does say ‘real cheese’ on it but the lurid orange colour would make me beg to differ. I do some hand washing and am disturbed / impressed by the colour of the water when I rinse it away after letting my clothes soak for an hour or so. Yes, I’m a spoiled princess who doesn’t tend to wash by hand, but it’s not like I’ve never done it before. I spent summers in Vienna and Menorca washing stuff in the bath tub to interesting effect. Now I’m a grown up, I even bother to buy washing powder (rather than the shampoo I used in 2001 and 2002). Here they dry things on bushes or even on the murky pebble ground. It’s all veryMy Naughty Little Sister. I, on the other hand, lay my stuff out on the balcony and let the sun do its stuff.The house is full of men painting. Junior is overseeing. I have given up trying to dress appropriately. If he will wander into my room unannounced, he has to run the risk of me being in a towel (thought: maybe that’swhyhe wanders in unannounced). It is hot and I need to read work docs (and/or the new Jodi Picoult) on the balcony, so I put on my beach dress. I look like Marilyn Monroe...if she shopped in Mexican Walmart and had technocolour dolphins on her big skirted halternecked dresses. The men flit around. I read. Maria comes over. We talk. More men arrive. They know Daniel is coming tomorrow. Now they are measuring all the windows in the house for mesh. It makes me mad that my fussing did nothing but the threat/promise of a bloke coming to check on them spurs them into action. And yet there’s still no sign of a chest of drawers, kitchen shelves or a table. I had to laugh today when Daniel rang and asked if I had dining chairs or my kitchen furniture. Does he think magic fairies will bring them in in the middle of the night, without him having to do anything? Does it not occur to himthat he might have to commission (and pay) the carpenter, before this work will be done?Things I Miss TodayIkea– I’d just go and buy myself some flatpacks, if I had the chanceArgos– for all the other bits and bobs. In a pinch, Tesco would doPasta– it’s been over 2 weeksCheese– that stuff in the Ritz crackers really didn’t countGetting to work and not having the first thing I hear be that someone has died. Seriously, we're two for two now. This trend needs to stop. Now.