Ms. RB, I’m Hungry
Maya is always covered with… something…
I didn’t want to get up this morning. I’d slept in my jacket again and I pulled the hood over my head as I wrapped the blankets even tighter.
I finally crawled out at 8:30 with the vague sense someone had been visiting. I was correct. I saw a young man’s silhouette through the lapa curtains. “Samuel, how long have you been sitting out there?” I asked. He shrugged. Stupid question.
“Thanks for sweeping the yard. It looks fine. I don’t have anything for you to do, though, so I’ll see you at school.” He lingered so I sat down. We talked small and I asked why he didn’t come to my class yesterday. I gave him some paper and he copied down the assignment. I excused myself to work on lessons. He still lingered and did the bashful, shifty eye thing I knew meant only one thing was coming. “Ms. RB, I’m hungry,” he mumbled. “I’m very hungry.”
I’m on slippery ground with him. First I paid his WAEC fee, then I gave him money to travel home for the season. He’s doing work for me to earn it, but… When he first started coming we had a giant branch of bananas another student had given us and I kept sending him away with some. I sighed. It felt late to start saying no: I already have a personal relationship with him. So I went inside and took my bananas off the table. “This is all I have today.” He thanked me and left.
This is getting really hard. I’m starting to get to know my students more personally and, like with Junior last night, am struggling not to rush in and help. I’m here to teach them math and help them believe in the possibility of the impossible… even if most days I’m full of doubt. I’m not here to feed them and solve their problems.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because not ten minutes later another senior, one of my best, was at the door. Here we go again, Ms. RB. Here we go again.
It’s Raining Desks (on getting back to work)
More desks than students greeted me on campus. Usually it's quite the opposite.
We went back to school today. I had a bad feeling as I walked to campus, though. Central High students usually fill the streets as they converge on campus, but I saw no one in their maroon or green until three kids on a motorbike passed me just minutes from school. “Nice day for a walk,” I thought as I watched a few kids come out of the gate and walk back toward town. Approaching the gate I just started laughing. The entire courtyard was full of desks, haphazardly thrown from the classrooms. About a dozen students milled around the edges. Oh, this was going to be good.
Three of my 12th graders climbed the podium and Prince started ringing the bell. “Come outside for devotion,” Junior Dahn shouted in vain. A handful of kids came out and stood in the sun while Festus preached for a few minutes. Mr. Demy approached, apologized that there were so few teachers (really just him and me), and told the students they could go if they didn’t have a teacher, but that they should still come tomorrow. I went to my 11th grade class and invited them to sit in my 12th grade class until I could come to theirs. Newton did, bless his heart.
Only about a quarter of the students were in attendance but I forged ahead anyway. They were restless and rusty. I should have known better. It’s just that we’ve lost so much time already! Sometimes I forget you have to take time around here. But we’ll get there. Bit by bit I’ll get through to them.
I left school early since I only had one 11th grade class to teach and ran into Pelle by the UN Camp. We talked small then I trudged to the market. I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. I mistakenly wore some bad walking slippers and my feet were killing me. A few Liberians even passed me. Yep. That slow. I did chores from a few hours, hauling water and scrubbing dishes, until it was time to start cooking. I prayed Romeo wouldn’t come tonight. He didn’t, but someone else did.
“Sis RB?” I heard the familiar 12th grade voice call from the road. He rushed up to the porch. We hadn’t had a chance to talk since our whispered conversation in the courtyard at school. Two teachers are giving him a hard time and demanding money. K and I had a tearful conversation trying to figure out what to do.
Nothing. It seemed there was nothing to be done.
But I called the office and they suggested I tutor him in those subjects. I told Junior that and tears started building behind his eyes. I scooted over and patted the bench, “Sit down, Junior.” He did. “I’m feeling so discouraged, Sis RB,” he shook his head. “I’m thinking about dropping.” I was shocked. “Out of SCHOOL?” He looked down, “Surely. The man says he won’t let me go for WAEC so I’ll leave and enroll somewhere else next year.”
I struggled to stay professional. I wanted to grab his hand, march to campus, and demand this wrong be righted. I wanted to give him money so he wouldn’t have to spend all his soap money on food and grades. He couldn’t even afford to go home for Christmas because his family is so far away. I took a deep breath instead and delivered a motivational speech I only half believed.
“I will fight for you, Junior,” I said. “I won’t let them demote you, but you must fight too. You must keep working hard for the strength of your own mind. They win if you drop, Junior. Do not let them defeat you. Every small step moves you forward. Everything you learn and put in your mind is yours, even if it never appears on an exam. You’re doing everything right, Junior. Please believe me your hard work and motivation will carry you far.” I couldn’t tell in the twilight now much he bought in, but he smiled and promised to bring me some soap.
“I’ll pay you for it!” He just laughed, “No, you won’t!”
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- More desks than students greeted me on campus. Usually it’s quite the opposite.
My New Year on YOU
Monday the children celebrated the New Year. They finished their work, put on their Christmas clothes, and filled the streets in groups of five or six. They walked around buying candy and balloons and the whole street was like a children’s carnival. The club was even hosting a dance party with a $15LD cover. If I’d had some kids with me I so would have crashed it. Next year…
I bought a bag of stick candy for the occasion. The kids went predictably crazy. “RB! I wan’ eat bon-bon!”
Students, Money, and Check Points
The view from our porch. The nights have been cold and the mornings foggy.
Loving it.
It was a very productive week. I’ve rearranged and cleaned the entire house, literally scraping paint drips off the floor and walls. I tacked a cover on the table and organized my bedroom. Then Thursday I traveled to Ganta and managed to successfully bank. I didn’t feel like going, but it’s a good thing I did. They were closed the next five days for the New Year.
Trudging to the taxi stand I heard, “Ms. RB!” and Prince, once of my 12th graders, came running. He walked me all the way to town and insisted on staying until I had a car. It made me feel less alone and like this really is my home. And really: it is.
The car was a riot. When they called me to come get in there were already three ol’ mas in the back and two kids. As I watched the twenty-some chickens tied to the top in a makeshift wooden box, I decided to break my own rule and ride up front. An old pape slid in next to me and I sat on the edge of the bucket seat, squeezed between him and the gear shift. Four days later I still have a knot in my back from that damn seat. I wrapped myself in my dust gear and we had an uneventful trip.
Once in town I headed straight to the bank and was delighted to find it both open and functioning. I photocopied my documents and got at the end of the very long line. No cutting today. I needed to earn back some karma. Besides, I had nothing to do at home but color pictures and scrape paint. I quickly made friends with the people on either side of me and we helped each other pass the hour and a half long wait. One worked for IRC and the RTTIs and promised to email me a picture of Sergeant Shriver visiting his house in the 1960s. (If this ever materializes I’ll be shocked. Good story, though.) On the other side I had a fashionable young woman from Saclepea. She’s a principal at one of the primary schools there and a graduate of Central High in Sanniquellie. She was thrilled to hear a woman was there teaching math. Just as I reached the front of the line the lights flashed and went out briefly.
You have to be kidding me!
Convinced it was over, I couldn’t decide if I should laugh or cry. It was a false alarm, though, and fifteen minutes later I finally had money. They sent me upstairs to get my statement from the bossman and I got in line outside his office. Almost immediately an old pape called me in to sit, “yatan, my daughter.” I was tired of sitting, but have learned not to argue when someone wants you to sit. I watched him and his son do a very complicated looking money transfer and finally, 45 minutes later, it was my turn. I had been trying to get to this moment for two months. I wanted to jump and shout and beg. But instead I stayed in my chair and smiled. “How you comin’ on, ma friend?” I drawled as if there weren’t people lined up outside. He smiled and seemed to sigh in relief: I wouldn’t try to ruin his day. “Ma bossman na payin’ me,” I said, “I beg you help me with a small statement.” He pulled my record since September and five minutes later I was out the door. Three trips and three hours actual wait time later I was finally done at the bank.
I only had small bread and coffee before leaving Sanni so I decided to celebrate with a big plate of jolof rice. I pulled up a chair by the door where some friends and I had sat for lunch about a month earlier. I missed them. I destroyed the rice then went in search of pineapple. This time I scored two, one for me and one for Margaret who I had to visit when I got home. A trip to the Total for some jam and I was ready to go.
The car filled quick but was an extremely tight fit. I got one of the back middle seats and rested more fully on my fellow passengers than on the seat. We drove around town in the heat for about 15 minutes while the driver tried to buy gas. Even the Total wasn’t selling. Motorbikes and cars swarmed around a stand next to Monrovia parking. It sure seemed like this was the last gas in town and things were about to get ugly. Our driver aggressively cut everyone off and a few minutes later we were miraculously moving… until we had to stop and rearrange seats. The two people up front wouldn’t stop screaming at each other so it was decided the old pape would come sit by me. Fine.
I fell asleep quickly again and woke up when we stopped to buy small fish from a boy on a bridge. We reached the check point outside Sanni and, for the first time, they tried to shake me down, probably in honor of the holiday. They waved all the other passengers on, but kept me. “What are you doing here?” the bossman demanded. This was my sixth time passing through the check point in so many days so I was dying to laugh, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” But instead I smiled. “Oh, we haven’t met yet?” I held out my hand. He just stared at me. “Where are you papers?” I handed him my Peace Corps ID. “Where are your papers?” he repeated. I dug my immigration paperwork out of my bag and handed it to him. He inspected it closely. “How long have you been here?” Again, I wanted to laugh, but kept it to a smile. “August, but we came through in July with Mr. Demy.” He grunted. “I remember, but you didn’t have your papers yet.” He reluctantly handed them back to me. “I’ve seen you dancing at the club,” he said. “We love African music,” I said, trying another smile. He forced one back this time and excused me. I squeezed back into the car, apologized for the delay, and we tore into town.
Home sweet Sanni.
Happy 50th anniversary Peace Corps!
Happy 50th anniversary Peace Corps! We had our Liberian celebration in Lofa back in November.
We visited Bozewan where a Peace Corps Volunteer from the early years in burried at her school. The reception and hospitality were overwhelming. Krista and I spent the night in the village of Medina about two miles off the road. Muhammed welcomed us like family and give us his own bed to sleep in.
Since a picture is better than a thousand words, I thought it would be appropriate to post my 50 favorite pictures for you here. Enjoy!
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- JB climbed on Krista’s lap and hardly left her side the rest of the trip.
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- The children of Medina gather to welcome us.
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- The view from our room in Mohammed’s house.
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- There was heavy rain during the night and the jeep got stuck trying to take us back to Bozewan. Everyone out!
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- The ladies line up with the sasas, dry gourds covered with beads.
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- Vice is presented with a white chicken and some palm wine.
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- The primary school kids from one of the villages sings for us.
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- This cutie sat in my lap most of the three hour ceremony. Almost took her home (I think that’s what her dad was hoping would happen!)
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- Lofa county out the bus window. Nice, but Nimba still wins best, most gorgeous county.
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- Blama rode over from the village with me and followed me around all day. What a goober.
Getting It Done
Niamiah, our student's deaf small brother, sports Krista's glasses.
Today was crazy productive, even though I slept until almost 9:00. I made coffee and drew water then did a load of wash (as many clothes as the water can take before turning orange and drawing its cleaning powers into question). Then I washed all the dishes left over from Christmas while hosting a dance party on the porch. I drank a second cup of coffee and made a “Done is Good” list for the week. First on the list: clean bathroom.
I went crazy scrubbing paint splatters off the sink and dust off the floor. I don’t know if K will notice, but I felt very accomplished. There is something about cleaning that I find immensely satisfying. I think it’s the instant gratification: it was dirty and now it’s not. The house is starting to feel like more of a home. More things have a place and fewer things are just heaped on the floor.
After I finished the bathroom I scrubbed the floor in the hall and that was a chore. I could do about two square feet before having to change the water. I felt like Cinderella, down on my knees with my little rag, but again it was very satisfying. I’ll try to do more tomorrow. (Right now there’s a big line right where I stopped.) After over six hours of cleaning I decided I deserved a break. I hadn’t eaten anything but coffee and bananas all day so I decided to go get pepper soup.
I changed my clothes and walked to the club. No food. “The workload was too much,” Nelson said, “so we didn’t cook today.” I thanked him and said I’d try Maima’s. I was just there yesterday, though, so I decided to go home and make beans. I bought a cold drink at the Small Shop and some bread. I really didn’t feel like cooking, but I needed to eat and beans don’t require much attention. I cleaned them and threw in some onion, garlic, and peppa.
All that was left was to wait so I sat down with Ma Ellen’s book. I started it a week or two ago and Wow. So many people in this country need to read it! After reading for a few hours the power came on and I worked on grade sheets until it went off around 10:30. I will sleep like a rock.
Christmas Continued
"RB, take my picture with my fish!" Marcy is the best.
More Photos from Christmas…
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- Where do they keep coming from??
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- “RB, take our own!” Marcy loves to make “ugly” faces.
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- “RB, take my picture with my fish!” Marcy is the best.
Breaking Your Own Rules
The kids bluffin' in their Christmas clothes. From left to right: Nya, Mary, Yada, some kid I don't know, and Grandpa... Jean Paul... whatever we're calling him these days.
Around 6:00 I went to read on the porch. Our neighbor Vivian sat on the pump looking tearful. “Merry Christmas!” I yelled. “What soup did you cook?” She mumbled something. “Eh?” I called. “Sis RB, we didn’t eat today. No money.”
Those four kids have been alone over there for weeks. I felt terrible. I didn’t have any food to give her. Internal struggle. We aren’t here to feed people, but she’s such a good kid and it’s Liberian Christmas. I walked out and gave her $150LD (about $2US).
“Go get some food for everyone, ok?” Her jaw dropped. “Merry Christmas.”
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- Daniel… wearing pants! He poked his head in shyly and asked if I wanted to drink juice with him.
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- More Christmas outfits. From left to right, Varoo, Marcy, Grandma (in the red glasses), and… two more cuties I don’t know.
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- “RB, take ma own!”
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- Never smile in your pictures
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- The kids bluffin’ in their Christmas clothes. From left to right: Nya, Mary, Yada, some kid I don’t know, and Grandpa… Jean Paul… whatever we’re calling him these days.
Dust and Devils but no Pineapple
My frist group of strange kids. “Quiepolu, where our Chri’mas?” The one day a year I allow myself to smile and say, “Right here!”
This morning I stood in the Ganta market, motorbikes zooming around me, dust swirling, hands grabbing, and suddenly saw myself as if in a movie. High angle shot. White woman shoves her way through the crowd somewhere in West Africa. Internal monologue: “It’s the day after Christmas and I’m trying to buy a pineapple in the Ganta market.” It was definitely one of those “Is this my life?” moments.
Rewind.
Yesterday was Christmas. I spent the day cooking. Pumpkin pie. Cinnamon rolls. Peanut butter cookies. Potato soup. Stuffing. Krista spent the day working on a puzzle. Everything was ready around 5:00 and we invited a friend to come over. We all played Uno for awhile, decorated the paper tree I made Saturday night, and opened the presents underneath. After our company left we colored some pictures out of a Sponge Bob holiday book and played Bananagrams. We were both melancholy and exhausted but avoiding going to bed.
I didn’t want her to go. I haven’t been separated from her for more than a day since we got to Sanniquellie. I’ve never been here alone. Everyone in town thinks we’re sisters. As far as I’m concerned we are.
This morning I got up at 6:00, made coffee, and we caught the first car out of town. I was going as far as Ganta with her because we were both hoping to bank since last week was a failure. As we approached the parking stand, though, we both got a bad feeling. There was no union man and everyone was insisting it was Christmas day: a holiday. No, no, that was yesterday, we kept trying to tell people. There was no time to flip-flop, though, because as soon as I texted the duty phone, “we are leaving will the bank be open?” the car filled and we left.
We got there at 8:30 and would you believe the bank was closed. The duty phone called to tell me as much. Um, yeah, thanks. I’m standing outside it now. I asked if he’d made any progress since I called from the bank last week. “Remind me what the problem is?” You have to be kidding me. “I’m sure the bank will be open tomorrow, Rebekah.” Merry Christmas. I’ve now spent $1,000LD trying to get a bank statement to figure out if I’m getting paid. Annoyed.
I walked Krista to Monrovia parking and waited with her until the car filled. Half an hour later she was off. We hugged and as I walked away I tried to draw up all my strength. Men immediately started yelling at me, “Fine girl!” and “Come here, my jewel!” “F yourself,” I muttered to myself as I stared straight ahead and shuffled down the dusty road in my long lappa skirt.
Last week there were plenty pineapples in the Ganta market so I decided to pick one up so the trip wasn’t a complete waste. Maybe I’d get one for our favorite teacher, Brother Jackson, too. Shoving through the crowd I felt alone for the first time since leaving Kakata. “Here we go,” I thought. “It’s going to be a long two weeks.”
I wound my way back to the food market and scoured the narrow aisles. Onion, bitterball, cabbage… not a pineapple in sight. I found my way out of the maze and decided to just go home. All these trips to the bank and I’m somehow starting to run low on cash. I took the back road to avoid all the pen-pen drivers and found the same driver who carried me from Sanni waiting at the parking stand. “Hello, my man. Reaching back?” I asked. He nodded and I found a shady place to wait. A small boy stood next to the car looking sad and hungry, carrying a bucket of homemade biscuits. “Wha choo sellin’?” I asked. “Cookies,” he replied hopefully. I was getting hungry so I bought one then decided since, apparently, it was Christmas I’d get one for everyone. “You want one too?” I asked. He nodded and smiled. I handed him $20LD. “Merry Christmas.”
Half an hour later I was in the backseat with three large women who refused to squeeze together. Somehow I got inside, sitting sideways in one of the middle seats. It was oddly comfortable, some of the first human contact I’ve had in weeks. Spooned between two women with my scarf over my head and my bandana over my face, I fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up at the Sanni checkpoint when the car slowed and they made us all get out.
The driver let me out at Yekepa parking and I went across the street to Ronnie’s store. Husain gave me a big discount (they’re too nice to us) and I decided to go down to the market. We’re almost out of onion, garlic, all our staples. As I climbed the steps, however, I looked up and thought, “Why is that man wearing a bag over his head? And a grass skirt? He’s very tall… Oh. No.” I turned on my heels and walked away as quickly and calmly as I could, but they spotted me. “Hey! White woman! You scared? The devil wants your money. Come back!” Expecting to be chased I didn’t so much as glance back.
Crossing the street I took refuge at Winnie’s. She’s so great. She explained that today is the real children’s day for Christmas since yesterday fell on a Sunday. Oooohkaaaay. I told her that in that case I needed to get home. I stopped into Mamie’s to see if she was cooking today and ended up staying for goat soup. I had planned to come back later, but it was feeling like a day to stay home.
She sat down and we chatted about America. Her daughter was the only one there when I came in and had given me a hard time. “I sakay,” I said when she put down the soup. “Don’t say that,” she snapped, “You don’t know what it means.” “Yes I do!” I replied, “Thank you. I tow lee dein?” “Chaa!” she clucked. I told her in Mano that I was a teacher at Central High and her jaw literally dropped. When Mamie came in the girl said, “White woman speaks Mano!” “Of course she does,” Mamie replied. “White people are smart.” I like her. Something tells me we’re going to become good friends while Krista is gone.
I paid for my soup and headed back to Dahnlorpa. But, of course, because the day is what it is, I got caught in the middle of a parade. It was so slow moving I over took then passed it. Small awkward, but I really wanted to get home and take a bath. I hauled six more buckets of water then finally washed the dust out of my hair. I put on the new shirt Margaret made me with my new orange slippers so I’d be bluffin’ like the kids. And here I’ve sat, listening to the radio and waiting for them to come for their Christmas. Reminds me of Halloween.
Grandpa and Daniel poked their heads in the door. “RB! Where ma Chri’mas?” I smiled, “Where ma Christmas? My Chri’mas on you, remember?” Grandpa smiled shyly and handed me $5LD. Talk about melting my heart. “No, no,” I laughed. “Keep your money. Thank you.” I handed out stick candy, stickers, and trading cards. They went crazy. Something tells me it doesn’t matter one bit what I gave them. It’s just that I gave them anything. “RB! Thank you! Thank you!” Daniel shrieked in his high voice as they ran home.
I needed this today
Radio Nimba cracks me up. “Call in,” the DJ keeps interrupting to say. “And tell us what you have eaten today, what you are going to eat, or what you are preparing.” It’s almost as good as the Saturday night show “Call in and tell a joke or sing a song.”
It’s a Wonderful Life?
One Saturday's worth of 'yuck' on my feet. No, that's not all tan line...
Today we went to Ganta to try to bank. We expected a shit show and weren’t disappointed. A crowd milled around outside and we immediately recognized two teachers. “What you come here for?” the VPI asked. “The system is down. No one has had money for two days.”
Oooookaaaay.
We went inside and it was standing room barely. No one seemed to be in charge. No one seemed to know what was going on. No one was going to get their money before Christmas.
The whole thing made me think about It’s a Wonderful Life… except these people were so calm, complacent, resigned to the unfair vicissitudes of life. If people had to wait two to three days to withdraw money in America there would be a riot.
As Krista and I walked to the bank from the taxi I asked why it takes teachers one to two weeks when they go for their pay. This is why. We can afford $250 each way to have our time wasted, but some of these people had spent all their money getting to the bank. So there they sat. Tired and hungry, I’m sure, but accepting of their fate. How can you be disappointed or annoyed if you didn’t expect anything anyway?
I called our office and asked again if someone could help me. I got routed to someone different and, for the first time, think something might happen. I trust he’ll at least do what he can, whatever that is.
We walked through the market and it was a madhouse, wheelbarrows and tubs overflowing with plastic trinkets. I put my blinders on and managed to get to the food market without looking at lappas. I bought a pineapple and a cabbage and we pushed our way back out. “White woman! Buy from me!” and “White woman, where ma Chri’mas?” following like a chorus.
The car filled quickly at the taxi stand. We squeezed in just as a man opened the driver’s side door and started yelling at me. “You again? Remember me?” he said. Of course I did. Sunday he harassed me for about an hour while we waited for a car. “Gimme your glasses,” then, “Give me your handkerchief,” and finally, “You very mean and wicked-o!” I looked right at him. “Give me you handkerchief!” he repeated with a scowl. I started back and just shook my head. One of the other passengers started yelling and he left. I think he’s literally a professional harasser at the taxi stand. Great. At least he thinks my name is Diamond. That’s a small point for me.
A woman with a small small baby and an old pape got in the back with us and we headed back to Sanni. “Ladies and gentleman,” the old pape addressed the car as we picked up speed, “can I talk to you about Jesus Christ?” No one said a word. “Ok,” he began, narrating Jesus’ life, listing types of sins, and finally calling for someone in the car to accept Jesus into their heart. Again, Silence.
“My sisters,” he addressed us. “Have you accepted Jesus?” Krista pulled her bandana down an inch. “I’m Catholic.” He turned to me and I said I was Catholic too because, well, that’s what she said. “Oooh, well we have some problems with the Catholics,” he said then said something about Israel and Mary and hell. Thankfully he decided to wrap things up even though no one had been saved yet. “My brothers and sisters,” he said, “let’s pray. Close your eyes—everyone except the driver. Bless him my god!”
Finally the car grew silent except for the regular scrape, bump, and skid of the road. I was completely covered except for my hands and a small strip of my forehead and. I grew warm in the sun and dozed off, waking only when we reached the check point.
We got out at the Jungle Water store and walked to Margaret’s. We were early so she wasn’t ready but, well, that’s life so we waited around for about an hour. She had my skirt done and she’d changed the sleeves on one of my suits for a third time. My new suit, however, wasn’t quite ready. She left to see if the ruffles were ready three times then told us to just come back. I was disappointed but that’s just kind of how the day was going. What I saw of it looked promising, though. I asked her to copy a shirt I brought from America and make a matching short skirt. Fingers crossed.
life magnanimous 