New Year's in Kabala

I woke up on the morning of Dec. 31 in Makeni. I was sore, disheveled, and growing increasingly weary of travel. The only shorts I'd brought with me from Freetown - thanks to a pitifully small backpack and the journalistic need for my camera, laptop and recording gear - were filthy.

I kind of wanted to just return to Freetown; 19 Smartfarm Rd. had never before seemed so much like home.

Then again, I'd been planning to spend New Year's in Kabala ever since my American friend Leah, who has lived there for the last six months or so, had suggested it a few weeks previous.

Besides, Kabala was the place to be for New Year's. At least, that's what I kept hearing.

Normally, Kabala is not an especially happening place. Located in Koinadugu District, an immense northern swath of the country, it is (or at least we were told it is) the sixth-largest city in Sierra Leone, though it still boasts a population of only about 18,000. It is the least developed district in the least developed country in the world, a local explained, and the country's battered collective self-image came starkly into focus.

The rudimentary way of life was indeed noticeable - not just compared to Freetown, but also to places like Makeni and Koidu. Even in the guest house, typically among the most developed places in a city, plumbing was non-existent. When I went for a much-needed shower, I was directed to a simple, open-air outdoor structure with tin walls.

In many ways, I suspect living in Kabala would feel a lot like going on a permanent camping trip to Algonquin Park, except with more dust, less water and fewer trees.

But come New Year's, Kabala is where it's at. There were apparently a few tourists that had come to the country explicitly to spend the holiday there, though the majority of visitors were upper crust Sierra Leoneans and Westerners already living in the country.

Every year, on New Year's Day, thousands of people climb up Gbawuria Hill, in the Wara Wara Mountains, for a celebration overlooking the town. Culturally, January 1st carries considerably more weight than New Year's Eve.

But tearing it up on the last day of the year was a cultural tradition I wasn't about to part with. After sharing some rum and lively conversation with a Dutch filmmaker named Hoop, Bryna, Patrick and I went to grab a simple jollof rice dinner at a small place called Twins Bar and Restaurant.

As Genesis and Celine Dion played in the background, I discovered a locally-brewed gin-based beverage called Crazy Kool, which boasted the potency of three beers and inexplicably sported a red-headed Scotsman on the label. I was sold.


Bryna and Patrick were exhausted and went to bed shortly after dinner, meaning they would miss the midnight countdown - you know, had there been one.

Instead, the final second of 2008 ticked away with relatively little fanfare and I spent it in the local nightclub with Bremen, Jen, Kieran, Leah and a couple other expats. It was an elaborate, somewhat labyrinthine set-up of rooms, both indoors and out, that made for an extremely enjoyable, extremely intoxicated few hours of dancing.

As I departed for my guest-house around 3 a.m., I stopped for the most authentic street meat I've ever had - quite literally, an unidentifiable yet delicious meat grilled over a charcoal stove set up on the dirt streets. I'm told the carcasses hung beside the grill, though I was oblivious to them.

Regardless, it was delicious, cost about $0.20, and didn't make me sick at all. After a brief phone call to my friend Laura in Calgary, I called it a night.

January 1, 2009 began like many of its recent forebearers - with a hangover. After my first Salone vomiting experience (as predictably unpleasant as back home), I had all but decided to go back to bed and miss out on the big celebration. Climbing a mountain in the heat of midday carried all the appeal of removing my own spleen with a rusty steak knife.

Thankfully, with the help of an orange soda and a bag of water, I stubbornly persisted and made the climb to the top, where Bryna, Patrick and I stayed for an hour or so.



It really was quite the spectacle, though our desire to get to Makeni before nightfall no doubt caused us to miss the peak of the day's excitement.

In a show of their remarkable fitness, local Sierra Leoneans not only passed us as we made the climb up the mountain, but did so while carting cases of beer and coolers balanced on their heads. Though we didn't see them, someone obviously also hauled massive speakers up the hill, as evidenced here.



The music was already well underway when we began our ill-conceived descent against the grain of foot traffic. It quickly become apparent that tales of a 9 a.m. start time had been greatly (and predictably) exaggerated. When we began climbing down around 3 p.m., it seemed as though the entire village passed us on their way up, some children even tackling the steepest route in their bare feet.

This was the scene atop Gbawuria Hill when we left and I can only imagine how convivial it got by the time night fell. And while a steep mountain may not inherently seem like the wisest place for a day of sun-splashed drinking, a small part of me wished I had the energy to delay my return to Freetown just one more day to take it in fully.



Instead, we packed our bags, checked out of the Tek 1 Guest House and began the trek back to Freetown. En route, we came across a couple more New Year's celebrations. Along bridges outside of Makeni and another town, roadblocks were set up, cars crowded the shoulder, and hoards of neighbours came together to shake hands with 2009.

I really have to hand it to Sierra Leoneans. Throughout the festive season, they've proven time and again that, though they may not always have a lot to celebrate, they certainly know how to do it properly - in a clique-free, inclusive manner that rarely falls behind closed doors.