Toting Sticks

The wind sweeps across the ground. Window shutters clang. Doors swing on their hinges. The branches of the coconut trees wave violently like yellow-green tails of a kite. Avocados fall with a clang against my zinc roof. People are rushing inside to escape the coming rain, but I sit on the railing of my veranda, smiling like a crazy person, thrilled by the imminent arrival of the storm. In a matter of minutes the dusty path running along the side of my house will become a river of sweeping red-brown water. Some of the children from next door will run and jump in it, letting the water carry them along for a few yards – their own natural slip n’ slide. I would love to join them or at least stand directly under the runoff from my roof and wash my hair, but out of deference for what my neighbors think of my sanity I will refrain.

I have always loved rain – beating in steady torrents, driven in gusts of uncontrollable wind, stirring up the smell of earth and grass. After the first storm of rainy season, I discovered my fence had fallen down. I surveyed the damage with Amara Kamara, one of my JSS I students. He told me that he could fix the fence for me. I could have called a carpenter of course, but I figured that fixing fences was probably one of those talents that everyone over age eight in my village seems to possess. The first step to fixing fences is gathering the sticks – a task in which I insisted I was capable of assisting.

We set off one morning to gather the long slim branches we would use to build the fence. We snaked off the Suleihun Road on a footpath leading into the bush, heading towards the place where Amara’s father was clearing land for a farm. We wove our way over the uneven ground, skirting pits where people had once dug for diamonds. The trees would open up to a large burned clearing where people would soon begin to plant cassava, then the forest would swallow us up again. Finally we came to the site of Mr. Kamara’s farm. The recently cut trees lay on the ground, their leaves beginning to turn brown. Amara selected several long straight branches to cut and tie together with a piece of vine. I wound the head cloth that I had brought with me around my hand to make a “cata” which I would place on my head so I could carry my portion of the sticks comfortably. The branches were light and easy to lift. After we had walked a little ways, I got used to balancing them. I pleased to discover that I could drop both my hands and walk along the uneven path without letting the branches fall.

When I first arrived in Sierra Leone, I would watch people carry things on their heads with a sense of awe. Their necks and backs are perfectly still. Their hips swing with a graceful motion. Never once do they falter or let their loads wobble. I will never be able to tote things like a Sierra Leonean, but I am still pleased by my minor accomplishments. I find it quite satisfying to be able to carry a bucket of water on my head and only use one hand to steady it. Granted, I do not have many opportunities to practice carrying water considering that everyone offers to do it for me…