Short note on Kailahun.

My hands never feel clean. The wind is a light breeze but a constant one and the dust and dirt are copious. The combination flies around in whimsical circles scratching my sunglasses, and I walk to the office to scrub my face and hands with soap. The water runs at a trickle. The soap is cracked and dried, dusty itself. I frown. There is no water. The sink doesn't work, we have no water. The toilet doesn't work. We have internet in the office next door, I can check my email for the first time in days, but the washroom does not have water. That's ok, we have a bucket available for your needs. I am finding this tedious and no amount of dried soap or cold water gets me clean. I kick at the cruddy sink and feel guilty. Through the open window I can hear kids laughing down the street.
Lunch: The waitress is cross-eyed and very cross. She is arguing with the others (cooks? Waitresses? Owners? All of the above?) She stops her Krio yelling and violent hand-waving to take my order. After having stood for seven minutes in a mini-tornado of dust coughing and sputtering to both get the sand off my tongue and make my presence known, I am surprised when her body and voice turn in my direction. Her eyes waver, one towards her nose, one towards her left where nothing stands but the remnants of a bombed building. I am confused when she speaks (who, me?) and I am shy. She tells me that they have food and I ask to eat. She says ok, cocks her head towards the empty restaurant. I steer away from her, park my dusty whiteness down in a chair and wait.
Lunch is rice and peanut-based sauce with a chunk of overdried, heavily-salted, rock-hard fish. It is delicious and filling. It costs 83 cents.