The emporer’s new clothes?
Marcy's pants-less brother slept on my back stop for almost 45 minutes one day while the other kids screamed and played.
When we came home for lunch four mostly naked girls sat on our porch bench. “Marcy, where are you clothes?” Krista asked. “Oh, we’re playing,” Marcy replied.
Yep. That explains it.
Books and Blacksmiths
Our beautiful Marcy-o.
I got up early this morning and pumped water and prepped breakfast before Krista got up. I sat at the table listening to a BBC story about Las Vegas, drinking instant MacCoffee, and slashing greens, when Marcy stuck her head in the door. “Morning-o, RB,” she smiled shyly. “Can I have the book?” I wanted to jump up and shout, “YES!” But instead I said she’d have to wait until I was done.
Ten minutes later I took the Dr. Seuss books out on the porch. The kids eagerly lined up on the bench and I started reading A Fly Went By because I remembered how much my brother David liked it. They couldn’t have agreed more! By the time Krista was up we were just about finished so I went to make breakfast. Mediocre. Afterwards I poked my head out and asked if they wanted another story. We read Go, Dog! Go! and Marcy all but climbed in my lap. They loved it. I don’t know who taught them this, but they even repeated back everything I read and it was adorable. It reminded me of my Sundays in Kakata out on the porch with my family.
After Go, Dog! Go! they still wanted more so we read Are you my Mother? (yes, with them still parroting everything back). Then we went back to Go, Dog! Go! and just looked at the pictures, practicing colors, sizes, etc. Marcy and Grandma are going to be my new best friends. I can tell.
By 10:30 it was time to stop playing and go to town. We dropped off some eggplants at a friend’s house and went to see our principal. He opened the library for us and I was surprised to find some good books. I took one to read and four or five for class. After lunch I wanted to go back for the coalpot so we did and… wow… that was an experience.
Yesterday’s group of men was replaced with half a dozen boys under 16 swinging hammers and dismantling rusty car doors. I haggled with the kid and paid $300 LD for a good one and a piece of zinc to use for baking. “I should put it together?” he asked. “Sure,” I said, expecting him to put the top on the bottom and send me away. Twenty to thirty deafening minutes later it was done. Wow, I was impressed.
One boy was making nails out of scraps while another salvaged through a rusty heap. The boy who seemed to be in charge rapped on my coal pot while another, age maybe seven or eight, held it and feigned fear, sneaking glances over his shoulder to see if I was watching. “Oh! Oww!!”
It is heavy-o! I carried it halfway home then went African and put it on my head. Huge improvement! But, boy, we drew some attention. It was like they’d never seen a white woman with a coal pot on her head! Our neighbor was supposed to take us to look at furniture but he never came home so I played frisbee and danced with the kids. A white man went by on the back of a pen-pen and I did the most obvious rubber neck right as the frisbee came at me. Oops.
Dinner was delish. We’re making small-small progress!
M-I-Z…. W-T-F!
Yesterday I went to the blacksmith to buy a coalpot. While I was bargaining I got into a conversation with a Lofa man named Kadafi. When I said I was from Missouri he smiled and said, “Oh! The Tigers!” You could have picked my jaw up off the ground. I never through good ol’ Mizzou football would make me grin that big.
Just a spoonful of sugar…
- Krista and Marcy share a hug on the porch. I’m not sure they aren’t related…
Bill called this morning to see if I was coming down to Monrovia about my arm. I said no and he asked me to get a second medical opinion. “There’s a good female doctor there,” he said. “They’ve taken good care of people before. Just call and let me talk to them.” Sigh.
I finished making our banana pancakes, put on my least chafing lapa suit and we walked to the hospital. The people living in that part of town hadn’t seen us much so we drew some attention. The hospital is a small cluster of white and green buildings on top of a hill. Across the street a group of women and young people sold donuts and biscuits and a boy with a wheelbarrow was selling deodorant by the door. I’ve been looking for some but this hardly seemed like the place or the time.
Inside it was as packed as when we visited in July with our principal. We looked so out f place. I approached the security guard in the corner and greeted him in Mano. “I need to see a doctor,” I said. “How do I get in line to see the doctor?” He pointed to the man to his right, “This is a doctor.” The man looked up. He was obviously seeing someone else. “Oh no,” I said, embarrassed to cut in front of everyone there while they were all watching.
I asked for the female doctor and got a bit of a run around before getting plopped in a folding chair in the hall (that showed up out of nowhere). We had barely sat down when the doctor came down the hall. She ushered us into her air conditioned office and gave me as good of care as I would expect in America. She looked at it, asked some questions, filled out a card, and gave me some antibiotics. We were in and out in less than an hour. Unbelievable. I paid nothing and everyone shook my hand on the way out.
As we walked back down the hill I started having some serious “white guilt.” I never expect special treatment, but I find myself getting it more and more. People are told to move so I can sit and lines disappear when I walk in. It’s like America before civil rights and it makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I am the outsider taking up precious space and resources. I feel like there should be a sign saying “whites to the back” or something.
After the hospital the day was partly a bust. Still not barrel. I tried to buy a coal pot so we can fix bread, but I wasn’t sure if he was trying to rip me off. Turns out probably not so I’ll go back. We bought a dozen delicious eggplants off some kids who happened to walk past ($10LD for three!) and have already eaten three. So far my cooking has been alright. I hope we don’t get sick of it! It seems like everyone is selling the same six things everyday so our ingredient options are limited.
Making pancakes the past two days has felt so much like home, though. It reminds me of weekends in the blue apartment. I’m just a smidge nostalgic, but so glad I did what I did and am where I am.
“The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.” – Charles Du Bos
Making do
Things are getting a little Dr. Quinn in Sanniquellie…
“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” – Theodore Roosevelt
Putting down roots
It was a good weekend. Yesterday I borrowed a hook from a neighbor and planted the flowers my mom sent from Kakata. Then I planted some flower seeds and some pau-pau trees. It’s been raining torrentially so we’ll see if anything happens or if it all washes away.
Last night a new friend took us for a drink but we disappointed him by not staying out late. It couldn’t have been too bad, though, because today he picked us up and took us on a tour… we expected of town, but we ended up in Yekepa an hour away. It was beyond gorgeous, the clouds hanging low around the mountains, romantic in the rain. I might have been dreaming.
The first of MANY surprises
Luke shows me some dance moves after his bath one night.
Today was long and exhausting. We got up around 7:00 to cook and pump water before our workshop at 9:00. It’s a 20 minute walk to school from our house and we raced, still getting there just a little late. They fed us a breakfast of fish and casava root and I ate as much as I could (not enough). They passed out the agenda and our collective jaw dropped. It was an all day workshop about lesson planning, classroom management, and teaching methodology. I was really impressed… and small annoyed.
When it was time for lunch it was obvious Krista wanted to go home (sure, we both had to pee) but I smiled and got in line for food. “We’ll share,” I said, asking for two spoons. She said she didn’t feel good but I held out the bowl and gave my least threatening I-don’t-care-suck-it-up look. It was some kind of bitterball soup and, aside from the gnarly meat, quite good. I ate as much as I could (again, not enough) and we went across the road to see if we could use the bathroom at the guest house.
The afternoon session drug on and on. I really enjoyed the DEO, but was losing strength. We had not expected an eight hour workshop! My butt hurt. My back hurt from sitting on the bench. I was learning nothing. But what else did I have to do?
It could wait.
We’re doing some pretty major extermination at the house, but that’s best done at night. The roaches are big. Like, “remember the hissing cockroach your third grade class had?” big. We finally got some spray and hopefully it helps. We probably killed five last night and I’m working on another five tonight. Krista piled their bodies by the back door as a lesson to the others. During the night something ate half of them. My guess is the giant spider that lives in the corner crawled down. Great. We’re feeding him and making him stronger.
I miss Luke and Esther, Princess, David, and Sattah. I miss my family, their routines, and all the love that came with them. Sure the first few weeks with them were tough too. I just wish we could fast forward to a more simple, comfortable time after I have more things figured out. Everything will come together here. It just takes time, white woman.
“Until I understood I had a hand in making whatever happened happen, I was a very sad young girl.” Kaye Gibbons
New beginnings
Titus liked to wear his Spiderman suit on Sundays after church.
Today was a good day, but I miss my family. Both of them. My America family is out of town and I haven’t talked to them in over a week. My Kakata family is going on without me. Everyone will be long since in bed by now. The kids will have all done their chores and had baths. Maybe they watched a show. Maybe they colored and read books?
Maybe. Probably not.
I miss my Ma’s cooking. I miss the hugs, and laughter, and games. I miss being called Auntie Leela and having the whole neighborhood know my name. I miss the quiet and the dark and the privacy. My new room is on the corner and has two windows. One is about 20 feet from the pump. It looks almost directly into the CEO’s back door. I don’t have curtains up yet. A path runs directly through our back yard and last night I could hear people passing until late. Their voices right outside the window jolted me awake. At some point a mouse came in and started going through my things, even though all the food was packed up outside. Tonight I remembered to shove a lapa under the door to keep him out.
Next door the CEO is running his generator. They kept it on last night until at least 3:00am when it ran out of gas and sputtered to a halt.
…ahh new beginnings.
If you ever loved somebody…
This morning I packed my tent and my mattress and left Kakata. It felt like a dream. All day yesterday David was singing a “Goodbye Auntie Leela” song but I kept making him stop because it made me sad. “You can sing to me tomorrow!” I said. And he laughed and smiled.
We ran the generator the night before and made popcorn. I stayed up late listening to them tell “spider” stories and savoring every moment. Was I really leaving? Was this really the last time?
Time was too short this morning. I hurriedly gave my mom the card I made and the lapa I got for her and my dad and passed her a pile or colors and books for the kids. She beamed. She asked for my parents’ address and phone number so she could “thank them for you” and said she wanted to get my mom’s measurements so Prince could make her a suit. “You will know someone going home in December? They can take it.” It was the sweetest thing. She cooked food and packed it in my new thermos and on top was a card addressed to “My Baby Leela.”
Outside Krista took our picture, my dad rushing in on a pen-pen just in time. I tried to say my goodbyes as the taxi driver waited and everyone got solemn and teary. Princess stood with her back to me. “Won’t you look at me and say goodbye?” I begged. She shook her head. I looked over and saw Sattah crying. “Princess, give me a hug,” I commanded. She turned around and buried her wet face in my shirt. As we both cried I looked at David. “You can sing now.” He shook his head. “It is too sorrowful. I cannot sing.” I told him I had left him a copy book. “Keep reading and keep writing,” I said. He nodded, crying. The last week he devoured the Dr. Seuss books and laughed more than I’ve ever seen. “Fine stories, Auntie Leela!”
Remembering at the last minute my mom ran through the garden tearing branches off the trees. “My daughter needs flowers for her garden!” I tore myself away and climbed into the car with my lap full of leaves. I missed them already!
On the way to Krista’s we passed through the market and I jumped out to say goodbye to Titus and Samuel at the shop. Nelly’s “Just a Dream” blasted from a nearby shop as I rushed down the narrow aisle. I greeted Samuel and asked where Titus was. Samuel pointed and Titus turned. He grinned and sprinted to me arms outstretched. He’s always had a little puppy crush on me and I lost it as we hugged in the middle of the market. I said goodbye and pulled myself away. “Will she come back? No one knows. I realized it was only just a dream,” the bass thumped as I walked away weeping. “If you ever loved somebody put your hands up… and now they’re gone and you’re wishing you could give them everything…”
I sit in my tent in Sanniquellie right now having had an amazing day, but still crying at the memory of this morning. I miss them so much! I wonder what they are doing right now and if they’re missing me. As the day wore on and we started getting settled in the house I found myself looking for Luke and half expecting for him to run in, giggle, jump, and run out cackling. Or to come to me with big eyes and a solemn face and ask for colors, miming it with his hands. I left the duck book for him. I hope Latricia lets him have it.
As I was leaving I tried to find words to express my gratitude, but came up with only, “Thank you so much. You are real brothers and sisters to me.” I was grateful I’d written letters to Latricia and Princess so they knew what I couldn’t say. There is so much love to be had out in the world if you are only brave enough to let it in.
A wish and a prayer
Sunday in church my dad called me to the front and asked the congregation to pray for me. Everyone stood and stretched their arms out to me. “Little children,” he called to the back, “Jesus hears you too!” Everyone closed their eyes and started shouting prayers at me. I fought back tears of gratitude. I am not religious, but I felt such a wave of love, protection, and good will.
My dad made a speech about how grateful they were for me and how they hoped they would send more Americans just like me. “Leela taught me something about my family,” he said. “She always played with the children and I’ve never seen them so happy. Always playing. Before I would always say ‘hello’ and go inside, but Leela showed me I should spend time with them. That it will make them happy.” I could hardly believe my ears. I could hardly control my tears.
I could hardly believe I was leaving.
life magnanimous 