Surroundings

Good Good Friday

On Good Friday some people in Monrovia celebrated by making effigies of Judas and then beat it to shreds with sticks. Only in Liberia.

I was in a foul mood on Friday. For some reason everything irked and irritated me. It was unusually hot so I was unusually sweaty which also means I was unusually uncomfortable. I felt annoyed by people's mannerisms or a side remark or any other trivial thing. I was letting all these little things percolate inside of me when God hit me over the head with this:

"But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge."

The one man who had most reason to cry out accusingly at the very people he had come to save, did not say a single word.

I think sometimes we often are so focused on the physical brutality of the cross, that we miss just how dark this day really was. Human history has lots of examples of humans who have suffered greater physical pain then the cross. The real suffering was in carrying all of humanity's sin. The weight of that is so great that we can't really comprehend it. It was a weight so heavy that it caused Jesus, God made flesh, to cry out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"I think back on my moments of greatest guilt and shame and remember how burdened I felt. When I realize that that is only a drop in the ocean of human transgression, I start to get a glimpse of what really happened at Golgotha.

What follows next is, in my opinion, the most beautiful and understated passage in the Bible.

"At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom."

Because of the cross we have the privilege of walking right into the Holy of Holies and start a beautiful relationship with God, creator of the universe.

Awesome.

Into The Bush

I quickly threw a bunch of clothes into a bag, made sure my camera and camcorder were charged, jumped into some shoes and rushed out the door. Thanks to a last minute plan, I was leaving smoggy Monrovia behind for a week and heading off into the bush.

A large part of what EQUIP Liberia, the NGO I’m volunteering for, does is to train community health ambassadors. It’s a pretty sweet program. People volunteer for a series of workshops and trainings stretched over a 15 month period. The trainings are all about disease prevention and basic hygiene. Most importantly the CHA’s (as they are called) are equipped to carry what they’ve learned back to their communities and share it through giving health talks, performing dramas, and living out what they preach. Its been a program with HUGE success. When you drive through towns where CHAs are active, you can see a drastic change.

The reason I am explaining this is because I was rushing off into the bush to be a part of three different graduations of these community health workers. My job was to take photos and video for future use in newsletters and promotional material, but that was really just an excuse to get out to some of the more remote parts of Liberia and meet some amazing people.

Destination number one was Karnplay. It was a squeaky clean town by Liberian standards. There were no piles of burning garbage on the side of the road and a lot of the large trees had been left in the midst of all the buildings. The children were unusually polite and serious, too shy to even laugh at my obvious whiteness. We stopped at one house. The small 4 year old boy standing outside took one look at Chris, my fellow Canadian volunteer, and booked it inside, apparently scared that “Jesus” had come.

(school children in Karnplay)

The ceremony was beautiful. It was complete with dramas and a song with the lyrics “Diarrhea is not fun so follow my advice / Wash your hands after poo-poo / Wash your hands after poo-poo / Diarrhea is no fun so follow my advice.” There was one graduate who had started his training years earlier but had to flee with the onset of the civil war. He had faithfully come back ten years later to complete what he began, because of his desire to serve his community. There were younger graduates thirsty for the knowledge, and elderly looking for a way to serve the towns where their grandchildren and great-grandchildren now live.

After the ceremony, the graduates brought out a “little” gift for us EQUIP staff as a thank you. My jaw dropped as they carried in seven bunches of bananas, two bunches of plantain, two pineapples, a whole bag of avocadoes, a pumpkin, and some chickens.
Karnplay was also the place where our car decided not to start. One failed push-start and an opportunistic mechanic later, we were back on the road.

Our Land Cruiser was now packed with goods, the chickens peeing all over the floor and the bananas shifting around precariously on the roof rack. We rolled and bounced our way down the rough dirt road towards Garplay. It seems like all the towns in the area end with “-play.”

About three hours and just as many sketchy log bridges later we pulled into Garplay. It was another gorgeous town, on a slight hill so that you had a view of the expansive rainforest around it. Since the ceremony here wasn’t until the next day, Ma Ester, the regional CHA trainer kindly put us up in her round house.

Soon the kids started to gather, wrestling in the yard. One boy started singing spontaneously and we all held our breath, because it was the most beautiful and fragile voice. After he finished we all clapped and he got really shy, but he sung later for us.

When a good crowd of kids had assembled, I pulled out a pack of bright orange balloons that might very good friends from home had sent me. The kids went nuts. Soon Garplay was filled with groups of children running pell-mell after balloons.

(the children of Garplay)

Around the soup pot that night we had an interesting discussion. We were talking about the different types of meat that the Liberians eat. We had covered the usual suspects like goat, ground-hog, snake, and monkey when Paygar, our Liberian friend said, “But the best meat of all is the chimpanzee. I love the chimpanzee!”
Chris, my fellow volunteer, was quick to interject. “But the chimpanzee is almost extinct. It almost finished!”

“Then we will finish it!”, declared Paygar with a large amount of pride.

That night I sat on the porch and played guitar, a new found skill of mine. Once in a while, and it happens quite rarely, you find yourself in a place void of worries or concerns. That night, sitting on that porch in that little village of Garplay, under a canopy of endless stars, and singing songs for God, I felt completely at peace. Everything was the way it should be. Sarah and Chris, the two other volunteers, came out to join me and we just passed around the guitar and worshipped into the night.

The next day’s ceremony was a smashing success. More songs, more dramas, and more beautiful people.

We headed off to our last destination, burdened with some more plantains. The road was long and soon we found ourselves driving in the dark on a bumpy road, getting pin-balled from side to side. We had just navigated another treacherous log bridge when we ran into real trouble.
A local and his machete proved to be providential and in a matter of minutes he had us through. Bonglay ended up being completely willed with sheep. Not the white, fluffy type on rolling green hills, but the matted-wool, floppy eared, dusty type that poop everywhere. Jerry the regional CHA trainer, a big man with a bigger voice, made us feel welcome and showed us to our beds.

Our beds ended up being in the most peculiar and pretty house in Liberia. Here in this remote jungle town an older couple had carefully nurtured an immaculate dwelling. The walls were covered with an eclectic mix of paintings, family photos, and framed shots of the London Tower guards. I even found a VW poster in one corner of the kitchen. A beautiful queen-sized bed was a welcome site.

Under the morning light Bonglay appeared as a town very much alive. The ceremony was big and noisy. We had to make it all the way back to Ganta that day, so after a quick bowl of rice with groundhog (which, by the way, is delicious) we jumped into the Land Cruiser and headed back.

Coming back out from the bush I felt like I left a little part of me there, under those stars surrounded by those trees and all those beautiful people.

(cooking a cassava snake)

"Pray the Devil Back to Hell"

This last weekend Monrovia has played host to an "International Women's Colloquium." It was a giant gathering of dignitaries (19 heads of state!), NGOs, and community representatives to discuss ways to empower women to improve their situations in conflict, post-conflict, and third-world countries. Cool stuff. There was also a trade fair. Cooler stuff. The fact that Liberia was able to host so many important people without anything crazy going down, is a testament to how far this country has come.

But the real cool stuff was last night. The whole event was hosted at Samuel Kanyon Doe Sports Complex, a giant football stadium. Last night they had all the chairs out on the soccer field and they showed a special screening of a new documentary, "Pray the Devil Back to Hell" on the big score screen, to a crowd of thousands, the president of Liberia in the audience.
The flick is about a group of Christian and Muslim women who came together during the Liberian civil war to pray and protest for the sake of peace. The film didn't fully grip me until I saw footage of the very stadium I was sitting in filled with displaced people seeking refuge. The proximity of it all was overwhelming.

I don't think it is out on DVD in North America yet, but when it is available, don't hesitate to watch it. It is a well told grassroots story about a group of women who managed to bring about change through their prayers and perserverence.

After the film was finished, the president spent almost half an hour wandering around the crowd, shaking hands and making quick conversation. Ellen Johnson Sirleaf is the first female head of state in Africa. To see a person of her position naturally mingling with the crowd was such a refreshing sight. She could easily take on a superior attitude that many past and present Liberian and African leaders have taken in the past, but instead she chooses to be a woman of the people. Fellow volunteer Chris even snuck in a handshake. Apparently she has soft hands.

So Last Night I Hung Out With The Governor General

Don't believe me? Here's evidence!

Going To Town

Since I spend half of my time here in Liberia up in Ganta, I figured it would be ideal to introduce you to the place. I will do so by having come along with me on my late-afternoon walk, covering the fifteen-minute distance from the compound where I am staying and the town. This is a ritual I enjoy every second day or so.

I head out just before 5:00pm, just late enough that the evening has taken the edge off the African heat, but still giving me lots of time before sundown (6:30-7:00). From the compound I cross a swamp/farm and reach my dirt path that will lead to the main road.
The path is lined with all sorts of exotic trees and buhes, peppered with chickens and dogs, and little kids yelling “Queplu! Queplue” (which is “White-man! White-man! in their Mano dialect.)

On my way I pass through the Methodist Mission. Now I can’t tell you about Ganta without telling you about George Harley, the Methodist missionary. He showed up here carried in a hammock in 1923, back when roads were a foreign word here. In fact he was the first person to introduce the wheel to the local Mano tribesmen! After the wheel, he taught them how to fire bricks, how to plank logs, and how to build strong houses. He opened a hospital, a school, built a road, had a car (dismantled into pieces) carried up from Monrovia, built an airstrip, learned how to fly, built an airplane, and flew himself in from the coast. All in all the quintessential jack-of-all-trades. Ganta is his legacy, because if it weren’t for him, it would still be a gathering of mud huts in the middle of the jungle. It is now the second largest city in the country. During my walk I pass his last work here before he left back for America. A beautiful stone church with stain-glass windows. Because of where it is (a country where not a single wall is straight) it is the Since it is exactly 5:00 now, the church bell starts to ring. I stop a listen to what I find to be the most beautiful sound in the world. That and loons, but there aren’t any loons here.

Past the church is the main road into town. I walk along it, dodging dust clouds spewed from motorcycle tires that whip by. I wave at some kids at the side of the road (yelling “queiplu! Quieplu!”). On the way I stop at one of the many small stands selling sweets. I buy some peanut brittle.
The center of Ganta is one straight strip of shops about eight blocks long. It is always a bustling places full of building supply shops, general merchandise, and street sellers selling everything from fried plantain to roasted “mystery meat” on a skewer.

I make a beeline for the market, ignoring yells of “WHITE MAN!” from every second guy’s lips. The market is a cramped group of stalls with low coverings, forcing me to duck my head. Shopping here is a bit of an art. It is unwise to ignore to ignore people, so you usually end up talking to just about everyone. “How the day?” “The day is fine.” “How the business?” “The business good, thank God.” Something like that. It is also unwise to flat out say “no” to what they are offering you. I find myself using words like “later” and “next time” a lot. They all reassured me that there was no pineapple today but there would be tomorrow.
With your photographic enjoyment in mind I wander over to the meat section, where the market ladies in vain try to fan the flies away. It smells of fish and rotting meat. The chicken feet they are selling don’t help. Here’s some beef.
I leave the market pineapple-less but I bought some limes. Nothing like limes to make water interesting.

My next destination is Ganta’s best kept secret. Here it is:
This little shack is the home of a giant brick oven and one really friendly Guinean baker, who happens to make the best little baguettes around. Nothing in Ganta comes close to sinking your teeth in a piping hot fresh loaf.
This being the end of my shopping, I go by a general merchandise shop and buy a cold coke. There are some chairs outside so I sit down and watch the Ganta bustle stream by. The coke (in a glass bottle of course) being drained I get up and start heading home. The motorbike drivers all offer a ride home, but I refuse, pointing at my legs. A white man that walks everywhere? Weird!

The walk home is uneventful. I stop near the church to watch a football (soccer) match. Never are Liberians more energetic and argumentative. At one point the ball goes wide, hits a palm tree, bounces off my foot, and back into play. The referee just pretends nothing happened.

Here is the last view of my walk, just outside the compound, looking back over the trees that I have snaked my way through. Below me is a bitter ball farm. I still haven’t found out what bitter ball is.
On my way into the compound I get mobbed by a group of kids. “Take my picture, I beg you, take my picture!” How could I resist? They all strike up poses and don’t stop laughing until the camera is back in the bag and I’m stepping inside.

Mountain Madness

I'm pretty mad about mountains. I go crazy without them. I miss them like family. So when the opportunity arose to go up to the only serious Liberian mountains and climb Mount Nimba, the highest point in the country, I didn't hesitate.

Yekepa is a mining ghost town; the leftover of a huge iron ore mining operation by Lamco. It used to be called "mini-New York" because it is probably the only town in all of Liberia that has a complete power grid. Nestled in a lush valley surrounded by mountains, it lies just minutes away from the boarder with Guinea. Lamco left in a hurry when the war started up in 1990, leaving behind skeletons of giant warehouses and machinery as a memento.
Mining has just begun again, this time under the world's largest steel company, Acellor Mittal. They are already half a million dollars in debt on the project.

We whisked through the town on our way to bigger and better things. The winding road led us to the site of the orginal iron ore pit mine. What was once the tallest point around is now a massive layered pit with an emerald lake at the bottom (which is called Emerald Lake).
We left our faboulous driver Solomon with the car, and started our trek. It was the early afternoon and slightly overcast. A cool breeze nipped us we climbed along. We got to higher plateau and were awarded with a breathtaking view of the Ivorian forest stretching for miles. A brief rumble in the distance went unheeded.
We carried on fueled by our quest for reaching the peak. We didn't realize the situation we were in until, after an hour, we reached the top. The distant rumbles were getting to be quite regular and they were increasing in volume. A flash of lightning toar through the sky over Ivory Coast and a huge thunderstorm started marching towards us. Another one was coming from over Liberia. We abandoned all thoughts about the bottle of champagne we had dragged with us to pop at the top, and started the speediest decent known to man. We weren't fast enough.

The two storms met us simoultaneously. Devilish whisps of cloud whisked around us and the thunder burst above our heads. That fact that we were standing on top of a mountain famous for its iron ore was not lost to us. The rain hit us heavy and hard; each drop puncturing our clothes and leaving a sting. Within a minute I was absolutely drenched. I felt a river of water fall down my back and into my shorts. Not one inch of fabric was saved. What had been a mountain of dust turned into a waterfall of mud that we picked our way through with our hearts beating fast.

We made it to the car in less then half an hour. Solomon was waiting for us, headlights on and cutlass ready, scared not for our safety but for whatever might come out of that cloud at him. He'd never touched a cloud before.

Climbing to the highest point in Liberia during a thunderstorm may not have been the brightest idea, but it was definetly one of the more thrilling experiences I've had in my life.