Odyssey of the Heart: Girls and Goals

Just a few days shy of my departure from Sierra Leone, I was invited to talk on a Sports Talk radio show on Kalleone Jams. I will admit that I avoided the offer a few times, because at this point, I was burned out from the constant going and coming of family visits, and wanted to spend my last few days wallowing in love, food, and immediate family. I wanted to put up a sign that said “Come back later---after my plane leaves.” But the guy who invited me to the show was none other than Mohammed Sesay, aka Medo, a soccer player, law student, avid supporter of youth initiatives, and of course, a brother to me. I gave in to the invite. And today, I am grateful that I did, because my speaking on that radio show opened up the door for me to reach 20 more girls and in a unique way, that I could have never imagined before coming to Sierra Leone. God (and the universe) really does conspire in your favor.

“You know say we nor get freedom of speech nah yah,” Medo warned. He was reminding me to beware of what I said on the airwaves as the last time several students were arrested for airing their grievances on a radio show. Shortly after the show began airing, police arrived to arrest them. I took note of this, as I would have hated to close out my amazing vacation by being jailed for offending the government. Albeit, I really had no intention of speaking on politics anyway, as I am not well versed in the layers of the current political situation.

The show’s host welcome his listeners to the show, gave them the latest news on sports happenings, and then peaked their curiosity by telling them that he had a young lady in the studio. People called in, asked questions about my background. They asked mostly about how an American-born child could be so fluent in Krio; I myself don’t know how I pulled that one off because even when I was on the radio in the DMV, I couldn’t speak on serious topics in Krio. Oh and for the record, I did ask if I could speak in English, but they reminded me that maybe some old woman in a village upline would be listening in and wouldn’t understand me. So I made it through...all for that old woman upline. *upline = provinces

I spoke a bit about my background in youth development and sports program development and how I believed that sports are in fact an effective approach to positive youth development. So now the people wanted to know WHAT my plans were for sports and youth in Sierra Leone, what I came to do, what I would do and more importantly, if I would move to Sierra Leone to do these projects and more importantly, WHEN. I assured them that I do intend on going back home to develop some of projects I have in mind; however, I emphasized that there should be no rush in this process and that they should move away from the notion that anyone and everyone abroad can come home, jump start projects, and solve problems. It takes time, I told them, and the last thing I want to do is stick my hand in the pot, without assessing how hot it is. I want to have a plan of action that will come only after truly assessing the needs of the populations I want to serve. It will come.

And just when I thought I could relax and enjoy what little time I had left, or prepare for the nostalgia that I knew was to follow, I was called in again by Medo because of the response to the topic on the show. No radio show this time. This time they wanted me to address an all-girls football (soccer) club, FC Mahmoud. To this, I said a big, fat yes, because, of course, girls work---that’s just what I do! J Only problem was I only had two days left in Sierra Leone. So we agreed that I would meet with the girls on Thursday morning.

I was told that I would be picked up by a guy named Fred Claye, also known as the youth ambassador. He happened to live in Goderich so I needed nothing more to head to my getaway spot also in Goderich ;).

On the way, Fred Claye asked that question, the magic question: how are you going to help them? I told him that I wasn’t. I told him that I was going to listen to them. Teach maybe. Give some words of advice maybe. Positively affect one, maybe I would do. All I wanted to do was to hear first hand what girls and women believe are the most pressing issues for them in Sierra Leone particularly as female athletes, in this case.

 The team of about 20 girls had been summoned to the Yhosven Hall. They had been told to arrive at 7am because they would be playing a match outside of town. They wouldn’t have come if they had been told they were having a meeting. I entered aware of my presence with my clunky, funky, very-foreigner like wooden-wedge heels, wondered what impression I was already making, and said a quick prayer to the public speaking Gods (in Krio as I needed the Krio language Gods to answer this particular prayer). I was introduced, and then the language Gods came through because I was able to address those girls in Krio and in a motivational tone. This was a first for me. I was able to tell the girls a little about myself, what I do, what I want to do, and ask them questions about themselves. 

 The pressing question from me to them was what they felt their challenges were as female soccer players in Sierra Leone. Some spoke up, gave issues, examples and I appreciated that. The girls said that they would like more encouragement and support from their families, to be valued as soccer players. From a western standpoint, one would imagine that would be an easy fix, but when you grow up in a house of immigrants, you realize that emotional and verbal encouragement isn’t always guaranteed, though it can have significant impact on youth. I can attest to that. There was always power in my mom showing up to events where I would be speaking. I would always look for her and even as she strolled in late, I was always elated by her mere presence. I still look for my parents’ support and approval in many aspects of my life, so I can totally understand where these young women were coming from. It is the reason I still send my daddy my blog posts first.

But Fred Claye knows more than I knew in this moment; he, without a doubt, recognized the importance of the women getting support from their families, but he also understood their reality in ways that I did not in the moment.  So he moved to do something that exemplified why in fact he is known as the youth ambassador. Cognizant of the fact that the girls had withheld some of their biggest challenges and plight, he picked on them.  One by one, he called on the girls to step up to the front of the room. One by one he questioned them in a way that only a keen observer and someone who is truly, deeply, dedicated and passionate to a cause could do. The questions he asked, forced them to stand face to face with their biggest challenges. Those questions also expanded my own thoughts, challenged my idea of their plight, and gave me much needed cultural insight and scope of the situation in Sierra Leone from these young women’s perspectives.

Fatmata, Haja, Messi.

Fatmata, what do you want to become?  A lawyer. Why do you want to become a lawyer. Explain your passion for law. Why do you want to become something like a lawyer. What skills do you have? What do you do to show your dedication to this field. This young woman could barely speak to any of these questions. Although, she was the first picked on, she had a difficult time answering where her passion or interest for law had developed. Fred Claye wanted her to see that in order for you to become something, you have to start with a plan, and start by taking action. By prioritizing. Taking what you want to do seriously. It was evident that for one reason or another, she couldn’t do this.

Haja. How does your family feel about you playing soccer? They strongly dislike it. How does your father feel about you playing soccer. He often forbids me to. Why doesn’t he want you to play soccer? I am a woman and he doesn’t want me to be travelling around boys. We are from a tribe that is associated with a certain religion that has strict rules on interactions with men before marriage. Haja have you tried talking to your dad about your desire to play soccer? Haja tell us how you would do that? She hesitated. It was extremely difficult for her. And thus this would be difficult to do in front of her father.

Messi. What have you noticed since you became one of the star players? People all over the streets recognize me. How do you behave in public? Do you realize why that matters? I notice that both boys and girls say that they want to be me. What does that mean to you Messi?

The final interrogation of Messi and her response triggered something within me. I recognized on the spot that one of the areas in which Sierra Leone lacks is positive youth development, which would include teaching youth how to set goals with respect to their environment. Many of my sisters have dreams, yes, but do not know how to create steps to achieve their dreams. I do not claim to be able to do all. But I do know that I know how to set goals, work towards them, and that I can teach something as simple as having goals and setting them. So Godwilling, I promised the girls, I would be back. And that this time I would come with a small workshop on a Saturday, where we talk about what they would like to accomplish both on and off the soccer field and how to accomplish those things.

The hard reality for these girls is that for many of them, soccer cannot be there end-all-be all. It is important for them to view their abilities, skills, passion, desire for soccer as the first step to a better tomorrow. We asked them this:  in 10 years, what will you stand in front of 20 girls sitting in the same chairs which you occupy today, and say? What will be your legacy as someone who has been gifted with the ability to score goals, run quickly down the field and to defend your team? What will be your contribution to girls like you?

That encouraging them to develop plan B is not to discourage them from playing and loving soccer, but for them to figure out how they will take their talents a step further.  That they should use their gifts to uplift is what I left them with. That a female soccer player today, will become the first female president of Sierra Leone, is what I left them with. And my whatsapp contact information, of course.

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.