After paying a small bribe at the
Pamalap-Kambia border and waving goodbye to the woman claiming to be the presidents daughter, we arrived in
Freetown. A blood-red full moon shed light on Freetowns landmark - the imposing 500 year old cotton tree - as innumerable bats left their daylight refuge among the cotton trees gnarled branches.
Once again we stayd in one of my aunts apartments, right in the city centre.
Kerosene lanterns and candles compose the only streetlight in this city of no electricity - and ablaze the small popcorn/youghurt-vendours, the street-pharmacies with their phony Nigerian pharmaceuticals and the dealers in hard liqueur - selling it in plastic bags.
The decrepit, wooden colonial houses climbing the steep hills that make up the city, along with the as-loud-as-it-gets mobile sound systems - booming out music throughout the nights - creates a charming (yet, at times tiresome) feel of a discontinued amusement park, seized by Christian-anarchy-jokers.
It's jovial and melancholic at the same time, and there's a lot of atmosphere to soak up.
The Christian presence is tangible with a church on every second street corner and a guy waking us up early, every morning, by walking our street up and down
Full Text Entry: In Search of King Solomon's Mines