Week 3 - Meeting The Bugs (FYI: No photos)

Was it too good to be true? You betcha!

So after two weeks of acclimating to the war torn cityscape, the pollution, the language, the limited access, the heat, the stench, did I mention the pollution - finally the bugs have come out of hiding to properly welcome me. And I trust a bigger welcome is on the way once rainy season is in full downpour mode!

Luckily, we arrived in the dry season of winter - so yes it is hot, dry, and dusty, but this keeps bugs like mosquitoes from trying to carry me away and party on my fresh blood like it is 1999!

Unluckily, there are still plenty of bugs! Of course, working in the garden, I am used to bugs, and ants etc... I have noticed the various ant lines throughout the yard, certainly the lizards would not be around if not for all the tasty morsels. That ants seemed "normal" enough small black. But, maybe I should have noticed their speed as they darted around on the sand and surfaces.....hmmmm.

So it wasn't until I was arm deep in dirt, sand, and weeds that my arms and hands started to itch. Thinking it was the sun and sand I worked on. Later, after my shower I realized my error - as I had little red bumps all over my arms clear up to my elbows... ahhh. A lovely welcome from the garden ants - surely I will be better tomorrow (when I SPRAY THE HECK OUT OF THE GARDEN, revenge can be sweet).

Then the little black spider crawling on my towel, hanging on the shower rod in the bathroom. Ah yes, little black spider, this is surely not my specialty, and I called in Dr. Vasireddy who proceeded to hunt down the little devil and beat the living $%^$ out of him. Another welcome that maybe I did not fully appreciate.

Of course the kitchen has a door so it can be isolated from the rest of the house which is good - because every night I put on my Orkin (TM) uniform and proceed to use enough bug spray to delouse the entire city of Monrovia. I know it works because a Friday morning a little fellow was under the cabinet with is little feet up in the air - ah good good. And that same day Mamie swept up a little lizard - which apparently means that my combinations of spray and voodoo are working. Vamsi, insists this spray does more harm to my nervous system than the bugs will ever do - HA - little does he know that's why I drink Tanqueray and Tonic every night - to prevent any harmful effects.

Of course, yesterday morning - things escalated and somehow I managed (by accident - yet maybe my subconscious had taken over) to move some pots around in the cupboard. In the morning I went t get a pan to make my breakfast - well attached to the bottom of my pan was quite a sight as half a "bug" was attached and the smell = the smell! AGAIN thank GOD for Mamie who arrived moments later and dealt with the whole situation - of course she had to explain everything to me even as I lay faint on the couch sipping water and thinking about all the options I have in my medicine closet to help me forget this moment - that will for ever be SEARED into my head - the stench of the city is sweet perfume compared to the smell of that bug - I pray for you, kind reader, that you never have nor will ever experience that smell.

Of course this experience, may pale to that of Vamsi's morning. As he rushed around to leave for work, he brought his messenger bag to the table to collect his laptop - as he opened the flap he found little white spider/ant bug thins teeming all over the interior of his bag - TEEMING. Both watched, incredulous of the image. I just watched as Vamsi started taking things out of his bag and laying them on the table. I finally snapped awake and said Vamsi take it outside OUTSIDE - and then he woke up and we both went into action - he raced outside to dissect his bag - and find the root or source of this evil - I ran for every form of bug spray we had - spraying myself on the way back to the front porch.mantle. On the front porch, Vamsi in his suit and tie, I in my pajamas fight the battle of the little white bugs - OMG - no screaming, no yelling, no time for prayer - just decisive action - removing articles from his bag, spraying each item and moving on . Finally Vamsi cleared his bag of all the little mutants and we sprayed his bag with a special "gear" spray. Oh yes we have sprays - SPRAYS - and yes dear kind reader, surely they are environmentally friendly - at least for THIS environment.

Of course, Monday night was the definitive evening of knowing I had to take better precaution against these Monrovian residents. Having a lovely dinner at Golden Beach with friends, we sit just a few yards from the ocean, watching the sun set, the roaring waves, the local kids flipping and jumping on the sand, when our friend Nancy yells, "Michael, pick your feet up out of the sand."  That's all I need to hear as I lift my feet and look below. There in the sand where I was digging my toes and feet in the sand, like on any beach is a CARPET OF BIG BLACK ANTS- A CARPET. Having hairy legs, the ants can surely make their way up my limbs and find it a cozy place to plant their little pinchers. Sigh, another margarita please, another margarita I order.

All this to say, its nice to be welcomed by all the residents of Liberia, it would not be the same if I lived here without such experiences. I have heard much worse from fellow expats - but they themselves have lived in Africa for so long that their diffidence on such experiences is shocking to me. Whilst the civil war here is over - I myself find that I am taking up arms to fight the battle against these combatants who do not realize there is a new Sheriff in town. I came all the way from American Midwest - and with me I bring a new sense of safety and security - surely a take no prisoner attitude is written across my face.

I do hope this is my last post regarding these combatant inhabitants - though I completely accept that it most likely will not.

Water

Water Side / The mouth of a fresh water river in Monrovia.

I have mentioned several times that water is a crisis issue here in Liberia. Still recovering from 15 years of Civil War which destroyed most of the Liberian infrastructure that had been built over 150 years, a civil water system is still one of the most urgent needs for the entire country let alone the densely populated city of Monrovia. Clean, fresh, drinkable water is rare. There is a limited water system here in Liberia – but it is still being put to the test and most of the time I have learned “city water” is off line for days at a time – forcing most homes that rely on the civil system to have back up cisterns.

Coconut Plantation water delivery truck.

Even here at the revered Coconut Plantation which seemingly has the capacity for well water or at least connection to civil water, water is brought in daily by truck delivery.  The 13 units of Coconut Plantation rely on water from a truck that delivers every day, providing water for the compound well/cistern. Each home has a water pump that then pumps the water for bathing, cleaning, plants, and washing. Unfortunately, the water predicament is so tenuous in Liberia that even this “safe” water is not reliable for drinking.  This is confirmed because neither Mamie nor Andrew will drink from the tap. So we have a “super duper mega crazy” water filter to which we use to drink and clean our fruits and vegetables. We drink mostly bottled water that is bought at the supermarket bottled, in Lebanon (the Lebanese own most of the import food trade here in Monrovia). We even keep bottled water by the sink to use to brush our teeth and wash our faces.

This, for me, has been one of the most disturbing facts/issues to grasp. How after three years we have not solved this problem as a Nation and as a world. Surely there are many other nations and regions suffering from water issues, but Liberia has more to water to collect and disperse than most of those nations. Liberia is working on so many facets of rebuilding and there are so many prohibitive laws, politics, and protocols that the people are suffering from clean water. So much is at stake, not just hydration and life, but hygiene, sanitation, and health.

Child selling water in bags fro 5-10 Liberty or about 16 cents US.

Because I am still acclimating to the heat and climate – I often carry a large bottle of water with me wherever I go – I have obviously and immediately noticed that I am the only person who has such a habit – and this has caused locals to call me “Water Man.” At first, I was wary of being noticed, insecure about being identified so readily, but I tried a smaller bottle, but still, “Water Man.” Well, so be it! I am water man – no one has asked me for my water , no one has even come close to me, so I have become comfortable carrying my water – a blatant luxury, a blatant example that I “have,” and those around me “have not.”

Water Filter for House #12

When I brought the water filter with me from Chicago, Vamsi immediately installed and tested the device. Next we taught Mamie how to use the filter and “allowed” her to use it and made sure she had enough “water bottles to refill.” Additionally, we noticed Andrew goes all day without noticeably drinking water – I offered him a bottle one day and he looked SURPRISED, and questioned its drinkability. Certainly, this was defeating and depressing to me. That water was such a treasure that he was in disbelief that I would offer him drinkable water – I tried to explain that when his bottle was empty he should leave it on the back porch or let Mamie or I know and we would refill it – I still don’t think he understands as I often ask and he runs away to get his empty bottle.

The state of water her in Liberia is disturbing on so many level it is hard to comprehend/explain without feeling discouraged and listless. I have researched online through the various NGO’s working in Liberia the progress of water. I have come to learn that most water tat arrives naturally to Monrovia is polluted in one form or another – either from upstream industry or downstream waste. Most of the locals use the river for a bathroom, and if not directly, sewage eventually ends up in the rivers. Additionally any wells that  exist are also tainted by sewage. Wells and cisterns that do have usable water are not maintained properly and NGO’s have found that most usable wells are above 83 degrees Fahrenheit which means water is now a place for growing bacteria and other water-born illnesses.

So what does the common Liberian do for drinkable water and hygiene? Well, hygiene is a major stumbling block; most folks conceptually do not understand hygiene or sanitation. Why? Certainly before the war there was water, etc. True, but most of the urban city residents fled the country or were killed. Most of the current Morovian population (1.1 million) is derived from ex-combatants who arrived from the bush to battle in the civil war, or those form the bush who came to find work, like Mamie for instance who moved here with her husband (now deceased) from Grand Bassa county to find work. Out in the bush, drinking water was separated from sewage and of course the population was smaller less likely to foster disease. There are definitive sources of “drinkable” water that are usually delivered to community/neighborhood cisterns. But again this water is tenuous to say the least. The water arrives at these locations at what look like old oil tankers, and surely the sanitation of this system is not monitored or currently regulated.

Water is dragged, rolled, carried in open buckets on heads, in pails and small plastic “drinkable bags” that look like ziplock bags all over the city. Urban dwellers also boil their water and just plain hope for the best – drinking less than the recommended 8 glasses a day eh?

What’s troubling is all the energy that goes into provided drinkable water to a community of 1.1 million folks when Liberia is listed as the 3^rd nation in the world to have the most annual rainfall, and Monrovia is listed as the 1^st city in the world to have the most annual rainfall! Water is available to this region!!!!

So I watch trucks with thick black smoke busting from their pipes rumble through streets delivering water daily to the catholic school at the end of the street, I see people spending hours of their day carting water all over town, I think about all the plastic bottles being shipped around the world and imported to Liberia so that expats can drink safely. And I worry about all the coal that is burned to boil water throughout the city creating even more pollution. Just a mess of a predicament.

Liberia does have several NGO’s and projects taking place around the country. But as I have come to learn, the politics and turf waters of egos, both personally, and nationally or prohibiting any urgent action. There is one program you can find here that offers a lot of detail regarding their progress it is called WaSH : Water Sanitation Hygiene. Liberia WaSH Program

What is disconcerting – sorry for the diatribe of disconcertion today – is that a lot of NGO’s are a pseudo business. A lot of for profits – have a non profit arm/subsidiary in order to secure USAID (or other governments/UN/Foundation) monies (in the 100’s of millions: yes YOUR tax dollars) to work on a variety of projects. So when you read websites like this ___ and read about the success stories and see the wonderful photos, one must read as a cynic. These success stories (veiled/mild attempts at self reporting and public relations) are similar to our own work reports created at the office, highlighting all the good work, and all successes – creating a scenario that allows you to move forward and in the case of an NGO nesting in a corporation – secure more contracts.  So yes, the kind reader can feel good about all the success, because the kind reader will most likely never get to Liberia – and certainly the kind reader will never see a story on television on such an industry as NGO’s working abroad.

Other resources:

Safe Drinking Water

Article on contaminated water in Liberia

http://www.charitywater.org/blog/liberia-equip/

My new normal - Morning

Just like Chicago I wake up every morning at 3:00am – even with ear plugs, eye mask, a comfortable bed, a/c, and Vamsi by my side I still wake up 3:00am tossing and turning maybe falling asleep, before Vamsi’s alarm at 7:l00am. I don’t know if I ever fall asleep and wake again – hard to tell time between 3:00am and 7:00am either way the new normal is to wake up congested, dry, and tired.

Unlike my Chicago home, which sits on the west side of Lake Michigan, allowing me to watch the sunrise every morning – allowing me to greet the day as the day greet meets me – allowing me to acknowledge my God – and wonder in God’s glory every time the color strikes the horizon marking morning – Here, we live on the east side of the Atlantic, meaning the sun does not reveal herself to me until late in the morning. She must first pass over the water side, she must pass over the central hill of Mamba Point, the tall coconut trees, that surround our compound and give it its namesake, the high walls, protecting us from the unknown, and she must burn of the marine haze that comes from living low and near the ocean. Similar to say, San Diego, the humidity is trapped in the evening, not only by the mountains, but by the cool air, creating a fog, a mist, a haze that must be burned off by the sun every morning.

But I have a new way to enjoy the morning – the crows of the resident rooster! Every morning  he proudly sings: Good Morning ! Good Morning! Like me, he is excited to see the imminent arrival of the sun, and potential for what the new day will bring to Coconut Plantation.

That is my wake up song – the song of the Rooster brings me peace and a feeling that all is normal at Coconut Plantation. I make my coffee and my egg sandwich just like home – my little bits of home/normalcy that I try to bring to my day. Usually at 6 or 7 I am busy writing – today I got a late start – sleeping until past seven, then remembering its Monday and I have to prepare for Mamie’s arrival. Yes, we have to prepare – we live in the house as if we sleep in separate beds – what may seem obvious to some is not obvious to Mamie – the less attention we bring to ourselves as a couple is best for all involved. On the days that Mamie arrives, especially Monday the beginning of the work week, there are preparations: Make sure “my bed” is unmade, remove my belongings from “Vamsi’s” bedroom, lock the “valuables” closet, take all the dirty dishes out of the fridge (yes yes we are that lazy), make a list to review with Mamie.

Already behind, I am trying to catch up, but then Vamsi rushes in to the dining room, plops his large messenger bag on the table to put his computer inside and when he opens the computer he finds his bag is teeming white spiders! I immediately rush Vamsi out the front door forcing the now infected dining room chair with him. While he dissects his bag, I run to fetch the bug spray made for clothes, luggage, tents, and the like. I return handing the bottle to Vamsi and he continues to deal with his issue I return to my coffee and writing.

Just another “normal” morning in Monrovia.

Well now Mamie is deep into dusting and sweeping, which means she turns off the a/c in order to keep the dust from flying around the walls, and opens all the blinds – turning my cool beach home into a warm, dry, dusty bin. Frustrated but not defeated, I pick up my water, coffee, laptop and head to the pool!

Sigh – well of course all the workers are out and about raking the sand, sweeping the road, sweeping pool side, creating more dust that can eventually carry on the breeze into all our homes, so that all the housekeepers have more to dust and sweep. Of course, I have learned to find the raking, of the gravel and grass, the metal scraping the hard sandy ground without any rhythm or pattern to be soothing – lets me know the compound staff is busy at work – and that I am not alone.

The new “normal.” 

Liberians Makin' it Happen! Transporting Goods.

~ 11 year old boy carrying a cement cinder block

Here in Monrovia, like anywhere in the world goods need to be moved around town - of course DHL, FEDEX, USPS, UPS are all NON EXISTENT.

Most of the vehicles on the road are motorbikes who act as mini taxis - of course these lovely chaps are also ex combatants - UN and Expat Vehicles, the Lebanese (most of teh business owners), and a few local Liberians, mostly the wealthy, yes there are some tattered forms of shared taxis - which are to be avoided due to muggings etc.

So that leaves all us regular folk and the local Liberians to come up with innovative creative ideas to transport goods throughout the city. Most notably you will see men pushing wheelbarrows through the streets with such things as water packets, hand towels, shoes, gum, oh you name it they sell it in a wheelbarrow - I myself think this is a great idea - you can move, display, and set your store anywhere, anytime.

But sometimes you need to move more - or less. Like the young fellow above I captured carrying a CEMENT CINDER BLOCK On his head - you will see women and children (rarely men) carrying large bowls filled with goods, large trays holding smoked fished, heavy bags of rice - but this was the first time I witnessed cement blocks being carried. And while this lad looks slim and young - he is obviously strong and adept. IN fact, i was unable to capture a photo of the single file family he was following all carrying these bricks on their head - some children smaller and one child, she was definitely younger/smaller.

Water being transported UP the hill of Randall St.

Water is a huge HUGE issue here - so you will often see water being carted around in all sorts of vehicles - in the photo above you can see the fellow in the rear pushing this contraption uphill (there were two smaller fellows in front "pulling") in the middle of the day under the high HOT sun. Notice the creativity of using old  corn oil containers to house the water, and how neatly they fit in this contraption. If I had the cash and means - surely I would purchase this item for my art collection. Absolutely one of my favorite devices - man power, completely invented, solving a purpose, lovely austere design, sturdy, and recycled!

Another view of the water transport contraption.

Mike and Mamie go to General Market on the "water-side." (West Point, Monrovia, Liberia)

So much fun going to water side market, also known as General Market, yesterday with Mamie!

So much SO MUCH!

General Market sits on the water, on the opposite side of Mamba Point (where we live in Coconut Plantation), before United Nations Drive crosses the river bridge.  The water is the mouth of a moderate river that forms the peninsula. Unfortunately, the mouth leads to the giant shipping port of Monrovia (One of the main income generators for the Liberian government is the registry of giant tanker ships, having the largest registry in the world), and is home to large marketplaces and local Liberian housing who “choose” to live on the polluted water (river) side while foreign offices, compounds, and hotels line the ocean or “our/your” side of the point.

You can find the market on google maps: West Point, Monrovia, Liberia MAP

You can look and find that the market is tagged as an “area.” The market consists of a whole square block of clothes markets, one for housewares, one for hardware, and one of course for FOOD.

So Mamie and I got picked up by a local taxi service, which means one man, named Alfa,  who drives a beat up old blue, Japanese made, 1991 something, tinted window, mini station wagon. We got his number from a friend but turns out he is one of two reliable “taxi services” that are used by expats.

Alfa is normally hired in the evenings when expats no longer have use of their “official” vehicles and their drivers are off for the night, I have come to learn that Alfa is quite available during the day and for US$7 per hour – quite a luxury even if it is not a big white pathfinder with big black UN letters painted on the side (that is so 1996 Uganda – the blue hipster mobile is happening now).

Off we go and what a spectacular little ten minute ride around the point on United Nations Drive (which loops Mamba Point) instead of fighting “city traffic” through town. Past the hotels, and shop keepers, past the old US Embassy and the new US Embassy (yes your tax dollars are at work here in Liberia on SO MANY LEVELS-don’t tell the 99%), zig-zagging through the safety maze. In front of the embassies we climb a hill to reach the top of Mamba Point and start to descend to the other side!

In Alfa's taxi entering "water side."

I am so excited as Alfa takes us past the mechanic shops, the motorbike repair shops, and bombed out buildings, he literally knows everyone – and not just a hey man – but people shouting Alfa! Bah! (a term for friend). So I am already relaxing and feeling better and then we enter the market “center.” HOLY SMOKES what have I got myself into (have I mentioned you never EVER see police presence!)!?

Alfa drives around the one way loop through the center and drops us in front of the “food market,” which looks like an alley – no wait, it is an alley…no wait, it is the last time I am ever going to be seen again! And while this white boy with bright green shorts a t shirt (and a much smaller water bottle) enter the fray, only a few people look my way – most people are looking at Mamie – and at first I think she is being frowned upon for bringing me here, for being a housekeeper, for carrying the shopping bag – I am not sure. Later, I am come to realize by walking and talking with me she is actually getting “good stares.” Later a friend of hers approaches and asks to talk to me and we discuss the market and I see how proud Mamie is that I would walk with her and let her be my guide. Okay this is working for both of us: good GOOD.

Winding road of the General Market

So as we enter the alley, I must admit I did feel uneasy, as I could not determine an “entrance,” and as we walked a few hundred feet and turned the first bend, all that was up ahead was the next bend and as I turned around to see where I came from, there was only the bend: I was in the market. At first glance everything looked the same, dusty, women staffing all the booths, little tables and overturned barrels with wares, and produce in neat little piles. But as we continued to walk I realized the booths were different, some booths proudly presented whole raw, thick, heavy pink pig legs lined up looking as if they were in an examining room, not a dusty street market – the clean, pale pink, flesh tone of these legs was the brightest color in all of the market and a distraction every time I came across a pig leg seller. Near the front of the market women had buckets of live brown water side crabs – these crabs looked healthy but knowing they were from this side of town meant they were culled from the murky depths of the polluted river, I passed those crabs by.

The Market seemed to go on and on and all the market is run by women. There was so much noise and talking and yet it all came from the bustle of the moving crowd, motorbikes, carrying folks through, and men and women shopping.  I immediately noticed the dissonance between the quiet women who sat behind their booths versus the male “sellers/hawkers” who push wheel barrows of ice and water packets through the narrow path – yelling “Water, Water,” looking disdainfully at my water bottle.

Bats in the Tree Over the Market

Half way through down the winding market I hear LOUD chirping sounding like a flock of birds, or surely crows waiting for droppings, and I look up and WOW: A Giant leafless tree, at least five stories tall, the biggest I have seen in the city absolutely infested with BATS! I WAS AWESTRUCK. Here over this terribly busy market you could HEAR the bats. That’s how loud they were! And neither community was disturbed: the bats, nor the market place – such an experience to notice that this was NORMAL. I love it – this was worth the trip – This alone was worth my little jaunt across town…I could come visit this very magical spot every day – Mamie nudged me and said take a picture and lets go – LOL! So I did, but I walked pretty much the rest of the way with my head turned up in awe of the BATS.

As we continued to the end Mamie jumped up through a couple of vendors into a building which turns out was the entrance to the fish market: AWESOME.

Here was row after row of plywood covered long tables, impossible to describe except that there were at least twenty rows the length of the market building, and the building was easily half a football field. The ceiling was pitched and high, but that did not help the smell, and light was limited to assist in keeping the building cool – because here lay on this wood – fish, fish I have never seen, fish I have only seen on tv, and fish that probably should not be eaten, each vendor had fresh fish or dried fish, or smoked fish or cooked fish, and then the chicken parts and then meat cuts and then things I don’t even know.

So after walking the market Mamie helped me identify fresh fish versus old fish – and while you think I would know – well “fresh” is well you know – everyone has their own idea of fresh.  And so finally I realize the fresher the fish the more it “flops” and is “loose” versus some fish that are stiff and hard – ah yes I will take some floppy fish. Mamie also tries to get me to smell the different fish which I do – but when I tell you, it was hard to discern fish smells in a building that had a smell that defies description, and after a while my nose had enough and just shut down.

Excellent Fish Vendor at the Market "cleaning" our fish purchase.

We find Mamie’s favorite vendor and learn that she does not have the fish we prefer and look to her neighbor and when (what I think is a quiet voice) ask Mamie if she thinks this is fresh, the burly vendor gets quite proud of her product, stands next to me in front of her booth, and starts tearing the fish apart by the gills proving its freshness and getting quite vocal…Ah, fresh indeed fair vendor, fresh indeed…we will take two of these large tube like fish. Well she was quite satisfied with that purchase and she and Mamie then proceeded in a dance of which two fish we were to take with us, and the fair vendor returned to her position behind her stall. Mamie then requested she clean the fish, to which she happily obliged. The price, I will quote the vendor, “You give me Ten US Dollars I will give you 250 Liberty (Liberian Dollars).” I, of course, am like wha? Look at Mamie, she discreetly nods, and I agree to this crazy arrangement: Two Big Fish that will feed the three of us (Vamsi and I for two meals and Mamie always takes the heads): US$5.50

Off we go to the neighboring building, a lot smaller, brighter, and the stalls are a lot closer, it is single file through the stalls – means a lot more bumping of each other. Here the women vendors seem to be younger and slighter, as they tend to sit on top of the tables next to their produce. Each table you find little mounds of vegetables next to each other. This is how they are sold, baby eggplants sit in little piles of 8/9 , costing 25 liberty or about US$0.35. I purchase 4 piles of baby eggplant for 100 Liberty; the vendor seems satisfied – win-win. Through the market I buy okra, onions, and full sized purple eggplant. Mamie and I are done she has what she needs and I have purchased extra vegetables for the weekend. 

On the way back up to the street, the bats now swarming overhead stirred from their roost, I catch a booth with objects not food and I find a barrel full of homemade graters. Here knives are expensive and not easily procured and folks tend to grate their food for soups and stews. Even the rough cassava leaves are grated, along with onions, peppers and so on. I decide I need one of these homemade kitchen utensils and look for the vendor only to find at the moment “Osun” (sp?) is tending to the booth. He is maybe ten years old at the most, and surely he does not weigh 50lbs. I can definitely tell that he has his smarts and so I am going to have to do some serious bargaining. I ask him how much is this grater, of course the cynic New Yorker in me is waiting to be gouged, I put on my best, don’t try to fool with me young man face, he immediately replies “15 liberty.” Of course I look shocked and start into a rant: how could this be the price - then it clicks - I ask him again and he repeats very assuredly, “15 liberty.” I look at Mamie she nods, and I hand the bright fellow his 15 Liberty, or US$0.16, and happily feel I have made the best deal of the day all on my own!

Back to the main street, Alfa loyally awaits outside his vehicle looking for us, waves us over, puts us in, and away we go! What a most satisfying hour, I look forward to my weekly trips to General Market on the water side!

Hand crafted grater.

Art Finds: Not So Much Thus Far, but I will find art for sure!

United Nations Drive wall mural - detail

Part of my dream while visiting Liberia for the next two years is to discover the "art scene." Of course I will find the classic, beautiful masks,  sculptures, and local crafts and well I already have at the "tourist spots" around town. I will wait until I travel with Vamsi out into the counties to find the real-deal as it were. And I still need to do some more research to find out what is what. Vamsi's colleague is expecting a visitor friend from Harvard who has an extensive collection of West African Art and I may just be patient and wait for his counsel.

It is my understanding that quilting is the national art of Liberia and President Johnson Sirleaf has been said to have installed huge quilts in her office to show her support of quilters. Yet, I have not come across even old quilts in the market - so the hunt is on...

More importantly, I would like to find contemporary art created by the vision, the inspiration, and the creativity of Liberia's young population. Unfortunately, I have yet to see much art at all - even street art/graffiti is sparse,  and when you find it it is usually made my rocks being scraped against a white washed wall. Ironically, a block north of our compound is the only colorful mural of sorts that I have come across in all my drives and walks through town. It is on a wall of a compound with no identifying marks and for me it is currently the only art in my life....

United Nations Drive wall mural - long view. don't make fun of my iphone camera photographs.

Meeting the US Ambassador: Advancing Youth Empowerment Launch

US Ambassador Thomas Greenfield speaking

Let me  tell you this - yesterday I heard the US Ambassador speak at a function - she is experienced, gifted, educated, and  obviously CARES. She is a daughter and  a mother who BLATANTLY represents the people of the USA. As I listed to her speech, I thought to myself WOW! WOW this woman is bigger than this - and nobody in America will ever know - NO one will know that this woman is DA BOMB - representing her people trying to help people in this part of the world.

I attended as a guest of Vamsi's to an invite only launch for a youth org similar to After School Matters - and though everything here in Liberia is funded by some organization from somewhere around the world the protocol is to give most credit to the ministry in order to build national pride. But yesterday Madame Ambassador had had enough - She told the officials, the people present, the teachers, and THE YOUTH - "stop asking for help: STOP. Help yourself Help YOUR country - do NOT become a country of beggars because we do not help beggars - we help those who help themselves." JAW ON THE FLOOR and she went on -  all of this in a very self deprecating manner as she continued,  I-have-been-there-I-EDUCATED-MYSELF style speech. "If you ask my parents they will tell you, and have repeatedly said, they don't know how I was educated - because they COULD NOT READ OR WRITE - but wanted better for me but did not know what to do."  THIS WOMAN IS AN AMBASSADOR! It took all of me not to stand up SCREAM AMEN and sway with my arm in the air - and she saw me, SHE SAW ME - I WAS SOBBING CRYING, because she said this with such care, such authority, such verve, such immediacy. 

I was seated next to a deputy minister of youth, as there were a variety of dignitaries,  let me tell you, most white/euro folks, CLUELESSNESS in their eyes - Liberians, on the other hand,  you could see the weight of of the Ambassador's charge - OMG how are we gonna do this? And there is me SOBBING LIKE HOLY SMOKES PREACH IT SISTER so yea she went on - she TOLD IT - she spoke how she traveled with President Sirleaf to the outlying villages and with villagers carrying signs, "I am a mother Help Me - I am an ex combatant Help me," etc and she spoke loudly and leaned forward, "IT MADE ME MAD. Where is the sign: Ellen How can we Help YOU! Ellen how Can I help LIBERIA! Where? If you want to be beggars make that decision so we can all go home and go somewhere and make a difference - because NO NO NO no begging, I/we won't have it - And I have been called wicked ambassador because I speak my mind, really wicked WICKED - what's in it for me? What do I get:  grief? So I should hand out liberty (slang for Liberian dollars) wherever I go? then everyone will like me or will I not hand out enough Liberty?"

I was a PROUD to be in the room - PROUD TO Witness Truth and Love, and Proud to be an American - this woman THIS was my people - amazing AMAZING. The good work is being done all around the world.

Other parts of the program included a testimony from a young woman who learned to read and write due to the efforts of the earlier Advancing Youth Project. She is now a speaker for the program while working on her own projects and finishing school, a true success story. She was slim and young, her voice strong, so high pitched and sharp, and tinny - it was beautiful in her way - her dress was flawless of African blue and gold fabric - she stood there - a woman in front of people PEOPLE a huge room of dignitaries and teachers, in the back students sat on risers (which i thought was the only flaw of the program - Maggie would have had the youth up front and guests in the rear to prove their importance but alas not everyone understands the power of respect- ) she gave her testimony and then held her head up and looked straight at those youth and said "Look - if I can do it YOU CAN DO it - And I want to be proud of my country - I want to be proud to be a Liberian and you need to be too - so you need to learn to read and write and get an education and help others" - when I tell you I lost a gallon of tears!

AMAZING AMAZING - this was the real deal THE REAL DEAL

After the program, there were presentation by  youth
 in a variety of programs, such as ceramic, canning, and snail  farming.

Time to get in the garden!

Being down with malaise for the past couple of days is frustrating – I hate even a day going by without fully engaging it – the good news is my spirit is better today even if my body is not, so I will attempt to do some gardening today as Andrew, the gardener has gotten ahead of me and I don’t want to slow down the progress.

As an aside as much as I enjoy Mamie’s cooking,  I don’t appreciate the house smelling like fried fish – This is surely NOT going to work for me – Mamie and I will have to work out some means to cook her style whilst living without a household of fish smell – I am simmering lavender on the stove this morning hoping to over whelm the fish with a calming breeze of southern France -  we shall see.

All the compound staff seem to be in good spirits today – noticed all of them enjoying each other’s company this morning – like any job/office culture it seemed a little bit of normalcy to witness – but also once again made me feel like an intruder , in their day, a spy upon their freedom to do their work and be left alone – it will take some time for staff to trust that I am not an overseer or that I even worry that they are eating lunch, talking, or even goofing off – we all take breaks eh?  Communication between me and the locals is frustrating me – not only are the words different but my color gives way to suspicion, and I think the fact that I am younger than most of those living in this compound lends to an air of “richness.” The fact that I don’t go to work and can lay in bed when I am ill – is very suspect.  I am uncomfortable when I catch them staring/looking/peeking at me and then avert their eyes not because  I don’t like being spied upon but because I instinctively misunderstand their curiosity for spying – and am not worried that they are looking at me and hope they don’t get frustrated with me entranced by them and their lovely good spirits. I have yet to meet one Liberian who comes across as mean or uncompromisable – of course – again – the communication barrier may just be the great denier of my constructed reality - time will tell. So as I breathe in this fresh scent of lavender I am revived and will head to the garden for an hour or so before the sun drains me of all my energy…

Tomato and Basil Seedlings form old yellowed seed packets bought at the supermarket.

…Well seems less than two hours in the garden is like a day of work when you suffering from malaise and haven’t acclimated to the heat, humidity, and dust. But our little garden is coming along and I am quite happy – an outsider might find our rudimentary pile of stones and tiny seedlings in cut plastic water bottles disturbing I feel quite ahead of schedule considering I didn’t even think I would have a seed in my hand for another month let a dozen seedlings to play with! So the squash are coming up just fine – I have decided to plant one directly into the ground – an experiment – to see if that little fellow might be able to handle the hard ground tamped over time, by rain, wind, and disrespect . And so I hope the little guy has the strength to lead others into the ground – a day or two will tell if they can survive or will need western style intervention due to their weak genetic mutations brought on by the industrial need to produce. Good luck little guy.

Come on Squash Seedling! Make us all proud! 

And then as luck would have it I noticed a compound worker across the way strafing the grass with a long machete, whacking and beating the defenseless grass trying too cool the hard hot ground in the open area across the way. And so I politely asked what they were going to do with the grass and I was told “throw it all away.” Jeepers!  May I have some? – Apparently I could have it all! Serendipitously, I realized the chicks and chickens that roam the compound “fertilize” this area and thus why it is so green and thus why the grass is quick to grow! AH HA! Bonus Fertilizer as I gather the strafed grass I can smell the rich incense of chicken droppings – I am giddy! My garden now has fertilizer!

Burial Mound? No Chicken feces and dried grass covered garden bed.

And now – I love the chickens and hope to invite them to my yard daily  - I will look for them and train them with grains and bread in hopes they will learn to gather in my yard and walk amongst my plants! I had been so worried they would eat my seeds I forgot about the very importance of their biology – the creation of fertilizer! Dear God Thank you for creating a perfect world and apologies that it takes me so long to see it ! Of course, now I worry what kind of disease will I gather from this dust these droppings – again only time will tell. A day or two should surely provide symptoms in the error of my ways.  Or affirm that I need to gather all the strafed grass and accompanying droppings for every square inch of our temporary land and help the soil to be naturally reborn.

This is a good day = if only there was a shower to delouse me on the outside of the house like beach houses  back home…..

Finally settled in...

Waking up this morning was the first time that I felt vulnerable since arriving here in Liberia,  a huge sense of my smallness – yet totally peaceful and "home." I woke up before Vamsi, the sun, and even the compound resident rooster. Laying in the morning darkness, and listening beyond the drone of the blowing air conditioner, I realized what a rare moment of soundless peace: there was no loud dance music beating its' bass from the beach, there were no honking horns, no motor bikes growling down the street – nothing! no sounds echoing against the solid, thick cement walls of the compound.  At this hour there is stillness, actual peace and then I heard  the SOUND, I actually: ”felt it.” The ocean, apparently is also up early this morning, and it is POUNDING against the beach – so much  more than usual that I felt her vibration, her strength. And while I have always been enamored with the ocean, and her awesome waves of foamy water – I never realized the uncomfortable feeling that the waves are not consistent/regular – more like lightening, or even punches in a fight – they don’t arrive on every 4th beat of the measure – no no these waves are unpredictable and every land of a punch is strong and forceful – sometimes the punches land one-two- three as if it were ready to knock out its opponent. But here I lay, in the comfort of my bed, next to Vamsi, behind a big white wall, I don’t know if they are at the foot of the beach or seconds from crashing over the wall – I trust that if the ocean wanted this much more of land it would just take it, me with it, happily I would go – as the ocean for me is a sign of life, of living, of God and I trust the ocean’s sense of ownership. So this feeling this morning, is a good one, it is the first morning I feel I actually belong here, that I am home: I have Vamsi, my God, my community, though I now realize I need to do better at meeting and learning about my neighbors. I will first start with a very strong, beautiful lovely neighbor, who like me wakes up early every morning:

 the ocean.

Andrew: The Gardener - It is Official!

Yesterday, my dream came TRUE! Of course in my "big plans" for House #12 we would not have started working on the garden until next month when my supplies arrived from Chicago, but other plans have been set in motion.

Andrew came by to bring more plants - and he checked out my seedlings and indeed, these ol tattered seed found in yellowed packets at the market are actually growing! In less then three days time they have germinated and sprouted!  No one can believe it, let alone me!

Andrew's Shovel

We got into a bit of a conversation and Andrew realized I had big plans. I asked if he had any friends that he could recommend to assist me in the garden because this was too much for me and I did not have the sustenance to always be out in the sun. Andrew immediately looked offended and said he is a gardener, he enjoys and loves the garden and wanted me to hire him. Well after much discussion which involved translation using Mamie as an in between we did a round Robin of discussion as Mamie understands me but not Andrew and Andrew understands Mamie but not me, it was decided that Andrew wanted to work on his days off and after hours to be my gardener. We settled on a fee and plans and the fact that I don't believe in working on Sunday and he should not either and after a gentleman's handshake Andrew spoke, "We are friends now. So if you see me on the street you will greet me, and if I see you on the street I will greet you." Indeed! Indeed we are and indeed we will!

Andrew, our Gardener and his good work of the day!

Andrew was all so excited that he spent the day in the garden, and insists he will come before work and after work every day to water the plants and seeds and as I type this now in the early hour Andrew is in the backyard watering the plants. I feel a camaraderie already with Andrew since he brings a positive, happy energy to the garden because like me he actually enjoys the work.

Last evening at the end of the day, after Andrew left, Vamsi returned from work and noticed the small flowers planted in the front of the house and started to take photos, out of nowhere a fresh, cleaned Andrew came darting out and insisted that he be in the picture to show that this was his good work. For sure he deserves all the credit...because I tell you this his tools are not the best (yes we will work on getting better tools) and the ground oh gosh one step away from cement!

Another great day in Monrovia!

Andrew: The Gardener

As I was making breakfast this morning, I saw out the big window of the kitchen a compound worker, needlessly CHOPPING the limited shrubs and flora in the back garden ! YIKES! NO! I raced to put on clothes and figure out which key and double doors and then quietly approached the kind fellow dressed in the heat a full thick cotton coverall - just looking at him made me HOT.

So this fellow turns to me, he seems quite lovely, he is too thin,  so black his skin, and his eyes are so light - and he has an assuredly air of kindness around him. "Umm, why thank you for kindly tending to the bushes."

Well turns out he is a groundskeeper, his name is Andrew, and his smile is BIG and warm. Hoping that we can salvage what's left of the shrubs before Andrew ScissorHands gets hold of them I ask that we stop cutting off the tops and sides of the shrubs and for now let's just trim the front side only: In hopes that the more shrub grows up and to the sides the more we can protect the yard from the heat and reflection of the wall. Andrew seems to understand and not understand - so I reiterate without a long winded explanation of "why." And he replies oh - don't cut the tops. YES YES! Indeed! Fabulous! My stomach growls, I return to the kitchen to finish making breakfast - only to start thinking and again I rush outside to the front where it seems Andrew has already forgotten our conversation and has reverted to decapitating all the shrubs without prejudice. After reminding him of our conversation - I then proceed to ask how is it that I can procure more shrubs for the perimeter of the yard. Well - seems Andrew is the man to ask only he states that he would bring cuttings and plant them from bushes around the compound - fair enough fair enough - I say to myself and to Andrew maybe three yes? Here, here and here as I point to desert like ground - and what would be a fair price? a $1 per cutting?  Apparently very fair as Andrew came back in less then thirty minutes three big holes had been dug, with his gosh awful broken shovel, and there I had three new plantings! Only here a couple of days and indeed we have progress! So excited for three more but insisted not to worry about it today...Andrew would not have it and immediately returned with FOUR cuttings! YES! We were going to make a good team!