Story Time

I was thinking about how gorgeous of a thing memory is today. I suppose it was inevitable that we evolved language in order to express to others these, sometimes incredible, situations that bombard all five of our senses. Somehow these memories settle between our ears in our , and can be recalled whenever we want to relive their ghost; and my goodness- is it getting crowded between my ears lately. What got me started thinking about it was my lunch time walk and subsequent sheltering in a palm hut off the side of Steshon Rd. while an afternoon shower grazed Makeni today. Josh and myself thought a frosty Fanta sounded like a good pit-stop on our walk to find the honey vendor in the market, and somehow didn't see the oil-black cloud sliding across town. As we ducked through the stick-framed door, we aimed smiles at two of our Language and Cultural Facilitators, sheepishly grinning back at us while the waitress handed them each a perspiring bottle of mid-workday Guinness.

Jackpot.

You've got to understand, these guys are like the Rolls Royce of story tellers. A free jukebox of funny tales- as easy as lifting a finger to push play on. As Josh and I settled into our chairs to enjoy our cold drinks-and-a-story, we flipped through conversation topics like the channels on a Wednesday afternoon. Oh what was that? Mob justice? Go back to that one. Primetime has started.

Last week, by word of mouth, we heard about something that would've made national news back home. A career thief had finally been apprehended and tried by the paramount chief in Makeni. His subsequent beating by a mob and execution raised more than a few eyebrows in our group- the method of death as remarkable as the measure of punishment. I didn't know a tactful way of broaching the subject to get an explanation, so I simply asked, "Is it common to kill thiefs by inserting limes up their...?" And I let my hands do the rest of the talking with a quick, admittedly obscene, gesture. Receiving hearty laughs and head nods instead of the furrowed, somber eyebrows I expected, I pursued my line of questioning and found out the following: Do not steal anything in Sierra Leone. If you do steal something in Sierra Leone, hope that there aren't many young men around or they'll beat the tar out of you. If you do get caught stealing in Salone and there are enough younger vigilantes around you to reach critical mob-mass, then pray that there isn't a lime tree growing nearby or a lime vendor selling for cheap. Something to do with the acid content of a DOZEN OR SO limes entering the blood stream without first passing through the liver, etc. is lethal. Not to mention the tissue trauma that introducing a few handfuls of limes in an unusual manner must cause. My next question of course was whether with white people like myself were possible targets of a back-door-limeing. The reassuring answer was no.

Anyway, memory is good for more than just remembering how to stay lime-free. It's good for remembering days like today. I think there's still some sand behind my ears, but I really would rather keep it there as a reminder of the waves I was swimming under, through, body surfing on, and watching crash against the beach I was at in Freetown this morning. If I wasn't in the tepid waves, then I was in a beach chair with a cold drink in my hand (Carlsburg's Motto: Probably the best beer in the world.........really? Not a very confident sounding slogan). My lack of shirt, bounty of friends, and sun breaking through the rainy-season clouds complemented the palmtree ridden scenery nicely. Just to show us where the lorry parks in Freetown were, the PC saw fit to put us up in the Stadium Hostel for a night. This morning we were free to explore as we saw fit, and a number of us were curious enough about Lumley beach to go pay a memorable 3 hour visit before a cramped ride back to freetown. No regrets about the angry sunburn painted on my shoulders.

Well I really doubt I'll write again soon- it's our last week of training and there's plenty to buy if I'm going to be domestically responsible. You know, shop enough to make my house in Mambolo feel like a home. I figured I'd organize my house purchasing in a way that I organize my every activity: in a food-centric manner. Buy a coal pot to cook food on. Buy things to prepare food on the coal pot. Buy things to eat the food with. Buy a bed to sleep in after I eat. Buy clothes to wear to go to buy more food at the market when i wake up, etc. etc. So far I've just bought the coal pot. But really, it's going to be an relaxed, fun week ramping up to our swearing in next Friday. The departure schedule is already posted at the training hub telling us what day, time, and car we'll be taking to our sites. The group is breaking up. Training is almost at an end. I think I'm more than ready to go start serving my community for the next couple of years.

Take care.