Plans meet practice

Editor's note: This post was written yesterday evening (Wednesday, October 15).


As my third day of training wraps up, I’m definitely beginning to understand why Freetown is such a well-liked city. And in the process, I’m starting to think I badly over-stocked some items when packing.

Example #1: Bug repellent. I brought a lot. So far, I’ve seen one, maybe two mosquitoes. In three days. I have no bites.

So while I fully understand that it only takes one ill-fated nibble to contract malaria and I still intend to sleep under a mosquito net, I’m significantly less paranoid that my trip is about to get cut short by this much-ballyhooed disease, particularly after learning over a couple of beers on nearby Lumley Beach last night that one of my soon-to-be roommates has had malaria three times. He remains unafraid of it, so I shall too.

On the plus side, I’ve been on doxycycline for three days with nary a sign of pesky anti-malarial side effects.

Example #2: Sunscreen.

Now don’t get me wrong. Freetown’s hot, often oppressively so. Being only eight latitudinal lines above the equator will do that to you, I guess.

But while I do a lot of sweating and a lot of water-drinking, I haven’t yet used sunscreen, nor have I once regretted that fact. I’m not even convinced my tan’s darkened despite lots of time spent out of doors (Hell, half the restaurants are outside).

Now I’m no scientist, but I imagine this has something to do with Sierra Leoneans not corrupting their environment and fucking with nature by punching holes in the ozone layer. Who’s developed now, North America?

My initial suspicion is that I’ll be safe reserving the sunblock for the beach and the especially skin-melting days to come (the downside of missing the daily hard rains of July and August is that I will catch the most hot and humid SL has to offer).

Example #3: Theft.

Okay, so that one doesn’t have a lot to do with what I packed, but it definitely reflects my pre-departure expectations based on the fear-mongering literature I came across constantly.

Thus far, theft has yet to rear its ugly head (and I grant you, it’s been only three days) for any trainers. We’ve had two scares, the latter as our lead trainer lost her camera only to discover it slipped from her pocket in the JHR office.

The former incident was my own folly, when during our day one lunch I noticed my sunglasses were no longer swaying from my t-shirt where I’d left them. My gut reaction was to marvel at the impressive stealth of whomever theifed ’em, before chuckling to myself when I discovered I’d knocked them off in the JHR van when I was shifting my knapsack.

Rather, I’ve quickly become enamoured with the affability of the locals. Yesterday, I was chatted up by a friendly police officer who invited me to his wedding on Christmas Day, in spite of knowing me for approximately three minutes (though the cynic in me reasons that having white people present must be viewed as a sign of wealth).

Within minutes, another guy offered to escort me through some of the slums if I need to go there for a story, and a third benevolent stranger dodged into traffic to stop the flow of cars and let me cross. And while I’m sure these examples could quickly be written off for potential ulterior motives from poor people that view me as a source of cash, I flat-out like Sierra Leoneans.

At this point, I don’t feel I’ve overpaid for much of anything owing to the anticipated ‘white man tax’. My cell phone cost $35 with no plan to lock me in, for example.

Of course, the real tests will begin next week when I’m no longer being accompanied by Elvis and ABJ, JHR’s superstar Sierra Leonean hosts. Luckily, I met a woman today who offers affordable Krio (local dialect) lessons, which should go a long way towards helping my negotiating stance whenever I need a poda-poda (think of a cross between a taxi and a city bus).