Sonder Salone

I had three weeks to kill before school started and no idea how to do it. I felt like a pinball shooting around hoping to get somewhere and praying I wouldn’t fall. I spent most days with Seibatu and her nieces playing Uno – SO much Uno – or listening to music or trying to get kids to be less afraid of me. I hunted for good cell service and tried to deal with hordes of kids always following me. I learned random Mende words and carried around a piece of paper and a pen to retain it all. I discovered who had been using my gutter and encouraged them to use it whenever I wasn’t. I handwashed clothes in the privacy and peace of my own home and my neighbor, Amie, came over to help me spread them across my clothesline.

On Saturday night, Wuyata knocked on my door and invited me to church the following morning. I was slightly wary of going because I didn’t want people to expect me to go every weekend, especially if it was an eight-hour service, but I agreed. I was looking forward to the experience and knew it would help me integrate.

“What’s this?” she touched two giant zits on my forehead.

“Uhh pimples…I’m always hot and sweaty,” I said.

“Oh,” she scrunched her face and looked sympathetic. “Please bear with us. This is Africa.”

We went to church at 8 a.m. the next morning and no one was there. There isn’t an actual church in the village so the nurses and some children meet outside of the clinic for mass. As we waited for others to arrive, Ja walked by and announced he wanted to start his own Catholic congregation.

“I’ve been here a year and I didn’t even know you were Catholic!” Wuyata said. “You’re just jealous that my friend is here!” They both laughed.

She invited him to stay at church and he literally ran away, but I said if he started his own congregation next week I would go. Church finally started at 9 a.m. with just 13 of us. A sweet nurse named Massah was leading and trying to teach us a song. As we sang, a giant group of dozens upon dozens of women came stomping by. We sang louder and they chanted louder while the front women held something above their heads. The group circled the clinic a few times while we all sang and stared at them. It started to feel ridiculous and I couldn’t help but laugh.

A young boy tried to dart out of the church to see what the women were doing and a nurse whacked him with a stick and he came back. A high school boy named Christopher suddenly stood up and yelled, “I’m leaving!” above the commotion, but another nurse grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back down. I couldn’t hide my laughter anymore and Wuyata, Christopher, and I burst out in giggles. Church lasted about two hours but I didn’t mind – it was the most entertaining and unpredictable service I’d ever been to. I later learned the group was the women’s society and they had been performing a ceremony because one of the women had a dream that a pregnant woman in the community died.

After church Wuyata explained a tradition to me where if a woman has twins, she is expected to give birth to a third child and name them something specific. She has twin girls but told all her loved ones she wouldn’t be having a third kid, to their dismay.

“If you follow every tradition here, you’ll have 100 kids!” she said. “I told my family they’ll see that I’ll be okay.”

Later that night I showed Wuyata a family picture book my sister made for me before I left.

“Your mom is so beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I know this book is special to you, but don’t look at it every day. Is this a cat or a dog?” she pointed to a picture of me holding a raccoon at a pet café in Thailand. I said it was a raccoon. “Well yes, but.. cat or dog?”

The next day Sia again knocked on my door in the early hours of the morning. Every part of me wanted to give in and open it and act like everything was fine, but I absolutely did not want that to become the norm. I explained again why my door was still shut and then we jogged together. It was Monday which meant a village about seven miles away was having a luma, a giant market that people from every surrounding village attend.

A World Vision jeep drove me to the market and Sia followed shortly after on a motorcycle. I thought the markets would be comparable to the ones I went to in Thailand but they were not at all. This market was extremely crowded and overwhelming – I wanted to leave the second I got there. I followed Sia around and only bought a few items. When we tried leaving, no cars were headed back the way we came. We sat by some other people and a woman got mad at me because I didn’t recognize her from Dandabu. A boy argued with me on whether or not I like a snack called pop which is basically rice mixed with sugar in a gooey paste.

We waited for an hour before I asked Sia if she was truly sure no cars were going back. Two minutes later we were in a car going back. A woman reached out and tried to touch my face. I realized too late she was only trying to move my hair from my sweaty, sticky cheek, but it was still alarming. The day had been long and stressful and as was becoming the norm, my patience was gone.

At home I noticed my neighbor’s dog’s tail had been cut – it looked like a hot dog sticking out of a hairy bun.

“Amie,” I called. “Is this your dog? What happened?”

“Daniel cut his tail!” she replied. Who was Daniel? Why?

I walked to a network spot hoping that reaching out to a few people would help me feel better. A group of kids followed me again, stood directly in front of me, and shouted my name repeatedly until I looked at them. They grabbed for my phone, played with my hair, and laughed when I tried to explain I was busy and wanted them to leave.

One person I reached out to was my host mom from Port Loko, Khadija. I sent her a text saying I missed her and then walked to Seibatu’s house. I explained how kids kept bothering me when I was trying to talk to friends and family and I wanted to know what I could say in Mende to make them understand.

“I will tell their parents!” she said.

I tried explaining that I wanted to handle it myself, but third-party intervention is a huge thing here. I felt uncomfortable at the idea since in America it would be a strange approach, but I figured she knew best. She gave me a Mende phrase anyway, but she also talked to their parents.

A reply from Khadija came through. Something along the lines of, “I was expecting a call your first day. I have changed my opinion of you.” Great.

I was sitting in a chair with my head leaning against the wall thinking about the day. It had been tough but it was finally over. Seibatu must have noticed my mood because she began telling me her life story, all of the trials and tribulations she’s been through, and how she never wanted to live in the village. In fact, when she first arrived, she wanted to quit.

“Kids always played around here,” she motioned around her house. “I had no friends and I wasn’t even cooking. But now it is better.”

She talked about how money isn’t everything, and how to her, keeping your self-respect and character is what matters. She said she always tries to make friends wherever she goes. Maada, her nephew, walked me back to my house and as I laid in bed, a text from Gabe randomly came through. My house is a complete dead-zone, and as I type this post nearly three months after it happened, I have yet to come anywhere near getting a text in my house again. Thank you, texting gods! It was such a happy, little moment after a long day.

The next day was much better, and as I’ve been told here, we’ll experience our highest highs and lowest lows. I visited the clinic again without Wuyata to try to build trust with the other nurses and it worked! They said they were impressed I came alone. I visited the nursery structure and hung around for a bit watching. I visited a family’s palm oil plantation in the middle of a beautiful, cool forest. I spent time with my neighbor Amie and helped her peel groundnuts in front of our houses that she would then sell.

Ja joined us halfway through and asked me all sorts of questions about America, such as how far Washington, DC is from me and if we have farmland there.

“But it’s not like our farmland, right?” he said. “Your farmland is much bigger.”

I explained how in Illinois we have sprawling cornfields and that my middle and high school were built on farmland. People here tend to think we all live in cities and have never seen a farm animal, so I also threw in that my middle school would put a cow in the courtyard once a year. He was amused.

That day I also learned that Daniel was Amie’s son who had introduced himself as Moses to me. He cut their dog’s tail because he said it was part of the Muslim religion. He asked me if I want a pet and then said he’ll look for a cat for me.

I also texted Khadija back despite how flustered I was at her response, and she immediately forgave me and asked how I was adjusting. That’s another thing I’ve noticed here – grudges are non-existent and even what I see as a terrible fight is often overcome pretty quickly between two people.

The next day Seibatu had to travel so she left me the keys to her house. Students were coming for interviews so I had to hang out all day in case they showed up. I was there for eight hours and not a single student arrived. I played Uno on and off the whole day and watched the pastor sit in a network spot for four straight hours while no one bothered him. I was jealous of that privacy.

Seibatu returned around 5 p.m. and I immediately returned her keys and ran away. It had felt like a full day of babysitting and I had the type of headache I used to get if I studied for too long. Being ‘on’ here 24/7 is mentally exhausting.

I may have sat around playing Uno the entire day but that included never having a free second to myself as Seibatu’s three nieces wanted my constant attention, greeting dozens of people who walked by the house and again dealing with not understanding Mende or having to explain to them why I did not yet know or remember their names, handling kids straight up staring at me and trying to touch me and my things, watching Maada’s wife Yatta cook for two hours straight and not letting me help in any way, etc. And I’ve found that even if I think things feel fine on the surface, subconsciously it’s all building up and I don’t tend to notice that until it’s too late.

At home I laid in my bed and did absolutely nothing. Before coming here I pictured myself keeping busy with all these hobbies but as I continue to adjust, sitting in private silence is what makes me the happiest. At night I ventured to a network spot and this time only my favorite neighbor boy, Jameson, followed. He laid his tiny head in my lap while I messaged friends. He ran off, but when I walked back to my house, he sprinted naked from his bucket bath and held my hand all the way to my front door.

The next day I took it easy. I hid at school all morning making phone calls where no one could see me. At home, I had finally convinced a neighbor to show me where to throw my own trash away (they kept insisting I just give it to a kid to throw out) but when I tried to walk there a different neighbor yelled at me to stop and had a small boy take my rice bag full of garbage from me. I walked with him to the spot anyway and thanked him for tossing it.

There was a dance happening that night which they call a jam and Maada had asked me yesterday if I wanted to go. I didn’t really want to go and watch all of my students dancing with each other but I thought it would be interesting to see once. He didn’t mention it to me all day though so I thought I was in the clear. That night at 11 p.m. I awoke to him screaming my name outside my door.

There was absolutely no way I was opening my door at 11 p.m. for anyone after only being in this village for a few short weeks. I ignored him and hoped he’d go away, but as I’ve learned with Sia, people are persistent, and ignoring their knocks will not deter them. He walked around to my bedroom window and shouted my name some more. I finally yelled back and said I wasn’t coming.

The next morning he apologized and said he felt bad for forgetting to invite me again yesterday. I assured him it was perfectly fine and that I’d just go to the next one. I had big plans for the day – I was going to attempt to travel alone to the nearby city of Bo for the first time. I sat on the highway at Seibatu’s house and waited for a car to come by. She gave me some papaya even though I’d said I’d already eaten breakfast when she asked and then a crowded van came by and I jumped inside. Then my phone died. And my charger.

The only way for me to charge my phone here is to go to the charging station. A woman has dozens of power strips connected to a generator and for only 2,000 leones, or about 20 cents, you can charge something. The problem is that she doesn’t charge every day, and I somehow have gone to this station on every single off day. Seibatu lets me use her solar charger, but I don’t like hogging it.

So here I was in a car by myself for the first time with no idea where I was going and no way to contact anyone. I was sitting in the front seat and the man next to me slowly let his hand drop until it was slightly resting on my knee. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not since we were squished so close but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I flicked his hand and he moved it.

This van was going about -10 miles per hour. Vans here will also carry jugs of palm oil or bags of rice, so we made numerous stops dropping these items off. What could have been an hour and a half drive to Bo turned into two and a half hours, and I’d already waited two hours that morning for a car to even come by. I kept asking the driver if we were headed toward Fenton Road and he kept telling me we’d get there.

My anxiety and anger were growing. At one point we drove down a street and passed three other Peace Corps Volunteers walking. My brain completely froze and I didn’t even think to tell the car to stop so I could get out. We stopped further down the road and then I was too scared to get out and go back. What if they weren’t there anymore? Where even was I?

I was now sitting alone in the front seat of the van while they unloaded even more supplies. A group of men was sitting a few feet away from me peering in. Creepy Man 2 approached the window.

“Hey fine girl, I want to be friends,” he slurred.

“No.”

“Hey man, leave her alone, she doesn’t want to be your friend,” the driver said half-heartedly before walking away. “She doesn’t want you.”

“Kiss me!” Creepy Man 2 said.

“..no?” I replied.

“With tongue?”

“Fuck off!” I yelled. That’s a common phrase here.

He wiggled his tongue out of his mouth.

“Go away,” I shouted.

“Give me 10,000 leones and I’ll leave,” he said.

“Or you can just leave,” I replied.

He continued slurring ‘fine girl, fine girl,’ and then eventually gave up and left. My heart was racing and tears were staring to well up. It was all so overwhelming, and I definitely couldn’t leave the van now. What if he followed me?

Another man approached the window and I braced myself, but he was genuinely nice and just wanted to say hello. The van finally departed again and I was the only passenger left with the driver and his apprentices. I lost my shit asking what was taking so long, why we kept stopping, why no one was actually telling me where Fenton Road was. They all laughed. I rhetorically asked if they thought this was all funny and the continued laughing and said yes. I know I looked like a dumb, crazy foreigner but the emotions were bursting out.

We finally reached Fenton Road. I tossed my money into one of their hands and stomped off having no idea where I was supposed to go. My destination was Ruri’s Restaurant. I began asking random women selling things where Ruri’s Restaurant was. Do you know how hard it is to communicate ‘Ruri’s Restaurant’ to people whose local language doesn’t even have the R sound? No one knew what I was saying or talking about.

I continued walking down the street and told myself I wasn’t going to be a little bitch and cry (while also telling myself that getting lost in a city in West Africa was probably the most appropriate time to cry). I saw a Lebanese man in a store and thought he might know the place. Luckily he did and I had been walking in the right direction all along. He told me to turn at the next intersection, but when I got there I realized I didn’t know which way to turn. I stood on the corner frantically looking around.

“The food is that way,” a man walking by selling sunglasses said.

“What?” I was confused.

“The chop? It’s there,” he pointed to the left. I was elated – this random man knew exactly what I was looking for. A huge smile grew on my face and I was so eternally grateful.

“Oh…thank you!!!” I nearly shouted.

He smiled back at me and also seemed a little confused at my whole spin of emotions.

So I finally made it to the restaurant. A whole group of Peace Corps Volunteers was already there. Everyone hugged me and someone even bought me a beer. I ate a burger and fries, charged my phone, and sat there. I had wanted to walk around the city a bit but I think just being able to physically get there was enough of an accomplishment for the day.

On my drive back to site a tire popped and we had to stand on the side of the road while the driver fixed it. All I could do was laugh.