Odyssey of the Heart: Sierra Leone

what happiness looks like

Chapter 1: Longing For

Africa to the T gate. I’ll try not to feel like this section of the airport was partitioned just for us Africans, lol. Fine. I won’t be super American and overly analytical about it. I’ll just enjoy the shuttle ride, I thought to myself.

Leg 1 of the two-day journey was smooth. I slept the whole way and barely ate.

mandatory pre-departure selfie

Brussels. Africans. Oh, Africans going home. When I saw the black leather pants in a row, I knew they were going to Francophone Africa---Cameroon or Congo to be exact. When I saw the blackest stuntin’ dreadheads spittin’ wollof, I KNEW they were going to the Gambia. But when I saw the sneakers, hats, vests, swag on 1,000 and know-it-all-talkin’ people, I knew they [we] were going to Sierra Leone. And even if I missed those things, the three-year-old girl decked out in the two-piece denim vest set with furry boots screamin’ “Look am yah. Kalilu dey nah yah,” would have been a dead give away. Gate T 67, Flight 241 to Freetown now boarding.

Malaria medicine. Okada power. Lights out. I’m here. Breeze blowin,’ ferry chillin.’ I’m here. If I ever wanted so badly to paint a picture with my words through the journey of mind, this would be the time. Si-erra Le-oooone (Say this like Frank Ocean). Who are you, if you don’t know where you are from? I can recall my first trip back to the birthplace of my parents in 2006. My mother watched my brother and I as we assessed the brick red, clay dirt roads, trashed streets. Two American-born children making their first visit to the place that created their parents. At that moment, my mother said to us, “I know you guys are wondering why I brought you here, but you have to see where you all are from.” Out of this nation, my parents existed and therefore I exist. Through the red dirt roads, pan body homes, palm trees. Out of those things, I exist. Those words from my mother echo in my mind each time I think of Sierra Leone and my future. But we’ll get there.

“Welcome,” the men on the tarmac said as I stepped off of the last step of the big, Brussels airplane, boasting of the holidaymakers’ arrivals (JC). He smiled. I said, “Thank you, una tenki.” Felt good. I had been yearning to be there since I stepped on the tarmac at Helicot seven years ago. I cried when I was leaving last time. For the connection that I felt. For the first taste of what it meant to be of this place. For the plight of my people and for the work that I felt charged to do. The same tears rimmed my eyes upon arrival.

Had to wipe those tears quickly though because Lungi Airport during the holiday season is no joke. If you ever wonder why you should travel as lightly as possible, try arriving with more than one piece during this time. Figuring out who is really there to pick you up and be of real assistance is a task in itself. Lucky me, somehow I had two people waiting to pick me up at the airport. One route would have me splashing through this river on the $40.00 speedboat that my mother had warned vehemently against. And the other would subject me to the ferry, which I have never minded until January 10^th---but more on that later.

My aunt sent a woman to collect me at the immigration post. She asked if I was Bintu and I responded yes. I assume that my aunt must have described her American niece, as a cute, chocolate-y, shapely, chic with a flair. Okay, fine, maybe she didn’t. Either way, the woman found me. Together we proceeded to collect my two suitcases that screamed “traveling to Africa,” because only Africans buy those types of suitcases from the DC Farmer’s Market. After I lugged my suitcases from the carousel [alone], I wheeled them back to her where we placed them on a cart. Before we headed out, I needed to show my yellow card record of the proper immunisations, which due to the fact that no one has ever asked me for, I left in my drawer in Panama. But in true fashion of developing countries, the guy said that I was OK since I was with this particular woman. It’s the small things, lol.  On our way out I noticed that she asked a guy to push the cart, and as an experienced traveller, I asked if she knew the guy and if he was trustworthy enough to be wheeling all of my summer essentials. She quickly retorted that she was a police officer and that this was her partner. Of course I should have never doubted that my aunt would send anyone incapable of obtaining her trust. She’s tough.

And there she stood as we walked out of the airport. My mom’s little sister. Or as we say in Krio, ‘di wan wey e call beyen,’ which translates to the one that she [my mother] called (after birth). I embraced my aunty Kumba and quickly began catching her up to all that an aunty needs to know. About myself. About mommy. About Eddie. About my daddy. About family things. Family feuds. The whole nine. And of course, about the hottest topic in an African family with an educated daughter/niece in her mid 20s---my love life. And of course prospects for marriage. A recurring theme in conversations when you're in your 20s, lol.

We rode from the airport to the dock to get on the ferry that would take us into Freetown. We jazzed on the ride, relaxed, and chatted together. Even took a couple of selfies. I felt good being with my aunty. Just she and I after a few years. She really is like a second version of my mom.

Even though I arrived when it was already dark, just like the last time, I made it a point to be observant. To take in everything about my surroundings. To watch roads. To watch people. To take mental notes. More mental notes than pictures, I told myself. This time, unlike the last time, I wanted to have a good sense of where I was going. Literally. Figuratively.

The next few days were spent sleeping and eating. And requesting dishes since I was a guest. But I was completely content having bread, fry-fry, stew, fish, plantains for breakfast everyday. Lol. And lucky me, I had two places of residence while I was home. My aunty’s house on Spur Loop, where I would kick it with my cousins, sit outside and overlook the hills in the city, enjoy sugar cane, pray for light, and receive visitors. And then I had my get-away, where I would---well you guessed---get away ;)  lots of space. A glistening view of the ocean. Staff to cater to my needs and all around sweetness. Just being spoiled like the queen that I am.

 

In all of this goodness, I had lost a sight of the fact that I was travelling in Sierra Leone and forgot some of the idiosyncrasies of being in a developing country. I let the patience and calm that I prayed and worked so hard to achieve in Panama, slip out of the door. And I needed it most when I went to change my first $100.00 bill on the black market. I handed my money to this guy to change for me. He looked at the year on the bottom that tells the series. And he fixed his mouth to tell me that since it was 1996 series I could only get 400,000 LE for it as opposed to the going rate of 435,000 LE for 2006 and up series. First, I laughed. Then I got angry. And the more we travelled to get 435,000, the angrier I became. No one would give me 435 because the bill was 1996. They claimed that banks no longer accepted those series so the rate was much lower. But for the life of me, when I wake up to go to work everyday, and wait for the 15^th and the 30^th to get paid, and eagerly take my bank to Banco General to cash, not once does the discussion of what series I have been working for come up. Money is money. But they didn’t see it that way. I chalked it up to being the fascination/craving/wanting of all things new. There is a new $100.00 bill, something that my mom made me aware of, but knowledge by which I was not moved. Apparently, in the Sierra Leonean money market, this matters. Ditto. I ended up finding a guy that would give me 420,000. It took a while to decompress, #thingsyouhavetoadjustto #TIA

Who best to help you decompress than your family who have been waiting for years to see your face again. A large part of this trip was about family. Though I had my own agenda with community events and such, I wanted to spend time with my family and meet some of my dad’s family that I have never met. I knew that this trip would be emotional in a lot of ways. The last time I left Africa, my great grandmother and my grandmother were alive. They passed in January and May 2007 respectively. In fact when I bought my ticket back in July, I got excited at the thought of cracking jokes with my grandmother on her veranda. Then it dawned on me that this time I wouldn’t be able to crack jokes with her nor lie on the floor mat to feel the Harmattan breeze on her veranda; this time, I wouldn’t even get to see her in the flesh. Grandmas’ houses around the world always seem like the pillar. It shows that there is some hierarchy in the family.  Not this time. 

mommy, grandma and bee in 2007

On the brighter side I would get to meet my cousins from my dad’s sisters whom I had never met until this trip. But little did I know that there would be a whole host of aunties and uncles that I never knew existed.  Apparently, my paternal grandfather had over 30 children. Yes, 30 children. Right, I knew that my grandmother was the first of many wives. I think I recall my grandfather boasting that he had seven wives. What I don’t recall is anyone ever telling me that somewhere out there I had 30 something Musa aunties and uncles. Lol. That may or may not have been important information.

bintu and bintu <3

 

my partner in all young people affairs, lol.

As you know a Panama beach babe like myself couldn’t wait to hit the beach in my homeland. My aunty woke up early on Boxing Day and started preparing food for us to take to the beach. And I mean lots of food. Couscous, rice sticks, fried fish fingers, chicken, and beverages in a cooler. We set off on the bumpy road to No.2 River Beach. Just as we walked onto the sand, a petite chocolate girl grabbed my arm and said, “Bintu.” I looked at her trying to make sure I would say the right name. After a while, I too looked at the girl, and said “Bintu.” She responded yes and we embraced. This was my aunty Aminata’s daughter from Guinea. Both of us named after our beloved Grandmother. This was our first meeting, on the beach in Sierra Leone. Only fate could explain why I arrived at that time, why she decided to walk away from the beach at that time, and how two sisters who have never met could feel so connected. She came to see me several times a week after that. She stole my heart this Bintu girl. In a short time, our bond has become unbreakable. She recognized me from facebook. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg.

okada baby

My aunt would be coming in from Guinea soon for a big Musa wedding. The day she arrived she came to my aunty Kumba’s house to surprise me. I had been out with my friend having dinner at Bliss Restaurant on Wilkinson Road. My cousin came to pick us up and we got stuck in traffic on Signal Hill Road. I jumped on an Okada (for the 2nd time on my first day riding) and went to meet my sweet Aunty Aminata. Her presence, her sweetness, her warmth, the way she embraced me. Everything about her reminded me of my Guinean grandmother Bintu Janneh. 

#home.

Thoughts for the Ride: 25

i promise that's my inner light. 25 and shinin'

I am so blessed to be me. And I mean that in the most humble Bintu way possible. Lol. No seriously.

I am thankful for so many things as I celebrate my quarter of a century milestone.

Each year, I learn a new thing, new lesson about myself on how to make myself better. Some things I have learned this year (the hard way) are too personal to share on this blog, that all of yall read lol. But among the shareable things, I am learning to let go and really, truly go with a flow.

You see sometimes, we get so caught up in this plan that we have for ourselves, that we do not listen to the omens, signs, answers that are given to us by whatever we believe. And when we set ourselves on a path without truly listening to our inner most thoughts and blessings, we might set ourselves up to miss other opportunities that are presented before us with an even better, cooler, more exciting option for us.

Recently, I had to make a big decision. So big because it would determine where I would spend the next few years of my life, well at least the next year or two.

I felt stressed. Sad. Anxious. Worried. I had to remind myself that it was a blessing to have both options in front me, yet still it wasn't an easy feat.

I prayed. Made a pros and cons list. Prayed. Meditated. Put cold water in a corner after talking over it for guidance from my loved ancestors. Asked my namesake (grandma Bintu Janneh) for her blessing and guidance. And talked to my parents about it. And prayed again. And finally, I listened. I weighed the things that were most important to me.

And with that, I was able to see that the opportunity I had in front of me was exactly what I had asked for at the beginning of this year.

I said somewhere, that all I wanted was a full-time job, one where I could sustain myself, continue to live my lifestyle abroad, and empower girls under a more professional guise. I want to take my passion for girls' empowerment to another level. I want to really use the skills that I know I have in a way that I have never used them before.

can't wait to see this reflection from the other side of the Atlantic :)

So I took a risk. I accepted the full time position to be English as an Additional Language co teacher. The catch, what I am really excited about, is that I am designing a club, just for girls from scratch. This time, internationally. Check me out!

And Godwilling, I will get to travel to the place where my heart has been since 1988, Sierra Leone. There I will visit my grandparents graves, pay my respects, cry a lot. But most importantly, facilitate a workshop or two for the second annual Girls Empowerment Summit in Sierra Leone.

Am I scared? Hell yes? I have absolutely no template for what I am trying to do. Well, sorta, kinda. I have it. In several word documents, but in a figurative sense, I have no template, because I am doing everything I do in a way that only I, Bintu, can do it.

A big risk indeed because my other option was much more planned out. But this---this is truly me.

I am continuing to live out my dreams, even if sometimes I forget what they were, they always come back to me.

So let's keep journeying through Panama, in a few months, I will give you lens from the perspective of girls’ empowerment internationally from two very different countries.

If I might say myself, I am goin' to do the damn thang (Godwilling)

(P.S. I am also working on believing in the value of my work in this new chapter)

Here's to Round 2 of Bee's Backseat in Panama!

Bee's 3 Step Guide to Going Abroad: Step 1

Step 1: Getting Back to Y.O.U.  (Your Own Unfilled Promises)

So you say you have always wanted to travel, teach abroad, and see the world. This is what you say. Ever since you went on your last vacation to the Caribbean, or visited your family in some foreign country, or took the road with some friends on a spontaneous backpacking journey, you promised yourself that you would come home and start saving because you really enjoy traveling. Then you met someone who told you that they have taught in South Korea or if you live in the Washington DC area, you have met all the recent graduate non-profit workers who volunteered with disabled children at a camp in some far away land. Either way, one of these things peaked your curiosity, and you thought about how cool of an experience that was. But, you never thought it could be YOU.

But, yes it can be you. No you don’t have to volunteer in a village in India, Nicaragua or Kenya. You can actually do anything that you want to do, in any part of the world. You just have to be true to yourself. I have heard that phrase before, but it didn’t really understand the depth of that until last January.

I have known that I wanted to teach abroad since June of 2008.  I always had it in the back of head, but from time to time, my passion for the unknown and the need to get away would creep back up on me, usually as I was tired and driving to my second job.  

In January of 2012, per recommendation by a sister, I created a list of things that I wanted in the year and what things would be unacceptable for me. Unacceptable for me was still being in the DMV by August. I was determined to go to either Venezuela or Panama, practice my Spanish, and explore.  When the first opportunity didn’t work out, I started working on my plan B, which was Panama. Plan B, to date, has been a blessing. Everything happens the way it does for a reason.

Without being “true to myself,” I would have never been able to take this step. I had to first accept that fact that I was not comfortable with the way I was working, I adored both of populations that I was serving at both of my jobs as a youth development worker for county recreation and as a call specialist on a hotline assisting victims of human trafficking; yet, I wasn’t totally fulfilled and happy about where I was in my life. 

When Plan A didn’t work out, I started on plan B right away. I made the decision to register for the TEFL class. I couldn’t really afford it but was willing to make the sacrifice. I stayed home for about a month just being broke. But when the class started, I felt like I was getting back to myself. I love learning actually. Most importantly, I knew that I was actually taking a REAL step towards doing what I wanted to do. I was listening to my heart. 

Next, I started researching the teaching market for English teachers in Panama and possible job opportunities. Though, I had my heart set on Panama, I still made sure to consider many other teaching locations and opportunities including South Korea, Costa Rica, Indonesia, to name a few. But since Spanish was important to me, I narrowed it down to Spanish speaking countries. I knew that I wanted to be in Central America because of the tropical weather. Wasn’t quite ready to make it back down to South America yet. I also knew that I wanted to be in a place that was thriving and safe. Based on the little research that I found, it seemed like Panama had a good economy, demand for English teachers, and lots of places to see! Panama was a go.

Find out what steps I took before leaving after I decided on Panama. This next blog post is the how-to on teaching abroad, basically, before you leave! Stay tuned. You even learn while riding on Bee’s Backseat! :)