"It's not cold"

Today, Freetown experienced cloudy periods with a high of 33 and a low of 24. When I checked the weather report around 10:30 this morning, it was 26 degrees, though the 84% humidity allegedly made it feel more like 37. "Is this what 37 feels like?" I recall thinking to myself. I was quite comfortable.

I think it's safe to say I'm acclimatized.

On Tuesday, the temperature is expected to drop as low as 21 degrees. I can't wait to see how my colleagues react.

The lowest temperature ever recorded in Freetown is 19 degrees. Ever. In history. No capital city in Africa has a higher record low. We're not just talking sub-Saharan Africa, also known as Black Africa (or, as I like to call it, Blafricka) - all of Africa.

Yeah. It's hot. Or, as I tend to say whenever someone mentions the heat, "It's not cold."

Sierra Leoneans favour a different phrase whenever a white person mentions the heat. Bryna's colleagues have a habit of helpfully informing her, "This is Africa." A while back, we brainstormed possible witty responses to this blatantly obvious statement, my favourite being, "Well, that would explain all the black people."

December and January are among the most comfortable months in Sierra Leone, thanks to the Harmattan (pronounced "Ar-ma-tawn"), a dusty westerly wind that sweeps across West Africa from the Sahara Desert. It brings with it hazy days of reduced visibility (though this is marginal in Freetown) and people tend to get sick more.

I recall ABJ telling me shortly after my arrival that I'd love the Harmattan. I was skeptical. But as in most things, ABJ was right. The cool breeze is a godsend, a view I held even at the beginning of the Harmattan when I was experiencing itchy eyes, an often bloody nose and hourly fits of sneezing.

Of course, not everyone seems to share my view - many Sierra Leoneans are convinced it's cold. Particularly in the provinces, which are admittedly a few degrees cooler than Freetown, I had the surreal experience of being surrounded by people in toques under the hot African sun.

Interestingly, I've seen people wearing said toques while sweat trickled down their brow, leading me to wonder if their bodies have conditioned them to psychologically believe they're cold whenever they're not perspiring.

I'm sure the toques will soon disappear. As the dry season drags on, the country's hottest month is not far off. By March, temperatures supposedly become almost unbearable, acclimatized or not, thanks to stifling humidity resultant from less than 15 mm of rain for the whole month (about 1/5 the precipitation Kitchener experiences in the same period).

As with any tropical climate, Sierra Leone makes up for this sparsity with a vengeance, boasting monthly precipitation of 734 and 791 mm in July and August respectively (Kitchener peaks in August as well, albeit with a comparably pitiful 93 mm). Alas, I'll be gone too soon to bear witness to the opening of the heavens to regular torrents of rain and sparks of lightning.

But I did get a taste of it when I first arrived at the tail end of the rainy season in late October. On more than one occasion I was awakened by violent storms that completely dwarfed anything I've seen in Canada in terms of power and volume (aided by the resonance of rain on a city full of tin roofs).

I remember getting out of bed on one of the first nights at the guest house, unable to believe that all the commotion could be solely nature's doing. I spent a few minutes in the early morning hours just staring out my window in awe.

Still, all in all, I feel the timing of my stay in Sierra Leone is pretty ideal. The rainy season sounds all well and good in theory, but it rains virtually every single day for two months, washing out roads and making some parts of the country largely inaccessible in the process.

Besides, even if I find March to be absolutely stifling, I can always take comfort in knowing that things could be worse. It could be -20.