Opoto's Guide to the World Cup

This is part two of an ongoing series, following the first African World Cup.  In case you haven't been following the games, a quick update on where things stand.  Friday evening marked the end of the group stage, from which 16 teams advanced (the top two of each group), to begin the knockout round.  From here on, the tournament follows a typical bracket system that's a little easier to follow-- win, or you're out.  For this stage, the match-ups are as follows: Uruguay v. S. Korea; Ghana v. USA; England v. Germany; Argentina v. Mexico; Paraguay v. Japan; Brazil v. Chile; Netherlands v. Slovakia; Portugal v. Spain.  First item of note: only one African team remains-- Ghana, who now have the support of an entire continent supporting their quest.  In case you're wondering, any loyalty to my home country went away when I realized we were playing Ghana, because my heart wouldn't be in it.  Second item of note: the number of teams notably missing, particularly Italy and France, champions and runners-up for the 2006 World Cup.  The group stage was marked by upsets and surprises, which have made the tournament even more compelling.  However, for today, we're going to focus on two important lessons-- the first is sport related, the second is related to world politics/international affairs.
First, if you've ever watched a game of football, a number of qualities distinguish it from any other sport.  The game is ninety minutes, divided into two halves, and they play straight through-- no timeouts, no breaks, and additional time added at the end to account for any stoppages.  Teams have limited substitutions, and most players go full-time.  Given the size of the pitch and the amount of running, this requires incredible athleticism, as demonstrated by the bodies of football players.  It also remains fairly untainted by modern technology-- there are only four officials, with penalties decided at the sole discretion of the main referee.  All calls are final and there is no review process.  FIFA, the governing body, argues that this is essential to the "integrity of the game" and to ensure that the game is ruled the same from the grassroots level to the highest tiers.  Which sounds noble and good, until you get to the highest levels-- the World Cup-- and see the effect a bad call can have.  There have been questionable penalty calls, such as Kaka's red card against Cote d'Ivoire.  Teams that are better at acting hurt (see Latin American teams, particularly Uruguay) get more free kicks awarded, more penalties against their opponents.  However, the real drama emerges in the controversy surrounding goals: is the point awarded or not?  USA came from two points behind to tie Slovenia, and then scored a third goal, which was ruled invalid because the player was (arguably) offside.  In the reverse case, Argentina scored on Mexico from a blatantly offside position, but the referee allowed the goal.  With a two goal deficit, England rallied and scored twice on Germany in a matter of minutes; the second goal didn't count, because the ref didn't see it cross from his angle.  A simple replay showed the ball going in, but without the use of video replay or microchip technology, the decision on the field stands.  While the belief in the ref's infallibility is charming, it is difficult to understand what the game would lose from a simple process to review questionable goals-- either through a microchip or simply a halftime video review of the few goals that would be called into doubt.
Perhaps the more enduring legacy of the World Cup is what it teaches us about international relations.  Watching a team and their fans can reveal much about the national psyche.  When North Korea (wearing all red and warming up with military precision) failed to advance, their hopes turned to South Korea, despite bad relations between the nations.  With Ghana as the only African team in the knockout round (and now beyond), all of Africa is cheering them on.  And as demonstrated this weekend, the rivalry between England and Germany grows more bitter each year; England fans bring inflatable bombers and chant "Two World Wars and One World Cup. England, England."  The game has the capacity to unite -- community games have been used to reintegrate ex-combatant -- but also to divide.  Italy went home under heavy security, due to death threats when they failed to qualify.  Ghana's coach, Milo Rajevac - a Serbian native - has alleged that the demolition of his house was part of an attempt to intimidate him.  If this interests you, check out How Soccer Explains the World, which goes into further detail on this subject.
I'll leave you with that and the news that my laptop remains on the fritz, so photo updates will be fairly scarce.  More news to follow from my adventures in days to come.

A Photo Update (at last)

After much build up and anticipation, you can finally see some of the places and things I've been talking about!  Admittedly, this is only a small fraction of the photos I've taken, but it took an hour and a half to upload just these, so deal with it.   Photos!

Unfortunately, my laptop is currently having issues of the "grey screen/not turning on" variety, so I will be delayed in posting more photos until I can sort that out.  Alternatively, I may try to just upload them directly through a computer at one of the cafes, once I figure out if my laptop is gone for good or just being cranky.  Regardless, don't hold out hope for any new photos anytime soon.  Consider it a good time to use your imagination and remember what the world was like before the internet.

I hope everyone enjoys their weekend and gets to watch as much World Cup as your heart desires.

Human Rights and Customary Law

For convenience and to keep you updated on all details of my life, I'm linking to another post I wrote for the Leitner Interns blog. This goes into a little more detail about my actual work this summer and the issues/approaches I am taking to human rights.

In other news, it appears the rains have officially started. Every evening there have been heavy rains and/or thunderstorms, most often continuing into the morning, but stopping around the time I leave for work. It's been starting up again around 2 or 3 in the afternoon for several more hours. When I first arrived, I brushed off the comments about "the rains". After all, I've spent time in Oregon, I can deal with days of rain on end. Here's the thing about the rains here-- imagine a monsoon. Now imagine it lasting for 4 days straight. Now throw in a city built on various hills and winding roads, no drainage, and an inordinate amount of red dirt everywhere. On the one hand, it's pretty cool when walls turn into waterfalls and roads into rivers. On the other, when you're driving home and realize that the bridge you have to drive across (on an okada) is about 4 inches deep with dirty water rushing past? Maybe not as cool.

Also, as a World Cup update: USA advances to the knockout round (magic!) only to face Ghana on Saturday. As I may have mentioned, I think Africa deserves this one, so I'm torn between my country and my heart on this game.

Finally, watch this space for pictures, hopefully uploaded tonight.

The Unavoidable Kindness of Strangers

Last fall, walking down Ninth Ave, the strap of my flip-flop broke-- leaving me with just one functional shoe. Last week, the same thing happened on Kroo Town Road. The first lesson from this should probably be something about investing in better shoes, since they'll last longer (I know, Mom) or my uncanny ability to destroy things in unusual ways (exhibit A: cell phone in washing machine). Leaving that aside, the lesson I took was from the differences in the two experiences.
In New York, my friends offered to get me a cab (for two blocks?), but otherwise nobody on the street blinked an eye. Nobody stopped, nobody offered any assistance, and nobody seemed affected by the fact that I was walking barefoot down the NYC sidewalk, even though it was killing me with every step. Here in Freetown, I know I attract a little more attention than NYC, particularly downtown or wandering among food stalls. However, many people walking down the street do not have shoes, even broken ones. When my shoe broke, I sighed and resolved myself to finding an okada.
Immediately, several women expressed their sympathy from their stalls. One man offered to take me to "his guy" to fix it. His vague illustration of where it was ("Just there", accompanied by a wave of the hand that suggested several side streets) and the fact that my shoes had cost $5 simplified my decision to say no and just abandon the shoes. Then an older woman came and clutched my arm, directing my attention down. She had slipped off her shoes and was indicating I should take them. "Just bring them tomorrow," she told me. Feeling slightly embarrassed that, yet again, things had shifted to address my inconsequential needs, I thanked her and politely declined. She also mentioned "the guy" who could fix them and called her son to take me there. "Just there" was actually just two streets down. (I'm cautious when told distances because of the inconsistencies that arise from a flexible relationship with time and the tendency to walk long distances.) As I made my way, barefoot through the dust, I attracted many looks of sympathy. A man, surrounded by cheap sandals, saw me approach and silently held out his hand for the shoe. Blind in one eye, he inspected it carefully, then selected a needle, pliers, and heavy duty thread, handed to him by an assistant, just like a scrub nurse. Within minutes, my shoe was as good as new-- probably better-- and he declined when I attempted to pay him. Eventually, I convinced him to take Le 2000 (about 50 cents) and headed home.
When you are traveling, you are always dependent on the kindness of strangers- offering directions or explaining the public transit. When my ticket wouldn't let me out of the Paris Metro, a man drew me in front of him and swiped us out together. But in Africa, it goes beyond mere gestures. In both Sierra Leone and Uganda, strangers who have so little have offered what they can, often with no thought of anything in return. The experience makes me feel guilty when I think back on my reaction to tourists in New York, generally avoiding eye contact and getting impatient when they cannot figure out how to swipe their subway pass (though I usually reach over and assist them). This isn't to say I'm completely heartless or that I don't regularly witness random moments of kindness in NYC, but Westerners (I'm extending this to USA, Canada, and Europe) are more likely to turn the other way if you're not a local, whereas the opposite has been true here. The lesson points more to an underlying attitude-- a sense of community and interreliance, mixed with unending hospitality. You do everything in your power to help, because you have and you do and you will rely on the community to get you through another time.

Mob Justice

Today is the International Day of the African Child. On 16 June 1976, thousands of black South African students protested the quality of their education and a law, which required they be taught in Afrikaans rather than English. As they marched through the streets, police barricaded their path and some of the students began to throw rocks. In response, the police opened fire and a massive riot broke out. Thousands of students were injured, and the death toll from the resulting riots is estimated between 200-600. The day is now celebrated to honor those killed in the Soweto uprisings and to recognize the rights of African children. It would be an understatement to say children in Africa don't have an easy life. Hunger, child labour, forced marriage, early pregnancy, beatings, FGM, limited education--the list goes on. Perhaps the most upsetting consequence is the constant exposure to violence these children face. Teachers beat their students to keep them in line. Husbands beat their wives and children. Children have witnessed the brutal wars that have ravaged the continent, often becoming soldiers themselves. There is a cycle of violence that forms, and public arguments quickly escalate into shouting and violence.
I have heard in the past about 'mob justice' -- the swift and violent response to any suspected crimes on the street. As it is hard to distinguish between the shouts that are merely expressive and those turning into mobs, I make a general rule to avoid both. This morning however, I became involved first-hand in an act of mob justice. Maybe I have gotten too comfortable with my morning routine or maybe I was caught off-guard by the absence of people waiting for taxis this morning. Either way, I must have let my guard down a little. When a van pulled up full of empty seats and nodded to our questioning "Town?", I was relieved to avoid the shoves and elbow jabs for the morning. As I started to hop in, I felt my bag get jostled. I adjusted it and turned to see a man behind me, crowding close. Since the normal method of getting in a shared taxi is to push and hope you make it, I was not surprised, though a little irritated given the lack of crowds. As I moved forward again, he pushed me slightly and I felt a tug on my bag, which I instinctively grabbed as I settled into my seat. In an instant, the man turned away rather than boarding the taxi and the man behind him shouted 'teef' while grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him against the van. Thief. I double-checked my bag, but nothing had been taken and when the driver asked if I was okay, I told him nothing was gone and it was fine. However, even a suspected thief has broken the unwritten rules and within moments he was surrounded by a small crowd, all screaming and hitting him. I repeatedly told the driver that nothing had been taken and they should leave him alone. I wasn't even sure if he'd tried to take anything or if I'd just been jostled getting in. Then another passenger explained that he had a razor blade and had been prepared to cut the strap of my bag. He was a regular thief at that intersection and this wasn't the first time the people have punished him. I felt responsible and guilty for not doing more to stop them, but also unwilling to wade into that sort of violence. A police woman stood by watching as they continued to hit him in the shoulders and side of the head, and pulled off his pants to check for stolen goods. Once they'd found a set of keys in his pocket (not mine) they shouted and the police came over to intervene. I am obviously fine, though shaken by the role I played in the scene, however unwittingly. I am reminded to be more careful with my bag and more responsive to unnecessary pushing. But more than that, I wonder at how long the cycle of violence will continue.
This problem is not uniquely African, but it is widespread on the continent. Even minor disputes result in screaming matches when a simple apology might have worked. Surrounded by abuse and shouts, children grow up to replicate the same patterns. Violence is seen to be the only reliable method to force change in the government or to control protests by the citizens. Until this behavior changes, there is more which must be done to protect the children growing up in Africa.

An Opoto Guide to the World Cup

Disclaimer: This Guide is not written by an expert and should not be taken as a reliable factual source. Author is qualified only by virtue of watching numerous World Cup games, lessons from CNN International, and being an opoto. Any mistakes may be attributed to the author’s U.S. citizenship, which requires an inherent aversion to the sport we call soccer. For the sake of clarification, readers may assume a tone of sarcasm if it seems appropriate.

First, a brief lesson on random facts and useless information. Although most of the world calls it football, the United States of America remains resolute in calling it soccer. According to some, the term soccer evolved from a shortening of associational football (as distinguished from rugby football). In fact, this is a classic example of American exceptionalism—as with the metric system and British spelling, our young nation recognized the importance of throwing off colonial influences to exert ourselves as an independent nation. As such, it was only logical that we would rename football as soccer, retain rugby, and reappropriate “football” to describe a game we evolved from rugby. Although the United States won the first World Cup in 1930, we were not permitted to change the name to suit our purposes. Therefore, this Guide will use the commonly accepted “football” in reference to the game.

As Americans know, it is not necessary for a competition to include global participants in order to be classified as a world championship (see, e.g. World Series). However, in the spirit of inclusiveness FIFA decided to allow teams from around the world to participate in the World Cup—just like the Olympics. Also like the Olympics, the games are designed to replicated global power structures, which means that they should always be hosted and won by the wealthier and more powerful countries. Unfortunately, certain countries have rejected this belief (see, e.g. Brazil) and through a series of unlikely events, the World Cup is presently taking place in South Africa. In case you’ve been living on another planet for the past few years, I’ll point out that this marks the first time the World Cup has been held on African soil.

Well, that’s not a big deal, right? I mean, sure, it’s a huge competition and probably makes a ton of money for the host country, but South Africa is way down at the tip of the continent. Only a handful of African countries are even competing (Algeria, Cameroon, Cote d’Ivoire, Ghana, Nigeria, and South Africa)—none of whom are strong contenders. Surely nobody in Sierra Leone, whose national team was nowhere near qualification, would care about it. Except for one little detail: football is life in Africa. It is nearly impossible to go anywhere without seeing football games of every level—from youth (which here means 20-30) wearing full uniforms to barefoot children randomly kicking a ball without proper teams. Everyone has alliances to a mixture of teams (Chelsea, Manchester United, Spain, and Brazil are all popular), and one of the best ways to make friends in the shared taxi is to ask which team everyone supports. However, these alliances are less rigid than it would initially appear. While someone might tell you they absolutely cannot support Ghana, because they love Cote d’Ivoire (because they have several players from Chelsea), that really only matters if the two teams manage to face each other. Ultimately, the most important thing for this World Cup is to see as many African goals as possible, as many African wins as possible, and ultimately an African victory. While the individual nation that wins may be proud, a victory by any of these nations will be seen as a victory for the entire continent.

Understandably, this level of enthusiasm is highly contagious and it would be impossible not to get sucked into the competition. The bar next door has played all the games loud enough to hear from my office (starting at 11am) and when South Africa scored the first goal the streets were filled with cheers. Anyone with a television is broadcasting the game, and all the bars are packed for all three games of the day. With this in mind, it becomes important to pick your location carefully. Consider first the location and its amenities: Are there seats? Is it covered? How many screens and how large are they? Does the sound work? Is there a generator, just in case the power goes out? Do they have Star beer? None of these are determinative, but get weighed into the equation. Next, and most importantly, you consider the fan base and the match. For England-US, we decided to go to the Atlantic—a bar down on Lumley beach. Fans had their faces painted, flags waving, and the occasional vuvuzela blaring. Half the bar stood up to sing along with God Save the Queen, and a few (going for volume over quality) sang the Star Spangled Banner. The setting was idyllic—looking over the beach we enjoyed a fantastic sunset as the teams played to a draw.

It’s not a bad way to spend an evening, but for the important matches—the ones with African teams particularly, you don’t want to be surrounded by ex-pats or wealthy Leoneans. Instead, you make your way to the nearest local bar (doesn’t really matter which one), pay 1000 leones at the door, and order a blissfully cheap Star. Before the Ghana-Serbia match, we found ourselves trapped in a monsoon, the taxi slowly making its way through streets that had turned into rivers. We jumped into Frenzy, where we were greeted with momentary stares (being the only white people and among the only women), but attention was quickly diverted back to the game. Unlike most nights, there were relatively few unwanted advances, and instead we were able to talk about the match with the guys surrounded us. When Ghana scored on a penalty kick, the crowd was ecstatic—cheering, singing, and dancing through each of the countless replays that followed. When the game wrapped, the enthusiasm was unparalleled. After so many years, Africa had finally won on their own soil.

Wherever you are, I hope you have the chance to watch the World Cup. Pick a team and find yourself wrapped up in the energy—its better than the Olympics, Superbowl, Stanley Cup and every other playoffs combined. As a bonus to reading this absurdly long post, I have a challenge for readers. Anyone who correctly names three players of your national team (honor system: no using the internet) will win a prize from Sierra Leone.

Buckets of Fun

Yes, I've opted to pun this week. Deal with it.
From Monday morning through late Wednesday night, I lived the dream of aging hippies and crunch types everywhere and went off the grid. To be fair, this was not a spurt of environmentalism brought on by the recent oil spill (which is the only international news we get consistent coverage of), but rather a trip to Kambia District in the northwest corner of Sierra Leone. I spent nearly a week in Kambia in March, through the Leitner Human Rights Clinic, which is how I connected with Sierra Leone in the first place.
To back up slightly, I should provide some details about my work this summer. As I've mentioned previously, I am in Sierra Leone working with the Centre for Safe Motherhood, Youth, and Child Outreach (CESMYCO). During the Spring semester, we conducted fieldwork and research aimed at beginning the process of eradicating female circumcision/female genital mutilation (FC/FGM) through community by-laws. My work this summer will pick up and expand on our recommendations from that project. I am in the process of conducting research to put together a publication on the status of women and children's rights through the customary law system, targeting the operational areas of CESMYCO-- Kambia District, Moyamba District, and Freetown/Western Area. If this project seems overly expansive and untenable, it's because it most likely is. At this point, my objective is to put together as much information as I can and then draw upon the expertise of others in completing my report. As is common with international work, and specifically with local NGOs, everything is subject to & likely to change. The trip to Kambia was my initial research trip, which allowed me to assess the viability of my methodology and adjust accordingly. Since we worked in Kambia in the spring, I already have considerable information about the existing community laws, so I wasn't completely devastated when some of my interviews were less than helpful.
Within Kambia District, we visited three different chiefdoms: Magbema (Kambia Town), Brimaia (Kukuna Town), and Tonko-Limba (Madina Town). CESMYCO was visiting to provide the women with seed rice as part of an alternative employment program. The women have formed into collectives, who will harvest the rice 3-4 times a year and return the loan to CESMYCO, who will establish a seed bank to extend the program. When we talked with women in March, many of them repeated their desire to end the practice of FGM, but the need to continue in order to keep their income. The average income in Sierra Leone is $100/month, with many in the rural areas living on $1-2/day. In contrast, the cost of initiation can be from $100-200 for each girl, which has given the soweis (initiators) considerable power within the community. As the women become economically independent, and more involved with alternative employment, we hope they will end the harmful practice of cutting. Over time, the bondo society could be restructured to train women and girls in skills and to establish these collective groups to provide income.
It is nearly impossible to describe life in Kambia District and the pictures I took hardly do justice. The town of Kambia lies very near the border with Guinea and is reached by a very long poda-poda ride, mostly on bumpy dirt roads-- with even the light rain we had en route, we drove through mini-lakes and rivers formed in the grooves. Everything is swathes of green and red-- fields of grass, crops, and palm trees, contrasted with the reddish brown dust that coats everything. Within minutes of arriving, I felt my skin coat with a layer of the dust, giving me a false sense of suntan that washed off when I finally showered. Kambia is fully "off the grid"-- following the war, there is no national power and no water, so everyone relies on generators and what can be fetched from the well. This meant that there were three hours of electricity each evening, and both showers and toilets were operated by bucket (hence the pun of the title). Once you adjust to the process, it's not too bad, but over three days I managed to get dirtier than I've been in a very long time. When I finally returned to Freetown, I was thrilled to see that we had power (which means hot water and decent pressure) and scrubbed myself clean.
In the next few weeks, I will be going on a similar trip to Moyamba District in the south, and will be excited to compare the landscape to the north. In spite of the dust and the heat, I really enjoyed my time in Kambia-- it's a quieter and slower life. Away from the noise and traffic of Freetown, you can enjoy the millions of stars, children playing football outside, and walking nearly everywhere you need to go. Pictures willl be posted within the next week (hopefully) so you can start to see everything I've been describing.

Judging at the Special Court

Because the internet is being spotty, I'm just going to direct you to leitnerinterns.blogspot.com, where I just posted on my experience last week. I had the opportunity to go hang out on the bench of the Special Court for Sierra Leone, which was a truly amazing opportunity for a UN geek like me.
Other than that, I'm doing very well and had the opportunity to get in a lovely day at the beach last week. I will update more properly when I have a little more time, but there are two important reminders coming up in the next week, worth of celebration.
June 9: My mother's birthday
June 11: World Cup begins

Transitions and Dichotomies

On Friday afternoon we moved into our new, lovely apartment in Hill Station. It's directly below the Chinese Embassy and on the same route as many of the embassies (Ghana, Libya, Iran, and Egypt are all within walking distance). The first night was quite enjoyable to sleep with the a/c running long enough to chill our rooms, followed by a light rainstorm.
Saturday morning I headed off for my first day of work, having heard from Alfred on Friday that there was a meeting he wanted me to attend with him. The details were less than specific, so I hopped on an okada (motorbike taxi) without a clear idea of what to expect. After winding our way through the hills and traffic of Freetown, my driver dropped me at the office and Alfred and I set off for a "walking tour" of downtown Freetown, which more realistically involved stopping to see some people and running a few errands while walking to somewhere easier to get a taxi. From there we chartered a taxi to Wellington, just east of the city, home of the brewery for Star Beer (Sierra Leone's finest, not available at any of the "nice" restaurants).
While we drove, Alfred explained the purpose of the meeting-- CESMYCO has been working with soweis, the initiators for the bondo society, to abandon the practice of FGM. One of the steps in this process involves support for alternative employment. CESMYCO has provided seeds to the collectives of women to allow them to grow crops and create a seed bank, which will provide seeds for further groups of women. We met the chief initiator in Wellington, along with Frank, one of the men who helps to farm the land, and a representative from the Ministry of Education. We then hopped in another taxi to take us about a half hour away to Waterloo, after which the roads were "unautoable." After some negotiation, we arranged for several okadas which would take us to the village where the farm land was and everyone in town was highly entertained by the site of a white girl on the back of a bike. The road was truly undrivable for a car, as my driver steered us around potholes, makeshift dams (for the rains), puddles, and finally onto a small overgrown footpath. Eventually we emerged in a tiny cluster of homes, and Frank led us through the bush to the farm land. The agriculturalist conducted a thorough investigation of the soil, which to the best of my knowledge consisted of feeling the sand and then poking it with a machete a few times. Then again, I'm not a highly trained minister of agriculture. We discussed the program with the farmer and the initiator, who told us they have about 15 acres and have been very successful at growing eggplants and squash. Once it was confirmed that the soil was good, Alfred explained that we will be providing them with seed packets to grow rice, which can be harvested every 3 months. Given that rice is the staple food group of the country, and largely imported, the women should be able to feed their families and sell the remainder.
Sunday was a complete 180 from my day bouncing on okadas and standing in the middle of the bush with initiators. We woke up leisurely, enjoyed the view from our apartment, and dressed for the beaches, then went for a nice breakfast at Bliss, one of the local ex-pat favorites. They're known for the spectacular crepes, juices, omelets, and "the best coffee in Freetown." It certainly did not disappoint and was a pretty good value, though extremely high for Salone. After eating and applying sunscreen in the bathroom, we chartered a taxi and set off to Lakka to meet two Americans who Ashley had met at the beach last weekend. Sadly, upon our arrival, the sky had turned a menacing dark grey and we were only able to enjoy a short period of sun & swimming before the storm started and stuck around. The day was, in a nutshell, the complete opposite of my prior day, but a much needed mini-break.
Since Monday, I've been getting situated at the CESMYCO offices in Freetown and adjusting to our daily commute. We walk down to the Wilberforce roundabout, where we get into the queue (okay, mob) for the shared taxis to town. The process involves having your elbows out and being the first to touch the door handle of approaching taxis, while running alongside (surrounded by the rest of the mob), shouting "to town? to town?" If the driver gives any indication, usually a light nod, the doors are flung open and we begin to cram ourselves into the vehicle. On average, the taxi can hold 2-3 people more than there are seats, but there are at least 2-3 times that trying to get in any given car. We're starting to get much better at the process and the ride costs a spendy $0.25/person. On mornings like today, when Ashley left earlier and I felt lazy, an okada is a big expense at around $1. In the evenings, we're starting to explore the stalls of street food-- lots of meat on a stick and fantastic bread-- and enjoy our full satellite tv, which includes about 5 channels in English and 300 from Lebanon, as well as a few outings to things like reggae night down at the beach and free movies at one of the ex-pat favored restaurants. Still in the process of settling into what I'll be doing at work-- right now, researching grants for CESMYCO, but I'm trying to design a research plan to examine the by-laws in two other chiefdoms in Sierra Leone to complete the proposal we started with the clinic.

Waiting

In case anyone was worried, I've arrived in Freetown with relatively little difficulty. There was an extensive layover in Heathrow, at which point I decided that is the absolute worst airport in the world. Finally landed in Freetown around 10:30, and took the helicopter over to Aberdeen without really knowing if anyone would be there to meet me or if there would be somewhere for me to stay. Luckily, I'd met a fellow law student, Adam, at the gate in London and he was scheduled to spend the night with Stephen, a Canadian who had met my friend, Ashley, when she looked at a room in his apartment. Stephen welcomed me to stay with him, rather than risking a trip to the YMCA and not having a room, so I've settled into their apartment for now.
Have been having some communication difficulties in reaching work, due to everyone being out of the office, phone numbers not working, and a series of missed emails back and forth. Needless to say, it's been more than a little frustrating, but I've been keeping my patient face on and waiting for everything to fall into place. Should be able to get through to work today, so I'm counting this week as a "settling" week and will get started in earnest tomorrow. We (by which I mean Ashley, as she did all the groundwork) have found an amazing apartment located on the hill by all the embassies. We're directly below the Chinese Embassy, with a view over the bay and all the amenities. Will try to post pictures once we've moved in, but one room has a walk in closet roughly the size of my bedroom in New York. As the internet is getting a little spotty, I'm going to sign off for now. Hope everyone is well at home.

To Salone

It's summer, once again, which means I'm packing my bags, leaving law school behind, and taking a very long series of flights to Africa. As most of you know, I began working with the Centre for Safe Motherhood, Youth, and Child Outreach (CESMYCO) during the Leitner Human Rights Clinic this semester. Our project focused on anti-FGM advocacy in the Kambia District, specifically the use of community by-laws to eliminate the practice. I will be working with CESMYCO this summer to continue drafting and advocating for such laws, as well as using community efforts for advocacy at the national level.

I make no promises as to my consistency with updating this, but I'll try to check in every week or so. Until then, check out Sierra Leone and the Leitner Center.