While reviewing my photo series Mystic and Ruin, writing a note alongside the release felt right. I have attempted to explain this series a few times but have failed/ doubted each attempt. "Mystic and Ruin," is a very short mini-series exclusively available on my Instagram. The photo series is a retelling of my time back home. It is about my connection to the land and people as a person who grew up abroad. I have been to my home country a total of two times. My parents often joke that I am not truly Sierra Leonean as I was born in a different country. It is a joke, I secretly agree, especially after my second visit. I was truly shocked by the culture and was often playing catch up. It was so bad that by the second day, I wanted to go back to Canada. This would not be the only time I pleaded with my parents to let me go back. In truth, I spent four and a half months in misery. I watched as both my brother and sister adjusted in wonder and awe. Despite my brother complaining more than me, I could see that he did love it and by the time we left the whole village was his friend. However, I struggled to speak the language, understand the jokes, and accept the living conditions. My hard time was partly due to my stubbornness. I refused to be comfortable as the living conditions were worse than I could imagine or had ever experienced. The Sierra Leone I visited when I was ten, could not be the same one I had returned to. Things were far worse twelve years later.
I spent time wondering, learning, and questioning everything. It inspired the creation of Mystic and Ruin and a large body of work to be shared later on. It has also inspired this note titled Chasing Freedom. In the months and possibly the years to come, you will see the concept of freedom repeatedly show up in my work. Before this trip due to family issues and my understanding of the world growing, I was desperate to move back home. To belong somewhere fully and to feel free of other people’s expectations of me. I secretly watched loads of moving back home series on Youtube and was convinced that this was the answer to all my problems. Not only would I be healed and belong, but I could also use what I learned living in the west to improve my country. I was dedicated to the Afrofuturism movement and believed with all my heart that this was the way forward. Africa was the future, my future.
However, from the moment I got on the ferry heading to the capital, I knew I was running away. Though I let myself believe I was freeing myself. There was a lightness in my chest and despite the bad smell, it was like I could breathe right again. I looked out into the night sky and saw a million twinkling lights. Those lights were not stars but a city that promised endless possibilities.
We arrived at my mother’s family compound in a blackout. This did not bother me as I was prepared for this. It was not until the next day that reality set in. It was hot and people were coming in and out of our house. It was something I was not used to as we lived with three locks on both doors in Canada. After a while, the visits became less but nearly everyday strangers would walk into our compound or home and they would stay for hours. I could not understand why, was it truly to be leeches as my mom had said, or was there more to it? Then came my next shock, the absolute ruin that the country was in. There was garbage everywhere. In the photo series, there is a photo taken from our backyard of a landfill site. This landfill is surrounded by mansions, bungalows, and even pan houses (small poorly made homes made from sheets of steel). It sat right in the middle of the neighborhood and no one thought this was strange. The beaches, though stunning, had more garbage than visitors and there was always a foul smell. The gutters were filled to the brim with trash that would later cause flooding during the rainy season. The final shock blindsided me as I thought I was prepared but the blackouts were so bad that at times we would go a whole week without power. When we did regain power it would shut on and off for hours frying cables and damaging devices.
It didn’t take very long for my immediate family and me to grow tired and haunt for a way out of this miserable lifestyle. On several occasions, my parents, especially my mom, say it has never been this bad. The beaches once had white sand, the streets were regularly clean, and houses were sparse and far apart when she was growing up. It seemed this ruin was rather new, according to her during her 2017 trip, the country was making progress. My mother would not be the only one to share this same sentiment. Every single person I had a conversation with agreed it was never this bad. So how did a country so afraid of another war and full of hopeful citizens deteriorate so suddenly?
Like other countries, the rising inflation has negatively impacted the country. However, unlike other countries with strong governments and institutions, Sierra Leone offers nearly nothing to help its people. During the last election in 2018, Julius Maada Bio was elected. The country was recovering from the Ebola outbreak, people thought a new party being in power would bring much-needed change and Maada Bio was elected. However now at the end of his term, it is clear to see the mess he has created. From controversies of ministers graduating from a fake university to leaving the country for a party while citizens protested, and worst of all ordering the police to “detain” (kill) anyone breaking the 3 p.m. curfew announced 2 hours beforehand. I should mention that these were all things that happened during the four months I was there (the last two happened in the same week).
This note is not enough to break down and explain the social climate of Sierra Leone. I write under the pretense that my readers are aware of Sierra Leone’s history and current events. Still, I hope that even the little I share will contribute to a large discussion on colonization, corruption, and what freedom means.
I mentioned earlier that my family went looking for ways to escape this new lifestyle, and we found it. It was also plain to see that most of the problems that affected those living here did not affect the rich or those who were visiting. Things were much cheaper there. To put it into perspective Small knotless braids, down to my waist, which took several hours to do, cost me $20. Even if I tip, I would still be able to get my hair braided 4 times at the cost of getting my hair braided once in Toronto. As a bonus, I received compliments on my curl pattern, which has never happened in Canada. At one point, we traveled to Mekeni and stayed at a hotel, we booked two executive suites, and the total cost was $100 for the night. Going out to five-star restaurants became a regular occurrence, private beaches with white sand no problem, driver? Always on call. Custom dresses? one week and $10. If I never wanted to look at another bad thing and live out the rest of the trip in paradise it was possible and would cost roughly $5000.
I soon understood why so many Sierra Leoneans living abroad used the term “Sa’Lone swit” (Sierra Leone is sweet). I could understand why the ministers after getting their degrees (regardless of their legitimacy) came back home and lived out the rest of their lives here. Both physically and socially Sierra Leone is small. With a few calls and attending the right events, you could be sitting in a private meeting with hopeful presidential candidates (meet two) and be offered a job (This happened). This was the dream, this was the freedom that I and many others were chasing. A chance to feel powerful, to not only belong but set the tone/trends. It was so easy to give into the ego, to give into sugar-coated lies to believe in the sweetness in front of you.
Though it came with the cost of knowing others would stay oppressed. The minimum wage in Sierra Leone is $600 a month though most people were getting by on far less, making $1 a day. My mom owns a nonprofit organization that helps to improve the living conditions of the average Sierra Leonean. They estimated that a single person living alone needed to make $2000 per month to cover their necessities. On multiple occasions, we were stopped by police, for no other reason but to ask for a bribe. A family friend once said; “if even the police are asking for help then what of the rest of us?” That one statement, unfortunately, sums up life in Sierra Leone. The same people the government uses to control and oppress its citizens are barely getting by themselves.
Initially, I noticed a strange hardness on people’s faces. It was evident in nearly everyone I encountered (including extended family). I assumed that this look was caused by the harshness of the sun. I found myself squinting too as the sun made it quite hard to see at times. However, on the first of many rainy days to come, I noticed that those looks were still present. It confused me and for a few weeks, it became my mission to uncover its origin. It was only after so many conversations that I started to understand. It was the look of hopelessness, an acceptance of the pain. Every time someone said, “we just pray it gets better” or “things will change” I could tell they barely meant it. Those words had lost meaning a long time ago.
There is more I could write about, gender roles, corruption of the church, child labor, and more. However, this is not the project for that. This project when compared to all the work that needs to be done has no value, a story of no importance. What I have learned is, if you can convince a person that they deserve very little and that their dreams are silly, you can ruin everything that makes them magical.