Destination Unknown

A small rural village whose only access is via boat.

Walking off the Africa Mercy, Mercy Ships flag ship, currently serving in Freetown, Sierra Leone, I am peppered with questions. Where are we actually going? Who are we staying with? Where are we going to sleep? What are we going to eat? How are we going to get there? How long will it take? To each of these questions I simply shrug and say I don’t know. It was the truth, I had no idea. I could see in the eyes of Nathan and JD, the two guys who I had convinced to come with me, the thought of “this guy is crazy, what have we got ourselves into?” I had been invited by a friend I had made in one of the local communities, to go and visit his home village where he had grown up prior to the war. We were going to see rice, we would ride in a boat to get there and it would take three hours. That was all I knew.

A rough map of our route.

Cramped in the back of a Poda Poda, 4 to a bench, trying not to knock our heads.

After a three hour Poda Poda (minibus taxi) ride we arrived in Reutifung. I was more than happy to escape the confines of the rusty death trap on wheels. We had driven about 120km from the ship. So far it had been quite an eventful trip. A flat tire had been replaced, and at the same time something in the suspension was knocked back into alignment with a wheel spanner. We had driven along bumpy dirt tracks, past swamp rice, palm plantations and mangroves. We had driven through muddy pits, police checks and small villages and had even crossed a massive steel bridge in the middle of no where. It was at this point that I thought it would be safer to ride on the roof rack with a couple of the locals so if something happened I would at least be able to jump off and not sink down to the murky depths in a rusty sardine can. Unfortunately the driver wouldn’t let us.

A boat full of people heading back to their villages.

My bums relief from the plank seat in the Poda Poda was not long lived. We boarded a small wooden boat and for the next three hours chugged along the serpentine water ways sitting on another plank. We were crammed into the oversized canoe with bags of rice, foofoo, chickens and babies. The river wound its way between brack water rice paddies and knotted mangrove thickets. This local highway stopped at several villages unloading goods and people on their way home after market day.

Bende Bende, a local shellfish, is cooked in stew and served with rice.

With a flurry of mudskippers skimming across the water as the boat pulled into our stop, we hopped off the boat and headed into the village. Despite the village not being pre-warned of our arrival, we were welcomed with open arms. The village elders were gathered and the head man gave a warm welcome speech. Being the first abpoto (white man) to enter the village in living memory gave us and our host instant celebrity status.

The village wharf with rice paddies on either side.

We were offered dinner, which we gratefully accepted on the condition that it had no shrimp or bende bende (a local shellfish) in it, as I am allergic to shellfish. Jumba fish (mudskippers), lentils and rice were served and eaten with our fingers. For dessert we were served fried bananas with fish. It was also great but to my dismay we got to the bottom of the pot and found shrimp. While I had a bit of anti-histamine on hand, I did not want to go into anaphylactic shock 8 hours from the hospital and so chose insult over poisoning and made myself vomit to get rid of the last few mouthfuls. Thank God I was fine.

There were three in the bed and the little one said "I got bit by bed bugs!"

A morning bath in a clear river pool.

The following morning we were woken to the sound of kreol praise and worship songs. I was a bit stiff as I had shared a mattress of palm fronds on a  small double bed the two other guys and a couple of bed bugs. Aside from elbowing Nathan every time I rolled over, the love bites from the bed bugs, or that JD had decided to open a mosquito restaurant by fighting with the protective netting while sleeping, it had been a good night. After washing in a clear river pool we were treated to chilli chicken on rice for breakfast. We then headed off to catch the boat home.

Our boat ride home.

The homeward bound boat was a lot bigger than the one we had come in on. We were again loaded in with chickens, bananas, palm oil, dried shrimp, smoked fish and other local produce bound for the markets in Freetown. Along the way we stopped at several fishing villages on river islands, one was called England and another Jamaica. These villages were built in the mud of the mangrove swamps, and I think the people in them spent more time in their boats than on dry ground. These villages also marked the rivers exit to the sea.

Jamaica, a small fishing village at the mouth of the river.

It was a bit rough (look at the faces). Even the chickens got sea sick.

Much to my surprise we headed out into open ocean to cross the bay to get to the Freetown peninsular. This is a bit daunting considering there were several rain storms on the horizon and our engine kept cutting out. After enduring a bit of seasickness, which even the chickens felt, one or two down pours and a couple engine stalls, we arrived at our boats destination, Tumbu. I eagerly disembarked, barefoot, picking my way through rubbish and chicken and fish guts. We then caught a poda poda for the hours ride back to the ship.

Hiding from a rain storm out at sea.

The heaving port of Tumbu. 

Despite joyously running down Bad Boy Lane to the ship singing chariots of fire, the weekend had actually been a real great experience. After seeing how the people lived in the village and comparing it to the ‘development’ in Freetown, I can’t help wondering whether development is actually such a good thing.

From left to right: Ryan, Nathan, JD, James (just in case you were wondering, it was Jame's village)

With regards to those first few questions, I still don’t know exactly what I ait, or exactly where I stayed, but that was not the point of the trip. I can’t help thinking about Christian parallels in my life. Where is God leading me? Who will I meet? What will I do? I don’t know, but I trust that God is leading me on a great adventure. There will be hardships, there will be bedbugs, people will think I am crazy and comfort zones will lie in shards on the floor. At the end of the day I hope to look back with satisfaction at what I have achieved and joy in knowing that I have followed Gods calling on my life.

In the Shade of a Mango Tree

Just outside Free Town, past Hastings and the mud hut with the Canadian flag in the window, there is a hill. Take the first dirt road after the hill and head down the road to Old Yams Farm Warf. You will go past a blue tin shack and a poda poda with no wheels. Just after the rocky patch in the road, stop. Below you twists the Freetown estuary weaving its way through the mangroves. The water ways stretching like veins from a heart. Carry on past the cucumber patch and head down the hill. At the bottom of the hill is a mango tree. In fact there is a whole grove of mango trees. Like leaves flicked into the air on a blustery autumns afternoon, civil war refugees and child veterans settled in the cool of this orchard. Walk, passing men mending fishing nets and women chatting around their cooking pots. A young man gets out of his hammock strung between two trees. He stretches out his hand in a gesture of friendship, eyes smiling as he speaks the greeting of “ow de bodi?” The scars on his arm, like numbers on die, betray the mask of the tranquil shade. The unrest that rent this community into being and the magic and superstition lurks beneath. This is Old Yams Farm Warf. A beautiful Muslim fishing village.

The local chief showing us his fishing net he is repairing. Fishing is one of the main sources of income for the village.

A Pioneers Story

The school/church floor was cemented once we left.

Moving from the streets of Freetown, following a calling from God, giving up a well paying profession and trade, Pastor Mark moved into the Yams Farm community. Squeezing into a tightly traditional Muslim village, he ignored death threats, side stepped assassins and established the Word of Life Church. On Sunday the church fellowships under the hot zinc roof swinging the the wooden shutters and doors wide open to let the breeze through. During week days the mudblock building shelters 150 primary school children. They are having the foundations needed to be the country’s future instilled in their young minds. The teachers volunteer their time, driven by the knowledge that in order for their country to advance, the next generation must have an education. The community has recognised the good work of the teachers by allocating land for the schools future development. In order for the school to be recognised by the government, one of the requirements is that there is a ventilation improved pit (VIP) latrine for the children. In faith that they would get the funding for it, the community dug the pit for the latrine outside the school where they wanted it.

Enter Mercy Ships

Two years after the pit was dug we, as Mercy Ships find out about the school and church. After establishing relations with the community leaders and determining exactly what was required at the school we decided to bring a team in to help with the construction of the latrine and do a Holiday Bible Club with the school children at the same time.

Two of the schools students

Latrine Construction

Building sand is dug up from estuary sand bars and boated in. It is another source of income.

Prior to the team arriving I designed the latrine, got the community to straighten up the pit and assisted the community men with the production of the cement blocks to be used in the pit construction. I also sourced the sand and stone required from the local villagers at a very competitive price. Granite stone is painstakingly broken down by hand with hammers and is sold by head pan. The sand is dug up from a sand bar in the estuary and loaded onto a wooden boat and then paddled to the village. It is sold per wheel on the vehicle it is loaded into.

Granite building stone is all broken to the right size using a hammer and rubber tire.

I stayed with the team in a conference facility about 5 minutes drive from Yams Farm. There were two really nice big dormitories with guys sleeping in one and girls in the other. The team was mostly women, but also had an Afrikaans family in it. It was really funny when Rhenier, the little boy realised that I could speak his language.

The pit with foundations and the start of the retaining walls.

The villagers were really excited about having us there and turned out in full force to help out. We started by precasting the cover slabs next to the pit. Once these were done we cast the foundations and built up the retaining wall inside the pit, packing rocks in between the block work and the bank and leaving gaps for the water to drain out.

The pits cover slabs were precast next to it.

Once the block work was built up we levelled off the top and then moved the concrete slabs onto the pit. These were really heavy and involved a lot of grunting, heaving, shouting and crow bars.

Shifting the slabs into position once they had cured.

Once the slabs were in place, the superstructure was built up and the roof was put on. The end result was a little bit lopsided and definitely not symmetrical, but was a million times better than the open pit toilet previously being used.

The roof was zinc sheets on the timber used for the concrete forms.

There were two things which I battled with. One was that this was not a commercial site, but a community site. I did not want to demotivate the team by constantly stopping them and telling them their method was slow, or inefficient and not aesthetically pleasing. The other was that every time I would pick up a block, or spade one of the villagers would take it from me saying, ‘here let me help you.’ They then proceed to ignore the spade lying on the ground next to you and take you.

Concrete, blocks and mortar was passed down a human chain to where it was needed.

We set up scaffolding with plastic over the top to protect us and the new blockwork from the rain

The latrine turned out well and was ended off with a big celebration where the villagers gave each one of us a locally tailored shirt and affirmed us with the positive attributes they had noticed in our lives. It was a really great experience. Aside from the successful construction of the latrine, the project had a number of other outcomes.The biggest thing in my opinion was the unity that it brought the community and the attention that was focussed on the church. It was also great developing inter cultural friendships and learning as well as teaching various things.

The Gateway group, the builders and the cooks outside the finished product.