My Suitcase Life: 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.