Trekking to the Moa

My Trek Single Track

During my interview in Port Loco where we had our two week orientation upon arrival in SL, Abubakar, the PC Response coordinator, asked me what I was going to do for exercise.  I told him I would most likely keep in shape by biking.  I knew that the Peace Corps was going to supply us with Trek mountain bikes as a way to get from our homes to our school, markets, or transportation hubs.  The bikes could also be used to travel to villages not more than 30 kilometers away. I was looking forward to pedaling around the countryside, what I like to do back in River Falls.




When Ann and I got to Kenema, we immediately realized that biking around town was not as safe as we would like it to be.  We tried to find routes to the regional PC office that were less traveled by the hordes of motorcycles, but no route seemed to be ideal. People do bike around town, but the are out-numbered 25 to 1 by the motorcycle riders that tear down the roads.  Ann put her bike in the extra bedroom.  I tried a few exploratory trips on the edge of town.  Our hesitancy to use the bikes increased when we were informed that one of our fellow Response volunteers had been side-swiped by a queen sized foam mattress while riding his bike.  Apparently the okada (motorcycle taxi) driver did not allow for enough clearance as his mattress-wielding passenger passed by our friend, Rob. No serious injuries, but we could easily see how something like that could happen to us.

I still longed to get out of town a bit on the bike.  I had my eye on visiting the nearby Moa River as a possible destination.  It is one of five major rivers in Sierra Leone that goes from the eastern side of the country to the sea on the west.  It happens to flow just 4 miles from my home. Adding to the intrigue of visiting a great river was the fact that the place I was headed is commonly called "The Beach" around here.  A big rap concert, advertised at the gate of the polytechnic, was to be held at The Beach the first weekend of December.  I was curious to see what kind of venue this was, but was hesitant to venture out alone.  When Juan, a PCV from up north, visited us during the weekend we celebrated Thanksgiving, I thought this was my opportunity to finally see the mighty Moa.

Sunday morning Juan and I were up for an early start to the river; the taller Juan on my bike and me on Ann's.  The first 1.5 miles on the paved road that goes right by my college I had done before. My major worry was getting lost in the last 2.5 miles of dirt road. Everyone we asked said that we should turn right when we got to the police barrier, but there the directions ended.  Sure enough, at the barrier at the end of the paved road we saw a big sign that read BEACH ->  The gendarme gave us little trouble when Juan explained that I was a lecturer at Eastern Polytechnic and we just wanted to see the river.

The last 2.5 miles was a little challenging, but not life threatening.  It was a road worthy of an all-terrain bicycle.  We had to cross two small streams where women were brooking (washing clothes).  Numerous water-filled potholes had to be negotiated or in some cases, plowed through. At every fork in the road, there was a sign that clearly marked the way.  No way could we get lost. We arrived at the beach and the outdoor arena only 35 minutes after leaving home.

Three old gazebos looked down on an ancient concrete stage.  There were men's and women's latrine areas and the whole "Coliseum" overlooked the river from above.  Old electric wires and fixtures spoke of a bygone time when this outdoor setting could have been "the scene"  The big Moa reminded me of the Kwango River  at my former Peace Corps site in Popokabaka.  Rapids above the beach provided a little thunder, lots of water.  We did not see any crocs.

Juan at the Moa.

Me at The Beach

Biking home we met many more people.  The mamas seemed to be amused by the two "pumoys" partially covered in mud approaching them on two-wheelers.  Everyone gave us a friendly greeting. Incredibly, we met a big lorry truck on the terrible potholed one lane road carrying a bunch of teenage boys loaded in the back.  It took up the whole roadway. We got off our bikes and stood at the side of the road as it passed, waving to the kids who seemed to be on some sort of outing.  There was only one bit of treacherous downhill going back and we arrived home accident free though tired.  The Trek bikes are solid, but also heavy.  Now I know why people suggested I make the trip during the dry season.  It was probably not worth all the clean-up: bikes, clothes, and body at the end. (OK, I'll be honest. Two small boys, Ibrahim and Alfred, insisted on washing my bike for me.)  However, the itch to see the Moa had been scratched.