A bumpy poda ride and a free magazine topped off with a game of badminton

Okay, this isn’t quite 40 lines, but in my defence, it is interesting and I haven’t blogged in a while!!!

I woke up this morning with a slight headache. Mainly because the traffic is now incredibly bad due to the school kids returning to the new term, so we have to leave at 6.50am in order to get to work before 9. My housemate and I had decided to go in early (so we could get a lift with someone who is kind enough to give us a lift in an air-conditioned 4 by 4 on most days), and have breakfast at the amazing Lebanese owned Crown Bakery on Wilberforce Street. The prospect of eating there gave me the incentive to drag myself out of bed as my alarm bleeped at 6.15am. My housemate also, however had a headache, and our early conversation ended by us both crawling back into bed for an extra hour, since neither of us actually had to be in till 9 and could technically have had an extra hours sleep… which we did! But this meant I would have to sit in traffic in a hot poda for an extra 30 minutes! Aw fo do?

So at quarter to 8, I left cockle bay wearing my gleaming white VSO t-shirt and waited for a poda, ready for all the traffic in the world. When the poda arrived, with the apprentice hanging his head out of the window calling ‘GENTS ROAD, GENTS ROAD’ (Regents Road) in that singsong manner of theirs, it was surprisingly empty. I even had a whole row to myself. But as usual, as we got to Aberdeen Ferry Road, we met the crawling traffic – in my opinion, aided rather than diffused by the traffic police! We sat in traffic for about 15 minutes; luckily I was sitting next to one of the wide windows, so with the extra space, there was a little breeze blowing through. I had also gotten a little engrossed in the book ‘Green Oranges on Lion Mountain’ by Emily Joy, a VSO volunteer writing about her experience in pre war Sierra Leone. I had just gotten to the part where she had to be evacuated from Serabu hospital, and didn’t notice when the poda turned down a little side road, down into the depths of hilly Freetown’s inner roads.

Now podas are public transportation like no other. Instead of having a fixed route from point A to B, the journey from the start to the finish point is dependent upon traffic and where passengers wish to alight. So because there is always traffic on the stretch of Wilkinson road, podas taken routes off the beaten paths. So there we went, crashing down the hill, lower and lower over the extremely rocky road (obviously not supposed to be a poda/car/anything-with-wheels route). While meandering down the tight space, with a slight fog still hanging over the city, the poda halted harshly as the engine died outside an open shop, to which the men sitting outside it shouted, ‘driva, you no fo stop na ya!’ meaning the poda was not allowed to stop there. Luckily, after a couple attempts, the driver managed to kick start the engine and the poda roared on past the jeers of the local townsmen.

So I managed to make it into work in good time, and dived straight in. I was working on a proposal to invite a national telecommunications company to advertise in our new information handbook and newsletter – a new initiative to raise money for the Nurses Association. I soon finished the rationale, and needed to figure out the budget. Not knowing what the going rates were like for advertisement spaces in Sierra Leone, I decided to embark upon my first field research and visit the head offices of a few newspapers – as calling the numbers they gave online resulted in two ‘out of coverage’ replies and a brief chat with a guy all the way out in Kono, who exclaimed, ‘ sorry oh, i no get wetin you dey talk. You get fo speak krio duya’. So I prepared a price list inquiry sheet and walked down to Awoko newspaper at Percival Street, a daily Freetown paper, and got the rates info. Now I needed prices for a monthly spread, so I walked all the way to Rawden Street to Sierra Eye Magazine. On my way, I stopped at the bank – which was pretty full at 3.10pm, besides the good looking cashier was not there, so i didn’t wait – walked past yet another funeral gathering outside a church (there is one almost everyday), and turned at the massive orange AFRICELL building.

The internet site said 25 Rawden Street, so I walked up from 24. Then I got to no. 25, but it wasn’t Sierra Eye like I expected, just a shoe shop. So I walked on and to my surprise, the next 5 stores all had 25 Rawden Street on each of them. I must have looked very confused, as a group of illegal money changers called me over and asked me what I was looking for. I explained to them and they all seemed to think I wanted Sierra travel, so for for the next few minutes, a very kind though misguided man led me around the big building, with dark corridors asking everyone where ‘Sierra Travel’ was, to which I had to keep repeating, ‘I’m sorry, no I actually mean Sierra Eye magazine!’ In the end, I reached the sparsely decorated office manned by a lady who introduced me to the person responsible for advertisements. I had a talk with him and had a look at the prices. On my departure, he even gave me a free copy of the current magazine. Upon arriving home, and sitting down to read it, I realised I had actually been conversing with the magazine’s editor!

After that, I decided I had done a full day’s work and decided to go home. the poda ride was very uneventful and almost traffic free. I reached home at 4.11 and since my housemates were not going to be home for a while, I decided I was going to have a quiet evening. I ate an apple, brought the washing in, had a little nap and even tidied up a little. When I glanced at the clock, I couldn't believe only 35 minutes had lapsed since I got home. So much for enjoying a quiet evening, I was bored! Therefore I was elated when I got a call inviting me to play badminton at IMATT, which is at the military quarters up past hill station. I had a quick shower and jumped into a taxi to Congo cross. We drove up the hill, the climate becoming noticeably cooler and played a nice game of badminton with friends followed by a nice meal at Montana Garden (there’s actually no garden, and I’m still a bit perplexed by the picture of the non-Salonean mountain on the front cover of their menu!) afterwards. I even managed to get a bruised and slightly bleeding knee as a result from a skilful (probably not) and brave (again probably not) lunge for the shuttlecock, which I was quite proud of since it means I’m actually getting better at a sport where balls fly in my direction. That’s got to be worth a little mark on the knee!!

Banke xxx

PS: Don’t worry about my bruise… I washed it out vigorously… and painfully with mentholated spirit. Urgh!