The North: Poultry present

Kabala provided the scenery and weather that made a perfect get-away from Njala. The people were just as friendly, but instead of hearing “pumuy,” children would shout and wave at the “white man” or “white woman.”

Sitting at the base of small mountains, or large hills…however you want to view it…Kabala is considered to have cold weather. I found it perfect and actually welcomed the need to cover with a light sheet at night. While our time there was relatively short, the experiences were rich. The first night we met with the district agriculture director for the Koinadugu District. Throughout our discussion she remained hopeful for the future of agriculture in Sierra Leone, but often emphasized the need for financial support to sustain programs. She kindly invited us to breakfast the next day…bread, meat and onion soup, fries and hot Ovaltine. Dinner a few days later was even more strange: whole fish, fries (with ketchup and mayo), oatmeal and of course, hot Ovaltine.

It is customary for “strangers” visiting a town or village to be introduced to the chief and make their presence known. So, before we left for Gbindi on the second day, Lexi, Jesse and I were introduced to the paramount chief of one of the two chiefdoms in Kabala. He came out of his house and sat in a high-back chair. The young chief greeted and welcomed us to his chiefdom. Chiefs are usually elected, and though I do not fully understand their purpose, I did learn they help settle disputes among citizens and this particular chief participated in parliament. I was excited to learn he supports agriculture in the district. He invited Lexi and I back on Monday for a traditional welcome. David said we would probably have to dance…so I was a little reluctant to return. When we did, the chief mentioned he had to leave shortly for Freetown so there would be no dancing or performance. Instead, he presented Lexi and I with a gift—a live chicken! I was honored to receive this traditional gift (and thankful it wasn’t a goat). So, the chicken rode with me on the motorbike back to the house. The next day someone fashioned a carrying case…a black plastic bag with a hole cut for its head to “allow normal breathing.” There is no way this chicken thought its situation was normal: feet tied in a plastic bag. As strange as it was, I picked up the chicken and carried it to the bus that will take us home. I was certain that we would be the only ones with a chicken on the bus, but I was greatly mistaken. Some women brought two or three on the crowded government-supported transportation.

Lexi and I named our chicken Wara Wara, though the men suggested Pot. It soon met its fate. Maybe we should have named it Chicken Soup.

Joyful Journeys,

Julie

Posing for a pic with our sweet gift! The paramount chief is between Lexi and I.

The chicken got a motorbike ride too!


Wara Wara.

Tying her up by the feet.

Yep...I climbed that rock.

Our accommodations.

The porch.

Lexi and I went for a walk past a school. Once again, we had a following. She asked for my autograph!

j/k

Art?

It was this man's job to break down the rocks...manually.

I've become fond of motorbike travel. Hope to learn to drive soon!

Such a beauty.

He thought he saw a ghost...it just turned out to be us...the white people.