KATHMANDU BABY

I feel obliged to comment, obvious though it may be , on the ‘make up ‘  of the judges in the supreme court. I should first point out there was probably little actual make up- there is only one woman out of the 11 justices  (it s a statistical fact that woman tend to wear make up more in general, although who knows maybe in this elite group the rules are different, I don’t know). There is no judge from an ethnic minority.  3 of them are from Oxford, 6 are from Cambridge.  It looks like they are mostly from fairly elite schools.   It is right to say that the Justices lack diversity on many levels.  Why does it matter that in 2009 we have a supreme court that is drawn from such a small group whether it be class , gender or race?

For such an old democracy it is rather pathetic that our supreme court looks so similar to a court of 80 years ago.  It sais a lot about opportunity in life. These judges consciously or not, will at times  be drawing on their own personal experience of life as they navigate the social mores of a time: this does not bode well for many of us but particularly those of us who know and use the ghanmustgo bag!

Just returned from maternity leave in Kathmandu, as you do.  Why be bogged down with the struggles of first time motherhood alone when you can throw into the mix; water shortages, none delivered in 6 days, no clean clothes left and daily power cuts- any form of bottle feeding goes out the window, jungle treks and trying to avoid leeches when breastfeeding- I came close a few times but did in the end succeed to avoid them.

Kathmandu is a little bit dirty so I am happy and so our are lungs that we can now breathe the relatively fresh air of London.  But being here means those maternity leave days are over and its back to court.

In large parts of the world mothers just put their babies on their backs and take them to work with them why can’t I do the same.  It would cost less, I wouldn’t have the constant worry of the CRB checks etc and baby would be a million times happier.  The presence of a baby in court would surely only help proceedings, either the crying would press us to get it done faster or people might behave a bit better.  I’m quite sure that I’ve actually had to deal with quite a lot of tantrums and babies in court in any event, just much less cute ones.   And definitely last week I had a judge who quite frankly behaved in a way that a two year old would find it hard to get away with.

It is undeniably hard to pursue a career and motherhood at the same time,  I am finding , so far, after three days , my view may well change.  Maybe I can try taking baby to court with me on my back and see what happens..

I really only had one moment where I was a seriously a bit unsure of things. Otherwise Sierra Leone was the most beautiful , welcoming and easy country to visit and it should most def make an appearance in that book, places to see before you die or expire or get to miserable or too fearful or whatever it is.

We were driving on the road back from the local town, I was looking red from the red dust on the road now plastered on my face.

We drove past one house and a woman appeared gesticulating widly at the car. She looked happy and E did too. We stopped the car and got out.

The women bounded over to the car. I have to say she did have the largest breasts I have ever seen in real life. She ran in fact directly to me and grabbed me for a purposeful embrace. I was a bit smothered by the embrace.

What was a bit ‘uncomfortable ’ was that she was now repeatedly pointing at her breasts and then pointing at E and obviously looking to me for some kind of reaction. I probably looked slightly bemused and my mende just did not stretch to , “ why do you keep pointing to your breasts and then my fiancé, what is going on?”

Hugging over and an introduction to another of Es aunts we returned to the car for our journey home.

E explained that what his aunt had been telling me. When he was a baby she had breast fed him. Of course with retrospect it made perfect sense. I know that its not uncommon for a baby to have milk from other relatives. But at the time I could have done with some advice on how to react to the above scenario. Now I know and it all makes perfect sense and I would know exactly how to react in the future.

matagelema sierra leone

Bulgaria

Nepal

long before we all loved him i was out there on the road in the t shirt.   He was loved in Sierra Leone back in March 08.  Not heard of in Bulgaria and my bulgarian did not stretch to explaining and heard of in places in Nepal.

I think I should win the prize for obama t shirt worn on the most continents pre election victoy.

I wrote this letter to Baroness Amos on the 28/5/08.  She did respond by way of a letter  and state that she awaited a response from the company’s director.  I understand that she may have now in fact resigned from the company in light of more deaths at the mine.

We armed with access to information in countries like the UK.  If we are buying products we can use our voice to ensure better working conditions for the people where those products are extracted from.

‘28^th May 2008

Dear Lady Amos

Re: Mining practices at Sierra Rutile Ltd.

I note that you are a non-executive director of the above named company. I recently spent fourteen days living in a small town in Rutile Sierra Leone.

Whilst I was quickly able to adapt to the lack of running water and electricity, I was not able to reconcile myself to the economic poverty and terms and conditions of employment for those people that service the mining venture in rutile. It is an increasingly successful venture which I note in 2006 produced 23% of the worlds annual supply of rutile.

On a daily basis I was confronted with evidence of the economic poverty of the mine workers and of the unacceptable working practices. I outline a few examples ;

- The low rates of pay: averaging 150 dollars a month. Given the conditions in which the workers live it is obvious it is barely, if at all, a liveable wage in Sierra Leone.

- Lack of ability to organise and lack of basic employment rights. Despite the guarantees of the ILO workers are unable to organise an effective union. I met people who having dared to challenge poor pay and working conditions and had been dismissed by the Company.

- The mine now employs agency staff coached in from Freetown, no doubt to further weaken any employment security for people employed by the mine. Perhaps seen as a security measure by the company. The constant security measures are aimed at theft, which is largely a reflection of the desperation of inadequately paid workers.

- Inadequate transportation and unpaid work :, workers routinely have to sit for 2-3 hours whilst the bus collects other workers. They are not paid for this time.

- Working hours: I met workers who work twelve hour shifts as well as workers who do not get lunch breaks.

- Working conditions: Whilst I was in Rutile a Malaysian worker died on the site. His is not the first death on the site. How many deaths have there been in the last 12 months ? I met a 21 year old widow whose husband, a plant worker, had died of stomach problems. What steps does the company take to monitor deaths of its workers in the Rutile area?

- Breach of national sovereignty: Sierra Rutile Ltd has established road checks in a number of the surrounding towns. The guards appear to have the authority to stop and search vehicles. This practise is anathema to any basic notion of a democratic society and the rule of law.

There is an atmosphere of poverty and fear for the workers of Sierra Rutile Ltd. An atmosphere cynically exploited by an exporter of a valuable mineral.

I am writing to you because I know that you have an interest in the promotion of human development around the world and a concern for those less fortunate than ourselves. You are well attuned to the abuse of those that are voiceless.

I would have written to the Chief Executive of the Venture, however after various enquiries I was told that no contact address could be provided for me for security reasons. I pointed out the lack of any security threat in pointing out to a company director work practices, which he surely must be concerned about. ,

It is possible you have not had the opportunity to visit the site and I have, I wanted to educate you as to what is going on there so that you can take appropriate steps to immediately remedy the situation.

I look forward to hearing from you in due course

Yours Sincerely

Rebekah Wilson

The Bonthe Society

Im sitting on the porch eating the juiciest mangos for breakfast. I’ve passed on the huge dish of rice and am drinking coffee I packed from Freetown. It’s a beautiful day : I’m feeling relaxed. My peace is interrupted by some shouting and I look to the house next door . The house next door is made of mud and has a thatched roof: this is the structure of most the properties in the village. Those that can afford it use bricks and have corrugated iron roofs. The village was a buffer zone during the civil war and only now homes are being slowly re built.

Outside of the house there is a group of people who appear to be carrying a struggling woman. Those around me are ignoring the commotion. But curiosity gets the best of me and a slight feeling of fear and a question to myself as to what I should do in this situation. ‘Junior, why is a large proportion of the village holding that girl down? ’.

Junior is one of Emmanuel’s closest friends, calm, kind, speaks good English and understands mine. Junior turns his head smiles and answers in a reassuring slightly amused tone,

‘she has been possessed by evil spirits and so needs holding for protection.’ Junior seems surprised by my disbelief and questioning of the ‘evil spirits’ line. We don’t get anywhere with the discussion and the commotion appears to have ended. I have heard a bit about the mende societies for men and women. I am ignorant as to the details though and will have to remain so. If a mende man tells anything about his initiation he does not expect to live long thereafter. Who I am to challenge a belief system I am ignorant of? Except except when it comes down to issues like female genital mutilation, there in my book there is no room for cultural relativism and this I have made clear to who it matters most in my life. The practise, I am told, is much less common now. Traditional belief systems are being challenged.

It is perhaps another of the impacts of the civil war that traditional belief systems came to much higher prominence again. In this district, attacked and vulnerable from rebels and the army in a mineral rich district, the Mende Kamajors formed a civil defence society to protect their communities. The Kamajors were immune to bullets after their initiation. They had some success in the war and so traditional belief systems are cemented.

Back to the spirit possessed neighbour. She is running toward us pursuing Christiana, Emmanuels 10 year old niece. Christiana hides behind us the girl is taken off again. She believes she needs children to join her society. I try to not look as terrified as Christiana, but I just don’t understand this and its so alien to me.

The spirit possessed one is packed off the next day to a neighbouring village to be with her mother. Her father and mother had been separated during the civil war. Away from each other for so long they had turned to new partners and remain separated. The war took its toll on every aspect of life and every day in different ways it is played out.

During the day the sky, is a perfect blue with candyfloss clouds, at dusk it turns pink and red. At night relief from the oppressive heat: the skies open and the rain thunders down . Matgelema is surrounded by lush forrest. Food grows all around; huge ripe mangoes dangle from the trees, pineapples sprout from their plants on the ground, jellied coconuts hang in juicy clusters above our heads. Every fruit looks so practically perfect. The scene is surely the perfect setting for Charlie and the Fruit Factory. I feel very pleased that my food mile consumption has just become less than 200 metres for all that I eat, and that even accounts for the chicken dinner that attempts to run off. Ah but then I spy the mum using oil from a jar which is labelled , ‘World Food Programme’. I think of my two girl friends who I know are meeting somewhere trendy in London for lunch. Can I tell them I might be eating some world food programme produce? No and anyway I’m sure it’s just an old container being put to use.
I am being fed so much rice, no wonder there is a rice shortage. One of my main concern becomes just how fat I will get during my stay here and explaining to people in London, whose TV screens are currently full of the rocketing rice price, how it was I managed to return so fat. Relatives bring us food to eat every day; chickens, pineapple, mango, sweet potato, papaya, coconut: the supply for us is endless. The food is brought the women cook it. Rebekah, ‘meh’ ‘meh’ (eat eat ) is the chorus to my day. My concerns about weight gain here will not be understood. Here is it good news to have a big belly, it is good news to have enough food, it is great news to be able to eat until completely full. I have never known real hunger , I will never understand.
I love the way we eat here. A huge plate that fills the small table is piled high with rice and then with the curry or gravy. We sit around the table, friends , family whoever has stopped by and then armed with a utensil or hand we all eat , out of the same plate. We chat (or I try and understand the mende chat), we eat, we relax .

Its very hot in Matagelema. There is no electricity supply. The ceiling in the room we are staying in is very low, there’s only one window and it feels like an oven. I can’t drink my packaged water from Freetown fast enough. I can’t drink the local stuff, it’s a shame care international have made a great well here.

But then I need to use the ‘faciliities’. Its dark and I forgot to pack my torch: mistake number one.

We find a spare one and set off to the structure outside with a ‘toilet’ inside.

I am confronted by; a built up hole, a not great smell and a teeming mound of cock roaches. It reminds me of a scene in Indiana Jones involving copious amounts of insects that make your skin crawl. Of course nature dictates (and after some spraying of anti cockroach) I use the facilities.

I try and work out how I can get through the next fourteen days without having to go to the toilet ever again. I ponder on this one whilst downing as much water as I can. My knee is a raging blister and I feel just a bit hot.

Musa, Emmanuel and R hit the road;  sometimes road,  sometimes track,  always red and dusty, for Matagelema village.   It is in the Lower Bonthe Chiefdom and it is where Emmanuel’s ‘family’ live.

The Journey is long and hot.  I have turned  a sort of orange from the red dust.  We stop at Moyamba junction  and eat chicken and rice.   Hot, dirty and tired not the  best entrance.

And then we arrive and  I am engulfed in buwaas (hello in mende) and hugs  by the seemingly endless  siblings aunties, uncles, nieces and nephews.

They have not seen their brother Emmanuel for over two  years: they are joyful and happy.  I wonder what they make of the usually white,  but now orange on account of the road trip, girl that there prodical son has rocked up with. 

So covered in red dust someone asks if I’d like a shower.  Of course I would like a shower.  A shower is exactly what I need.  I thought.

Emmanuel’s sister, Edna,  whisks me off for the shower.  I have a towel and a bar of soap. I am looking  FORWARD  to this.  I’m outside, I’m in some trees, there’s a bucket full of cold water and there seems to be a lot of gaps in the tree structure. 

The sister can see I am struggling and seemingly unable to shower.  She tells me what to do and I follow her command. We hang a sheet so I’m not more exposed to the endlessly inquisitive stares.  She tells me to get undressed.   When almost completely naked I signal to sister that I am now able to shower with a bucket and cup.  I’m trying to impress his sister, confident with my figure, I’m still  not certain that being totally naked in front of her is going to be that impressive.   It’s cold but refreshing.

Next we are sitting in a room, Emmanuel, the  taxi driver, a mum , a step mum , sisters, brothers and the head of the family: the dad.  There is now an official introduction of the ‘girl friend’ for the dad.   The step mum embraces me, the mum looks like she might cry: I want to. The father rescues it, ‘we’ve always wanted one like you in the family’.    

Drinks in East Freetown: an ex-child soldier

East Freetown is the cheapest area of the city to live in, we go for drinks at a bar there with one of Emmanuel’s relatives, Mr Kamara. 

I go for ‘star’ beer locally brewed.

There is a teenage  boy dancing violently, shouting, dancing wildly, I catch some of his repetitive shouts,

’I don’t support your government’

The  boy is dragged out of the bar by staff.  No one seems to have paid much attention. People are good at minding their own.  But I ask Mr Kamara, what  was happening with the crazed dancer,

‘ he is not correct in the head, these children were given guns and drugs by the rebels.  The UN gave them a Disarmament and disengagement programme at the end of the war.  The programme gave them a set of tools, they left them.  The boys sold the tools and now they have nothing. During the civil war many killed their families.  They can-not return to their villages where they acted so wicked. There is one psychiatrist in the entire country.’