The furnace of the African sun Was the perfect place to forge a friendship, To meld our souls, two servants together. It only seemed appropriate that This friendship was restored today Under the blaze of this burning Sun. As one we walk in different fields, A common life in different cultures, Together refined by Christ the Son.
In an act of perfect symmetry I was reunited with a friend from Sierra Leone in aheatwave reminiscent of my time there. (25.06.26)
I felt it then, the first time that I stepped outside the plane in Lungi International. Enveloped by a suffocating blanket, I stood, arrested by the heavy air. The skies were dark, I could not see its palms, but soon I found that mine were damp. This pattern would repeat each morning as we left our air-conditioned chalets and exclaimed ‘it’s hot again’, as if surprised. As if… These vibrant midnight scenes still tarry. The virgin walk across the unknown runway towards conflicting voices, thick and urgent. The chaos. Papers waved. Bribes sought. Unmoored. Sidestepping through the scrum to find our car. Escape. A momentary peace behind the windscreen. We drive past twinkling kerosene and figures emerging from the darkness, eyes lit up, rushing to meet the ferry at the harbour; meeting instead a herd of cars. We sit, the mercury rising, ‘midst the midnight hawkers. Cicada lullabies meet drowsy eyes. The ferry never comes. ‘It’s broken down.’ This news does not inspire my confidence. ‘Don’t worry there are two’, I’m told, ‘the other will soon arrive.’ Alas, that’s late as well. Strapped in, I sleep a stuffy, restless sleep, one eye half open so as not to miss the novelty, the other stupefied with heat. A decade on and home, I find September’s unexpected heatwave stirs up old ghosts wakes up, recalls, these vivid memories of sticky hands and distant drowsy streets.
* As Sierra Leone is sometimes known by its people.
Walking out in the hottest day of the year yesterday awoke memories of my first moments in Sierra Leone some twenty years ago. (11.09.23)
I carry memories of this land, It’s fingerprints impress upon me, And looking back it springs to life, With speed and vivid recollection. Oppressive dense humidity, Immediately dampens both my palms. Salone’s sweet earthy scent invades, My nostrils, dust my garment lines. A grimy vulture perched nearby, Awaits upon a skip hopefully. It makes me nervous, is it me It waits for? Shooing it away, I hear across the rusty roofs, The sounds of hustling street vendors, And traffic, loud with horns forming, Customary queues down Kissy Road. Elsewhere a coastal paradise, Untarnished white and vacant sands, Where fishermen haul in their catch, Dragging bright painted boats to land. Enthusiastic introductions, Their welcome offered up in song, Loud ululations, fast drum beats, With laughter loud and handshakes long. Despite Ebola’s touch and times Of bitter strife, this is a land Where riches can be found but not In stones, the people are its diamonds.
Sierra Leone is a special country for me. Despite its many struggles and traumas, it is also a country full of life. The latest Marillion album caught me by surprise with a track about it, bringing back all sorts of memories (listen below). (25.04.22)
Ode for the Day 