Coming home.

I am mostly packed to leave.  I have my colorful fabric walls folded and packed away.  I am just waiting for my clothes to dry one last time in the African sun.  I ate my last meal of potato greens and white rice.  Tonight I will have my last club beer.  I am sure I have yet to have my last ARC hassle, but there can't be many more of even those. 

This has not been a regrettable experience.  I met Jonathan who I will cherish forever.  I would expect we will keep in very sparse touch for a long time.  This community I know like the back of my hand.  I can walk down the street and see several people I know any day I want to.  I can't do that in Minneapolis.  

My understanding of the NGO world has increased from zero to enough that it makes me question instead of giving blindly.  I will no longer be a staunch USAID supporter.  We have lots to give but it turns out giving in a way that doesn't do damage is a tricky thing.  The book Blue Clay People supports my experience and I want to read more about this bizarre and mostly well meaning phenomenon.

Tomorrow morning as early as we can get the Liberian drivers up we will hit the road.  It is a bumpy, miserable road, but it heads toward the airport and we are all ready to get out of here.  The good news is we won't be parboiling in our tents or baking in the sun tomorrow.  We will be traveling in blessed AC.  The exact plans are uncertain in our view as we would just as soon bull through all the way to Monrovia over the 14 hours of road as long as we can leave early enough.  Contrary to the beliefs of our management the road is unpredictable, and we DO NOT want to miss our flight on Friday.  I personally will breathe several sighs of relief over the next few days- one on each of the planes in Monrovia, Brussels, and Chicago.  

Thank you to all who have taken the time to communicate with me.  Your support has been more valuable than I can say.

Dedicated to 34th and DuPont

"Hey white woman!"  I hear that cry a lot from the kids of Fish Town as I walk their streets either for exercise or transportation. "Give me money."  "Give me bottle."  I feel the hand of an adorable child join mine uninvited as I walk along only to hear from the little voice at my side, "Give me peppermint."  I am white.  No matter where I go or what I am doing I am a spectacle.  At any one time there are only four white people in Fish Town and they all work for ARC.   There is an albino Liberian here but he is well known and been here since birth so in a discussion of race he is black to these folks.  We are decidedly white.  A group of kids posed yesterday so I could take their picture.  They love having their picture taken, and as they gathered around in a tight huddle straining to see themselves in the image I noticed a small boy on the edge of the scrum running his finger along the skin of my forearm daring to touch such an odd colored appendage.  

The first time Jonathan and I walked to Jayproken the OIC asked a couple of the workers there to take us on a tour of the village.  Everyone was very friendly, but the kids were fascinated.  Some hid, some braved a wave, and many followed us as we walked around the village.  We played with them a bit and laughed at their antics.  Kingston, a man with dark black skin, turned and explained, "It is the color of your skin.  The same would happen if I walked down your streets."

Race is a fascinating issue and after being the minority for 3 months I have come to the conclusion that white skin is always the trump card.  While having white skin In a black culture can be annoying (who wants to be conspicuous 24/7?) white skin signals dominance and power whether it is in a white culture or black.  I can only wish that if Kingston walked the streets of Minneapolis the worst he would face would be fascination.  But we know that is not how it is.  In our country black skin is not presumed to contain the brightest and most successful, the kindest or most approachable.  Too often the the default assumption is just the opposite.

Perhaps even more wrenching than the American scenario is the Liberian situation.  This is a black country.  The only white people are NGO "humanitarian" workers. One can't even run for president here unless her or she is black.   Still the people who are looked at as the saviors, the rich, the solvers are white.  When we walk down the street people see money, they see help, they see a way they can gain.  Only the small children who can't figure out how someone can be such a different color are afraid.  Everyone else sees wealth and smarts and success.  It is a far cry from what black Americans face on our white streets.

So next time you walk down a street and see skin different color from yours take a second, be courageous, and honestly examine what your preconceived notions are about the human being within.  You might be surprised. 

Best day in Liberia

Today I took my final walk to Jayproken.  I went by myself because I was going there only to check on the construction project funded by my very generous friend, Chrissy.  She wired me some money and I was able to get a solar panel for their vaccine refrigerator, refurbishing of the latrines, new construction of a bathing stall for women who have just had a baby, and new welded lids for their incinerators.  Remember this is a village accessible only on foot or by motorbike.  Even the welding machine had to be hauled in by motorbike.  I left them last week with the money and asked (and was assured) all would be done by today.  As I walked in 100+ degree heat over 8 miles to check on the work doubt crept into my mind and by the time I dragged myself up the hill to the clinic I fully expected to see a marginally progressed project.  WRONG!  The latrines were done complete with locking doors, the bathing stall was constructed only missing some paint, the incinerator doors were fixed making it possible again for them to properly dispose of medical waste, and the solar panel was up (they could buy that right here in Fish Town) and the frig was cold.  Here are some pictures-

Latrines in brown on the left, bathing stall in gray on the right.  Two employees of the clinic in blue, the construction guys in civilian clothing.  They were very proud of their hand written signs on paper on each latrine door.  They will last no further than the next rain.  Of note, for the first time since I have been going to Jayproken people are actually using the latrines.  

The incinerators with new welded covers.

James, the officer in charge (OIC) proudly presented me an itemized report of where the money went.  I have no doubt it was padded in spots but he was so enthusiastic and proud I threw in money to cover the $62 over and another $20 for more paint.

Solar panel not visible from any angle, but this is the vaccine frig which they already owned.

The walk back was hell except I was able to pause from my misery to notice that there were very few people and motorbikes along the way.  As I walked I drank over 4 liters of water but the heat still got to me.  Then this loveliness occurred.

6 miles into the return trip I decided it was serving no one for me to bull through so I called Isaac, the motorbike driver.  He took me the last two miles then downtown to get something to drink then back to camp.  I arrived a mess, but after some time In front of the fan, a shower, and more liquid I began to return to closer to normal.  

Here is a bonus round from the day.

Positives

This morning I was sitting in front of my fan when I overheard a conversation between George, our WASH coordinator, and the group of young, local girls who haul out water.  They are a hard-working, young, strong, upbeat group.  George is in his 30's and has done WASH professionally for 13 years.  He is a tall man from Uganda with a distinctive British accent.  He was telling the girls that they are making small money but they should save it.  "If you save it and use it for school fees it will turn to big money.  These men here, he continued, are no good.  They want to you to have your baby and disappear.  They cannot support you.  If you go to school you will find a man who values you for your brains.  A man who will stay with you."  OK so he is still somewhat sexist, but at least he was trying to steer them toward advancement and independence.  If even one of these fabulous women take him up on his advice it will have been time well spent.  Then George left for a 3 weeks vacation to reconnect with his kids and professional wife in Uganda.

Yesterday on our walk back from Jayproken Karnie gave me nature lessons.  This is a fruit we ate the inside of.  It is sweet and makes you thirsty.  Karnie said employers will buy a whole bunch of them and feed the workers then supply water.  That way the workers stomach is always full and they never want to eat.  Much cheaper for the employer. 

He also showed me a plant used during the civil war to brush teeth, a plant you can boil to make a thrush medicine, a leaf that can be used as a skin anti fungal, and a tuber that is filled with water.  Very fun way to pass the 2 1/2 hours walking in the blazing sun.

Finally U-bor

About a month ago (or a year in perceived time) Jonathan and I worked hard to get a trip to U-bor, a little town in the north east corner of the county.  The attraction was that has is one of the two health facilities in River Gee that requires a water crossing to access.  That trip got squashed by the county health team and by our own local management.  Since ARCs mission is changing in the absence of ebola they are exploring school and WASH work for their next phase.  Preliminary to that work is assessing the schools on a short list they were assigned.  Lucky for us U-bor was on that list.  We were asked to go by the response manager and told we couldn't by the medical director.  Rogue behavior after a controlled logical chat became the tie breaker.  Yesterday we went!

The distance to the river crossing was 88 km which took every minute of four hours.  The main highway was an interstate compared to the smaller road that was the majority of the distance.  The road was overgrown with brush from the shoulders to the point that motorbike riders would get filleted by the sticker bushes without long sleeves and long pants.  We drove forward largely on faith at some points brush and branches obscuring the road completely.

We got stuck one when the ruts were so deep we got high centered.  Some careful jacking and judiciously placed planks got us free.

At bridges we decided to only endanger the driver's life by all bailing out using weight as an excuse.  As the car traversed them creaking and cracking planks were heard as a rule.  

Finally after the back and neck jarring ride we came to the river.  

While waiting for the boat to come over we conversed with a woman waiting with her two children.  The children were holding lengths of vine tied to large beetles.  As the kids walked the beetles flew and the kids walked around guiding their tethered and tortured insects.  

The kids had also captured a monkey.  This little guy was leashed to a stick so they could take him with them.  They swore they would not eat it since they were wary of ebola.  Hopefully the little guy gets away eventually.

The boat was amazing.  It was probably 20+ feet long (though I am terrible with estimated measurements like this) and was made of a huge hollowed out tree.  As I grabbed the gunwale I could feel the heft of the craft.  I bet it weighs upwards of 500 pounds.  One guy is assigned each day to be the ferryman.  We squatted or knelt as he rowed us skillfully across. 

The village was not one of the ones oozing civic pride, but the people were friendly.  The clinic has the same problems as they all do- no supplies, and no patient exams or vitals ostensibly due to fear in the time of Ebola.  The schools were supposed to open yesterday but they haven't.  The school in U-bor is still full of goat and other animal feces and the desks and tables are all in disrepair.

The village has one operational well for over 1000 people and their latrines are all full.  An NGO supplied all of it and for some reason the towns folks can't see it to dig a few latrines themselves.  No idea why except the mentality that has been pervasive here.  Namely, NGOs should do it for us.  

The kids loved getting their picture taken.

Here is a sign you read upon leaving the village.

It was another four hours of jostling to get back.  It was worth every bump!

One gone

One of us finally threw in the towel.  Dr. Joe gave his notice and, in one of the most efficient acts that has taken place since we have been here, he was in a truck headed for Monrovia the next morning.  He flies back to Texas today.  His leaving had me asking myself and others what makes me not go too?  Every day here is like wack a mole.  Something good happens, we get excited, and it gets squashed.  This happens over and over again.  Why keep going through that?  Because we came as a team and I can't even imagine getting on that plane in Monrovia and leaving everyone behind.  I can't imagine missing the triumph of boarding all together knowing we made it together.  There are some great people here, people I will never forget.  The adversity here could have made us a nonfunctional mess, but instead we have bonded tightly.  We have handled this very, very well.

Thanks to my friend, Chrissy, I have some money to help someone here.  I asked the folks at Jayproken what would help them most.  They said fixing the latrines was a project that needed doing that would make a difference.  The estimate was $2500.  I am not a Liberian contractor, but NOT!  He said the. How much would you pay for the work?  $500.  OK he said give me the money.  I told him I would give him half and I needed to see the rest completed before he got the balance.  He agreed.  My guess is he will find free labor from the village, get the materials dirt cheap or free and be that much richer.  Sigh.  At least they will have respectable latrines.  We will see if he can pull it off.  Trust is at a premium here.

Beautiful moon last night.  Nearly full.  I believe it was the same moon as shines over Minneapolis. 😉

Two more weeks of Fish Town.