I left the guesthouse around 11am, went to Jeska Mac, had something called boil soup with rice. It was a stew, with both meat (beef I’d say) and fish pieces. Not too bad, 20,000le.
I wanted to dress up for the interview: long trousers and shirt. I tried the African patent of not showing sweat marks on the shirt: wearing a t-shirt (they wear singlets underneath shirts here but I never had one) under a shirt. But before I even left the room – there was no power since the previous day so no working fan – I was already hot and sweaty, so I took off the shirt and decided to wear it only just before the embassy.
I took a moto, 5,000le. I was inside the building at 11:45. With me in the waiting room a nun. We were both waiting for the interview. At 12:15 the receptionist came and said that the visa officer is out for a meeting. With ambassador. In State House. He doesn’t know how long it will be so we should come tomorrow.
Thankfully it was the nun who vented her frustration first. She can’t come tomorrow, she has a funeral. Me, I was already thinking that with the bloody interview tomorrow they will tell me to come take the visa (or not, who knows) on Monday! So I can only leave on Tuesday. Man I’m stuck here. Is it worth it? Should I tell the officer to give me back my passport if he won’t give me the visa tomorrow and try again in Cotonou? But it’s $160 already paid and unretrievable. I was internally fuming. It’s the problem with Nigeria. One loves the place but she will always find the way to frustrate you. I can quote two comments from Nigerian friends regarding the whole visa wahala:
Fati: “We don’t want you oyinbos to come and see how bad the place is” – oyinbo is a white man.
Sola: “Trust us, we like to show ourselves we are full of shit”
On top of that, there is a small matter of yet another visa: Ivory Coast. Which according to iOverlander takes 3 days in Monrovia. I assumed it will take me 3 days to reach Liberia, perhaps 4 days to reach Monrovia. Accommodation in Liberia is a different story, hotels in Monrovia are $100+, there is a convent in which one can overnight that charges $20. If I arrive in Monrovia on Thursday, apply for Ivorian visa on Friday and have to stay there till Wednesday? Shit.
So, cooling down, I took a shared taxi to downtown – noone here understands the word “downtown”, they all say “town” for centre – 3,000le, we arrived and I went to a tourist market, in which I’ve been many years ago. It’s still there, I’m the only white person and possibly one of three tourists inside and the market is not small. It’s in a big spacious building. What welcomes me are posters saying “no free snapping allow” – no photos allowed, one must ask for permission. I thought of the gentlemen who stayed in my guesthouse and how they wanna encourage tourists to come over. Perhaps by not banning pics in one and possibly only tourist area that exists in town. Most of the market are baskets and materials, there are a few nice masks, too. I leave, take pictures of a cathedral and two weird monuments to some men. I walk on and go to Crown Bakery because if there is nothing to do, one can always drink coffee. I order Turkish coffee (15k). Next to me there is a woman who has an extremely British accent (at least in my ears) and a local man and they are lively discussing something, verging on a verbal argument. I don’t listen much but the woman speaks loudly and is visibly agitated. It’s about a school that she with her mom’s money wanted to build in Sierra Leone and she feels cheated for some reason, she’s been here since 2017 with her child and she’s coming back to her London house on Friday and will only come back for holidays, there is something wrong with the school, it was supposed to be primary but the government made it secondary plus they built a guesthouse which she didn’t want to. Oh well, Africa, beloved place but also the bottomless well of frustration and disappointment if you scratch below the surface. I feel for her, I feel for myself. I also find an address for what Bradt Guide calls Honorary Consulate of Ivory Coast in Freetown and think that maybe, possibly, if I really have to stay here over weekend I could just get the Ivorian visa here as well? I’ll call them up tomorrow morning.
Walking out of Crown Bakery I see a bus depot. A bus station! Government busses! The best transport in the country! I walk in. Of course the ticket counters are unmanned but there is a price list on the wall. I need as far East as I can and it looks like it’s gonna be Kenema. There is a security lady, she knows everything. Busses leave 6:30 but on Saturday there is a cleaning day in town, every 4th Saturday they hold it, so till 12 o’clock noone can come out on the street so the busses will leave soon after 12.
I know cleaning days from Lagos, Nigeria. Yes, everyone stays at home. Streets are empty. There is cleaning. I had no idea Freetown has the same. I express my doubt about the busses leaving after 12, after all if noone can even come out until 12 and people will have to reach town/downtown first, will the busses even go on Saturday? The security woman insists that yes they will.
There is a building in centre that looks quite impressive. The sign on front says Chambers of the Chief Justice and the Judiciary. I took a few photos from aside but I think the best photo would be from straight upfront across the street. But in the entrance there are uniformed people and it’s a sign pictures should not be taken. Also I’m still in warlike mood after the embassy fiasco so I decide to walk up to them and be like a proper tourist and ask for permission. In the doorway there sit some men, the uniformed people look more like security guard, I ask if I can take a photo. A man in civil clothes answers “not allowed”. Yeah, whatever. I mention the need of free courts to be open and transparent to the public and the man tells me that inside the building there is a man and if I want to do anything with the court, there is a procedure and I have to follow the procedure with that man. Otherwise – not allowed.
I take more photos of the building from aside.
I was standing on the road trying to catch transport to Congo Cross from where I will have transport back to Lumley but I couldn’t find anything. Suddenly a car pulls up, a 4wd, in it an elderly man and asks me where I’m going and if I want a ride. My first instinct is “how much” but he says “it’s a gift” so I hop in. The traffic is heavy, the man doesn’t talk and doesn’t take the main road, we go through the heart of Congo Town neighbourhood, which looks poor. We pass a huge garbage dump. It’s mountains of trash, smouldering with smoke, below the mountains, houses. Apocalyptic view.
I get dropped in Congo Cross and I catch a tuktuk towards Lumley. But I wanna get out a bit earlier. In the morning, before I left, I looked into the Rough Guide to see what else I can see in town and while there is not much, the drinking and eating section was a bit interesting, certainly more concise than the same section in Bradt Guide. Two places catch my attention – Bliss Restaurant and Madame Posseh. Both recommended in the guidebook, Bliss has coffee and Madame Posseh is in Lumley and they called it “best-kept secret in Freetown”.
Bliss restaurant is across the road from RSLAF headquarters, the air force, its entry watchtower surrounded by sandbags. Next to the army, Africell customer service. All over town they advertise SIM swap for 4G service (i.e. faster internet, LTE). I’m a sucker for mobile internet so I go in. The procedure takes a minute. Wow.
Bliss restaurant looks quite posh but its sign is not very well visible from the street. Turkish coffee is 25,000le and double espresso 45k, so more than the coffeeshop in town, the enterprise is of course run by the Lebanese. It’s nice and cool, they have AC yay, there is even WiFi but lousy speed.
From there I walk down Wilkinson road and before the Lumley roundabout I turn left and walk among houses towards Madame Posseh – it’s on Google Maps. Unfortunately, the gate is closed, noone answers my knocking and when I ask a man passing by he says it’s closed.
So I turn back, sit in a nearby bar for Guinness, then continue walking to Jeska Mac and have my “soup green” with rice for 20,000. Jeska Mac has surprisingly fast WiFi (but with very weak signal it drops frequently and out of three networks only one has actual internet access) so I update apps on my phone. The 1193 photos will be emergency uploaded I don’t know when. I’ll have to buy more data finally because my phone will run out of space but it’s just costly, 120,000le ($14,€12,53zł) for 4.5GB,
From there I go back to the guesthouse, my battery is at 9%.
I leave the phone and go back to the pharmacy to change my knee wound dressing. It takes short time and it’s 20,000le.
Back in the guesthouse I pay another 100,000le for the night of Friday-Saturday. And I decide to make good on my promise to the caretaker – today it’s Muhammad again – and buy here a beer. And a large can of Guinness is 20,000! I say to Muhammad that these are beach prices. He says this is hotel and these are hotel prices. I don’t mention Jeska Mac charges beer shop prices and I take the beer with me.
Coming back to Maman 