Second Impressions

After the overwhelming negativity of the last post, I thought it best to share some great moments I have had over the past couple of weeks.

If there is one thing I have realized about myself while traveling abroad and spending time away from those that I love, is that I have very strong attachments. Moving to a new city comes with its challenges: finding a place to live, making friends, learning how to get from point A to point B, etc. Once the dust settles and you take a breath of fresh air, you are faced with the reality of the world you left behind: your Thursday night ritual of watching Scandal, drinking wine, and inevitably making fun of local newscasters; cuddling up on the couch with a book and your best friend, while running back and forth to the kitchen to take fresh batches of cookies out of the oven; meeting up with a friend for coffee and intentionally not scheduling anything afterwards just in case you end up being there for hours; or wandering downstairs in your pajamas, eating dinner, dessert, second dinner, losing track of time, and absolutely loving every minute of it. All of the rituals of home are displaced, temporarily put on hold, until you develop new attachments to places and faces.

Last week, I decided one way to avoid being homesick was to bring home to me. I burned a CD of my favorite tunes, including some bluegrass music from WY/CO, for the young man who drives me back and forth to Fourah Bay College each day. At first I felt vulnerable. What if he didn’t like the music? He asked me which tracks were my “traditional music,” and I directed him to Track 16, Patti Fiasco’s “Wyoming is for lovers.” Before I had an opportunity to ask him what he thought, he turned to me and said, “I feel love, this music makes me feel loved.” Of course I included songs like Chicken Fried and Wagonwheel, and with each track he just smiled. By the time we reached the college, he told me he needed to come to Wyoming.

Photo from FBC of downtown Freetown

Since I arrived, I have been flipping through dusty, incomplete collections of newspapers that were printed during the Sierra Leone civil war. The pages contain a mixture of sadness and silliness; the news about the violence during the war is counterbalanced by news of Mike Tyson’s latest charade, Michael Jackson’s nose falling off, or Clinton’s various indiscretions. However, last Thursday I could feel myself starting to burn out, and knew it was time to take a break. Saturday I travelled down the peninsula to Lakka Beach with Laura (who teaches at the American School) and two medical students (Cara and Zach) who are visiting Freetown for one of their rotations. We sat in the sun, ate fruit, went swimming for hours, and enjoyed our respective books. It felt amazing to soak up the sunshine without a worry in the world.

Photo from the newspaper archives

Until Saturday, I had been staying by myself in the house that I am renting. I woke up around 4:30 a.m. to the sound of a man panicked on the phone, asking the person on the other side whether or not he should try to make his way to a hotel. I pulled myself out of my fitful sleep (I have an intense sore throat/head cold) to make sure everything was okay. Ethan, my new roommate who is a journalist from Canada, was a spitting image of me when I arrived to the county almost a month ago. He was disoriented from the jetlag, sweating from the heat, and uncomfortable with the unfamiliar surroundings. We chatted for an hour or so, and then we each retired to go to sleep. Ethan’s arrival was a great reminder of just how far I have come, and how quickly we can adapt.

This week I will finish my work at the newspaper archives, and hopefully be moving on to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission archives *fingers crossed*.