I think I’ve said before, Sierra Leone is a country of extremes. A day is either a joy or a travail. A scene is either of breathtaking natural beauty or of breathtaking man-made misery. An interaction is either a model of warmth and generosity, or an inexplicable barrage of anger or sullenness. There is no in-between.
Sunday was a day of light and celebration, and a reminder of why I love this country and its people.
My housemates and I were invited to attend a wedding in Kissy, a neighborhood in the poorer eastern part of Freetown. The bride, Sento, was the daughter of one of our guards, Santigi Bangura. We were delighted to be invited, and he was ecstatic that we would attend.
The wedding was held in the rocky courtyard behind his home. A makeshift mosque – rough wooden poles covered with a blue plastic tarp, with rows of plastic chairs and the ground covered with prayer mats – housed the ceremony and the Muslim revelers. Other friends and family members spilled over into the surrounding courtyard, perched on chairs and stairs and walls.
As is typical in Sierra Leone, we were welcomed with overwhelming warmth, and – as the “strangers” at the celebration – treated like gold.
We were also swept immediately into the heart of the festivities: I was enlisted as an unofficial official wedding photographer, and even invited (nay, dragged) into the mosque itself, and to a spot on the ground just between the bride and her father. And my housemate Tom was spotlighted as the special musical guest, singing songs of his own creation to the amusement and enjoyment of the Sierra Leonean crowd.
I think the pictures speak for themselves, but suffice to say, it was one of the best days I've spent in Sierra Leone.
Sunday was a day of light and celebration, and a reminder of why I love this country and its people.
My housemates and I were invited to attend a wedding in Kissy, a neighborhood in the poorer eastern part of Freetown. The bride, Sento, was the daughter of one of our guards, Santigi Bangura. We were delighted to be invited, and he was ecstatic that we would attend.
The wedding was held in the rocky courtyard behind his home. A makeshift mosque – rough wooden poles covered with a blue plastic tarp, with rows of plastic chairs and the ground covered with prayer mats – housed the ceremony and the Muslim revelers. Other friends and family members spilled over into the surrounding courtyard, perched on chairs and stairs and walls.
As is typical in Sierra Leone, we were welcomed with overwhelming warmth, and – as the “strangers” at the celebration – treated like gold.
We were also swept immediately into the heart of the festivities: I was enlisted as an unofficial official wedding photographer, and even invited (nay, dragged) into the mosque itself, and to a spot on the ground just between the bride and her father. And my housemate Tom was spotlighted as the special musical guest, singing songs of his own creation to the amusement and enjoyment of the Sierra Leonean crowd.
I think the pictures speak for themselves, but suffice to say, it was one of the best days I've spent in Sierra Leone.
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