Gblarlay

Gblarlay is about as remote as you can get, except for the fact that it can be reached by car (well, half of the time). Five hour drive into the heart of the bush, over nature's biggest speed bumps and sketchy bridges, while the sun set in glorious oranges through the trees. Equip was opening a new clinic there. It would serve a population of over 25,000 people from the neighbouring villages, including Ivorians from across the border. There are about 300 people per practicing doctor in America. In Liberia there are about 100 doctors total, and half of those are administrative positions.

I arrived the night before the ceremony. As we rolled into town at dusk kids started running after our truck, shouting out cries of welcome. When we parked I shook a million people's hands and was shown to a house where there was a spare room. I wandered back to a common gathering place, where the women were already busy preparing a feast, chopping and mashing and stirring mysterious entrees in big metal kettles over coal fires. I sat down on a bench and started talking to an older lady sitting beside me.

I heard singing off in the distance and soon a row of flashlights appeared on the horizon. "Who is that, Ma?" I asked the older lady. "Oh, they are Ivorians. They have come to celebrate." And celebrate they did. They rolled into town to the pulse of a djembe, dancing and singing, dressed in the most colorful fabric you've ever seen. A circle was formed and soon there was a whirlwind of swinging hips and shuffling feet, accompanied by an infectious chorus. I was completely mezmerized.

When I stumbled into bed I could still here the drums off in the distance. Apparently it went on all night. I was woken up at some ridiculously early hour "Come quick. Bring the camera. They are killing the cow!" It was still dark out. I rolled out of bed, grabbed my camera, and headed to the slaughter. I had arrived too late for the big show, but I watched them cut off the hide and took some photos that have a lot of appeal if your really into bovine anatomy. I went back to bed for a few more precious hours of sleep.

When I got up again, the cow was already well chopped up and stewing. There was nothing of it left. Nothing got wasted. Everything was in the soup pot. I tried not to dwell on it for long. Besides the beef, all the women were cooking up potato greens, okra, palm butter, and of course rice. One lady was making some donuts. There are very few things that can compare to a fresh Liberian donut.

The ceremony was great. Lots of cultural dances, lots of uninteresting speeches, and then everyone got fed. Good times in the bush.