Tag Archives: travel

Trashing the bed…

Of the scores of photos I’ve taken in Africa, there is one that stays with me. It is a photo of the labour and delivery bed in the clinic in Sumbuya, Sierra Leone. The leather itself seems anguished–worn in places–torn … Continue reading

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To my friends in Sierra Leone

In March of this year I was in an airport lounge in Brussels, getting caught up on world news after my most recent trip to Sierra Leone, when I first read that ebola had entered the country through neighbouring Guinea. … Continue reading

Posted in Miscellaneous, Salone 2014 | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Salone 2014: on returning to Sierra Leone

The novel is out, the reviews are wonderful and I’m moving on to other projects, writing and otherwise. I’ve been meaning to write about the notes I’ve been receiving from readers of My Heart is Not My Own. And I … Continue reading

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Taking the back way through Sierra Leone

I hadn’t counted on National Cleanup Day. A country with no garbage pickup—no recycling. On windy days plastic bags swirl like leaves. But not on National Cleanup Day. The only vehicles on the roads belong to police, or the military … Continue reading

Posted in Miscellaneous, Salone 2012 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Passion Play in the Serengeti

Two million animals in search of the tall grasses. An endless circle, with no beginning And no end. Languid walks along the plains, The sweet grasses disappearing within days of their coming, The relentless movement of wildebeest The life-force of … Continue reading

Posted in Miscellaneous, Tanzania 2012 | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Through the North

Back. On this trip I’ll first go to Kabala in the north. Kenawa has been hard to contact and I learned that he’s been seriously ill. With regrets, we promise to meet up on my return through Freetown. I arrange … Continue reading

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Return to Freetown

Freetown has changed. In 2000 it was a place of U.N., ECOMOG and Sierra Leonean soldiers. Too many sneering boys in combat fatigues with fingers twitching along the barrels of AK-47s. A nation of people who hadn’t slept in a … Continue reading

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Sumbuya days

I awaken to the muezzin’s call to prayers—still dark, 6 am. I hear the sound of chopping wood, voices around the cooking fire. I am staying with Madame Yeamah, the aunt of my friend Jose Tenga. Madame Yeamah is the … Continue reading

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