I realized I hadn’t done a legit blog post in a while, and the power is currently out at the internet café, so I figure I may as well type something up and post it when it comes back on (if it comes back on).
It’s been a really weird week. I’ve been working my very pale butt off at work. There’s been a paper 18 times since I’ve arrived and I’ve had columns in 16 of them. I missed the very first day and there wasn’t one while I was in the North one day. But I’m exhausted. And running out of things to write about.
I’ve been moving around houses rapidly lately, trying to find a place to stay. I’ve stayed in roughly half of the 10 rooms at the YMCA. I moved around so much because the guesthouse was broken into, and I really like it at the YMCA (“It’s fun to stay at the….” Okay, that’s the only one).
Surprisingly, I really haven’t gotten that homesick. I miss people all the time, but people here remind me of people back home. Plus, there are so many people here that make sure I’m okay and taken care of, that I’m legitimately concerned I’ll get Sierra Leone sick when I get back.
Life is really good here. The bars are awesome, the food is good. I’m even starting to learn some Krio, which is the main language here. Everyone calls it “broken English” but it’s not quite that simple. I wish it was. Then I’d know a lot more phrases. A friend at the YMCA gave me a Peace Corps. Krio guide from 1985. It’s been very helpful. And funny. It’s phrase on how to ask a girl out translates to:
“Can I buy you a ring?”
The break in was scary. Fortunately, the would-be burglar was foiled by my housemate (and hero) Dr. James. He came home and scared the person away. I’m very thankful for that. He didn’t have time to take my suitcases or anything. I was sooooooooooooooooooo lucky. It’s times like this that I actually hope make you guys feel better about me being here. Things are working out (for the most part). God’s got my back. Which I really appreciate!
I know this is really random, and I promise there’ll be a better one soon. You might never even see this one if the power doesn’t turn back on in the next ten minutes. I just want everybody to know that I’m fine, doing well, miss everybody back home and will try to do a better job of keeping in touch. It’s not really up to me. It’s up to the internet, which is up to the weather.
Which is up to Africa.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Column No. 14-An interview with Mr. Njai
An interview with Mr. Njai
By David Krueger
“The compensation for good work is more work.”
It’s been over a week since I returned to Freetown from Kambia and that thought is still on my mind. It was one of the last things Mr. Ibrahim Njai said to me when I interviewed him to hear all about his life. But it’s usually one of the first things on my mind while I’m at work.
This is a great quote, and it’s true. If a person works hard enough, and does a good job, people will notice and ask them to do more.
Mr. Njai is a perfect example.
Born in Kambia, he received a scholarship to go study in the United States. Njai ended up at the University of Washington in Seattle. The same University of Washington that sent me to Freetown for my summer internship.
There Njai received a Masters in urban planning after he graduated in 1966. He returned to Sierra Leone (a requirement of his scholarship) soon after, along with his new bride, whom he married in Seattle.
Since then I’m going to declare Mr. Njai one of the most influential people in Sierra Leonean history. Admittedly, I don’t have a vast knowledge of the history of this great country. However, after listening to him talk about his life and what he’s done, it’s incredible to think that one man can make such a difference.
Allow me to explain.
Njai, now 62 years old, returned to Africa in 1967 and immediately went to work with the Ministry of Housing, looking at the distribution of construction and building permits. He helped plan sections of the Kissy and Wilkinson Road areas of Freetown, as well as other land upcountry.
He became the officer in charge of the diamond mining area in Kono, where he met his life's biggest regret.
“We didn’t succeed in really controlling the development,” Njai said. He was disappointed at the gap between the planning and implementation of the plans.
But without many other choices for employers, Njai continued to climb the ladder at the Ministry until he was the director, and principal advisor to the Minister of Housing.
From 1967 until 1995 Njai worked at the Ministry, but then he decided that he could help Sierra Leone in a bigger way. So he went to Parliament, where he served as a member for the next six years.
Njai wasn’t a huge fan of the politics, which is weird for a politician. He didn’t like all of the responsibilities to his constituents, which included hundreds of visitors to his house either to complain, ask for help (usually financial) and eat all of his food.
However, Njai persevered, driven by one strong goal: he wanted to ratify a new constitution after the rebel war.
“I wanted to be a part of breathing life into it, to make it work,” Njai said. “Into making it what it was supposed to be.”
Mr. Njai said he had a hand in changing “a lot of things” in social, political and judicial systems. Already gainfully employed as a consultant for the World Bank and Sierra Leonean government, he didn’t get into politics for the money or glory. He did it because he felt it was his duty as somebody who could help, to participate.
“I felt obliged to be involved in changing our government and our country that way,” Njai said.
Njai was afraid of being a politician. During the war, his house in Freetown was destroyed and his vehicle stolen, just because of his occupation. It was terribly distressing to Njai that the very people he was trying to help would turn against him simply because he was a politician.
That fact made leaving government life easy. He went to Parliament for a purpose. Once the constitution was ratified, and his term was up, he left Parliament for good and returned to a life of consulting, just like he said he would.
In 2005, he opened Kambia Africana Village, in my opinion the premier guesthouse in Kambia. As an urban planner, he supervised construction and hired an administrative staff. He ran it from Freetown, until 2010.
That year his wife, Posseh Njai, passed away after fighting illness for two years. With his kids gone off to school and work, the big house seemed empty, so late that year Mr. Njai returned to Kambia full-time to run the Village. By all indications, he’s really enjoying it.
“It’s a slower-paced life. It’s good for a retired man,” he said. “It’s a life of variety.”
Njai enjoys meeting a variety of people, including important guests, government officials, United Nations employees and even a fellow University of Washington alumni. He has remarried, to a woman named Olive, an artist and incredible cook who makes the meals at the guesthouse.
To this day Njai has since been propositioned by those in the government, including current President Ernest Bai Koroma, who Njai calls “a regular guy.” He’s made it clear to everyone who asks, however, that he has no intention of returning to government life.
We’ll see how that works out for him.
Njai said he wants to be involved in “developing democracy” in the Kambia area, where he donates money, furniture and books to local schools. He also regularly attends meetings, talks in local radio discussions and offers advice whenever and wherever he can.
“It’s getting there,” he said. “We just have to make sure we don’t slip back into bad tendencies.”
As if that weren’t enough, he’s also ventured into the environmentalist area, helping bring The Wonder Stove to Sierra Leone. This particular stove burns 40 percent less charcoal, reducing deforestation.
Mr. Njai has not ruled out a return to the states, perhaps to go on a lecture circuit and help inspire a new generation to help their country. On that tour he might stop by his alma mater, the University of Washington which he credits as being a huge influence in his life, and, as a result, the country of Sierra Leone.
“I am grateful for the opportunity I had, being able to study in America, because it broadened my horizons considerably, and helped provide me with an outlook on life,” Njai said. “And I’ve been able to use that to help my country in many ways.”
Mr. Njai has done an immense amount of good work in his life, a sign that he might have a lot more still to do. Surprisingly, he currently has no plans to write a memoir, saying that “I don’t think I have an interesting enough life for people to read about.”
Obviously, I disagree.
By David Krueger
“The compensation for good work is more work.”
It’s been over a week since I returned to Freetown from Kambia and that thought is still on my mind. It was one of the last things Mr. Ibrahim Njai said to me when I interviewed him to hear all about his life. But it’s usually one of the first things on my mind while I’m at work.
This is a great quote, and it’s true. If a person works hard enough, and does a good job, people will notice and ask them to do more.
Mr. Njai is a perfect example.
Born in Kambia, he received a scholarship to go study in the United States. Njai ended up at the University of Washington in Seattle. The same University of Washington that sent me to Freetown for my summer internship.
There Njai received a Masters in urban planning after he graduated in 1966. He returned to Sierra Leone (a requirement of his scholarship) soon after, along with his new bride, whom he married in Seattle.
Since then I’m going to declare Mr. Njai one of the most influential people in Sierra Leonean history. Admittedly, I don’t have a vast knowledge of the history of this great country. However, after listening to him talk about his life and what he’s done, it’s incredible to think that one man can make such a difference.
Allow me to explain.
Njai, now 62 years old, returned to Africa in 1967 and immediately went to work with the Ministry of Housing, looking at the distribution of construction and building permits. He helped plan sections of the Kissy and Wilkinson Road areas of Freetown, as well as other land upcountry.
He became the officer in charge of the diamond mining area in Kono, where he met his life's biggest regret.
“We didn’t succeed in really controlling the development,” Njai said. He was disappointed at the gap between the planning and implementation of the plans.
But without many other choices for employers, Njai continued to climb the ladder at the Ministry until he was the director, and principal advisor to the Minister of Housing.
From 1967 until 1995 Njai worked at the Ministry, but then he decided that he could help Sierra Leone in a bigger way. So he went to Parliament, where he served as a member for the next six years.
Njai wasn’t a huge fan of the politics, which is weird for a politician. He didn’t like all of the responsibilities to his constituents, which included hundreds of visitors to his house either to complain, ask for help (usually financial) and eat all of his food.
However, Njai persevered, driven by one strong goal: he wanted to ratify a new constitution after the rebel war.
“I wanted to be a part of breathing life into it, to make it work,” Njai said. “Into making it what it was supposed to be.”
Mr. Njai said he had a hand in changing “a lot of things” in social, political and judicial systems. Already gainfully employed as a consultant for the World Bank and Sierra Leonean government, he didn’t get into politics for the money or glory. He did it because he felt it was his duty as somebody who could help, to participate.
“I felt obliged to be involved in changing our government and our country that way,” Njai said.
Njai was afraid of being a politician. During the war, his house in Freetown was destroyed and his vehicle stolen, just because of his occupation. It was terribly distressing to Njai that the very people he was trying to help would turn against him simply because he was a politician.
That fact made leaving government life easy. He went to Parliament for a purpose. Once the constitution was ratified, and his term was up, he left Parliament for good and returned to a life of consulting, just like he said he would.
In 2005, he opened Kambia Africana Village, in my opinion the premier guesthouse in Kambia. As an urban planner, he supervised construction and hired an administrative staff. He ran it from Freetown, until 2010.
That year his wife, Posseh Njai, passed away after fighting illness for two years. With his kids gone off to school and work, the big house seemed empty, so late that year Mr. Njai returned to Kambia full-time to run the Village. By all indications, he’s really enjoying it.
“It’s a slower-paced life. It’s good for a retired man,” he said. “It’s a life of variety.”
Njai enjoys meeting a variety of people, including important guests, government officials, United Nations employees and even a fellow University of Washington alumni. He has remarried, to a woman named Olive, an artist and incredible cook who makes the meals at the guesthouse.
To this day Njai has since been propositioned by those in the government, including current President Ernest Bai Koroma, who Njai calls “a regular guy.” He’s made it clear to everyone who asks, however, that he has no intention of returning to government life.
We’ll see how that works out for him.
Njai said he wants to be involved in “developing democracy” in the Kambia area, where he donates money, furniture and books to local schools. He also regularly attends meetings, talks in local radio discussions and offers advice whenever and wherever he can.
“It’s getting there,” he said. “We just have to make sure we don’t slip back into bad tendencies.”
As if that weren’t enough, he’s also ventured into the environmentalist area, helping bring The Wonder Stove to Sierra Leone. This particular stove burns 40 percent less charcoal, reducing deforestation.
Mr. Njai has not ruled out a return to the states, perhaps to go on a lecture circuit and help inspire a new generation to help their country. On that tour he might stop by his alma mater, the University of Washington which he credits as being a huge influence in his life, and, as a result, the country of Sierra Leone.
“I am grateful for the opportunity I had, being able to study in America, because it broadened my horizons considerably, and helped provide me with an outlook on life,” Njai said. “And I’ve been able to use that to help my country in many ways.”
Mr. Njai has done an immense amount of good work in his life, a sign that he might have a lot more still to do. Surprisingly, he currently has no plans to write a memoir, saying that “I don’t think I have an interesting enough life for people to read about.”
Obviously, I disagree.
Column No. 13-My worst day in Sierra Leone
My worst day in Sierra Leone
By David Krueger
Sierra Leone had been going so well. I had been doing so great. Life was good. Aside from feeling a little sick my second week here and the Spider Wars in Kambia, there hadn’t really been any serious problems.
Then I came home Thursday night.
I walked through the gate to the house I was staying in, walked up a staircase and unlocked the front door. As I walked toward my room I saw the door cracked open. I was fairly certain I closed it when I last left and as I got closer I saw that the door had been broken open.
The weapon of choice, a crowbar, lay on the ground by the door. It earned its rest. It looked like it had been worked pretty hard.
The door handle had been broken off. It was replaced with a giant hole. The padlock above was bent and finally gave way after what I’m guessing was an unwavering attack on it. The frame of the door was destroyed, and a pile of wood, dirt and rubble remained on the ground. Along with the crowbar.
All at once I felt a number of feelings. I was mad, sad, worried, confused and scared to name a few. Thankfully, both of my suitcases remained in the room. They have locks on the two pockets that have anything in them. All the extra pockets’ zippers had been opened and searched, as had the drawers near my bag.
Nothing appeared to be taken, except for the cheap case for my camera, out of the room. For that I’m thankful.
What I hate is that it ushered in a new, unsafe feeling that I hadn’t really felt yet in Africa. I had begun to feel so safe in Salone. I wasn’t getting stupid or careless. I still lock my suitcase when I leave, and keep my most important items with me at all times. I pay attention to my pockets when walking around in crowded areas. I thought I had begun to have Freetown figured out.
I wasn’t overly concerned for my safety. Like I’ve mentioned in almost everything I’ve written the kindness and hospitality in Sierra Leone is almost overwhelming.
Unfortunately, so is the feeling after a break in.
I know crime happens everywhere. It occurs in Sierra Leone, the United States, and every country in between. But there’s such an unsettling feeling after a trespasser puts so much effort into breaking into your residence.
It sounds weird to hear after all of this, and looks weird to write, but I’m incredibly lucky. Whoever broke in didn’t take anything but the camera case, worth about three U.S. dollars. While discussing the situation with the rest of the house, we figured out that another resident had come home about five minutes before me and heard someone upstairs. He didn’t think anything of it and went to his room.
However, it may have been enough to scare the intruder into taking off. After this chat I realized I may have even passed the person while walking back to my room. That was a pretty eerie thought.
It turns out another resident had lost his keys earlier in the week. That made it possible to get through the gate (which locks) and through the metal front door (which also locks) and to my room. The burglar didn’t have a key for that, but apparently they didn’t need one. They had a crowbar, and they knew how to use it.
This isolated incident, which occurred exactly three weeks after I arrived, in no way ruins my trip to Sierra Leone. It ruined my day obviously, but it could have been immensely worse. My pants and socks could have been taken. Picture a reporter walking around in a white t-shirt, tennis shoes and his underwear. Can you imagine getting interviewed by him? It’d be an experience you never forgot, that’s for sure.
I like to look on the Brightside of things, which I think will help me in this particular situation. I thank God that my housemate got home when he did, and foiled the invader’s intentions. I’m going to keep locking my stuff, and make sure that I am as safe as possible for the final two months of my internship in Freetown.
Right now, I am staying at an undisclosed location while the door at the residence is fixed and all the locks, including the gate, front door and all bedroom doors, are changed. I don’t know what it’s going to be like going back there, but I’m sure Thursday’s invasion will always be in the back of my mind.
However, if that’s the worst thing that happens during my three months in Salone, I still won’t have a hard time declaring the trip a success.
By David Krueger
Sierra Leone had been going so well. I had been doing so great. Life was good. Aside from feeling a little sick my second week here and the Spider Wars in Kambia, there hadn’t really been any serious problems.
Then I came home Thursday night.
I walked through the gate to the house I was staying in, walked up a staircase and unlocked the front door. As I walked toward my room I saw the door cracked open. I was fairly certain I closed it when I last left and as I got closer I saw that the door had been broken open.
The weapon of choice, a crowbar, lay on the ground by the door. It earned its rest. It looked like it had been worked pretty hard.
The door handle had been broken off. It was replaced with a giant hole. The padlock above was bent and finally gave way after what I’m guessing was an unwavering attack on it. The frame of the door was destroyed, and a pile of wood, dirt and rubble remained on the ground. Along with the crowbar.
All at once I felt a number of feelings. I was mad, sad, worried, confused and scared to name a few. Thankfully, both of my suitcases remained in the room. They have locks on the two pockets that have anything in them. All the extra pockets’ zippers had been opened and searched, as had the drawers near my bag.
Nothing appeared to be taken, except for the cheap case for my camera, out of the room. For that I’m thankful.
What I hate is that it ushered in a new, unsafe feeling that I hadn’t really felt yet in Africa. I had begun to feel so safe in Salone. I wasn’t getting stupid or careless. I still lock my suitcase when I leave, and keep my most important items with me at all times. I pay attention to my pockets when walking around in crowded areas. I thought I had begun to have Freetown figured out.
I wasn’t overly concerned for my safety. Like I’ve mentioned in almost everything I’ve written the kindness and hospitality in Sierra Leone is almost overwhelming.
Unfortunately, so is the feeling after a break in.
I know crime happens everywhere. It occurs in Sierra Leone, the United States, and every country in between. But there’s such an unsettling feeling after a trespasser puts so much effort into breaking into your residence.
It sounds weird to hear after all of this, and looks weird to write, but I’m incredibly lucky. Whoever broke in didn’t take anything but the camera case, worth about three U.S. dollars. While discussing the situation with the rest of the house, we figured out that another resident had come home about five minutes before me and heard someone upstairs. He didn’t think anything of it and went to his room.
However, it may have been enough to scare the intruder into taking off. After this chat I realized I may have even passed the person while walking back to my room. That was a pretty eerie thought.
It turns out another resident had lost his keys earlier in the week. That made it possible to get through the gate (which locks) and through the metal front door (which also locks) and to my room. The burglar didn’t have a key for that, but apparently they didn’t need one. They had a crowbar, and they knew how to use it.
This isolated incident, which occurred exactly three weeks after I arrived, in no way ruins my trip to Sierra Leone. It ruined my day obviously, but it could have been immensely worse. My pants and socks could have been taken. Picture a reporter walking around in a white t-shirt, tennis shoes and his underwear. Can you imagine getting interviewed by him? It’d be an experience you never forgot, that’s for sure.
I like to look on the Brightside of things, which I think will help me in this particular situation. I thank God that my housemate got home when he did, and foiled the invader’s intentions. I’m going to keep locking my stuff, and make sure that I am as safe as possible for the final two months of my internship in Freetown.
Right now, I am staying at an undisclosed location while the door at the residence is fixed and all the locks, including the gate, front door and all bedroom doors, are changed. I don’t know what it’s going to be like going back there, but I’m sure Thursday’s invasion will always be in the back of my mind.
However, if that’s the worst thing that happens during my three months in Salone, I still won’t have a hard time declaring the trip a success.
Column No. 12- End of an era (and a dream)
The end of an era (and a dream)
By David Krueger
Thursday was a sad day. It was the day that America’s NASA space shuttle program ended with the safe return of the Atlantis crew after 12.5 days in space.
The Atlantis touchdown was extraordinary and historic. A large crowd gathered at Cape Canaveral in Texas to watch the return of the four-person crew (three men and one women), that took off on July 8, and witness the end of the American space shuttle era.
Their mission was to dock at the International Space Station with a rocket full of supplies for the space base. The crew was deliberately small, so that the shuttle could hold as many supplies as possible for the space station. Unfortunately, the supplies won’t be used by many, if any, Americans.
For 30 years the United States was one of the leaders – if not the leader – in the race to get to space. During that time we launched 135 missions, the first occurring in 1981.
Some of the missions ended tragically, like the Columbia disaster in 2003, when a shuttle exploded while returning to Earth. Others were so epic they became American legends. Like Neil Armstrong and the first shuttle to land on the moon.
I’m going to estimate that “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” is the second most well-known quote in American history.
“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” is the clear No. 1.
“Are you ready for some football?” rounds out the top three.
Another larger-than-life episode came during Apollo 13. The shuttle suffered incredible damage during its journey, and was deemed to be unsafe for reentry into the Earth’s atmosphere. Incredibly, it was still able to return safely. The story was made into a book and, about 10 years ago, a great movie.
The Atlantis shuttle returned without incident at 9:55 this morning here in Freetown.
That’s 2:55 a.m. back home in Seattle. I wondered how many of my friends stayed up to watch the memorable return. It was still dark in Texas when it landed. Luckily, the news had a night vision camera focused on the shuttle. That was probably the coolest part of the landing.
I wanted to make sure I saw it because for as long as I can remember growing up I wanted to be an astronaut. Although, it actually wasn’t my first choice for a future career.
When I was a kid early on in primary school, we were all asked to talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I hadn’t quite arrived at journalist yet. I thought about it for a while, and then the answer became very clear.
“I want to be a fire truck,” I announced.
When my parents, teacher and friends informed me it was impossible to be a machine for the rest of my life, I went with the same answer almost half the class said: astronaut.
Can you imagine a cooler office than a space shuttle that’s orbiting the Earth? I can’t. The Awoko office is great, don’t get me wrong. But I’m a firm believer that everything is better in space.
I don’t know why NASA is closing the space shuttle program. Budget cuts I guess. It’s better to stop that program than one that provides healthcare or education. It’s still too bad though. What will kids aspire to be in school now that they can’t be a fire truck or astronaut?
As I sat and watched the landing on Al Jazeera, I couldn’t help but wonder what’s next? Not just for my dream of someday going into space, but what about all of NASA’s employees? There is about to be a huge wave of unemployed rocket scientists in Cape Canaveral.
Fortunately, the anchor of the morning news had the same questions. According to one expert, NASA will still be, well, NASA. They will work with private companies (who will hire those rocket scientists) to once again get Americans back into space.
The man on television estimated by 2015/16, the United States will again be taking off for outer space. First commercial flights will lunch, followed soon after by shuttles that will finally carry ordinary people into space.
I just hope I’ve won the lottery by then so I can afford to go.
While watching what I’m going to call the Atlantis Landing Postgame Show (followed, two hours later by a press conference which we’ll dub the Atlantis Landing After Party), I thought about the look on my friends’ faces in eight years when I tell them that for my 30th birthday I’m going to go to space.
I imagine my mother will probably protest. She gets nervous when I leave the country. It’ll be interesting to see her reaction when I tell her I’m leaving the planet.
Oh well. That’s future David’s problem. And while it’s true that current David probably wasn’t going to go into space anytime soon, it was still a sad realization as Atlantis came to a stop on the runway.
At the Atlantis Landing After Party they announced the actual shuttle will be on display at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. That’s a place I’m going to have to visit sometime in my life. Maybe when I’m older and have kids. I can point to Atlantis and tell them about how I saw it land one sunny morning in Sierra Leone.
Then we’ll hop in a space shuttle and head to the moon for my child’s 12th birthday party.
By David Krueger
Thursday was a sad day. It was the day that America’s NASA space shuttle program ended with the safe return of the Atlantis crew after 12.5 days in space.
The Atlantis touchdown was extraordinary and historic. A large crowd gathered at Cape Canaveral in Texas to watch the return of the four-person crew (three men and one women), that took off on July 8, and witness the end of the American space shuttle era.
Their mission was to dock at the International Space Station with a rocket full of supplies for the space base. The crew was deliberately small, so that the shuttle could hold as many supplies as possible for the space station. Unfortunately, the supplies won’t be used by many, if any, Americans.
For 30 years the United States was one of the leaders – if not the leader – in the race to get to space. During that time we launched 135 missions, the first occurring in 1981.
Some of the missions ended tragically, like the Columbia disaster in 2003, when a shuttle exploded while returning to Earth. Others were so epic they became American legends. Like Neil Armstrong and the first shuttle to land on the moon.
I’m going to estimate that “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” is the second most well-known quote in American history.
“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” is the clear No. 1.
“Are you ready for some football?” rounds out the top three.
Another larger-than-life episode came during Apollo 13. The shuttle suffered incredible damage during its journey, and was deemed to be unsafe for reentry into the Earth’s atmosphere. Incredibly, it was still able to return safely. The story was made into a book and, about 10 years ago, a great movie.
The Atlantis shuttle returned without incident at 9:55 this morning here in Freetown.
That’s 2:55 a.m. back home in Seattle. I wondered how many of my friends stayed up to watch the memorable return. It was still dark in Texas when it landed. Luckily, the news had a night vision camera focused on the shuttle. That was probably the coolest part of the landing.
I wanted to make sure I saw it because for as long as I can remember growing up I wanted to be an astronaut. Although, it actually wasn’t my first choice for a future career.
When I was a kid early on in primary school, we were all asked to talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I hadn’t quite arrived at journalist yet. I thought about it for a while, and then the answer became very clear.
“I want to be a fire truck,” I announced.
When my parents, teacher and friends informed me it was impossible to be a machine for the rest of my life, I went with the same answer almost half the class said: astronaut.
Can you imagine a cooler office than a space shuttle that’s orbiting the Earth? I can’t. The Awoko office is great, don’t get me wrong. But I’m a firm believer that everything is better in space.
I don’t know why NASA is closing the space shuttle program. Budget cuts I guess. It’s better to stop that program than one that provides healthcare or education. It’s still too bad though. What will kids aspire to be in school now that they can’t be a fire truck or astronaut?
As I sat and watched the landing on Al Jazeera, I couldn’t help but wonder what’s next? Not just for my dream of someday going into space, but what about all of NASA’s employees? There is about to be a huge wave of unemployed rocket scientists in Cape Canaveral.
Fortunately, the anchor of the morning news had the same questions. According to one expert, NASA will still be, well, NASA. They will work with private companies (who will hire those rocket scientists) to once again get Americans back into space.
The man on television estimated by 2015/16, the United States will again be taking off for outer space. First commercial flights will lunch, followed soon after by shuttles that will finally carry ordinary people into space.
I just hope I’ve won the lottery by then so I can afford to go.
While watching what I’m going to call the Atlantis Landing Postgame Show (followed, two hours later by a press conference which we’ll dub the Atlantis Landing After Party), I thought about the look on my friends’ faces in eight years when I tell them that for my 30th birthday I’m going to go to space.
I imagine my mother will probably protest. She gets nervous when I leave the country. It’ll be interesting to see her reaction when I tell her I’m leaving the planet.
Oh well. That’s future David’s problem. And while it’s true that current David probably wasn’t going to go into space anytime soon, it was still a sad realization as Atlantis came to a stop on the runway.
At the Atlantis Landing After Party they announced the actual shuttle will be on display at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. That’s a place I’m going to have to visit sometime in my life. Maybe when I’m older and have kids. I can point to Atlantis and tell them about how I saw it land one sunny morning in Sierra Leone.
Then we’ll hop in a space shuttle and head to the moon for my child’s 12th birthday party.
Column No. 11-Ampoto's Adventures
Ampoto’s Adventures
By David Krueger
I like Northern Sierra Leone. I like Freetown a lot as well, but life really is quite different in the provinces.
My last 24 hours in Kambia were amazing. The highlight was taking a motorbike ride to the Sierra Leone-Guinea border. After some talking, smiling and hand shaking, the guards from Salone and Guinea permitted me to head across the border for a quick picture.
Then I got to stand over the rope that separates the two countries. Hovering directly over the border, the right half of my body was in Guinea, while my left side remained in Sierra Leone. I thought that was pretty cool.
After waiting out a downpour in the immigration office, we headed back to town so that we could get some work done. I finally got to sit down and officially interview Mr. Ibrahim Njai, for a future column. That was a spectacular experience. He’s done so much, and is so smart. You’ll see what I mean in a couple of days.
I really loved Kambia. My trip there was eventful and enlightening. The people were very friendly, and the weather was really nice. On top of that, I discovered that I had a new name: ampoto.
My coworkers told me that in the North, this means “the white man.” Everywhere (and I mean absolutely, everywhere) I went, whether by foot or (preferably) by motorbike, I heard screams of “ampoto! Ampoto!”
While driving through Kambia waving at people yelling “ampoto,” I almost felt like I was in a parade. Children literally stopped what they were doing to wave and come up and shake my hand.
I quickly gave up on blending in with the crowd while staying in Kambia. It became apparent early on that it wasn’t going to work. So, instead I used my differences to help me out. I did what I think is the best thing I could have done: I talked to everybody.
Anytime I heard “ampoto” I immediately walked over to the speaker to shake their hand. Whether they were five or 50. It seemed like people were really excited to meet me, but I assure you, I was just as excited, if not more so, to meet them.
Fortunately, when we got to Port Loko the “ampotos” continued, so I felt like I never left Kambia. One thing I couldn’t help but see from the beginning of my time in Port Loko until the night before I left: it rains a lot there.
I know it’s the rainy season but wow! It comes down hard. Thankfully I remembered my umbrella.
I’m not complaining about the rain. I actually really enjoyed it for two reasons. First, I love falling asleep to the sound of rain on the roof. It’s just so calming and peaceful, and drowns out the noises around me, like the guy in the next room that was snoring.
Second, my face was very, very red. I got a ferocious sunburn by the end of my first day in Kambia, so I was excited for a little time away from the sun. My face needed some time to heal, and I don’t think anybody has ever gotten rainburned.
Most of my time in Port Loko was spent in one of four places: the hospital where we were interviewing people about the free healthcare, the Cantina where we ate and listened to some African music after the hospital, the guesthouse where we slept after the Cantina and walking in between those three places.
The hospital in Port Loko was a lot like the one in Kambia. It was understaffed and overcrowded as it faces challenges dealing with the effects of the new healthcare program. But officials there still approve of the program as a whole and think it’s a step in the right direction. I agree.
I think the Cantina, a restaurant where we headed to at night, is why I really enjoyed Port Loko. The food was delicious, but it was the African music that played loudly and late into the night that made me fall in love with the place. I didn’t know any of the songs, so I couldn’t sing along, but fortunately I have two more months to learn.
After all the rain, I did finally see the sun in Port Loko, as I walked to get on a Puda Puda to head home.
The van was just as full as it was on the ride north, but for some reason I was much more comfortable while heading south back to Freetown. Maybe it was because I spent most of the trip falling asleep, waking up for 47 seconds, and then falling asleep again.
Not far from Freetown I awoke as we pulled over. My coworker had told me that I needed to get some palm wine on the way home. So I watched as they filled a liter bottle full of a cloudy white liquid. I didn’t try it until later that night, but I wish I had tried it immediately.
My coworker had promised the best palm wine in Sierra Leone, and he delivered. Granted, it’s the only palm wine I’ve had in Sierra Leone, but it is darned good.
Once I returned to Freetown I sat down (for seemingly the first time in a week) and thought about what all I had done. I couldn’t believe where I had been, what I had seen and who I had met.
It was the trip of a lifetime, within another trip of a lifetime.
By David Krueger
I like Northern Sierra Leone. I like Freetown a lot as well, but life really is quite different in the provinces.
My last 24 hours in Kambia were amazing. The highlight was taking a motorbike ride to the Sierra Leone-Guinea border. After some talking, smiling and hand shaking, the guards from Salone and Guinea permitted me to head across the border for a quick picture.
Then I got to stand over the rope that separates the two countries. Hovering directly over the border, the right half of my body was in Guinea, while my left side remained in Sierra Leone. I thought that was pretty cool.
After waiting out a downpour in the immigration office, we headed back to town so that we could get some work done. I finally got to sit down and officially interview Mr. Ibrahim Njai, for a future column. That was a spectacular experience. He’s done so much, and is so smart. You’ll see what I mean in a couple of days.
I really loved Kambia. My trip there was eventful and enlightening. The people were very friendly, and the weather was really nice. On top of that, I discovered that I had a new name: ampoto.
My coworkers told me that in the North, this means “the white man.” Everywhere (and I mean absolutely, everywhere) I went, whether by foot or (preferably) by motorbike, I heard screams of “ampoto! Ampoto!”
While driving through Kambia waving at people yelling “ampoto,” I almost felt like I was in a parade. Children literally stopped what they were doing to wave and come up and shake my hand.
I quickly gave up on blending in with the crowd while staying in Kambia. It became apparent early on that it wasn’t going to work. So, instead I used my differences to help me out. I did what I think is the best thing I could have done: I talked to everybody.
Anytime I heard “ampoto” I immediately walked over to the speaker to shake their hand. Whether they were five or 50. It seemed like people were really excited to meet me, but I assure you, I was just as excited, if not more so, to meet them.
Fortunately, when we got to Port Loko the “ampotos” continued, so I felt like I never left Kambia. One thing I couldn’t help but see from the beginning of my time in Port Loko until the night before I left: it rains a lot there.
I know it’s the rainy season but wow! It comes down hard. Thankfully I remembered my umbrella.
I’m not complaining about the rain. I actually really enjoyed it for two reasons. First, I love falling asleep to the sound of rain on the roof. It’s just so calming and peaceful, and drowns out the noises around me, like the guy in the next room that was snoring.
Second, my face was very, very red. I got a ferocious sunburn by the end of my first day in Kambia, so I was excited for a little time away from the sun. My face needed some time to heal, and I don’t think anybody has ever gotten rainburned.
Most of my time in Port Loko was spent in one of four places: the hospital where we were interviewing people about the free healthcare, the Cantina where we ate and listened to some African music after the hospital, the guesthouse where we slept after the Cantina and walking in between those three places.
The hospital in Port Loko was a lot like the one in Kambia. It was understaffed and overcrowded as it faces challenges dealing with the effects of the new healthcare program. But officials there still approve of the program as a whole and think it’s a step in the right direction. I agree.
I think the Cantina, a restaurant where we headed to at night, is why I really enjoyed Port Loko. The food was delicious, but it was the African music that played loudly and late into the night that made me fall in love with the place. I didn’t know any of the songs, so I couldn’t sing along, but fortunately I have two more months to learn.
After all the rain, I did finally see the sun in Port Loko, as I walked to get on a Puda Puda to head home.
The van was just as full as it was on the ride north, but for some reason I was much more comfortable while heading south back to Freetown. Maybe it was because I spent most of the trip falling asleep, waking up for 47 seconds, and then falling asleep again.
Not far from Freetown I awoke as we pulled over. My coworker had told me that I needed to get some palm wine on the way home. So I watched as they filled a liter bottle full of a cloudy white liquid. I didn’t try it until later that night, but I wish I had tried it immediately.
My coworker had promised the best palm wine in Sierra Leone, and he delivered. Granted, it’s the only palm wine I’ve had in Sierra Leone, but it is darned good.
Once I returned to Freetown I sat down (for seemingly the first time in a week) and thought about what all I had done. I couldn’t believe where I had been, what I had seen and who I had met.
It was the trip of a lifetime, within another trip of a lifetime.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Column No. 10-Congratulations Japan
Congratulations Japan
By David Krueger
This isn’t easy to write.
You might have seen the big picture of the Japanese women’s football team on the sports page of Awoko on Tuesday with a banner proclaiming “CHAMPIONS- FIFA Women’s World Cup 2011.”
I want to apologize about that. It wasn’t my decision to put it there. I’m not sure how it happened. As soon as I saw it, I charged into my editor’s office and demanded an apology.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. I politely knocked and entered his office, showed him the paper and asked “was this really necessary.”
Apparently it was.
On Sunday my beloved United States lost a heartbreaking championship game of the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup to Japan on penalty kicks.
After a scoreless first half, America struck first in the 69th minute off a beautiful shot in the bottom corner by Alex Morgan. However, Japan tied it 12 minutes later and the game went to extra time.
A wave of joy again swept over me when Abby Wambach headed in a goal with one minute left in the first extra time period. I thought it was only a matter of time (15 minutes to be exact) before the U.S.A. cemented its place as the top female football team in the world.
Then disaster struck. Japan Americaned the Americans, scoring an equalizer late in the game off a corner kick to force penalty kicks. Then, the United States forgot how to kick those. They missed their first two kicks, giving Japan an early 2-0 advantage.
America finally made a shot, but by then it was too late. Japan netted its third shot and clinched the championship. My night was ruined.
Coworkers and friend called and texted to offer their condolences and, in one very mean case, to rub it in.
By Tuesday I had done my best to put that tough game behind me. I thought I had moved on. I got back to Freetown, and came to work on Tuesday eager to write a column about my last day in Kambia and time in Port Loko.
Then I saw the sports page.
All the pain from Sunday night came back. As awesome as the Americans’ incredible win over Brazil was, this was equally unawesome.
Once I finally got past the awful picture (and nightmare) I decided to read the newspaper’s recap of the game. I had a disgusted look on my face until I got to the following sentence:
“The U.S. will be heartbroken and annoyed that they did not manage to secure a record third World Cup having dominated for long periods in the match.”
You know what? I am heartbroken and annoyed that the U.S. did not manage to secure a record third World Cup having dominated for long periods in the match. That is quality journalism. Capturing the mood of the people.
Almost on cue, the television showed the Japanese team arriving home to celebrate their victory with their fans. At the airport people were screaming and cheering, and at a press conference the team said it was already looking ahead to qualifying for the 2012 Olympics in London.
Can you believe that? First they take a World Cup away from me, and now they want to take the Olympic gold medal away too? Does that seem greedy to anybody else?
My pity party lasted a few more minutes until I had a startling revelation: Japan’s had a tough year. Earthquakes, tsunamis and nuclear power plant meltdowns are just a few of the challenges the country has faced in the last six months.
Japan had lost a lot. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for it to get a win.
I had been so focused on America’s incredible trip to the World Cup final, that I had overlooked Japan’s rather magical run entirely. After advancing out of the group stage, Japan took on Germany, the hometown favorites, and dispatched them on an extra time goal.
After that, Japan dominated Sweden in the semi-final, when it scored three goals and possessed the ball over 65 percent of the time.
In the championship game, the United States consistently attacked Japan, but couldn’t capitalize on its opportunities. The Japanese national team didn’t panic, and calmly answered every U.S. goal with one of their own.
The more I thought about it if America had to lose to somebody (key word: “had”), Japan was probably the team that would be the easiest to swallow. They became the first team from the Asian continent to ever win the World Cup, and brought joy to a nation that, quite frankly, could use a reason to cheer.
They were the sentimental favorites, and I didn’t even realize it until the tournament was over.
I still wish America could have pulled it off. I still wish Wambach’s goal had held up. I still wish I had gotten to watch an awards ceremony where Hope Solo, Megan Rampinoe and Amy Lepeilbet got to hold up the champion’s trophy.
But, if somebody else was going to hold that trophy up, I’m glad it was the Japanese team. So, after 850 words, I’m finally ready to say it: Congratulations Japan.
We’ll see you at the Olympics.
By David Krueger
This isn’t easy to write.
You might have seen the big picture of the Japanese women’s football team on the sports page of Awoko on Tuesday with a banner proclaiming “CHAMPIONS- FIFA Women’s World Cup 2011.”
I want to apologize about that. It wasn’t my decision to put it there. I’m not sure how it happened. As soon as I saw it, I charged into my editor’s office and demanded an apology.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. I politely knocked and entered his office, showed him the paper and asked “was this really necessary.”
Apparently it was.
On Sunday my beloved United States lost a heartbreaking championship game of the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup to Japan on penalty kicks.
After a scoreless first half, America struck first in the 69th minute off a beautiful shot in the bottom corner by Alex Morgan. However, Japan tied it 12 minutes later and the game went to extra time.
A wave of joy again swept over me when Abby Wambach headed in a goal with one minute left in the first extra time period. I thought it was only a matter of time (15 minutes to be exact) before the U.S.A. cemented its place as the top female football team in the world.
Then disaster struck. Japan Americaned the Americans, scoring an equalizer late in the game off a corner kick to force penalty kicks. Then, the United States forgot how to kick those. They missed their first two kicks, giving Japan an early 2-0 advantage.
America finally made a shot, but by then it was too late. Japan netted its third shot and clinched the championship. My night was ruined.
Coworkers and friend called and texted to offer their condolences and, in one very mean case, to rub it in.
By Tuesday I had done my best to put that tough game behind me. I thought I had moved on. I got back to Freetown, and came to work on Tuesday eager to write a column about my last day in Kambia and time in Port Loko.
Then I saw the sports page.
All the pain from Sunday night came back. As awesome as the Americans’ incredible win over Brazil was, this was equally unawesome.
Once I finally got past the awful picture (and nightmare) I decided to read the newspaper’s recap of the game. I had a disgusted look on my face until I got to the following sentence:
“The U.S. will be heartbroken and annoyed that they did not manage to secure a record third World Cup having dominated for long periods in the match.”
You know what? I am heartbroken and annoyed that the U.S. did not manage to secure a record third World Cup having dominated for long periods in the match. That is quality journalism. Capturing the mood of the people.
Almost on cue, the television showed the Japanese team arriving home to celebrate their victory with their fans. At the airport people were screaming and cheering, and at a press conference the team said it was already looking ahead to qualifying for the 2012 Olympics in London.
Can you believe that? First they take a World Cup away from me, and now they want to take the Olympic gold medal away too? Does that seem greedy to anybody else?
My pity party lasted a few more minutes until I had a startling revelation: Japan’s had a tough year. Earthquakes, tsunamis and nuclear power plant meltdowns are just a few of the challenges the country has faced in the last six months.
Japan had lost a lot. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for it to get a win.
I had been so focused on America’s incredible trip to the World Cup final, that I had overlooked Japan’s rather magical run entirely. After advancing out of the group stage, Japan took on Germany, the hometown favorites, and dispatched them on an extra time goal.
After that, Japan dominated Sweden in the semi-final, when it scored three goals and possessed the ball over 65 percent of the time.
In the championship game, the United States consistently attacked Japan, but couldn’t capitalize on its opportunities. The Japanese national team didn’t panic, and calmly answered every U.S. goal with one of their own.
The more I thought about it if America had to lose to somebody (key word: “had”), Japan was probably the team that would be the easiest to swallow. They became the first team from the Asian continent to ever win the World Cup, and brought joy to a nation that, quite frankly, could use a reason to cheer.
They were the sentimental favorites, and I didn’t even realize it until the tournament was over.
I still wish America could have pulled it off. I still wish Wambach’s goal had held up. I still wish I had gotten to watch an awards ceremony where Hope Solo, Megan Rampinoe and Amy Lepeilbet got to hold up the champion’s trophy.
But, if somebody else was going to hold that trophy up, I’m glad it was the Japanese team. So, after 850 words, I’m finally ready to say it: Congratulations Japan.
We’ll see you at the Olympics.
Column No. 9-Kambia's special Salone surprise
Kambia’s special Salone suprise
By David Krueger
The first stop on the “David Puda Pudas Sierra Leone Tour” is Kambia, in north Sierra Leone. I’m not going to lie, I like it a lot here. There’s been some great weather, lots to see, a battle being fought and one pretty incredible surprise that nobody saw coming.
Let’s start with the surprise because it’s been about 48 hours since I discovered it and I’m still in disbelief. Once we got off the puda puda in Kambia, a coworker and I immediately began trying to find a place to stay for the night. We went to Kambia Africana Villiage, and were given a quote that was pretty expensive.
So we ventured away to another guesthouse that cost half as much, but raised some serious security/bug/health concerns. We decided Africana was the best way to go, and returned, to find one Mr. Njai at a table outside the main office eager to book us into a room.
Mr. Njai asked where I was from, and I said, as I always do: “I’m from America. Washington state, on the west coast.” If I just say “Washington” everybody thinks it’s Washington, D.C., which is about a six hour plane ride across the country from where I live.
“Really,” Mr. Njai responded. “I went to school in Washington state. At the University of Washington, in Seattle.”
A huge smile spread across my face. I looked down at my jacket in my hands that had “Washington” written across it and offered my new friend a view.
“I go to the University of Washington in Seattle,” I could hardly get out fast enough.
And with that a great friendship was formed. Absolutely confident we were going to be staying here, I asked about the price of a room. Either the person we talked to before misquoted us, or Mr. Njai gave us a Sierra Leonean resident (my coworker) and fellow Husky (myself) discount, because the price dropped significantly.
Mr. Njai and I have talked a lot in the last couple days. We’ve covered everything from politics in Sierra Leone (he was in Parliament for six years) to his honeymoon at the Space Needle in Seattle.
I’m not going to turn this column into an advertisement for the Kambia Africana Villiage, but suffice it to say that if you will be travelling to Kambia in the near future and need a place to stay, I don’t think it’s possible to beat Africana. The food, cooked by Mrs. Njai, is incredible, the rooms are nice and the staff is unbelievably welcoming and helpful.
As much as I love it here at Africana, I have left the guesthouse and travelled around Kambia. The only way to travel around here is to walk or take a motorbike. I love motorbikes, so I’ve chosen the latter much more often than I probably had to.
It didn’t take very long for me to get sunburned in Kambia. About an hour and 45 minutes is my best guess.
Our first afternoon here we went to the hospital, because that’s why we’re really here. We’re working on stories about the free government healthcare that was enacted last April. As part of it, I get to travel all around the country to talk to people. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
After we checked in with the doctor, and scheduled an interview, we rode around town and down to the Great Scarcies River. It was beautiful. With the sun shining right above a hill in the distance, the water was as smooth as glass, except for the occasional boat that paddled by.
The next morning we had to be awake and at the hospital by 8:30. It was close, but we made it. After an extensive tour of how the hospital works (which will be described in a future column) and talking to everybody we possibly could, I returned to Africana to write about the puda puda ride here.
I sent that off and returned to the guesthouse just in time Wednesday night for what I had been looking forward to since Sunday: the United States vs. France in the semi-final of the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup. The story again has a happy ending (unless you’re French) with America finishing on top 3-1, and advancing to play Japan on Sunday in the championship.
I’m not sure what city I will be in Sunday, but I guarantee you wherever I am, I’ll be in front of a television.
After the game I returned to room/hut C-4. I like my room number. It’s like the explosive you always see in movies. And there’s a lizard-thing that always hangs out by the sign. I’ve named him Gary. I honestly have no idea why that was the first name that popped into my head, but nevertheless, Gary it is.
That’s when things got a little scary. You know how if you’re afraid of heights people often say “don’t look down.” Well, when you’re (a little) scared of spiders, apparently you shouldn’t look up. I went to the bathroom, looked at the ceiling, and saw the three biggest spiders I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’d like to say I handled it well, but I didn’t. I let out a weird yell/scream and ran out, pulling my pants up as I went. I sat on the bed for a half an hour contemplating what to do. I settled on calling my mother. I talked to her for a few minutes to keep myself distracted from the spiders.
Finally I decided something had to be done. I was going to be in this room for two more days, and I was going to have to use the bathroom at some point during that time. So I prayed, grabbed my shoes, put them on my hands, and the Great Spider Massacre of 2011 began.
With each swing/grunt another one fell, until they were all gone.
Did it feel good to win the battle against the spiders? Yes. Am I worried their friends are going to gang up on me tonight for revenge? Absolutely. I’ve already taken care of a few more that have surprised me since, and it gets less and less fun each time. I wish we could just make a deal where we leave each other alone.
Aside from the spiders, Kambia has been an unbelievable experience. I’m starting to realize that Salone has this incredible ability to turn every day into a life-changing experience. I’ll never forget my first two days in Kambia, and I still have one to go. I am very excited to keep exploring Kambia, and see as much of it as I possibly can.
I’m just not going to look up.
By David Krueger
The first stop on the “David Puda Pudas Sierra Leone Tour” is Kambia, in north Sierra Leone. I’m not going to lie, I like it a lot here. There’s been some great weather, lots to see, a battle being fought and one pretty incredible surprise that nobody saw coming.
Let’s start with the surprise because it’s been about 48 hours since I discovered it and I’m still in disbelief. Once we got off the puda puda in Kambia, a coworker and I immediately began trying to find a place to stay for the night. We went to Kambia Africana Villiage, and were given a quote that was pretty expensive.
So we ventured away to another guesthouse that cost half as much, but raised some serious security/bug/health concerns. We decided Africana was the best way to go, and returned, to find one Mr. Njai at a table outside the main office eager to book us into a room.
Mr. Njai asked where I was from, and I said, as I always do: “I’m from America. Washington state, on the west coast.” If I just say “Washington” everybody thinks it’s Washington, D.C., which is about a six hour plane ride across the country from where I live.
“Really,” Mr. Njai responded. “I went to school in Washington state. At the University of Washington, in Seattle.”
A huge smile spread across my face. I looked down at my jacket in my hands that had “Washington” written across it and offered my new friend a view.
“I go to the University of Washington in Seattle,” I could hardly get out fast enough.
And with that a great friendship was formed. Absolutely confident we were going to be staying here, I asked about the price of a room. Either the person we talked to before misquoted us, or Mr. Njai gave us a Sierra Leonean resident (my coworker) and fellow Husky (myself) discount, because the price dropped significantly.
Mr. Njai and I have talked a lot in the last couple days. We’ve covered everything from politics in Sierra Leone (he was in Parliament for six years) to his honeymoon at the Space Needle in Seattle.
I’m not going to turn this column into an advertisement for the Kambia Africana Villiage, but suffice it to say that if you will be travelling to Kambia in the near future and need a place to stay, I don’t think it’s possible to beat Africana. The food, cooked by Mrs. Njai, is incredible, the rooms are nice and the staff is unbelievably welcoming and helpful.
As much as I love it here at Africana, I have left the guesthouse and travelled around Kambia. The only way to travel around here is to walk or take a motorbike. I love motorbikes, so I’ve chosen the latter much more often than I probably had to.
It didn’t take very long for me to get sunburned in Kambia. About an hour and 45 minutes is my best guess.
Our first afternoon here we went to the hospital, because that’s why we’re really here. We’re working on stories about the free government healthcare that was enacted last April. As part of it, I get to travel all around the country to talk to people. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
After we checked in with the doctor, and scheduled an interview, we rode around town and down to the Great Scarcies River. It was beautiful. With the sun shining right above a hill in the distance, the water was as smooth as glass, except for the occasional boat that paddled by.
The next morning we had to be awake and at the hospital by 8:30. It was close, but we made it. After an extensive tour of how the hospital works (which will be described in a future column) and talking to everybody we possibly could, I returned to Africana to write about the puda puda ride here.
I sent that off and returned to the guesthouse just in time Wednesday night for what I had been looking forward to since Sunday: the United States vs. France in the semi-final of the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup. The story again has a happy ending (unless you’re French) with America finishing on top 3-1, and advancing to play Japan on Sunday in the championship.
I’m not sure what city I will be in Sunday, but I guarantee you wherever I am, I’ll be in front of a television.
After the game I returned to room/hut C-4. I like my room number. It’s like the explosive you always see in movies. And there’s a lizard-thing that always hangs out by the sign. I’ve named him Gary. I honestly have no idea why that was the first name that popped into my head, but nevertheless, Gary it is.
That’s when things got a little scary. You know how if you’re afraid of heights people often say “don’t look down.” Well, when you’re (a little) scared of spiders, apparently you shouldn’t look up. I went to the bathroom, looked at the ceiling, and saw the three biggest spiders I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’d like to say I handled it well, but I didn’t. I let out a weird yell/scream and ran out, pulling my pants up as I went. I sat on the bed for a half an hour contemplating what to do. I settled on calling my mother. I talked to her for a few minutes to keep myself distracted from the spiders.
Finally I decided something had to be done. I was going to be in this room for two more days, and I was going to have to use the bathroom at some point during that time. So I prayed, grabbed my shoes, put them on my hands, and the Great Spider Massacre of 2011 began.
With each swing/grunt another one fell, until they were all gone.
Did it feel good to win the battle against the spiders? Yes. Am I worried their friends are going to gang up on me tonight for revenge? Absolutely. I’ve already taken care of a few more that have surprised me since, and it gets less and less fun each time. I wish we could just make a deal where we leave each other alone.
Aside from the spiders, Kambia has been an unbelievable experience. I’m starting to realize that Salone has this incredible ability to turn every day into a life-changing experience. I’ll never forget my first two days in Kambia, and I still have one to go. I am very excited to keep exploring Kambia, and see as much of it as I possibly can.
I’m just not going to look up.
Column No. 8- What a ride
What a ride
By David Krueger
I was really excited when I found out I got to go to Kambia for a few days. We were going to get up early and take a government bus, complete with air conditioning and leg room. That didn’t quite work out. I probably should’ve seen that coming.
I guess I had taken so many taxis and motorbikes that I had forgotten where I was. Quite honestly getting around here is almost easier than in my home state. It’s a lot scarier too. But I have been very lucky so far with transportation.
Well the luck finally ran out. We got up early, but missed our bus, instead ending up on a puda puda. There’s not really anything else in the world quite like that. I quickly remembered I was in West Africa as 30 people crammed in to a van designed for maybe 20 plus two drivers for about three hours along a road that’s usually paved.
There were five people crammed into my row. I had a window seat which was good and bad. It was good because I got a great view of Salone out my window as we drove along. It was bad because I had to cram my legs into a small area underneath the bench in front of me.
Corners were fun too. I’m not sure if they were good or bad. Everyone was sliding one way then another. It hurt when they slid into me. It was a lot more enjoyable when we swung the other way.
I could not figure out the rhyme or reason for our stops. It seemed like randomly along the way we’d pull over when nature called the driver, or a lot of people were in the area to sell food.
As we drove along I tried to get my music player, but couldn’t get to my bag to listen. I realized about two hours into the drive I hadn’t eaten anything all day and, determined to get a snack out of my bag, I knocked it over, making it even less accessible than it already was.
Beautiful scenery outside the window did a good job of distracting me, at least, until my foot went to sleep. A little over two hours into the trip (right after I knocked my bag over and was not happy) my left foot began to get a little tingly. A few moments later my right foot began to fall asleep as well.
The fuzzy feeling began to climb up my legs to my knee, which was just sore from being locked in a bent position for two hours. I was already a little grumpy because I was really tired, and every time I almost fell asleep the puda puda would go over a bump and I’d hit my head on the window.
It continued up to my rear end. Sitting on a hard bench for two hours without being able to adjust gave me a sore behind.
Just as I had given up on ever being comfortable again the puda puda pulled over again. At first I was frustrated, because I wanted us to stop stopping and keep going so we could get to Kambia and I could stand up again for the first time in what seemed like forever.
However, everyone in the puda puda began exiting the bus. I was pretty sure we weren’t in Kambia (or any city for that matter) but I didn’t care. Excitedly, I jumped off the bus, and walked around. The feeling began to return to my lower extremities.
A few minutes later we piled back into the vehicle and took off again. I’m still not sure why we stopped. Maybe it was just a stretch break for the tired passengers. Maybe it was something else. Either way I was incredibly thankful.
The last hour of the trip flew by. I grabbed my iPod and resituated myself so that I could be as comfortable as possible. This lasted until the puda puda took off and cargo and people’s legs slid around my right foot, effectively trapping it in the position it was in for good.
I didn’t care though. With “Club Can’t Handle Me” playing on my headphones, I moved my toes around just because I could again as we took off down the home stretch.
My puda puda ride came to an abrupt end when we arrived in Kambia. I guess I thought there’d be a sign or someone would say something. But once again we pulled over and everybody piled out of the bus.
Excited to stretch again, I did the same thing. My co-worker who was travelling with me looked back and asked me if I was going to grab my bag, or leave it on the bus.
“Are we here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said smiling.
I was so happy to get off the puda puda for good that I asked no further questions. I stopped my iPod, swiftly ending “Mr. Carter” by Lil’ Wayne, and stepped out.
I thought about taking a picture (and now wish I had) off the crowd of people piled around the one vehicle that took them across the country, but my camera was buried deep in my bag somewhere.
Oh well, I thought. There’s always the ride home.
By David Krueger
I was really excited when I found out I got to go to Kambia for a few days. We were going to get up early and take a government bus, complete with air conditioning and leg room. That didn’t quite work out. I probably should’ve seen that coming.
I guess I had taken so many taxis and motorbikes that I had forgotten where I was. Quite honestly getting around here is almost easier than in my home state. It’s a lot scarier too. But I have been very lucky so far with transportation.
Well the luck finally ran out. We got up early, but missed our bus, instead ending up on a puda puda. There’s not really anything else in the world quite like that. I quickly remembered I was in West Africa as 30 people crammed in to a van designed for maybe 20 plus two drivers for about three hours along a road that’s usually paved.
There were five people crammed into my row. I had a window seat which was good and bad. It was good because I got a great view of Salone out my window as we drove along. It was bad because I had to cram my legs into a small area underneath the bench in front of me.
Corners were fun too. I’m not sure if they were good or bad. Everyone was sliding one way then another. It hurt when they slid into me. It was a lot more enjoyable when we swung the other way.
I could not figure out the rhyme or reason for our stops. It seemed like randomly along the way we’d pull over when nature called the driver, or a lot of people were in the area to sell food.
As we drove along I tried to get my music player, but couldn’t get to my bag to listen. I realized about two hours into the drive I hadn’t eaten anything all day and, determined to get a snack out of my bag, I knocked it over, making it even less accessible than it already was.
Beautiful scenery outside the window did a good job of distracting me, at least, until my foot went to sleep. A little over two hours into the trip (right after I knocked my bag over and was not happy) my left foot began to get a little tingly. A few moments later my right foot began to fall asleep as well.
The fuzzy feeling began to climb up my legs to my knee, which was just sore from being locked in a bent position for two hours. I was already a little grumpy because I was really tired, and every time I almost fell asleep the puda puda would go over a bump and I’d hit my head on the window.
It continued up to my rear end. Sitting on a hard bench for two hours without being able to adjust gave me a sore behind.
Just as I had given up on ever being comfortable again the puda puda pulled over again. At first I was frustrated, because I wanted us to stop stopping and keep going so we could get to Kambia and I could stand up again for the first time in what seemed like forever.
However, everyone in the puda puda began exiting the bus. I was pretty sure we weren’t in Kambia (or any city for that matter) but I didn’t care. Excitedly, I jumped off the bus, and walked around. The feeling began to return to my lower extremities.
A few minutes later we piled back into the vehicle and took off again. I’m still not sure why we stopped. Maybe it was just a stretch break for the tired passengers. Maybe it was something else. Either way I was incredibly thankful.
The last hour of the trip flew by. I grabbed my iPod and resituated myself so that I could be as comfortable as possible. This lasted until the puda puda took off and cargo and people’s legs slid around my right foot, effectively trapping it in the position it was in for good.
I didn’t care though. With “Club Can’t Handle Me” playing on my headphones, I moved my toes around just because I could again as we took off down the home stretch.
My puda puda ride came to an abrupt end when we arrived in Kambia. I guess I thought there’d be a sign or someone would say something. But once again we pulled over and everybody piled out of the bus.
Excited to stretch again, I did the same thing. My co-worker who was travelling with me looked back and asked me if I was going to grab my bag, or leave it on the bus.
“Are we here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said smiling.
I was so happy to get off the puda puda for good that I asked no further questions. I stopped my iPod, swiftly ending “Mr. Carter” by Lil’ Wayne, and stepped out.
I thought about taking a picture (and now wish I had) off the crowd of people piled around the one vehicle that took them across the country, but my camera was buried deep in my bag somewhere.
Oh well, I thought. There’s always the ride home.
Column No. 7- Motorbike Madness
Motorbike Madness
By David Krueger
I’ve made an observation early on in my trip while trying to get around Freetown: motorbikes in the United States are safer. Motorbikes in Sierra Leone are more fun.
Are you risking your life every time you hop on the back of a motorbike? Absolutely. But is there a faster, more exciting way to get around Freetown? I’ve yet to find one.
The first time I rode on a bike, I actually rode with a third passenger behind me. I was heading down to the beach with a friend from work to play some football, and we waved down a bike as it zoomed toward us.
Michael looked at me, with an expression on his face that said, “are you sure you want to do this.” I hopped on, and held on, as we tore through the streets of Freetown.
Winding between cars, flying through both lanes of traffic, I saw in the distance a very large truck driving toward us. I assumed that since I (who was riding in the middle of two people) saw it, the driver would too.
The truck got closer and closer and I cringed more and more while I wondered if my journey to Sierra Leone was going to come to an abrupt end. As we passed a taxi on our right the truck was meters away. My body started to tighten up just as we ducked back into our lane of traffic and dodged certain doom.
I let out a big sigh of relief and looked back at Michael, who just smiled back. Once we arrived at our destination and got off the bike, I was still shaking with adrenaline. Before I could even think all I could say was one thing.
“That was awesome!”
Then I said I would never ride a motorbike in Freetown again. That lasted until the next day at work.
It seems the fastest and easiest way to get around the big city is by motorbike. While it can be more expensive than a taxi, it’s incredibly more fun and, on warm days, the breeze feels spectacular.
Sometimes, the drivers even have helmets for me to wear. This is nice, because then if the bike doesn’t dodge the big truck in time and my entire body is crushed, at least the top of my head would be ok.
I’ve decided that I prefer riding on the back of motorbikes with drivers who are not wearing helmets. I feel like they are just a little more careful, because if there is an accident, they are in a bad place to be. While those who wear helmets might use that as an excuse to push the bike to go a little faster, or to pass a vehicle that it might not have time to pass.
This type of motorbike driving happens in some big cities in the United States. In places like New York City and Los Angeles, drivers will swerve in between cars stuck in long lines of traffic. But they don’t do it nearly as fast as they do here in Freetown.
Where I live, this is not allowed. However, my father has a motorcycle (the way we say “motorbike” in America) and has taken me for countless rides since I was a kid. His motorcycle, a maroon and black Honda Shadow, has a little seat on the back for a passenger to sit in. There’s also a bar to hold on to and a helmet waiting.
We’ve gone fast on open highways with no cars on them, sometimes even reaching speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour (161 kilometers per hour).
I’ve smiled while cruising around on the motorcycle my father nicknamed “Hagrid,” after watching one of the “Harry Potter” movies. He said it was because they’re both giants and kind. I think he just likes the name “Hagrid.”
One summer I even received a few driving lessons from my father, who tried to teach me how to drive his large, rather heavy motorcycle. They didn’t go all that well. I could get going every time, but stopping was another story.
Twice I tipped the motorcycle over and tore up the earth while attempting to stop it. I was on the way to repeating the same result for a third time when my leg came in between the ground and the motorbike. It was painful. We’ll just leave it at that.
Despite my inability to stop the vehicle, I’ve always wanted to get a license in America to be able to drive a motorcycle, and my father and I even talked about taking a class and getting certified once I return from Sierra Leone. I am now more confident than ever that we will do that when I get back, so that I can cruise around cities in America, and remember what it was like to dart through the streets of Freetown.
For safety (and legal) reasons, I will drive the American way once back home. However, until I get there, I’m going to enjoy as much Salone motorbiking as I can.
By David Krueger
I’ve made an observation early on in my trip while trying to get around Freetown: motorbikes in the United States are safer. Motorbikes in Sierra Leone are more fun.
Are you risking your life every time you hop on the back of a motorbike? Absolutely. But is there a faster, more exciting way to get around Freetown? I’ve yet to find one.
The first time I rode on a bike, I actually rode with a third passenger behind me. I was heading down to the beach with a friend from work to play some football, and we waved down a bike as it zoomed toward us.
Michael looked at me, with an expression on his face that said, “are you sure you want to do this.” I hopped on, and held on, as we tore through the streets of Freetown.
Winding between cars, flying through both lanes of traffic, I saw in the distance a very large truck driving toward us. I assumed that since I (who was riding in the middle of two people) saw it, the driver would too.
The truck got closer and closer and I cringed more and more while I wondered if my journey to Sierra Leone was going to come to an abrupt end. As we passed a taxi on our right the truck was meters away. My body started to tighten up just as we ducked back into our lane of traffic and dodged certain doom.
I let out a big sigh of relief and looked back at Michael, who just smiled back. Once we arrived at our destination and got off the bike, I was still shaking with adrenaline. Before I could even think all I could say was one thing.
“That was awesome!”
Then I said I would never ride a motorbike in Freetown again. That lasted until the next day at work.
It seems the fastest and easiest way to get around the big city is by motorbike. While it can be more expensive than a taxi, it’s incredibly more fun and, on warm days, the breeze feels spectacular.
Sometimes, the drivers even have helmets for me to wear. This is nice, because then if the bike doesn’t dodge the big truck in time and my entire body is crushed, at least the top of my head would be ok.
I’ve decided that I prefer riding on the back of motorbikes with drivers who are not wearing helmets. I feel like they are just a little more careful, because if there is an accident, they are in a bad place to be. While those who wear helmets might use that as an excuse to push the bike to go a little faster, or to pass a vehicle that it might not have time to pass.
This type of motorbike driving happens in some big cities in the United States. In places like New York City and Los Angeles, drivers will swerve in between cars stuck in long lines of traffic. But they don’t do it nearly as fast as they do here in Freetown.
Where I live, this is not allowed. However, my father has a motorcycle (the way we say “motorbike” in America) and has taken me for countless rides since I was a kid. His motorcycle, a maroon and black Honda Shadow, has a little seat on the back for a passenger to sit in. There’s also a bar to hold on to and a helmet waiting.
We’ve gone fast on open highways with no cars on them, sometimes even reaching speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour (161 kilometers per hour).
I’ve smiled while cruising around on the motorcycle my father nicknamed “Hagrid,” after watching one of the “Harry Potter” movies. He said it was because they’re both giants and kind. I think he just likes the name “Hagrid.”
One summer I even received a few driving lessons from my father, who tried to teach me how to drive his large, rather heavy motorcycle. They didn’t go all that well. I could get going every time, but stopping was another story.
Twice I tipped the motorcycle over and tore up the earth while attempting to stop it. I was on the way to repeating the same result for a third time when my leg came in between the ground and the motorbike. It was painful. We’ll just leave it at that.
Despite my inability to stop the vehicle, I’ve always wanted to get a license in America to be able to drive a motorcycle, and my father and I even talked about taking a class and getting certified once I return from Sierra Leone. I am now more confident than ever that we will do that when I get back, so that I can cruise around cities in America, and remember what it was like to dart through the streets of Freetown.
For safety (and legal) reasons, I will drive the American way once back home. However, until I get there, I’m going to enjoy as much Salone motorbiking as I can.
Column No. 6- Going out (and never coming back home)
Going out (and never coming back home)
By David Krueger
Believe it or not, these columns really test my journalism skills. More than anything they help me to improve my vocabulary. While talking about my experiences in Sierra Leone there are only so many ways to say “awesome,” “incredible,” “fantastic” or “amazing.” So, for this column I’m not going to use any of those words. It’s going to be hard, because I’m going to describe a remarkable experience.
I went out for the first time recently to experience my first taste of Sierra Leonean nightlife. Six friends and myself (which makes seven in total for those of you counting at home) piled into one taxi and traveled for about a half an hour to Lumley Beach, for one of the most awe-inspiring nights of my life.
I’ve been to bars and clubs all over the world. However, I’ve never been to a bar quite like the Atlantic Crossing. It’s part bar, part club, part beach, part heaven. There are very few words (and I can’t use four of them) to describe how grand and marvelous it is.
There are lots of bars where you have an extraordinary view to enjoy while sipping on your beverage. For instance, in Seattle there’s a rooftop bar that overlooks the Space Needle, a giant needle-like structure that is one of the few things my home city is known for (along with coffee and constant rain).
But I’ve never seen another bar where you cannot only see and hear the ocean, but actually walk into the sand and touch it.
While sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean, behind me was a perfect combination of African music blended with the occasional well-known American song. Two of my favorite songs ever were played as I saw crabs crawl across the sand in front of me.
I also heard my new favorite song, apparently an African hit that plays absolutely everywhere I go. I don’t know what it’s called (I’m going to guess something along the line of “I Love My Life”), but the “oooo, oooo, ooooo, oooooooooo” that rises each time the chorus comes on is absolutely perfect.
All I could think about was how I didn’t want to leave. Ever. However, my friends felt we had to. The Atlantic Crossing was just the pre-party. There was still the main event to go to.
For that we took a taxi (two this time, a much smarter and more comfortable decision) down the road a few kilometers to Aces, another club on the beach with a pretty phenomenal view itself. There we proceeded to dance the night away.
Aces was another strong showing for the Freetown nightlife. The simplest idea, having a fan blow cool air toward those overheated on the dance floor, made all the difference. It did not, however, prevent my knees from being very, very sore the following morning.
As a wonderful, added bonus I once again got to hear and dance along to my new favorite song.
Unable to take the smile off my face, I spent the better part of three hours trying not to embarrass myself on the dance floor. I’m not sure I succeeded. But it was still a splendid evening that I didn’t want to end. But as the evening became morning and my legs began to hint that they might not be able to hold me up for much longer, we ventured home.
It’s very difficult to describe just how much fun I had. But I have a few more adjectives to try before I wrap this column up. The night was breathtaking, tremendous and superb.
But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Salone is all of those things. As well as stunning, mind-blowing, astonishing and astounding.
By David Krueger
Believe it or not, these columns really test my journalism skills. More than anything they help me to improve my vocabulary. While talking about my experiences in Sierra Leone there are only so many ways to say “awesome,” “incredible,” “fantastic” or “amazing.” So, for this column I’m not going to use any of those words. It’s going to be hard, because I’m going to describe a remarkable experience.
I went out for the first time recently to experience my first taste of Sierra Leonean nightlife. Six friends and myself (which makes seven in total for those of you counting at home) piled into one taxi and traveled for about a half an hour to Lumley Beach, for one of the most awe-inspiring nights of my life.
I’ve been to bars and clubs all over the world. However, I’ve never been to a bar quite like the Atlantic Crossing. It’s part bar, part club, part beach, part heaven. There are very few words (and I can’t use four of them) to describe how grand and marvelous it is.
There are lots of bars where you have an extraordinary view to enjoy while sipping on your beverage. For instance, in Seattle there’s a rooftop bar that overlooks the Space Needle, a giant needle-like structure that is one of the few things my home city is known for (along with coffee and constant rain).
But I’ve never seen another bar where you cannot only see and hear the ocean, but actually walk into the sand and touch it.
While sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean, behind me was a perfect combination of African music blended with the occasional well-known American song. Two of my favorite songs ever were played as I saw crabs crawl across the sand in front of me.
I also heard my new favorite song, apparently an African hit that plays absolutely everywhere I go. I don’t know what it’s called (I’m going to guess something along the line of “I Love My Life”), but the “oooo, oooo, ooooo, oooooooooo” that rises each time the chorus comes on is absolutely perfect.
All I could think about was how I didn’t want to leave. Ever. However, my friends felt we had to. The Atlantic Crossing was just the pre-party. There was still the main event to go to.
For that we took a taxi (two this time, a much smarter and more comfortable decision) down the road a few kilometers to Aces, another club on the beach with a pretty phenomenal view itself. There we proceeded to dance the night away.
Aces was another strong showing for the Freetown nightlife. The simplest idea, having a fan blow cool air toward those overheated on the dance floor, made all the difference. It did not, however, prevent my knees from being very, very sore the following morning.
As a wonderful, added bonus I once again got to hear and dance along to my new favorite song.
Unable to take the smile off my face, I spent the better part of three hours trying not to embarrass myself on the dance floor. I’m not sure I succeeded. But it was still a splendid evening that I didn’t want to end. But as the evening became morning and my legs began to hint that they might not be able to hold me up for much longer, we ventured home.
It’s very difficult to describe just how much fun I had. But I have a few more adjectives to try before I wrap this column up. The night was breathtaking, tremendous and superb.
But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Salone is all of those things. As well as stunning, mind-blowing, astonishing and astounding.
Column No. 5- Back In America
Back in America
By David Krueger
I haven’t gotten homesick yet, which is a little surprising. I like Seattle a lot. I love my friends and family. I love my baseball team. I love my television.
However, Sierra Leone has done a wonderful job of keeping me astonished, and busy. I haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep during a night (minus the 15-hour nap while sick) and between work, visiting with friends and touring the city I haven’t really had time during my first week to get homesick.
While I remain very busy, I finally was hit with a little sliver of homesickness on Friday. In all honesty, it was self-inflicted.
I scheduled a meeting with the public affairs officer at the Embassy of the United States of America. I figured it would be a good idea to introduce myself, plus I was just really curious. I had never been to an American Embassy before.
I knew right away when I pulled up to it that it was going to be a fun trip. After seeing Sierra Leone flags waving all over the streets for the past week, it was nice to see the familiar red, white and blue. I’m not entirely sure how the rules work, but I believe that the embassy is considered United States soil.
That was a cool fact, considering I was thousands of miles away from mainland America.
Once my escort picked me up and I got through security (which is much like airports in the United States, and all over the world) we walked across to the actual embassy. Once in the door I was immediately greeted by some familiar faces. Pictures of President Barack Obama, Vice President Joe Biden and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton graced the wall near the entrance to the embassy.
That wasn’t the last time President Obama would make an appearance.
I sat down and had a chat with Mark Carr, the main communications person for the U.S. Embassy in Freetown. I learned about his time in the Peace Corps and that he was from Pennsylvania. He told me about the process of getting a job at an American embassy and, I have to say, if this whole journalism thing doesn’t work out I think that’d be a very fun career path to take.
After the meeting, we walked around the desks near his office and Mr. Carr introduced me to several people that he works with. While meeting the head of the media department I looked over and saw a life-sized cardboard cutout of President Obama.
For the first time in eight days I became homesick.
I don’t actually know President Obama. We’ve never met. But he represents America. He symbolizes my home country. When you see the President of the United States of America, you think about the United States of America.
Back home, the President is everywhere. It’s impossible to escape President Obama’s face. He’s always on television and in the newspapers, just like President Ernest Bai Koroma is here.
On the 4th of July I felt very patriotic, but not really homesick. I had only been gone for about four days.
But now, in the second of 13 weeks, as I walked around the U.S. Embassy, and got a briefing about living in Africa from Mr. Carr, a little homesickness began to set in.
I think that embassies are supposed to have the opposite effect. It seems like they’re supposed to make you feel at home in a foreign land, rather than get homesick while abroad.
They also have really fast internet that you can use.
The homesickness has since subsided, and I am back to being too busy to have time to reminisce about home. I’m sure that it will again creep up on me when I least expect it sometime in the next 12 weeks. But I just say bring it on.
I can always just return to the U.S. Embassy, for a quick visit back to America. I can see my flag, my president and my e-mail inbox.
And they have REALLY fast internet.
By David Krueger
I haven’t gotten homesick yet, which is a little surprising. I like Seattle a lot. I love my friends and family. I love my baseball team. I love my television.
However, Sierra Leone has done a wonderful job of keeping me astonished, and busy. I haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep during a night (minus the 15-hour nap while sick) and between work, visiting with friends and touring the city I haven’t really had time during my first week to get homesick.
While I remain very busy, I finally was hit with a little sliver of homesickness on Friday. In all honesty, it was self-inflicted.
I scheduled a meeting with the public affairs officer at the Embassy of the United States of America. I figured it would be a good idea to introduce myself, plus I was just really curious. I had never been to an American Embassy before.
I knew right away when I pulled up to it that it was going to be a fun trip. After seeing Sierra Leone flags waving all over the streets for the past week, it was nice to see the familiar red, white and blue. I’m not entirely sure how the rules work, but I believe that the embassy is considered United States soil.
That was a cool fact, considering I was thousands of miles away from mainland America.
Once my escort picked me up and I got through security (which is much like airports in the United States, and all over the world) we walked across to the actual embassy. Once in the door I was immediately greeted by some familiar faces. Pictures of President Barack Obama, Vice President Joe Biden and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton graced the wall near the entrance to the embassy.
That wasn’t the last time President Obama would make an appearance.
I sat down and had a chat with Mark Carr, the main communications person for the U.S. Embassy in Freetown. I learned about his time in the Peace Corps and that he was from Pennsylvania. He told me about the process of getting a job at an American embassy and, I have to say, if this whole journalism thing doesn’t work out I think that’d be a very fun career path to take.
After the meeting, we walked around the desks near his office and Mr. Carr introduced me to several people that he works with. While meeting the head of the media department I looked over and saw a life-sized cardboard cutout of President Obama.
For the first time in eight days I became homesick.
I don’t actually know President Obama. We’ve never met. But he represents America. He symbolizes my home country. When you see the President of the United States of America, you think about the United States of America.
Back home, the President is everywhere. It’s impossible to escape President Obama’s face. He’s always on television and in the newspapers, just like President Ernest Bai Koroma is here.
On the 4th of July I felt very patriotic, but not really homesick. I had only been gone for about four days.
But now, in the second of 13 weeks, as I walked around the U.S. Embassy, and got a briefing about living in Africa from Mr. Carr, a little homesickness began to set in.
I think that embassies are supposed to have the opposite effect. It seems like they’re supposed to make you feel at home in a foreign land, rather than get homesick while abroad.
They also have really fast internet that you can use.
The homesickness has since subsided, and I am back to being too busy to have time to reminisce about home. I’m sure that it will again creep up on me when I least expect it sometime in the next 12 weeks. But I just say bring it on.
I can always just return to the U.S. Embassy, for a quick visit back to America. I can see my flag, my president and my e-mail inbox.
And they have REALLY fast internet.
Column No. 4-Do you believe in miracles?
Do You Believe in Miracles?
By David Krueger
I really like sports. I enjoy watching sports more than I enjoy almost anything (I really like to eat). I love the tension and excitement, and observing the athletes as they give absolutely everything they have so that they can emerge victorious.
Sports can save your day or ruin your mood. Sunday afternoon, it did both.
I had the distinct pleasure of watching the quarterfinal of the2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup between Brazil and my United States. If you watched the game, you know the incredible story I’m about to describe. If you didn’t, make sure you watch the semi-final this Wednesday!
The U.S. jumped ahead in the game in the second minute off an own goal by the Brazilians. When the ball came into the middle it bounced off a defender in the yellow and white and into the back of the net. It was beautiful.
That 1-0 score held up for the next 60 minutes, but then disaster struck. A (questionable, terrible and ridiculous) foul was called on an American defender, resulting in a red card for her and a penalty kick for Brazil.
I watched in disbelief as the penalty kick was set up, and Hope Solo, the U.S. goalkeeper, moved into her box. I’ve always liked Solo. She went to the same school, the University of Washington, as I did and she’s a very good player. She proved that fact by blocking the penalty kick.
But the referee wasn’t done pestering the Americans yet. She blew her whistle while the United States was celebrating and hugging Solo, indicating that she jumped off her line a split-second (or an imaginary second in my opinion) too soon. Brazil was given a second penalty kick, and capitalized, tying the score at 1-1.
Regulation finished without a goal, and extra time began. Down one player, the United States played a spectacular game just to force that. Just a few minutes into the extra time, Marta, supposedly the best female player in the world, scored a goal on what may have been an offside position with another referee.
It looked like the Americans’ luck had run out. Turns out it was just pacing itself.
With my mood thoroughly ruined, both by the second penalty kick and the extra time goal, I sat in what I’m going to call “nervous disgust” as the end of the match drew near.
Then, out of nowhere, boom! Miracle.
In the 122nd minute, as close to the end of the game as you can get without the whistle blowing, Abby Wambach (my pick for best female player in the world) headed the ball past the reach of the Brazilian defender and the game was tied.
I don’t remember if it came off a free kick, corner kick or just a cross. I was too busy celebrating. It doesn’t matter anyway. The important thing was my day was saved and my country was on the verge of moving on.
I jumped out of my chair with my arms in the air. I clapped and cheered. I looked around to make sure everyone else saw what I had just witnessed. Then I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Fortunately, this was really happening. The goal set up penalty kicks and the rest was history. Riding what has to be one of the largest emotional highs ever, all five Americans aced their penalty kicks.
Meanwhile, Solo blocked the kick of the same person who scored an own goal early on to send the United States to the semi-finals and ruin the day for Brazil.
It has been a long time since I’ve witnessed a game that exciting. On Saturday I watched the Blackpool-East End Lions game that saw a 90th minute goal give Blackpool the victory, but even that wasn’t quite on the same level.
On football’s biggest stage, down a player, facing the third-ranked team in the world (the U.S. is ranked No. 1, now we know why) the Americans didn’t give up. They rallied around each other and did what they needed to do, exactly when they needed to do it.
The United States faces France next on Wednesday, with a berth in the World Cup Championship on the line. I’m not going to say that America is destined to win, but I’d give them a pretty good chance of taking home the trophy after what I witnessed on Sunday.
Before the World Cup this summer I had never watched a professional women’s football game in my life. Now I can’t wait for the next one.
Women’s football is just as exciting as that of their male counterpart, perhaps even more so. The passes are just as crisp and the shots are just as impressive. The same determination and drive to win is there, and it produces football that is an utter joy to watch.
There are three more games in the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup, and I plan on watching all of them. Hopefully, two of those will include my beloved Americans.
I’m excited to see how many more miracles they have left in them.
By David Krueger
I really like sports. I enjoy watching sports more than I enjoy almost anything (I really like to eat). I love the tension and excitement, and observing the athletes as they give absolutely everything they have so that they can emerge victorious.
Sports can save your day or ruin your mood. Sunday afternoon, it did both.
I had the distinct pleasure of watching the quarterfinal of the2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup between Brazil and my United States. If you watched the game, you know the incredible story I’m about to describe. If you didn’t, make sure you watch the semi-final this Wednesday!
The U.S. jumped ahead in the game in the second minute off an own goal by the Brazilians. When the ball came into the middle it bounced off a defender in the yellow and white and into the back of the net. It was beautiful.
That 1-0 score held up for the next 60 minutes, but then disaster struck. A (questionable, terrible and ridiculous) foul was called on an American defender, resulting in a red card for her and a penalty kick for Brazil.
I watched in disbelief as the penalty kick was set up, and Hope Solo, the U.S. goalkeeper, moved into her box. I’ve always liked Solo. She went to the same school, the University of Washington, as I did and she’s a very good player. She proved that fact by blocking the penalty kick.
But the referee wasn’t done pestering the Americans yet. She blew her whistle while the United States was celebrating and hugging Solo, indicating that she jumped off her line a split-second (or an imaginary second in my opinion) too soon. Brazil was given a second penalty kick, and capitalized, tying the score at 1-1.
Regulation finished without a goal, and extra time began. Down one player, the United States played a spectacular game just to force that. Just a few minutes into the extra time, Marta, supposedly the best female player in the world, scored a goal on what may have been an offside position with another referee.
It looked like the Americans’ luck had run out. Turns out it was just pacing itself.
With my mood thoroughly ruined, both by the second penalty kick and the extra time goal, I sat in what I’m going to call “nervous disgust” as the end of the match drew near.
Then, out of nowhere, boom! Miracle.
In the 122nd minute, as close to the end of the game as you can get without the whistle blowing, Abby Wambach (my pick for best female player in the world) headed the ball past the reach of the Brazilian defender and the game was tied.
I don’t remember if it came off a free kick, corner kick or just a cross. I was too busy celebrating. It doesn’t matter anyway. The important thing was my day was saved and my country was on the verge of moving on.
I jumped out of my chair with my arms in the air. I clapped and cheered. I looked around to make sure everyone else saw what I had just witnessed. Then I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Fortunately, this was really happening. The goal set up penalty kicks and the rest was history. Riding what has to be one of the largest emotional highs ever, all five Americans aced their penalty kicks.
Meanwhile, Solo blocked the kick of the same person who scored an own goal early on to send the United States to the semi-finals and ruin the day for Brazil.
It has been a long time since I’ve witnessed a game that exciting. On Saturday I watched the Blackpool-East End Lions game that saw a 90th minute goal give Blackpool the victory, but even that wasn’t quite on the same level.
On football’s biggest stage, down a player, facing the third-ranked team in the world (the U.S. is ranked No. 1, now we know why) the Americans didn’t give up. They rallied around each other and did what they needed to do, exactly when they needed to do it.
The United States faces France next on Wednesday, with a berth in the World Cup Championship on the line. I’m not going to say that America is destined to win, but I’d give them a pretty good chance of taking home the trophy after what I witnessed on Sunday.
Before the World Cup this summer I had never watched a professional women’s football game in my life. Now I can’t wait for the next one.
Women’s football is just as exciting as that of their male counterpart, perhaps even more so. The passes are just as crisp and the shots are just as impressive. The same determination and drive to win is there, and it produces football that is an utter joy to watch.
There are three more games in the 2011 FIFA Women’s World Cup, and I plan on watching all of them. Hopefully, two of those will include my beloved Americans.
I’m excited to see how many more miracles they have left in them.
Friday, July 8, 2011
My little Sierra Leonean adventure (leaving the YMCA)
This week’s been full of surprises. First, after bragging to everyone back home that I had remained healthy my whole time, I got very sick. It was not fun. I’m not going to explain exactly what was happening but suffice it to say I spent a lot of time in the fetal position on my bed on Tuesday. Not quite ideal, but I suppose it could’ve been worse. Hopefully we won’t have to test that.
Then I discovered what’s probably the most delicious snack in the world: Malibu and mangos. Mangos from Sierra Leone are incredibly delicious (I’m just going to declare them “the best in the world” right now and get it over with) and Malibu is an incredible addition to the fruit. A few friends from the YMCA (“It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A”…sorry, I’ve been trying to sneak that into a blog post all week) and I sat on the balcony, watching the rain, eating mangos and sipping Malibu. Honestly, it’s going to be a hard night to top.
Then I had to go back to my guest house, which is no longer the YMCA. I was booked in the most expensive room they had (which explains why it was so nice) and they didn’t have an opening until after my trip (that’s right I have a trip! More on that later.). So I moved to a guest house about a block away from the YMCA (“You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal, you can do whatever you feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel” … all true!) which is not quite as nice.
So far, of the five days I’ve been there, I’ve had running water for one of them. Wednesday night my door wouldn’t shut, so Thursday morning they fixed it. In fact, they fixed it so well, that Thursday night it wouldn’t open. The room contains a bed and…well….my stuff. But, it’s very cheap and appears to be pretty secure so I’m not going to complain too much.
Now for the big news! My editor asked me if I wanted to accompany a couple reporters on a trip around the country to work on a story. The President recently approved free healthcare for pregnant women, breastfeeding women and women with more than five children. Awoko wants to know if it’s working, or even being implemented in areas outside of Freetown. So we’re going to spend a week travelling to the eastern part of the country, and then returning next Sunday, before venturing to southern Sierra Leone for a week the following day.
Needless to say, blog posts might be scarce in the next couple weeks. But just look at it this way: there should be another onslaught of posts once I get back to the YMCA (EVERYBODY: “Young man, there’s a place you can go, I said ‘young man,’ when you’re short on the dough…you can stay there, at the YMCA I’m sure they will help you today. (Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum!) It’s fun to stay at the…” best song ever? Probably not. But at least top 10.). And they’ll be awesome! Hope everybody is doing well back home! Shout out to the family in Grand Forks, North Dakota for the family reunion. I miss and love you guys and we’ll see you soon after I get back!
Then I discovered what’s probably the most delicious snack in the world: Malibu and mangos. Mangos from Sierra Leone are incredibly delicious (I’m just going to declare them “the best in the world” right now and get it over with) and Malibu is an incredible addition to the fruit. A few friends from the YMCA (“It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A”…sorry, I’ve been trying to sneak that into a blog post all week) and I sat on the balcony, watching the rain, eating mangos and sipping Malibu. Honestly, it’s going to be a hard night to top.
Then I had to go back to my guest house, which is no longer the YMCA. I was booked in the most expensive room they had (which explains why it was so nice) and they didn’t have an opening until after my trip (that’s right I have a trip! More on that later.). So I moved to a guest house about a block away from the YMCA (“You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal, you can do whatever you feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel” … all true!) which is not quite as nice.
So far, of the five days I’ve been there, I’ve had running water for one of them. Wednesday night my door wouldn’t shut, so Thursday morning they fixed it. In fact, they fixed it so well, that Thursday night it wouldn’t open. The room contains a bed and…well….my stuff. But, it’s very cheap and appears to be pretty secure so I’m not going to complain too much.
Now for the big news! My editor asked me if I wanted to accompany a couple reporters on a trip around the country to work on a story. The President recently approved free healthcare for pregnant women, breastfeeding women and women with more than five children. Awoko wants to know if it’s working, or even being implemented in areas outside of Freetown. So we’re going to spend a week travelling to the eastern part of the country, and then returning next Sunday, before venturing to southern Sierra Leone for a week the following day.
Needless to say, blog posts might be scarce in the next couple weeks. But just look at it this way: there should be another onslaught of posts once I get back to the YMCA (EVERYBODY: “Young man, there’s a place you can go, I said ‘young man,’ when you’re short on the dough…you can stay there, at the YMCA I’m sure they will help you today. (Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum!) It’s fun to stay at the…” best song ever? Probably not. But at least top 10.). And they’ll be awesome! Hope everybody is doing well back home! Shout out to the family in Grand Forks, North Dakota for the family reunion. I miss and love you guys and we’ll see you soon after I get back!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Column No. 3-Progressing and Struggling
Progressing and Struggling
By David Krueger
“There is no progress without struggle.” I smiled when I saw this on the shirt of a man walking around outside of the Awoko office Wednesday morning. Sir, I couldn’t agree more.
The last couple days in Salone have been a bit of a struggle. Yesterday morning, I woke up and my stomach was the most upset with me I believe that it’s ever been. It was twisting and turning, and I’m pretty sure I even heard it yelling and growling at me. But I like to think I’m a tough guy and have a strong stomach, so I just ignored it and went to work.
I immediately regretted not taking any medicine. There’s being proud, and then there’s being stupid. This was definitely the latter.
By the time I got to the Parliament building it felt like just my stomach had been hit by a car. Everything else was fine, except for that one particular body part.
After spending the majority of my time at the Parliament building in the bathroom, I left early and came back to the office, where I was sent home early. Once back in my room, I curled into a ball on my bed and tried not to vomit.
I’m happy to report I succeeded in that effort!
Eventually, I was able to fall asleep for about four hours. Once I woke up I was too scared to go anywhere or eat anything so I decided to write in my journal. I hadn’t written in it since my first night here in Sierra Leone, so I figured I’d get something done, while remaining close to a bathroom.
One hour and seven pages later I was done briefing my journal on the trip so far. Of the seven pages, about two were discussing my stomach problems in great deal, something I’m not going to do in this article. After I finished I finally gave in and took some medicine and went to bed, giving me about 15 hours of sleep for the day.
The whole experience kind of caught me off guard, which it probably shouldn’t have. Everybody I talked to before I left, and everybody I talked to once I got here, warned me this would happen. They said it was difficult adjusting to a completely different diet and climate. I was told to expect to get sick, and to do the best I could once it happened.
But up until my sixth day here in Freetown I went to bed every night feeling great and woke up every morning feeling rested and even better. I began to think that just maybe I’d be able to dodge traveller’s sickness.
Well that didn’t work out. Eventually my completely new surroundings caught up with me and my stomach.
Fortunately, I listen. Thanks to some advice from last year’s intern, I brought some stomach medicine with me for when I got sick. That medicine is single-handedly responsible for me being able to sleep Tuesday night, and come to work Wednesday morning.
However, even knowing what I know now I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done so far in Africa. There’s nothing I ate that I regret. All the food I’ve eaten, from stew green to foo-foo and everything else that I don’t know the name of yet, has been absolutely delicious.
While in Salone I haven’t had a bad meal yet, and I don’t really expect to anytime soon. I’ve loved the food here. It probably helps that I like rice.
Spicy food is also a personal favorite, although I’ve been warned that there’s “spicy” food and then there’s “Sierra Leone spicy.” So far my tongue has been able to handle all of the challenges I’ve thrown its way, but I’m sure there will be many more in the next 11 weeks. I’m excited for each and every one of them.
I also look forward to once again being healthy. Adapting to this new culture has been challenging at times, mostly the last 24 hours, but I feel like I have made significant progress along the way.
Hopefully that will continue without much more struggle.
By David Krueger
“There is no progress without struggle.” I smiled when I saw this on the shirt of a man walking around outside of the Awoko office Wednesday morning. Sir, I couldn’t agree more.
The last couple days in Salone have been a bit of a struggle. Yesterday morning, I woke up and my stomach was the most upset with me I believe that it’s ever been. It was twisting and turning, and I’m pretty sure I even heard it yelling and growling at me. But I like to think I’m a tough guy and have a strong stomach, so I just ignored it and went to work.
I immediately regretted not taking any medicine. There’s being proud, and then there’s being stupid. This was definitely the latter.
By the time I got to the Parliament building it felt like just my stomach had been hit by a car. Everything else was fine, except for that one particular body part.
After spending the majority of my time at the Parliament building in the bathroom, I left early and came back to the office, where I was sent home early. Once back in my room, I curled into a ball on my bed and tried not to vomit.
I’m happy to report I succeeded in that effort!
Eventually, I was able to fall asleep for about four hours. Once I woke up I was too scared to go anywhere or eat anything so I decided to write in my journal. I hadn’t written in it since my first night here in Sierra Leone, so I figured I’d get something done, while remaining close to a bathroom.
One hour and seven pages later I was done briefing my journal on the trip so far. Of the seven pages, about two were discussing my stomach problems in great deal, something I’m not going to do in this article. After I finished I finally gave in and took some medicine and went to bed, giving me about 15 hours of sleep for the day.
The whole experience kind of caught me off guard, which it probably shouldn’t have. Everybody I talked to before I left, and everybody I talked to once I got here, warned me this would happen. They said it was difficult adjusting to a completely different diet and climate. I was told to expect to get sick, and to do the best I could once it happened.
But up until my sixth day here in Freetown I went to bed every night feeling great and woke up every morning feeling rested and even better. I began to think that just maybe I’d be able to dodge traveller’s sickness.
Well that didn’t work out. Eventually my completely new surroundings caught up with me and my stomach.
Fortunately, I listen. Thanks to some advice from last year’s intern, I brought some stomach medicine with me for when I got sick. That medicine is single-handedly responsible for me being able to sleep Tuesday night, and come to work Wednesday morning.
However, even knowing what I know now I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done so far in Africa. There’s nothing I ate that I regret. All the food I’ve eaten, from stew green to foo-foo and everything else that I don’t know the name of yet, has been absolutely delicious.
While in Salone I haven’t had a bad meal yet, and I don’t really expect to anytime soon. I’ve loved the food here. It probably helps that I like rice.
Spicy food is also a personal favorite, although I’ve been warned that there’s “spicy” food and then there’s “Sierra Leone spicy.” So far my tongue has been able to handle all of the challenges I’ve thrown its way, but I’m sure there will be many more in the next 11 weeks. I’m excited for each and every one of them.
I also look forward to once again being healthy. Adapting to this new culture has been challenging at times, mostly the last 24 hours, but I feel like I have made significant progress along the way.
Hopefully that will continue without much more struggle.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Column No. 2-Independence Day
Cheers to independence
By David Krueger
Monday was the 4th of July, the day where every year the United States celebrates our independence from Britain. I learned soon after arriving in Sierra Leone, and couldn’t help but notice with signs, flags and paintings all around Freetown, that a monumental independence celebration occurred here recently as well.
Independence is truly an occasion worth honoring. Especially now with fights going on around the world in places like Syria, where citizens are currently forced to sacrifice so much, sometimes even their lives, for the prize of freedom and independence.
America and Sierra Leone are lucky to be able to have such a reason to celebrate.
On Independence Day in America most businesses and offices are closed. Friends and families have tremendous meals and large parties. In the evening we celebrate by lighting off fireworks for hours into the night, sometimes not stopping until well into the 5th of July.
When I was a child I would usually spend Independence Day in the state of North Dakota, which is where I was born. It’s located in the middle of the United States, about a four hour flight from where I grew up and went to school in Washington. There aren’t a lot of people in the state, but those that reside there are incredibly warm and friendly people.
In that way, North Dakota is the Sierra Leone of America.
My grandparents own a large piece of land, far away from any large cities. There my family and I would start a large bonfire, roast marshmallows, light off fireworks and enjoy each other’s company while celebrating the birth of our nation’s independence.
The last few years I have spent the night at my father’s house, sitting outside on the street watching as our neighbors lit up the sky with incredible firework displays. My hometown of Marysville, Washington is known across the state for having vendors that sell bright, spectacular and often dangerous fireworks.
In fact, many of the devices produced and sold in what is called “Boom City” are illegal in the U.S. because they are so powerful.
But that doesn’t stop some people from spending huge amount of money on illegal fireworks. Some residential areas even have unspoken contests, and sometimes spoken contests, to see who can put on the most impressive display.
It appears the closest I will get to fireworks this year was the thunderstorm that woke me up Monday morning at five. With booming thunder and flashing lightning I saw it as God’s way of giving me a little Independence Day celebration in Sierra Leone.
While lying awake in bed a little smile even slid across my face as I thought of the celebrations that would be going on in America on the evening of the 4th.
I am a little sad that I won’t be able to celebrate with my friends and family this year. However, even though I am halfway across the world I still feel a huge sense of patriotism today. While it’s true every day, on the 4th I am especially proud to be an American.
I am also proud to be spending the day of my country’s independence in a country that understands just how special and important that is.
Everywhere I go in Freetown, at least during my first five days, I’ve seen flags proudly waving. The green, white and blue striped banners are displayed all over the city. Some even emblazoned with the logo for the 50th Golden Jubilee Celebration.
Many products, including Star Beer, which I finally was able to try last weekend and loved, and this very newspaper have the logo on the label or at the top. It’s obvious to anybody who visits that this was, and still is, a very big deal and an important day for people across the country.
I’ve learned that there was an enormous program that even included the staple of any great independence celebration: fireworks.
This year I spent my country’s Independence Day visiting the Parliament building in Freetown. It seemed like an appropriate place to visit on this very special day. I was able to go along with a reporter and see where Sierra Leone’s laws are passed an enacted. I saw the graves of the founders of both the Sierra Leone People’s Party and the All People’s Congress.
I got the opportunity to learn a lot about the history of Sierra Leone, including much of how the country earned its independence 50 years ago.
It was a very different tale than that of my home country. The United States declared its succession from Britain on July 4th, 1776. That launched the American Revolution, an eight year war in which 50,000 U.S. troops were wounded or killed.
Ultimately, the much smaller America won the war, and its independence.
This year marks the 235th year that the United States of America has been independent. I am so excited for the people of Salone to get to this point. I wish I could be here personally to see the celebration in the year 2196. Unfortunately, by then I will be independent of this world. But don’t worry Sierra Leone, I’ll still be watching.
By David Krueger
Monday was the 4th of July, the day where every year the United States celebrates our independence from Britain. I learned soon after arriving in Sierra Leone, and couldn’t help but notice with signs, flags and paintings all around Freetown, that a monumental independence celebration occurred here recently as well.
Independence is truly an occasion worth honoring. Especially now with fights going on around the world in places like Syria, where citizens are currently forced to sacrifice so much, sometimes even their lives, for the prize of freedom and independence.
America and Sierra Leone are lucky to be able to have such a reason to celebrate.
On Independence Day in America most businesses and offices are closed. Friends and families have tremendous meals and large parties. In the evening we celebrate by lighting off fireworks for hours into the night, sometimes not stopping until well into the 5th of July.
When I was a child I would usually spend Independence Day in the state of North Dakota, which is where I was born. It’s located in the middle of the United States, about a four hour flight from where I grew up and went to school in Washington. There aren’t a lot of people in the state, but those that reside there are incredibly warm and friendly people.
In that way, North Dakota is the Sierra Leone of America.
My grandparents own a large piece of land, far away from any large cities. There my family and I would start a large bonfire, roast marshmallows, light off fireworks and enjoy each other’s company while celebrating the birth of our nation’s independence.
The last few years I have spent the night at my father’s house, sitting outside on the street watching as our neighbors lit up the sky with incredible firework displays. My hometown of Marysville, Washington is known across the state for having vendors that sell bright, spectacular and often dangerous fireworks.
In fact, many of the devices produced and sold in what is called “Boom City” are illegal in the U.S. because they are so powerful.
But that doesn’t stop some people from spending huge amount of money on illegal fireworks. Some residential areas even have unspoken contests, and sometimes spoken contests, to see who can put on the most impressive display.
It appears the closest I will get to fireworks this year was the thunderstorm that woke me up Monday morning at five. With booming thunder and flashing lightning I saw it as God’s way of giving me a little Independence Day celebration in Sierra Leone.
While lying awake in bed a little smile even slid across my face as I thought of the celebrations that would be going on in America on the evening of the 4th.
I am a little sad that I won’t be able to celebrate with my friends and family this year. However, even though I am halfway across the world I still feel a huge sense of patriotism today. While it’s true every day, on the 4th I am especially proud to be an American.
I am also proud to be spending the day of my country’s independence in a country that understands just how special and important that is.
Everywhere I go in Freetown, at least during my first five days, I’ve seen flags proudly waving. The green, white and blue striped banners are displayed all over the city. Some even emblazoned with the logo for the 50th Golden Jubilee Celebration.
Many products, including Star Beer, which I finally was able to try last weekend and loved, and this very newspaper have the logo on the label or at the top. It’s obvious to anybody who visits that this was, and still is, a very big deal and an important day for people across the country.
I’ve learned that there was an enormous program that even included the staple of any great independence celebration: fireworks.
This year I spent my country’s Independence Day visiting the Parliament building in Freetown. It seemed like an appropriate place to visit on this very special day. I was able to go along with a reporter and see where Sierra Leone’s laws are passed an enacted. I saw the graves of the founders of both the Sierra Leone People’s Party and the All People’s Congress.
I got the opportunity to learn a lot about the history of Sierra Leone, including much of how the country earned its independence 50 years ago.
It was a very different tale than that of my home country. The United States declared its succession from Britain on July 4th, 1776. That launched the American Revolution, an eight year war in which 50,000 U.S. troops were wounded or killed.
Ultimately, the much smaller America won the war, and its independence.
This year marks the 235th year that the United States of America has been independent. I am so excited for the people of Salone to get to this point. I wish I could be here personally to see the celebration in the year 2196. Unfortunately, by then I will be independent of this world. But don’t worry Sierra Leone, I’ll still be watching.
Column No. 1-Feeling at home in Freetown
Feeling at home in Freetown
By David Krueger
It’s amazing how welcoming a Carlsberg beer and a friendly face can be.
After I arrived in Freetown I was shaking I was so nervous. It had taken me almost two days to make the journey from Seattle, in the United States, to Sierra Leone. During that time I kept getting more and more excited about the trip, and confident I would be ready for Africa.
I was wrong.
I got off the plane to rain and walked toward the airport to gather my things. I had no idea what was going to happen next. While waiting for my luggage I had several thoughts go through my head. What am I doing? Can I handle this? What happens next?
Fortunately, my editor here at Awoko Newspaper sent a group of people to pick me up from the airport. Once a man helped me with my suitcases we wandered over to a bar not far from the airport. There my editor’s nephew, with a huge smile on his face, officially welcomed me to Sierra Leone.
He offered a laugh and the most friendly “hello” I have ever heard, while extending his hand. I had never met or talked to this man before in my entire life, but I immediately felt like we had been lifelong friends.
He ordered me a Carlsberg beer, the first of several that we’ve already shared together during my visit and will continue to drink until my three month trip here has ended. Instantly, I felt better. I saw the friendliness and helpfulness of the people of Sierra Leone, and knew I would be just fine.
The nervousness turned to excitement as we boarded the ferry. We have ferries where I come from too. In fact, the northwest coast of Washington state has one of the largest ferry systems in the world, transporting over 25 million people per year.
So I felt right at home, with the men who came to get me as we shared another beer and I got to hear all about Sierra Leone. I heard about the food, the beaches, the newspaper and the people.
As the ferry brought me closer and closer to Freetown, I looked around and saw several people, some I recognized from one of my three flights, who had the same terrified look on their faces that I had on mine a short time before.
It won’t be long before their tension is eased as well.
After we arrived in Freetown I was brought to the Awoko office, where there were highlights from the women’s World Cup on in the background.
They like soccer here, I thought. We’ll get along very well!
I got to meet a few of the people that I’ll be working with for the next three months. Everyone was welcoming and very eager to show me around the city.
Even though it took me 40 hours to get here, and I only slept for eight of those hours at most, I was wide awake. This lasted right up until I was taken to my hostel to spend the night. Once everything was all set up and I got to my room, I took my shoes off and climbed onto the bed, instantly falling asleep. I didn’t even get a chance to change clothes or get under a blanket.
It didn’t occur to me before I was asleep that I didn’t have an alarm clock with me. I brought almost everything but that. The only clock I had was my music player, which had an alarmingly low battery. These would have been good things to think about before I was sleeping, but I didn’t.
I slept for a few hours and woke up at what my music player said was 5 a.m. I have never been so wide awake at five in the morning in my entire life. There was a dog barking outside my window and it seemed to be getting louder and louder with each bark.
That alone wouldn’t have kept me awake, but it was then I realized my alarm clock predicament. I was getting picked up at 8:30 and I was worried that if I went back to sleep I might not get up before 8:30 – in the evening!
So I remained in bed for another couple hours, just lying there trying to imagine what my day would be like. Eventually, the sun began to rise and I got my first good look of Freetown, and it was beautiful.
To my right I saw the ocean, with boats floating across the water. There were a few tall buildings and I wondered what was inside them. As my eyes glided across my window, I saw a huge hill, with houses piled up on top of it.
This is Freetown, I thought. This place looks incredible.
I got ready and went downstairs when my clock said 8:20. It turns out, however, that my clock was one hour ahead of Freetown. So I waited near the front of my hostel for an hour, nervous that I had missed my ride or I had been forgotten about.
I went to a nearby internet café to email my editor and make sure I didn’t do anything wrong. Meanwhile, a man from the office came to get me, right on time. I got back to my hostel and the woman at the front desk said somebody had come to get me, and was on his way back.
Moments later, he was back.
Terrified at how stupid I must have looked, I got into the car and apologized for disappearing. I told him I had just left to email the editor, while continuing to say I was sorry. He just laughed and told me not to worry.
We arrived at the office and I met another group of my new co-workers. They also welcomed me with open arms. I felt just as welcome here as I do in America. The editor said that here everyone is family, and I’m incredibly honored to be able to be a part of it for the next three months.
While I was telling them about my first night in Sierra Leone they heard I only had been drinking Carlsbergs, and immediately informed me that I must try Star beer. I’m beyond excited to do that. If a Carlsberg can make me so relaxed and at home in Freetown, imagine how great the official beer of Sierra Leone will make me feel.
By David Krueger
It’s amazing how welcoming a Carlsberg beer and a friendly face can be.
After I arrived in Freetown I was shaking I was so nervous. It had taken me almost two days to make the journey from Seattle, in the United States, to Sierra Leone. During that time I kept getting more and more excited about the trip, and confident I would be ready for Africa.
I was wrong.
I got off the plane to rain and walked toward the airport to gather my things. I had no idea what was going to happen next. While waiting for my luggage I had several thoughts go through my head. What am I doing? Can I handle this? What happens next?
Fortunately, my editor here at Awoko Newspaper sent a group of people to pick me up from the airport. Once a man helped me with my suitcases we wandered over to a bar not far from the airport. There my editor’s nephew, with a huge smile on his face, officially welcomed me to Sierra Leone.
He offered a laugh and the most friendly “hello” I have ever heard, while extending his hand. I had never met or talked to this man before in my entire life, but I immediately felt like we had been lifelong friends.
He ordered me a Carlsberg beer, the first of several that we’ve already shared together during my visit and will continue to drink until my three month trip here has ended. Instantly, I felt better. I saw the friendliness and helpfulness of the people of Sierra Leone, and knew I would be just fine.
The nervousness turned to excitement as we boarded the ferry. We have ferries where I come from too. In fact, the northwest coast of Washington state has one of the largest ferry systems in the world, transporting over 25 million people per year.
So I felt right at home, with the men who came to get me as we shared another beer and I got to hear all about Sierra Leone. I heard about the food, the beaches, the newspaper and the people.
As the ferry brought me closer and closer to Freetown, I looked around and saw several people, some I recognized from one of my three flights, who had the same terrified look on their faces that I had on mine a short time before.
It won’t be long before their tension is eased as well.
After we arrived in Freetown I was brought to the Awoko office, where there were highlights from the women’s World Cup on in the background.
They like soccer here, I thought. We’ll get along very well!
I got to meet a few of the people that I’ll be working with for the next three months. Everyone was welcoming and very eager to show me around the city.
Even though it took me 40 hours to get here, and I only slept for eight of those hours at most, I was wide awake. This lasted right up until I was taken to my hostel to spend the night. Once everything was all set up and I got to my room, I took my shoes off and climbed onto the bed, instantly falling asleep. I didn’t even get a chance to change clothes or get under a blanket.
It didn’t occur to me before I was asleep that I didn’t have an alarm clock with me. I brought almost everything but that. The only clock I had was my music player, which had an alarmingly low battery. These would have been good things to think about before I was sleeping, but I didn’t.
I slept for a few hours and woke up at what my music player said was 5 a.m. I have never been so wide awake at five in the morning in my entire life. There was a dog barking outside my window and it seemed to be getting louder and louder with each bark.
That alone wouldn’t have kept me awake, but it was then I realized my alarm clock predicament. I was getting picked up at 8:30 and I was worried that if I went back to sleep I might not get up before 8:30 – in the evening!
So I remained in bed for another couple hours, just lying there trying to imagine what my day would be like. Eventually, the sun began to rise and I got my first good look of Freetown, and it was beautiful.
To my right I saw the ocean, with boats floating across the water. There were a few tall buildings and I wondered what was inside them. As my eyes glided across my window, I saw a huge hill, with houses piled up on top of it.
This is Freetown, I thought. This place looks incredible.
I got ready and went downstairs when my clock said 8:20. It turns out, however, that my clock was one hour ahead of Freetown. So I waited near the front of my hostel for an hour, nervous that I had missed my ride or I had been forgotten about.
I went to a nearby internet café to email my editor and make sure I didn’t do anything wrong. Meanwhile, a man from the office came to get me, right on time. I got back to my hostel and the woman at the front desk said somebody had come to get me, and was on his way back.
Moments later, he was back.
Terrified at how stupid I must have looked, I got into the car and apologized for disappearing. I told him I had just left to email the editor, while continuing to say I was sorry. He just laughed and told me not to worry.
We arrived at the office and I met another group of my new co-workers. They also welcomed me with open arms. I felt just as welcome here as I do in America. The editor said that here everyone is family, and I’m incredibly honored to be able to be a part of it for the next three months.
While I was telling them about my first night in Sierra Leone they heard I only had been drinking Carlsbergs, and immediately informed me that I must try Star beer. I’m beyond excited to do that. If a Carlsberg can make me so relaxed and at home in Freetown, imagine how great the official beer of Sierra Leone will make me feel.
My first full day in Africa
I’m going to be honest, I didn’t think this would really happen. I’m currently laying in my bed, under a mosquito net that I put up myself. The impressive part, I think, is that I didn’t use all the parts. The actual frame and hook are apparently unnecessary. All you need is the actual net and duct tape and voila! Problem solved.
It’s either 8:30 or 9:30. I still don’t fricken know. Computer says one thing, phone says the other. I’m going with the phone. Oh I got a phone! More on that later. But I’m exhausted. Today was so big it would take five posts to describe everything so I’ll just give you the run down.
After I left the hostel I went to the office, which is about the exact opposite of the last news room I was in. It looks like the living room of a house, with a table in the middle with six computers and two laptops from the (I’m estimating) mid- to late-1990s. There’s one computer ( I repeat, one computer) on another desk that is hooked up to the Internet. Everybody shares that one.
After sitting around the office for about 4-5 hours meeting everybody, Victor, one of the many people always hanging out in the office, took me to Mr. Lewis’s (my boss) house, where I met his mother, wife (Amie), and son (Cho). This will be my cheat sheet for names later on. I’ve been informed I get to eat with them every Sunday because the city basically shuts down (It’s like Mondays in Rome). I had my first authentic Sierra Leonean cuisine: stew green. I don’t know what was in it but it was delicious and spicy as hell.
I’ll be right back. The mosquito net just fell down. Are you surprised? Me either.
All right attempt two seems much more promising. I used the hook and a little more duct tape. I think it’ll make all the difference. To reward myself for a job potentially well done I’m munchin’ on some M’n’Ms before they melt. Which I’m really surprised hasn’t happened yet. I might have to eat the second pack tonight too…
(I did not eat the second pack. They taste half like M’n’M’s and half like hand sanitizer.)
I didn’t really get bitten last night sans net, so I briefly debated just freestyling it again but decided not to push my luck. Just cause it happened once, doesn’t mean it’ll be the norm. So I’m doing the responsible thing and persevering with this darned thing. Seriously, next time just buy a simple net with a hook. None of this bamboo frame garbage. What is this even for???
What are the chances this makes it through the night? Ten percent? Fifteen percent? TWENTY?
After the meal I ran into Layormie, the guy who picked me up from the airport yesterday. He’s pretty cool. I’ve started calling him Mr. Carlsberg because he’s always passing out beer. We’re going to be good friends. I can just sense it.
Then it was back to the office to watch some Wimbledon, and then I was taken back to my room. But not before stopping by Mr. Carlsberg’s office for one more cold one (and one to take home to my hostel!). Seriously, this guy knows what’s up.
Back at the hostel I went to check out the sunset and found some people from France, Germany and Sierra Leone doing the same thing. We swapped stories, chatted for a bit and then the mosquito net wars began. It is 8:49 and I’m oh so tired. I’ll write more in depth tomorrow but that’s the basics. It doesn’t sound like much but it was a full, awesome day. Everybody at the paper is so nice, and wants to go to the bars and the beach (both of which we’re going to do on Sunday). These three months are going to be awesome.
Every morning I wake up a little nervous about what exactly is going to happen today and e very night I go to bed confident that this is going to be the trip of a lifetime.
Plus I’m safe now, because I have a mosquito net. For now.
It’s either 8:30 or 9:30. I still don’t fricken know. Computer says one thing, phone says the other. I’m going with the phone. Oh I got a phone! More on that later. But I’m exhausted. Today was so big it would take five posts to describe everything so I’ll just give you the run down.
After I left the hostel I went to the office, which is about the exact opposite of the last news room I was in. It looks like the living room of a house, with a table in the middle with six computers and two laptops from the (I’m estimating) mid- to late-1990s. There’s one computer ( I repeat, one computer) on another desk that is hooked up to the Internet. Everybody shares that one.
After sitting around the office for about 4-5 hours meeting everybody, Victor, one of the many people always hanging out in the office, took me to Mr. Lewis’s (my boss) house, where I met his mother, wife (Amie), and son (Cho). This will be my cheat sheet for names later on. I’ve been informed I get to eat with them every Sunday because the city basically shuts down (It’s like Mondays in Rome). I had my first authentic Sierra Leonean cuisine: stew green. I don’t know what was in it but it was delicious and spicy as hell.
I’ll be right back. The mosquito net just fell down. Are you surprised? Me either.
All right attempt two seems much more promising. I used the hook and a little more duct tape. I think it’ll make all the difference. To reward myself for a job potentially well done I’m munchin’ on some M’n’Ms before they melt. Which I’m really surprised hasn’t happened yet. I might have to eat the second pack tonight too…
(I did not eat the second pack. They taste half like M’n’M’s and half like hand sanitizer.)
I didn’t really get bitten last night sans net, so I briefly debated just freestyling it again but decided not to push my luck. Just cause it happened once, doesn’t mean it’ll be the norm. So I’m doing the responsible thing and persevering with this darned thing. Seriously, next time just buy a simple net with a hook. None of this bamboo frame garbage. What is this even for???
What are the chances this makes it through the night? Ten percent? Fifteen percent? TWENTY?
After the meal I ran into Layormie, the guy who picked me up from the airport yesterday. He’s pretty cool. I’ve started calling him Mr. Carlsberg because he’s always passing out beer. We’re going to be good friends. I can just sense it.
Then it was back to the office to watch some Wimbledon, and then I was taken back to my room. But not before stopping by Mr. Carlsberg’s office for one more cold one (and one to take home to my hostel!). Seriously, this guy knows what’s up.
Back at the hostel I went to check out the sunset and found some people from France, Germany and Sierra Leone doing the same thing. We swapped stories, chatted for a bit and then the mosquito net wars began. It is 8:49 and I’m oh so tired. I’ll write more in depth tomorrow but that’s the basics. It doesn’t sound like much but it was a full, awesome day. Everybody at the paper is so nice, and wants to go to the bars and the beach (both of which we’re going to do on Sunday). These three months are going to be awesome.
Every morning I wake up a little nervous about what exactly is going to happen today and e very night I go to bed confident that this is going to be the trip of a lifetime.
Plus I’m safe now, because I have a mosquito net. For now.
First night/morning
I’ve never been so awake at 5 a.m. before in my entire life. I travelled across the world and found the world’s angriest, most awake dog. This beast barked for at least three hours straight, in the rain, and the wind and the dark of night. I wondered if he’d ever fall asleep (or just lose his voice). Fortunately, he did, but then the roosters started crowing. This could be an interesting trip.
Before going to bed I doused myself in bug spray and climbed into my sleep sheet. For the most part it worked. I think I have a new bite on my hand and one on my foot but for the most part I’m pretty happy with the results. I didn’t put my mosquito net up because a.) there was no place to hang it from and b.) I was too tired to barely stand up. But after what I’m going to call a six hour power nap I feel like I’m ready to get back in the game.
I woke up this morning and finally saw Freetown in the light. And it’s beautiful. I can see a huge hill from my room, and if I go on the balcony right outside my door I can see the ocean as well, with the ferries going back and forth. It’s an amazing view. I’m not sure how long I’ll be at the YMCA, but I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can while I can.
I’m grooving on my first Cliff bar in my stash this morning because it occurred to me that since I got to Sierra Leone, the only thing I’ve consumed is three Carlsberg beers. As awesome of a life as that might sound, I feel like I need a little more. I was told there was a restaurant here but I couldn’t find it, and I’m not sure how much they charge for breakfast. It’s probably not very much, but for now I’m kind of happy just to eat a Cliff bar. I know what’s in that.
It is hot and muggy in here. Even as I just sit here typing I’m sweating. And I’m not a sweater. I’m not sure how the shower works (or toilettes) so it’s been a very unhygienic first night. Lots of hand sanitizer has been used. I hope to get some time this afternoon to get online and ask a few people who’ve been here before how the heck things work. I also want to post the last three blogs so you guys all know how I’m doing.
Somebody from the paper is coming to get me in a half hour (8:30). I don’t know if I’m working today or for how long I’m going to be there. I would like to get a few things accomplished today but if I don’t get a phone and stuff today, I guess I got time. I’m going to be here awhile.
I have my window open and just hear loud yelling in a language I can’t understand. It’s oddly relaxing. Now that the darn dog has shut up, I like having my window open. I think I’m by a school or something because I can hear and see a lot of little kids running around outside.
I’m going to go take some pictures of the water so that I can maybe include them in here. We’ll see how well that plan works. I’ve noticed my plans rarely seem to work in west Africa, so screw it. Sierra Leone, let’s just play it by ear.
Before going to bed I doused myself in bug spray and climbed into my sleep sheet. For the most part it worked. I think I have a new bite on my hand and one on my foot but for the most part I’m pretty happy with the results. I didn’t put my mosquito net up because a.) there was no place to hang it from and b.) I was too tired to barely stand up. But after what I’m going to call a six hour power nap I feel like I’m ready to get back in the game.
I woke up this morning and finally saw Freetown in the light. And it’s beautiful. I can see a huge hill from my room, and if I go on the balcony right outside my door I can see the ocean as well, with the ferries going back and forth. It’s an amazing view. I’m not sure how long I’ll be at the YMCA, but I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can while I can.
I’m grooving on my first Cliff bar in my stash this morning because it occurred to me that since I got to Sierra Leone, the only thing I’ve consumed is three Carlsberg beers. As awesome of a life as that might sound, I feel like I need a little more. I was told there was a restaurant here but I couldn’t find it, and I’m not sure how much they charge for breakfast. It’s probably not very much, but for now I’m kind of happy just to eat a Cliff bar. I know what’s in that.
It is hot and muggy in here. Even as I just sit here typing I’m sweating. And I’m not a sweater. I’m not sure how the shower works (or toilettes) so it’s been a very unhygienic first night. Lots of hand sanitizer has been used. I hope to get some time this afternoon to get online and ask a few people who’ve been here before how the heck things work. I also want to post the last three blogs so you guys all know how I’m doing.
Somebody from the paper is coming to get me in a half hour (8:30). I don’t know if I’m working today or for how long I’m going to be there. I would like to get a few things accomplished today but if I don’t get a phone and stuff today, I guess I got time. I’m going to be here awhile.
I have my window open and just hear loud yelling in a language I can’t understand. It’s oddly relaxing. Now that the darn dog has shut up, I like having my window open. I think I’m by a school or something because I can hear and see a lot of little kids running around outside.
I’m going to go take some pictures of the water so that I can maybe include them in here. We’ll see how well that plan works. I’ve noticed my plans rarely seem to work in west Africa, so screw it. Sierra Leone, let’s just play it by ear.
Arriving in Sierra Leone
I’m in Sierra Leone and I have to go to bed. I’m at the YMCA because the Stadium hostel was full. I had such an incredible last few hours I’m not even sure I could do them justice on this blog.
The flights were fine. They were long. But I got here. Once I got here a friend of the editor’s nephew grabbed me at the airport, then walked me down the street to a bar where Mr. Lewis’s nephew was waiting. Less than a half hour after getting off the plane, I had a Carlsberg in my hand and was being chauffeured to the ferry.
When I got off the plane I was literally shaking I was so nervous. I was at the baggage claim and was completely overwhelmed. I got through immigration and customs easily, but I was still pretty apprehensive. Once I collected my bags and got my shit together (mostly mentally) I saw a man with “David Krueger” on his piece of paper, and I felt infinitely better. He helped me exchange money, find the rest of our party and get a beer. Then all was good.
I instantly felt safe. I instantly felt fine. It’s amazing what one Carlsberg can do.
We drove to the ferry where I saw J.D., the guy I sat next to on the flight to Sierra Leone. He’s on a mission trip for nine months and has a posse of at least 10. It’s cool though, cause I was rolling four deep with Mr. Lewis’s nephew and his crew.
We sat down, the Carlsberg’s kept coming, and I just kept trying to take it all in. I’m sure I failed, but it was incredible. I won’t forget the 10ish mile drive to the ferry until I have Alzheimer’s.
After the hourish ferry ride we switched cars and I was taken to the office. I met all of my fellow coworkers and felt terrible inside because there’s no way I’m going to remember their names tomorrow. Fortunately, I have 3 months to get it figured out.
After introductions and watching some highlights from the women’s world cup I was taken to the YMCA hostel. It’s humid as hell in here. I’m not sure if I can use the water. I’m not sure if I should put up the mosquito net. I’m not sure if I used enough hand sanitizer (which exploded in its Ziploc bag) before I took my contacts out. Hope so.
I usually wing it when it comes to life, but this is a little beyond what I’m used to. I have to get up in 8 hours and go back to work apparently, but have no alarm clock. We’ll see how this goes. I set an alarm on my ipod, but I’m really relying on waking up in the early morning (because it’s hot as hell) and getting ready for work. I’ll be honest, I’m curious how tomorrow’s going to turn out. I’m sure Mr. Lewis is too. But not nearly to the same degree.
Two things I can’t get out of my head. One was an advertisement for a bank I saw on the ferry. It said: “we’re here because of you.” It’s a new company from the UK that recently expanded to west Africa. It’s ironic, because I’m here because of you (the people) too. The second was the conversation I had with J.D. when we met on the plane. He asked: “What are you going for?”
It almost sounded like we were in prison and he was asking “What are you in for?” It just had this tone, like “why would anybody choose to go to Sierra Leone?” Nobody asked me this when I went to Rome. They knew the answer. The Colosseum. The gelato. The history. Have an easy quarter.
This quarter won’t be so easy. But it doesn’t matter. I’m more excited than I’ve ever been. And now I have to try to sleep, which shouldn’t be too hard because I’m exhausted and…
The power’s off. Huh. I have no way of making sure I’m awake in time, no way of keeping remotely comfortable, and I have no idea how to flush the toilettes here. Should be an interesting 85ish days.
I can’t wait. I could excel, fail, or fall somewhere in the middle. Personally, I’m excited to see where I land. I hope you are too. Right now the jury’s out. But I do know one thing:
Sierra Leone, I’m here because of you. I’ll see you in the morning. Whenever that may be.
The flights were fine. They were long. But I got here. Once I got here a friend of the editor’s nephew grabbed me at the airport, then walked me down the street to a bar where Mr. Lewis’s nephew was waiting. Less than a half hour after getting off the plane, I had a Carlsberg in my hand and was being chauffeured to the ferry.
When I got off the plane I was literally shaking I was so nervous. I was at the baggage claim and was completely overwhelmed. I got through immigration and customs easily, but I was still pretty apprehensive. Once I collected my bags and got my shit together (mostly mentally) I saw a man with “David Krueger” on his piece of paper, and I felt infinitely better. He helped me exchange money, find the rest of our party and get a beer. Then all was good.
I instantly felt safe. I instantly felt fine. It’s amazing what one Carlsberg can do.
We drove to the ferry where I saw J.D., the guy I sat next to on the flight to Sierra Leone. He’s on a mission trip for nine months and has a posse of at least 10. It’s cool though, cause I was rolling four deep with Mr. Lewis’s nephew and his crew.
We sat down, the Carlsberg’s kept coming, and I just kept trying to take it all in. I’m sure I failed, but it was incredible. I won’t forget the 10ish mile drive to the ferry until I have Alzheimer’s.
After the hourish ferry ride we switched cars and I was taken to the office. I met all of my fellow coworkers and felt terrible inside because there’s no way I’m going to remember their names tomorrow. Fortunately, I have 3 months to get it figured out.
After introductions and watching some highlights from the women’s world cup I was taken to the YMCA hostel. It’s humid as hell in here. I’m not sure if I can use the water. I’m not sure if I should put up the mosquito net. I’m not sure if I used enough hand sanitizer (which exploded in its Ziploc bag) before I took my contacts out. Hope so.
I usually wing it when it comes to life, but this is a little beyond what I’m used to. I have to get up in 8 hours and go back to work apparently, but have no alarm clock. We’ll see how this goes. I set an alarm on my ipod, but I’m really relying on waking up in the early morning (because it’s hot as hell) and getting ready for work. I’ll be honest, I’m curious how tomorrow’s going to turn out. I’m sure Mr. Lewis is too. But not nearly to the same degree.
Two things I can’t get out of my head. One was an advertisement for a bank I saw on the ferry. It said: “we’re here because of you.” It’s a new company from the UK that recently expanded to west Africa. It’s ironic, because I’m here because of you (the people) too. The second was the conversation I had with J.D. when we met on the plane. He asked: “What are you going for?”
It almost sounded like we were in prison and he was asking “What are you in for?” It just had this tone, like “why would anybody choose to go to Sierra Leone?” Nobody asked me this when I went to Rome. They knew the answer. The Colosseum. The gelato. The history. Have an easy quarter.
This quarter won’t be so easy. But it doesn’t matter. I’m more excited than I’ve ever been. And now I have to try to sleep, which shouldn’t be too hard because I’m exhausted and…
The power’s off. Huh. I have no way of making sure I’m awake in time, no way of keeping remotely comfortable, and I have no idea how to flush the toilettes here. Should be an interesting 85ish days.
I can’t wait. I could excel, fail, or fall somewhere in the middle. Personally, I’m excited to see where I land. I hope you are too. Right now the jury’s out. But I do know one thing:
Sierra Leone, I’m here because of you. I’ll see you in the morning. Whenever that may be.
In Belgium/Goals for the trip
In Belgium/Goals
I didn’t get my Stella Artois, but that’s okay. It’s 9 a.m. here (I think…if I’m reading a monitor right, which I’m probably not).
The last day has been crazy. I’m not sure how many hours I’ve lost or how much actual travel time I’ve had but it feels like it’s been years since I left Seattle. I could do the math and figure out how long it’s been, but that sounds really hard right now. I’m going to guess. My laptop says it’s 12:30 a.m. Pacific Time on June 30th. I left at 10 p.m. on June 28th. So it’s been 26.5 hours since I haven’t been in an airport. Right? Actually, 28.5 cause I was at SeaTac over two hours early. Wow. And I’m still at least eight hours from my final destination (maybe nine…clocks are confusing).
The Brussels airport is huge. I had to take a bus to get to the T terminal, where all the Africa flights fly out of. My gate was gate T69 but a flight to Kigali, Rwanda (where Semir Hasedzic currently is) took over that gate. I briefly thought about hopping on but realized that would screw up a lot of people’s plans. But I’d get to see Semir…
We’ll see what happens.
I had a Belgian waffle in Belgium, which is kind of cool. I also had a Vitamin Water and then realized I got the one with added calcium so now I have to wait another two hours to take my malaria pill. That’s not the worst thing. Subconsciously, I probably even did it on purpose. Those pills taste terrible, and when I took my first one in Philadelphia God knows how many hours ago I had a headache that rivaled the cornea ulcer ones. I’m hoping that was just a boredom headache from sitting in the baggage claim for six hours with the alarm going off every 2-3 minutes (it was probably closer to 10-20 minutes but it seemed like it was always on).
Outside the window I can see planes for EasyJet and Vuelling Air, which I flew to Budapest and Barcelona respectively during Rome. It made me smile. Even though I’m not really close to where I was a year and a half ago, it’s nice to be back in Europe, even if it is only for three hours. It feels good to have Euros in my pocket again, to accompany a quarter and two dimes I collected somewhere along the way.
I really want to go on the Internet but it cost six Euros for a half hour, and 10 for a full hour. I would have to use my credit card and I’m not sure I told them I would be in Belgium. I called Chase to let them know I’ll be in Sierra Leone for three months, but I’m 98% sure I left out my transfer point. Which was stupid. The last thing I want is my debit card (which I hope I won’t have to use at all in Sierra Leone but is still nice to have) to be frozen before my African adventure even begins.
It’s only 9:34 and I’m antsy. The T terminal is small, so I’m not too worried about missing my flight, I just want to know what gate to sit and type at. I also just want to get back on a plane and go back to sleep. I think it was about a 6.5 hour flight from Philadelphia to here and I was awake for about 20 minutes. Enough to eat dinner, breakfast and see us land. I did not witness the take off as I’m absolutely certain that I was the first person on board to fall asleep. That’s right! I was sleeping on Flight 75 before sleeping on Flight 75 was cool.
I feel like I should make some kind of list of goals for my trip to Sierra Leone. Ever since I was a kid everyone told me to “make goals! Make goals!” So I made goals. I wanted to be a fire truck. Then they said “make goals you can accomplish! Make goals you can accomplish!” So in order to make goals I can accomplish I think I’m going to wait until I get to Africa and see what those goals might be. Sure I already have a few ideas of things I’d like to do while I’m there, but I’m not sure if they’re feasible. Maybe I can be a fire truck in Sierra Leone, maybe not. We’ll see. I like to make realistic goals that I can accomplish, so that when I do I can feel good about myself.
Like my goal of being President of the United States. That one’s basically in the bag.
Uh oh. The Kigali flight is boarding. This is it. Decision time…
…
…
…
Sorry buddy. I’ll see you in a few months.
Freetown, Sierra Leone, I’ll see you much sooner.
(I think. These clocks still have me really confused.)
I didn’t get my Stella Artois, but that’s okay. It’s 9 a.m. here (I think…if I’m reading a monitor right, which I’m probably not).
The last day has been crazy. I’m not sure how many hours I’ve lost or how much actual travel time I’ve had but it feels like it’s been years since I left Seattle. I could do the math and figure out how long it’s been, but that sounds really hard right now. I’m going to guess. My laptop says it’s 12:30 a.m. Pacific Time on June 30th. I left at 10 p.m. on June 28th. So it’s been 26.5 hours since I haven’t been in an airport. Right? Actually, 28.5 cause I was at SeaTac over two hours early. Wow. And I’m still at least eight hours from my final destination (maybe nine…clocks are confusing).
The Brussels airport is huge. I had to take a bus to get to the T terminal, where all the Africa flights fly out of. My gate was gate T69 but a flight to Kigali, Rwanda (where Semir Hasedzic currently is) took over that gate. I briefly thought about hopping on but realized that would screw up a lot of people’s plans. But I’d get to see Semir…
We’ll see what happens.
I had a Belgian waffle in Belgium, which is kind of cool. I also had a Vitamin Water and then realized I got the one with added calcium so now I have to wait another two hours to take my malaria pill. That’s not the worst thing. Subconsciously, I probably even did it on purpose. Those pills taste terrible, and when I took my first one in Philadelphia God knows how many hours ago I had a headache that rivaled the cornea ulcer ones. I’m hoping that was just a boredom headache from sitting in the baggage claim for six hours with the alarm going off every 2-3 minutes (it was probably closer to 10-20 minutes but it seemed like it was always on).
Outside the window I can see planes for EasyJet and Vuelling Air, which I flew to Budapest and Barcelona respectively during Rome. It made me smile. Even though I’m not really close to where I was a year and a half ago, it’s nice to be back in Europe, even if it is only for three hours. It feels good to have Euros in my pocket again, to accompany a quarter and two dimes I collected somewhere along the way.
I really want to go on the Internet but it cost six Euros for a half hour, and 10 for a full hour. I would have to use my credit card and I’m not sure I told them I would be in Belgium. I called Chase to let them know I’ll be in Sierra Leone for three months, but I’m 98% sure I left out my transfer point. Which was stupid. The last thing I want is my debit card (which I hope I won’t have to use at all in Sierra Leone but is still nice to have) to be frozen before my African adventure even begins.
It’s only 9:34 and I’m antsy. The T terminal is small, so I’m not too worried about missing my flight, I just want to know what gate to sit and type at. I also just want to get back on a plane and go back to sleep. I think it was about a 6.5 hour flight from Philadelphia to here and I was awake for about 20 minutes. Enough to eat dinner, breakfast and see us land. I did not witness the take off as I’m absolutely certain that I was the first person on board to fall asleep. That’s right! I was sleeping on Flight 75 before sleeping on Flight 75 was cool.
I feel like I should make some kind of list of goals for my trip to Sierra Leone. Ever since I was a kid everyone told me to “make goals! Make goals!” So I made goals. I wanted to be a fire truck. Then they said “make goals you can accomplish! Make goals you can accomplish!” So in order to make goals I can accomplish I think I’m going to wait until I get to Africa and see what those goals might be. Sure I already have a few ideas of things I’d like to do while I’m there, but I’m not sure if they’re feasible. Maybe I can be a fire truck in Sierra Leone, maybe not. We’ll see. I like to make realistic goals that I can accomplish, so that when I do I can feel good about myself.
Like my goal of being President of the United States. That one’s basically in the bag.
Uh oh. The Kigali flight is boarding. This is it. Decision time…
…
…
…
Sorry buddy. I’ll see you in a few months.
Freetown, Sierra Leone, I’ll see you much sooner.
(I think. These clocks still have me really confused.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)