Things that wouldn’t have happened in London...

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this – but Freetown is definitely different to London. Cold wind and occasional rain have been replaced by warm breezes and prolonged tropical storms. Packed tubes have been replaced by crammed podas, and pigeon scattered pavements have given way to packs of dishevelled street dogs. But it’s not just the fabric of the city that’s so different. On an almost daily basis, events go on that would stop London still, but which pass almost unremarked in Freetown. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, sometime hilarious, and sometimes heart braking, these events stand the city in starker contrast than anything else.

A few weekends ago the traffic in the centre of town seemed worse than usual – which is saying something for Freetown. We jumped out the Poda Poda and discovered the reason after walking just a few feet. A brass band, kitted out in full blue and white American Marching Band regalia was making its way slowly up the centre of the busiest street in the city. Behind the band stretched a parade of men and women, wearing matching t-shirts and carrying large banners displaying the slogan, ‘No Justice, No Peace’. I wasn’t sure whether to it was a statement of protest, or a threat.

A few days later – another road and another strange event. Walking up the side of a steep hill we were passed, at great speed, by a wheelchair heading in the opposite direction. An old man was sat calmly in the chair, and a young boy was stood on the back axel occasionally ramping up the speed with his foot as if were a skateboard he was on, rather than the rickety old chair of an ill and elderly man. They must have been hitting 20 miles an hour, straight towards the traffic, without any form of break.

Another day and the same road had turned suddenly into a gushing river. When the rain falls, it falls hard and comes fast. Great torrents of brown, rubbish strewn, sewage filled water pour down the steep hills surrounding the city, rush through homes, markets and makeshift football pitches, and converge on the roads. We, thankfully, were in a friend’s car, staring out in awe at the speed at which the scene had changed in front of us. And it was just as we passed a stall where we sometimes buy pineapple that Banke uttered the words that will stay with me for ever… “Oh my word” She said quietly, not even believing herself, “I think that’s a dog floating past.”

A different road and this time a Poda. Banke and I had just finished work and were heading home. We jumped onto a Poda and were followed onboard by a strangely conspicuous looking man wearing a smart red jacket, green shirt, and round tortoiseshell spectacles. We crammed ourselves onto the third bench and he sat down on the bench behind.
“Are you Anna?” He muttered quietly in a heavy accent, directing the question at Banke. Banke looked at me confused, then looked back at him. “Are you Anna?” He repeated urgently.
“Am I Allah?” Banke asked surprised (no wonder she had looked so confused).
“Anna!” He said again. Louder now. “Are you Anna?”
“Oh – no. No I’m not Anna.”
“I thought you were Anna. I only got on because I thought you were Anna.” The spectacled man looked slightly panicked as he turned and shouted to the front of the Poda.
“Apprentice, I need to get off. This isn’t Anna.” The Apprentice passed the message to the driver, who looked annoyed to be stopping again so soon. The man apologised softly to Banke, fought his way out of the Poda and then disappeared into the crowed street. Banke and I stared at each other for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. What on earth had just happened? It felt like we had just found ourselves in the middle of a poorly thought through spy novel. Whoever ‘Anna’ was, this man clearly didn’t know her. Had he been given a description of ‘Anna’ and instructed to jump onto a Poda when he saw her? Banke and I looked around hoping to share the confusion with our fellow passengers who must have watched the whole event unfurl. But strangely no one else seemed to even be aware that anything had happed. Even the Apprentice, who had had to open the door for him and get out to let him past, was acting like nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Banke and I were truly baffled and spent an enjoyable Poda ride home inventing wild explanations as to what had happened and exactly who Anna might be.

On a slightly more sinister note – a friend of ours found herself caught up in a scene from a nightmare when she visited a market recently. She was walking from stall to stall when suddenly a loud crowd of men came dancing past. She thought that one of them was in costume with something taped to the side of his face, but as he came past it turned out that it was his eyeball, pulled out of its socket. Once the men had passed the market women apologised to her and explained that she had just witnessed a ceremony of one of Sierra Leone’s many Secret Societies. Whilst part of me wants to learn more about these secret societies, another part of me desperately wants to pretend that they don’t exist. Definitely the darker side of the city.

I have only been here for five weeks, and already I feel like a have seen more strange things, and been in more peculiar situations, than I could ever cram into a year of living in London. There’s never a dull day in Freetown.