The Season of Giving
This is how the kids play in my front yard. Enough said.
Smile and Pretend to be a Fat Man
James brought this bird to me a few weeks ago. He had a string tied to its leg and was “walking” it to town.
My mother raised me to read books. I had a library card before I could either read or write and, though there was never much money, there was always enough for new books. Reading let me travel places I wasn’t sure I dared to actually go and meet people who scared me as much as they inspired me. It helped me become the person I am today and gave me the courage to fly away from my life and into Liberia.
As I grew older I found less and less time for books, but when I joined Peace Corps I imagined hundreds of lazy days reading on my porch. I packed my favorite translation of Anna Karenina because if you can only fit one book in your bag you better make it a big one you don’t mind reading five times.
I haven’t touched it.
Reading has been an elusive and sporadic pastime for me, something I only returned to in the quiet days after Krista left. I called my mother and told her I felt lost, “Please send books. Lots and lots of books.” I needed to hear someone else’s voice. I needed to borrow someone else’s path for 266 or so pages. Perhaps, just perhaps, I’d hear or see something that would make it all… make sense.
My mother responded with her usual force and within a month boxes of books were arriving in Sanniquellie. I packed them on the shelf and thought “well, that’s nice.” I let life wash back over me and it wasn’t until two weeks ago that I found myself again staring at that shelf. It had been a rough day. Probably twenty students were at the house using the classroom and their entitled attitudes were pushing me over the edge. Kids were screaming. Not enough people were wearing pants.
That’s the moment Little Bee flew into my life. I picked it up and never put it down. I’ve had nonstop lessons, exams, and programs the past two weeks, but I can’t stop thinking about this book. I read it by candlelight as I lay under my mosquito net at night and I packed it in my bag every time I left the house. I cried while I drank soft drinks and read it at the green bar. I heard a voice and followed a path that was at once painfully close and heart wrenchingly far.
I can’t begin to tell you what it’s about. Even the jacket refuses to do that. Just pick it up and let it slip through your hands and into your heart. It helped me rediscover my strength and my purpose, both in Liberia and in my life.
If your face is swollen from the severe
beatings of life, smile and pretend
to be a fat man.
~Nigerian Proverb
Come and Use Our Library!
Yesterday we dedicated the new library at school. My senior student Jonathan wrote this song for the occasion. “We are the children of Central High. If you want to learn with us, come and use our library!”
Love it! I am so excited for the opportunities these new resources will provide. They deserve it.
Sometimes Bitter. Sometimes Sweet.
My young son, Saye, could be the next Festus. These days he’s traded in his ‘tough guy’ attitude for pink shirts and Sunday afternoons studying linear algebra at my house. So proud.
Dear blog readers,
It’s been a long few months. My son flew to Costa Rica. School started three weeks late. We opened a new library and are preparing to launch the literacy program at the prison. My students are taking computer classes, planting flowers in my yard, and making me crazy in my head. (What was I thinking when I agreed to teach 22 hours a week?)
Liberia continues to be sometimes bitter and sometimes sweet, but unfailingly inspiring. There has been much to celebrate and just as much to bemoan, but so so much life has been lived.
I hope to resume regular posts soon. Thanks for your patience as I take my own time (small).
Flag Day
As Flag Day approached in August the students practiced marching for days. It was one of my first days back in Sanniquellie after three weeks in Kakata and Monrovia chasing after travel documents with my student Festus. It was fantastic to see everyone again.
This is my area. These are my people.
Things Fall Apart
Yesterday was terrible. I didn’t leave Doe Palace until after 11:00am and there was no one to give me a ride to the parking so Leo and Sakey helped me carry my load. We reached and it was deserted. “All the Nimba cars na gone.”
Shit.
Sakey said we should go to the Total station and wait for an NGO car to stop and ask if they’d carry me. I shrugged and followed because, well, what else to do? The next thing I knew he and Leo were shouting with a man on the side of the road and asking if I wanted to get in a truck to Gbarnga. I did not. Two stops was risky with such a late start on a Sunday. “What should I do?” I whispered to them. They shrugged, “Maybe you should wait.”
Just then the driver revved the engine. “Let’s go!” the wrangler yelled, “Are you getting in?” I handed him $300 and climbed up front with a man stopping in Salala. Sakey threw his head inside just as the driver tried to pull away, “Give me your number, my man. I beg you take care of my sister. Drop her to Ganta parking and help her get a car.” The driver rattled off his number while Leo frantically typed it in his phone.
And we were off.
Twenty minutes later we stopped to pick up an old Lebanese man and his Liberian colleague. Their car had broken down and they too wanted to go to Ganta—what luck! There would be three of us to fill the car quick. It was a fast, enjoyable ride and I was in Gbarnga by 2:00. By another stroke of luck that car filled almost immediately. …but I wasn’t feeling ok.
My head hurt. My stomach hurt. I lay down on the bench and closed my eyes. “Oooh! The white woman dead-o!” “Not yet,” I mumbled.
The Lebanese man tried to give me juice and Coke but with the worst leg of the trip coming next I couldn’t risk it. I really wanted to crawl in the back and sleep on an ol’ ma but he insisted I ride in the front with him. I really didn’t want to, but he’d paid my load fee and I didn’t want to be rude.
Huge mistake!
He didn’t know how to sit in a taxi and I’ve never been more uncomfortable. He wanted to make small talk and it turns out he works for ECO Bank. They couldn’t open the safe in Ganta (go figure) and he was on his way to fix it before they opened Monday morning. Ohhh, ECO Bank.
We reached Ganta just as I was about to lose it in three or four ways and I got the driver to take me to Sanniquellie parking. For the first time ever I let the crazy man help me move my load, actually seeking him out and paying him. I was in even worse shape than in Gbarnga, but thankfully we left quickly again. This time I insisted on sitting in the back and immediately fell asleep, waking up only when the torrential rain started just outside town.
I begged the driver to carry me to my house and, surprisingly, he made no argument even though the car was lurching and chugging. I looked that bad. The girls ran to me screaming and we hauled my load to the porch in the rain. (No, Festus was not actually there waiting for me.) I talked to them small then excused myself inside. My guts completely exploded and I fell asleep in my chair, shivering under a blanket. I hadn’t eaten all day but wasn’t sure what was a good idea so I just let my stomach rumble and put myself to bed.
The next morning I slept late and woke, still feverish, to Grandpa yelling, “RB! Someone na poo-poo on your pieso!” through the front window. Yep. Good to be home.
My new roommate, Kate, comes for a visit tomorrow. God be with her.
Tell Me Again
Festus and me on his WAEC day. All those bags are stuffed with the hope of *this* day. They contain applications I was literally on my way to Monrovia to deliver.
I finally got a hold of Festus this evening. I told him the news and he started screaming so much I could hardly get it all out. Oh it was amazing.
Festus: “I’m coming to your house right now!”
Me: “No, Festus, I’m not there!”
He called again just now (about 11:30pm) and I’m sure he just didn’t believe it was true. “Ms. RB, I was on the street so I wasn’t getting you too clear. Tell me again.” I read him the letter and as he gasped after each line I could feel the grin breaking wide across his face.
“Ohhhh thank you! Thank you, Ms. RB! Thank you!” he just kept saying.
“Thank you too,” I said. “You should feel very proud. Your hard work made it happen.”
“I will be waiting for you tomorrow,” he said. “All day I will wait on your porch.”
I told him that wasn’t necessary because I would call him.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he replied.
Birth of a Legend
Festus is going to EARTH University! I got an email today that he was awarded a full four-year scholarship. They’ll also give him a stipend and pay his travel.
I was alone in the dining area at the training center and screamed, knocking the table. I leapt out of my chair and ran to the office, hugging Jason and Sam before they even knew what was happening. “Festus is going!” I gasped, my hands shaking. “EARTH University accepted Festus!”
I read and reread the letter. It was really happening.
I immediately called him but his phone was off. There is no way he knows because he would have called me immediately. He won the lottery and he doesn’t even know yet! I’m more excited than I was when I got into college. Scratch that. I’m more excited that I’ve been possibly ever before. Dreams really do come true. Good things really do happen for good people.
Festus is a hero. He refused to accept that the way things are is the way they have to be. He will give hope to everyone who comes after. He will become a legend at Central High where most students can’t even afford to attend the local community college.
I can’t wait to break the news.
A Whole New World
The morning of the interviews we all got up at 5:00 and left at 6:00 to be in Monrovia by 8:00. It would take an hour to get to Red Light then another hour to reach to Mamba Point. Morale was high as we left. Festus lead everyone in prayer then Philicia started a few gospel songs.
We were entering new territory again and everyone had pulled together the best they could find of their church and school clothes, two of the boys wearing their uniform trousers because it was all they had. They clutched their new plastic folders and, again, I could have hugged them. Junaitor was the only one in the group who had ever been to Monrovia and as we entered town she became our tour guide. George read every sign aloud with amazement. “Total fuel station!” Gasp. “Ministry of Justice!” Gasp. “African food center!” Gasp. “Oh! Food is ready!” He would have leapt from his seat if he hadn’t been belted in.
Everything about this was so good and so right. Surprisingly, spontaneously, and for the first time in probably fifteen years I looked out the window and started praying. “God, whoever, whatever, and wherever you are, I beg that you see my children and that you help us. They deserve this so much. Please make the right thing happen.”
The driver took us to the wrong place and after small waiting and confusion we got there just two or three minutes late. Not too bad if you ask me! I helped them find the room upstairs, introduced myself, and crashed in an empty office while the students took their placement test. I could barely stay awake, though, and had things to do at the office so as soon as I heard a break I snuck out. I felt a little like they wanted me to go anyway, like when you don’t want your mom hanging around at school. I was surprised and pleased to see the other people invited from Sanniquellie had made it on their own. They looked rough, though, and I was proud of how prepared and professional my students looked in comparison.
I spent the day in the office, unfortunately neither resting nor working because a large group of Response Volunteers was getting ready to fly out and the place was packed.
Roland and I went to pick up the kids at 3:30 and I begged him to take the ocean side road and put us down small. It was magic. Everyone walked to the edge seriously and watched the rough waves crash against the beach. Junaitor kicked off her slippers and let it kiss her toes. She bent down and showed everyone that the waves were actually swirling with sand, catching handfuls as they broke. George and Romeo ran down the beach excitedly, stopping to dip their hands in only to be surprised by a fresh wave. They shouted and ran back to us.
“Ms. RB,” George turned to me, “is it true there is no end?” I told him you could circle the world in a boat without having to get out—there was that much water. He just shook his head and stared at the smooth, flat horizon.
We only had ten or fifteen minutes, though, so I took some pictures for them and piled them back in the car. As we left the beach Roland pointed out the capital building. “There’s my office!” Junaitor proclaimed. “In five years I will return and they will say ‘Minister Junaitor, we’ve been waiting for you!’”
That’s my girl.
We reached Kakata and spent the night celebrating. I put on my African dance music and we played Uno (George’s favorite game) then watched on African show Festus found online. “I will stay up all night!” Festus proclaimed. “I don’t want to waste a minute of this!”
They left at 7:30 the next morning and I stayed behind to help with training. The driver told me they sang and jubilated the entire trip. I hope they feel like the heroes they are.
Your thoughts are the architects of your destiny.
– David O. McKay
EARTH University
Watching this makes me too happy and too excited. I am so grateful that there are good people in the world making good opportunities available. I wish I could have shown this video to my students before we left for their interviews. Then again, maybe it would have made them more nervous…
life magnanimous 