Justice in the Streets

Ann and I were not looking forward to our trip back to Kenema from Bureh Beach.    Last time we visited the beach, we took a cab to Freetown, stayed two nights, and bought government bus tickets home from there (50,000 Leones total).  This time the government bus was not an option as it only leaves from Freetown.   Brittany's  family had solved the problem of getting from Bureh to her site by hiring a minivan for $100 (~ 750,000 L).  Anywhere else in the world this would be a fantastically reasonable charge for a 200-mile trip for four people with luggage, but Brittany admitted that they had paid too much.

Charles, the helpful proprietor and chef at Maroon View, had found us a driver who would take us to the main highway for 50,000 L and all the way to Kenema for 800,000 L.  We told him thanks, but no thanks, knowing that 6,000 L was the regular price for a Sierra Leonean to get from Bureh to the highway. And therein lies the problem.  White people in Salone are almost invariably asked to pay more for transportation costs than a native. Transportation costs are somewhat fixed, but there is always room for negotiation in this country. It was up to us to bargain for a more reasonable fare.  At least we had an idea of an upper bound for the entire trip.

After  breakfast, we bade farewell to the Atlantic Ocean and hiked the quarter-mile up to the main road where we could catch a passing taxi.  After only 15 minutes of waiting, along came a taxi with six other occupants, two in the front (besides the driver) and four in the back.  Fortunately for us, we could replace two in the back as Bureh was their destination.  It’s a tight fit for four adults to sit in a compact sedan (think Toyota Corolla) but that is why it only costs 6,000 L. per person.  Ann and I knew we could not do this for the four hour trip all the way back to Kenema, but we could put up with a little inconvenience for the 20 minutes it would take to get us to Waterloo.

As we drove to Waterloo, I mentally broke down the remainder of our trip into four parts, each part taking roughly an hour. I thought 10,000 L per leg was reasonable. In Kenema I had been offered a ride all the way to Freetown for 40,000 L in a crowded minivan.  In my mind 200,000 L should be able to buy us an entire taxi (five seats) from Waterloo to Kenema.  When we got to the car park at Waterloo again we were offered ridiculous prices of 500,000 – 800,000 L to hire a taxi to Kenema.   A helpful man came up and talked to Alfred, our driver, and us about  a reasonable taxi fare.  The man suggested that 200,000 L was a fair price.  Since we could not strike a deal at this one car park, we asked Alfred to drive us to another car park two miles away on the highway to Kenema.  Alfred agreed to drive us there.

By the time we got to the second car park we thought that Alfred had decided he could drive us all the way to Kenema and also that he agreed to the payment of 200,000 L  for Ann and me to have the whole back seat.  He had the ability to pick up extra fares for the front seat.  Alfred wanted to buy a new spare tire for the long trip and needed 120,000 L for gas ahead of time.  We had never paid for gas in all of our other taxi rides, so we naturally thought that this was a prepayment for part of our 200,000 L fare, so we handed it over.  Once the spare was purchased and inflated, Alfred found  a young woman who was traveling to Bo to take the front seat .  She paid 30,000 L for her seat.

The trip was long, but fine riding with the ability to stretch out our legs a bit.  One fly in the ointment happened just before we got to Bo when we encountered a police barrier.  There are police barriers outside every major city.  Usually we breeze through these barriers (really just a cord across the road) without having to stop.  This time we had to stop.  An immigration officer looked over our immigration cards and other documents, but the main concern of the police was checking to see if Alfred had a current taxi license and insurance.  He did not.  A 15-minute discussion between Alfred and the officials ended with Alfred going back behind a building with one official.  As it turned out, Alfred  was free to leave after paying a 50,000 L fine (bribe?).  As we traveled from Bo to Kenema, I conjectured that Alfred was thinking about how he could recoup that money.  Sure enough, when we arrived at the Eastern Polytechnic gate, he wanted us to pay a total of 320,000 L instead of the 200,000 L that had previously (we thought) been agreed on plus 20,000 L (for the ride between Bureh and Waterloo).

A big argument between Alfred and me ensued with yelling on both sides.  I accused him of trying to get more money out of us.  This happened to us before in our trip to Tokeh, where the taxi driver started complaining about the previously agreed upon price of the ride about halfway to our destination.  I pointed out to Alfred that he only charged the girl 30,000 L for her seat and accused him of trying to get us to pay his fine money.  He said that we had agreed to 200,000 L for him and 120,000 L for the gas. Ann tried to mollify him by adding another 20,000 L to our offer.  That put it at 240,000 L but he dramatically refused saying he'd rather have NO money than too little.

The crowd would double in size as I awaited the street court decision.

As often happens in Sierra Leone an argument draws a crowd and soon we were surrounded by about 20 interested bystanders all wanting know what the yelling was about.  It was a typical street justice scene that I have witnessed before in this country.  (Usually these impromptu courts are a result of some minor motorcycle accident.)  A couple of Eastern Polytechnic lecturers acted as judges, hearing out the stories of Alfred and myself.  Alfred pleaded his case, but to no avail.  It was hard for him to convince the crowd (jury) that he had been short-changed when he had collected a total of 270,000 L for the trip.  After about 30 minutes of argument, Ann and I disappeared. When I came back to check on the situation 15 minutes later, a colleague told me that Alfred had accepted the money.

It is hard for me to say whether this situation was precipitated by a true lack of communication or whether it was another example of us being treated as rich white people in this country.  From my previous experience in Africa, I expected a certain amount of prejudice because of the color of my skin.  Usually, this was to my advantage.  For example, hitch-hiking in Kenya 40 years ago was a snap because any vehicle that saw a white person at the side of the road would pick them up, wondering why this foreigner didn’t have his own vehicle and sure in their mind that the foreigner could not walk for miles like the natives.  Even here in Sierra Leone I have noted before  in this blog being called back into the air-conditioned comfort of the bank offices while the average Sierra Leonean sweats it out front in a line.  That’s one example of white privilege here.  The opposite side of the coin is manifested every time we are out walking about town.  Invariably, Ann and I will be asked for money by kids who call us auntie and uncle and street beggars who hang out around the grocery stores where we shop who call us friend.  It is the price people pay when they are seen as being rich.  I am looking forward to just being an average Joe in a couple of months.  I don’t think I am cut out to be a rich person, at least not a recognizable one.