Teaching Journalism

What a pleasure to be teaching again!

Last night was my first class at LICCSAL Business College in the centre of Freetown. The name stands for Literacy In Christian Children in Sierra Leone. It is a post-secondary institution that is affiliated with the University of South Africa.


Despite the religious inspiration, the curriculum appears to remain completely secular. My module, The Basics of Newspaper Reporting, certainly is.

The students, about a third of them women, are in their twenties. With the literacy rate at 35%, they represent the minority of young people who can enroll in a higher education program. Their less fortunate counterparts work menial jobs to help support traditionally large families. The latest UNDP figures show that up to 50% of the country's active population is self-employed. Tasks such as selling groundnuts and fried plantains on the street, repairing generators, or sewing garments on ancient machines, keep many busy.

So my students see themselves as journalism's future, SL's hope for a more transparent political class and a better informed citizenry.

We discussed issues ranging from what makes a good journalist, to the social responsibilities that come with press freedom, to newspaper ownership. According to SL's Independent Media Commission, the country has 30 autonomous newspapers, all based in Freetown. Most, if not all, have a circulation of less than 1,000 copies. Each sells for approximately 30 cents.

The students are critical of biased coverage and very aware of the fact that the high number of papers is a function of owners using the medium as a profit-making enterprise. Indeed, working journalists are paid a pittance in relation to the revenues generated by advertising and the printing of press releases and NGO job postings.

After two hours of animated exchanges, and a couple of interviewing and writing exercises, I gave them an assignment for next week. Before sending them on their way, I told them they were my first SL students, and asked if I could take their picture.


As they got up to leave, a number of them came to say they had enjoyed the class and were looking forward to next week. What more can a volunteer teacher desire? I have a feeling Wednesday evenings will be very interesting from now on.

River & Beach Outing

On Saturday, we went to the beach at No.2 River, about 20 km south of Freetown.



The dirt road down the peninsula demands a special set of skills. Adeptly weaving between random remnants of pavement from a bygone era and orange puddles that looked like giant carrot soup bowls, James, our excellent driver, got us there safely in a little over an hour.

Entering the No.2 River Development Association has a familiar forest campground feel, except for the unmistakable smell of saline air. Beyond the parking lot, powerful waves pummeled a white sand slope dotted with blue umbrellas and a row of traditional huts.

Rain clouds were not lifting, so we decided to go on a boat trip up the eponymous river. Since we left at low tide, some of us walked beside the wooden boat to allow it to glide over the shallow waters.

This is how the bay looked when we left.



And this is how we looked as we set out on our river adventure. Joseph helped push us out, and then Alfred, our guide and captain, began powering us upstream with a single paddle.



Mangroves encrusted with oysters lined the river all the way to a small waterfall below a fresh water pool, courtesy of a nearby dam. Alfred said local people use the natural basin to do laundry. On our way up, we crossed two women who were digging for oysters with their feet while balancing a bucket on their head. As their toes surveyed the bottom, their hips swayed as if dancing. We floated past them, exchanging inquisitive smiles.



Alfred explained that the river is called No. 2 because in colonial times, quicksand engulfed two British garrisons stationed here. Whether this explanation is fact or legend, I don’t know.

On the return trip, we saw a monkey trying to catch tiny crabs and silvery flying fish skipping over the surface. We picked up three teenagers, who were happy to get a lift back from their oyster expedition. The women were gone.


After three hours on the river, the tide had started to come in. See the difference.



By then, there was only 20 minutes left to enjoy the ocean as we didn’t want to make James drive in the dark. We made it to Freetown within a half hour of sundown. I can’t wait to go back.

World Food Day

Saturday, Oct.18 was World Food Day.

In Magburaka, a giant agricultural education fair was organized by the UNPD, the Food and Agriculture Organization, the SL Ministry of Agriculture Forestry & Food Security, along with a number of local NGOs and community groups.



President Ernest Bai Komora was the keynote speaker, which brought a heavy military presence and caused a lot of gridlock on the road leading to the packed field.



A myriad organizations who work on educating farmers about crop diversification, insect control, and the nutritional values of different staples filled the stalls. The slogan on the back of the FAO staff t-shirts said: “food security means agriculture commercialization.” The SL Farmers Cooperative Union was explaining the benefits of growing multiple crops to anyone who would listen. At the Bennimix table, a woman was showing how to dilute the potent grain concoction with boiling water. The brownish mix provides infants with essential nutrients until they are able to eat solids.

A traditional medicine specialist was showing off his colourful potions and dispensing advice on how to help the body break down the very rich palm oil used in cooking. It involved buying his elixir, but he hadn’t brought any to sell because this event was not about profit. But unfortunately, on this day, millions of people in SL went to bed hungry. Again.

MJ's Place

This is my little cabin off Spur Rd., west of Freetown’s central district, a few miles from the ocean below. It is behind a larger house owned by a SL surgeon, who stayed here during the civil war and lent his skills to Médecins Sans Frontières.



It has running water, and a generator provides electricity from 8 p.m. to midnight. This can make it difficult to keep food in the small fridge, so I anticipate eating out a lot. The small AC unit works, but it only takes a few minutes after the midnight shutdown for the temperature to rise back into the 80s.

If I am not here during the power hours, my laptop and phone don’t get recharged. So the next day, I need to go to the office, or spend some time at one of two western-style eateries to plug in while grabbing a bite. Crown Bakery and Bliss Café cater to ex-pats and NGO workers, which means they are more expensive, but they serve a rare commodity: brewed coffee.

To go with the coffee, I especially like the slightly spicy groundnut stew or rice with 'plassas' (potato leaves). Roasted bananas also make a filling afternoon snack. I had one yesterday that was wrapped in a piece of paper. Printed on the reverse was a malaria education survey, a reminder that disease prevention remains a constant struggle in this country where the average age is a mere 17.

The Trainers

Outside the office, on our first day.