Ogo farm, Ogo food, is it all Ogo good?

Today we drove into town with one of the EFA ‘excursion’ cars, meaning it has about 8 seats facing each other in the back. On our way out of LakkA David (working for the Renewable Energy Programme, son of the director and our driver of the day) picked up some friends and off we were on the dusty road. It’s quite common to give people/friends a ride if you’re heading in the same direction (and driving an 11 person car).

The roads are watered every day to avoid too much dust flying around. This provides about an hours worth of less dust in the car but you can still see the dust contrasting with the black car ventilator and I wouldn’t wipe my face with a white T-shirt after a drive.
About once a week we go to Freetown supermarket: which is airconditioned! And sells ice cream! And brands my grandmother used to use! Good old pear soap, milk powder and basically instant versions of everything. Welcome to powder country. Although I’d much rather support the locals and buy their ice cream I’m quite sure my stomach would disagree. Water and ice cream are sold in plastic bags on the streets. You have the factory plastic bags with mineral water and the hand filled bags with cleaner water than from the tap but not European proof. Also Ice cream is sold in bags. You bite into the bag and start sucking water or ice cream. Done with your consumption? Just throw the plastic on the ground. Or if you’re on the beach, bury it. I’m not sure whether I’ll do as the locals do in this particular case.

I tried to change my euro’s in a Fullah shop. You can change money in the streets, in Fullah shops, supermarkets and in the bank. Obviously the best rate is on the street but then half of Freetown can see how much you’re carrying around. As Chani emptied the Fullah safe with her exchange I had a hard time changing my money for a good rate. The supermarket owners are hardcore business men and give you a low rate no matter what the official rate is. The banks close at strange (early) times. I will have to wait a couple of days till someone heads into town next week. That’s the way it goes.
The money here by the way is pretty...disgusting is the only word that describes it best. A little history lesson can put this into context.
During the war a lot of people fled from the provinces into Freetown but never returned. Consequently Freetown is now extremely overcrowded with people trying to make a living of petty trades. There’s not one street without people carrying their shops on their heads. These people don’t carry bags and purses. No. They much rather put the money as close to their body as possible. So most of the paper money has tasted at least 100 different kinds of sweat and dust and who knows what else. The money here almost feels like fabric and looks like a newspaper that has been lying out in the rain.

So I didn’t get money and we headed back to Lakka. Most of the road between Freetown and Lakka is pretty ok. They’re trying to put tarmac on a large stretch before the rainy season will start and it looks like it might work. Who knows what will happen in the rainy season though as the road will be just tarmac on (flattened) dust.
The last stretch to Lakka is a pretty extreme sport. Big holes, rocks, foot passengers, motorbikes. But everyone seems to know the rules and honks their way past each other efficiently (yes, one of the things that runs efficiently!) We bought a crate of beer and David decided to show us Ogo market. He left us on the market (near Lakka) while we worked our way around the 3 stalls and several women under the tree displaying their banana leaves and garden eggs, as they call aubergines here. A woman, Ifatu (say Aaifattoe,we managed to remember after asking only 5 times) spotted us and decided to show us around Ogo farm. On our way there she explained that everyone in the village had their own plot. Expecting a cute little vegetable garden I was amazed to see the enormous stretches of fields we discovered covered in corn, cucumber, tomatoes, peppers, garden eggs, salad, chives, mango trees, potatoes... There are wells around to water the fields and during the rainy season all the plots turn into a rice fields.
The whole village gets up at 6, works on the farm and then goes to the market to sell their stuff. Either in Freetown or nearby. The Ogo village trades their veggies for fish with Lakka. Perhaps some of these people don’t make a dollar a day, but they certainly won’t go hungry. I asked Ifatu about theft. There seems to be no such thing. No one sleeps on the farm. There are also hardly any birds that eat the seeds. A little irrigation system could do wonders for them. But I guess it's all Ogo good.
I’m surprised to see no one actually breeding animals. Eggs are available everywhere but most people live on fish and rice and whatever vegetables they grow here. Most of the chickens run around freely though and the only goats I’ve seen were usually single cases on a rope.
Walking through the fields we met Ifatu’s sister, little brothers, big brother, cousin, auntie...most of them relaxing under a tree enjoying the cool sea breeze. We also met her mother. Ifatu asked us “You know her name?”
No, I don’t. What is it?
“You know her name?”
No, tell me.
“You know?”
How can I know?
“Nooooo, Yuno is her name!”

Not expecting a private tour of such a large piece of land during the hottest hours of the day I’m now the proud owner of a truck driver’s arm: one red one white. Yes, we pretty much had the sun on one side all day and since I’m the passenger in every car trip my right arm is definitely turning redder than the left.
As usual I spent the evening on the beach. But this time I had quite a unique sight to see. As it was a Saturday more people came down to the beach so I was watching Chinese (“No, they’re Mongolian security guards and they don’t speak a word of English”) playing football and swimming whilst one woman took pictures non stop. A woman walked by me (as they tend to do) with her shop on her head. She asked me if I was interested in her stuff. ‘Yes I am, but I didn’t bring any money.’ Next thing I got was the incredulous look. No one believes that white people come to the beach without money. When I told her I lived in the village and never brought anything to the beach she looked at me as if I was a ghost (or cockroach...not sure) She said it was ‘no problem, no problem’ and gladly lifted the heavy bag of her head to plonk down next to me. She showed me her jewellery, batik cloths and little copper statues of musicians. Apparently they were made from coins that were used during colonial times when people didn’t use paper money like they have now. I wasn’t quite sure how true this was and hope to find out. Would be an interesting little relic of colonialism to purchase. Definitely artistic little statues!

Next news will be on our excursion to Bo (the Manchester of Sierra Leone, party capital) and Tiwai Island (a natural reserve) to meet up with the other EFA staff and get some more info for the website and the annual report. This excursion will be with Chani, Charles (remember him from Banana Islands? Birdwatcher), Tommy (director) and Steve (IT/Info unit, Tommy’s brother). It’s about a 5 hour drive on, apparently, good roads. We’ll attend a meeting in Bo, stay the night and discover the 12 square meter natural reserve on Tuesday. I think Tommy wants us to tag along everywhere possible so that we can take on more responsibilities.