Cell phone cool

The first time I asked someone for their phone number, the man announced “I am Comium” before proceeding to read out the six digits. I didn’t think much of it until I asked another woman for her number and she said “I’m Africell” Is this brand loyalty? I was told no, it was a pronouncement of your status in society.

Networks vary in Sierra Leone according to how much area they cover and how much money they spend on advertising. Zain, Africell and Comium pretty much help run most of the local newspapers that would capsize without their full page spreads. Which isn’t much because ad rates in Sierra Leone are among the lowest in the world.

But coming back to the brands themselves, every network suggests how deep your pockets are. Comium and Africell have some of the lowest call rates so are considered the most cost effective. Zain on the other hand is the head cheese of phone networks. A (076) prefix means that you’re a somebody. Not only do they have great national coverage but also the best international roaming deals. Again, a subtle way of letting people know that you’re well traveled.

There are other smaller networks which don’t carry much weight. No one wants to be caught dead with a Tigo sim for instance. Most people in Sierra Leone have more than one phone and multiple sim cards because calling between networks in prohibitively expensive. But I think it’s also a social tool, you give out the phone number that you believe will impress the person you’re talking to.

I guess it’s not very different from other parts of the world. I remember a scene from the Sex and the City movie where Carrie freaks out about having a (347) area code in New York. In Mumbai, your phone number immediately categorises you as a yuppie townie or a suburbanite who travels in the crowded local trains.

This is my cursory understanding of the cell phone culture in Sierra Leone. It’s the kind of brand loyalty that Vodafone and Virgin would kill for. By the way, I’m Zain and I think they should sponsor this post.

Free scholarships for virgins

I can't believe I forgot to blog about this absolute gem of a story. The other day my American friend Robin wrote to me saying that she'd heard the most absurd thing about Sierra Leone, that scholarships were being offered to young girls who chose to remain chaste.

I was surprised she knew about it, in the local media only one paper had covered the story. But apparently it's up on a number of blogs already. So even though I'm late on this, here's my two cents anyway.

In the Biriwa Disrict in northern Sierra Leone, the Biriwa Youth Association for Development (BYAD) claims it has a hundred university scholarships to offer teenage girls who can prove to a community nurse that they are virgins.

The group feels it is a way of curbing teenage pregnancies which is alarmingly high in the region. According to the National Aids Secretariat the district also clocks the highest number of HIV infections in the country.

The funny part is how they intend to enforce chastity. Any young boy "found wanting to impregnate a girl" would be barred from attending school in that part of the country. Also, bikers found guilty of the same would have their bikes compounded.

I have four questions which I would love to throw open:

Why don't the boys get scholarships?

How would a young girl go about proving she's a virgin? I know there are ways, but nothing fool proof

What young boy in his right mind would actually want to impregnate a girl?

Is taking a person's bike away sufficient punishment for having sex with a minor?

What’s the truth about Ishmael Beah?

When I first told friends that I was going to Sierra Leone, they insisted that I simply had to read Ishmael Beah’s ‘A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier’. It has all the trappings of a tear jerker, a young boy whose parents are killed by the rebels in the civil war, friendships that are ripped apart by the devastation of conflict, forced drug abuse and finally an American adoption and a happy ending.

I must admit I hadn’t done much research on him and was quite moved by his account. Then I met a senior UN diplomat in Freetown who struggled to control his laughter when I told him I had just finished reading Beah. “Don’t you know he’s a complete fake?” I didn’t know. “He was sitting right where you are with a group of other child soldiers from the same regiment he had written about and no one could remember him,” he continued.

I felt silly and uninformed. As soon as I got home, I googled Beah and found that in early 2008, the Australian newspaper, The Australian, had challenged him on the authenticity of his story. Although Beah defended himself, the damage had been done. As it turned out no one was really able to vouch for certain elements of his story. The Weekend Australian revealed that Beah had been 15 not 13 when he joined the war and only served for three months in the Sierra Leone army instead of two years as he claimed.

Beah is currently a UNICEF ambassador, an appointment made before the damaging allegations. My friend at the UN confided that the local Sierra Leonean office of UNICEF was very unhappy about this and wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. However they were unable to do anything since the decision had been made in the US. “They’re hoping that he won’t come back,” he said.

Of ridiculous headlines

I have a bone to pick with some of the newspapers here. Many of the headlines on the front page have absolutely nothing to do with the actual story inside. I know it’s all part of the tabloid culture, but if the media are trying to inform people, the first step is not to mislead them.

One of my personal favourites is a piece from The Awareness Times newspaper a couple of days back. The front page screamed ‘Charles Taylor Crowned German Ambassador’ Inside of course, the story was something completely different. It was about Karl Prinz, the former German Ambassador to Sierra Leone who had apparently been expelled from the country for mingling with the likes of Charles Taylor, the Liberian warlord who had a big role to play in fueling Sierra Leone’s civil war. The headline in the online version of the story is more redeeming, ‘Charles Taylor Had Crowned German Ambassador’. An excerpt from the story:

In 1994, at the height of Sierra Leone’s Brutal War which was funded and sponsored by the then-greatest enemy of Sierra Leone, Rebel Leader Charles Taylor; The German Ambassador, Karl Prinz, without informing his Host Country Sierra Leone, traveled to Liberia where he Socialised with Charles Taylor inside Taylor's Rebel Headquarters Base & Accepted Gift(s) from the Warlord

The fact that the article itself contained factual inaccuracies is a different story altogether. The story prompted a letter from Sama Banya, who is the Chairman of the SLPP (Sierra Leone People's Party), disputing the claim that the German Ambassador had snuck into the country. An excerpt from his letter:

In the first place Gbanga was and is not in a Liberia forest, but a city in the heart of the country which Charles Taylor had made his headquarter. In the second place Ambassador Karl Prinz did not sneak into Liberia nor could his action be described as cavorting with Charles Taylor. Thirdly and most importantly, the German government did not have an Ambassador in Monrovia and the German Ambassador to Sierra Leone had oversight of the Embassy there and of the situation in the country. I don’t believe this was a secret at the time.

I’m not sure where this will lead but trouble started with a bad headline and a worse story.

Another pet peeve of mine was a headline a few weeks ago that said ‘School teachers strangled’. Of course inside it was revealed that no one was harmed but that the staff of a certain primary school was having funding problems. It irks me that editors allow such headlines to pass, presumably because they sell more copies.

While we’re on the topic of headlines, let me mention one that I made. My newspaper The Exclusive saw it fit to publish a front page story about me celebrating the fact that I would be with them for seven months (Pity it’s not online) It said:

The Exclusive gets Indian Trainer

The Mongolian medal ceremony

So in my last post, I mentioned the Mongolian peacekeepers that guard the Special Court for Sierra Leone. Recently they had a parade and some war games at their medal ceremony. As I mentioned before, they get medals for good behaviour. Peter Andersen, the head of Outreach at the Special Court was kind enough to let me have some of his own shots.

Tales from here and there

Below I present an anthology of very short but hilarious stories from five weeks in Freetown. Some are not my own but shamelessly plagiarised from Chris and Allison’s life adventures in Bo

You fuck off!

I still find it hard to understand prices especially when the street vendors yell them out over the din of rap music, car horns and general commotion. The other day I was trying to buy tomatoes from a stern looking woman on Sani Abacha street and I kept thinking she wanted to sell me three tomatoes for 1,500 leones ($0.50) when she actually meant three for 15,000 leones (about $ 5). I repeated, “three for 1,500?” She stared blankly back into my face and parroted “three for one five.” Just to be sure I clarified again, “three for one thousand five hundred?” At this she flew into a rage, snatched the tomatoes back from my hand and yelled, “You fuck off, you fuck off.” I don’t think I could have taken her, so I did just that.

Chicken in the generator:

Chris and Allison always have the best stories. One day as Chris walked down the flight of stairs at their apartment in Bo, a came at him flailing his arms about wildly and shouting “fowl, fowl.” Chris of course thought it was someone asking for money so he tried to shrug the man away. No luck, the man persisted “fowl fowl,” this time pointing to their generator. As Chris inched closer together the man became excited urging Chris to lift it up. He did and found a live chicken that had become trapped in the space between the generator and the tire that cushioned it. Thrilled that his bird was safe, the man scooped it up and sped off, leaving Chris scratching his head.

Married in Freetown:

I’ve figured that the only way to keep unwanted attention at bay is to tell people that I’m married. Allison has gotten pretty good at this and often adopts fake identities just for the fun of it. She’s even posed as Nancy, who’s pregnant with her first child. I think the next time I’ll invoke God and say that it’s against my Hindu religion to marry a Christian or a Muslim man.

The good soldiers:

The United Nations has a strange policy for their peace keeping forces around the world. If the soldiers can go three months without committing a crime in the city they’re posted in, then they get a little medal of honour. Recently the Mongolian soldiers who protect the Special Court for Sierra Leone had a ceremony of their own and most of them got medals. What I want to know is who didn’t get a medal and why. I’ll post a message when I find out.

The jhr team at the beach

Me at the beach

The gorgeous Burah beach, all to ourselves


Chris (left) and Allison who live in Bo.
They should come down more often

Flatmates: Stephen (left) and Jordan

The weekend in Makeni

Outside the APC office in Makeni

Makeni in the evening

Jordan in the Wusum Hotel pool

I didn’t really know what to expect when we set out for the president’s hometown. Makeni is north east of Freetown and a three hour car ride though lush greenery and past thatch roof huts that could sit on a tourist post card. Well, anything more I say would sound like a clump of clichés, but take my word for it, it was beautiful.

This is where President Ernest Bai Koroma grew up and locals quickly pointed out the two houses that his father had constructed. One is now a regional office for the All People’s Congress party. Stephen was here on business, he was conducting two workshops for local journalists over the weekend. Jordan and I were just tempted by the free ride and the opportunity to blend in with the locals in Freetown by saying we’d been upcountry.

As Stephen departed for this workshop Jordan and I chewed over options. To call Makeni a city or town is a bit of a stretch, it’s a large village. There’s no power anywhere, the wires that hang uselessly from the poles may as well have been clotheslines. We had heard about the Wusum Hotel, the only place in town with a swimming pool so we hailed a couple of motorbikes and sped off for a dip.

There’s something about the water that makes you introspective and that’s just what Jordan and I did while bobbing about on inflated bottles of Vicco malt. I think we bonded that afternoon.

That was the highlight of my day. Evening was odd to put it mildly. First we had drinks at a bar that was basically a cow shed with plastic chairs. Then after meeting a couple of British girls back at the Wusum we all decided to go dancing at the Flamingo disco because according to one of the girls, Charly, “wild things happen there.”

The Flamingo is probably the cheesiest nightclub I’ve ever been to. The raised dance floor is set against a wall of mirrors where overzealous dancers get down with their own reflections. There were more than enough attempted grabbings, guys trying to dance in your personal space and the ones who wanted to whisper something in your ear. Men in nightclubs are exactly the same the world over. I think Jordan had a good time, but I really really wanted to go home.

Guys here get gropy when they’re drunk and many of the women allow it which I think sets a bad precedent for us and perpetuates the 'cave man' syndrome. But I’ve decided now that I don’t care if people think I’m rude, the next person who tries to touch me inappropriately is getting kicked in the nuts.

The politics of colour

I still haven’t quite figured this out yet, when is it better to be white and when can being brown work to my advantage? I guess I need to explain myself a little more here. I get ‘White girl’ hoots on the streets and I when I asked my reporters about this, they explained that anyone that’s not black in Sierra Leone is white by default.

So I’ve been trying to use both my identity as an Indian and as a foreigner to my advantage. For instance at Choithram supermarket and Merani’s provision stores they always cut me deal because I throw in a Hindi greeting and ask about home. On the other hand, at restaurants and the bank I always get better service if I turn on my fake British accent.

Being brown works well in public transport because I always pay the lowest price as long as I keep my mouth shut. I can then pass off as a local Indian. Although, when it’s really late at night and no taxis will stop, being foreign will get you a cab even though you may end up paying too much for it.

I feel white when I go into Crown Bakery where all the expats hang out and pay exorbitant amounts of money for mediocre food and good air conditioning. Or when I’m at one of those NGO gatherings where every white person in Freetown turns up. But I like being brown when I’m haggling for fruits and vegetables on the street.

I once met a taxi driver who passed on some valuable survival tips. He said I should always put on my heaviest Indian accent when communicating with the locals. That would save me from getting ripped off.

My flat mates are Canadian and British, both countries I have strong connections with, so it’s easy for me to slip into my white skin when I’m home, but the landlords upstairs are Indian so it’s nice to pop up for some homemade samosas once in a while.

So I’m conflicted in Freetown about my identity, more than I’ve been in any part of the world. But I guess the thing to do is get the best out of whatever it is people think I am.

Shopping for expired food

Expired wares at The Consumer Protection Unit

Would you buy your monthly groceries from a vendor on the street? Ketchup, milk powder, Heineken beer? Well it’s all available on the roadsides in Freetown, but there’s just one problem, they’re all expired. Bottles of Heineken labeled ‘Best before May 2009’ are being peddled for pennies now in June. Baby formula that’s about to expire in a couple of weeks in still doing the rounds. And this does not take place in secrecy, every street in the city is lined with people who buy these ‘almost expired’ products from local provision stores and offer them to consumers who are always eager for a good bargain.

So I made a trip to the Consumer Protection Unit (CPU) which is positioned in the epicenter of this, right next to the chaotic Sani Abacha street where the bulk of these goods are sold. The guys up there were thrilled at my questions and brought out their weekly haul of expires for me to photograph. They’ve got volunteers running about the streets trying to communicate the dangers of eating and using expired products to consumers and vendors. But in a poor country like this, most pleas fall on deaf years.

They say that the problem lies at the ports which are crippled by corruption and crates of consumables are often sold off to the highest bidder without proper checks. Africa is well known to be a dumping ground for expired products from around the world and in a country where everyone is out to make a buck, it’s impossible to change the system. The other concern is the porous borders between Guinea and Liberia and the fact that there’s no one monitoring the airport from The Standards Bureau which is responsible for this.

I strolled along Sani Abacha street with a couple of reporters the other day inspecting bottles and cans and questioning puzzled vendors on whether they knew their wares were unsuitable for sale. In some cases packets of biscuits which were clearly past their prime had been stamped with a new expiry date just to render them saleable. Some of the younger vendors shook their heads; the more aggressive and ferocious women shook their fingers and hurled native abuses.

Of course they all know what’s going on. But who is really the victim? The consumer or the vendor, both of whom are lured by bargain basement prices. The CPU is pushing for a Consumer Protection Act which includes among other things, ‘the right to be protected against marketing of or the provision of services that are hazardous to health and human life’ and ‘the right to be protected against dishonest and misleading advertising of labeling’. Drinking expired beer can cause diarrhea and other products can have more serious side effects such as blindness. Although medical services being poor it is difficult to pin down causal links between bad food and poor health.

I’m not sure how much difference consumer protection laws will make. In Sierra Leone laws usually gather dust in thick volumes on a shelf in libraries or lawyers’ offices. Consumer education is the key, but is anyone really listening?