Last few months in 15 pictures

I guess it's about time I update this thing with life since Sierra Leone.


We left in early December. A day later, we arrived in London (via car, water taxi, bus and plane).

It was snowing. We didn't have winter clothes. We ate a croissant in the airport and I was pretty sure it was the most delicious thing I had ever had. Also, we looked silly.

In London, we drank cup after cup of mulled wine to warm our bodies (and hearts). Look at this cold face. We were unprepared for the winter wonderland.

We wandered around Bath for a few days, then hopped over to Paris to meet up with my Dad and Jen. I learned I was too old for hostels after a terrible night in a 12-bunk room full of 18 year old male Aussies.

We had an amazing week full of stories, exploring and food (cheese! chocolate! wine! pasta!) with the best travel buddies around. Really.




David was sporting an impressive beard.

Back in London, we hung out with our new friend Rob and his family (who are the family of Freya, our dear friend in SL). He introduced us to some excellent places (a toast and jam restaurant where you toast the bread yourself!) and we attended his Christmas choir concert.


Shortly before Christmas, we headed back to California. I finally got to meet my sweet new nephew, Conor.

In January, we moved back across the country. All of our things, BACK to the East Coast. Now we live in Washington, DC. We got a dog. We love him.

That's not him. This is Sura, his cousin. Isn't she a beauty? I'll introduce our pup more formally soon. He deserves his own post.

Great, now all caught up!

Inshallah

Friends in Sierra Leone, I hope to see you again some day.

More starts

I have been wanting to write about this for a long time now, but I have been hesitating. There is just too much to say, too much to convey, and these words won't really do.

I mentioned before that mental illness is a serious but largely ignored issue in Sierra Leone. I saw obvious, severe cases every day, and there are many more cases that sit just below the surface. There was a man who wandered our neighborhood, some days alert and asking for food, and other days slumped over on the side of the road and unresponsive. I would buy him bread or hand him a few plantains, ask him his name, attempt conversation. I asked people in the neighborhood if they knew him, but no one did.

In order for him to get long-term care, we would have to find his family. I asked him if he had family nearby and where they lived, and he pointed down the road. I flagged down a taxi and David and I went with him to find them. After driving all around Freetown, it became clear we weren't going to find anyone. The taxi driver told us that the man's directions didn't make sense and what we thought was Krio was actually nonsense. Perhaps his family was in a different town. Perhaps he didn't have any family left.

City of Rest, in the middle of Freetown, is the country's only mental rehabilitation facility. It is run by locals and receives no government funding. I spent a couple of hours there one afternoon, taking photos for an article and meeting the residents. City of Rest is building a new facility outside of town that will allow for more residents and more room for rest and rehabilitation. But until they raise more funds, it is filled to capacity and unable to accept more people.

The only other option is the government mental hospital. When you mention this place, everyone has a rumor to share. People chained to beds. One small meal a day. Abuse by guards. Bribes and cruelty. But, is it better than being on the street?

City of Rest is not perfect. There is no running water and there is not enough medicine. But there is love there, and diagnosis and therapy and a desire to see people healed. The staff is fighting to get the right medicines and to learn how to better treat the residents. And then there are the residents themselves, the woman who was once unable to care for herself and is now healthy and smiling. The former soldiers who have found a community and a sense of home.

No, it is not perfect, but it is a start. I think we need more starts.

Posin'

Love

Happy Valentine's Day xoxo

To church

David and I had the chance to attend church with our friend Aaron and his family. After the service, we walked to his sister's house and were served a huge lunch. On the way, one of the little girls started singing the name Jesus over and over. She looked up at David and said, "That man looks like Jesus." Then she turned to me and said, "And you look like Mary."

Stare Down

"You going to cry??"

(David and Mariama, our neighbor.)

Shortly before we left Sierra Leone, we went to a place called Big Market. Apart from a few small spots along the beach, Big Market is the only permanent souvenir market in Freetown. The bottom floor is crowded with carvings, baskets, and household goods, and the top floor has stall after stall of women selling locally-made items like gara (a tie-dyed fabric) and country cloth blankets.

After a few minutes downstairs, we made our way down the aisle and up to the second floor. We stopped at quite a few stalls, loaded up on batiks, blankets, and precious outfits for the new babies in our lives, and headed back toward the stairs. A woman we hadn't talked to blocked our way and told us to come look at her stall.

"No tenki, we get already. We di go now." But the woman insisted, "You must come see my things."

David said apologetically, "Sorry, we don't need. We don't need. Next time." The woman turned to David and asked abruptly, "Are you going to cry?" We looked at each other, clearly confused.

She continued, "I don't need. I don't need. Are you going to cry??" We laughed awkwardly and walked down the stairs. It took us a moment to realize she was mocking David, to his face.

From the back of a taxi

Alpha

One morning this summer I was feeling frustrated and sad as I walked to work. I don't remember why- I was probably woken up by the bird from hell who lived right outside our bedroom window. I left the compound and had not gone 15 steps before a little boy from across the way ran up and into my arms. I picked him up, hugged him, set him back down, and watched him run back to his house. I imagined that God himself was hugging me through those little brown arms.

This hug was the beginning of a five-month hugging relationship between Alpha and me. His brother and friends would yell to him when they saw me coming. He would run out of his house or the little shop his mom owns. (One time I went to buy something from his mom and saw him by himself, stealthily climbing the shelves to reach some cookies.) I would pick him up and hug him close while he stared off, not especially interested. I would say, "Hi, Alpha," to which he would say, "Fine." "How di bodi?" I'd ask, and he would respond, "Fine." That was the extent of our conversation. I never understood what he got from this relationship, but I didn't need to know. I just hugged him and let his little heart warm mine.

Issa

Issa lives next door to us and I see him when I leave my house.

"Issa, how di bodi?" I ask in the morning on my way to work, or in the evening as he watches over his family's shop or plays with his younger brother Alpha. "Fine! I am fine!" he always says, arms stretched out wide as if to say, Of course, what else would I be?

Making cassava leaf

Before we left, I had Lahai teach me how to make the most classic Sierra Leonean meal: cassava leaf and rice.

The ingredients- palm oil, onion, peppers, ground leaves from the cassava plant, Maggi shrimp seasoning cube, dried fish, and a few secret flavors that I can't remember.
Grind the peppers, salt and onion.

Throw into a pot of water and add cassava leaf.
Add scary dried fish to the boiling water.

Cook until the cassava leaf turns brownish and serve with massive amounts of rice.

(Emmanuel asked me to take a picture so I wouldn't forget how much he loves cassava leaf.)