United Nations and Sierra Leone: The war is not what scared me!

By Suzanne Monir
With edits by Hyungu Kang

Chapter 1 — Arriving

The window of my hotel room was a metaphor for my new life in Sierra Leone; mysterious, protected, scary. I had traveled many times before, and for longer periods of time, but this place felt completely unknown. Perhaps I had forgotten the feeling, but it felt truly new. So many emotions lingered inside me: excitement, fear, relief, homesickness, confusion. Had I done the right thing? Why did I miss my family so much after wanting to leave so badly? For the first few hours, I could do nothing but sleep and cling to the pictures of all that seemed familiar to me. My window could only slightly nudge, open, and I was grateful for it because it protected me from the unknown. I only had a glimpse of the beautiful mountainous terrain that would soon become so familiar. No strangers could peer in and, slowly, I found the time to adjust. As the hours passed and I woke up from sleep, I took more time to peek at the world I would be living in. Each time, I tried to see more than the last.

I took out my camera and filmed my hotel room for my family. I was trying to share my surroundings, even though they were completely uneventful at the moment. Just a hotel room with no electricity: my unpacked bags, the sheets I had placed on the bed for fear that the sheets provided were not clean enough. I spoke with my family and told them how much I missed them. My voice was cracking, though I tried my best to hide my weakness. Who was I kidding? I even took the camcorder to the window and showed them the tiny view of the mountain. I tried my best to let them see through my mind what I was seeing- minus the fear and sadness of course. I just wanted to sleep. I wrote letters, telling them I wouldn’t stay longer than my contract of 6 months, and that, if there was a chance to leave earlier, I would do it. How could I ever be sure what was wrong or right?

My parents encouraged me, but hoped I wouldn’t go. It took exactly 10 days to pack up my life and come to Sierra Leone. I didn’t even know where Sierra Leone was until two weeks before I left. I had applied to the United Nations almost 2 years before with high hopes they’d accept me, but I received no response and the thought receded to the back of my mind. Then all of a sudden, in the middle of my routine life in Canada, I received the call. The United Nations Volunteer (UNV) recruiter in Bonn was trying frantically to find me to let me know I had a job in Sierra Leone. It was all so surreal, and came at the right time. I was enjoying my job, but I needed so much more.

So there it happened. My stopover in England was chaotic, to say the least. My route led from Toronto to London, Paris, Guinea and, finally, Sierra Leone. I read all my documentation carefully. It seemed Guinea was somehow affiliated with the mission in Sierra Leone and a representative would meet me at the airport. It clearly stated that I did not need a Visa, but when I tried to board my flight to Guinea, Air France agents would not let me board without a Visa or UN identification. Thus began a series of frantic calls to Bonn, Guinea and Sierra Leone. There was no way around it. It was a bureaucratic glitch, but I had to remain in London and wait for a response. The UN is bureaucratic? This was a truth that would soon become only too familiar.

Something happened in London that seems strange, but is actually pretty typical for me.

Something happened in London that seems strange, but is actually pretty typical for me. I tend to find myself surrounded by chaos, and somehow undisturbed by it afterwards. During my stopover in London, I passed a public telephone and found it was ringing. I would normally walk past, but, because I was feeling homesick myself, I decided to help whoever was expecting the call. A man answered from the other end.

He asked me if I could see a post office across the street. I innocently replied yes. He then told me a bomb would go off in 10 minutes that the bomb was an IRA threat, and that I should evacuate the area. It was only then that I noticed his Irish accent. I repeated his words. He repeated them back to me. That’s all I needed to hear. Soon, I was rushing in a panic back to the café I had just exited. I stammered out what had happened to the waiter and a dryly incredulous crowd. I tried my best to explain for what felt like an hour (it must have been 30 seconds) before deciding to give up and run for cover. When I felt I was far from the bomb, I called the police, who of course took the matter seriously, and continued calling me for the next two days.

My friends in London were scheduled to pick me up at that time, so I told them of my new location. Much to my dismay, our route took us past that exact same post office. I was so frightened, until I considered that it may be some elaborate prank and that someone, somewhere may be standing at some window laughing at me. I decided he would not be alone, after all the excitement, I could see everything from the outside, and began to laugh hysterically at myself. I was about to embark on a new adventure, a new chapter in my life and this definitely felt like a sign. Of what, I had no idea, but things were definitely about to change.

After spending all my petty cash during the delay in London, I made my grand arrival in Lungi airport in Sierra Leone. I had no idea what to expect. Whence doors opened, the humidity and heat hit me. It felt good, since it was the middle of winter in Canada and England and I was longing for warmth and the promise of the outdoors. Half the airplane was filled with staff of the UN and other affiliated NGOs. I was now part of the UN. I couldn’t believe it. It was a dream comes true. I had worked diligently, but I never felt I could contribute as much as I would have liked

I had been in Africa 10 years before, in places like Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania and Egypt, my homeland. I wasn’t sure how West Africa would be in comparison. The airport was more chaotic than I expected. The smell of greenery, humidity and human sweat combined to form the unique odour I had come to associate with Africa in the past. The officials gave everyone a hard time in the hopes of receiving bribes. The luggage was all over the place, but there were porters and, much to my relief, I was able to find them.

Bullet holes in the walls of the airport were still visible. It was night, and there were bats buzzing around my head. The darkness was complete; there were no city lights near the airport. It was hard to believe that just hours before I was freezing and yet comfortable with the feeling of familiarity in the chill of a London winter. There was a huge crowd waiting for the helicopters. A British/Indian NGO worker that I saw saying good-bye to his girlfriend in London had become my friend on the plane. We understood each other’s homesickness since we were from both Western countries and ethnicities that valued family highly. He must have felt sorry for me because he made sure I didn’t get lost and waited for me at each step. I can still remember his name ( which is unusual for me) — Ritchie — because his being near me at that key moment meant so much to me at the time.

This was my first helicopter ride and it was exciting and scary for me. Other than taking a long Ferry ride and many vehicles, this was the only way to get from Lungi airport to Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone. Just 2 weeks before I arrived, and all of a sudden Sierra Leone was a key point of interest when I was searching for news, I read about 2 UN helicopter crashes in Sierra Leone. I was also told my job would involve a lot of helicopter travel. And while I was stuck in London and phoning frantically around, I spoke with the UN coordinator in Sierra Leone and he informed me that with my delay he would not be able to greet me upon my arrival because he would be leaving the country. He had to escort the body of the UNV that had died back to his native Bulgaria. I was truly (not) comforted when he told me that and my anxiety increased.

We flew in the dark, and my eyes were busy gazing out the window to the black mysterious Atlantic Ocean. I looked for the city lights of Sierra Leone’s capital but found a few bulbs. I was sure there was something that I didn’t understand. I was sure that I was in some remote area and the city must not be close to where the helicopter was flying. It took me some weeks later to realize that that vast black area with a few lights was actually Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone. It is not that someone had stolen the capital, but it was that electricity was extremely scarce in this war torn capital. Most of the light that I saw was from individual generators. Not many places run their generators 24 hours a day, especially when there is a curfew. Though I hadn’t expected much, this country was sadly in a worse technological state than I had imagined.

Finally, I arrived in the helipad and expected to meet the UNV agents from Sierra Leone as described in my papers. It was by now 5:30 am and I was told it would take a bit of time, because everyone had to wait for the curfew time to be lifted. My friend Ritchie was greeted by his people soon after landing as scheduled, and he tried to take me with him, but when I explained I needed to go to Mammy Yoko hotel, his escort told me it wasn’t far. So he left, and I felt lost again. I waited, and watched as all the other passengers found their way.

I struck up a conversation with one Sierra Leonean who seemed to have stayed at the helipad the whole night to do God knows what. He was friendly but of course I was suspicious. He kept telling me that the UN mission was a blessing to his country and that things were slowly changing and improving because of it. I was happy to hear that and wanted to know if that was true for myself, because we always hear of UN failures. The surroundings and sunrise struck me as beautiful, but I was really anxious for my escort to come. I had no idea where I was, and perhaps all my precious belongings would be stolen, and I would be a lost girl in West Africa having no idea what I was doing or where I was going.

After more than 2 hours of sitting and waiting and avoiding but also answering the Sierra Leonean hanging around the helipad, I realized enough was enough. I found the mobile number given to me in my documentation, but there was no phone anywhere in sight. A female British soldier happened to come by after some time, and I asked her if she had a mobile phone. I was able to phone the assistant coordinator, Karim, and I found him asleep. He told me with surprise “Oh, you’re here today?” He promised to pick me up in half an hour. And so, I continued to wait until finally I saw a UN vehicle pull up and a Pakistani man in shorts looking around. He asked me why I had waited so long and told me I could have gone to Mammy Yoko hotel. I told him I heard it was close, but had no idea where it was. It was then that he explained to me that Mammy Yoko Hotel was just over the fence. I was so surprised and I felt so clever. But wasn’t he supposed to come to me? It felt like I was being blamed for his incompetence. I didn’t realize at that moment that this was another gradual introduction to the UN system.

Karim understood that I was tired and quickly drove me to a guest house. I had a quick look at my new world in the sunlight during the drive. The first thing I noticed was dogs. They were all over the place. I hadn’t expected that and I was so (not) happy about it because I had an immense fear of dogs! My brothers warnings not to play with small children in Sierra Leone because they may have guns , in addition to this new knowledge that there were a million dogs on the street, made me sure I’d never be able to walk around freely.

I also had a view of the long beautiful beach which was completely empty. Karim was playing tour guide along the way, and made this war torn country sound like a beautiful resort that the rest of the world couldn’t know about. At the same time he appeared to me to be kind of miserable. Along the way we saw one UN staff who was on his way to Mozambique or some place. He stopped the car and gave him a warm hug. I couldn’t help feeling he was sad. It was strange that that’s how what I picked up, but it was kind of the way he was gripping on to this friend. It was on one hand warm, but something about Karim just didn’t blend together. At that instant, I couldn’t put my finger on why, but realized more as we continued to discuss.

He was playing really loud Indian music, wearing shorts and acting pseudo-Western. It didn’t really seem to suit him. He felt like a walking contradiction to me. My contract was for 6 months and as I looked around the only thing I kept thinking was that I could “deal” with everything for 6 months. But in his resort-like description, he was telling me he had been there for more than 2 years. That he was there for the evacuation and the worst of the war.

What kind of a resort was this anyway? I know he was trying to be positive and I most certainly did not come seeking a resort, but I wanted to see the appeal. I am very simple and I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to also see the appeal, but I was trying to see through his eyes. Deep inside me, I was very proud and happy to be in Africa. I had carried with me a love for the continent I felt a part of and yet didn’t. But West Africa was unexplored, and I had been in East Africa at a very young age. I knew and expected to see things differently this time around and I had no idea what to expect of West Africa.

That there are many people walking around without limbs as souvenirs of the ugliness and brutality that took place in the war.

I had been there for only a few hours, knew nothing but had accumulated a number of observations already. I definitely saw a beautiful beach, charming surrounding mountains and a warm tropical climate. But I thought back to the capital city that was hiding during my helicopter ride at night. Electricity was an obvious problem and upon asking I learned that running water was also sometimes a problem. So material things aside, was this place a tropical heaven? But my host Karim was unemotionally describing a horrible devastating war to me. He told me very simply as a matter of fact about the UNV and others that had died in the helicopter crash. He told me how they had to evacuate when the war hit Freetown and their lives were in danger. That for my job I would be in the provinces and there was still fighting there (item number 1 NOT to tell my mother). That there are many people walking around without limbs as souvenirs of the ugliness and brutality that took place in the war. That Sierra Leone was officially the poorest country in the world. That most families were scattered, and each one had lost some kind of relative at some point in the war.

He kept telling me I would probably be there for many years also. A chill went up and down my spine when he said that. I kept thinking of my family. In my case I wasn’t even married, but my brothers, my mother, my father, my whole extended family were living their lives without me, how could I just disappear like that? It’s true I wanted to leave. I wanted to do more international work. I was a chemist and scientist and successful and hard-working at my pursuits academically. But being a synthetic chemist felt completely meaningless. We try to make something just to say we can at times. It’s challenging which I love, but dangerous, closed and so isolated. You can go weeks without seeing the sun, working in a laboratory. Then there’s the added bonus of constantly being exposed to horribly dangerous toxins. I was a social person; I could not help but be that way. Wherever I go, people seem to be laughing. I am always making noise and jokes with all my boring colleagues in the scientific world and for that reason people seemed to like me being around but also need me to prove myself as a serious true scientist. And I always did, I always seemed to astonish people with the knowledge that they eventually saw, and the diligence they saw me work. But sincerely, I wanted to feel I contributed to the world more. So as he spoke more and more about my new environment, it hit me, that he had mentioned he had a wife and children. And he was Pakistani, a very strong family culture. What was he doing here? Of course I knew the larger part of the answer quite quickly — MONEY. But was that all?

The United Nations mission in Sierra Leone was termed what is called a non-family duty station.

The United Nations mission in Sierra Leone was termed what is called a non-family duty station. There were over 17000 in battalions, and approximately over 1000 in civilian and other staff. Everyone in the mission was a mature adult. Almost everyone had families of their own at home. And that is what clogged my mind the first few hours of my arrival in Sierra Leone. Why was I really here? Why was everyone really here? This is a humanitarian mission, are they (we) really succeeding in this quest? I had so much to learn. I had so many questions.