York. Sussex. Aberdeen. Waterloo. Hastings. Kent. Being in Sierra Leone reminds me a little of being in Nova Scotia in that the familiar place names bear no resemblance at all to the places I know.
We were headed to Kent, to catch a boat over to the Banana Islands, so named by the Portuguese when they first saw them in 1462 because they look like a bunch of bananas. Of the three islands – Dublin, Ricketts, and Mes-Meheux – the first two are linked by a stone causeway.
The wonderful web reliably (?) informs me that there are over 20 places called Dublin in the world (in addition, of course, to the mothership, Dublin, Ireland):
- United States: 16 Dublins
- Canada: Dublin, Ontario
- Australia: Dublin, South Australia
- England: Dublin, Suffolk
- Other places: Dublin, Banana Islands; Dublin, Belarus
Even if the Banana Islands weren’t the tourist attraction that they are, we’d have had to visit Dublin anyway – just because.
We were booked into Bafa Resort, a series of tents, a restaurant, and a bar, on the island of Dublin. They run their own boat over and back from Kent and are easily identifiable by their smart blue polo shirts. Our 11 am sailing didn’t go till nearly 11.30 but who was complaining.
I was glad that our boat trip was included in the room (tent?) rate as I find haggling is a little wearing. I watched a kickboxer from Lebanon haggle from 1000 SLE (~$50) each return to 1000 SLE for both return – and had a feeling that she was being stiffed.
The artisanal fishing boats used to ferry people over and back from the islands are similar to those I saw in Tanzania – bright colours, mostly faded, with slogans painted on the sides. Having seen some of the passengers on the boat before us being piggy-backed out to their boats, I was glad DW had put me onto water-friendly Birkenstocks. It saved embarrassment all around.
The 20-minute boat ride was lovely – calm water, nice views, competent sailors. We were greeted with fresh coconuts and then introduced to the Duty Manager, who in turn introduced us to the Head of Housekeeping, who showed us to our tent. I was a little concerned at how far we were from the facilities – that night walk would be a doozie.
We ordered our lunch from the whiteboard – grouper ceviche with beer-battered onion rings – and settled down to wait. We’d booked a historic walking tour of the island and were looking forward to learning more about the place.
The grouper ceviche was so good we also had it for dinner and then had barracuda ceviche for lunch the next day (~$15). Some say Bafa has the best food in the country. It’s certainly good. Very good. Good enough to warrant a day trip over.
Sahr, our guide, lives on the island, going back to Freetown when the rains come. Tours are his thing. It was lovely having him to ourselves and being able to ask all sorts of questions. There are no cars, no roads. There are streets – in that they have names – but they’re more like paths.
According to Krio lore, a “lost leaf” grows in the forest. If you brush against it, you will lose your way. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to get turned around.
The island has a harrowing past. During the transatlantic slave trade of the 17th and 18th centuries, it was a staging area for slaves bound for America and Britain. Up to 2000 slaves were held here at any one time, waiting to be traded for mirrored glass, sugar, coffee and other goods thought to be as valuable as people. That human slavery is still very much a thing beggars belief.
Britain outlawed the slave trade in 1807 (though the institution of slavery continued in the Americas) and in 1808 Freetown and the peninsula were declared a British Crown Colony. The British Navy patrolled the west coast capturing slave ships, and the captive Africans were landed in Freetown.
Seeing the 19ft-deep well, where stubborn, aggressive slaves who refused to go willingly often met their end, was sobering. A mass grave. God only knows how many remains lie at the bottom. It’s all overgrown now, barely visible. Other accounts I’ve read say it was here that slaves were quarantined when sick – those who survived were sold off at a reduced price.
When the slave trade was legal, British ships bound for Liverpool would stop to pick up their cargo. Later, when there were issues with piracy, local merchants petitioned the British Government to patrol the waters – these naval ships were based on the island. The canons at the two firing points seemed to date from that time, providing a defence for the Navy.
The island has two churches. The older of the two, Sahr told us, is the Zion Free Church, a Methodist/Anglican cooperation.
The new one, St Luke’s, is the smaller, Catholic one (2011). The original church is no more – but the old bell, made in England back in 1881 hangs from a nearby tree. And I read somewhere that there’s a mosque under construction. All this for a village of 250 people. Impressive.
The village houses vary from the pan-body style to block houses. The island café wasn’t open as we passed but it looks like it could be a fun place. The two wells provide all the water on the island – the main one is 10 ft deep. It was sunk by the Portuguese and dates to 1813. There’s a primary school, a hospital staffed part-time by two nurses, and an arts and crafts centre. There’s no secondary school so kids who want to keep going have to travel to Freetown and stay there during the week. But if they don’t have relatives there to stay with, their only option, as Sahr says, is to buy a hook and line.
The highlight of my visit was getting to meet the village head, Veronica Sackey, who defied tradition when she was elected for a second 5-year term. She’s among the 30 most influential women in the Western Area Rural District. She was sitting outside, playing with her grandson as we passed. When she heard I was from Dublin, Ireland, she gave me a big hug. We had an island in common. We had a connection. Veronica is a descendant of Mrs Sarah Campbell, a prominent local figure of the 19th century, who is buried in the local cemetery.
We ventured over to Old Turtle Bay, home to yet another resort. This one with rooms that have en suite bathrooms (note duly made for next time). The food may or may not be up to Bafa standards (we didn’t eat there) but then it’s less than a 10-minute walk, so once you have laid your path of seashells, or have noted your directions, you’d be fine. The lads behind the bar are very friendly. Try the homemade ginger beer at your own risk 🙂
We went back there with Sahr for an evening swim and to catch the sunset. The sun sets quickly in this part of the world. Sitting with our beers looking out over the water, a flock of birds (or what I thought were birds) appeared out of nowhere. Hundreds of them. No exaggeration.
But they were not birds…they were bats. Magical.
Wherever you stay on the islands, you’ll have plenty to do. If we were divers, we’d have made our way to the old 17th-century Dutch East India Company that foundered years back and was discovered, canons intact, in 1974. It’s still there, beneath the waters.
Abi Dalton has written about the logistics of how to get there and what can be done. Check the prices though – and the location of the other resorts.
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