Visible Ghost Bankers to the Poor: A Profile of the Sierra Leone Informal Economy (VI)

Dr. Umaru Bah, CEO

DataWise (SL) Ltd.

@DataWiseSL

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Meet Manny Cash. He handles well over twenty thousand dollars on  any given day. And takes home twenty dollars. You are guessing right now that Manny is an entry-level bank teller assigned to the forex counter. Like that of your friend, Mary Banks. You guessed right. But only thirty percent right. That’s because Manny wakes up way earlier than Mary and goes home way later. He works neither in a uniform, nor at the counter, nor in an air-conditioned room. Unlike Mary, Manny does not have the luxury of being bored or stressed to death, based on the level of traffic or temperament of the customer. But Manny makes more money than Mary in a month. Because Mary averages Le 5,000,000 a month ($556), a little more than half of what Manny makes. In a bad month, that is. And without any windfall. Mary is a college graduate. Manny is a Junior Secondary School drop-out. 

Bomeh Inc.: Shit for Sale:: A Profile of the Sierra Leone Informal Economy (V)

Dr. Umaru Bah, CEO

DataWise (SL) Ltd.

@DataWiseSL

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Kingtom Bomeh Landfill: Barren tree surrounded by salvaged plastic ready for haulage.A pig-pen of salvaged corrugated iron at top left. Raw sewage pond at mid-right, off-camera. Part of the Ebola burial plot just over the fence at Kingtom Cemetery, off-camera.  

Africell headquarters sits atop the highest hill in Wilberforce. At least that’s what it looks like, viewed from afar in the Kingtom Bomeh refuse landfill. Its skyscraping height makes it an unavoidable landmark. As does its distinct yellow n-shaped exterior plating. The building enjoys the company of many international development agency offices. And a couple of other government agencies. And the residences of many expats: Most pay top dollars—or euros or pounds—for the sea view and the commanding panorama. And the seclusion.

Gold Dirt: A Profile of the Sierra Leone Informal Economy (IV)

Dr. Umaru Bah, CEO

DataWise (SL) Ltd.

@DataWiseSL

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So Gibril came all the way abroad from United Stay to manage the kompanie. Waste Management Kompanie. That was what they called the kompanie. Waste Management. But the kompanie kind of went to waste. So Gibril Wilson, when he came, he wanted to start all over. Clean out the whole mess. Everything. So he changed the name to Masada. And let go of many, many of us push-kiat garbage workers.

But the old Kompanie still owed us wages. And we had nothing to work with because it owned even the push-kiat we used to haul the garbage. So Gibril took sympathy on us and gave us the push-kiats for free. I painted mine, put my name and motto on it. And that’s how I got my own business.

On a Silver Plate: A Profile of the Sierra Leone Informal Economy (III)

Dr. Umaru Bah, CEO

DataWise (SL) Ltd.

@DataWiseSL

Originally Published in Medium on February 10, 2019.

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You get burnt if they catch you with burnt plates of Sierra Leonean artists.

You do not pirate original plates produced by CDSA. That’s the Sierra Leone Compact-Disc Sellers Association. Too much hassle from the police. The CDSA is very powerful. If you burn Salone artists, the police will take you and your merchandise and everything else to the station where you will spend your whole day and money to release yourself, your merchandise and your boombox. Most times, you never get back your merchandise. And you have to start back from zero. And hope the producers loan you back some plates to sell and make enough profit to pay back all those lost plates.

Selling Groundnuts for Peanuts: A Profile of the Sierra Leone Informal Economy (II)

By Dr. Umaru Bah, CEO

DataWise (SL) Ltd.

Aminata is exhausted.

Like the one-hundred-plus other visitors at New England ville. That’s understandable. It is now a few minutes past 5:30 p.m. Has been an unusual and eventfully long day. Unusual for Aminata’s co-visitors, who are here for a special occasion. You could tell from their livery of black suits and black ties covering white shirts. Mostly borrowed, a few recently purchased, all judging by the ill-fits and, had she dared to go close enough to any of them, by the lingering smell of oxygen-deprived muskiness. The kind you smell from clothing locked tight at the bottom of a suitcase, which sees literally the light of day only on special occasions. The very special kind that happens only once every 18 months. Like this one.

A dead-pan livery of black suits, black blouses and skirts, white shirts. All adorned with hushed conversations occasionally interspersed with the buzz of bumble bees. Reads like dawn of a funereal wake. Sounds like it. Funereal it is not. Or perhaps it is, Aminata would have found out or verified had she cared to ask one of them. At least one of them would have suffered the dignity of her invisible presence and informed her that they are there to interview for the British Commonwealth scholarship. No laughing matter.

Hence the ice-cold silence on a sticky-hot tropical November reluctantly welcoming Harmattan.