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13th December, 2009
In the squalid slums of battle-scarred
Freetown, an Irish charity is taking young women off the streets
and giving them back their lives. Simon Roughneen
reports from west Africa
'The police stop us all the time. Sometimes they try to take money
from us, sometimes they threaten to arrest us. But the usual trick
is to check our handbags. They plant some drugs, then tell us to
come with them to the station. The only way to get out is have sex
with the policeman, otherwise we go to jail."
Just 20 years old, Maryama has lived on the ramshackle streets
of Sierra Leone's capital Freetown for eight years. Her father died
when she was 10, leaving her mother unable to bring up their three
children. This was at the height of Sierra Leone's brutal civil
war, infamous for anti-government rebels who hacked off arms and
hands to deter civilians from voting in elections. Government-allied
militias believed that their magic rendered them invisible and invulnerable
in battle against the rebels who funded their war with 'blood diamonds'
smuggled out of the country.
Now Sierra Leone is peaceful and the diamond trade better regulated.
The 2007 elections saw an orderly transfer of control to the winning
party, and the economy is growing at around 5% per annum. War seems
a distant memory, revived only by the sight of war amputees who
edge through Freetown's bustling streets. Their arm (and sometimes
leg) stumps remain physical testament to what was a notoriously
visceral war, fought at close quarters with AK-47s and sharp blades,
and killing around 50,000 people – mostly non-combatants.
Starting in 1992, the fighting devastated much of the country,
and ended only after British military intervention in 2000, which
earned Tony Blair an honorary chieftancy from the Freetown government.
Despite a wealth of natural resources, average per-capita annual
income in Sierra Leone is a paltry €164 per person. The country
ranks at or near the bottom of most global indexes of poverty and
corruption. These league standings are not mere abstractions: behind
them lies a harsh and sordid reality. Poverty is part of the reason
why young women like Maryama end up on the streets, and corruption
makes their life even more miserable.
Speaking at a Sierra Leone investment conference held in London
recently, Sierra Leone prime minster Ernest Bai Koroma cited some
high-profile anti-corruption arrests as evidence that foreign investors
can expect cleaner government in his resource-rich country. Though
a good start, a few showcase jail terms for high-rollers will not
by themselves stem the low-level graft and seedy exploitation that
makes life tough for Sierra Leoneans.
The girls have little or no protection from violent or abusive
men, or recourse against those who refuse to pay. "If we have
trouble from a customer, we cannot go to the police," says
Maryama. "The guy will just pay the cops off, and then they
will turn on us, taking our money, or taking us to station."
Outreach and education project
Alongside work on water supply and sanitation in Freetown slums
and in rural areas, and rescue programmes for young abandoned children,
GOAL runs an outreach and education project for young women such
as Maryama, offering alternatives to the grimy, precarious street
existence. Many of those who have already completed the course now
run a variety of small businesses, enabling them to "get out
of the game", as recent graduate Zainab put it.
"GOAL provided some small business training, and a cash grant
to help me get started. Now I can turn a profit of around 100,000
leone (€19) a month", she says. She sells basic grocery
items from a 4ft-wide stall at a market in Freetown's traffic-choked
eastern districts. "Anything is better than working on the
streets."
Over 30% of Sierra Leoneans go without formal education, at any
level. With parents unable to pay school fees, GOAL steps in with
incentives to get girls and women off the streets and into the classroom.
Vera (19) chose the back-to-school option after she finished the
course – and in common with many others who come through,
has been reunited with her family after mediation carried out by
GOAL.
The Sunday Tribune caught up with her at around noon, outside her
home down a seemingly-endless maze of potholed, winding, unpaved
streets through Freetown's Marbella slum – a squalid deluge
of tin shacks, rubbish, open drains and rainy-season flooding, all
running downhill from the eastern city to the sea.
Secondary-school classes usually run in the afternoon in Sierra
Leone, as limited school space means that primary classes run in
the morning, followed by older counterparts in the afternoon, using
the same classrooms.
"GOAL pays my school fees," she says. Although older
than some of her classmates, Vera is clearly proud to be in formal
education. "I was in school for just two years of my life,
when I was eight and nine. It is a joy to attend classes. I finished
15th out of 86 pupils last year."
Overall, educational facilities and opportunities are sadly lacking
in Sierra Leone. According to the UK department for international
development (London's counterpart to Irish Aid), 70% of women and
50% of men are illiterate.
In between instructor tips on procuring wholesale stock for a range
of small enterprise, the girls and women crack bawdy jokes and exchange
anecdotes about customers, who apparently range from local politicians
to South Korean sailors to Nigerian businessmen, and more besides.
Despite the traumas some of them have gone through, they seem resilient
and determined to make their lives better, though in some, the occasional
shy-looking downward glance betrays an inner sadness. One of the
girls, Sara, tells that one of her friends died last year after
contracting HIV/Aids from an infected customer.
Sierra Leoneans like to talk, usually loudly, often over each other,
and mostly accompanied with a smile. Life in Freetown – both
good and bad, and despite the often oppressive heat and fetid humidity
– takes place in street markets, on street corners, in small
shops and pavement stalls. Street talk is a key communications medium,
and word is spreading about the life-altering potential offered
by the GOAL project. Maryama heard about it from Zainab, and she
enrolled only because she saw the project's success personified
in her friend.
Maryama is among the latest intake of women and girls to the GOAL
project, who were being taken through the basics of business start-up
and entrepreneurship when we arrived.
"They are three weeks into the schedule," says Christiana
Cole, a social worker and GOAL outreach co-ordinator. She believes
that "all girls want to get off the streets... but at first
many cannot believe that the alternative will work".
The classroom is half-empty, with 14 girls dotting the benches
in the sauna-humid classroom. How many girls are enrolled? "This
time around we have 40 girls, but now I think quite a few of them
are 'hustling' on the streets," says Cole. It is just after
the fasting period that precedes the Eid festival, and less than
a month to Christmas. Sierra Leone's population is listed as 60%
Muslim, with the rest divided between Christians and indigenous
religions.
Success is neither immediate nor guaranteed. "There is money
to be made from selling sex at this time of year," says Cole,
"but part of the challenge for GOAL is to show that with our
help and their own motivation, the girls can earn a living another
way."
* Pseudonyms have been used throughout this article
Simon Roughneen travelled
to Sierra Leone with GOAL. Now mainly covering southeast Asia, he
writes for the Washington Times, the Irrawaddy, ISN, Asia Times
and others. His website is www.simonroughneen.com
Rumbled in the jungle: Remembering the invisible
man
My first visit to Sierra Leone was in 2003, not long after the
war ended. Six years ago, while waiting to interview a former pro-government
militia leader about his views on the post-war settlement, I spent
a sticky mid-morning parked outside a jungle village, which though
scarred by 10 years of war, otherwise looked more or less as it
did a millennium ago – mud huts punctuated by palm trees,
inhabited by subsistence farmers who lived without running water,
electricity or paved roads. I brought a football from Freetown to
give to the local kids, and began to kick around to kill the time.
After 10 or so minutes of being embarrassed by their natural technique
on the ball, I spotted a lone figure loping between the palm trees,
shotgun in one hand and sports bag in the other. "Mr Kamara?"
I called, as the man came within earshot. "What?!" came
the astonished reply. "How can you see me?" He was supposed
to be invisible, hoping to show the visiting journalist just how
well the Kamajor (name of the militia group) magic worked. I hadn't
the heart to burst that bubble. "I saw the bag and gun moving
along by themselves," I replied, "so I was guessing it
must have been you carrying them."
© 2009 The Sunday Tribune
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