So I’m guessing when I say Sierra Leone you immediately think of blood diamonds (or conflict diamonds as sometimes referred to) but there is much more to Sierra Leone than just its horrific history. It’s not really a surprise that these negative images spring to mind. The film was brilliant but bloody despite the dodgy South African accents, and how could we forget the famous court scene with Naomi Campbell, who is seemingly embroiled in a high profile case concerning Charles Taylor and aforementioned rocks. The subject of diamonds and their shady origins is emotive, I have several friends who refuse point blank to wear anything resembling bling out of principle and there are definitely worse things to take the moral high ground over but there is more to African conflict than just gemstones. We live in a highly technological society and it is not uncommon for millions of people across the globe to replace these electronics frequently without any thought to recycling the old product. What has this got to do with anything you may be asking, well quite simply everything. Within most electronic products, whether it be your mobile phone or laptop, there are certain minerals which are predominantly found in Sub-Saharan Africa. Armed groups will often control the mines and the people that live and work there with extreme violence, pressuring children to fight and women and young girls into indentured ‘marriages’. There is no regulation of these minerals and there is no onus on electronics companies to keep supply chains clean- they simply want the cheapest product at the right place at the right time, and we as consumers allow this.
The first thing I noticed as the plane descended onto the tarmac was green; lush emerald forests, marooned between sapphire deltas, surrounded the runway; not at all the arid wasteland I had envisaged. The airport is situated on an island 20 minutes off the coast of Freetown so once I’d navigated the turbulent boat ride I was thrown into the heart of a bustling African town. Rickety shacks lined the streets between once grand colonial mansions, interred behind imposing concrete ramparts. There seemed to be people everywhere and the taxi moved only at a snail’s pace or maybe it was just that I hadn’t yet adjusted my internal clock to ‘Africa Time’. I was given the weekend off before the real work in the mining town of Makeni would be starting so I headed straight for the beach. The road was long, dusty and navigating it like a skier across moguls was slow. Fruit stalls nestled into the trunks of trees, escaping from the blinding heat and children ran along the side of the 4x4 until their Mothers called them away. Everyone was interested in a friendly chat, not because I was white quite simply just because I was there. I was surprised by the honesty with which they spoke, no topic too uncomfortable and no anecdote without a lining of humour.
We turned down an unmarked track through leafy forest until we parked up on the sand dunes. The water was clear turquoise, and I could have been on a South East Asian island rather than West Africa. The small restaurant adjacent was roasting lobster and shrimp on an open barbeque, the aroma of lime and chili wafting through the dusky air. The sky was turning gold’s, reds and purples as the burning sun descended into the rippling water. Along the shoreline, concealed and abandoned, hotels cast long shadows into the mangroves. Most noticeable was the silence, we had the place to ourselves.
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