The Sidewalk

We lived up a steep hill from the Congo-Cross roundabout. Our compound was at the top and had a beautiful but partially obstructed view of Freetown and the harbor. It was quite spectacular. Each day the way the sunlight hit the water      was unique creating new sparkling views.  In addition to the water and the palm trees we also overlooked hundreds corrugated metal roofs slowly rusting in the humid salty air. We had lived in this location for about a year but I still had not captured a clear view of tropical Freetown. So I decided to walk down the road where I knew I could get a clear shot. With my Cannon digital camera in hand, I started out for a short strip of sidewalk just down the road.  Reaching the area with the view and quite possibly only 200 feet of paved sidewalk in all of Sierra Leone, I started to plan my shot unaware at first of the man walking towards me.  Becoming aware, I realized it was Oscar, the guy with the mental illness who was regularly sifting through the rubbish bins. 

           I had a choice to share the narrow sidewalk with him or to quickly cross back over to the other side of the road and delay taking my picture until a more opportune time. This was risky because there was very little shoulder along the far side of the road. Nevertheless, I darted across the road to avoid a potential confrontation. As I looked back to see if Oscar had noticed my sudden change of route, he looked at me and then suddenly stopped to squat down and then proceeded  poop on the sidewalk in broad daylight! Once I realized what he was doing I thought “Oh man! Did you just do what I think you did? And was it really necessary to poop on the only decent piece of sidewalk in the whole freaking town?”  Apparently it was.   
             By now I had become numb to people urinating in public. They peed on the sides of buildings, in the gutters along the streets or anyplace that was convenient.  It was such a common problem that when you saw a cement wall it often had the phrase “Pis nor irr” painted along its length to discourage such behavior. Up until that moment I had never seen anyone “drop trou” mid stride and go #2 on the sidewalk with an audience.  This was totally alarming.

            Once Oscar had finished his business, he continued on his way and I, determined to get my shot crossed back over to the freshly decorated sidewalk and completed my mission. And quite a sight it was too, one I’ll never forget!

           

Oscar and Beelzebub

I frequently sighted him rummaging though the overflowing garbage from the shadily constructed dumpsites in our area.  Middle aged, strong and lean, with wild matted hair.  Always wearing the same tattered shorts, shirtless. The only thing he donned above the waist were, his dirty frayed necklaces made from odds and ends.  Each shred of cloth was strung with a piece of brightly colored debris, forming a think tangled collar around his neck.  I had seen similar amulets worn by other local people usually for protection form evil spirits or to deflect the bullets of a witch-gun. 

        Witchcraft or Juju as its know in Sierra Leone is prevalent. The fear of being cursed by a vindictive neighbor or a jealous friend causes great anxiety for a lot of people. In order to counteract the effects of the witch-gun aimed at them they go to another witch rumored to be more powerful and after paying a chunk of money, the witch will perform some incantations and provide them with a charm that will protect them from whatever they are afraid they might encounter. 

       From my western perspective Oscar, as I called him, looked as though he was suffering from mental illness that had been mistaken for demonic torment. Sadly, there are no doctors, medications or treatment centers available for the mentally ill in Sierra Leone. In their desperation, people resort to witchcraft or chaining the sick individual up.  I suspect whoever was providing Oscar with the necklaces was desperately hoping to cure him. 

         I couldn’t help but ruminate on why he was in the pitiable condition he was in.  Was he born this way? Had he been abused as a child? Maybe during the civil war he had experienced unspeakable traumas or had been forced to commit some grievous acts like so many others during that time. Whatever the reason, Oscar was in desperate need of treatment.                                                                                                                          

        While working as a missionary when encountering this type of individual my first inclination is to scan my memory of the Bible for comparable circumstances. My mind quickly retrieved the story of the demonic who had become a host for a legion of demons and was forced to live naked in a graveyard until he met Jesus.  I didn’t know where Oscar slept at night but by the looks of him it wasn’t in a house. He clearly spent most of his time outside and knee high in trash.  I also recalled from my theological studies that one of the descriptions given to Satan is Beelzebub which means lord of flies and I wondered if this was one of the reasons I always saw him in or near the garbage dumps; not that he was Satan, but that he was being tormented by demonic flies so to speak. Yet even if his issues weren’t spiritual in nature his demeanor, appearance and behavior stirred up in me these reflections.      

        Then my brain quickly swings the other way and wonders if he is always sifting through the refuse simply because he is hungry or looking for a new trinket to hang around his neck. Part of me wanted to buy him a hardboiled egg or banana from a street hawker so that he didn’t have to forage in the trash. I wondered what would happen if I did. Would he turn on me returning my kind concern with physical aggression? Would I be forced to confront his demons and have to attempt a public exorcism?   Conflicted and afraid I did the only thing I knew to do, I prayed for Oscar from a safe distance. I asked God to show him mercy. I prayed for his healing and for freedom from the ties that bound his soul and mind. I thanked God that I wasn’t in his situation. Now years later as I explore my thoughts and actions in that moment, I feel cowardly like I could have and should have done more. You know taken the risk. But in that moment years ago, all I could do was what I did.