This is Life
Ishmael stops to say “Hallo, Autie RB!” every time he passes. Love that kid. Here he is after school one day.
I don’t have any exams today so I resolved to take the day off. Last night I was up until 1:00am again, sending email and finishing typing my mock WAEC. I really need to stop staying up so late. It’s just… nice. No one is peaking in the window. No one is screaming my name or asking for books and food. This morning I allowed myself to lie in bed and read until 9:00. Yada yelled incessantly when Momie came by with bread but I just turned up the radio, “Not today. Not today.”
Not five minutes after I opened the door four students approached. They always fool me, sitting at a neighbor’s house and waiting for me to unsuspectingly emerge. I lit the fire and looked at their applications. They are trying so hard but really just don’t know. When asked about the most important challenge he’d overcome one had written about breaking his arm as a child. They are 20-year-olds living in Liberia. They grew up during the conflict. They have overcome more than the average American could hope to in a lifetime. But, again, they just don’t know. Because this is life. This is all they know.
I wish they could all go. I wish I could wave a wand, chunk some money in the air, and solve their problems (I suspect some still think I can). But life is unfair and all I can do is point the way and encourage them to keep walking. “I know you can’t see it. You won’t see it for many years. But stay on the path. It is a good one. It will take you there, but you must keep struggling forward. I cannot carry you. But yes you can.”
Sometimes I wish I could choose. Sometimes I’m grateful I don’t have to.
Junior deserves it so much, but so do Festus, George, Garrison, smiling Serena, Mercy, Prince… Prince worries me lately. He is taking it very seriously, is very nervous. His hands, always confident on the board, shook as he shuffled through his papers on my porch. “Ms. RB, I just want to get small understanding on this…” Whatever happens with this scholarship he will do something big. He’s a little older and very well spoken, something they give him a hard time about. “Prince, we’re having a collection to send you to Ghana,” they say, “You can’t speak Liberian and you can’t speak Ghanaian. Ms. RB, you’ll help? We’re sending him back.” He’s always good natured about it and I always say I don’t want him to go but I’m sure it bothers him.
I have no idea how I’m going to write all these recommendations. It’s going to be another long race…
The Sweetest of All
Plum (mango) season started a few weeks ago. Two for $5LD, about three cents each. It’s pretty sweet, apart from them falling on my roof all night.
I finished my work this morning and lugged three heavy bags to campus. I heard the “tap! tap! tap!” of the typewriter as I approached Mr. Demy’s house. I poked my head in the cramped office and he beamed, ushering me inside. I emptied to contents of one of the bags on his desk and he fell back in his chair dramatically, “Ohhh thank you JEEsus!” I showed him the thirteen-page mock WAEC I’d painstakingly written two copies of. I glanced at the typewriter and cautiously asked if we were mimeographing the tests. The typos and poor printing would make grading arduous to impossible.
“Mr. Demy,” I said as nonchalantly as I could, “What if I typed it on the computer? Could we copy it…?” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes in a way I’ve learned means, “No.” He said it would be too expensive. I expected that so I backed off and handed him my exam even though I’d already started typing it. “Look at the diagrams, though,” I pointed, “how should we do those?” He pursed his lips again and opened his eyes wide in a way I knew meant, “Oh God,” and, “I’m changing my mind.” I showed him the cube roots, matrices, sigmas, and triangles. “I worry I am giving your machine hard time,” I said, gesturing to the typewriter. “How much would photocopies cost…?” I was seriously about to pay it myself and be done but suddenly he nodded, “We will appeal to them. But only for your class.”
I am the only teacher not getting paid extra to teach study class (the students had to pay), but I’m also the only one who shows up regularly. So it’s only fair.
Thank god.
I excused myself and his son walked me across the field and unlocked the gate. Festus and Garrison joined me, Festus recounting in detail how he’d solved an age problem on the practice test a few weeks earlier. “It came, Ms. RB! And I solved it exactly! Musu is 6! Oh it was good.”
Everyone else trickled in and I taped my Pascal’s Triangle on the wall, “You remember this?” We spent an hour and a half using it to expand binomials, but were moving slow. Our numbers had swelled close to twenty and people were coming in late so I kept repeating myself. Festus was bored, “Ms. RB, are you going to keep doing this? I want to go eat plums.” I told him it was Sunday and I didn’t care what he did so he got up and ran out the gate and around the side. I helped everyone else solve for coefficients while watching him lob giant sticks into the tree just outside the classroom, its branches heavy with plump mangos. “Plop! Plop!” he got some. Fifteen minutes later I moved to the Binomial Theorem and he raced back in licking his fingers. “Oh, that was good, Ms. RB. Math is sweet every day, but plum season is the sweetest of all!”
I finally packed my bag and left at six to photocopy more applications with them. Maima had spent the day putting new screen doors on her shop and painting. It looked good. I asked if she’d cooked. She nodded but made a face. “Pepper soup, but I na know if you wan’ it. No cow meat today so they gave me mostly intestines and liver.” I gave her a grateful, knowing smile and promised to come tomorrow. If I went home to cook now I wouldn’t eat until 9:00 so I bought some bread and went to the club to wait for the woman to come grill meat. Nathaniel brought me a beer and I read an article about Kazakhstan in the National Geographic that came in my last box. It highlighted the new capitol city, futuristic and other-worldly. Imagine! I could be doing Peace Corps there! Actually, I couldn’t imagine.
My new dance partner, Prince, wandered outside. He’s in second grade, maybe seven or eight, and lives at the club. I waved him over and handed him a loaf of bread. I’d bought too much out of habit. He sat and we read the magazine together, him cracking up uncontrollably at a picture of a man in Papua New Guinea, “Ahhhhahaha! Dat ugly butt der!” Then we read The Very Hungry Caterpillar (apparently I’m a mobile day care now too) and I got some sheets out asking if he wanted to draw. He stared at me confused and shook his head then jumped up and disappeared inside, “I’m coming!”
He emerged with two copybooks and beckoned for me to get the pen back out. We sat for another hour while he copied his ABCs and various things from other pages. He kept insisting he couldn’t read even though he was writing. I didn’t believe him, but the truth of this became clear as I watched him literally draw the words on the paper, clueless what they meant or how they related. “Oh god,” I thought, “How many of my students do just the same??” My honest guess is about 25-50%.
Finally at 8:30 I was confident the computer had finished charging so I collected it and headed home. Another successful day. So proud of them all.
Saye, my mathematical underdog, continued to shine this week. His new found confidence in his own abilities has him solving almost as fast as Festus. I tapped his notebook, “Perfect.” He threw his arms in the air and stomped his feet, still in awe some himself. Gave me my biggest smile of the day.
-
- Plum (mango) season started a few weeks ago. Two for $5LD, about three cents each. It’s pretty sweet, apart from them falling on my roof all night.
-
- Zed and Nya try to sell me plums. Then immediately ask for “their own.” It’s quite the racket. “RB, pay me $5 to eat plums!” Brilliant when it works.
The Gift of Hope
Some days Samuel loves me. Some days I’m the white devil. Today was a good day. Love the Hungry Caterpillar onesie.
Holy busy week. I’ve been up until one the past two nights working on grade sheets and am just over half way done. Oh my god. I was supposed to be done today. Oh well, deadlines are very flexible here. Today I was also supposed to submit practice WAEC questions, an entire test, to Mr. Demy. That also won’t happen. No one told me until Tuesday! Oh yeah, and we still had class and study class. I haven’t felt this overwhelmed since leaving America. Jesus. No one else in this town except maybe Mr. Demy is working this hard.
Thankfully today was a work day, meaning classes were cancelled so the students could brush the campus. I had planned a small presentation for the 12th graders, however, and had to scrap it. Our office met with EARTH University this week and they’re looking for applicants to come study agriculture on their campus in Costa Rica. Housing. Tuition. The works. I had to shorten it to a three minute blurb and tell them to come to the house. “But come after 9:00!” I begged, “I’ll be up late doing your grades.”
I rolled over this morning just after 8:00. “Shit. They’re probably already here.” I pulled some clothes on and peaked out at the porch. Next door the generator was still whirring and a driver was washing a car I’d never seen, singing along to the radio. I didn’t see anyone on the porch—phew! There was a mass of people by the road, though, all clustered around yelling. I hadn’t put on my glasses yet so I thought maybe someone was selling and all the neighbors had come to shop.
Not quite.
I unlocked the door and they got quiet and turned. They were here for me, all forty of them, about half my 12th grade class.
Oh. My. God.
They waved and came over to the porch while I frantically organized the papers. I’d meant to do it the night before but forgot. I grabbed my U.S. News world map off the wall, “Who can show me Liberia?” Someone came and pointed it out. I pointed across the map to Middle America. “This is where I’m from. Who can show me Costa Rica?” They stared bashfully and a few people mumbled, “…America.” I laughed, “Close!” and traced my finger all the way back to the equator. “It’s Central America. Yes, an America but not the United States. You are getting me?” They nodded and I made my presentation, eighty eyes overflowing with hope and dreams soaking in every word. I passed out three copies of the application and recommendation forms Pelle printed for me the day before and sent them in to town to make copies. It would cost each of them about $2. I wished I could pay it for them, but it’s way too much.
“A man can do without wealth, and even without purpose, for a while. But he will not go on without hope.”
~ C. Neil Strait
Ever Expanding Family
Jamal’s face in the middle is truly the best. “Jamal crazy!” I tell the other kids almost daily. He just cackles.
After school five of my 12th grade girls followed me from campus. “Where are you going?” I asked. They smiled, “With you! We’re your family now.” I’d said that in class last week on the brink of tears. Maybe they really do listen.
As I shuffled in to town, however, I began to feel discouraged. I was lonely and sad. I ate my rice alone and walked to Roni’s more to see a friendly face than because I needed to change money. He’s good to me. The day before Krista left I went in the shop and he just shook his head, “Don’t bring that sad face in here, sweetie. I don’t want to see it.” I laughed and he agreed to let me shop.
Today he was sitting in front of the counter looking tired. I walked in and he immediately read my mind. “Are you ok?” I shrugged, “Tired.” He changed my money and told me to sit and have a soft drink. I declined but he shouted at one of the workers to give me an energy drink. I carried it to the club and drank it with a beer, which left my body confused, buzzed but mellow. A man with long dreadlocks and good English sat down across from me, “Can I talk to you?” I shook my head, “I’m sorry. I’m not having a good day.” He paused, noticed my watery eyes, and left. I felt rude afterward because it’s never that easy to reject men here… maybe he was actually a nice guy. I’m sure he’ll be back.
I read my book and wasted as much time as I could before collecting my laptop from Phone Garden. Justin Beiber was blasting inside and I sang along with the three guys working, “When I was thurteeeen I had my first luuuuve!” I’m so grateful for how many nice people live here, how many people have taken me in as friend and family. I stopped to hug almost every kid between town and my house then my own kids tore across the yard to greet me. “RB na come! RB na come!” I unlocked the office and we had a dance party. Then for some reason they all ran into the yard to show me they could do somersaults and headstands. I clapped and cheered from the porch and prayed no one would get hurt.
I brought out the Frisbee and they ran screaming around the yard, Rihanna and Akon still bumping from the porch. A truck pulled up. Roni. He got out laughing, “You are enjoying?” I smiled, “Trying. The kids don’t let me feel lonely.” He playfully kicked a few of them in the butt then laughed, looked at me like I was crazy and, shaking his head, said something in Arabic. “I just passed to check on you.” I shook his hand with the cleanest snap I’ve had with a white person, “Thank you, Roni.”
I meant it.
Dream a Little Dream
Mornings are the hardest part, before I’ve found the day’s current to carry me along. I haven’t slept well since they left. I have vivid, unsettling dreams about… everything. I wake up during the night confused where I am and what’s going on. When morning finally comes I bury my face in the pillow and lay under the covers until I can talk myself into getting up. “Think of the work you have to do before school. Momie will be coming by with bread soon…”
I’ve dreamed about math a lot lately, waking up in the middle of correcting papers. As nearly as I can tell I’m doing it all right, which is awesome and frightening, that I can literally do WAEC math in my sleep. Yesterday I sat up with a jolt with a counterexample to prove Festus’ formula for combinations was incomplete. “Oh God,” I muttered to myself, “get up and do something else!”
So I finished my wash.
Young Mathematician
These gorgeous red flowers have appeared all over town. This one sits in the middle of the road near the school.
The quizzers always make everything better. Today I had about eight kids on campus with me. Most of them hadn’t been there on Friday so we redid permutations and combinations. Saye was one of the few who had seen it once but he didn’t take any notes. Today he was engaged and writing furiously. Then he stopped, “But Ms. RB, we’ve already done that one.” I smiled, “I know. I want to know if you can still do it.” He stared at me, “Ehhhhh god.” Then he got to work and solved the next three perfectly, each time grinning in surprise.
He was at the board two hours later when Festus, my top student, came in. “Oooo! Saye is solving!” he smiled. Saye glanced over his shoulder bashfully. “Young mathematician!” Festus yelled, clapping, “Ms. RB, you’ve done well.” “Exactly so,” Saye said, “I’ve never scored above 40 in math. Now? 105!”
It’s been such a pleasure to watch so many of them struggle and finally blossom. They’ve put in all the hard work. I’ve just supplied some practice and a few suggestions. As bittersweet as the past few days have been I can never forget that they’re the reason I’m here.
When You Know Better
Grandpa, Yada, and Nya beg me to take their picture pretending to sleep. Don’t ask silly questions like why.
I felt like I let Pelle down last night. The butcher was out of meat and the soup was mediocre at best. It was an odd group. The two Ukrainians came, the Zambians, the Philippine, the Fijian, a new UNICEF officer from Malawi, and Conquay, the superintendent at the prison. I spent most of the night talking with Conquay about the prison. We were sort of the two outsiders. I tried to talk to the UNICEF woman, but she seemed half interested at best. She’s only here for primary education and didn’t even know where my school was, almost within sight of the UN camp. “So you aren’t here to do anything for my kids?” I asked. She shook her head.
It seems that Peace Corps is one of the only organizations grabbing the bull by the horns and trying to help the generation caught in the middle. It makes me sad but very glad to be here. What would happen if I wasn’t? Where would the fates blow these kids? Every time the idea of leaving flashes through my head I think of them. When you know better you do better. I know too much to go back now. In America 8,000 other people could do the same job as me. Here in Sanniquellie I am the only one who can offer what I have. That is scary some days and some days it gets me out of bed.
If not me, who? If not now, when?
Conquay gave me a lot of hope about our project at the prison. I asked him what level he thought they were at and whether they would be motivated to learn. He said he thought some of them were at an 8th grade level and some of them were around ABC. “They heard we are starting classes,” he said, “and several asked me to help them write their names.” I can do this. The first bit might not be pretty while we’re figuring things out but we’ll find our way. He and Pelle are already working on the library space that we talked about Sunday so the students can have access to the materials. Whatever we do will be better than what is happening now… which is nothing. I am here to help the people who want to be helped however I can.
I called the office Friday and they made me feel small discouraged. “Peace Corps doesn’t usually work on literacy, Rebekah,” they said, “It’s very hard and takes a long time. I’m not sure what to tell you.” I fumed about that all afternoon. But this is needed and important and no one else is trying! To their credit the first time I brought it up several months ago they were supportive and have never tried to talk me out of it. I just can’t wait for them to see how successful we’re going to be.
The only thing that makes me nervous is how short my time left feels—just over one year then I have to send it off on its own or extend. But I can’t think that far ahead yet. The farthest I can get is the next six month chunk and I’m not even sure what’s in that. Other people keep asking what I’m doing this summer and telling me detailed plans they have. All I know day to day is that I’ll get out of bed. Then the day takes over and knows what we should do. In America I planned and scheduled every bit of my day, but since coming to Africa I’ve had to let go, to admit whatever happens will happen and that’s ok. The wind blows you somewhere and that’s probably where you were meant to be. In the end all you really control is how much you enjoy being there. All you can choose sometimes is your perspective.
Dear LR-3
In January Krista and I were visited by David Bauer of the original LR-1. He came to Sanniquellie in 1962 with the first group of Peace Corps Volunteers to enter Liberia. Now that is brave. Thank you, David, and everyone who came before for the beautiful legacy you left for us. It is an honor to follow in your footsteps.
In June we will be joined by LR-3, the new group of two-year Volunteers. Today I dedicate my post to them and their anxious preparations.
Dear LR-3,
Congratulations and welcome. You are embarking on a strange and beautiful journey. Liberia is a place full of challenges, about which you are surely already worried, but I want you to know it also overflows with love, hope, and adventure. You will have the best days of your life here when your students suddenly “get you,” when the screaming baby finally agrees to sit on your lap, when you sweat through your clothes dancing in the street. You will also have days when you lose treasured possessions and people. The things you carefully pack now will spoil and fall to the side. The bad will come with the good, but it won’t matter because TIA.
This is Africa.
That’s right; you are coming to live in Africa! It’s something that still surprises and inspires me. You will figure it out when you get here and it will be ok… more than ok.
Don’t worry so much about that damn 80lbs of stuff you’ll bring from America. I really regret how stressed I was in my final days about things like shoes and batteries. You will figure it out when you get here. I promise you’ll have help. Smiles and hugs waited for us on just the other side of immigration when we landed. There will be even more waiting for you.
Spend your final weeks packing your mind and your heart. Enjoy your friends and your family. You’ll talk to them often and see them before you know it… but you’ll miss them. You know that. Read some good books. Learn what you can about Liberia and Africa. Learn what you can about yourself. Make sure your feet are on the ground and you know where you are going and why. There will be days you have to remind yourself why you came and days you wonder why you waited so long.
Make sure you’ll have a ready answer. Mine is two quotes, the first from Peace Corps’ beloved JFK, “One person can make a difference and everyone should try.” I remind myself daily that as long as I try, as long as I plant enough seeds, some of them will flower. No, I’ll probably never see the garden, but that doesn’t mean others won’t enjoy the fruits of my labor. My second inspiration is Gandhi’s call to, “be the change you want to see.” I was born in America and inherited a lot of privileges as a result. Gandhi reminds me to take that luck of fate and pay it forward.
Figure out what makes you happy and what makes you stressed. There will be days you have to pull yourself, and others, up by the bootstraps. (This is where it helps to know where you’re going and why!) How do you measure success? When I prepared to leave America I resolved that if I could touch just one life it would be worth it. Your impact here will be immediate and dramatic. Your two years in Liberia will be challenging and dirty, but never unfulfilling.
Pack an open heart and an open mind. The rest is icing. You are joining a group of extraordinary people.
Welcome.
You’ve Done Well!
Grandpa gets rubbed down with chalk every time he’s sick. But, of course, he’s never too sick to come to my house.
It’s been a long week. The first of many I’ll trek on my own. Thank god for the kids and the students.
The students! Yesterday at least twelve of my 12th graders came on the holiday to study permutations and combinations. They’re such good kids and so grateful. “Oooooh, God!” Festus yelled repeatedly, knocking his desk, “Ms. RB, you have done well for us!” I showed them how to use the factorial button on their calculators and you would have thought it was magic. Prince brought some problems he wanted help with and laughed uproariously when I solved them. “She makes it so easy! Chaaa!”
Keep that good juju coming, kiddos. You have no idea how much I need it right now.
That’s My Teacher!
Yada draws on the floor by candlelight.
Each day gets just a little easier. Thank god. I haven’t cried today or slipped into a glassy eyed trance so I’ll call that progress. I stayed in bed until almost 8:30 this morning, squeezing the cover tight and hiding my face in the pillow.
As soon as I unlocked the door Daniel and Nya came running, “Sweet bread na gone!” Usually I buy $50 donut, way more than I can eat, and give most to the kids. Momie is a good woman and I’m happy to give her $0.75 a day, but I missed her today and the kids were disappointed. I took yesterday’s pineapple off the table and distributed that instead. I wanted to eat it, but even now have flashbacks of kneeling over my host family’s toilet, half digested pineapple acrid in my mouth. I couldn’t bear to risk it. The kids, though, the kids are invincible.
I half heartedly prepared for school, unsure if it was even happening today. The primary school kids were all on the porch claiming it was National Prayer and Fast Day, but yesterday Mr. Demy backed away from cancelling school even though it was on the Ministry calendar. “Really, I am confused,” he shook his head at me. “It’s always on a Friday.” I pressed him, “So I should come to school.” He paused, “I cannot say. Listen to the radio tomorrow.” Ohhhhkay.
So I prepared my lessons, packed my bag, and trudged to school. I saw no maroon or green until I reached the main road so I was already planning how to spend the afternoon when Mr. Demy zoomed by obviously dressed for school. Fewer than half the students milled around the courtyard as I passed through the gate. A pen-pen driver smooched and yelled at me. I just shook my head without turning. “That is not your fine girl,” one of the students yelled at him, “That’s my teacher!” Good kids.
As I crossed the courtyard 12th grade broke into smiles and applause. “I knew she’d come!” I shook their hands, “18 days to WAEC. Of course I’m here!” After class Festus begged me to stay, “One more period, Ms. RB. I beg!” I told him I had to go to 11th grade but would come back later. “They will be crying if I don’t come,” I said. He shook his head, “Let them. We need you!” I just laughed and told him he could come with me.
He did.
There were only about 50 kids between the two sections so I put them together. That meant I was free third period but I hung around anyway, checking homework and solving WAEC problems. Isaac came out of 11A and sat down next to me. I checked his homework and he lingered. “Isaac,” I said, “are you bored in my class?” He stared, “I’m not getting you.” “Is my class too easy?” I tried again. He nodded apologetically. “Actually I wrote you this letter.” He fumbled with it but didn’t hand it to me. “I want you to help me. I want to be a mathematician.” I’d been thinking about the same thing for weeks. I’m not covering enough material for the bright kids. I’m pulled a lot of kids up but am holding Isaac, Morris, Saye, Christian, and so many other back. They have done so much outside work they’re actually at or above grade level.
“Of course I will help you,” I turned to him. “Tell me when and I’ll be there. You can come to my house any time. I can come to school early. I already meet the quizzers on Sundays.” He looked hopeful, “Before school would be good.” I asked what days and he said simply, “As many as you can.” I laughed, “Let me carry the 12th graders to WAEC first, ok?” He looked solemn, “Surely.”
Festus climbed on the ledge, “I still have your notes, Ms. RB.” “I know,” I said, “for long!” He smiled shyly. “You are still studying them?” I asked. “Keep them.” It was an entire legal pad full of notes and associated WAEC problems we won’t be able to cover in class, one of three I have floating around. I got up to leave and he followed me. “Are we practicing tomorrow?” I stopped, “You want to? It’s a holiday.” He looked at me hopefully, “Will you come?” He already knew the answer.
“What time?”
Leaving campus I reached to Maima’s for a fourth day of pepper soup. Good thing it’s really good. I went to Jungle Water to get supplies for potato soup night with Pelle and as I left the wind rushed down the main street and the sky turned a funny yellow orange. “Wait small!” Nya yelled to me, but I waved and rushed down to the club. Nathaniel brought me a beer and I got completely lost in my book as rain battered the zinc roof and spritzed my face. Sloppy, drooly Dickson, the small boy who lives at the club, loves me now and we spent a good five minutes playing hide and seek by the door. Just a month ago he’d run face first into the gate trying to get away from me. Progress, white woman, progress.
I finally wandered home after six to have a dance party and light the fire. I was just sitting down to work at 8:00 when I heard small feet on the porch. “RB?” it was Yada. I unlocked the door, “Yada, what are you doing here?” He smiled and held out his hand. Inside was the small green pencil sharpener they’ve been trying to give me for days. “Thank you!” I said, “But dat for you. I have my own.” He just stared at me. “Yada, do they know you’re here?” No response. I gave him a pencil and showed him how to sharpen it. Now he’d leave, I thought. Instead he sat down. I gave him a sheet and put a candle on the floor. He scribbled seriously and silently. “Fini!” he announced after ten minutes. I took it and thought now he would leave. I sat down next to him.
The candle was burning out and we sat in silence watching its last breaths. “You tired?” I asked finally. He nodded. “I should walk you home?” He nodded. I got the flashlight and wrapped a lapa around my waist. He took my hand and we walked next door. “Thank you, RB!” the girls yelled from the porch. I let go of his hand, “Good night, Yada.” I turned to go and he turned too then started chasing me. He grabbed my leg. “Yadaaaa,” I pried him off, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He was silent. One of the girls led him back to the porch.
Love that kid so much.
life magnanimous 