New Sweet Salone post: Disco
Meryl Olson
I’ve been here for six months now, and while I’m pretty well acclimated, certain things about Sierra Leone continue to perplex me, such as Why is vintage Celine Dion so popular? Okay, that’s the most perplexing thing that comes to mind right now, because I’m listening to vintage Celine Dion on my neighbor’s radio. Not by choice, don’t worry. I have also seen the music video for this particular Celine song (while in Sierra Leone), which involves a young Celine wandering around giant ice sculptures. Also perplexing.
I’ve noticed that a frequent theme from reflections by first-time visitors to developing countries is that “People here are soooo happy even though they’re sooooo poooor! We can learn soooo much from their happy outlook!” I’m going to try to avoid that cliché, but something people (from the U.S.) have asked me is whether people are happy here. I’m certainly no expert in the emotional outlook of Sierra Leoneans, but it is true that people find ways to enjoy themselves no matter where they are or what resources they have. People here certainly weather their share of misery. They have the same miseries we all have: deaths of loved ones, broken relationships, illness. But generally these occur with greater frequency. I was chatting with Baindu’s mother yesterday while waiting for her to get ready for the disco in town (more on that later), and she said “I have borne eleven children. Six of them are alive, thank God.” On top of these sadnesses are the everyday difficulties, like seasonal food shortages (it is currently the hungry season, when last year’s rice has run out and this year’s harvest is not quite ready) and the difficulty of the physical labor required for farming. Planting rice in the swamp, for example, involves wading in knee-deep, leech-infested muck for hours. It sucks.
Despite these sufferings, people find joy in being together. I have never heard a Sierra Leonean express a desire for quiet or alone time. In fact, pretty much the worst thing you can say about a village or a place is that it’s “quiet.” The opposite of quiet is not “noisy” or “crowded,” it’s “lively.” People love getting together to gossip and share, or even just to sit by each other. A key to friendship is “passing time,” which just means being together, regardless of what is said or not said. I have a few neighbors whose houses I will occasionally stop by just to sit and enjoy their company and smile at their children. One speaks only Mende, so we can’t have much of a conversation, which feels awkward at first, but whenever I leave, she thanks me profusely just for spending time with her.
The flip side of this is that people think nothing of stopping by my house at any time of day, such as at 6:30am on a Sunday, when I would much rather be sleeping. And while interrupting someone from sleep in the U.S. is cause for much apology and thinly veiled annoyance on the part of the sleeper, Sierra Leoneans think nothing of it. In general, inconveniencing each other seems to be a part of life, an unavoidable byproduct of the interdependence that Sierra Leoneans are much more comfortable with than Americans. As an American, it takes practice and patience not to let this drive me absolutely insane. My friends have also been willing to adapt to me a bit, and now will usually not disturb me if my door is closed.
Back to enjoying life in Sierra Leone. Pretty much the ultimate social events are soccer games and dances. Teams from different villages will regularly get together for some pretty competitive matches, which are witnessed by anyone in town under 40 who doesn’t have something else they have to be doing, dressed up in their tightest jeans and fanciest shoes (for the women) and loosest jeans and best baseball cap (for the men). The women generally gossip and pay only occasional attention to the game, while testosterone-fueled arguing about ref calls and claims of team superiority occupy the men’s time. Meanwhile, kids hang around on the sidelines sharing whatever snacks they can get their hands on and tormenting each other. In other words, it’s exactly like a football match in the U.S., but without the pretzels and beer. Dances (also called discos) are similar, except with music and beer. Every couple of months, the younger people in town pool their cash to hire a DJ, who trucks in speakers and converts the town barre (sort of like a town hall) into a dance hall. Usually there is a charge of around 2,000 Leones (about 50 cents) to enter, but people who don’t want to pay just hang around outside and have their own party. Pujehun had a dance on Friday night, which started around 10pm and went on until 2am. (Saturday was one of the only mornings when nobody showed up at my house before 9am). I put on the only pair of jeans I have here and went with Fudia, Baindu, and Sidie. It was pretty fun, with a mix of Sierra Leonean and Nigerian music with some American tunes. Sierra Leoneans always compliment my dancing, and I’m convinced that they’re just trying to be nice because they’re pleased that I’m trying at all. Despite the marijuana and alcohol present, it was an all-ages event, and the few kids who were lucky enough to sneak in or get someone to pay for their entry hung around on the edges desperately trying to stay awake. Falling asleep leaning against the wall was proof to any adult present that it was time for a child to go home, despite desperate protests on the part of the child. Fudia’s 10-year-old niece, Jenneh, made a valiant effort, and was still going strong when I left around 1am, though I caught her dozing off a few times.cele
