Crossing the Estuary

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The huge drops of rain landed with such force that for a moment I thought it was hail. Lightening flashed, followed immediately by thunder, and ushered in a torrent. The lightening interrupted electrical power and suddenly I was in total darkness.  

The power returned a minute later. “Go now,” advised the SeaCoach man. I obeyed and stepped onto the gangplank and scurried down to the wharf where “Blessing,” the boat to Freetown pitched and tossed. The boat looked seaworthy, which was reassuring considering the rough seas. A few minutes earlier I watched men in orange SeaCoach t-shirts wrestle my 59-pound suitcase onto the boat.

At the airport the SeaCoach representative insisted that I travel separate from my luggage to the boat. This idea didn’t appeal to me. My luggage had all my worldly possessions for the next six months. Once the passenger van arrived at the wharf, I scouted the area and found the luggage van. My bag was fine. A man with a white shirt, clearly management, asked if I would like to take the early boat.

“If that means I can travel with my luggage, yes thanks, that would be great. “
“I’ll check with my boss,” he replied and disappeared to briefly talk with another white-shirted management person. 
“Am I ok to go?” 
“Yes, but you need to pay a fee.” 
“How much?” 
“What do you think is fair?” 
“Five dollars.”
“Ten is better.”
“Deal.”

And so, it happened that I managed to travel together with my luggage on the boat and to learn how to barter Sierra Leone style. Had I said “ten dollars” I’m sure he would have doubled this to twenty.

The crossing was 33 minutes of powering up a crest and then slapping down in the trough. Rain leaked in and the diesel fumes were toxic. The humidity was so excessive that the pilot had a helper constantly wipe the inside of the windshield. Even so, the rain was often so thick that the bow was a wet blur. Finally, the lights of Freetown were visible, then distinct, and then I arrived, a bit wet but intact.

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