Things I Learn in Sierra Leone

One of the great triumphs of Sierra Leone is people's fearless resourcefulness. Nothing, it seems, is ever broken beyond repair. (But, before we get distracted by silver linings, I want to underscore that this is all a consequence of poverty, deprivation, and global marginalisation. From a tree-hugging perspective it seems great that someone in Sierra Leone can almost always put another's cast-off to use, and that everything is salvageable, revitalizable, fixable. In reality, everyone would rather have nice new things.) That said, I have learned so much about how to do more with less here it is a constant source of excitement.

First of all, cars generally arrive after a decade or more of previous Western use and with hundreds of thousands of miles already on them. As a result, I have learned a LOT about cars. It's hard to know much of anything about cars in America because they don't break down very much, when they do it's usually due to some remote controlled electrical computerised robot failure, and to be fixed they are carted off on tow trucks into magic secret jiffy stations that give them hundred-dollars cures behind the scenes. In Sierra Leone, however, cars are actually machines with working -or not, as the case may be- parts that can be de- and re-constructed countless times.

I have learned how to push start (method of choice) dead battery cars, as well as use a truck's ill fitting battery to juice a car, then change the battery while keeping the engine running to load the correct-but-dead battery. Both of these methods, incidentally, have rescued the barbie safari car.

Also, did you know that cars can run without a key in the ignition? A wildly entertaining taxi ride featured a driver whose key kept falling out of the ignition and landing on the floor at his feet. Over and over again. I couldn't stop laughing.

Fueling cars is an artform in itself. While there are some brand new foreign-owned filling stations in Freetown, the breadth of fueling activities across the country is like a history lesson in gas stations. The first revelation was watching young boys hand crank the fuel up into the one gallon jug at a National Petroleum (NP) station on the Freetown-Makeni highway before the fuel - "petrol" - was delivered by hose and nozzle to my car. Even more striking was the handmade gallon jug with funnel attachment I posted a picture of a few weeks ago (see below, June 14th-ish). Sure, it's obvious that you can just pour petrol into a car, I guess, but who would ever try that at home?

Everything in America has become so highly technical, that it has been sterilized and specialised. I would have never dreamt nor dared to hand-fuel a car. But being in Sierra Leone brings me a little closer to the form-function nexus. And is not only educational (nay I say revelatory) but also a bit liberating. Things aren't so fancy, and unfortunately sometimes they do not work so well for lack of supplies, but where there is a problem, people tend to be much more closely connected to the solution than in the States.

This brings me to the breakdown while driving to Tongo Field. As I explained in the previous post, a large rock buried in the mud cut my exhaust pipe between the first and second chamber, making my car growl like a Harley (so annoying and intrusive passing villages!) and making it, as my colleague and assistant described, "lazy," or slow. With no option but to keep on trucking, we roared our way slowly (a hilarious combination) to the impoverished diamond mining town. Enter the garage. The men there were working furiously on an engine-less car that has clearly not been driven anywhere in recent memory, but happily pushed it aside (literally) to take a look at my own exhaust problem and weld the pipe back together.

The old man knew cars. He wanted to check all my various oils and fluids and greases, and lauded the car as a "strong car" - it's persistent accolade amongst locals. I have had many parts welded back together on this once rust-afflicted vehicle, so am no longer as dazzled by the straightforwardness of melting metal with metal to repair damage. What was new this time was the ditch they'd built beneath the tire tracks to more easily see and reach around under the chassis. I've always pitied mechanics here because they seem to routinely have to dive under cars on their backs and bellies, lacking those hydraulic sky jacks that perilously hoist cars to the rafters in American garages. Yet, in Tongo they had created the most poetically logical solution I could imagine, simply walking beneath the car to work from below. Yes, the welder still worked without eye protection, and the lack of spare parts was total...but the human capital was boundless. They let me squeeze in under the car with them to examine the problem in my bright pink dress, patiently showed me a few other places I might want to check out in Freetown, and brought a chair out of nowhere to make sure I sat down while they worked. And the price? Le 35,000, about $9. I'm grateful for the opportunities I have had here to learn more about cars and how to fix things in general.

Add to the list of lessons learned: drive in pants and wear brown so that breakdowns aren't such a mess. I immediately employed this lesson on the drive to Kailahun, and immediately benefited when the car 'fashuned' (fastened/got stuck) in the 'pohto-pohto' (mud) for over an hour.

Add to the list of lessons learned: always inquire if a road is passable before trying to drive it, and How to Pull a Car out of Several Feet of Mud when the Four-Wheel Drive Fails.