Upon arrival in Sierra Leone we found a tiny little island paradise owned by a London expat named Jason who generously allowed me to pitch my tent on the sand for a few days free of charge. (check it out here)

Other island lurkers included a couple of British guys with various business dealings in Sierra Leone and like Jason, had a military history here. These were tough characters, all lifelong adventurers and fighters of one kind or another that seem to need the daily uncertainty of a place like Sierra Leone. After his time in the army, Jason did mercenary work around the world. Exploits of the other guys included a Thai boxing championship and some truly hair-raising survival situations during of the years of civil war in Sierra Leone.  It struck me that these are the kind of guys characters are patterned after in Hollywood movies set in west Africa.

The local people here truly have very little of the basic necessities to live and it’s a sharp contrast to the privilege that those of us from rich countries enjoy. Jason gives some of the young guys in the village the work that he can and supports the village football team.  Many of the guys sleep outside during the dry season. Most things are made with what is on hand and nothing seems to go to waste. Tony has carried soccer balls, umbrellas, cooking utensils, tools, and all manner of other things in his van all gotten for free in his home of Belgium that he distributes to the people we meet.  Nothing is ever refused.

Anytime that Tony and I were making a meal at the van we would have a crowd of boys and young men hanging about who were curious about us and our vehicles, but often also really could use something to eat.  When the crowd was small enough we shared what we had.  Being a spectacle from morning to night truly becomes exhausting.

This is Tiboi.

He is 14. His father was killed during the war and his mother died shortly after, so he has been mostly on his own for a long time.  Unfortunately, his story is not so uncommon in this country that still shows the scars of a bloody civil war. He carries water over to the island and does some cleaning for money.  He ate breakfast and dinner with Tony and I and slept on my board bag at night.

It was time for at oil change and valve check for Dyna Rae, so I stripped her naked and got to it.  It’s never fun opening up passages to your engine in the dirt, but in central Africa, there is lots of dirt and not much tarmac that isn’t a road.

The access plug on the side of the magneto cover to crank the piston over to the correct position for a valve inspection was very tight and there was plenty of play in the allen socket. Stripping  the soft magnesium plug seemed a certainty if I really laid into it.  So, with Tony’s help,  a solution was reached Africa style, bodging a sleeve from an aluminum can to shore up the play in the allen socket.

While we were still congratulating ourselves for the creative solution, Tony noticed a piece of metal sitting in the bottom of the inside of the engine case. Unfortunately, in pounding the allen wrench in with a hammer, we had pounded through the back of the plug.  Brilliant mechanics, eh? I now had a nice hexagonal hole in my engine case. You know, where the oil moves around.  You don’t have to know a lot about engines to surmise that this is not a good thing.  JB Weld to the rescue!  Good as new.

There was no surf at this end of the Freetown peninsula, so I had time to wander around and take some photos.

Faith.

Survival.

Change.

Escape close at hand.

Colonial relics.

Communication.

Held fast

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