Me with “my boys”…former security guards

I remember early on when I arrived in Sierra Leone I’d heard about how “communal” Sierra Leoneans are. I knew that would be a growing edge for this private introvert and I anticipated it with both excitement and trepidation.

I did not expect that so much of the community that people talked about came in the form of security guards, drivers, cooks, and house cleaners. It took me a long time to get used to the fact that there are just people around…all the time. For the first six or seven months I was here, I almost never took a trip outside my house without my driver. He knew my every move. Even went there with me. The security at the compound...they know when you come and when you go. They know which friends you’re having over and how late you stay out in the evening. (For me, it ain’t late.) They want you to know their family and see where they live. And they expect that you will do the same. They’re a part of your household, which means that in many ways they are family.

At first, this felt uncertain. I didn’t know where the boundaries were and I was uncomfortable with where they ought to be. But over time, I’ve felt myself ease into this communal form of living. Last night I called my driver Morie to check in on his wife who is expecting any day and he handed the phone immediately to her so that she could tell me herself. This morning my house cleaner, Alice, called me only for me to hear the voice of her partner tell me that she too (who is also expecting) needed to get some things checked up today.

Last week, there was a fire in the neighborhood. I saw the electricity go out in my house and two minutes later Mohamed, our security guard who is also a pastor, knocked on my door to tell me what was happening. I likely wouldn’t have known. Then the entire neighborhood came out to see what was going on. Mohamed went down to see if he could help. The cooks and cleaners from other houses in the compound left their cooking for a bit to come and see. Effie, the cook from upstairs, was very concerned that the wind was coming our way. So worried she was wringing her hands and pacing. I was struck by how protective she is of this place. Like it’s her own and she could not stand to lose the family that has been created here around so many of us.

I’ve recently decided I need to start learning how to make Sierra Leonean dishes for myself. I decided to start with groundnut (peanut) stew, which is my favorite. A girlfriend of mine said she’d come over and teach me, but we never could get our schedules right. One day I saw Effie in the compound and thought, “I bet Effie could teach me.” So about a month ago, one Monday afternoon after she’d already spend the whole morning cooking for the family she works for, she came down to teach me. Like the pro she is, she wasted no time, quickly preparing and cooking. As she cooked, I watched, asked questions and took notes. She even cleaned the kitchen afterward and made sure I had a plan for how to freeze the leftovers. Then a week later I impressed my missionary colleagues with groundnut stew made with my own hand.

Last Christmas on Christmas Day, I was visited by Alie and Frances. They were security guards at the last place I lived who used to call themselves “your boys”. This visiting is a custom in Sierra Leone. But never did I expect that two 19-20ish year old boys would want to come visit me on Christmas Day.

My best friends, Ally and Charles, just moved back to America with their newly adopted daughter Ella (my goddaughter). Since they had Ella and they were serving as house parents for older kids from an orphanage here, if I wanted to see them, generally I had to go to them. But that meant that everybody on their compound got to know me too. So since I was coming around, I’ve become a part of their family too…the kids, the aunties, the security guard and his family, even the dogs recognize me as their own. Last week at their goodbye party at the orphanage, I was asked if I wanted to speak…just because I’m around and that makes me part of the family. And then after the party, one of the Aunties at their house and I cried together because we were both grieving the loss of three such important people in our common community.

Ally with all the women from her house here—kids and aunties

I could go on with examples of the little ways and big ways that we are community together…of the rides downtown or back to the compound when I see them walking, of the Nyquil and Tylenol shared (the NyQuil was a revelation for a few of my guys who had colds a time or two), of the bread fetched, of the load lightened by many hands, of the little moments of laughter…day after day.

I’ve come to rely on it. I’ve come to cherish it. I thank God for it and I don’t know how I lived without it before.

Security Guards, Drivers, Cooks, and House Cleaners