Swamp Rice Swap

Too much office work left me craving the outdoors and bit of manual labor. I was chatting one afternoon with Dr. Kanu, animal science department head and Dr. Sesay, animal reproductive specialist and farm work came up. Dr. Kanu mentioned that Dr. Sesay should show me his rice farm. I took it a step further and offered to be free labor. They laughed.

“This is hard work,” Dr. Kanu said as he was showing me the calluses on his hands. We may have tractors and machinery to help in our farming, but my father made sure I knew a hard days’ work. I left the conversation a little annoyed they didn’t see me capable working in the fields, and became determined to prove I was. The following week I casually asked Dr. Sesay about his rice farm and mentioned if he needed any help, I would be willing. I was pleasantly surprised when he showed up at my office to schedule a Saturday rice farming trip.

The farm is located just north of campus tucked away in an area Lexi and have been hoping to explore. After pulling on the black rubber boots Dr. Sesay secured for us, we followed him down the path to the swamp. There are two types of rice farming in Sierra Leone: upland and swamp. Upland rice farming is common in the south and is also responsible for much of the slash and burn agriculture. Forests are cut and burned and rice is planted in its place. Usually cassava and other plants are inter-cropped, however the land can support rice for only one season and the plot can only withstand three years of other crops…then it’s off to another plot. There are mixed feelings about this system with one being that Sierra Leone has vast underutilized land with a relatively low population. The second view point (the one I support) is that slash and burn is degrading biodiversity and is not sustainable. This brings me to swamp rice. Sierra Leone has many rivers and more than sufficient rainfall for about three months out of the year. So, in the valleys farmers can cultivate a swamp and produce rice.

Dr. Sesay acquired the land a few years ago and is working on his second cropping with expanding the size. Land tenure is practically non-existent and is considered public property—as long as you are cultivating it’s yours. When you stop, someone else can move in and get to work.

Ok, back to rice farming. The sun was out in full force by the time we made it to the valley. As we came up to the water, I could see Dr. Sesay’s three nephews turning over mud and grass, termed muddling. As with all farming in Sierra Leone, swamp rice is labor intensive. The land is first plowed via tractor (rented) or human power. Using something like a hoe, the men turn the soil (muddling) allowing the lowland to flood. Small rice plants are then transplanted from the nearby nursery and placed in the mud below the water’s surface. I’m honestly not sure what happens next…other than that is should grow!

To get to where the barefooted guys were working we had to cross the swamp…through water that hit just below the tops of my boots and navigating around the mud that acts as super glue to rubber boots. Quite the challenge! Since we came to do some work, Dr. Sesay gave us a job: transplanting rice. There are distinct gender roles in just about every aspect of life here, and rice farming is no different. Men work the ground and women usually plant and weed. He brought Lexi and each a small bundle of rice plants and instructed us to take no more than two and press the roots into the mud putting about 8 inches between each. It was fun to get dirty…once I got over the fact that I was sticking my precious hand into grimy water that produced a snake about 20 minutes earlier. I was the last to finish between Dr. Sesay, Lexi and myself, but it was because I transplant rice with the care and attention each plant deserves.

Then, it was on to plucking plants from the nursery which is a small, densely populated group of rice planted on the shore of the swamp (on the other side, of course). To do this, you just grab a handful of plants, pull them up near the roots and then use the toe of your boot to bash off the mud and dirt…leaving nearly clean roots. By the end of our time, I got better at not flinging mud on my face…something the other two never had a problem with. I would have like to stay longer than the 3 hours we spent wading in the swamp, but it was time to go…

Rice is the number one staple, but the country relies on imports from Asia to meet the demand as acre after acre remains unused. Many suffer from hunger during the off seasons. Dr. Sesay mentioned that farming is considered “poor man’s job,” but the university is working to change that viewpoint…leading by example. Educated men investing back into agriculture can only move the country forward to becoming more food secure.

Joyful Journeys,

Julie

PS: I’m a little nervous our plot planted by the pumuys won’t grow…so I often check up with Dr. Sesay who reassures me that the rice is doing fine. We are working out a second visit.

Dr. Sesay at the swamp, with his hard working nephews.

This a nursery at the swamp farm near Dr. Sesay's. The small hut in the back is typical of both upland and swamp rice. Those working will use it a temporary shelter during the day.

Inter-cropping: rice, cassava and maize.

The swamp.

Here you can see the contrast between the swamp with rice and the mud that still needs to be turned.

Muddling.

Lexi and I transplanting swamp rice!

See how far my hand is in the water??

Our plot!

I guess all those days in a muddy barn lot paid off. I was able to get across quick enough to snap Lexi struggling...I mean taking her time. :)

Dr. Sesay's rice nursery.

This job is awesome. Pluck the plants, bang the roots against your boots and they are ready to go to the swamp.

My first bundle!

Lexi with the rice plants we pulled.

Cows, marriage and witches, oh my!

Part 2 of “Cash Security on Hoof”

The sun was sinking behind the dense trees that encircled “the ranch” that would be my home for a night in the bush. Just 2 miles off the main road outside of Gbindi, though it felt like 30 as the road was the worst I’ve been on, sits the small establishment of a few round huts with thatch roofs, a holding pens and a garden.

The cows

Northern Sierra Leone is cattle country and the Fula tribe is best known for this profession. The ranch owner, a brother to the paramount chief we met upon entering Gbindi, welcomed Lexi, Jesse and I to experience one night and morning on a traditional extensive-management ranch. Walking up to the clearing I didn’t exactly feel welcomed by the few men, women and children—though later I attributed it to our lack of common language an the fact that they probably don’t get many visitors. After dumping our bags, the owner led us behind the huts to the holding pens where we began our lesson in traditional ranching.

The main pens were empty except for the handful of calves left behind in smaller corrals when the rest of the herd goes out to graze. Calves aren’t allowed to graze with their mommas for two reasons. 1: they may get lost, and 2: keeping them back gives their dams incentive to return. After examining the pens made of bamboo, large sticks and bush string we toured the garden planted in an old holding pen. Though I forgot to ask to be certain in this situation, I earlier learned that ranch establishments are kept for 1 to 3 years before moving on once the food sources are exhausted. Sometimes they will return after a few rotations and often old pens are used for cropping to utilize the natural fertilizer left by the cattle.

The proposal

After the tour we took our places near the huts to literally “wait ‘til the cows to come home.” This is when Lexi and I received our first marriage proposal from the owner—oh yes, a group proposal. Call me old-fashioned…but I would have to say it is a little less special to be asked for my hand by a man who is trying to get two birds with one stone. Following our FIRST decline, he continued the “wooing” by saying he would contact our fathers and offer a “bride price.” (Yep, dad, he offered to pay you for me. But don’t go getting too excited because I declined once again.) The third attempt came with the offers of me being the “first wife,” which I guess would mean I get choice in cows to milk or something and Lexi would be the “favorite wife,” which would probably include its own privileges. I asked how many wives he already had, but he wouldn’t answer unless we agreed—I never found out. This exchanged came with a lot of nervous laughter on our ends. Lexi and I were certain he was joking, but there was that hint of genuineness that led to awkward times.

Near dusk I could make out the herd mooing in the bush—rescuing us from becoming Fula wives. As the herdsmen brought in the herd, a few wives and older children at the huts moved to the pens to help. After a little bit of chaos chasing cows, the herd was in and the calves could nurse. The owner bid his goodbyes and headed back to town…leaving the herdsmen, women, children and us to get settled for the evening.

The witches

Night fell and it was incredibly dark in the absence of electricity. Those not in our little party of three for the most part kept to themselves…except for making us hot water. No one had phone service, so when Jesse went back out to the road to call his very pregnant wife he picked up some bread for our dinner. Lexi and I prepared the meal. She was on hot cocoa duty and I created sandwiches out of Laughing Cow cheese, cold fried eggs Jesse had in a sack and the bread. My parents taught me to eat when food is offered, because you may not always know when the next meal will be…In Africa I fully execute this advice and I ate the entire greasy, cold, fried egg and cheese sandwich.

After dinner it was only 8pm and none of us were tired so we started chatting on the bamboo bench/table. Lexi and were excited to hear an owl in the distance UNTIL Jesse explained that owls are associated with witchcraft. Now, I knew that there are indigenous beliefs in Sierra Leone and even heard of witch doctors, but not until that night out in the bush surrounded by dark and listening to a hooting owl did I better understand the significance these beliefs play in the culture here. I’m not going to get into my beliefs about what I heard at this time, but here are a few of the stories we covered…coming from an educated God-fearing man:

1. Owls hooting mean witches want to come steal your baby. So, families who believe this will start making noise, banging pots, etc., until the owl stops hooting.

2. Politicians may consult a witch doctor seeking protection.
3. Witch guns, shooting bullets of sugar or poppy seeds, are almost 100% fatal
4. He saw a witch doctor make a key drop water and boil an egg in his hand
5. Technology is associated with witchcraft
6. There is a type of demon that destroys bridges under construction, and often engineers must consult someone to capture the demons in a bottle before the bridge can be completed.

Since I LOVE scary things (NOT), I made Lexi walk with me so I could “relieve” myself near the woods…

When story time concluded, Lexi and I headed to the hut to catch some zzzzz’s. We soon realized we were not alone as there was a chicken in our hut, tucked in with her chicks between our bed and the wall. Eh…this is Africa so we let her be. Jesse started outside on the bamboo bench, but soon got too cold and laid out a mat on the floor of the hut…which wasn’t much warmer for him. I was mad that he didn’t tell us because I was using the blanket as a pillow…the weather was perfect for the two white girls.

The milking

Jesse woke us up before 7am the next morning…I slept most the night, but the straw mattress left my body aching. One aspect of “roughing it” for me is to sleep in my clothes…so I rebraided my hair, stretched a bit and was ready to milk some cows! As mentioned before, women play a key role in cattle production—one of those taking on the milking responsibility. Each wife is given a set of cows within the herd in which they can milk to provide dairy and income for their children. Every morning they set out to complete their role starting with tying the cow up to a post and letting the calf nurse a few minutes…inducing milk release. The calf is then tied near its mother’s head while the wife milks into a small bowl—these flip-flop wearing ladies are experts.

It was my turn to give it a shot. I knelt down in front of the back legs imitating the women’s method, trying to avoid the tail and a kick while balancing the bowl. I admit to not being a professional in milking arena, but I would consider myself somewhat successful on my own cows back home if they needed it. The native N’Dama breed is known for their poor milk yield and I soon found out how difficult it is to get anything out of that small udder! The little milk produced is moved to a bucket to be processed into cottage cheese and yogurt…and the next cow is tied up. Observing a cow drinking her calf’s urine led to concern that these animals are desperate for water…though adaptive to harsh conditions. No water tank was in the pen—water is found during grazing hours. This ranch exemplifies some common problems in the current extensive cattle management system: lack of consistent water source, poor growth, poor milk production, and competition to shifting cultivation.

A few marriage proposals later and it was time to get back to Gbindi. On our trip out, we had to ride three on Jesse’s bike. After piling on backpack, Jesse, backpack, me, Lexi, backpack, we began to tackle the harsh road. It was of the Lord we made it safely with no accidents, though Lexi and I had to walk around a few “pot holes” that covered the entire road.

Whew! What an adventure!

Joyful Journeys,

Julie

The ranch!

Sweeping the dirt off the ground!




Lexi and I with the ranch owner.







Our bed in the hut.

Our accommodations!

The corral for calves.

They grow a crops in an old holding pen.

Fences are made from local materials.

The herd.

She's tying the cow up she will soon milk.

Such a small udder!

She's a pro.

I am not.

But it was fun!

The bucket for the milk. This quantity is from two cows.

The North: The Trade

The owners proudly display their cattle as traders move among the stock and both looking for one thing—profit. Standing in the paddock in Gbindi Sunday morning, I witnessed the international livestock market.

Cattle, goats and sheep representing Guinea, Mali and Sierra Leone are brought to the Gbindi paddock each Saturday to begin the weekly weekend affair—most traveling by foot. The facility was built by the government with assistance from Germany. It’s basically a holding pen with brick walls to deter theft. The livestock are tied to posts for exhibition as the traders and owners negotiate a price. Here’s the lowdown of Sierra Leonean livestock market:
Owners sell to traders
Traders pay to have animals shipped to Bo or Freetown
Traders sell to butchers
Butchers sell to consumers

Once the cattle are out of the owner’s hands (with Monday being the last day of the market), they are held until Wednesday and are then shipped out on trucks, each carrying around 45 head. There is a group called the Cattle Traders Union that advocates on the trader’s behalf. The union secures trucks for the traders to move the cattle to Bo or Freetown at a costs of Le80,000 ($20) and Le60,000 ($15) respectively. It wasn’t that long ago that the cattle had to walk their way to Kabala to meet the trucks…about 30 km…now its maybe just a few kilometers. Though the initial hardships are reduced, the road from Gbindi to Kabala, the one best traveled by motorbike, is still a rough ride for the cattle.

During the trade, I had the opportunity to interview local farmers. It was a tiring process going to Jesse who interpreted, but I got some great insight to the industry. Here are some tidbits from two of the interviews:

Mrs. Tindankay Shaw is a small ruminant farmer who considers herself poor with a small herd of seven sheep. They are a source of livelihood and sold to support the family when they need medicine, food and to pay for the children’s school fees. Slaughtering the sheep is expensive in the sense that with the profit, less expensive food can be purchased that will go a lot farther in feeding the family. Care for the herd is done in shifts because they are grazed extensively. She takes the sheep out to graze when the children are at school, and they relieve her when school lets out. She is from the Fula tribe who are predominately cattle producers and rear small ruminants, so raising sheep was learned from childhood. “It’s part of us,” she said. It is typical for the husband to procure the animals and then drop them off at the home for the wife to care for. However, she decides when a lamb must be sold and the husband carries out the task.

Mamaya Barrie is a “youth” rancher at the age of 48. My confused look must have brought on the explanation that since ranching is an expensive endeavor, this is the youngest age group to own cattle. In addition to his 50 head of cattle, he is a cereal rice farmer and a butcher—all which go to support his two wives and nine children. He established his ranch by exchanging rice for a bull calf or heifer and continued this until he established his “seedstock” herd. He pays a herdsman to take the cattle to find grass and water each day. Mr. Barrie usually castrates young bulls with a Buddizo, a local tool, but since it is broken he resorts to using a stick to rupture the spermatic cord. (painful, maybe?) As a butcher he purchases animals to slaughter at 8 calves per week, but business is slow these days so he kills around 2 per week. He said that cattle theft is very common even in town…and the paramount chief isn’t even protected from the cattle crooks.

A question that kept coming up for me was, “If the industry is growing, and Sierra Leone has ample resources to support it, why then is the majority of meat consumed still imported form Guinea or Mali?” The livestock industry is just one more thing recovering from the war that nearly wiped out every cow, sheep and goat. Restocking programs from the government and NGOs helped to rebuild herds, but it takes time. From the university people I work with to Ministry of Agriculture employees I’ve met, the drive is strong to see Sierra Leone’s livestock industry thrive.

Joyful Journeys,

Julie

Checking out the livestock trade!

Most of the cattle were moved this way.

There was a small ruminant section.

A lot going on...

Waiting to be traded.

Negotiating?

Jesse talks to a farmer who wanted me to buy this little heifer.

Telling his story.

Interviewing.

The North: Only 9km?!

“The road to Gbindi is tough,” said just about every Sierra Leonean when I mentioned I planned to visit the international livestock trade. I took their warning to heart, but was secretly excited for the rough road ahead. I like a challenge, PLUS I’m always looking for great stories for the blog…so, a rough journey by African standards to a livestock market very near the Guinea border fits the bill.

After hiking Wara Wara in Kabala, we had a little time to rest, eat and prepare for our trip to Gbindi (pronounced with a silent “G”). The small town that hosts the market is best accessed by motorbike because the roads are so awful. Just about the only trucks that travel from Kabala to Gbindi are carrying livestock headed for Freetown or Bo. The group of six (Lexi, David, Jesse, Blima…who looks and sounds like the All-State Insurance guy…, David’s employee, and I) situated ourselves on three motorbikes. Lexi was with Blima and I was riding with Jesse...thankful to be with a familiar driver. Since we were going to stay two nights in Gbindi, our gear came with us. Jesse’s backpack was on his front and mine on my back, with just a fraction of it resting on the bike. With helmets in place and instructions to not go over 40km/hr, we began.

With Kabala behind us, it took no time at all to meet the road that would be our constant impediment for the next 30 km: rocks, potholes, mud and steep hills…sometimes all at once. For a while the scenery, fresh air and excitement kept my mind off the continual body jarring bumps, but eventually the pains surfaced in my legs and hands from working hard to keep me from being jolted off.

After nearly an hour and a half we got a break and visited a project site the men are working on. Certain we are almost there, I asked how much further we have to go. “We’ve gone maybe 9 km,” replied Jesse. “Great,” I thought to myself sarcastically. The clouds were threatening rain too. I put on my rain coat, covered my bag which came with its own rain coat, gritted my teeth and was ready to take on the last 20. By the time we reached the paramount chief for the region, I was not in the mood for a social, but at least there were chairs and it seemed that all I had to do is shake his hand and thank him for allowing us to visit. He was a very sweet man and welcomed us to the Sinkunia chiefdom. He did a lot to help plan our trip…the next night was to be spent with his brother on a ranch. Meeting him helped to get my mind off my pains and I was ready for the last mile.


I expected Gbindi to be bustling with traders, but the place was quiet. One main road goes through the market, into a residential area, and then heads to Guinea…which was only 6 miles away! Two very disappointed pumuys were advised that the headache and harassment for bribes we’d get from the Guinea guards were not worth the trip. Lexi and I were dropped off at a home where we would spend the night in a bed. The men would not allow us to sleep in the same conditions provided for them; thin mattresses or mats on concrete. They are so concerned with us having a positive experience in Sierra Leone, the hospitality is a little over the top even though we say over and over again that we don’t require any special treatment.

Hello, awkward.
Beef and bananas for dinner led to two awkward experiences. With no electricity, Lexi and I wanted to eat outside our room on a table with a lantern. So we moved and apparently positioned ourselves to be spectators for the family’s Islamic prayers. There we ate while they kneeled, bowed, stood and prayed…awkward experience 1. We did offer to move but they insisted us stay put. Awkward experience 2 came with how the food was presented to us. Lexi and I were given the plate of beef and bananas by our host. With the significant language barrier, we assumed that this was our dish. We ate it all…because that’s what you are supposed to do. After their prayers the host noticed we cleaned the place and showed us a big pan of rice and cassava leaves. Realization came with embarrassment and guilt. Lexi and I ate the only protein and possibly the most delicious dish of the meal that was to be shared with the men. So, when they showed up…lexi and I watched them eat rice and cassava leaves…of course they said they didn’t care…BUT we felt awful.
Awkward 3 didn’t come with food…well…at least directly. Toilets were outside. Jesse informed us that if we have to “ease” ourselves at anytime during the night we should inform our host and not venture the dark alone. Before we went to bed though, she brought us a chamber for our room. Yes, if Lexi or I need to ease ourselves during the night, we could do so in a small plastic bucket in the corner of our room. Needless to say, I waited til dawn.

A bit of Gbindi
The next day was spent at the livestock trade. I’ll write about this separately, but want to mention that it was nothing like I expected (in a good way)…and definitely not the cattle markets I’m used to. While I interviewed five farmers, Lexi entertained some kids. After a short rest, we ventured into the market street where vendors were selling food, fabric and a little bit of everything else. The two men accompanying us were so patient as we looked over, discussed and chose not to purchase fabric. Lexi and I both want clothing made for us here, but there are no fabric sales at Njala. Walking, talking and accepting stares we made it back to the host just in time to pack up to leave for a nearby ranch to spend the evening….which will be another blog about cows, witches and a marriage proposal.

Just another great experience in this charming country!

Joyful Journeys,

Julie

Not far from Kabala. The Wara Wara Mountains are still in sight.

The rocky portion of our trip was early on. Mud and hills came later.

A village on the way.

These ladies are typical to Sierra Leone roads...whether highway or dirt.

A view of Gbindi!

The chamber.

Behind our host home a little plowing was going on. Oxen are not commonly used as they are seen as "old-school." Ironically, manual labor reigns.

Men in the north dress differently than the majority of men in the south.

Cottage cheese--a common dish in the north. Though I was advised not to because the milk had not been pasteurized, I tried on small spoonful of the sour stuff.

The sweet children where we stayed.

WILDCATS!

Lexi was given food from a mother thankful for her playing with the kiddos.

The market. Just a mound of dried fish.

I just love all the colors in fabric here!

Obama is everywhere. A guy in Freetown came up to me and said OBAMA!

Found this little monkey on a string tied to a tree. First LIVE monkey for me...even if someone is trying to domesticate it.