"Who Wants To See Slides Of My Vacation?"

Growing up in the fifties and sixties, many of us baby-boomers were subjected to the family ritual of the vacation slideshow.  I remember vividly summer nights at my grandparents' house when my grandmother would, without too much effort, persuade my grandfather to break out the Kodak slides from some trip they had taken.  My sister and I would each be given a bowl of popcorn to keep us quiet as we watched the one-hour presentation which invariably contained its share of jammed and upside-down slides.  So, with my apologies in advance, pop some Orville’s in the microwave and endure the show.   First slide, please

One great thing about the Tokeh Sands resort is that it is very close to the ocean. Mornings I breakfasted on an spicy African omelet while drinking a cup of instant Nescafe, and gazing out at the waves lapping the shore less than 40 yards away.  We enjoyed beach walks in the morning when the tide was going out heading south to Tokeh village and River #1 or north to River #2, each about a mile away.  I tried without success to find out from the locals why no one ever got around to giving these rivers more distinguished names.  Does Sierra have so many rivers that they got tired of naming them? 

Our first morning at the resort we headed south to Tokeh to see the village and purchase ten liters of water for 4K and avoid the 18K charge for two liters at the hotel.  Anyone could walk along the beach between the water and the high tide mark, but at the three resorts, security personnel are posted to keep the non-guests off the property.  Some locals walk the beach with items to sell: coconuts, fresh fish, and snacks, such as my favorite – coconut cakes.  Others would post themselves just off resort property.  One such person was Henry, the shell seller. He was tall and looked to be in his fifties. He made a meager living buying and selling shells and old coins.  There are hardly any shells on the beach, so the ones Henry had were imported.  I made the strategic mistake of buying a small shell from him the very first day hoping that would satisfy him.  During my stay, I  learned that I could count on three things while walking the beach: Henry, trying to sell me another shell, Dauda, a young man trying to sell me a beach-side fish dinner, and kids from the high priced resort down the way, zooming up and down the beach on mini-four-wheelers endangering my life.  Next.

As we approached the village, we met a couple of young fisherman who proudly showed us their catch of a few fish and an 8" seahorse.  Ann now regrets not purchasing the seahorse, just to set it free.  A few yards further down the beach we observed a group of men mending a large fishing net. At River #1 we encountered Noah who offered us a fish dinner on the beach that evening and a guided paddle up River #1 to see a waterfall.  His uncle rented beach-side huts to vacationers.  The price was right ($22/night per person), but sleeping on a board platform with no electricity or water did not fit into our picture of living in paradise.

Noah showed us around Tokeh. This was the first village that I have visited in Sierra Leone, all the others I have viewed out a car or bus window.  The first stop was Noah’s house where he showed us a photo of the waterfall (rather unspectacular).  Tokeh has one paved street around which small businesses and a school were situated.  Small houses spread out from the main street connected only by dusty walkways.  Noah pointed out a seafood export business located at the end of the main street.  He said it was owned by an African-American, not in town at the moment.  A quote from the Bible was painted on the gate of the compound. “I am the Lord thy God which teacheth thee to profit.” Isaiah 48:17.  On our way back to the beach we passed the ataya base hut where men of the community were engaged in a loud discussion while sipping their cups of strong tea.  Next.

We were able to see the fisherman in action the second day of our stay. Actually, a whole community of 35 people, young and old, were involved pulling the long net that had been set out by a boat about 50 yards off shore.  Floats attached to the top of the net kept it from sinking.  The effort looked like a giant tug-of-war with about 15 people manning each of the two lines pulling with all of their might.  The whole process took over an hour.  As the end of the net got close to shore, a few brave fish ventured from the comfort of the sea into the unknown atmosphere above, finding their freedom on the other side of the web.  Next.

When finally pulled ashore, the net contained mostly mullet, sardines, crabs, joy fish, and one or two menacing looking barracuda.   They would be taken to sell, fresh or smoked, to Freetown. 

The next day at River #2 we observed a single fisherman working the shallows where the river met the sea.  He tossed his circular net out into the water hoping that the net, fixed with lead weights on its edge, would trap a school of fish.  He had about a dozen shining silver in his creel.  It is easy to fantasize about the life of a fisherman.  It’s a chore for sure, but there is protein at the end of the day.  And it’s hard to beat the working conditions.  Next.

We also saw remnants of the civil war.  When the RUF came through,  it first occupied, and then destroyed everything  as it moved on.  Here is what is left of the French hotel, The Africana.  Back in the day, vacationers would boat down from Freetown to spend a weekend at Tokeh.  Tokeh Sands is rising from The Africana’s ashes and investors are betting on a turn around in the tourist industry by putting money into more beachside development in this area.  Next.

 

Two days before New Year's  a group of twenty arrived in a big yellow truck and pitched their tents at the side of the resort.  This turned out to be some young and old adventurers taking a tour of Africa with an outfit called OASIS.  If you can't read the fine print on the vehicle, it says, "London - Cape Town - Cairo - 40 Weeks." (Ok, I got this image off the internet. There are no giraffes roaming the beaches of Sierra Leone.)  Imagine, if you will, bush camping your way through Africa with 19 other similarly minded people, crammed together in this monster truck for 40 weeks. 
Most on the trip were only going from Morocco down to Cape Town. I never got a chance to talk to the driver/leader of the group, Steve, but people I talked to said he had been doing this job for years.  Picture a sixty-year-old Amish farmer and you have a good idea of what Steve looks like.  I did talk to Bruce, a retired Australian, and of course my first question was, "Why?"  He explained that it was the only way to see all of these countries in a relatively short amount of time.  They hit all of the high points, but I imagine there are a lot of low points along the way too.  Tokeh beach, a three night stop, was probably the most luxurious stay so far on the trip.  There were two unmarried couples on this trip.  What better way to test a relationship: traveling with limited water for days, getting hassled at border crossings, waiting for hours to get visas, shoveling your own latrine on some nights, cooking your own food, washing (or not) your clothes? Not my cup of tea.  Another traveler, Ron, a retired physician, shared his blog address with me - ronperrier.net.  I am following the group now.  Last I checked, they were in Liberia and Ron was a bit ticked off by others not sharing their personal food with him when he has been generous with his.  The group dynamics must be fascinating. Next.

Our first few days at the resort were fairly quiet, a just few young families enjoying the beach.  As New Year's Day approached, however, the atmosphere changed.  More people began arriving, mostly larger Lebanese families from Freetown.  The dining area was filled now and the menu began to shrink. Here are three men enjoying  hookahs as the sun was setting.  The Lebanese women also  relaxed on the beach with a hookah, but we did not see them change out of their clothes to go swimming.  Their fun at the beach was strictly limited to the sand, not the water.

With the influx of people, Ann and I were reminded of our privilege in this impoverished country.  Sure, there are a few rich native Sierra Leoneans, but it seems to us that the real economic power still resides with the Lebanese, Indians, and others whose families took the big gamble and immigrated here decades long ago.  Like us, they can afford to vacation on the beach, bringing along Sierra Leone nannies to look after their children. I am not so self-sacrificial to deny myself this once in a life opportunity to see this awesome side of Salone.  I just wish every Sierra Leonean could experience a week in paradise like me.  Maybe their idea of paradise is a bit different.  The resort at River #2 seemed to be favored by most natives.  We estimated about 500 people there on New Year's Day.  It definitely had more of a party atmosphere.  We could hear the loud music at night a mile away.  During the day, kids frolicked in the shallow river at low tide, much safer than the ocean for those who could not swim.  The trick will be to keep these places clean and safe for future generations to enjoy. Last.

Goodbye 2016