THE OPENING OF THE NEW CIC

Contributed by: Dave

The chatter in the car on the way to the new school opening belied how nervous we were. It was forgettable at best: discussions about the new power lines, the traffic being as bad as ever, radio deejays sharing universal vocalisms. It hid what simmered under the surface: what would it be like to see our kids again?

But as we bumped up the final stretch of the steep, dirt road and saw the school over a rise, it was fairly vacant. The school was stunning, sure, but there were only a handful of people in attendance. In true Salone fashion, the government had decided that classes wouldn’t resume today, September 5^th, the day we were told when we booked our trip. Rather, they’d start September 18th. Most people were still on holiday in the provinces. For the first time, we started to wonder if we’d actually see our kids. We had to had to push that thought away—it was time to start setting up our shoot.

SFS’ Cindy Nofziger had told us to prepare for music. Loud music. And lots of it. Her prophecy didn’t disappoint. Two giant speakers soon began blaring American and African hip-hop, simultaneously wiping out any chance we had to record decent sound and acting as a beacon that drew in the people of Kola Tree village. We scanned each face that passed, hoping one of them would be one of our kids.

It’s amazing, then, that the first two kids snuck passed us without fanfare. Clay was the first to whisper: “There’s Chief” (or Abdul as he is referred to in the film). Sure enough, there he was. And next to him? Balla.

We made our way over to them and their wide smiles banished any nerves we might have had. We exchanged huge embraces and exclamations of joy and disbelief. Chad and Clay showed baby pictures. Josh, who had spent so much time getting to know these kids and composing music to capture their spirit, met them face-to-face for the first time.

As Chief and Balla disappeared to help set up, we wondered who would be next. Rushing in, with dozens of kids around her, came the school’s headmistress, Aunty Musu. Though she didn’t have much screen time in the film, Aunty Musu has been our point person since we left. We have grown incredibly close. She’s an amazing woman who soothes huge groups of children with her calming voice and earns their respect with her authoritative, but loving rule. The kids are who they are because of who she is. Our reunion was overjoyed.

Then Emmanuel came bounding down the hill. “E” is very dear to us. In addition to being a sweet, savvy and street-smart kid who wowed audiences across the world with his self-reliance, he’s probably the one we spent the most time with in 2008. He acted as our translator then, so he was with us for a lot of down time. In that time, we became friends and seeing him again was unreal.

One of the two Sierra Leonean girls in the film, Gladis, tried to slip in discreetly, but when we saw her, we wouldn’t let her pass quietly. Hugs were exchanged and it was time for the official opening to begin. Augusta, the final child from the film (and the one closest to Chad’s heart), was nowhere to be found.

The ceremony began beautifully, with Aunty Musu’s familiar call, “Helllllllllllllllllloooo” and the children’s response, “HI!” Perhaps more than anything, this brought us back to those days underneath the mango tree. A Christian and Muslim prayer followed. The head table included Aunty Sento, who founded the first CIC during the war, Aunty Musu, Joseph Lamin of the Masanga Children’s Fund, the chairman from the village elders and the village’s chief. I was honored to be up there with them representing Copper Pot and everyone back home. We each made a few remarks. When Aunty Sento spoke, she became so overwhelmed by CIC’s journey from a vision to the school it’s become that she wept openly and couldn’t continue. At times, they broke into song, with all the kids—by now over 100 village children had gathered—singing along. On behalf of all of Copper Pot, I was made an honorary chief and given the name, Pa. Koroma Bai Dave. We were all presented with garas, traditional African dress, and told we were welcomed now to the village as family.

And somewhere, in the middle of the chief’s speech, we spotted Augusta. Shy, but smiling, she waved. They were all there finally.

In a day we’ve all worked towards for so long, a day full of emotion, there was a particular moment that got to us. At the ceremony’s end, they asked the orphans to come forward. The first kids we met at CIC were in this group of 20, as were all five of the kids featured in the film. Chief—Abdul, our Chief, not the village chief—took the microphone. He made a brief speech, then led the group in a welcome song. Three years ago, these were mainly shy kids who had trouble speaking on camera. But here they were, leading their classmates and village in song. They had grown up into kids that the other students looked up to.

We had always felt badly that the students in the film had graduated from primary school and wouldn’t benefit from the new CIC. But from what we saw that day, we were wrong. The kids from BROWNSTONES seemed to have a new confidence. They were proud of the school—even though they wouldn’t attend it, they knew that it was their stories and strength that had inspired the effort to build the school. More than Schools for Salone, the Massanga Children’s Fund, Copper Pot or the countless donors, the school was built by them. All they had ever asked was that their stories be told. The new building standing atop a hill in Kola Tree is evidence that their voices haven’t just been heard, but they will continue to ring out for years to come.