Arrival in Sierra Leone

At this point in my life, the thrill of an airplane taking off has kind of died down for me over the years. But this flight was different. I finally felt my heart race and my stomach flutter in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. “No turning back now,” I thought to myself as I felt the plane leave the ground. I wasn’t afraid or nervous thinking about the task I was undertaking. All I felt was excitement. I was really doing it. As Bilbo Baggins once said, “I’m going on an adventure!”

My first sight of Africa was the setting sun casting it’s golden rays on winding rivers making their way to the open sea. This was when the nervousness hit. I’ve never been to Africa. So the thought of living there for 3 years hit me like a ton of bricks and my stomach dropped as the plane descended. But I took a deep breath, said a prayer, squared my shoulders, and took my first steps into my new life. And those first steps were those of a tottering toddler. The first person I met was a customs official who checked if we had our passports. In a heavily accented voice, he asked, “Do you have a visa?” I thought he meant a work visa which I will acquire later. I told him “No,” and he flipped through the pages of my passport until he found my verification of entry. “Here it is,” he exclaimed in annoyance. “Why you say no?” The only thing I could answer was, “I don’t know,” and he moved me along. Ah yes, the life of a clueless tourist. Not my favorite role in life.

After another passport check, I got all my bags together and made my way towards the baggage check. I was the very last passenger in line and after the man who checked my baggage labels had done his job he asked, “Do you have tip-tip?” You guys need to realize, my mind was foggy after spending so many hours in the sky and I had no idea what he was talking about. “What?” I replied. “I want to buy a drink,” he said. “Oh,” I said. “I don’t drink.” Again, foggy mind. “No, tip-tip!” he persisted. This went on for far too long until he made the universal sign of rubbing his fingers together. “Ah ha! Tip!” I cried out in triumph. Only to realize I had American money and not Leones. Well, he had asked and he would receive. I openly gave him five bucks and he impatiently moved me along. Great first impression Sal, I told myself. You look like a first-class idiot.

So there I was in the airport lobby, knowing I looked like a poor lost lamb, and I just stood there, hoping whoever was going to pick me up would know me. A young lady with orange hair and a matching shirt soon came up to me. “Are you part of World Mission?” she asked. Now my foggy mind knew one thing clearly; whoever was picking me up would know the Lay Mission Helpers name correctly and my name. This was not my person. “I’m part of a mission but not World Mission,” I said. She nodded sagely and asked, “You paid your bag fee?” A clear image of Janice England telling me I needed $25 for a baggage fee burst through the fog in my mind and I said, “No, not yet.” The lady in orange told me, “You need to go to one of the banks and pay.” She led me to one and asked other questions, all of which I could only answer with a dumb “No”. As I was digging around for the amount, and security guard came up to me and said, “Are you Suh-Lee Ro-gas?” That is as close to my name as it was gonna get, so I dumbly nodded. “There is a priest waiting for you outside,” he said. Relief flooded me so fast I forgot to thank the lady in orange. I still think about her sometimes. Her straightforward personality and color choices are hard to forget.

My escort was easy to spot. He was wearing white vestments with his arms spread wide to embrace me. “You made it!” he said with a wide smile. “I am Monsignor John. We’re so happy you’re here!” All that nervousness and embarrassment went right out of me meeting Monsignor John. All that was left was joy. “I’m happy to be here,” I told him honestly. After so many months of preparation, my mission was finally beginning.

Father John took me to his car, where our driver was waiting. As we drove, Father John began telling me everything about the surrounding area. He pointed out the way to Freetown and told me the names of the villages we passed. Outside we passed people walking on the side of the road. Some carried flashlights, others walked in the darkness of night. We passed families outside their homes, sitting around fires or lanterns. There were no stop signs or traffic lights. Only speed bumps and honking horns communicating with the various vehicles on the road. I was grateful the road was paved and not very curvy. It was dark, but I could make out the silhouettes of plants and trees I had never seen before. At first, I listened to Father John with the rapture of a child hearing a good fairy tale, but soon I could barely keep my eyes open. I felt so bad. Father John wanted to help me know and understand Sierra Leone and I couldn’t even stay awake. Finally, my eyes couldn’t stay open anymore and I felt my body slump in my seat. We arrived in Makeni about 10:30 pm. The power was out. This didn’t surprise me. I knew about the frequent blackouts and had come prepared. But Father John generously loaned me a lamp and some bug spray to get me through the night. I have to say, I was grateful I didn’t have to dig through my suitcases. The car came to a darling little house in a gated courtyard. “This is where you will stay,” Father John told me. The house is next to a convent of Nigerian sisters. After getting my baggage inside and showing me around, Father said, “We will let you sleep and sleep for your first day.” I thanked him as he drove away, and I was left alone to rest. My first case of culture shock came with my bed. There were no sheets or blankets. Instead, the mattress was covered with a soft, plastic tarp with pillowcases made of the same material. If you think about it, laying on top of this style of bedding makes way more sense than sweating under itchy cotton sheets and I was much more comfortable.

I was awakened by the call for the Islamic morning prayer. I’ve heard it before when I visited Isreal years ago. It was nice to be able to identify something. Everything before had been a mystery and a new discovery for me. I found some muffins, biscuits and powdered milk had been left for my breakfast and I ate gratefully. I had a cold shower and let me tell you, it was blissful after a full night of sweating. Later, I heard a knock at my door and found a sister on my porch. “Good morning,” she said. “I am here to take you to mass.”

I quickly changed into a church appropriate dress, I found the sister (I wish I could remember her name!) in the car and the priest of Holy Spirit Church, Father Manuel, was to be our driver. I loved the music they played during the service. It reminded me of reggae. And it was so comforting to hear the mass being said because no matter where you go, the Liturgy is basically the same. Even better, it was done in English! I knew what to do and I knew what to say. The congregation was so welcoming when Father Manuel introduced me. Everyone seemed thrilled when they heard my name. Apparently, Sally sounds like a Sierra Leonean name, which is pronounced “Suh-Lee”. I’m happy to go by that name while I stay here. Many people shook my hand and said, “Welcome.” It feels good to be welcomed. It’s not like coming home to something, but more like feeling a part of something. Like, even though this isn’t my home, I still belong.

One young lady came up to me after the service and asked me if I would like to join a group of young adults that helps organize church events. They were meeting after church service and I eagerly agreed. Again, I was welcomed but most of the discussion was in Krio so my understanding of what they were organizing is limited. To be fair, the group leader Dominic tried to explain to me what was going on in English, but so many people were talking over him and he spent so much time shushing them and I couldn’t stop laughing, so I didn’t catch much of his explanation. From what I understand, they are putting on an event called “Africana”, which they also called Thanksgiving sometimes, and for some reason a dress is involved. I know because they kept passing around a phone with a picture of a dress and apparently everyone approves of the dress. To help organize, we were divided into two groups. I was placed in Group A, where everyone high-fived every time they got a new member and I was no exception. One lady in the group called Mafida gave me her phone number so I could be updated. I have yet to get a local phone, but I told her as soon as I did, I would reach out to her.

Father Manuel and the sister invited me to have lunch with them. They served rice and a fish head stew. I know what you’re thinking. But the fish tasted so good. The stew had such a good flavor that I didn’t mind my lunch staring back at me. For dessert we had teeny, tiny bananas. They were what bananas were meant to be; sweet and scrumptious. I was driven back to my house, I met the Vicor General Dominic. He introduced himself and told me that tomorrow he is going to take me to meet the bishop and to meet the hospital staff. I can’t wait!

That evening, I got to see Father John again! I was so happy to see a familiar face. He took me to dinner at a place called “Lodge Valley”. On the way there, he drove all over Makeni pointing out schools and the parsonage headquarters, telling me about the politics of Sierra Leone and parts of the history. Lodge Valley is run by a friend of Father John’s. Father John called him “Pa Ali”. Father John told me that you address an older gentleman by “Pa”. We went to a courtyard where the three of us sat and the two men tried teaching me some Krio and educate me about the different tribes of Sierra Leone. Father John told me that another priest named Father Gabriel is going to teach me more about Krio and the culture. I am so grateful that I have instructors while I’m here and I won’t be too much in the dark about the country I will be living in for 3 years. A young lady named Kah-dee served us our meal. Father John introduced us and told me about how he had known her since she was a baby because her mother Elizabeth had been part of his congregation. Kah-dee told me about how she works and goes to university at the same time.

Our meal was roasted chicken, French fries, and plantains. Plantains are one of my favorite foods because my Coco (my grandma) makes them for me at her home. Again, it was nice to see something familiar. While we ate, I kept seeing flashes of light and pointed them out to Father John. He didn’t know what it was either until we both started feeling raindrops. We quickly moved our meal to shelter, and a torrential storm started pouring down. Never had I seen rain come down so fast or lightning and thunder flash and crash so furiously. It was spectacular! I loved it. Father John told me it is very unusual to see this kind of weather in February. Most storms come in the rainy season around August and September. It’s the dry season right now. He told me everyone would be happy to see the rain.

He drove me back home to my little house. It was a wonderful first day. It helped me believe that I can become a part of the community and made me even more excited to learn about this country. I thank God that He brought me here. I feel well taken care of and safe.