Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Exit Stage Left

On March 31, I left Sierra Leone after ten intense weeks of living with Dr. Barrie and working on two health care projects. I hoped that my final day in Sierra Leone would be both stress- and sweat- free, but Freetown was relentless until the moment I boarded the plane.

My flight out of Lungi airport, located across the bay from Freetown, was scheduled for midnight. Just before 7:30 p.m., I finished washing up and zippered my bag. The last light was disappearing over the hills, and Dr. Barrie and his family were praying by candlelight in the common room. I stood by discreetly for a few minutes and then paced on the balcony a times. Ten minutes passed, and the traffic outside looked menacing. They looked deep in prayer, but I wanted to say goodbye. Finally, their prayers ended. I hugged everyone—Dr. Barrie’s wife, mother, mother-in-law, grandmother-in-law, son, daughter, cousins, and sister-in-law. Many aspects of Sierra Leone would be easy to part with, but I was truly sad to leave these people.

Dan, Dr. Barrie, and I hopped into our vehicle for the short ride to the ferry terminal, but we could not even pull out onto Mountain Cut. The traffic was gridlocked, and the last ferry was scheduled to depart in twenty minutes. We got out of the car, each of us carrying one of my bags, and started walking. With sudden inspiration, Dr. Barrie hailed a passing motorbike. Dan did the same, and soon, with heavy bags on our backs and across our laps, we were weaving in and out of traffic and riding down the center line between immobilized vehicles.

By this time, I had completely sweated through the clothes I would be wearing for the next forty-eight hours. Otherwise, traffic had finally opened up and we were zooming towards the ferry terminal. Our three motorbikes arrived one after the other, and we all laughed in relief. But three men shouted that we would miss the ferry if we didn’t run.

We left Dr. Barrie behind and ran through the terminal and out the other side. The ferry was backed up to a concrete loading ramp leading into the water. The boat was inching away from the ramp, and the boat’s loading stand was lifting. Dan ran ahead to get on the boat, and I struggled with my bags. I watched Dan jump three feet up to the platform and thought I’d never make it. I got up to the base of the ferry and was looking up in defeat when three young men from above grabbed me, bags and all, and lifted me effortlessly onto the boat. They let me catch my breath before demanding a small token for their deed. Then they disappeared into the crowd on the lower level of ferry.

The ferry was completely full of people and their goods and belongings. We sat down on the only empty bench, but soon found out why it was empty. A crazy man stood by and shouted about ice cream for the entire ferry ride. We finally arrived on the other side of the bay, and I caught a local taxi for the last ten kilometers to the airport. For a little extra, I got the front seat in the car. Four other people piled in the back, and we were on our way.

At the airport, generators were running, check-in was smooth, and my flight left on time. I wrote my own baggage ticket, making sure that the letters S-F-O were crystal clear. A man took a picture of my passport with a digital camera. After a completely manual security check, I walked out onto the tarmac in the humid darkness. I was sweaty and exhausted. Culture shock began when I stepped inside the airplane: air conditioning, magazines, light. We were all disinfected with a light aerosol spray, in accordance with WHO regulations. And with that, we were hurling down the runway. I slept all the way to Heathrow, and it was the best I had slept in three months.