What's New?

I am writing this from Mamba Point, a very Western guesthouse/restaurant/bar. I have mentioned it once before, saying that here you can find a good pizza, watch movies on Tuesdays, and (unfortunately) meet very few Sierra Leoneans. It is one of my favourite places to go, despite its frigid atmosphere, the shameless dismissal of its African home, and despite the abundance of boisterous clients. But it is one of the only places in Freetown where a person can find a caesar salad, a clean draft beer, and a big-screen television with cable. I come here regularly after work to - well, work, since that’s all I do (when I’m not cruising Facebook, anyway) - and to watch The News.

Throughout my years in Paris I became positively obsessed with The News, raising my electric bills by insisting on keeping my television set to Euronews at absolutely all times. (Because what if something happens and I don’t know about it? What if something happens and I am not there?) I will admit that this obsession began in 2001, on, say... oh, September 11th or so. I did not have a television or a radio, and spent the next week compulsively seeking out televisions at all the local sports bars. On September 18th, my 21st birthday, my mother offered me money to buy myself a television. I have been glued to The News ever since.

Over the next several years in Paris, before crawling out of bed in the mornings, my first sleepy, pyjama-clad step would be to turn on the television and watch the news. I would suddenly soar with purpose and reason, devoted to my studies and my desire for change. I, A-Lok, had Things To Do.

When the repetitive programming got to me and I had memorized all the day’s stories, I would set the television on mute and leave it on all day as I did my homework, occasionally looking up to see if perhaps a fresh story had flashed across the screen with blaring red letters underlining that THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN. It was absolutely, positively, my favourite ritual (newsnewsnewsnews), and, according to some, it apparently disrupted my life and threatened my emotional stability.

“Anna, stop watching the news. You’re just depressing yourself.”
“Anna, stop watching the news. It’s not that interesting.”
“Anna, stop watching the news. Nothing is going to happen in the next few hours.”
“Anna, stop watching the news. Blah blah blah blah.”

I never stopped watching the news. That is, until I came to Sierra Leone.

It is probably the thing that affects me the most here. I have never been a very big television-watcher. And here I am, in Africa, dealing with a lack of most Western comforts, feeling happier than I’ve ever been, and I’m still obsessively, tremendously affected by the fact that I don’t have regular, immediate access to the news upon waking.

My ritual has changed: I wake in the morning thrilled at the prospect of thumping along bumpy roads in a white SUV, excited for work despite knowing that I am going to spend an exhausting day perusing international legislation on child soldiers. I quickly bathe in a concrete oubliette with a bucket of cold water and absent-mindedly wonder if I have malaria (again) (Malaria Countdown: Day 7.) On the drive to work I discuss child protection programmes with my Country Director and pout as I poke my fingers in the sad, black hole from which the car radio was stolen. I want my news.

On arrival to work, I rush upstairs to turn on my computer and scan the World’s Top Stories. I grab a coffee, and excitedly await the morning’s Media Briefing given by our Communications Officer. The news focuses exclusively on Western Africa and issues pertaining to Sierra Leone and are followed by Security Updates. It is unquestionably my favourite part of the day. Because after the Media Briefing, I know that if something happens, even if I am not there, I will know about it.

And then I can change it.