Public Urination

Despite what you may think, this is not a blog about people peeing in the street or down back alleys. What this is, is a story about taming a certain minister who is known to be a bit of a loose canon.

There is a certain Minister who is quite old, quite difficult, but also very well respected and thus, quite safe and comfortable in his ministerial role. He's quite sharp at times, quite with it at times, but also has a reputation for being, for lack of a better phrase, a bit crazy.

He actively protested during the reign Siaka Stevens who ruled the country from 1971-1985, and thus was thrown in jail and held as a prisoner several times. Perhaps its a result of his years in captivity that this Minister has become a bit koo koo.

What do I mean by 'koo koo'? This is what I mean: Imagine you're flying to London from Freetown. You're sitting in business class. The flight attendant has just brought you a hot towel to clean your face and hands and then serves you a glass of champagne or orange juice. You sit back in your chair and relax as the 757-200 aircraft pulls away from the apron and heads down to the end of the runway to take off. Its a beautiful sunny evening and just as the plane takes off, you catch a glimpse of the beautiful hillsides covered in tropical fauna that surround the airport. 20 minutes later things seem calm and relaxed on board as the pilot comes on the PA system to announce that the flight will be on time and that they don't expect any turbulence.

Then, all of sudden, a tall thin man, wearing a Govt of Sierra Leone pin on his suit jacket gets up and stands in the aisle (despite the fasten seat belts sign still being lit up). Seems a bit peculiar as he's just standing there. And then without hesitation, fear or concern for others, the well dressed pees right there in the aisle. The bathroom is just 10 feet away, but no, he decides to pull it out and pee right there in the aisle. He's careful not to pee on other passengers, keeping his stream of urination focused solely on the one aisle that runs down the middle of the plane. He finishes up, gives a little shake and then sits back down in his seat as if nothing's happened.

Now, imagine that this well dressed govt official does this 2-3 more times on other future flights??!!!

Yep, this is the Minister I'm speaking about above. With this reputation, its no wonder that people are a bit afraid or uncomfortable when dealing with him.

And thus, I embarked on a particularly contentious meeting with him, a few other Ministers and a few other Govt counterparts to discuss a particular investment/project that had gone bad. The discussion had the potential to get explosive with people blaming each other, but somehow the Minister and others kept things together, with a bit of moderation from myself. At the end of the meeting, we arrived at a consensus of the best way forward which was completely in-line with best international practices and thus, the meeting was success. Several of the attendees complimented my efforts and seem to greatly appreciate the focus I attempted to assert on focusing on solutions and not on who to blame.

For me, the meeting was wonderfully gratifying as I continually spoke as "We" in reference to the Govt of Sierra Leone, which I finally feel a part of (even if its indirectly).

But the most successful part of the meeting came when the Minister stood up for a minute and stretched his 6'3" frame. He sort of stood around for a good 3 minutes and fidgeted a bit. To be honest, he looked like a little kid who needed to use the bathroom, but wanted a parent to take him/her. And just as he adjusted his belt buckle, I prepared for what seemed inevitable...

But...

The Ministers sat back down in his chair... I've never been so happy to see a person sit down in my life...

Casual Friday....

In the US and elsewhere, Friday (especially in the summertime) means casual attire or 'Casual Friday'. In the African continent, this takes on a slightly different meaning as Friday means 'African Attire'. And thus, my colleague, Marianne, the daughter of a prominent Govt official, decided to take me to her tailor to have some proper African clothes made up. After reviewing several magazines and fabrics, Mahmoud (the tailor) came up with this gem of an outfit for me.

The top or shirt goes down to about mid-calf, and has some ornate details on the front, French cuffs, and yes, a lion on the back. The lion is considered a fairly regal animal here in Sierra Leone as it appears on the country's crest / national emblem. As many of you know, my name also means lion, and thus, I am now known as "Lion" throughout the Statehouse when I wear this shirt. It confuses the security woman who calls me "Mr. Tony", so she now calls me "Mr. Tony Lion". (Clever eh?)

I must say these clothes are extremely comfortable, although sitting down is a bit difficult as you have to hitch up the shirt every time. I've also got my shirt caught on a few loose nails popping out of the walls a couple of times and have been lucky not to rip anything.

But all (or at least a vocal few) seem to admire me for wearing it. As they say, victory favours the bold and the Sierra Leoneans do seem to genuinely appreciate when you embrace their culture and traditions. In fact, the President's main body guard was yelling at my driver this morning for where he parked as he was dropping me off. (The President was about to come out of the door that our car was blocking) But then I stepped out of the car in my baby blue gown and the dude (a former member of the rebels, the RUF) started smiling and clapping. A couple of fist bumps later and suddenly, he wasn't so angry at where we were parked...

And yes, I finally shaved my head again and got rid of the hair... after all its 90 degrees here and 100% humidity and every little bit of air flow helps cool you down...

Back in Business

I returned to Sierra Leone yesterday evening after being in the UK and Austria for a week. Did some snowboarding in Kitzbuhel, Austria (which I recommend if you are an overpaid banker or financial type or if you have lots of disposable cash from a recently deceased husband/wife or grandparent). I mean seriously, seeing people in Prada on the slopes was a bit ridiculous. I kept it real in my 5 year old camoflage snowboarding pants, green helmet and green jacket...

Anyway, it was quite weird to be back in a 'developed' country (or countries). Not worrying about electricity, having flushing toilets and being able to order a hamburger I knew would not make me lose 8 pounds lighter later on that night was pretty cool. But landing at Heathrow definitely felt like sensory overload. One of the best parts about living down here has been learning to live with much less. As an expat, I still live better than 99% of the country, but compared to living in London or Joburg or New York, there's still a big difference. And in this lesser lifestyle, you somehow find more to entertain and amuse yourself. You learn to appreciate simpler things... but I will stop here as it could get pretty ridiculous and way to preachy and cheezy.

What I will say is that I did sit down on the toilet every time I had to go while in London and Kitzbuhel. Even when I had to pee, I would sit down. Why you ask? I'm not a woman ofcourse, but it was the fact that for the first time in two months I was in a semi-clean public bathroom and thus I felt the need to celebrate the fact that the bathroom was cleaner than my office, cleaner than Statehouse and thus worthy of housing my behind for a few minutes... Like I said, its the little things in life....

Living On A Farm

Every morning I wake up to the soothing sounds of chickens, dogs, goats and birds. From about 6am onwards, the roosters coo, causing the dogs to bark and then to chase the goats, which causes the goats to make whatever you call the noise they make, which annoys the birds who then start to attack the goats, causing the people to shew the birds aways and yell obscenities in Krio at the top of their lungs.

To make matters worse, the electricity usually shuts off for a few hours from about 7:30am onwards. This usually means that I shower with ice cold water (electric water heaters don't work), and shave using a flash flight to ensure that I don't cut myself. I'm not gonna lie, it was super frustrating for the first few days, but now I sort of enjoy it in some weird sick way.

The good thing about Freetown, and Sierra Leone in general, is that (as an expat) you learn to just get on with life despite the lack of basic conveniences. This in turn, helps one to reevaluate whats important, whats necessary and what's completely superfluous. In many ways, it helps you to narrow the scope of what you 'need'.

"Do you know where I can find napkins?"

There is a significant population of Lebanese folk living in Sierra Leone. Although they are small in numbers, they control a significant amount of land and commerce throughout Sierra Leone, especially in Freetown. One of the Lebanese businesses owned is a market called St Mary's which is pretty much where most of the expats in my neighborhood shop.

St Mary's offers up most things that you'd want or need. You can buy soy milk, you can Hershey bars, you can buy an electronic kettle, you can buy eggs, you can buy flashlights, etc. You can pretty buy anything you'd want from a super market, stationary store or hardware store. However, the pricing for items various wildly from traditional prices in Europe and the US.

For example, some Frosted Mini Wheats, which normally retail for 2-3 USDs in the US sell for about 8-9 USDs here. Tabasco hot sauce has a similar markup. Other items, however, light bulbs sell for pennies on the dollar.

Anyway, I know my way around the store pretty well by this point, know the guys who own and run the store and even negotiate prices when I go to pay... All of this has clearly turned me into an honorary member of the Lebanese community. Here's why:

The other day I was loading up my cart with stuff for my new flat when a middle-aged man asked me where he could find napkins. I responded in the aisle with all the plastic cutlery just one aisle over. Was not really thinking, but I assume he was just asked another patron if they knew where something was. He then found me about 5 minutes later in the aisle where the pasta and rice is found. He literally started rummaging through my shopping cart at which point, I asked him if I could help him?

He responded and said that he was looking to see if I had any more of the Louisiana Hot Sauce as there was no more on the shelf. I responded and said that I did indeed have the last bottle. But I was still completely confused as to where this was going. He then asked me for it, and I said that I was purchasing it... he looked at me insanely confused and said "But don't you work here?" I laughed and said "Pardon?", and he then asked me if I was part of the Lebanese family that runs the store... I said, "Nope, I'm American my friend and just trying to find some dinner to cook like yourself..."

The guy was so embarrassed. He thought I had been restocking the shelves. I felt bad and offered him my hot sauce as I had found a green jalapeno Tabasco sauce that i preferred. And thus, for the first time in my life... someone assumed that I was Lebanese.

The Smell of Urine in the Morning

So - as previously described, the Statehouse in Freetown is nothing like the US Capital building or any other US government building that I've ever been inside of. The Statehouse was built and rebuilt around the time of independence and since then has enjoyed few upgrades, other than a coat of fresh paint. The outside is painted white and blue, and the inside is yellowish/cream colour with red carpeting or cheap tiling throughout.

Now this is not a rich country and thus, its wonderful to see that the Government is not wasting funds on building and refurbishing their offices at the expense of the Sierra Leonean people. So, in many ways, there is nothing to complain about. But every morning I cringe as I walk the three flights of stairs up to our office.

Why do I cringe? Well its not because there are fruit bats flying and shitting everywhere. Its not because there are men sleeping in the corridors. Its not because a security woman calls me "Mr. Tony" every morning. Its not because the stairs are falling apart and feel as though they will crumble under my feet. Its not because of the terrible body odor that emanates through the hallways. Its not because the power is often not working and the building is swelteringly hot.

Why do I cringe? Its because the hallways and the stair wells smell like urine. The smell gets worse and worse every day that it gets hotter and more humid. Imagine trying to concentrate on your work when the smell of piss surrounding you is so strong that it could literally knock you on your ass. Imagine trying to eat your lunch or drink your coffee when every bite and every sip somehow involves a certain urinary aroma. In short - its pretty tough to deal with.

But for what its worth - as I already mentioned - I truly admire the Gov of Sierra Leone. They do basic maintenance on the Statehouse and other Govt buildings, but they don't overspend or build themselves garish offices. Although the Presidents office is clean and well decorated, its still nothing special. And I guess the good thing is that every day that I smell urine, so does His Excellency. One day he'll ensure the Statehouse doesn't smell so bad, but until then he and the rest of Govt are focused on trying to do the right things for their people and this is certainly not something to cringe over...

Chasing the Convoy

The Presidential lodge (or compound or residence or whatever its called) actually backs up to the house that I continue to live in on Lucy Drive. Our house is at the top of this hill, with a serve road behind it that leads down to the Prez's pad. The house has great views of the city, and because it sits so high up and close to the Prez's pad, we actually have pretty good water and electricity services. (Pretty good means, that the power only goes out 3 or 4 times per week versus every day).

Anyway, the real benefit is that every morning I hear and see the Presidential motorcade as it winds down the service road leaving the Prez's pad to take him to Statehouse. No, I don't get excited to see the Prez every day in his S-class Mercedes, but rather I get excited to time the departure from my house so that we can piggy back onto the motorcade and get to Statehouse quickly.

Traffic is such a problem in Freetown, then short journeys can take an hour due to single lane roads and massive congestion. But if you can jump into the Presidential motorcade, you can save yourself at least 20-30 mins. The only catch is that this assumes the guys with AK-47s in the pickup truck behind the Mercedes don't shoot you. And thats a big assumption...

The Chief Wears Nike

Friday was a Muslim holiday, so the government and country had the day off. So after a busy few weeks, I went to the Turtle Islands with a few friends. The Turtle Islands are a set of about 8 islands about 60 kms off the coast of Sierra Leone. There are several hundred people living in the Turtle islands, with a few different island Chiefdoms and then one Paramount Chief who overseas all of the Turtle Islands.

Anyway, we started this trek in Tombo, a small fishing village outside of Freetown. We drove through this little marketplace down to the beach where we were met by a man named Ishika (or "Ish" for short). Ish works for the Conservation Society of Sierra Leone (CSSL), which is tasked with 'conserving' important areas, relics, etc. Ish grew up in the Turtle Islands with hopes of pursuing education and business, but then like many other Sierra Leoneans in their 20s and 30s, the civil war happened.

Re the Civil War: Turtle Islands was not tremendously effected by the RUF (the rebels). A few guys came out on a boat and robbed a few people, but that was pretty much the extent of it. They were there one day and gone the next. No major stories of rape, murder or mutilation, but ofcourse the war cut off the Turtle Islands as there was less inclination to head for shore where craziness ensued. After the civil war ended, Ish, did manage to go study. Where you ask? He chose the warm and tropical Russian city of St Petersburg!! He studied commerce for 3.5 years where he was beaten up a few times (for being black) and where a few friends of his were killed (also for being black). After 3.5 years of being away, he finally returned home to the Turtle Islands. Unlike most of his tribe, he wanted to do something beyond being a fisherman, and thus got involved with the CSSL as 1) it gave him a job and money and 2) it meant that he could do something good for his community by helping to preserve Turtle Islands and monitor the sea turtles that live there.

So we hopped onto a little boat with Ish that is basically a old open plan 15 foot boat (the kind you'd go on a lake with - not a bayliner or challenger or anything swank, but rather just a rear engine with a rod that you use to turn - no steering wheel) with a single 80hp engine and along with his 'Captain' we shot off to the Turtle Islands. It took about 2.5 hours to get there, which was not so bad, although taking my shirt off was a bad idea as I didn't manage to get sun tan lotion onto a big part of my bag and thus, I have a big red spot.

We arrived and were greeted by the entire village (or at least all of the kids). 30 little children stood there waiving as we arrived. Ish sent them away as we landed the boat on the beach, but they were all smiling, laughing and happy. Apparently, there have only been two other visitors to Turtle Island over the past 12-18 months. And thus, this is not a place that caters to tourists.

Despite this, Ish and his colleagues have done a good job and 'refurbished' a two bedroom house that sits outside the village on a beach overlooking a little lagoon of sorts. By 'house' I ofcourse just mean 4 walls and a roof. There were no mosquito nets, no running water, no power, no generators, etc. Just a basic structure which had been repainted so at least it looked nice. Mr. Tommy, a member of the local tribe, took care of us and did everything from clean up to help start fires. Oddly there were toilets in the rooms, but they didn't flush. So Mr. Tommy advise us to just tell him after we 'made a sh-t' so that he could clean up. A bit odd, and it clearly affected me as constipation set it in for me and for my friends as all of us seemed a bit gun shy about taking Mr. Tommy up on his offer. The English bloke finally decided to go into the jungle which somehow resulted in him cutting his left butt cheek (this will be important later in the story) Anyway, it was a lovely little site to spent a couple of days. There were a few large palm trees which provided much needed shade, a great little firepit area to have a campfire and a couple of hammocks which were ideally located under the palm trees overlooking the beach. In short, it was a simple place to stay, but a beautiful one!!

We fired up the fire when we arrived and I took the role of chef, preparing some afternoon lunch. Pasta, homemade tomato sauce and salad. (We had not yet caught our dinner, so no fish). After relaxing a bit from the boat journey, we went for a walk. This lagoon turned out to be pretty large and thus, we decided to swim across the lagoon to the outer beach where the waves were breaking. We hoped to find turtles, but instead found dozens of large crabs. The crabs are hysterical! They run up to the shorebreak and then stop like afraid little kids. Then suddenly disappear into the surf and the shorebreak retreats into the ocean. They frighten easily, so even if you see a hundred in front of you as you walk down the beach, they disappear and scamper for their wholes as you get within 10 feet. Walked around a bit more and then swam back across the lagoon as the tide came in. This was no easy task as the swim a good 500-600 yards... Exhausted, we made it back despite the current.

After a few drinks, Ish came back to our little house with the Chief of the Island. I didn't expect to see a guy with a spear or anything, but when this dude, the Chief, showed up wearing a full on Nike (Team Jordan to be specific) basketball outfit, I could not help but laugh. It was bright blue with black pinstripes (think Orlando magic colors). He arrived with his two little sons who we gave a can of Coca Cola and then the cheif we gave some snacks and some wine, which he preceded to chug. Wine is not the alcohol of choice on the Turtle Islands apparently.

Later on that evening, we cleaned up, and then prepared a campfire. The village had prepared fish and rice for us (as standard a Sierra Leonean meal as one can have), but was actually quite tasty and good. (I did throw on some hot sauce and some terriyaki sauce to get things going. We capped off the evening under the full moon (which literally lit up the island) with a bottle of whiskey, some smores and what I like to call Turtled Bananas.

(Turtled Bananas = bananas left in their skin, with a big slit in the skin. You fill the slit with pieces of hersheys chocolate. Then you use roast the banana over the fire until the chocolate melts. Then use one of the cookies from an oreo cookie to scoop out and eat the chocolaty banana)

The next day we got up late and went out fishing, after about 15 minutes we had a bite from a rather large hammer jack (some type of whitefish). Reeled it in until the cord snapped just as we grabbing it from the side of the boat. DAMN!!! No luck thereafter, so we instead found a deserted little island beach which only exists at low tide. We swam and laid in the sun, before heading to another deserted little island which houses one of the turtle nests. Still no turtles, but apparently they do exist. We did much of the same (swimming and laying in the sun). Finally got back to our little house where we were greeted by a few more members of the local village. All nice people. (As discussed there are not many visitors to Turtle Island, so us being there is a big deal for the locals as there is not too much to do beyond, fish, eat, hang around, etc). When I say village, I litteraly mean huts with thatched roofs, no electricity, one fresh water well and no stores or commerce of any kind. Also no cell phone reception and thus no cell phones or electronics of any kind. Most people on the island have never seen TV or listened to a radio!!! But somehow they all wore american clothes. Lots of football jerseys, Nike apparel, etc etc.

After a little nap on the hammocks after drinking coconuts filled with Bacardi and pineapple juice, we decided to try fishing again. This time, Mary (an Irish lawyer who works for the Govt), caught a pretty big baracuda. It was about 3.5 feet long. We got back to the house and had Francis cut up a few fillets and the rest we gave to him and to Ish's families. More smores, more booze and more laying in the hammock under the moonlight.

The next morning, I think all of us were sort of keen on staying a few more days as we had finally become calm and relaxed and comfortable with this quiet life, but we had to leave early to avoid the winds to make it back to Tombo. Ha. After about 15-20 mins, the winds kicked up and with that, the waves also kicked up. As George Costanza would say "The sea was angry this day!" (Extra points for anyone who remembers which episode this is from??? How about the one where George pretends to be a Marine Biologist and ends up saving a beached whale which has had a golf ball stuck in its blow-hole which end up there after Kramer hit golf balls into the ocean from the beach a couple days earlier)

I sat in the back of the boat, on the left side in front of where Francis controlled the boat and next to Ish. This is important to mention as it turned out to be the wettest and worst place to sit in the boat. My English friend managed to create a nice little place for himself in the middle of the boat between the two benches where he continued to read his Grisham novel, quietly and dryly. I looked down at him annoyed (soaking wet and shivering) until finally, karma came into play and some spilled gasoline found its way to his left butt check. He jumped up with a burning sensation and then had to jump into the ocean and scrub with some soap until the pain resided. I was ofcourse relieved that he was fine, but pleased at the same time as he never offered to switch seats for any of the boat trip.

Ish was visibly frightened by the waves and roughness of the sea. Several times he tried to convince me that we should turn around - which I declined. To me, it did not seem that bad. 4.5 hours later we had still not made it to Tombo. We finally arrived Tombo, soaking wet and cold for the first time since we've been in Sierra Leone. Ish and Francis were pleased and incredibly relieved. As we walked up the beach to the car, the horrid smell of the little fishing village never smelled so good. I changed shirts, which got a laugh from the surrounding crowd of people that had formed around our 15-year old gold Izuzu Trooper. They laughed at the Live it Up tatoo and ofcourse at the big red burned spot of my back. We raced back to the house (as fast as the Izuzu could handle) and after 48 hours of constipation, I finally relieved myself and gave birth to 7 brown babies... And so it goes...

The Lobster Index

Over the last 30 days, I've consumed 19 lobsters here in Sierra Leone. This works out to 0.63 lobsters per day!! If I continue at this rate, I'll consume 231.2 lobsters over the year!!!

Now, the relevance of this, is that I believe my consumption of lobsters directly correlates to my happiness. As you will see with the chart on the right, my happiness grows as I consume more lobster. (The data does not lie!!)

It is a result of this, that I am suggesting that the Lobster Index be used as another measurement tool to evaluate countries.

My rationale is the following: Sierra Leone is one of the poorest countries in the world. I think only Sudan or Somalia is considered poorer, perhaps even Afghanistan, but thats the type of level we're at. However, this does not reflect the every day happiness than many Sierra Leoneans feel. They live simpler lives ofcourse, and face many challenges, but f-ck they get to eat lobster as much as they catch it or afford it. Now, to Sierra Leoneans, lobster is still not cheap, but its not unobtainable and its not out of the realm to eat. Fish like baracuda is more regularly eater, but lobster is still attainable.

And thus, like GDP per capita, I think we should have the Lobster Index for each country. Sierra Leone may be a poor country, but with lobster for lunch and dinner, it is surely a happy country and thus, this happiness should be reflected and promoted to attract others to Sierra Leone. Poor incomes, often poor quality of life, but lots of lobster-eating induced happiness can make the pain go away!

"Hello Tony"

Sorry for the delay in posting, but its been a pretty busy couple of weeks here. So I'll drop a few different Blogs online today for all to read about the latest and greatest here in Salone.

So the big man (Mr. Tony) was here last week (Tuesday and Wednesday). Here was here for a total of 36 hours (give or take).... and let me tell you, its a bit of a circus. Not as bad as it would be in the US, as the Brits are still a bit more relaxed with security than the Americans (at least they are perceived to be more relaxed). But still pretty nutty. Without going into the specifics of his security detail, I can tell you that I know his 'cops' pretty well now. Most I've met in London and some I've done Advance work with before, but there were a few new faces who had never before been to Sierra Leone. All good dudes.

Anyway, we had lots of prep to do for the visit. We write briefs, briefs, briefs and more briefs. Then we create presentations, then we do dress rehearsals, then we set up meetings, then we invite everyone to the meetings, then we arrange logistics and advance parties for all of the meetings, then we adjust everything for security, then we run through all plans again, then we change everything, we plan meals, we plan for coffee, we plan for power failures, we plan for water cutoff, we plan for bad weather, etc etc etc. Anyway, finally we execute our plan around his 36 hour trip and luckily all goes down pretty well.

Spent quite a bit of time with the big man along with my other private sector development colleague. This is a reflection of Mr. Tony's belief in thriving private sector being absolutely cornerstone to good leadership and good governance. Regardless of your political views, I find this a hard position to challenge. The Aid model is not sustainable and although helpful, you need private sector players to invest and achieve commercial returns in order to attract other investors and other investors, and so on.

Overall it was a very good visit. Had dinner with his chief of staff and traveling secretary, and a few other colleagues from the London office also came down for the trip. Additionally, we had a big full team dinner with Mr Tony before jetted off. Unfortunately, he had given alcohol up for Lent, and thus no crazy party stories to share. But in general, he's a pretty fun guy to chit chat with and loves to take the piss out of people (as most Brits do). And damn right impressive in meetings!!

And thus, after an insane 36 hours, he hopped on his jet and left. Our whole team waived goodbye and then preceded to get absolutely hammered!! We all went out to a bar called Atlantics which is down on the beach. Atlantics is my fav bar in Freetown. Its down on Lumley beach and is an open air place with tables both inside and on the beach sand. We don't have many bars, but this one is a good one! My head hit the pillow at 3am and I didn't arrive at Statehouse the next day (Thursday) til 11am...