| Arriving to Africa |
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| Written by Toby Clarkson - Student ('08) | |
| Wednesday, 30 January 2008 | |
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It has been one week, two days and approximately twelve hours since I arrived on the African continent. This has been the first real chance for me to sit down, clear my thoughts and write freely, which gives you an idea of just how hectic and busy everything has been. I guess I’ll start at the beginning. My travel to Sierra Leone was unlike anything I had ever experienced. For one, flying Air India was a utility I felt worth noting. The curry chicken was great, as was the entire row of seats I had to stretch out on. The vast diversity of people around me was simply foreshadowing the next four plus months of my life. After a comfortable flight, we reached Heathrow Airport in London, England. After a couple crazy hours running through customs, retrieving baggage and transferring to Gatwick Airport, it was time for the real fun to begin. I had long been anticipating what our plane to Africa would look like, obviously among many other things, and it’s fair to say I wasn’t disappointed. A covert looking, fresh white plane was our mode of transport, appropriate. Eight hours later and a quick stop in Monrovia, we had finally reached Freetown International Airport. It is at this point in my trip where everything changed. The next four plus hours became surreal, almost hard to clearly recollect, and definitely hard to put into words. Once off the plane, a short walk into the “terminal” marked the start of chaos. Immediately entering a Sierra Leone customs line, I felt sure of myself, as things seemed for a moment to be going as they “should.” It couldn’t have been a minute later when a Sierra Leonean police officer approached me asking for my passport. I instantly removed it and showed him, as he then told me to follow him. He ended up bringing me to a shorter line (although I was pretty sure it wasn’t the correct line), and assuring me that he was doing me a big favor. After presenting my passport and being stamped, I passed through to baggage claim. I must not have made it more than three steps when that same “helpful” police officer reproached me, and insisted that I give him a “present.” At first I was unsure of what he meant, but then I quickly realized he wanted money. This type of interaction was just the beginning of numerous interesting encounters. After evading the police officer several times, I made my way to baggage claim where several more Sierra Leoneans approached me asking for handouts. To my gratefulness all of our bags had reached the airport, were collected and carried to the craziest and most intense part of my travel. Stepping through a doorway we entered a “room” filled with at least one hundred Sierra Leoneans, all screaming at one another, as well as us, in a mass attempt to be the lucky ones who were to transport us, the foreigners. With as many as ten different people trying to grab mine and other’s bags, I began to slip into defense mode. Lucky for me I was in good hands, being the other brave Amistad crew members, and was able to follow the others through the intense crowd. Eventually we all reached the street, a scene of continued chaos, with defenders, shanty busses and dirt bikes everywhere I looked. It was then time for Captain Bill Pinkney to take over. With his powerful voice he took command of the swarming crowd shouting: “I want three men! Only three men! You! You! And You! I want every single bag in the bus, not one missing!” To this day I am thankful he was there, as the chaos finally seemed to be lifted. Our group packed into a bus, all giddy to have finally gotten off the street. After about fifteen minutes of bus packing craziness, we were on our way to Amistad. The bus ride through the unpaved roads was incredible, with people walking everywhere through the night, dogs crossing everywhere, cars making unbelievably strange turns forcing our driver to lay out the horn numerous times, as well as the fifteen passenger bus seemingly bursting with thirty. Something then happened that I will never forget, a moment that brought me back down to earth and put me in the hands of Sierra Leone. The bus radio was turned up loudly with Wyclef Jean’s “Sweetest Girl” blasting. Even though I was some three thousand miles from my home, a single song was all it took to make me feel welcome in another’s. The remaining bus ride, including an eventful ferry ride, was overwhelming yet exciting. Eventually we reached Government Warf, our rendezvous point for a short zodiac ride to Amistad. After a brief reunion with my father and others, we began transporting luggage and bodies to Amistad, anchored some two hundred fifty yards offshore in Kroo Bay. As I stepped onto Amistad, my portion of the Freedom Tour had finally begun. I do hope all is well with everyone at home and that the summer heat has finally broken. We had our own little heat wave as we rode with the Gulf Stream. The water temperature stayed in the 70s and sleeping at night was uncomfortable. Its a lot cooler now that we have passed through. The current weather is more like I remember back when I first sailed these waters with the Coast Guard Cutter” Mendota”. I can’t believe that this was 40 plus years ago.To Myriam I send my love and kisses. You are missed more than you can imagine. Have you given any thought to meeting in England ? Comments
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