The Review - good books, bad films and everything in between

This summer I was able to see a lot of films and read not so many books, in part I guess because I always seemed to opt for the passive activity when given the option. So I thought in light of my long absence on Hibiscus Notes, I'd break myself gently into this writing lark by reviewing some of the films I saw, books I read and albums I listened to.

First- the great stuff that made me want to do cartwheels: I bought Emeli Sande's album Our version of events and loved loved loved it!! It was my default playlist as I often found myself wondering the streets of some European city alone. As I listened to tracks like 'River' and 'Maybe'- I couldn't help feeling a little melancholic and nostalgic about my 20s when dating was both exciting and full of heartbreak. Emeli Sande reminds me of Leela James - her music is a bit of Soul and a bit of rock and a lot of personality!

I finally bought Yoruba songstress Asa's albums - the first, self-titled and Beautiful Imperfection. Both are extraordinary, less so because of the 'conscious' lyrics and more because of her voice, raspy and rich and the beats against which she sings. It's hard to categorize her music and although it's sometimes referred to as folk or world music, I think you'll miss the essence of who this incredible songbird is if you focus too much on labelling her or her music. The first album, Asa is without a doubt my favourite and the songs that I have on repeat are 'Fire on the mountain' and 'Eye Adaba'. Although the latter is entirely in yoruba, a language I don't speak or understand, it sounds so melodic and beautiful that a translation would probably take away rather than add to its appeal. I must acknowledge also that tracks like 'The way I feel' and 'Dreamer Girl' on Beautiful Imperfection are evidence (as if we needed it) that Asa, her voice and musical talent, are here to stay.

Moving on to books I read Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist and enjoyed it but sans plus. I wouldn't rush to recommend it but it made for an interesting read. I must admit I was a bit put off by the monologue style in which it was written and at times found the character/narrator's interpretation of life around him a bit simplistic. This no doubt was intended to reflect the naivete of the Pakistani protagonist who experienced success as a young graduate in America, but it didn't always make for an enjoyable read.

A friend gave me Travels with Herodotus which according to my kindle, I only read 88% of - and which I must remember to finish at some point. While I enjoyed the accounts of Ryszard Kapuscinski's travels in Africa as an inexperienced journalist- accounts that covered meeting Jazz Great, Louis Armstrong in Sudan, moving dangerously around the Congo, as well as visiting Dar-es-Salaam and Algiers, I was frustrated by the constant intertwined references to Greek historian's own travels. I know the book's name should have given me a clue so I'll admit that my expectation of a book entitled Travel with Herodotus minus Herodotus was wishful thinking. I felt  these references which were at times quite lengthy took away from an otherwise insightful account of one man's experiences in Africa and Asia at a time when both continents were witnessing significant changes.

I also attempted to read several books which I ended up abandoning in a bid to preserve my sanity. I'll run down the list and offer a reason why- Room by Emma Donaghue had me tearing my hair out as it was written in the voice and style (presumably) of a small child. I have a hard time reading books that are supposed to have been written in the voice of children as I rarely find them believable - the tone and language is always off!

I also tried reading Zahara the Windseeker by Nnedi Okarafor- I lost interest about a quarter of the way in as I didn't find her convincing as someone who could accurately convey West African beliefs in the supernatural. There were moments when I thought of Ben Okri's 'The Famished Road' and others when I thought the fantasy became too fantastical and too embellished to hold my interest. Having said that I would recommend it to my 13 year old niece who loves science fiction.

I am currently reading Open City by Teju Cole which I was a little sceptical of at the start (any book that has me reaching for my dictionary at every page makes me a little weary) but I'm glad I persevered through the intellectual blows as I'm really starting to enjoy it. Teju Cole is without a doubt a talented writer but beyond the minutiae of New York (the Open City of his debut novel) and the medical references and demonstrations of his knowledge of European history, classical music and art which I'll admit I found dull, there are some excellent accounts of the lives of seemingly everyday people, like the Liberian asylum seeker who is detained upon arrival at JFK airport having rejected a cheaper ticket to LaGuardia because he wasn't convinced it would get him to New York. I'm hoping I'll get more of that as the novel progresses and less of the references to Bach, Beethoven and Yoruba Gods that seem to be thrown into the mix quite randomly and have so far done little to hold my attention.

Of the fifteen or so films I saw this summer (mostly on long haul flights), one of the ones definitely worthy of a mention was Brave (yes the cartoon). I thoroughly enjoyed this unconventional fairy tale- where the princess gets to live happily ever after without marrying the prince- Yay for Disney and Pixar. Having said that if I was Scottish I may feel differently given the caricature-like depictions of the Scots as brash drunkards always looking for a fight.

I enjoyed Brit flicks- The Best Marigold Hotel and Salmon Fishing in the Yemen but I'll admit it was probably more out of a sense of patriotism than because they were exceptional films. Simply put, I would summarise both as light-hearted and entertaining, thanks in part to some great British actors and brilliant 'one-liners' like "In India, we have a saying, everything will be alright in the end - so if it is not alright, it's not the end".

Think like a Man made me chuckle and the film's eye candy was a welcome distraction.  So many six packs...so little time! "Note to self - Get a copy of Steve Harvey's 'Act like a lady, Think like a man' for friends who are dating but warn them not to follow it to the letter if they have any hopes for an honest, meaningful relationship."

I went to see Red Hook Summer at the architecturally stunning BAM rose cinema in Brooklyn and almost started a campaign to prevent people from watching it and putting a cent more into Spike Lee's pocket. It was two hours of utter excruciating pain - if I'd gone to the cinema alone, I would definitely have walked out after the first 30mins which felt like watching paint dry. I would have been more forgiving if the rest of the film had continued as the cinematographic equivalent of the colour grey but instead out of nowhere Spike Lee decided to introduce a very delicate topic that shocks us all to the core and treat it with a complete lack of sensitivity and the seriousness it deserves. It made me lose whatever little respect I had for him and conclude that he is without a doubt a complete and utter moron. Stay away from Red Hook Summer unless you want to come away from a film so infuriated you contemplate making a voodoo doll of the director.

 To end on a lighter and more positive note, the documentary Marley about the legendary Bob Marley was absolutely brilliant. I loved every minute of it and while I didn't think there was a lot more to be said about Robert Nesta Marley, director, Kevin Macdonald proved otherwise with this masterpiece. The chronological approach complete with soundtrack that put his songs in context, definitely made the story of his life seem more complete. I loved learning about the stories behind songs like "Cornerstone" and 'Small Axe'. Macdonald included Jamaica not just as the backdrop but as part of the story which made me love this breathtakingly beautiful island all the more, if that's possible. As the song 'Get up, Stand up' was played at the end with images of people all over the world singing along and reminding us that Bob Marley's music resonated with everyone regardless of race, religion or even language.

Shhhh don't tell the men

Ladies, let's talk porn. I don't mean male-targeted images of triple G cup women smothered in body oil and clad in the size equivalent of a 6-9 month baby-grow. What I have in mind is more the type that is supposed to appeal to you, that calls for a little effort on your part to read words on a page. You've probably gue  ssed that I'm talking about the new phenomenon known as porn lit- that's sweeping through households and causing women to abandon their chores and children. Tut tut.
I know not all women will be comfortable with this topic but the astounding success of the recent porn-lit book, "50 shades of grey" and its sequels are proof that whether you care to admit it or not - most of you are up for it. Now, don't get me wrong, I think women should be able to read/watch pornography as much as men, (well perhaps not as much ), especially if it means that they'll be more in tune with their sexuality, but what's left me a little surprised and sorry to say a bit disappointed as is finding out what it is that titillates you closet freaks.
I was on a work trip when a colleague/friend raved about reading 50 Shades of Grey; she could hardly contain herself as she went on about how great and unputdownable (my favourite made-up word) this offering labelled 'mummy porn' was. In place of pictures, the author, a mummy and wife herself offers up explicit accounts of sexual encounters between the main character Anastasia Steele and the flawlessly handsome, sexy, rich and sexually-experienced Christian Grey. You can imagine my intrigue after her summary, and I'll admit that the thought of reading a raunchy novel written from a woman's perspective did hold some sway aswell. As soon as I could connect to the internet, I downloaded a copy to my kindle ready to read as I whiled away the hours in between meetings. I was looking forward to reading something other than the stereotypical literary offerings of the arrogant man versus the indignant woman who ends up falling for him inspite of herself. A few minutes later, I was tearing into page one but no sooner I had started reading, excitement turned into irritation - hang on a second I thought, why am I reading about some silly
soon-to-be college graduate - awkward and insecure about her body and her blonde perfect and supremely confident roomie - did I just download 'Sweet Valley High- the college years' by mistake?
Essentially what E.L James, the author, offers up, is a story that is told in the first person by a character with enough self-deprecation to make Bridget Jones blush. As I willed myself to continue reading, I couldn't help rolling my eyes and mouthing to myself "here we go again". On the one hand was the main male character oozing confidence- on the other, Anastasia, the clumsy inexperienced female protagonist, completely lacking in self-belief. I struggled to continue reading and even the raunch wasn't enough to get me through because of the constant use of cliches. We're not talking just your regular cliches but male fantasy ones, from the account of her being deflowered by Christian, to her reaction to him being 'so well endowed' to the fact that inspite of her lack of experience she is able to give head like a pro (pun intended). Ms. James' writing was appallingly child-like, repetitive to the point where you find yourself shouting "enough with the Inner-Godess accounts and the lip-biting that makes him want to bite her lips" - or "Yeah yeah we get that the shades of grey is a play on so his name and favorite colour etc etc- we get it, Ms James, no need to keep hammering it home" I cringed at so many moments, I had to keep checking the title and cover to make sure I hadn't mistakenly downloaded a vintage copy of Mills & Boons from the 80s.
E.L James had a fantastic opportunity to give us an appetite-whetting account of what happens behind closed doors. She could have told the story from a female perspective- one that is experienced and confident- I would assume she has that voice or she wouldn't have been able to write such a novel. Yet what we have is another male porn fantasy bar the pictures- the virgin, inexperienced and eager to please, willing to play the role of the submissive versus the dominant male who commands obedience, is able to go all night without the help of a single blue pill and then top it all off by playing the piano beautifully whilst revealing his six pack in low rise trousers.
While I admire her for tapping into a market that either noone knew or everyone had forgotten existed, I believe this book is successful less because E.LJames tells a story that we've not heard before but rather because women are clearly craving porn that they can read and or experience without having to hide. In as far as it allows women to read something so socially taboo in public, it deserves some praise, from a literary perspective, it reminds us why, regardless of what those short courses say, we can't all write - or atleast write well. And for those men who are still reading inspite of the post's title, if it helps get your partners/ wives excited then perhaps you should consider buying the second and third installments for her yourself. I will say though if you're into S&M then these books will be right up your street. If like me, you just want to see what all the fuss is about, I would suggest you borrow a friend's copy - provided of course if she'll admit to owning one.

Why I *heart* Africa

Every time I go back to Africa, I'm reminded of why I love the beautiful continent so much. On a recent
trip which saw me going from East to West, covering four African countries, I couldn't help wishing I was back there, on a permanent basis. I'm not fussed whether its Nairobi, Gabarone, Dakar or Kigali, as long as I'm home, basking in the warmth of the sun and the people.
I think anyone who has spent time on the African continent,  beyond that is, the odd safari, can attest to there being something distinctly refreshing about Africa. For me it's the natural beauty and the people- there is something unapologetically genuine about them that I have yet to witness anywhere else in the world. Although at times frustrating, especially when that frankness results in random people being brutally honest about your new outfit or hairstyle, most times it's simply refreshing because it means you can trust an opinion and ultimately that you can have meaningful interactions with people. One of my numerous pet peevs about American society is the lack of real connection among people. Everyone seems to be going 'through the motion' - questions are asked but few people really care to hear the answer. Labels like 'buddy' 'sweetheart' and 'darlin' are thrown about but they carry no real sentiments with them. They're simply words that people use without any real expectation - or desire to engage with the people they address beyond that is the odd beer after work or water cooler banter.

I love Africa because every time I go I feel at home. Whether it's because of the staff at the hotel where I'm staying in Nairobi who go the extra mile for me because I make an effort to speak Swahili to them, who consider what they perceive as my success, kudos to them because I'm their 'dada' (sister). At other times, this sense of being 'home' can come from the gardener at my friend's house in Abidjan  who will negotiate a 'local' price for me with the taxi driver he goes to fetch. It happens when I go to a restaurant in Arusha and find people telling me "Umepotea dada" literally translated as "You're lost, sister" - people I haven't seen for more than six years, who still remember my face even if they never knew my name. I find that the kindness and openness of the people I meet every time I travel to Africa far exceeds my expectation. At times I forget that this is just the way people are - for instance, I'm taken aback when a fellow passenger closes my rucksack for me because "you have to be careful my sister" or the man in the seat next to me, pulls apart my seatbelt so I can sit down and not have to fidget with it. My initial reaction is one of suspicion and the word 'overfamiliar' flash through my mind and then I remember I'm in a different place now, with different attitudes and realise that these people want nothing from me. Their acts of kindness are without an ulterior motive and perhaps because I'm a woman, or because they assume I'm African, or just because it's their way of life, they are willing to do these little things that cost them nothing, I start to let down my guard and appreciate Africa in all its simplicity and beauty.

I love that people talk - they talk to strangers, they talk to each other, they share their live stories, they just talk. In Accra I found myself wishing there was more traffic so I could continue chatting to the taxi driver who had asked me how long I was in town for. His response to my answer that I was only there for four hours made me laugh out loud and I mean in the true sense of the word - not the cyberchat 'lol' -but the real laughing noisely for all to hear. "Oh sisteh, you're only here for four hours? "..but sisteh Accra sweet o! If you were here for longer, I could take you to jokehs (jokers) and Rhar-sodie (Rhapsody), ohh sisteh what a shame.You have to come back oh, because sisteh I tell something, Accra sweet". I learnt from my friend later when I texted her to relay our conversation that the places he had mentioned were full of expatriates and therefore prostitutes. I imagine for my taxi driver, these were the expensive places foreigners would prefer. Even though I wasn't impressed with his assessment of my social preferences, I was amused by how easily he spoke with me, giving me a run down not just of the Accra nightlife but also the political climate and a bit of history too. I love that most Africans take an interest in the political situation of their country and can often give a post independence historical account, however inaccurate and biased.

I love that Africans have an uncanny sense of humour - very little phases them and they are able to make light of any situation even when they're the object of someone's anger. In Abidjan, my aunt couldn't help but laugh at the riposte of a waiter who she had chastised for turning an espresso into a cappuccino by adding warm milk in the same cup she had previously rejected. His come back was "mais tantine vous savez que ces trucs la, nous on connait pas trop" meaning "but aunty, you know we're not really familiar with these things (as in these foreign drinks)". Not only did he admit that rather than making her a fresh coffee, he decided to take a short cut, he was quite comfortable admitting that he had no idea how to make something that was offered by the cafe he was working for. As far as he was concerned, he was confiding in a 'tantine' so that she could understand why she ended up with the wrong drink.

I love how resourceful Africans are - with so little at their disposal; even the poorest person is able to come up with a plan to feed and clothe themselves. I remember watching a BBC documentary called 'Welcome to Lagos' and what struck me the most was how much people were able to make of so little. Whether it was coming up with innovative ways to do fishing or turning rubbish into something valuable, it was nothing short of impressive. Last year I had the pleasure of watching the film Kinshasa Symphony about a group of self-taught classical musicians in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I was in awe by not just their musical talent but their ability to juggle so many other roles, market women who were also business women, philanthropic shopkeepers who took on the role of pharmacists because they saw a  need in their community. It was nothing short of impressive.

Even with its downs, the ups in Africa is a place worth visiting and from my perspective worth living for the countless reasons above and below but also especially because

How do I love thee?......let me count the ways

Africa is the only continent...

1. with as many as 57 countries;
2. with 1000 different languages;
3.  with a majority of the world's natural resources;
4. with an abundance of business opportunities;
5. where the thought of Monday morning doesn't fill you with dread because life doesn't stop when work starts;
6. where networking means you meet a C.E.O at a party on Saturday and call him on Monday for a job;
7. where being black makes you part of the majority;
8. where poor people can eat organic food;
9. where you can buy clothes made by designers for less than factory-made ones;
10. where having a normal conversation can sound like having a shouting match - except for the laughs ;
11. where you can design your own shoes, clothes, jewellery and have someone make them for you;
12. where a hairdresser will give you their brutal opinion when you ask for the same hairstyle as Halle Berry "hm, but have you seen your forehead?";
13. where the beautician says 'sorreeee' as she waxes your legs or threads your eyebrows as though the pain was her fault;
14. where the ratio of men to women is just about even (0.999);
15. where attending a funeral is a legitimate reason to take the afternoon off;
16. where most people eat with their hands, yum yum!
17. where the midwife will laugh at you and tell you to stop screaming during labour because you got yourself into this situation *wink* *wink*;
18. where even the poorest family will lay on a meal fit for a king for any visitor;
19. where life begins at 60 because you're not heading to a nursing home in ten years time;
20. where people will continue celebrating, oops, I mean commemorating a death 20 years after the person died.

Letter to a Woman

Woman,


First let me tell you how passionate I am about you, how much you inspire me, how much I admire your beauty, your intelligence but above all your common sense. I adore that you're practical, that you're a do-er, that no matter what the situation, you're always willing to roll up your sleeves and get on with it. 


I find you stunning in every way imaginable. You may not realise it because you've gained a few pounds, or you've lost your washboard stomach because of the c-section or simply that damn post 30 metabolism, but you are....you're gorgeous, stretch marks and all. The extra pounds are proof that you've lived, you've loved, you've experienced. If you ever forget that make a note of what you did from puberty to now, you'll see why its okay to no longer look like your 16 year old self - these scars are proof that you've fought hard in the battle of life and that you've won. It's no cliche that you get better with time, but not because you work out more or wear more make up but because you've learnt a lot, you've grown wiser, and you now realise how incredibly smart and amazingly gorgeous you are. It's that knowledge and the confidence that comes with it that makes you so alluring.


I know the past year hasn't been easy for you, that you've had to deal with your fair share of adversities but you did it, you dealt with them and you pulled through. I recognise that you're bruised from the lost love, the broken heart, the loss of a best friend, the missed job opportunity and countless other situations that left you feeling a little down-trodden. I want to remind you that the knocks in life are what make you stronger. You've picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, learned yet another lesson and kept on walking. So with each emotional and physical scar, you've become a better version of yourself and that, beautiful lady is no small feat. So what if you didn't see the heartache coming, you let down you guard, you trusted too much, you didn't sell yourself enough at the interview? So what if you made a decision to end a failing business you'd put all your energy into, or left a financially secure job for an uncertain dream? These are simply examples of you living. Taking risks is a part of who you are and if you stopped doing that, then what would be the point of life?


I know that you sometimes forget how much you have to be proud of,  but you should never underestimate how much you do and how many lives you affect. You may never develop the confidence that seems to come so naturally to the opposite sex, I call it blind confidence. That's okay. A little humility goes a long way. Don't forget to remind yourself as often as possible that you can do whatever you set your mind to. You can love again, work again, start something new. Every day is an opportunity for you to reinvent yourself. If you feel defeated, it should be for a fleeting moment only. If you need to be reminded of how capable you are, take a look around at some of the people who've achieved so much, you will see that many of them are simply opportunists, who had so much self-belief that they convinced the rest of us of their greatness. Their real life stories minus the PR spin should remind you that you are just as capable of doing what they've done and more. If you need to be reminded, call me - and I will tell you why I find you so utterly fabulous....when I think about how far you've come, what you've done, when I think about the moments you doubted yourself, thought you'd never be happy alone or without a baby or a career. I marvel at how easy you make it all look.You've defined what happiness means on your own terms. Continue to ignore those who try to put you down, the countless experts who tell you your happiness is dependent on a man or a child or a position on a board of directors. Keep on doing what makes you happy, in whatever form that takes.


One final thing sweetie, surround yourself with people who make you happy, who root for you in this journey called life. It's important that you have friends, be they male or female who make the journey easier and more pleasant. I'm grateful to be one of those friends and look forward to more laughter, more awe and certainly lots more inspiration. 

With all my love,
Your friend

Nar fityai*

It still amazes and irritates me in equal doses that some Western journalists think they can visit countries in Africa for relatively short periods, return home and and sum up complex societies with multiple cultures, people, and languages in a 1000 words or less. Even more incredulous is that these 'so-called' experts have spent all of a few months  or even weeks in the country, do not speak the local language nor understand the cultures and yet are quite comfortable writing accounts full of inaccuracies or worse still, laced with racial stereotypes.


One such article comes from a Simon Akam, Reuters correspondent in Sierra Leone who had been in the country for less than a year when he wrote this 'in depth' piece about the locals: http://www.literaryreview.co.uk/akam_07_11.html


Fortunately someone, a British resident, who has spent years in Sierra Leone and has had the opportunity to witness change and observe the country beyond the superficial and often sensational accounts often found in the Western media saw fit to respond to Mr. Akam regarding his article.


Mike Warburton took issue with a number of inaccuracies in Mr. Akam's piece and wrote to him initially making general observations:

I have seen your recent piece on Sierra Leone. As a British resident of Freetown (as opposed to a short-term contracted ex-pat worker) I can say that it comes across as a typically superficial piece by a Western journalist who has spent his time in bars listening to the complaints and rumours of non-residents. It contains so many howling inaccuracies (which are too numerous to list) that, despite its upbeat ending, it has caused considerable offence among those of the local community unlucky enough to read it.

To pick only one gross error at random, your description of St George's Cathedral as a "colonial relic" hardly fits a thriving church where attendances number hundreds of local people including senior public figures, and a dynamic clergy who are far from being slavishly subservient to Canterbury. Your stylistic device of attempting to link the Victorian English of the cathedral memorials (which are the subject of great historical pride to the descendants) with aid agency jargon and Krio seems merely pretentious and serves no purpose.

In response to Mr. Akam's challenge for him to point out the inaccuracies in his article, Mike went on to say:

The nearest match to your use of "relic" to describe Freetown Cathedral that I can find in my various dictionaries is in Collins, " an object or custom which has survived from an earlier age". I dare say that Stonehenge fits this description, but you would not describe Heathrow Airport as "a relic of the early fifties" unless you were being pejorative.

The problem with the article is that it is couched entirely in terms of your short-term perceptions, rather than taking account of what has actually taken place in the recent past. I stress that I have no party political allegiance in Sierra Leone (or elsewhere), but you make no mention at all of the strenuous and fairly successful efforts of the Koroma government to encourage international investment in the last four years. Were you aware of, and did you attend the government's investment forum shortly after you arrived? I did, and it was well organised and well attended by potential investors from both in-country and abroad. It was a good opportunity to get a broad perspective of the Koroma government's economic development programme, as well as hearing how it is "spun" for international and domestic consumption. In terms of the infrastructure alone, progress has been considerable in the last four years. In default of a properly thought out platform, the opposition SLPP are courting the international media to try to represent that Sierra Leone has retreated from the golden age of their last term in office, which is, of course, nonsense.

There are not "countless" NGOs in Sierra Leone. There is a list which can be obtained of all NGO-type agencies. There have been very substantial reductions in recent years from a peak in about 2004. At that time, I organised an informal traffic survey which tended to show that 13% of all vehicles on the roads were owned by the UN, NGOs, etc, which had a major adverse effect on traffic. Clearly there has been a great reduction in this area. There are no longer any UN troops in Sierra Leone. The most telling indicator is that the UN have downsized their headquarters here from the Mami Yoko Hotel at Aberdeen, a very large modern hotel, to the Cabenda, a fairly small family-owned hotel in Signal Hill which the UN now leases.

Regarding your comments about NGO-speak infiltrating the local language, this is by no means a unique issue to Sierra Leone. All languages are subject to outside influences. English is particularly vulnerable to journalistic cliché, for example. "Capacity building", while a hackneyed expression, is the real issue here because of the tendency to hire in expatriates on short-term contracts who then do the project, trouser the money and go home. The real need is for people who can commit longer-term to ensure that the Sierra Leoneans who take their places can be mentored until they are fully up to speed in their roles.

Your description of sensitisation as white people telling black people not to do what they have always done is typical of the lazy, patronising attitude of many in journalism and academe where African matters are concerned. Your assertion that wife-beating is rife is not born out by the facts. It is a current issue which the government and police are taking measures to deal with. Certain areas of the country are historically more prone to this for cultural reasons, but it is certainly not endemic. One might as well say that wife-beating is rife in London or Glasgow. It undoubtedly takes place, but it's not a national sport as you imply.

I have met Aminata Forna and I have read some of her work. I have to say that, having had recent administrative dealings in both the UK and Sierra Leone, my experience is that bureaucratic processes here are usually easily accomplished, often with considerably courtesy. It is Britain whose large institutions, both public and private, are creaking with staff cuts, arbitrary reductions of service, etc.

The Western diplomat who suggested to you that local people believe NGO jargon has near-mystical powers was either joking or else he should get out of his office more. There is a minority of expatriates who live in expatriate suburbs and never dare or deign to go into the centre of Freetown. If you know London, this is like living in Cockfosters without ever going to Whitehall or Piccadilly. I have always found that most Sierra Leoneans are extremely politically aware.

There is a widespread acceptance of traditional healing and magic, but as in any business the practitioners are adept at making inflated claims of their own effectiveness to encourage clients to use their services (see internet). Where did you get the story about the "witch guns" being found at Freetown Airport? This was clearly cooked up for foreign consumption because a "witch gun" is not a piece of equipment. It is the actual spell that the practitioner will put on someone to do them harm, etc on behalf of a client, who will of course pay for the service. What were the traditional healers doing at the airport? Using their magical powers to help Security and Customs detect prohibited items?

My personal opinion is that much traditional medicine/magic is a historical form of social control on the lines of "something nasty will happen if you steal/commit adultery/damage my crops" etc. I have seen a Baton man at work. He is the traditional thief catcher who will do a ritual to find out, say, which of your employees has stolen a missing item. When I saw this done, the body language of the test subjects made it fairly obvious which of the group were the likely suspects. I have also met someone who claimed to be able to turn into a crocodile. I resisted the temptation to say "Go on, then!"

One could make a case either way regarding Krio's status as a "proper" language, but the point is that many people of small education only speak Krio, rather than speaking English and using Krio out of custom. Krio is the day-to-day language for almost everyone in Freetown, and like speaking French in Paris it is regarded as good manners to have some grasp of it. It is very useful as a bridge to the languages of other parts of the country like Mende, Temne and Limba. It should be remembered that Krio has probably only been a written language since World War 2 and wasn't taught in schools until at least the 1970s, so it's development can't be compared with that of English or French. It does have a certain global spread, being spoken in Jamaica, Mauritius, Cameroun and the sea islands of South Carolina where it is called Gullah.

Personally I have never struggled with the orthography of Krio. Having once gone to a church service to find that it was all in Krio, I used the service sheet to identify a hymn with which I was familiar, and after about ten minutes I had understood the pronunciation of the additional characters, and I could take a full part in the service. The Krio word for "breast" is actually spelt "bohbi", pronounced "bobby", "mummy" is spelled "mami" and all my Krio-speaking contacts assert that the Krio word for "sex" is in fact "sex".

Despite the oppressive negativity of most of your article, your final paragraph approximates to an upbeat summary of the current situation. The offensive aspect of your piece is that it completely fails to deal with what has actually been achieved. The fortitude of the people in circumstances which would have many English people running to appear on therapy-based TV shows is a never-ending source of inspiration. A friend of mine was present when Robin Cook came to Sierra Leone as Foreign Secretary. He was taken to see a school where the headmaster, who had had both hands amputated, was energetically putting the school back together. My friend asked him "Don't you ever despair of the situation you're in?" To which the headmaster replied "Well, what do you expect me to do...give up?"

If your article had been written in about 2003 it would have been very accurate, but we have come a very long way since then.

*************************

In an earlier email Mike had written:

In short, as a guide to current conditions in Sierra Leone, your article is about as valuable as Borat's pronouncements would be to a person seeking advice on modern-day Kazakhstan.

Despite this gratuitous affront to the population of Sierra Leone, many of whom have suffered hardship and danger that you could not imagine, I am very willing to meet you if you are still in country to give you accurate advice on the situation here so that you do not commit the same errors in future writings about this country. Please do not hesitate to contact me. 

I hope for the sake of all Sierra Leoneans that Simon Akam will take Mike up on his offer and if he takes anything away from these email exchanges, it should be his lack of respect for a complex country inhabited by sixteen ethnic groups who each speak their own language reflects more on his journalistic abilities than it does the people he pretends to portray. Just as it would be absurd for a Nigerian journalist with little grasp of the English language, to land in England and six months later attempt to sum up the country's problems in 998 words account which passes itself off as a factual piece, so is it equally absurd for this article to be published and offered up as a respectable piece of journalism.

*'The cheek of it!' (loosely translated from Krio, the lingua franca of Sierra Leone)

On losing someone

In the past two months, I've lost loved ones and been close to people who have lost their loved ones too and every time death comes, I try to will myself to understand it so that I can deal with it  better. This is of course easier to do when the person lost is old or has had to endure a painful illness, but when it relates to someone who is young and seemingly full of life, it seems impossible to reason. What possible lesson could be learnt from the death of a young person or a child? It seems absolutely illogical to me.
A friend recently lost her niece at the age of 5, she had just been diagnosed with a brain tumour and before her parents could get used to the idea that their child was suffering from a fatal condition, she was gone. I cannot imagine anything worse in this world than losing a child. While I am not someone who despairs easily, this is the one thing that I think causes me sadness beyond belief. I  cannot fathom how or why an innocent life can be taken away. Yes I believe in God and for the most part I agree that everything is according to God's will. I even try and tell myself that things happen for a reason, that rather than despair we must try and learn from them but I cannot understand what lesson God could possibly want to teach us through the death of a child or a young and healthy person.
As a parent, my fear of death is even more pronounced, it renders me so completely helpless that I cannot even contemplate it. I fear losing my children, I fear them losing me or their father or the family members they love and hold so dear. As incomprehensible as it may sound, I almost want to make a pact with God to spare them the heartache and pain of losing someone. Given the chance, I would make absolutely any sacrifice that would guarantee their happiness and well-being.
Death is a strange thing and I know we can't spend our lives fearing it because as the saying goes it is the only certain thing in life but isn't it understandable for us to wish it knocked on a door far far away from ours? It's not that we don't expect it to ever happen to us, just that it would happen after we have had a long and full life, after we've seen our children grow, witnessed the birth of our grandchildren, after we have achieved what we set out to achieve. Is that such a selfish thing to ask for?
Another aspect of our lives that makes losing our loved ones even more painful is the fact that circumstances have meant that we reside in all the various corners of the earth, sometimes thousands of miles away from our family.While we may be a phone call away, it is often physically impossible for us to reach those we love so dearly and to hold them close and comfort them when death happens in the family. This separation renders us even more helpless and we can't help but curse the day we left for the pursuit of a better life...a life that now means our children could not see their grandparents before they died.
I often pray for spiritual enlightenment - the ability to understand the meaning and purpose of all things which I believe leads to inner peace. I'm tired of fearing things I have no control over, of dreading the early morning phone call with bad news, wishing if only I had done this or that differently. The untimely death of my beautiful niece has made me vow each day to hold my family and friends closer, to keep in touch more, to visit more, to call more and to make each and every day count knowing that it could, very well be the last.