Mapaki today, my last full day here this year, lives up to its reputation as a community full of beauty, hope, life, death, wonder, pain, and mystery. It’s been a contemplative day for me as I wandered down this morning to my last year’s garden to sit once again in the shade of the mango tree and think of many things. This year’s garden (not mine) was a work of art with flowering okra nestled among the corn, potato vines, brilliance of pepper and spreading tomato. The grasshoppers seemed slightly less plentiful and not overly interested in these varieties of vegetable. The view, unfortunately, brought a sense of doom as one full side of Kafoima, the revered sacred forest, smoldered black and charred from the clearing that had recently been done (probably by the other village, often blamed when the forest is damaged). After enough time for quiet contemplation, I wandered back to discover that during my brief visit to the garden, tragedy struck at the house next to the garden, and the young mother of a suckling baby died during the brief moments I sat under the tree. No one knows yet who will care for and nurse the baby or exactly why the mom died. Oh, Mapaki and the sorrows of babies and young mothers and poor families!

Continuing on my way, I was passed by a small gathering of men and boys in some kind of ceremony that involved drumming on what looked like tortoise shells and blood on the young man in the centre of the gathering. I didn’t stop to ask questions. Rather, I stopped at the porch of my good friend, Pa Sankoh, the wisest man in the village, who had gathered around him about twenty other of the chiefdom’s blind people (I’m not sure why). This was a good opportunity to make arrangements to visit his garden in the morning before I leave, fulfilling a long-overdue promise.

I’m not sure which has affected me more…the water crisis we have been experiencing for the last six weeks as the wells go dry and pumps are locked for hours each day (lots of washing in small amounts of murky water and lining up at midnight or early morning when the water trickles back) or the internet crisis that’s been in effect for one week (our service has been migrated to another satellite but the dish not yet realigned and I’ve been virtually email-less for too long). We’ve had two rains now this week so I expect the water crisis is ending and today we are expecting a team to realign the dish and restore internet to Mapaki. Apologies for all the emails I have missed over the last few weeks. Here’s hoping I can actually post this blog entry tonight.

I suppose this will be my final posting for this year. The last few weeks have been hectic with many visitors and new and old friends from Canada visiting; the opening of the new Mathombo community school (to replace that which was burnt during the war); wrapping up school twinning; the visit of 100 ambassadors, U.N. officials (including Canada’s ambassador to the U.N.), and others to Mapaki for lunch yesterday, and preparing for my departure. The good news that came through yesterday is that, on the third try, Saidu’s application to visit Canada was approved and he’ll be traveling with me on Wednesday (I received this call at the moment of meeting the Canadian ambassador). This means, of course, another whirlwind layer of final preparations and changes. It’s been quite a month, bringing an end to quite a year and I look forward, again, to chatting with many of you in person over the next four months. Back on-line in September!

Photo - "Love is Free" poster made by Parkview students for Mathombo students presented at the new school hand-over ceremony

With two weeks remaining before I return to Canada, my remaining blog postings are likely to be limited (which may be good as mom points out that I have lately been slacking off in this department). This morning, Easter, I am awaiting the arrival of the seven Timbo children from Makeni and am planning food. So far I’ve come up with rice (of course) with deer sauce and 24 eggs. The eggs come from Magburaka and the deer from a woman in a neighbouring village who turned up at my door with it yesterday (deer here are quite small so this one will feed our whole household for a couple of days). Sallay tells me it will make a lovely addition to a cassava leaf sauce. Remembering my last foray into cooking cassava (luckily the only one who would eat my cooking and thus suffer the cyanide poisoning was me), I think I’ll enlist the help of Mabinty in meal preparation today. I also considered simply waiting till the children turn up and asking daughters Kadija and Helen, who do all the cooking at Makeni, to help me but Sallay tells me this would be most rude as today they are my guests. Should be an interesting two days. My visiting friend Norma Jean and I have been discussing the relative merits or not of introducing a few Easter traditions to the children (most of the children are Muslim without any cultural context for our seemingly bizarre “Easter” traditions). We’ve come up with a compromise of simply dying seven of the 24 eggs and serving them for breakfast tomorrow. During the rest of the visit I plan to spend time with the children in food processing (which is how most children spend most of their days here), with kids their age in our household, in the library, and possibly going an outing to the river beach.

Receiving the deer reminded me of the conversation I had yesterday with two of the boys who hang out at my house. We were discussing what they had learned from the school twinning project, leading to their explanation of hunting practices here (the boys had been exchanging hunting and fishing stories with students in Dawson). AKT and Alpha explained how the community had come to agree to give up hunting with guns in the post-war period with the encouragement of the UNDP. As part of the disarmament process, the community was supplied with dogs and nets in exchange for guns. Apparently all agreed that this was for the best as traumatized people, still responding in shock to any sound of gunfire, would head for the bush or even suffer heart attacks at the sound of hunters’ guns. Much food for thought as I read news from Canada about debate on gun control. Also feeds my dream of seeing the launch of a worldwide disarmament campaign.

Yesterday Norma Jean and I also headed to Mathombo with the cdpeace staff (on motorbikes) to present a package of letters and amazing art work on peace from students at Parkview, Mathombo’s twin school. During this exchange, Norma Jean conducted a long interview with two of the volunteer teachers who recounted experiences of being in school on the day the rebels attacked and burnt the school, which killed six of the children. Next week we will be witnesses at a ceremony to remember those who died on this day and to hand over a newly constructed school built through the generous donation of several Canadian organizations and individuals (Green Solutions, Newport Sports, etc.). The teachers and students were very grateful to receive the Canadian children’s artwork to showcase during these two historic days. I’m sure there will be a report and photos posted afterwards.

Schools are on holiday now, which is making it easier for me to wrap up last responsibilities and tasks. My “to do” list seems to be endlessly long but I have had moments lately of feeling somewhat in control of it. Having Norma Jean here keeping me in stitches of laughter most of the time helps. Hope to be seeing many of you for shared laughter soon.
Photo by Saidu – Sharing artwork from Parkview School

Yesterday I got married. At least I think I did. I certainly feel very married today. What started out as a plan for marriage negotiations between my family here, the Contehs and Saidu’s family, the Timbos gradually evolved into a full-fledged traditional African wedding, complete with sharing of water, a goat, kola nuts, calabash, bride price, wedding feast, dancing and drumming, palm wine and so much more. Actually, it was a wonderful day and every aspect was either great fun, deeply meaningful, thought-provoking or inspiring. The day started in the kitchen, of course, where Sallay and Mabinty and others were preparing a feast to welcome the Timbo family to Mapaki. Timbos arrived somewhat late (by Canadian, not Sierra Leonean standards) and my brothers, Kouame and Kannal decided that the Timbos would need to pay a fine for their tardiness before they could meet with me. While the family was arriving and settling in, therefore, I was whisked away to several safe hiding places…chief’s parlour, women’s store, behind the family home, etc., guarded by the village headman, my sister and mother, women of the village and sundry others. Negotiations for my release ensued, though I started to worry when the waiting dragged on long enough for the women dancers and drummers to discover and make quick work of the palm wine, which disappeared as the drumming became louder and dancing more intense. Finally Sallay and Mabinty announced that the negotiations were successful and I was allowed to join the rest of the waiting throng in the parlour of the guest house where representatives of all generations of both families assembled, surrounded by neighbours and friends on the porch and hallway. How to describe the next few hours! Well, parables and wisdom abounded from both families, symbols of life and peace and love were solemnly circulated and shared, gifts and kind words and encouragement were exchanged, the goat munched away on grass, I perched on my straw mat where I was asked if I would accept Saidu’s love by accepting (or not) the Timbos’ calabash and 100 kola nuts wrapped in leaves and bound with white thread (for peace). I said yes, to the relief of all, was welcomed and thanked by all the Timbos and then was encouraged to think of the wisest person in my family who would forever play the role of mediator, should Saidu and I ever experience strife and signify my choice by handing to that person the calabash and kola. My choice, of course, was my father, the chief, who happily agreed to play this important role in our future lives (though I can’t imagine ever calling on him in this function). More sharing and this time the Timbos thanked all who had a hand in raising me, from the babies to the aunties to the elders in the village, all of whom received a token of thanks in the form of several thousand leones in an envelope, often shared among a group (my family, all the male or female students in my household, the eldest women in the village, etc.). My “bride price” was handed over and I’m told that some of this will come back to the Timbos when the Contehs provide me with the pots I’ll need to set up house at their compound in Makeni. The rest will be used to buy bags of rice to share among the Conteh family. We ended the day with a big meal of rice, introducing the Timbos to Mapaki’s library (they were suitably impressed), chatting with and saying goodbye to friends who came from numerous locales to participate in this event, and then crashing around 7pm. Today we are comfortably sitting side by side in the library, each of us plugging away at a computer…Saidu writing work reports and me getting caught up with overdue school work. We talked a bit this morning about yesterday, and both are still not sure if we really are married or not. I think that, after consulting the chief, we will formalize this traditional wedding and register it with our local district council. Historically, few traditional weddings have been registered or formalized, but this requirement is now part of the new "gender" laws designed to protect the rights of women.

I’ve had some emails asking where we would set up house. Well, the plans are that we will continue living arrangements much the same as they now are with me based in Mapaki and Saidu staying where he needs to for his job (Mapaki, Mayagba, Makonkorie, and Makeni). I’ll spend weekends at the Timbo compound in Makeni, a wonderful egalitarian, shared living arrangement with Mother Timbo, Saidu’s daughter, brother, sister, sister-in-law and various nieces and grandchildren. We have a very comfortable room in the house and have as much private or shared time with people I really like as we want. Everyone helps with maintenance in whatever way they can and meals are either shared or not, depending on each person’s whim or wish. The house is situated on the edge of the town with two magnificent forested hills and a corn field as a backdrop and the market or “downtown” area a short walk away. The family has lived there for decades and so are friends with most in the neighbourhood. I’m feeling very privileged to now have a village home in Mapaki and a town home in Makeni. Other plans in the works…we are going to try to start rebuilding the small herd of cattle that Saidu kept before the war, cattle that were his “savings” for the children’s education but were stolen and slaughtered by rebels. Added to this will be some goats and sheep and all will be cared for Saidu’s uncle. My dream is to also eventually use these to produce milk and cheese, two commodities I have yet to see here. And of course, the work that I am doing with schools and PSI and cdpeace and the chiefdom will continue as before. We hope that one day Canadian immigration will see fit to open the door to enable Saidu to visit Canada, but expect that will be a long time from now. We’ll see. In the meantime, thanks to all who have sent well wishes. Photos are posted here.
Photo - Mother-in-law Mrs. Rebecca Timbo, me holding my mom, Saidu and grand-neice MJ.

With a small cry, eight year old Saodatu crawled into my lap last night as I sat, devastated, in the dark on the crumbling mud bricks behind Pa Roke’s house. For thirty minutes Sao held me almost as tightly as I held her as we both summoned the strength to go in and visit Aminata. Saodatu had come to see her playmate, whose lifeless body had just been brought home from the hospital. Aminata left Mapaki in our ambulance just hours before, suffering from internal bleeding after a fall days earlier. Unfortunately, the doctors were not able to provide her with the needed transfusion in time and Aminata died. Sao was not quite able to make into the house and released my hand as I stepped in to sit with the family next to the tiny, lappa-wrapped body laid out in a corner of the dimly oil lamp lit room. I cried and cried last night, realized how my own illness has probably protected me from too many similar events in Mapaki over the last few weeks and reflected on how “normal” but still difficult it has become to visit small lifeless bodies, something that we just don’t experience in Canada. I thought about this as I lie in bed last night reading a description of “structural adjustment” hospitals in Rwanda, places that you pay to go to to die, as economic policies dictate that hospitals are unaffordable as places of treatment. I wonder how many small lifeless bodies have been visited by those setting economic policies and wonder if a few such experiences could possibly have any impact on the decisions made so far from these sad walls.

This morning I am in the library, typing these notes as all around me sit clusters of teachers from our twinning schools, come together to read and review the exchange of letters between their students and students in schools a great distance away in North America. We started the morning, after personal prayers for Aminata’s peace (Aminata’s house in adjacent to the library and mourners are streaming in and out as we work), by reading a letter received this morning from Canada. Grade six teacher, Angela wrote, “It is hard to believe how quickly this year has passed. I've shared your letter with my students and showed them the photos of the Mabarr school kids reading their letters. They were so excited to see a small part of themselves integrated with your students. We have put together our last letter to this group of students and I know each of my students will never forget this experience. I also want to thank you for this opportunity, Carolyn. I've enjoyed it immensely and have learned as much as my students.” Today teachers here are reading their twin schools letters, some for the first time, and reflecting on what lessons students have learned from this experience. Our hope is that students have moved from getting to know about each other to learning with each other to learning to act on the world to make it a better place for all. Over the next few months I hope to be working with a great team of Sierra Leonean and Canadian researchers to investigate the impact of this initiative. Stay posted for news on this.
Sorry for the lack of photos...internet upload issues are under investigation.

Thanks to all who were concerned…I’m happy to report that I feel recovered now. And, yes I take anti-malarials but they are apparently only about 90% effective. It’s been a humbling experience, especially sitting in hospital next to the woman patiently waiting for treatment for leprosy on one side and half a dozen listless-eyed babies suffering from malaria staring vacantly at me from the other. Makes me truly appreciate the internal resources I have to fight off illness. I’ve also been so very fortunate to have the chiefdom “ambulance” at my service since it arrived. Our last trip made a stop at two hospitals in two towns; taking me to Makeni and a small boy suffering from malaria to Magburaka. The community is thrilled with the ambulance (a lovely used Toyota Jeep), which was formally presented at our International Women’s Day community celebration, where it was described as a child that is in the hands of the whole village where all have a stake in its safe and careful maintenance. Interestingly, the focus of our International Women’s Day celebration was on the right of girls to attend school, very pertinent here where fewer than ten women are literate and where in families that struggle, girls are often kept home to help with farm and household work. I’ve discovered through experience, though, that being literate in a predominantly illiterate country carries its own risks and dangers. Stupid me assumed that I was expected to follow the written rather than pictorial directions on my medication (they didn’t match) and I ended up missing one daily dose of medicine. Anyone I checked with here knew exactly the correct way to “read” the instruction. Another humbling experience.

In other personal news…I was lovingly nursed through my illness by the man I’ve come to deeply respect and love over the past few months. Over evenings of intense Scrabble games, working together on a research project, sifting through our library’s collection of books and DVDs on a range of world issues (oil, mining, indigenous rights, climate change, etc.) and learning a great deal about our respective worlds and cultures, teacher, cdpeace worker and former rehabilitator of ex-child combatants Saidu and I have grown very close. Today I received a formal delegation from his family (some of my best friends here), to gauge my reception to undergoing traditional “ceremonies” to mark our commitment to each other (I said yes…now need to find kola nuts). It’s been a vastly fascinating experience for me to delve into the otherwise unfathomable world of personal relationships here, which seem to function topsy-turvy to much in my experience. I’m sure there will be more updates on this front in the future and wish there were space in this blog to describe all that’s transpired so far. Love to talk over coffee or a meal when I’m back in Canada in May.

Several days ago, Saidu and I were kindly treated to lunch at a high-end hotel in Makeni by a group of generous visiting Canadians, here to support the work of a Canadian NGO (the same restaurant that served my birthday tuna sandwich earlier in the year) and I’ve been enjoying the humour that this event has sparked since then. When we returned to Mapaki, Saidu and Kouame were in hysterics both knowing the average cost of a meal (about $12) at the restaurant. Imagine spending this kind of money on a meal consumed in ten minutes! This line of joking continued long into the night as Kouame and Saidu continued with more outrageous scenarios involving lunches at this hotel and continued into the next day with other customers when we stopped to eat at a regular cookery (where meals average $1). All agreed that the cost of a meal at the hotel must include the right to walk on the shiny tile floor and look at the painted walls. I'm sure they're right.

Yesterday I also had my last “official” meeting of the year with the Gbonkolenken teachers, to read through and review the twinning letters, plan for the “peace art” the students will be doing, provide a small token to the scholarship teachers (still not on salary, unfortunately) and just to say goodbye for now. I’ll be back in Gbonkolenken over the next few weeks but may have a hard time finding students and teachers in class as holidays approach. Schools work is starting to wind down for me also as I also start to prepare for my return at the end of next month. Look forward to seeing you then!

So this is what I’ve discovered about malaria after two bouts two years in a row. I believe the treatment leaves you weaker than the illness and day two is especially difficult when your fever spikes and you spend the wee hours of the night contemplating your mortality and the fragility of the human body and spirit. On day three you are happy to be alive and begin to muster energy to venture into the community, where all greet you with condolences and joy at seeing you hobble about on your shaky pegs. Your confidence wanes somewhat on day four (today), when the fever and lethargy return, though I’m told it’s simply because I neglected to follow doctor’s orders to rest fully and take ORS (all agree with my personal diagnoses…that I am too stubborn for my own good). Prepared after last year’s malaria-induced weight loss and intense craving for coffee, this year I’ve been sipping on cocoa and nibbling on sardines and seem to have avoided the major nutritional setback, though many are concerned that my body is reducing and that I may end up returning to Canada less rotund than when I arrived. As I’ve discovered a source of biscuits and sweets, I’ll work hard at avoiding that likelihood. I am overjoyed, in the meantime, to have two-year old Sharif and his family home after several blood transfusions from his mom and two weeks in hospital due to severe malaria and was happy to be able to spend some time last night holding several of my favourite two-year olds closely, while watching the comings and goings in our busy kitchen area where Sallay and Mabinty produced hundreds of “rice cakes” (small donuts made from rice flour) for the Bumban traditional society celebrations (the boys will soon be returning from initiation in the bush). Holding those babies was especially poignant as I’ve been struggling to cope with the recent death of another baby…a baby who I knew was at risk and whose mom I believe I didn’t push strongly enough to go to the clinic. My friends tell me not to carry this weight and that I did all that I could but still, each death, especially of the too many babies that seem to be leaving us, hits hard and leaves a hollowness that will take many hours of holding onto warm, round-bellied two-year olds to fill.

In the meantime, here’s what’s up on the national front. In the article posted in last week’s blog, I read that only about 3% of mining profits stay in the country and less than 1% in the community that produces the minerals (communities that often also suffer from the effects of the mining). I also read that the Canadian mining company operating close to us anticipates record profits this coming year. Meanwhile, about 60% of youth of the country are unemployed, leaving many concerned about a return to conditions that fueled the war. I can only imagine what a small increase in mining profit could do to alleviate youth unemployment, pay teachers and health workers and diminish the number of babies dying in their mother’s arms. This week I also heard the four words most dreaded by young mothers and wives here, spoken too often when desperate young men disappear from the community. “He’s gone to Kono,” Kono being the mining area that draws young men who believe all other options have left them. While I have not yet been to Kono myself, all I hear from there is of heartbreak and devastation and death, leaving me chilled when I heard those words spoken about a fine and respected young man from the village who has gone missing. Ah, life! Abu has gone to Kono, Kadiatu’s baby has gone to whatever place babies are called to when they leave this world, and I’m about to head back to bed with concerns about morality and the state of the world swirling in my fevered brain. More later.

I think it’s a law of nature. Soon as you starting trusting technology and being careless about backing up your work, your computer is guaranteed to crash. As mine did, with last week’s blog, photos and various documents un backed-up. Computer has been dropped off at Fatima Institute with friends there who know more than we do (John’s final advice was “hit it with a rock”). Thanks, Mom, for reminding me that I have to find another way to post!

So here goes. I’m going to type very quickly as I’m about to start on a course of anti malarial drugs that I know will completely knock me out and if I don’t post today it will be a week before I can manage. Today we inaugurated the new chiefdom “emergency” vehicle with its first trip to hospital…with me as patient! (thank you donors!!) I started treating myself for various ailments with a Nigerian medication about two weeks ago. Then, what I should have recognized as the symptoms of malaria, I put down to medication side effects. The doctor today simply laughed…telling me the drugs I was taking would have been completely ineffective in any case (I notice many laugh when I tell them my drugs come from Nigeria, and even the goat doctor was reluctant to use them on a sick goat…he did and the goat eventually died). Sometimes a little knowledge is worse than none of all. Quite interesting hospital experience. A day at the hospital with diagnoses, various tests and a slew of medications cost about $16. A pittance when compared to Canadian costs but definitely out of reach of most (I paid the full price which few patients do). As malaria kills red blood cells, my hemoglobin is down 25%, annoying but not as bad as poor little Sharif (last post was all about Sharif), whose life hung in the balance and was saved a week ago with a blood transfusion from his mom, though he’s also still in hospital. The bets were on about whether I’d be asked to stay in hospital and I was very emphatic that the answer would be no! A hospital is no place for sick people, I figure. So I’m about to embark on several days of wooziness and weakness and chances are you won’t hear from me for a while. Hopefully by the time I recover, my laptop will also have recovered and I can tell you all about Sharif.
No photo but link to an article from today on mining policy here.

Don’t you hate it when life imitates art? Last week I had a long conversation with the volunteer teachers at Mathombo (the school that was burnt during the war with children still in it) about the on-line peace art gallery project that Jeanette of Queen’s University is organizing and the ways that the Mathombo students could be involved. Children at Mathombo’s twin school, Parkview, have sent beautiful artwork set to music about what peace means to them and I was explaining to the teachers that different cultures sometimes interpret the word “peace” differently (remembering surprising responses in Northern Ireland) and that so far my experience has been that peace to children here means the absence of war. We talked about our respective concepts of peace and the teachers told me of their experiences. Peace to them, they said, meant not living in fear of your life, not needing to run and hide and live in the bush when rebels were near, not fearing the cobras that shared your sleeping space, not living under rain without shelter for days on end, not seeing your crops disappear while your babies cried from hunger and not living with the fear of cholera.

This last comment surprised me as it was the first mention I’ve heard of cholera at Mathombo. The teachers explained how a few years ago cholera killed many, how people died within hours of showing first symptoms and how helpless all felt in watching the suffering. Shivers ran down my back as they spoke as I recalled bits and pieces about cholera from novels read over the years. I’ve been thinking about this conversation and thinking about one of my favourite books, “Love in the Time of Cholera” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Especially after our health officer stopped by last night and told me he was concerned that my namesake (the baby born when I arrived last year) might be suffering from cholera and he was heading into Makeni to confer with the district medical officer, just in case. On going to check on baby Carol Kadiatu this morning, I discovered that her family has taken her out of Mapaki to a small village some distance away, a major concern as we have the only health centre around. I’ve just been told that her father has just gone to Malimp to bring her back and I’m anxiously waiting to hear how she is doing. Next day’s update…I found Kadiatu and a second baby in the house still violently ill (a third newborn was fine). Later in the day both babies recovered and are now doing well, thanks to the timely intervention of Lewis, the health officer.

The great goat escapade. All of Mapaki is talking of the foiled great goat heist last night. This is what happened. Round about midnight we heard a car pass through the village, an unusual circumstance. About 45 minutes later my neighbour received a call from an outlying village that a group of goat thieves had been intercepted and were headed our way. A hue and cry went up and the youth of Mapaki quickly erected a barrier. Not fast enough, though, goat thieves, vehicle and bleating goats burst through the barricade headed for the junction. More calls (the chief had been notified as well) and a second barricade went up at the junction, seven miles away. This barricade was made of heavy branches and the vehicle ensnared. Escaping overland in bare feet, the thieves ended up in Magburaka, where their lack of shoes and trousers gave them away. The goats have been returned, thieves are in lock-up and all are shaking their heads. As usual, the thieves came some distance for the heist as the vehicle was registered in Freetown. We’re not worried about our school goats as all the pens have been erected next to the houses of their caretakers in the most secure corners of the villages and the pens built with noisy zinc doors that will rattle and wake the dead in the event of an attempted break-in. Another sleepless night in Mapaki!

I read a small book this week about a project in Mozambique that transformed weapons from their destructive purposes into items of art that toured schools and communities around the world, including Canada. Last week my friend Tamara sent me an article about upcoming procurement plans of sci-fi style outfits and the latest in space-age weaponry for Canadian soldiers operating in “outposts”. Again I’m left shaking my head and wondering about the existence of evil (just finished a conversation about witches and devils) and the insanity of this world. Here we are reaping the fruits of a very successful disarmament campaign that has rid this country of virtually all weapons. I have never heard of a shooting-related incident anywhere in the country in all my time here, despite the legacy of eleven years of war. Meanwhile the language of disarmament has crept into the vernacular. “I’m coming to ‘dischair’ you,” I was told by Kannel last week as he came to borrow my chairs for a meeting. Imagine for a moment if the disarmament campaign of Sierra Leone were to be extended to all countries, starting with those, like my own, that produce the weapons. Imagine the incredible legacy this would leave to a world that spends 92% more on arms each year than it does on the entire budget of the United Nations. Perhaps an unattainable dream, but then all changes begin with the small dreams of many. Time to start dreaming and imagining a world that uses words and ingenuity and heart to solve conflicts and builds economies for people and the planet rather that production for destruction. Blacksmiths like those in each village here could go a long way in beating those swords into ploughshares and objects of art. Time to start with a children’s war toys to art project?…and maybe life will begin to imitate art in more positive ways. Photo - Students at Makonkorie school on their lunch break

This, my Valentine’s Day post, sends love to all of you out there who have been sparked by interest in life here. I’m just back from a few days in Gbonkolenken, where several initiatives made possible by many of you are coming into fruition and I want to fill you in on some of them.

Goats. Over the past two years a number of schools and individuals have contributed money to the purchase of goats to generate income for community schools. I don’t think, though, that I’ve ever described just how this works and how the schools and communities benefit. On Monday I will go with our “goat project” person on a seven mile trek into the interior of our chiefdom, to purchase 16 young female goats which are destined for several of our schools (we’ve also purchased goats in Gbonkolenken). This purchase benefits the tiny, remote communities that provide the goats and otherwise struggle to find a source of cash. The receiving schools, which have built pens and fenced enclosures for the goats, will generate enough income per goat through sale of the kids to pay fees for students who could otherwise not attend school, buy chalk for the year, have the local carpenter repair or build desks, or contribute to a multitude of other needs. Each school has developed its own implementation plan based on local realities and many intend to increase their herd to expand the income they can generate. Usifu, the local volunteer math teacher, is designing math lessons for the schools to be carried out in relation to this project. I’m dreaming of creating a children’s book about the connections between children here and there through this initiative. The benefits to community, students, teachers, and schools are exponential.

Seeds. In most communities, it is the women who are ultimately responsible for finding the money needed to send their children to school. It is also the women who struggle to provide nutritious food for their families. Many women meet both of these needs through communal or individual planting and harvesting groundnuts, some of which are sold to pay for school and other costs and some of which are kept to serve as the base for the protein-providing groundnut soup that’s so often eaten here. This year we are able to provide at least six women’s groups with the groundnut seed they need to provide education and food for their families. Each bushel of groundnut seed we provide (all locally purchased from other women’s groups) should generate four bushels of groundnuts, enabling women to keep one for future planting, share one, and still have two to sell or consume. Thank you Aunty Iffat!

Health. In my last post I wrote about death and illness. I’m happy to report that both chiefdoms have made great strides in addressing education-related health issues. This week we’ve started discussing and implementing a teacher and student health program that will enable students and volunteer teachers to receive free health care at the community clinic and, in the case of teachers, to access information that will allow them to teach their students about health issues related to local conditions. At the same time it looks like we’re finally very close to being able to purchase a vehicle to be used for transporting health emergencies from villages to the clinic or to hospital, both thanks to the support of kind donors. Overcoming these two key health hurdles, user-fees and lack of transportation, will, I hope cut down on the despondent posts that sometimes sneak into the blog.

Peace Education. The benefits of the teacher workshops continue to be evident in many corners. This week, during a workshop in Makonkorie, one teacher thanked me by saying that up to now, teachers have been teaching by essentially bullying children, especially when they make mistakes. He said that knowing that it’s OK for teachers to let children make mistakes…that this is what helps them grow and learn… is the best gift he’s received in years of teaching and will radically change the climate in his class, a sentiment echoed by many others. At the same time, teachers from many of the communities around here continue to fill the library each day for the free daily computer lessons given by Kouame and Mabinty.

Youth Employment. This past week the youth groups of Mapaki, Rosanda, and Gbonkolenken have been burning the midnight oil to complete and submit funding proposals for youth employment projects designed to enable rural youth stay in the villages. While only 3 or 4 proposals from across the country will be selected, we are all hopeful that, given these groups’ new access to technology (all applications had to be submitted electronically), they at least stand a good chance of being considered.

School Construction. The people of the community of Mathombo, which was largely destroyed during the war, have also been burning the midnight oil as they have performed the miraculous feat of constructing a wonderful new six-classroom building in record time with little funding in place and through their own labour, usually working nights as farms need preparing and tending during the day. They are as surprised by this turn of events as we are, telling us that they never dreamed that we would be the ones to facilitate this construction as they had been promised help so many times in the past from so many, none of which materialized. A huge thanks goes to Sherry of Green Solutions and Rand of Newport Sports for making this dream a reality.

Connections with all of you. The school twinning connections have been very moving and sweet this week, as we continue to share and respond to the letters and drawings that were brought by Hetty and Thomas. While the student letter exchange begins to wrap up soon, we might move into a teacher to teacher connecting phase, as teachers here are very motivated to connect directly with teachers there. If anyone out there is interested in being part of this, please drop me a line. Thanks!

And talking about sweet, the Stone Soup cooking club seems to be heading in directions of its own and this weekend I was delighted with foofoo with fish sauce and pepper soup, a welcome diversion from the usual day’s fare. I’m waking now with the scent of the fresh basil growing just under my window (growing next to the two pineapple plants I put in today) and the ability to boil water for “tea leaf” in the morning. With the volunteer teachers in Gbonkolenken, we’re making plans for a “Stone Soup” get together where we’ll cook and celebrate our achievements and share a calabash of palm wine and probably dance into the night. Despite its sometimes unfathomable pain and hardship, life’s sweet side is so very easy to celebrate here. I hope you all find ways to celebrate this day also.

Photos - Friends in Gbonkolenken Chiefdom reading letters from friends in Canada

The full moon peeks in the corner of this dark room where I sit with heavy heart thinking about cruel injustice. Some of our school twinning’s most poignant and pointed connections are being made right now between grade three students in Dawson and in Mapaki. This exchange will take place now without the participation of eleven year-old Yenor Thullah, daughter of Mapaki’s bell-ringer. Tonight while discussing on-line peace art galleries with Canadian teachers, the power in the solar batteries went out at the same time as the computer failed. At that moment shroud-wrapped Yenor, whose spirit had left her body just hours before, was carried past our window on the way to the burying ground. I was told tonight, while sitting on the back stoop of the health clinic where my friend Hannah lie, that Yenor’s parents had taken her to the hospital, but not being able to afford the fees brought her home where she died today of “swollen stomach”. This has been a long week of worrying about illnesses and deaths in the community (which could be dramatically reduced by removing user fees for health care) and today’s news headlines about potential foreign profit from huge new iron ore finds in the neighbouring district leave me shaking my head. Especially after being told this week of the mining devastation in another part of the country where the mines have 24 hour power and the surrounding villages, schools and health clinics have none (and the role of Canadian companies here*). Hannah, meanwhile, appears to have suffered a stroke yesterday, while she was making arrangements with sister Mabinty to access land for planting. To address the endemic hypertension that exists here (cause of stroke), I’ve started a “Stone Soup” cooking club with some of the women in my household, to try cooking local plants with reduced salt and palm oil. The first meal of potato leaves provided by Sallay, cooked with onions from Ropola, tomatoes from the women’s shop and pepper from me has just been served to the chief and the key cooks in the household. I’ve been told this could be the start of a nutrition revolution in this set-in-it-ways-of-cooking community. It was a delight for me to cook on my back porch and eat a meal of lightly-cooked, oil-less greens. I expect this will also be the start of a revolution for me.

There has been so much to write about this past week that I spin from one topic to another in the basket of half-started blog entries. Like the detailed report I got of a massive chicken and goat abduction in Makonkorie yesterday (most abducted creatures are now safely locked away and a huge mediation process is underway in the village). And the loss of a cell phone in Mapaki yesterday that was found also after a huge day-long community mediation and through the intervention of a local “miracle woman” who described exactly where it could be found (under the mattress of young suspect number one on the outskirts of the village). The conversation I had in the moonlight last night with some of the teenagers of the village who often visit and who described their dreams and hopes for the future in making a place for themselves in the village. The sweet exchanges between the older and younger students in several communities who have teamed up to glean meaning from the equally sweet letters and drawings received from Canadian students this week. The trek to the bush I took with the elder woman of our household, who went with me to gather materials to make a fishing net from palm frond fibers to send as a gift to one of our Canadian twin schools. The baskets being made for me by most serious student, Alpha, in exchange for six needed school notebooks. The teachers who came to our library Saturday to browse for the first time in their lives through books and other resources for teachers and left with the last of the donated pencils, paper, notebooks and other materials for their students. And the surprised looks on the faces of the children along our line as I zipped by this week on the motorbike ridden by the new cdpeace agricultural coordinator (same Oporto, different bike). It’s now the day after Yenor’s death, I hear that Hannah is showing some progress, and volunteer teacher Mohamed, who was suffering from untreated typhoid (he had no money for medicine but has been treated through a kind and generous Canadian donor who’s helped spark a health fund for volunteer teachers) has just headed back to his village, saying he feels much better (Mohamed is going to be teaching his students about the causes and prevention of typhoid as part of the teacher health program). And I think I’ll wander up the line and see how Hannah and Mabinty are faring. This start of a new week will, I hope, herald a more settled time as February, the month most people get sick and die, quickly slips by. Here’s looking to March!
* Ecumenical group KAIROS states that Africa is home to over 600 Canadian mining concessions worth more than $12 billion, often in conditions reminiscent of early colonialism
Photo - Headman Brima Sesay on the last "cold" day of the Harmattan, when temperature dipped to 20 degrees

It takes a village to raise a child…and provide food for all and construct libraries and maintain peace. Cliché but so very true here. I’ve just come in from my usual Saturday morning routine (washing clothes, tending the garden, cleaning, greeting the neighbours) and am reflecting on the small scene played out in front of our cluster of houses here. Two suckling sisters in our household had an argument, and because they used abusive language in the presence of elders (not tolerated at all here) were sent to the “jail cell” on top of the hill to cool down before settling their differences. Off they went and all went back to their usual routine of pounding rice, settling conflicts on the porches, cooking, chatting, and in my case, heading to the library.

In response to a question from one of the writers of a Hesperian resource (Where Women Have No Doctor) about the lack of domestic violence here, I’ve been having lots of conversations with friends about this. This is what I’m told. The cultural climate as a whole here is geared towards peaceful resolution of conflict. Every village and many families designate one or more people to be the arbitrators of dispute and conflict and this process is extensively used. The Paramount Chief, for instance, spends much of his time resolving conflict and travels at least twice a year to all 70 villages to help resolve conflicts. Mabinty has been designated as the mediator in her family (recently helping a sister and sister-in-law settle a dispute) and I’ve been called on by friends to play this role myself.

While my experience in Canada is that domestic problems are often kept private or within the home, here where people live much of their lives outdoors and communally, disputes are generally more public and people expect that an older or wiser person will assist in helping them resolve conflict. Because the Paramount Chief is known to generally take the side of the woman in domestic disputes, men tend to tread carefully when in conflict with wives, preventing the domestic violence prevalent in so many other locales. Youth, meanwhile, know that if they are involved in any kind of physical violence, they will probably be called upon by their village headman to pay a fine, so tend to avoid this. Some people also claim that because everyone works so hard there simply isn’t time or energy for husbands and wives to argue or fight and that subsistence agriculture, relying on communal labour, can only succeed when a community works together harmoniously. Since the war there has been a strong focus on teaching people about human rights and many workshops on women’s rights and the new “gender” laws which seem to have had a strong impact. I’m told that in the past, domestic violence was a problem but is now virtually unheard of here (though we’re working on the occasional instance of corporal punishment of children). Since I’ve been here I’ve heard of only two incidents of domestic violence in the chiefdom and in both cases the perpetrators were from another area of the country (and ended up being sent out of the chiefdom).

I’m reading a collection of writings about immigration to Canada and have been thinking a lot about my mother recently, and her experience of immigrating to a strange country and slowly making that new and strange place her home. Of the time she stopped dreaming her dreams in Dutch and knew that she had finally really become a Canadian. This past week bits of my old life drifted by like flotsam and I didn’t feel the usual sharp pangs of homesickness or nostalgia that stumbling on past treasures used to bring. The pandero I was just learning to play with my Brazilian samba band friends jangled out of a box of used office supplies in the Mayagba storage space. Journal reading response entries by grade eight students Level, Kadeem, Jesse peeked out of the duotangs I dusted off to give to our health worker. Bossa nova tunes recalled from late night jam sessions with close friends are drifting out of the laptop left me by my visiting brother. And like the transformed dreams of my mother, my tempered response to these memories signal to me that I’ve probably made the shift to feeling that this, truly, is now my home.

Good thing, as I am learning more about my role and responsibility here as Nakama’s sister. Yesterday Pa Roke, first speaker of the chief and probably my closest counterpart, explained that if Nakama dies (God forbid!), I’ll be expected to take on her role until a new chief is elected (He also explained that she still needs to put in her year of initiation in the sacred bush). This morning I’ll be representing her at a meeting of the youth called to discuss the possibility of applying to UNIDO for a youth employment program all are excited about as it will enable youth displaced by the war to return home and give some youth an alternative to the back-breaking labour of the farm. As virtually all youth here were affected by the war in one way or another and the conditions leading to the war still somewhat endemic, this development is very welcome and hopeful. I suppose that, while it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a global village to redress historical injustices and wrongs. I’m so glad that you are all part of this global village and that we can connect and work together through this miracle of technology.
Photo – Kouame with 3 of 23 computer students in the new library

Mapaki is a happening place!! Moonless Saturday night, cavern-depth dark, I’m sitting out on the porch trying to decide whether to come in to get a torch or wait for the community centre generator to provide light to the guest house. The generator fires up and presto…the whole of Mapaki is lit up by a string of electrical lights the chief has installed. With most of the rest of the village, I stroll up and down what used to be the dark main road to visit friends at the far end of the village, passing a few groups of youth huddled under a light with school notes and just beyond the last light, a cluster of friends warming their cold toes around a bright outdoor fire (temperatures dropped to 20 degrees last night, all are complaining and those who can are donning hats and jackets). “Tank-O!” all proclaim as they comment on the cold weather and console each other that it can’t last. I agree and think that I’ve finally become a real Sierra Leonean as for the first time ever, I feel the cold and also huddle under a cover at night. Meanwhile, all are amazed by the lights which have transformed life here. People now no longer need to go to sleep at dusk and are able to venture places they would before shun for fear of snakes. Visitors from the nearby towns tell us they are very envious, as we are surpassing them in services available to residents. A library, a guest house, a community centre and now lights…just like European villages, I’m proudly told by passers-by who stop to tell the chief, “Momo!”

Two weeks ago, Michael Thullah’s new used shoes were stolen and as you can’t attend junior high in bare feet, Michael was in trouble. His solution…stay home for a week to weave bamboo baskets (sold here for pennies) to earn the $4 he needed to buy a new pair of second-hand shoes. I’ve been pondering this problem and thinking one solution might be to leave at the school a box of used shoes from the market for “emergency” use by students facing similar predicaments…an idea I’ll put forward to the young people and teachers to see if it would fly. After our workshop many of the teachers are now going around asking, “But why?” and coming up with alternatives to old practices. Maybe rules about school footwear will also change.

Yesterday I had a visit by my friend Sheriff, a young man who became a child soldier at the age of ten when his community was embroiled in conflict between rebels and military. Sheriff lost fifteen years of schooling during and after the war as he fought with the rebel forces. At the age of twenty, he played an instrumental role in peace negotiations between rebel, government and U.N. forces, leading the RUF negotiation team in the North. His efforts at creating peace have been recognized far and wide (he’s been to Cote D’Ivoire for peace talks, to Belfast and Geneva to represent to voice of child soldiers and speak of peace, etc.). Since the end of the war he has devoted his life to working with ex-combatants to establish training programs, farm, teach health, life and literacy skills, and has worked his own way through literacy and a college diploma program in Population Studies. Sheriff told me that his dream is to study and write about his experiences and get a graduate degree in Peace Studies as his lack of academic credentials is stopping him from doing the work he wants to do at the national and international level. Paradoxically a number of doctoral students from abroad have “studied” Sheriff, resulting in academic credentials for them but not him. As Sheriff is an amazingly intelligent and committed person, I have no doubt that he will succeed. I’ve offered to help him find information on scholarships at universities in Canada and Northern Ireland. If anyone out there has contacts or information that might be useful, please let me know! Sheriff and I work together through the “Learning Alliance”, made up of representatives of many organizations that come together monthly to learn with and from each other, especially in the area of food self-sufficiency and empowering civil society to play a greater role in governance. Our last meeting was held at the farm and training centre that he runs with ex-combatants and I left very inspired with the stories I heard there.

Just back now from working with the boys who are helping me build a wonderful small garden plot just outside Nakama’s room, where I now stay. I’m loving my new space, though miss my old housemates and wander back for visits daily. Have transplanted the basil, which is now in bloom, and hope to plant vegetables later today. Then it’s back to school visits, which have been sorrowfully neglected over the past few weeks. If you are waiting for twin letters, they will be arriving very soon! Thanks for your patience!

Photo - Visitors stopping by as we set up the new library. First time with books for some.