Dave smiled at the group, adjusted his ponytail, "I've only been shot down twice," he said, "in a helicopter." Silence.
Graham Greene said on a visit back to Sierra Leone in 1968, "Freetown a home from home for men who had not encountered success at any turn of the long road and who no longer expected it…”. I thought of Dave...
I've written previously of the 3 M's typically found in Africa amongst the expats. Mercenaries, Missionaries & Misfits. Dave is most certainly the latter.
A true character. He currently lives somewhere near Freetown. He's been around West Africa more than 30 years. He's a Canadian. From Toronto. He's nowhere left to go. He's stayed too long. He's recently entered his 8th decade. His girlfriend, a much earlier decade. He dreams of the 'big one'. He's running out of time...
He's made money. He's lost money. He's survived plenty of scrapes. He's had plenty of adventure. If a third of his stories are close to the truth, then he's lived at least two lives.
This is a tale of woe. Double-dealing partners. Flakey investors. Misfortune. Treachery. Conspiracies. If only they'd believed. He wouldn't now be stuck in some West African backwater.
He drinks plenty, not now. He chases women, not so much these days. He talks of menace and violence against those who've betrayed him. If only he could raise $10k for his latest venture, his life would take off. He's mostly bald on top. Has a ponytail, sometimes worn in a tight bob. He wears mostly black...
Diamond Dave has enjoyed previous incarnations. Coltan Dave, Gold Dave, Iron Dave, and more. For some reason, enduring success has never visited. Unlikely now, but you never know... You do, but you don't...
That's the background. Here's the tale. A funny one...
I first met Diamond Dave in 2012 at a private dinner. The second time, a few months later, at a beach restaurant out of town. He joined the group I was with. The regular expat fare on a Sunday afternoon. A long lazy lunch of lobster, prawns, crab, barracuda, and a few bottles of wine. Dave only knew me. We'd met only briefly. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
Go around the table and tell 2 stories about yourself. One should be true, the other bull sh*t. I was worried about Diamond Dave, he'd already delivered a few tall tales. One involved a chimpanzee. Would he understand the concept? Dave was the last storyteller. The mood was excellent. Lots of laughing and banter.
Diamond Dave began his first story. He told of being a carpenter in the 1970s. A sort of handyman to the stars in Hollywood. Barbra Streisand would call him up, and he'd fix her kitchen. Kris Kristofferson needed a door hanging. Rod Steiger, and so on... stunned silence.
Following a pause, Dave proceeded with his second story. This one was about some scrapes he'd been caught up in during various African conflicts. Resulted in him being shot down 3 times in a helicopter. More silence...
Everyone had to guess which story was genuine and which one was bull sh*t...
It's no good Dave, you'll have to tell us. He explained he'd been a sort of carpenter/handyman for a period of time in LA. And... wait for it... he'd only, in fact, been shot down twice. More wine anyone... deadpan delivery. You had to love this fellow.
I once asked him what he'd do if his boat finally came in. Just suppose his latest project/dream actually played out? A million bucks. What would he do? The reply was sad, but also strangely uplifting. Without missing a beat, he told me he'd open a nightclub on a Greek island. He'd invite me to the opening night.
I closed my eyes for a moment. I could imagine it. I really could. Dave would be stood there with a young lady on each arm, a sharp tuxedo, tanned, his remaining hair tight to his head in a neat ponytail, surveying with satisfaction a long line of patrons waiting to come into his club. The club would be called... 'Diamonds'.
I put the chances somewhere between being struck by lightning on a Monday afternoon on the 18th hole following an eagle putt, then surviving a shark attack Tuesday morning, then winning the lottery rollover Wednesday, and finally, and really stretching the odds, meeting a charming fragrant Frenchman for breakfast Thursday...
Diamond Dave, I wish you all the luck in the world. If a future post on this blog is flagged for a Greek island... his boat came in. I wanted to ask Dave if knew the capital of Greece. Of course, we all know the answer to this one. About 27 Euros...
So, something different in this post, introducing you to characters still around these parts. Perhaps the secret is to get out while you can. Don't stay too long. Diamond Dave a loser? Not in my book. I sit with him, I laugh. I always feel better for having sat with him. He's no loser.
Oh, and...
... when you've worked in Africa a long time, you take pride in not being scammed as much as the greenhorns.
Walking along Lumley Beach two Fridays ago with 'Our Man in Port Loko', we came across a 'sad sight'. A woman on her knees trying to scoop broken eggs back on to cardboard trays. She was crying and wailing with an apparent bystander trying to console her.
The 'scene' suggested the trays balanced on her head had fallen. I reached into my pocket and gave her Le 20,000 ($4). We started to walk on, the wailing intensified. 'Our Man in Port Loko' gave her a further Le 50,000 ($10). The lady was grateful and mentioned the Good Lord.
Turns out, when retelling this story, we were not the first to encounter the 'egg dropper'. A pleasure to be seen off.... yet again. In the local argot, 'ow fo do...' (what can you do). Just like Diamond Dave, it brings a smile, and it feels better to have met her.
Graham Greene said on a visit back to Sierra Leone in 1968, "Freetown a home from home for men who had not encountered success at any turn of the long road and who no longer expected it…”. I thought of Dave...
I've written previously of the 3 M's typically found in Africa amongst the expats. Mercenaries, Missionaries & Misfits. Dave is most certainly the latter.
A true character. He currently lives somewhere near Freetown. He's been around West Africa more than 30 years. He's a Canadian. From Toronto. He's nowhere left to go. He's stayed too long. He's recently entered his 8th decade. His girlfriend, a much earlier decade. He dreams of the 'big one'. He's running out of time...
He's made money. He's lost money. He's survived plenty of scrapes. He's had plenty of adventure. If a third of his stories are close to the truth, then he's lived at least two lives.
This is a tale of woe. Double-dealing partners. Flakey investors. Misfortune. Treachery. Conspiracies. If only they'd believed. He wouldn't now be stuck in some West African backwater.
He drinks plenty, not now. He chases women, not so much these days. He talks of menace and violence against those who've betrayed him. If only he could raise $10k for his latest venture, his life would take off. He's mostly bald on top. Has a ponytail, sometimes worn in a tight bob. He wears mostly black...
Diamond Dave has enjoyed previous incarnations. Coltan Dave, Gold Dave, Iron Dave, and more. For some reason, enduring success has never visited. Unlikely now, but you never know... You do, but you don't...
That's the background. Here's the tale. A funny one...
I first met Diamond Dave in 2012 at a private dinner. The second time, a few months later, at a beach restaurant out of town. He joined the group I was with. The regular expat fare on a Sunday afternoon. A long lazy lunch of lobster, prawns, crab, barracuda, and a few bottles of wine. Dave only knew me. We'd met only briefly. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
Go around the table and tell 2 stories about yourself. One should be true, the other bull sh*t. I was worried about Diamond Dave, he'd already delivered a few tall tales. One involved a chimpanzee. Would he understand the concept? Dave was the last storyteller. The mood was excellent. Lots of laughing and banter.
Diamond Dave began his first story. He told of being a carpenter in the 1970s. A sort of handyman to the stars in Hollywood. Barbra Streisand would call him up, and he'd fix her kitchen. Kris Kristofferson needed a door hanging. Rod Steiger, and so on... stunned silence.
Following a pause, Dave proceeded with his second story. This one was about some scrapes he'd been caught up in during various African conflicts. Resulted in him being shot down 3 times in a helicopter. More silence...
Everyone had to guess which story was genuine and which one was bull sh*t...
It's no good Dave, you'll have to tell us. He explained he'd been a sort of carpenter/handyman for a period of time in LA. And... wait for it... he'd only, in fact, been shot down twice. More wine anyone... deadpan delivery. You had to love this fellow.
I once asked him what he'd do if his boat finally came in. Just suppose his latest project/dream actually played out? A million bucks. What would he do? The reply was sad, but also strangely uplifting. Without missing a beat, he told me he'd open a nightclub on a Greek island. He'd invite me to the opening night.
I closed my eyes for a moment. I could imagine it. I really could. Dave would be stood there with a young lady on each arm, a sharp tuxedo, tanned, his remaining hair tight to his head in a neat ponytail, surveying with satisfaction a long line of patrons waiting to come into his club. The club would be called... 'Diamonds'.
I put the chances somewhere between being struck by lightning on a Monday afternoon on the 18th hole following an eagle putt, then surviving a shark attack Tuesday morning, then winning the lottery rollover Wednesday, and finally, and really stretching the odds, meeting a charming fragrant Frenchman for breakfast Thursday...
Diamond Dave, I wish you all the luck in the world. If a future post on this blog is flagged for a Greek island... his boat came in. I wanted to ask Dave if knew the capital of Greece. Of course, we all know the answer to this one. About 27 Euros...
So, something different in this post, introducing you to characters still around these parts. Perhaps the secret is to get out while you can. Don't stay too long. Diamond Dave a loser? Not in my book. I sit with him, I laugh. I always feel better for having sat with him. He's no loser.
Oh, and...
... when you've worked in Africa a long time, you take pride in not being scammed as much as the greenhorns.
Walking along Lumley Beach two Fridays ago with 'Our Man in Port Loko', we came across a 'sad sight'. A woman on her knees trying to scoop broken eggs back on to cardboard trays. She was crying and wailing with an apparent bystander trying to console her.
The 'scene' suggested the trays balanced on her head had fallen. I reached into my pocket and gave her Le 20,000 ($4). We started to walk on, the wailing intensified. 'Our Man in Port Loko' gave her a further Le 50,000 ($10). The lady was grateful and mentioned the Good Lord.
Turns out, when retelling this story, we were not the first to encounter the 'egg dropper'. A pleasure to be seen off.... yet again. In the local argot, 'ow fo do...' (what can you do). Just like Diamond Dave, it brings a smile, and it feels better to have met her.
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