It ain’t easy-o!

‘Hey ma sista!” “My friend, come here!” “White woman!” I still can’t help but to smirk when I hear,“White Woman.” I have been called Toubob (The Gambia and Senegal), Porto (Guinea), Mzungu (East Africa), Mel’ikah (Zuni) and Belegana (Navajo), but never the blatant “White Woman.” I have to admit, it is kind of refreshing and depending on my mood I laugh/smirk, roll my eyes, or have no reaction at all. In Sierra Leone there are several words for foreigner, ‘white woman’ being one.
The market was alive, as usual. Behind their stalls, men and women danced to the music that was blaring from somewhere. The distinctive West African beat is infectious…and to dance to it (well) is an art. The sharp rancid smell of meat forewarned me that I was entering the “meats section” of the market and no sooner did I see large pieces of meat hanging from the wooden stalls; a fly’s paradise. Upon seeing me, men quickly grabbed frozen chicken from their coolers and waved them in my face; others squatted and held out handfuls of fresh squid and shrimp while shouting, “Today! Today!” Packages of hotdogs and sausages also waved in the air and large plates of fresh Barracuda and Snapper bobbed above the moving crowds; fishtails framed the faces of the men and women who carried the plates on their heads.
Through the dust filled air, I kept my eyes on Alpha as I made my way steadily through the market. I felt many female hands lightly touch my hair as I passed, something I have learned to ignore. I took my handkerchief out of the front pocket of my leather shoulder bag and wiped the sweat from my face; I didn’t realize I was sweating until I felt it running over my lips. Alpha was moving swiftly through the crowds looking for a store that apparently sells picture frames. My friends’ housekeeper told me months ago about this store, so today she told Alpha where to take me. Back in September, I printed 10 of my photos of various places to hang in my apartment. I knew framing them wouldn’t be an easy task, which is why it took me five months to finally attempt to get the job done.
The West African beat was still booming when we entered the “produce and other stuff” section of the market. Somewhere among the stands of bright pink pig legs, green onions and Maggie cubes, a woman grabbed my shoulders and shook me in attempt to get me to dance…it worked. And like always, everyone in view erupted in laughter! When this happens, (and it happens often) I never know if they are laughing at my terrible dancing or amused that I succumb to their command for entertainment! It’s probably both!
We never found the shop we were looking for, but we did find a Fulla shop that had several plastic picture frames—one of the many imported ‘from China for Africa’ products that flood the streets of Africa. The three young men at the shop tried their best to find frames that fit my pictures. Two hours later and after some cutting, superglue, tape, and a knife they were able to frame 6 of my pictures. I was exhausted by the end and told Alpha I wanted to go home; I would frame the rest later. However, he refused! He told me that it was a challenge that we needed to finish today. I laughed and guessed that he probably couldn’t bear repeating this afternoon with me! So we continued on down the street—which functions better as a market than a road. We came across another Fulla shop that had the same frames as the one before. I’m not sure if the sizes were any different than the other store, or my exhaustion left me less demanding… but the guys in this shop were able to frame the remaining 4.
I stood on the cement slab in front of the shop and watched the scene before me while the man worked on the frames. One of the many wonderful things I learned in Peace Corps is the ability to stare for hours…Hundreds of people walked in the streets around us, all carrying goods. …a 6 year old (or so) small girl sold sweet bread to the guys in the shop…men pushed strollers that carried coolers of cold drinks…a group of beggars paused in front of us before moving on… a young woman just a few feet away glued fake eyelashes on the lids of another young woman…young girls and boys walked past with various items for sale, many of them paused and curiously looked at me while balancing their plates of goods on top their heads…two men, standing next to Alpha, argued while struggling to wrap a Valentine’s Day gift…Life out in the open.
I noticed a woman starring at me with a slight smile on her face. I acknowledged her with a smile and then returned my attention back to the streets. “This woman is enjoying! Like an African,” she told Alpha. “Oh yes. This one is simple. She is easy and has no problems,” he replied. It was then that I realized that I was slightly dancing to the music that was still playing from somewhere! However, I thought Alpha’s comment was hilarious. I looked at him and I couldn’t help but to laugh and ask him, “Really? You think I’m easy?” “Oh yes!” “Alpha, when you came to work today did you think you would be doing this?” “Oh, no!” He said, grinning from ear to ear. Alpha’s Saturday and Sunday work consist of driving the expat staff around. And I’m pretty sure that shopping with “White Woman” isn’t part of his job description! When he isn’t driving the Land Rover, he and one of our security guards, Albert, sit in the compound and drink Attaya. Months ago, while on another shopping escapade, Alpha and I bought an attaya brewing set for the compound. During the war, Alpha fled the country by foot and dugout canoe to Guinea. He was lucky in that his immediately family survived the war, and he didn’t get caught up with the rebel forces. After a year in Guinea, he went to Senegal on the back of a lorry; the journey lasted more than a week. He stayed in Senegal for several years and during that time he learned Woolof and the love for attaya. And Albert, being a Fulla, was born to love attaya. Albert wasn’t as lucky as Alpha; during the war he witnessed his father’s murder and the amputation of his mother.
When Alpha and I finally made our way back to the car, we were surprised to see that it became a shop. I wish I had my camera! We howled at the sight…the entire Land Rover was covered in clothes! Four different women used various parts of the vehicle to hang and display their goods! When they saw us coming, they slowly packed up their belongings and begged us to stay longer, so they could continue running their store! Before we left the center of the town, Alpha helped me to buy a hammer and nails that would be appropriate for my cement walls…essential tools to hang my newly framed pictures!
Once I got home, it took me a few hours to hang the pictures. The nails I bought didn’t actually work in my walls. Instead of pounding the nails in the wall, sparks literally flew every time I hit the nail on the head and the nail got so hot that I actually burnt my fingers, at which point I stopped. However, I didn’t give up…I made rope from old cloth and using the existing nails and holes in the wall, I managed to hang all the pictures up around my house and it looks great!

So much more fun than going to Wal-mart…

Candle Shop

It’s Sunday night. I can hear the usual night sounds of Freetown, despite my stereo pumping the rhythm of Brenda Fassie—an instinctive beat that moves the body! I just finished closing up my flat for the night; I shut my windows, pulled the curtains, slid my glass balcony door shut, and let down the thick blue mosquito net over my queen-sized bed. As I lay here on my foam-cushion wicker couch, I can smell a ‘Splash of Summer’ still lingering in the A/C chilled air. Since Friday, I have gone through almost an entire $5 bottle of Glade, a $7 bottle of Febreze’s ‘Fresh Linen,’ about 20 sticks of sandalwood incense, and 3 various scented candles to overtake the rancid smell of burnt boiled eggs. Yes, I burnt the eggs I was trying to boil. I should stop cooking. As you can imagine, my apartment smells like a burnt down candle shop that happened to catch the chicken coup as well. Not sure if my head hurts because of the toxic air, or because I live in Salone (local word for Sierra Leone).

Speaking of Salone… oddly enough, the piece of cake I’m eating from the coffee shop next door tastes like the cheddar cheese that is in my fridge; cheese that tastes like the supermarket from which I bought it—Saint Mary’s. And it isn’t just me who thinks that the cheese tastes like the supermarket. What is even more peculiar is that the same phenomenon occurs at the Saint Mary’s supermarket in The Gambia; all dairy products taste like the store. Hmmm….

It’s a calm night and I feel relaxed. My living room is lit by three scented candles; all 8 of my living room lights stopped working yesterday. I thought the bulbs blew at once, so I went to the store (which turned out to be a 60 minute journey) to buy new ones and air freshener (ended up buying the Glade). I carried all 8 bulbs to the store to show the man. Turned out, they were all identical. But I was glad I didn’t risk it. Last time I went shopping for light bulbs it took several hours and included 3 trips back to the house and 5 stores. Anyways… obviously the light bulbs weren’t the problem; the lights just don’t work. Hopefully, I’ll remember to get the maintenance request in first thing tomorrow at work.

‘Say Hey I love You’ is now rock’in out of my Bose, another fabulous Franti hit. OK, so I’m going to attempt to write a blog entry every Sunday about an event that I experienced over the week; one that is hopefully worth writing about. I’ll write this first one now while I wait for a friend who is flying in from Headquarters. For this week, you are going to have the opportunity to read about my experience buying picture frames…not the best experience of my week, but certainly the most entertaining!