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.

Development Abound in Salone

Those of you that know the Copper Pot team personally know that we are made up of former athletes. Ok, athletes might be a stretch—let’s call us gym class heroes. Today, we merged our athletic prowess with our love of cinema. The result? An epic shoot in Sierra Leone’s national stadium amidst a downpour.

Let’s back it up for a minute. Last time we were in Salone, it was April, which, apparently, is the best time to visit. We can get down with that. The weather was gorgeous; albeit a bit hot and sticky, but beautiful blue skies met gently breaking waves that lapped against the shore in front of our hotel. Soccer matches were strewn about the beach. Countless beach bars serving Star beer, chicken, fish and rice dotted the white sand. When the tide came in, it washed over our feet as we sat in plastic chairs. It was, simply put, quite delightful.

Flashfoward to the Salone return of the Brownstones crew. We had longed for a return since we left in 2008 and once the final brick of the school was put in place, it was only a matter of time before our return. When it turned out that the day the new school opened for business fell only two days after an African Cup of Nations qualifier between Sierra Leone and Egypt, we figured we had to be there, rainy season be damned. Plus, we had heard we’d be here at the tail end of the monsoons—that might not be the correct meteorological term, but that sure is what it felt like.

It was a simple start to the day. After sleeping til well after noon like a bunch of college kids, Clay, Chad and Dave opted to go for a run along the beach road to jolt themselves back to life. Naturally, it was at this instant Salone chose to show us how vicious her rainy season could be. Torrents of rain poured down upon us, giant puddles covered the road, sand was ripped out to sea. It was a hell of a start.

Soon thereafter, we met with Abu, our guide and driver for the trip. Abu had come recommended to us by Schools for Salone, an organization that you know all about if you know anything about Copper Pot or BROWNSTONES TO RED DIRT. If you happened to find your way here as a new reader, suffice it to say that SFS is the amazing US-based organization that made our dream of building a school here in Salone a reality. We love them. You should too.

The first task we needed Abu’s expertise with was exchanging money. Not hard, you say? Well, last time, when we exchanged money, we did it on what was commonly referred to as the “black market.” This process consisted of parking in a shady part of town and having our then-guide haggle over exchange rates with men who certainly didn’t spend their days as bank tellers. Better rates were given for newer bills and higher denominations. It was a baffling process that seemed to take forever.

Today, Abu told us it wouldn’t take “any time at all”—good news, considering we lingered a bit long at lunch and thought we were running about a half hour late to meet Kei Kamara at the national stadium.

Knowing that what seems like a “short while” in West Africa can seem agonizingly long to an American, we hopped in the car, doubt coursing through the SUV that would serve as our transport for the week. We were in for a shock.

Not only did the drive take less than 10 minutes, but the route that we took followed the same we drove every day to the Children in Crisis Primary School. We were blown away by the changes. In three short years, developments had sprung up all along the road. Yes, there is still unimaginable poverty—that hadn’t changed. But there were signs everywhere of foreign and local investment: developments like condo complexes, shopping centers and gas stations. It was simply amazing.

When Abu pulled into a supermarket where we were to change money, we all pooled our cash, expecting the black market back alleys we knew from last time. We started to hand it to him, knowing he’d get a better rate, but he told us the four of us should change our own money. Admittedly skeptical, we walked in to be greeted by a friendly staff and an exchange rate better than advertised than what we saw in the US. We poked around the store and were surprised to see that the store offered many of the comforts of home—from Snickers bars to Jack Daniels and Gilette razors. These brands may be thought to be international and readily available, but last time we were here, we have no such memory.

Of course, there’s a lot that can be written by a lot smarter people about development in a third world country than the chuckleheads here at Copper Pot. And, of course, as of this point in the trip, our shooting schedule hasn’t brought us much past the reaches of the tourist section of Freetown, so we have yet to see how far the development extends, but it was encouraging to see the growth. In our film, Balla, one of the children from Sierra Leone, says that Sierra Leone is a good place and “everyone should come to Salone.” In the last three years, it seems like that message has gotten out to the people. It seems like people are starting to believe in Salone again—from what we saw three years ago, there’s no reason not to.

Much love,

The Brownstones Crew

Returning to Visit Friends

Welcome back to the BROWNSTONES TO RED DIRT blog! If you’ve kept up with us on Twitter, you know that sometime earlier this summer, we heard that the school that we built with Schools for Salone (SFS) would open officially on Monday, September 5th. We had to be there for that. When we began booking our trip, it turned out that friend of SFS, Kei Kamara, a Major League Soccer star and Sierra Leone international player, would be in Freetown playing in an African Cup of Nations qualifier against Egypt on September 3rd. The rest just fell into place: from September 1st-4th, we’d film a profile with Kei, on September 5th, we’d open the school, and on Tuesday, September 6th, we’d host the African premiere of BROWNSTONES TO RED DIRT, with the kids from Salone in attendance as guests of honor.

We’ve had a lot of time to think about our return to Sierra Leone—not just the three years since we last visited, but the last 20-some hours (and counting) of our journey. We’ve spent a lot of those minutes in planes and airport bars talking about what it was like last time and what we can expect when we land in just under three hours.

As we regaled our composer (and Salone first-timer) Josh Johnson with tales of beach-side bars and pickup football matches with the kids, Chad wondered aloud if our three year absence has made us romanticize the experience of our last trip. The question hung in the air briefly, but our introspection was punctured when our waitress offered us beers to go with our breakfast (we politely declined, however, there are several complimentary—and empty—cans of Stella currently residing on our seatback trays).

Chad’s question remained unanswered until we boarded the plane and strains of Krio echoed through the cabin. I don’t know that any of us understand the complex mix of tribal language and English any more today than we did three years ago, but unlike last time, when it felt foreign and intimidating, today, it was a gentle welcome back to the embrace of a place to which we have longed to return. A place where harsh challenges like stifling heat and gridlock traffic we may have romanticized, but whose relationships we certainly have not.

We’re not so bold to expect that we’re returning as anything more than visitors, observers to a culture wildly different than our own, but there is a major difference this time: we’re returning to see friends, not documentary subjects.

Speaking candidly (and at the risk of sounding like completely obnoxious film school d-bags), we have found the relationship between us as filmmakers and the subjects we profile to be extremely complex. It runs the risk of being exploitative and beneficial to the filmmaker while leaving the subject exposed and vulnerable. We had only three weeks to work with the kids in Salone and managed to build enough of friendship and trust for them to tell us their stories. But still, when you have a camera stuck in someone’s face, especially a kid whose language you don’t speak, there’s a barrier.

But over these last three years, that barrier has come down. Sure, thanks to a subpar infrastructure, the letters we exchange are few and far between, and when we do get them, they’re written with an air of formality surely coached by their teachers and guardians. But our relationships continued to grow.

Among the remarkable moments this trip promises—attending the school opening, hosting the premiere of and working with Kei but a few among them—the moment I think we’re all the most excited for is seeing the kids again. Not with the cameras rolling, mind you, but hanging out with them around the old mango tree near the orphanage—hearing their stories, telling our own, reminiscing over our shared memories from three years ago—catching up, just like friends do.

We hope you’ll enjoy the journey and know that you all helped make it possible.

Much love,

-The Brownstones Crew