Town of the Free

The name of Freetown is to be taken literally. In 1786 380 freed black slaves from Great Britain thus set sail for the coast of a promised land. Many destinations had been considered, but the Brit, Henry Smeathmans’ keen interest in animal species - and his lack of funds for financing a trip to Sierra Leone, where a range of exotic specimens had recently been discovered - were to make for the deciding factor. An expedition serving to free slaves back into their “natural habitat” was an outstanding opportunity to actually make money going there.
Of course he hadn’t considered that the soil was unsuitable for growing crops and within a few years the entire colony had died away from diseases and hunger.
That did nothing to scare London and by 1792 a fresh batch of men (this time 1190), who recently regained their freedom, touched ground in Freetown. In spite of the harsh conditions they somehow managed to get the city up and running. How free the town actually was can be a point of discussion as the British made sure, that everything was run by English officials and profits extracted from the people through heavy taxes.
When I arrived, I was to find that Freetown still hadn’t turned into the paradisiacal land once promised to the hard tried Africans. But that hadn’t seemed to break their spirit.
I awoke to the sound of heavy activity from the street. I went to the balcony and witnessed an entirely new world from the night before. Back then the dark street had had a cold and somewhat creepy look to it, with closed-down garage-like stores lining the empty road. Today it was as if the street itself had come alive. Everywhere was entrepreneurial people trying to make a living: some selling sim-cards, some selling small dishes (carrying their kitchen on top of their heads) and even others selling everything from locally produced clothes to Dolce Gabbana look-alikes.
A walk around Freetown also were to show that a new kind of internationals had opened their eyes to Freetowns’ potential – and once again with profit in mind. Here I was difficult not to take notice of names such as China House, Jilin Chinese, Shanghai Restaurant, Bamboo Hut, Youyi Building, and Beijing.
The same walk gave me more new friends, than I had made in Copenhagen through the last couple of months. Everywhere people smiled and took contact. But not in the aggressive way, you can experience in some other poor countries. Most of the men I talked to was simply curious or wanted to help me, when I looked confused.
After breakfast Hinduja (who will be my co-manager at Masanga, and travelled with us – although I realised she didn’t really get a mention in my last post), Simon and I went to change our pounds into Leones (as the local currency is aptly named). Contrary to sound logic the best way to do this is through the informal market rather than banks (which are slow and can’t compete with regards to exchange rate). After talking to a couple of guys to make sure, what was an appropriate rate, we found a guy, who seemed reliable. We went into a nearby shop and briefly discussed the deal. I wanted to make an exchange of the small fortune of 500 pounds into the seemingly much bigger fortune of 200 million Leones. Remarkably enough I was never unsure of the situation. There was no rush, and I was allowed plenty of time to count the money before handing over my pounds. Strange feeling to be standing with 200 million regardless of currency type. Especially considering that they were given in 10.000 Leones notes. That sums up to a heck of a lot of money, I might add.
Before leaving Freetown I managed to bargain myself into the national jersey for Sierra Leones soccer team for the sum of 18.000 Le (which can be converted into DKK if you divide by 1000 and multiply this number with 1,5 = 27 DKK)
We caught a taxi from outside our hotel to take us to Makeni for 100.000 Leones (150 DKK) – a four hour drive, which brings me to the start of the last blog.
After a light lunch in Makeni we went the rest of the way to Freetown after switching taxis – taxis have certain stretches they allow themselves to drive on, and does in this way bear resemblance to trains.
Masanga is beautiful. Pictures and further descriptions will follow in a separate post at some point. We were so (arguable) fortunate to arrive at the day of a group of former volunteers going-away party. They had themselves sponsored food for the whole village. And the whole village was there. Therefore the night passed away with a lot of introductions, speeches, and African dancing all accompanied by a giant stereo shouting rhythms and lyrics into the dense forest surrounding our hostel. Half past one your tired narrator finally retired to his room, defying the loud music and falling a sleep, only to wake later that night by the sound of the forest. I was in Masanga – more or less in the jungle.

Wow it’s difficult to blog my experiences. Simply because they pile onto each other at a frantic pace. I hope soon to catch up with myself, but there are just so much to describe, not a lot of alone time, and few hours of electricity. But I promise you, that I will soon be updating you with more stories from rural Sierra Leone.

Just now I’ve checked whether any grades where made available from Copenhagen University. I’ve actually received my first grade at masters level – for a paper on the relationship between state and civil society in Angola and Liberia, which I wrote with a guy called Jesper – and we got 12. Brilliant!