Not to mention, I am also a fan of George Lam, Andy Lau, Tong Wong, Maggie Qiu and Amy Yip
Friday 5 December 2008
We now have Gong Li
Not to mention, I am also a fan of George Lam, Andy Lau, Tong Wong, Maggie Qiu and Amy Yip
Thursday 9 October 2008
ciao for now
This is Asaf or sometimes I refer to him as the "Kung" ( a jibberish version of the german word for king according to Asaf. Asaf is a wonderful friend of Tim and I - truly he is. He is a joy to be with. A source of unforgetable entertainment. An evening out with him, just chillin and enjoying the sights and smells is always an experience. We never fail to not have fun with him around. Sadly, he's leaving us tomorrow and we will miss him badly. Everything about him. I will miss the fact that I will no longer have a partner in crime to discuss food addiction with. He has been a true friend to us - and we'll miss the random singing, music-making, cooking, bbqing, camping etc etc.. and indeed much much more. I say : "Danke schon fur alles" and when I see you sometime soon again, rest assure I will count 1 to 10 in Hebrew for you with my favouite word in between "Shalosh"
x
Monday 21 July 2008
day 12: story of a flight reservation
You know, the whole of last week was pretty stressful. You see I had to book my flight tickets and my travel route was a little more complicated. I am flying from London to Boston and then flying out from New York JFK into dear ol' Singapore and later back to London. I was overjoyed when I found a route that was suitable on American Airlines. It costs just about 2000 USD which was by far the best bargain I found anywhere! I was breathless when I found this. Unbelievable I thought!
Then the trouble started. I couldn't book it online since I don't have a UK, US or Canadian billing address. So Tim tried getting his friend in London to do it for us. His computer crashed while doing it, the ticket got rebooked twice later, I never received a confirmation from the airlines and the credit card eventually got rejected. ARGH! Imagine my frustration! Anyhow I then decide to use a different credit card, thanks to the help of my housemate's mum who lives on a farm in York. And all this time, I have been calling AA UK for a gazillion times and interestingly each time I get a different accent (I couldn't understand most of them to be honest and later someone pointed out that one was strongly Irish and the other Dutch, hmmm). BUT eventually with Joe's mum help, I got through and managed to FINALLY have my ticket! Amazing! I cannot thank her enough for my relief.
It dawned upon me how difficult it is living here and being so distant away from the conveniences of trying to do things like these. But the satisfaction upon having the e-ticket in my hands was just great! For your information, my entire vacation of a month will consist of 8 flights and 2 hovercraft rides (if it works). This is my breakdown:
Hovercraft ride 1: Freetown to Lungi Airport
Flight 1: Freetown to London
Flight 2: London to Boston
Flight 3: New York to Tokyo
Flight 4: Tokyo to Singapore
Flight 5: Singapore to Tokyo
Flight 6: Tokyo to Chicago
Flight 7: Chicago to London
Flight 8: London to Freetown
Hovercraft ride 2: Lungi to Freetown
Doesn't sound terribly exciting isn't it? But for all that trouble I went through to get this rather reasonably priced ticket, I am quite pleased and cannot quite give two hoots about the hours of flying I am about to do. I will certainly be complaining about it in time but for now, I'm just going to let it be.. See you guys soon! xxx
Then the trouble started. I couldn't book it online since I don't have a UK, US or Canadian billing address. So Tim tried getting his friend in London to do it for us. His computer crashed while doing it, the ticket got rebooked twice later, I never received a confirmation from the airlines and the credit card eventually got rejected. ARGH! Imagine my frustration! Anyhow I then decide to use a different credit card, thanks to the help of my housemate's mum who lives on a farm in York. And all this time, I have been calling AA UK for a gazillion times and interestingly each time I get a different accent (I couldn't understand most of them to be honest and later someone pointed out that one was strongly Irish and the other Dutch, hmmm). BUT eventually with Joe's mum help, I got through and managed to FINALLY have my ticket! Amazing! I cannot thank her enough for my relief.
It dawned upon me how difficult it is living here and being so distant away from the conveniences of trying to do things like these. But the satisfaction upon having the e-ticket in my hands was just great! For your information, my entire vacation of a month will consist of 8 flights and 2 hovercraft rides (if it works). This is my breakdown:
Hovercraft ride 1: Freetown to Lungi Airport
Flight 1: Freetown to London
Flight 2: London to Boston
Flight 3: New York to Tokyo
Flight 4: Tokyo to Singapore
Flight 5: Singapore to Tokyo
Flight 6: Tokyo to Chicago
Flight 7: Chicago to London
Flight 8: London to Freetown
Hovercraft ride 2: Lungi to Freetown
Doesn't sound terribly exciting isn't it? But for all that trouble I went through to get this rather reasonably priced ticket, I am quite pleased and cannot quite give two hoots about the hours of flying I am about to do. I will certainly be complaining about it in time but for now, I'm just going to let it be.. See you guys soon! xxx
Friday 11 July 2008
day two: snaps
This is a girl snapped on Bonthe Island.
An old house in Kent.
A view from the National Stadium.Thursday 10 July 2008
day one
Today I am exceptionally excited! We just got out tickets to London for holidays. By the end of July, I will leave my present job. Then in August, I will take my long-awaited vacation. Will head to London first and then to the States and then to Singapore and then back here. When I come back, we would have been here for about a year and one more to go. In anticipation of my upcoming travels, I am posting random notes and pictures - a story to tell what happens every now and then in Sierra Leone. Here's the first one:
This is along the stretch of Aberdeen Bridge. That's Tim in the foreground, going to find the boys underneath the bridge where they catch shrimps. From where I am, the road leads to my office. I used to pass by this bridge in the morning on the way to work. It is generally a lot nicer and less crowded than taking Wilkinson Road. Mornings are pleasant when you're passing by this bridge. On this day, we went to the bridge to try this new fishing line that comes with many small hooks attached on the line. We let it hang off the bridge and wait and this is what we caught.
I really don't know what this fish is call. Some boys call it the bait fish (!). Anyhow, we caught this and decided to use to catch the bigger fishes. Interestingly after lowering the line into the waters, and we tugged the line as specified in the instructions, the fish got caught by I supposed a bigger fish. Also, I forgot to mention that the hooks are pretty nasty if you were a fish. We caught this one by its eye. We did this for maybe about 45 minutes before deciding that it was too windy and the waters slightly too choppy.
This is along the stretch of Aberdeen Bridge. That's Tim in the foreground, going to find the boys underneath the bridge where they catch shrimps. From where I am, the road leads to my office. I used to pass by this bridge in the morning on the way to work. It is generally a lot nicer and less crowded than taking Wilkinson Road. Mornings are pleasant when you're passing by this bridge. On this day, we went to the bridge to try this new fishing line that comes with many small hooks attached on the line. We let it hang off the bridge and wait and this is what we caught.
I really don't know what this fish is call. Some boys call it the bait fish (!). Anyhow, we caught this and decided to use to catch the bigger fishes. Interestingly after lowering the line into the waters, and we tugged the line as specified in the instructions, the fish got caught by I supposed a bigger fish. Also, I forgot to mention that the hooks are pretty nasty if you were a fish. We caught this one by its eye. We did this for maybe about 45 minutes before deciding that it was too windy and the waters slightly too choppy.
Wednesday 25 June 2008
did you dance in the rain today?
It's been raining a fair bit here in Freetown. When it rains, it pours. It's almost as though the clouds were just holding on and just waiting for the right moment to let go. When it comes, the sewers get flooded, the side-walks swamped with rubbish pushed by the water, and if you happened to live/work in buildings with zinc roof tops, the drumming of rain onto the tinned material is impossibly loud and sometimes unnerving. Actually I don't know how best to describe the rains here in Freetown. I did find it very uninviting in the beginning. I hated it. It impairs my mobility, my daily routine, or anything I wish to do because it makes moving about just so much harder. But I noticed something else too. I have become more reflective when it rains. I am a lot calmer and I think more in general. I am also seemingly productive, not that I am not to begin with. And today is no different. As I am typing these words, I have my cup of English Breakfast tea in my yellow-white porcelain mug. Piles of paper are everywhere. I've got my bottle of Grafton water and beside it, my Digestive biscuits. There's a small green apple plucked from the gardens of my colleague, Joe, in Northern Lebanon. There's my new Nokia phone in Pink, which Tim got for me a few months back and also a book I'm currently reading entitled "A Man of the People" by Chinua Achebe. Gary Jules is playing quietly in the background. And in times like these, I feel like I have motivation to write, read, think and reflect. The rain does something to you.I still have a thing about writing. My words are simple and the emotions almost void. I seem to simply skim the surface, entirely uncertain how best to write without sounding as though I am trying to hard. Then again, I write as how I see it, without ornaments. And maybe they sound childlike or unimaginative.. but perhaps this is why one keeps writing. I have no intentions of writing a book but I do enjoy writing as a creative process and so I keep trying, at the espense of boring you to death about this.. Anyhow...
I had an online conversation with a friend a few days ago. He was pretty unhappy where he was and with what he's doing in general. Our conversation reminded me of how exciting my life has been in general. How many people will do what I did? Pack their bags and go live a life in the poorest country in the world? Many people relish the idea of doing something adventurous but will never have the guts to do it. I say to those people: DO IT! Do whatever you want to do (0r feel like) and don't feel like as though it's a wrong turn. I don't have a great job, I don't have loads of cash. I cannot drive very well. I don't have great ambitions to rule the world or make big bucks. BUT what's important I guess is I enjoyed the greater things that so many others could only dream of. I'm here in Africa, a part of the world which has always been seen as the "other" and now I live here. And I'm happy. When I think about where my life has been, I'm doing pretty alright. I have danced in the rain in the early hours of dawn in too many places. I have been hugged a million times over by people I love and care about. I have kissed under the moonlight. I have watched leaves dancing about in autumn. Lie on the grass staring right up the sky, smell the grass.. so much more than I ever imagine. Little things that fit into a bigger puzzle. I have lived. And I think that's ought to matter today, tomorrow and the next day or so. I have remembered all those that matter. So if it pours again today, I think I might just go dancing.
X
Tuesday 24 June 2008
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees
This is Pablo Neruda. I am posting in reference to the poem "Every Day You Play"
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Do I like Freetown?
I've lived in Freetown for almost 8 months now. By any other standards, that's not a long time and I do agree but by standards here, that's been quite a while. When I am asked if I like it here, more often than not, I regurgitate lines I've mastered in my head and it goes as follows: "It' alright. I wouldn't say that I enojyed every moment of it but I wouldn't say I hate it either." So I asked myself do I honestly feel that way? That is my problem. I cannot find the answer to it. Yet. Or maybe never. Freetown conjures an mixture of feelings, each with its own uniqueness and purpose. This is my first time in this continent - Africa. Geographically, this continent is soo diverse that trying to find meaning and similarity would be a futile attempt because the idea of Africa as one coherent concept in my understanding does not exist.
There are days when I whizzed by the streets and suddenly there are things, people, places and events that I am seeing for the first time. Then again, there are days when I dread heading into downtown Freetown. The traffic, the honking, beggars hovering about your car windows, hawkers standing in your way, strangers hissing at you and so on. There are days when this place irks me, when its people leaves me feeling disgusted and almost drained our of my own energy. One may think this is my being prejudiced. I do sometimes behave in such a manner. I don't deny it. I came from a different environment and was brought up to believe in different ideals that are personal perhaps only to me. My way of understanding and structuring my life revolves around what I know and I cling to that still because those things give me meaning. I am a product of my own previous environment and while susceptible to change, may not neccessarily wish to inculcate those changes.
I may sound as though I dislike Freetown with such ferocity. I don't. I just don't have any sort of affection for it. I have great respect for the resilience I see in its people. People here are in endless toil, working, walking, waiting. I see locals working hard, I see children selling groundnuts, cigarrettes, packet water and sweets, all trying to bring in some money for the family. When I see these kids, I feel pity. Pity because these country is endowed with so much and yet its very future are toiling day in and day out. I frowned upon the fact that policemen are so fucking corrupted, eating money of any pocket or white man they can find. It's wrong. I was taught in all my years if schooling and university life that bribery is in essense the hindrance to growth and moral breakdown of society. But when you know these policemen earn peanuts, what do you do? Do you acknowledge that it is still wrong OR do you move on ignoring it OR do you partake in the activity by helping them out? I find it difficult to answer that question.
At the end of the day, I lived an expat life. Very fortunate and very blessed. Sometimes, I feel I have become numbed to life around here. I don't cringe or feel anything when I see a poor man begging. I don't and I hate it. I hate the fact that there is a possibility when I leave this place, I may forget how to feel for the suffering of others. That I may lose any sense of idealism.
Back to the question I asked of myself. I still have no answer as you are reading this. I can only say one thing for now. Freetown has given me the space for my thoughts to wander itself out. I think more when I'm here, a lot more about issues, thigns, people and life in general. I am probably not as talkative as I thought was ever. As Khalil Gibran says, when you feel the urge to talk, it could be your thoughts have ceased to be.. maybe. I have definitely learn that one need not always have an opinion on everything. So possibly this place has given me something and for that, I am thankful. Whether I like it or not, we'll see.
There are days when I whizzed by the streets and suddenly there are things, people, places and events that I am seeing for the first time. Then again, there are days when I dread heading into downtown Freetown. The traffic, the honking, beggars hovering about your car windows, hawkers standing in your way, strangers hissing at you and so on. There are days when this place irks me, when its people leaves me feeling disgusted and almost drained our of my own energy. One may think this is my being prejudiced. I do sometimes behave in such a manner. I don't deny it. I came from a different environment and was brought up to believe in different ideals that are personal perhaps only to me. My way of understanding and structuring my life revolves around what I know and I cling to that still because those things give me meaning. I am a product of my own previous environment and while susceptible to change, may not neccessarily wish to inculcate those changes.
I may sound as though I dislike Freetown with such ferocity. I don't. I just don't have any sort of affection for it. I have great respect for the resilience I see in its people. People here are in endless toil, working, walking, waiting. I see locals working hard, I see children selling groundnuts, cigarrettes, packet water and sweets, all trying to bring in some money for the family. When I see these kids, I feel pity. Pity because these country is endowed with so much and yet its very future are toiling day in and day out. I frowned upon the fact that policemen are so fucking corrupted, eating money of any pocket or white man they can find. It's wrong. I was taught in all my years if schooling and university life that bribery is in essense the hindrance to growth and moral breakdown of society. But when you know these policemen earn peanuts, what do you do? Do you acknowledge that it is still wrong OR do you move on ignoring it OR do you partake in the activity by helping them out? I find it difficult to answer that question.
At the end of the day, I lived an expat life. Very fortunate and very blessed. Sometimes, I feel I have become numbed to life around here. I don't cringe or feel anything when I see a poor man begging. I don't and I hate it. I hate the fact that there is a possibility when I leave this place, I may forget how to feel for the suffering of others. That I may lose any sense of idealism.
Back to the question I asked of myself. I still have no answer as you are reading this. I can only say one thing for now. Freetown has given me the space for my thoughts to wander itself out. I think more when I'm here, a lot more about issues, thigns, people and life in general. I am probably not as talkative as I thought was ever. As Khalil Gibran says, when you feel the urge to talk, it could be your thoughts have ceased to be.. maybe. I have definitely learn that one need not always have an opinion on everything. So possibly this place has given me something and for that, I am thankful. Whether I like it or not, we'll see.
Tuesday 6 May 2008
Jayne with a Y and Cwistle
I have a confession. It's not easy for me to form close friendships with people. It usually takes a while and there are very few people I keep close to me and genuinely would do anything for. Ginger Jayne (right) and Chinese/pseudo-Malaysian Krystle (left) have perhaps been the 2 people in Freetown that I found great comfort with and share good times. We've met only about a month or so ago just before a friend of ours, Antonio left for Bolivia. It started at Paradise Beach Bar - a hang out spot for some of us. Sadly for me, these 2 wonderful beings have headed back to London last Sunday, leaving me to grapple with the quiet evenings. The days would equally be quiet with no random calls for lunch, to the tailor or to just about anywhere else. I am slowly beginning to accept that this is what expat living is all about but still, it's a very lonely and sometimes a depressing process. I don't make close friends fast enough and frustratingly when I do, time wasn't enough. These 2 ladies have been amazing and simply generous. I share their warmth and kindness and am glad that even for the briefest time, we were friends. I wish them all the best and hope to see them soon again x
Monday 14 April 2008
A note on Marrakesh
"Oh you're back. How was your trip?"
"It was not too bad... I fell sick on the second day."
"Ohh... (insert reaction)"
So I went to Morocco, landed in Casablanca and then took a 3.5 hour train to Marrakesh. What happened soon after? I fell sick on the second day. How terribly annoying. I blamed it on the hammam bath I took. In and out of steam, a reaction to the essential oils and poof! I literally fell sick on a long awaited vacation. Fever for 2 days was soon followed by a runny nose and a bad sore throat that is still bothering me untill now. I was so keen to clean myself off the dust and dirt of Freetown and my over-enthusiasm hits back big time. In the end, I spent my time just relaxing and loading myself with loads of tea. Which was fine by me, considering that's what all holidays ought to be about.
Stayed at a really great hostel: Equity Point Hostel Marrakesh. It was indeed an AWESOME place! Honest. The best hostel ever. Great atmosphere, friendly service, free Internet, great terrace view... it was really worth it! The other hostelites were a also great bunch. We spent much hanging out in the evening on the magnificient terrace, having random conversations over hot mint tea and smoking sheesha (comes in only 'pom' or 'pom', which is only one flavour I discovered).
I ended up staying at the hostel for the entire vacation. I didn't regret it, not one bit. There was always someone interesting coming in and out. Something to do in the day, places to see in the Medina etc, things to eat, conversations taking place... so it didn't turn out so bad. For a tiny while, I was worried I might have malaria but thank goodness it wasn't the case.
Marrakesh is a lovely, bustling little city, full of colour and vibrancy exploding at every street corner. Boys are always shouting out to you, "Namaste! Miss India?" No - I am not from India and I am not Indian and I don't want to be Indian (no offence).
Marrakesh seems to be a photographers' haven. Bountiful landscape, great visuals. Everything in salmon pink contrasted against the bluest skies. When the night comes, most of us would head off to the Djemma al Fena, figuring out which stall sells the best harira soup, cous cous, tangine... Then we spent time browsing through the souks looking for some cheap bargain. Or whatever strikes our fancy. Other nights include belly dancing, roaming around the square watching snake charmers do their tricks (you have to pay even just to watch), listening to old traditional Moroccan beats..
The Medersa Ben Youssef (the Koranic school) was pretty neat, idyllic if I may use the word. Spent a day at the Tannery and then the Musuem. The Tannery is where the men dyed leather and clean them. You get an awesome view if you go up some roof top (but be careful that no one tries to trick you into buying leather and bringing you into a tiny room especially if you are alone). BUT take note that it smells BAD! Even with my blocked nose, it was nauseating! So hence the usefulness of mint leaves.
"It was not too bad... I fell sick on the second day."
"Ohh... (insert reaction)"
So I went to Morocco, landed in Casablanca and then took a 3.5 hour train to Marrakesh. What happened soon after? I fell sick on the second day. How terribly annoying. I blamed it on the hammam bath I took. In and out of steam, a reaction to the essential oils and poof! I literally fell sick on a long awaited vacation. Fever for 2 days was soon followed by a runny nose and a bad sore throat that is still bothering me untill now. I was so keen to clean myself off the dust and dirt of Freetown and my over-enthusiasm hits back big time. In the end, I spent my time just relaxing and loading myself with loads of tea. Which was fine by me, considering that's what all holidays ought to be about.
Stayed at a really great hostel: Equity Point Hostel Marrakesh. It was indeed an AWESOME place! Honest. The best hostel ever. Great atmosphere, friendly service, free Internet, great terrace view... it was really worth it! The other hostelites were a also great bunch. We spent much hanging out in the evening on the magnificient terrace, having random conversations over hot mint tea and smoking sheesha (comes in only 'pom' or 'pom', which is only one flavour I discovered).
I ended up staying at the hostel for the entire vacation. I didn't regret it, not one bit. There was always someone interesting coming in and out. Something to do in the day, places to see in the Medina etc, things to eat, conversations taking place... so it didn't turn out so bad. For a tiny while, I was worried I might have malaria but thank goodness it wasn't the case.
Marrakesh is a lovely, bustling little city, full of colour and vibrancy exploding at every street corner. Boys are always shouting out to you, "Namaste! Miss India?" No - I am not from India and I am not Indian and I don't want to be Indian (no offence).
Marrakesh seems to be a photographers' haven. Bountiful landscape, great visuals. Everything in salmon pink contrasted against the bluest skies. When the night comes, most of us would head off to the Djemma al Fena, figuring out which stall sells the best harira soup, cous cous, tangine... Then we spent time browsing through the souks looking for some cheap bargain. Or whatever strikes our fancy. Other nights include belly dancing, roaming around the square watching snake charmers do their tricks (you have to pay even just to watch), listening to old traditional Moroccan beats..
The Medersa Ben Youssef (the Koranic school) was pretty neat, idyllic if I may use the word. Spent a day at the Tannery and then the Musuem. The Tannery is where the men dyed leather and clean them. You get an awesome view if you go up some roof top (but be careful that no one tries to trick you into buying leather and bringing you into a tiny room especially if you are alone). BUT take note that it smells BAD! Even with my blocked nose, it was nauseating! So hence the usefulness of mint leaves.
Tuesday 1 April 2008
Going to Morocco
I am going to Morocco on Friday. For vacation. I am travelling solo and am excited at the prospect of actually being in Morocco, even if it's just a for a week or so. A change of scenery after 6 months in Freetown is badly needed. Also, a friend whom I studied with in Australia will be there and I am equally excited to be seeing her again after many months. I don't really have a plan for Morocco. No. I decided I don't want to have one. I'm just going to take it easy and see what comes. For now, in my head, Morocco conjures images of dusty souks, camel treks in Zagora (yes, I want to take that camel ride!), the famous Djemaa el Fna in Marrakesh with storytellers and snake charmers and even skiing somewhere in Ouka'meden... ooh..
This is a well-needed vacation away from Freetown and the stress. Yes, life here in Sierra Leone can be stressful sometimes. Even getting to the airport is a lot of effort. I actually have to leave my house 12 hours before my flight. Here's why: The helicopter don't work no more due to registration issues as they say although the condition of those things is very questionable, the hovercraft sank months ago, the new boat at Aberdeen is unreliable (they got stuck somewhere cause they don't have fuel I hear!), and the ferry is on the other side of town (or what we call the dodgy side of Freetown although I really like it) and you have to take a fair bit of time to get there with traffic considerations and driving around to Lungi Airport can take about 4 hours on not-so-great roads.
So... considering my flight leaves so early in the morning, I have to leave the day before. Sigh. But I am leaving with a friend, who's been staying with us and who's heading back to Bolivia. Least there's company.
So... considering my flight leaves so early in the morning, I have to leave the day before. Sigh. But I am leaving with a friend, who's been staying with us and who's heading back to Bolivia. Least there's company.
I don't suppose one week in Morocco is enough. But it will have to do for now.
Monday 31 March 2008
In March 2008
It just occurred to me I never really post anything about what I have been up to. It's not as if I am to my neck with a million things, I just conveniently forget to put in into writing. I mean, that's the very reason why I started out this blog - to let the wide wide world who cares or gives me 5 seconds of their time a glimpse into my life here in Sierra Leone.
So let me give you a prosaic account into what I've been up to lately since the mid of March..
1. During the Easter break (5 days holiday here!), we went to Mama Beach for a camping trip. The initial idea was to drive up to Conakry (Guinea) and spend the Easter weekend there, bumming around, behaving all touristy. Asaf, T and myself were so keen to do this. Until my bosses' boss who's also my boss technically said "NO". And a NO from this man means something. Soon we found out that it's just not that safe and convenient to drive up there for a variety of reasons (bandits, car registration, boring place, too much to be spent bribing officials, visa etc.). So we shelved the idea aside for another time. Eventually we ended up going camping - German style in African conditions. German style because we went with 3 other Germans and we were all fully equipped with 'army' tents, torches and of course plenty to drink. It turned out to be a great, relaxing and definitely enjoyable trip inspite of the sandy sleeping conditions.
Mama Beach is a magical place when the sun sets. If you stand along the shoreline, with the warm water trickling your feet, and you looked around you, you see the hills outlined against the dark sky and that I must say was one of the most memorable moment of the trip. In the evening, we had a fire going. Asaf brought his guitar and we sang what we could. We toasted mashmallows, drink and chat the night away.. it's was surreal considering that we are in Sierra Leone, a country so devastated by a decade of civil war and yet standing there amongst the untouched beauty, one feels so extremely blessed. I was feeling so, for sure. We did a fair bit, cooking fish, barbequing, swimming, a ride on Henry's boat to Banana Island. So that was what we did during Easter. Other than that, I woudn't say I have been up to anything exciting really. Ooh, we hosted a party for our favourite Bolivian, Antonio who's leaving at the end of March. The party was fantastic! BBQ, drinks, good friends and good laughs plus plenty of Latino folks and of course enough salsa music to shake things up! Lovely! You should have been there.
Friday 14 March 2008
singapore and burma: friends to the end
Yesterday, 20 years ago, 23-year-old Phone Maw, a Burmese student at the Rangoon Institute of Technology was gunned down by security forces. That resulted in the birth of the 1989 student uprising. Of course, that news never made headlines yesterday. Except maybe only on the commentary of The Irrawady – an independent news agency covering Burma and Southeast Asia. When Buddhist monks went to the streets to protest, the world suddenly took notice and then when the hype was over, eyes were trained to focus elsewhere. Burma was again forgotten.
In Burma, March 13 has been proclaimed by pro-democracy movements as Burmese Human Rights Day. The date was installed to honor the memory of RIT students who were gunned down by the military on March 13, 1988. In 1989, came the student uprising that saw too many dead civilians and many more fleeing the country in search of help and safety. Today, any talk of Phone Maw can result in sporadic arrests by security forces followed by imprisonment. The litany of human rights abuses committed by the Burmese junta under the rule of General Than Shwe has long been a fact known to the international community but too often ignored. In particular, I am ashamed that my government (the Singapore authorities) have done almost nothing to resolve the ongoing humanitarian crisis in the repressive state.
It is a well-known fact that Singapore has strong business interests in Burma and there is a lot to lose should the generals ever lose grip of power. Powerful technocrats in Singapore, specifically those who work for Temasek Holdings, know far too well, how much they have invested into Burma and that this VERY source of funding is what is keeping the Burmese junta alive. From weapons to telecommunications systems, Singapore has been the most prominent supporter propping the Burmese government. Singapore does not care about human rights abuses. After China, it has perfected the art of compulsory executions for drug traffickers. It has also helped to keep drug lords from Burma afloat.
The Singaporean authorities must have been on edge when the entire world was focused on the protests in Burma. They must have heaved a sigh of relief when it was over and quietly retreated back to resuming relations with their Burmese counterparts. Singapore has been contented to put up a diplomatic show but we all know it has been nothing more than the occasional hand-wringing. If I may put it bluntly, we are a bunch of self-interested bastards.
Let me tell you something. Singapore is a pretty, little island-state, with stretches of shopping malls, great food, and cheap electronics. But we are also a country of mandatory death sentence for drug traffickers, where you get fined for a lot of things, where freedom of expression is very much curtailed. So don’t be deluded by the pretty images you see. We are a rich country but very poor in morals.
www.khrg.org
This is a site by the Karen Human Rights Group documenting news and reports relating to their struggle and atrocities committed by the Burmese junta. The pictures in the photosets can get really gruesome but they are perhaps a reality we have far too often simply choose to ignore.
In Burma, March 13 has been proclaimed by pro-democracy movements as Burmese Human Rights Day. The date was installed to honor the memory of RIT students who were gunned down by the military on March 13, 1988. In 1989, came the student uprising that saw too many dead civilians and many more fleeing the country in search of help and safety. Today, any talk of Phone Maw can result in sporadic arrests by security forces followed by imprisonment. The litany of human rights abuses committed by the Burmese junta under the rule of General Than Shwe has long been a fact known to the international community but too often ignored. In particular, I am ashamed that my government (the Singapore authorities) have done almost nothing to resolve the ongoing humanitarian crisis in the repressive state.
It is a well-known fact that Singapore has strong business interests in Burma and there is a lot to lose should the generals ever lose grip of power. Powerful technocrats in Singapore, specifically those who work for Temasek Holdings, know far too well, how much they have invested into Burma and that this VERY source of funding is what is keeping the Burmese junta alive. From weapons to telecommunications systems, Singapore has been the most prominent supporter propping the Burmese government. Singapore does not care about human rights abuses. After China, it has perfected the art of compulsory executions for drug traffickers. It has also helped to keep drug lords from Burma afloat.
The Singaporean authorities must have been on edge when the entire world was focused on the protests in Burma. They must have heaved a sigh of relief when it was over and quietly retreated back to resuming relations with their Burmese counterparts. Singapore has been contented to put up a diplomatic show but we all know it has been nothing more than the occasional hand-wringing. If I may put it bluntly, we are a bunch of self-interested bastards.
Let me tell you something. Singapore is a pretty, little island-state, with stretches of shopping malls, great food, and cheap electronics. But we are also a country of mandatory death sentence for drug traffickers, where you get fined for a lot of things, where freedom of expression is very much curtailed. So don’t be deluded by the pretty images you see. We are a rich country but very poor in morals.
www.khrg.org
This is a site by the Karen Human Rights Group documenting news and reports relating to their struggle and atrocities committed by the Burmese junta. The pictures in the photosets can get really gruesome but they are perhaps a reality we have far too often simply choose to ignore.
Friday 7 March 2008
catherine lim
This is Dr. Catherine Lim. She is a writer and a political commentator. She is a Singaporean like me. There aren't many like her today. I wish I was brave like her, tough, focused and bold in so many ways. I met her once in 2003 in a small cafe I used to waitress in. She had a quiet aura about her, which had a calming effect whether intended or otherwise. I merely said a meek hello, I think. She challenges the Singapore government. I think I know what she is talking about. I have never voted and my political liberties have perhaps been non-existent. A few times, when I speak up in public fora, I can feel the eyes glazed upon me in disapproval. I don't like the reasoning used by the government to focus on bread-and-butter issues and leave the rest aside. Times are changing and Singaporeans like myself are exposed to the globalising forces more so than previous generations. We are aware of the effects. We see the world, and we asked ourselves why are we so fearful of the government and why do we let them so? Lawsuits against opposition parties for defamation, no criticisms allowed. Catherine's recent open letter to the Prime Minister was rejected by The Straits Times (it's published on her website). As a Singaporean, I am tired of the overly dependence attitude , I am sick of complying and complying over and over again. Yes, I am proud of where we are today - an extremely successful country that has turned from 3rd world to 1st world status in a leap of a generation. I am proud of that. What I am not proud of and disgusted by is where we are heading, down that slippery road.
I wish we were different. I wish we would become more questioning and more critical.
Wednesday 27 February 2008
a thousand splendid suns
This book was an unexpected present from Tim's family in Brussels. I have been meaning to read this for a long time and managed to get around it only recently. This is an essentially captivating book. I wish I had a talent to tell a story like Hosseini does. Old, traditional, reminiscent of the fairy-tales and fables. I wished I could craft words beautifully like he does - smooth, real and flowing. The book is a tale revolving around Mariam and Laila - 2 different women brought up in 2 different environments but entwined unwillingly in the same fate. A fate perhaps common to Afghan women. Hosseini makes it apparent that this is what his intention is - highlighting the plight of "women like us" in the opening pages. His skilled storytelling allows us to picture what daily lives then must be like. His characters may sometimes seem one-dimensional but as you read along, you see some sense of personality. There were times I felt this couldn't be the reality Afghan women had to endure. He makes it real, and it takes a hold on you. You feel for the characters. You get embroiled by your emotions - pity for Laila, hatred towards the misogynist, wife-beater Rasheed and compassion for hobbling Tariq. I enjoyed this book tremendously. I think you will too. I am currently reading The Kite Runner.
taxi drivers
Every weekday morning and sometimes in the evenings as well, my patience is tested. Every morning when I have to get to work and flag a taxi. Without fail. And when my limits are tested, my day is spoiled. With red dust sprinkled over my face, the smells of forgotten garbage along the roadside, I clenched my teeth, I breathed, hoping I'm not about to say all the wrong things when I hopped into the car. I confessed: Taxi drivers are the bane of my frustration here in Freetown. And I have taken a lot of taxis. And each day, I get the same deal, the same story. I go through the same hassles, leaving me very disgruntled. I keep asking myself: why oh why?
There are a variety of them. Sleazy ones, nice ones who speak politely to you, chatty football-crazy ones and so on. The ones I personally cannot stand are those who are are just plain rude and tries to ask you for more money. They will insist the fare is too small to take me that distance and I normally retort by saying that the price has been agreed upon. I tell them I'm aware of the standard rate. If you want a little more, it's fine by me. But not when you try to shake me off 10 times more because my skin colour differs from the average Sierra Leonean. Simply, I hate being ripped off because I'm a foreigner and that equates money.
Some people tell me to just pay the price. Drivers don't get paid that much and that money means nothing to me, some would quipped. That's not the point. It's a matter of principle. To be able to board a taxi without needing to feel constantly at edged, without having to yell at each other and all of that. Taxi drivers provide a service. People like me pay for that service. I pay him to take me from destination A to B. And if I choose to use a different route for a different price, we negotiate the price. That is fine. What is not acceptable is when drivers would argue and raised their voices at me trying and demanding to increase the fee to an absurd amount. There was an incident after work. I flagged a taxi. He asked a price 3 times more than I wanted to pay. I was already offering him a fee 10 times more than what one would pay for an average ride. I told him flatly that that's 3 times more than the standard rate. A guy across the road came over and told me to just pay the driver the amount I asked for. I snapped and told him to shut his bloody mouth up. He is not the driver. The driver, meanwhile sat there and pretended to look almost clueless, which is I must say is a pretty common look around this place. Unassuming, blank, nonchalant, ignorant. I am often disgusted by that look, by such am ambivalent attitude. They insisted I should hire him for an hour and pay the rate. I pointed out the fact that my house is a mere 10 minutes away. At the very most, in traffic, it will only ake 20 minutes. After 10 minutes of arguing and haggling, which left me very very annoyed and ready to spit in his face, I agreed on the price he wants me to pay. When he dropped me home, I gave him the money and told him to shove it up his arse. That's one problem with this country - almost every single one is fucking greedy. Right from the top echelons to the remnants at the bottom.
It's all about the money. I recalled someone once used to say that it's easier to say that when one has never been poor. Don't. Don't even begin to use that against me. Being poor has nothing to do with the need to be greedy and ripped others off in the most blatant way possible at any cost possible. Nothing excuses such a crooked behaviour. Nothing.
There are a variety of them. Sleazy ones, nice ones who speak politely to you, chatty football-crazy ones and so on. The ones I personally cannot stand are those who are are just plain rude and tries to ask you for more money. They will insist the fare is too small to take me that distance and I normally retort by saying that the price has been agreed upon. I tell them I'm aware of the standard rate. If you want a little more, it's fine by me. But not when you try to shake me off 10 times more because my skin colour differs from the average Sierra Leonean. Simply, I hate being ripped off because I'm a foreigner and that equates money.
Some people tell me to just pay the price. Drivers don't get paid that much and that money means nothing to me, some would quipped. That's not the point. It's a matter of principle. To be able to board a taxi without needing to feel constantly at edged, without having to yell at each other and all of that. Taxi drivers provide a service. People like me pay for that service. I pay him to take me from destination A to B. And if I choose to use a different route for a different price, we negotiate the price. That is fine. What is not acceptable is when drivers would argue and raised their voices at me trying and demanding to increase the fee to an absurd amount. There was an incident after work. I flagged a taxi. He asked a price 3 times more than I wanted to pay. I was already offering him a fee 10 times more than what one would pay for an average ride. I told him flatly that that's 3 times more than the standard rate. A guy across the road came over and told me to just pay the driver the amount I asked for. I snapped and told him to shut his bloody mouth up. He is not the driver. The driver, meanwhile sat there and pretended to look almost clueless, which is I must say is a pretty common look around this place. Unassuming, blank, nonchalant, ignorant. I am often disgusted by that look, by such am ambivalent attitude. They insisted I should hire him for an hour and pay the rate. I pointed out the fact that my house is a mere 10 minutes away. At the very most, in traffic, it will only ake 20 minutes. After 10 minutes of arguing and haggling, which left me very very annoyed and ready to spit in his face, I agreed on the price he wants me to pay. When he dropped me home, I gave him the money and told him to shove it up his arse. That's one problem with this country - almost every single one is fucking greedy. Right from the top echelons to the remnants at the bottom.
It's all about the money. I recalled someone once used to say that it's easier to say that when one has never been poor. Don't. Don't even begin to use that against me. Being poor has nothing to do with the need to be greedy and ripped others off in the most blatant way possible at any cost possible. Nothing excuses such a crooked behaviour. Nothing.
Friday 22 February 2008
quiescence
There must come a point in one's life when things stood still and you begin to wonder where it is all heading. I felt this way sometime ago and it has been in my head for a while now. There are occasions when I fear that life is likely to fail me or perhaps more so the other way around. And there is nothing more heart-breaking than to know that such instances are possibilities waiting to happen. I am no pessimist but do in fact consider myself a practical optimist, if there is such a concept. There are limits to positive thinking, which I figure can only take you so far.
And I reflected on where this life and years have been for me. Some have been strange, some beautiful and many bittersweet. The past half a year in particular has been exceptional in its own right. Peculiar, memorable and frustrating. I have learnt a lot, about others, about choices and importantly about myself. I have learnt limits I can bear and how far I can really go. Many times, I have felt small and alone and very lonely. Other times I have conversations in my head that hurts and only ends up in confusing circles, round and round. In fact, there were moments I thought my existence mattered little to those I know. Simply, I felt I have been forgotten. I continue to feel like that sometimes. I avoid thinking about it but when I do, it's painful and it disappoints.
Yesterday I had this conversation both in my head and in person. Frustrations poured out, hard and fast. I sobbed, I cried, I had it to let it go. Months of anxiety, of stress, of bottling it up, of teeth grinding came out in unexpected bursts. I knew then I could not turned back upon that decision I made months ago. I have to go through with it. There are things I hold steadfast and I'm on the belief that when choices have been made, turning back is no option. I have to decide to change and make it better - if not for me, for both of us. I owe myself that chance - that one last trial. I told myself before I was lulled into sleep that I cannot let those little frustrations crawled back in, creating its nest in my subconcious self. I just cannot. And as I watched him go to sleep, all curled up, I am comforted for that moment, I know I will be safe and the seas won't be so choppy all the time.
Moving away to this life I know right now has been a rather confusing experience. While I don't regret any moment of it, I understood little of it still. I don't enjoy every moment but there are happy days. I am convinvced there is a reason and a purpose which I need to find. I spent a lot of time thinking about this, and at times, I thought I might have chanced upon something comforting but hardly the case. I have no connection to this place, no ties that bind me to anything here. I feel nothing for this place and little for what happened in the past. It is not my story. This physical land in my bigger scheme of things in life serves no significance. My only conclusion about this place: it has allowed me to discover the limits and potentials of my human capacity. I know what I can and will never want to subject myself to. I came here with no purpose and no intentions, with no reasons other than to be with my boy. It may not sound like a good reason but that is my excuse. And I have learned to find meaning and purpose in that.
I am twenty six and life is still hovering around my head like grey skies waiting to pour itself out. Where it is heading, I have no clue, but compared to other days, I felt something better today.
And I reflected on where this life and years have been for me. Some have been strange, some beautiful and many bittersweet. The past half a year in particular has been exceptional in its own right. Peculiar, memorable and frustrating. I have learnt a lot, about others, about choices and importantly about myself. I have learnt limits I can bear and how far I can really go. Many times, I have felt small and alone and very lonely. Other times I have conversations in my head that hurts and only ends up in confusing circles, round and round. In fact, there were moments I thought my existence mattered little to those I know. Simply, I felt I have been forgotten. I continue to feel like that sometimes. I avoid thinking about it but when I do, it's painful and it disappoints.
Yesterday I had this conversation both in my head and in person. Frustrations poured out, hard and fast. I sobbed, I cried, I had it to let it go. Months of anxiety, of stress, of bottling it up, of teeth grinding came out in unexpected bursts. I knew then I could not turned back upon that decision I made months ago. I have to go through with it. There are things I hold steadfast and I'm on the belief that when choices have been made, turning back is no option. I have to decide to change and make it better - if not for me, for both of us. I owe myself that chance - that one last trial. I told myself before I was lulled into sleep that I cannot let those little frustrations crawled back in, creating its nest in my subconcious self. I just cannot. And as I watched him go to sleep, all curled up, I am comforted for that moment, I know I will be safe and the seas won't be so choppy all the time.
Moving away to this life I know right now has been a rather confusing experience. While I don't regret any moment of it, I understood little of it still. I don't enjoy every moment but there are happy days. I am convinvced there is a reason and a purpose which I need to find. I spent a lot of time thinking about this, and at times, I thought I might have chanced upon something comforting but hardly the case. I have no connection to this place, no ties that bind me to anything here. I feel nothing for this place and little for what happened in the past. It is not my story. This physical land in my bigger scheme of things in life serves no significance. My only conclusion about this place: it has allowed me to discover the limits and potentials of my human capacity. I know what I can and will never want to subject myself to. I came here with no purpose and no intentions, with no reasons other than to be with my boy. It may not sound like a good reason but that is my excuse. And I have learned to find meaning and purpose in that.
I am twenty six and life is still hovering around my head like grey skies waiting to pour itself out. Where it is heading, I have no clue, but compared to other days, I felt something better today.
Thursday 21 February 2008
Saturday 5 January 2008
i heart joni mitchell
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that aint afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
- Case of you
I heart Joni Mitchell. This was the song I'd play over and over again on those quiet days in Canberra, as I stared out of the window. I missed those days.
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