Here it is! 5 months overdue, but better late than not at all.
*Disclaimer: This is one LONG post. Photos to come soon! (Hopefully.) And if you don't like bad language, then don't read it! And if you do, go ahead!
When my mother arrived
here in Liberia at Robertsfield International Airport back on July 19th,
I guess you could say I was pretty excited to see her. I shouted, “Mommy!” before I realized what I
was doing. I ran to hug her, weaving in
and out between other people, and dodged bags and nagging scratch card vendors. At first when I reached her, we had a hurried
hug. We withdrew from one another to
take our first close look at each other in five months. Excitement built up at the reconfirmation
that indeed, we were together again at last, that we embraced again. This time it was longer and I got to take
more in. My mom smelled like Suavitel,
the Mexican-brand fabric softener she uses at home, even after the very long
flight. She also looked tired but I
could tell she was happy to have arrived safely. My mom had finally made it and was about to
begin her first adventure in Africa.
In our first taxi
together from the airport to go back into the city, I paid close attention to
Mommy’s reactions to the driving. At
times her body tensed up and when she felt the driver was going too fast, she
would push her right foot forward, flat against the floor of the car as if she
were hitting the break. She even said
something once or twice to the driver to try to get him to slow down―or not hit
someone―and we weren’t even going that fast.
We weren’t even in a bush taxi yet!
I had wanted to ease
her into the shittiness that is Liberian travel by chartering our first ride to
the Monrovia guesthouse. I thought the
cab was nice: the seats were all
upholstered, the front windshield was completely in tack, and all mirrors and
seatbelts were still attached to the vehicle.
And the driver didn’t have to hit two wires together to get the car to
start; he simply put the key into the ignition.
AND, we each had an entire seat to ourselves! Luxury!
I didn’t realize until my mom’s visit just how normal things like
terrible travel here have become for me.
All of us PCVs have become so desensitized and to so many things. Throughout my mom’s three week visit, there
were many instances where I got to see Liberia in a new light, through her
newcomer’s perspective. At times it was
refreshing. Others, it was a bit
shocking because it made me realize how comfortable I’ve become with this
standard of living and the gross and unfortunate disparities in every aspect of
life here.
Anyways, upon arriving
at our guesthouse, we did what we do best:
we took turns interrupting each other mid-sentence to jump in with
comments, questions, and tangents. To
make things even more jumbled, we unpacked as we talked, taking turns as we
unraveled stories and clothing to show one another what little gifts we had for
each other.
While we were in a
guesthouse, the water pressure was basically nonexistent so Mommy took her
first of many, cold, drippy showers. (She
agrees: bucket baths are by far so much
more effective!) Being that our first
night together happened to fall on a Friday, I couldn’t just let us stay in the
boring guesthouse. I had to take her to salsa night at Sajj,
a Lebanese restaurant in town. Although
my mom’s feet and ankles were swollen from the flight, she was a trooper. She not only came out with me, she schooled
everyone out there on the dance floor that night with her awesome moves! Da woman can dance-oh! We sweat so much that we had to grab some
napkins from the tables surrounding the dance floor to use to dab the sweat off
of ourselves. Residual tissue stuck to
our faces, of course. We didn’t stay out
too late, but we definitely slept soundly that first night after such an active
evening.
The next day, we
bush-taxied it back to my site. My mom
and I were crammed in the back seat with two other people. Four passengers is the standard for the back
seat and two go in front, sometimes three, along with the driver. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable, but she
never once complained. She even tried to
cram her body closer to the door so I could have more room. She’d make a good PCV!
By the time we reached
home, it was almost nightfall. We had
about 20 minutes of light left in the day before the sun set. Konnah, one of my neighbors, immediately took
the huge, heavy duffle bag out of the taxi’s trunk and put it on top of her
head. She carried it across my “front yard”,
which is basically a small gravel hill between the main dirt road and my house,
until she reached my large, green front porch where she dumped it off.
So-so people began to
swarm the porch, eager to see Ma Hawa. After many meet-and-greets, I thought our face
time with the community was acceptable so we retreated inside. We had intended to unpack, but our effort
lacked motivation. We were distracted by
much more important things: vino rojo
and Oreos. J We relaxed that first night on the foam mattress
under my mosquito net while watching the “Tres Mujeres” telenovela Mommy had
brought for me. ¡Mil gracias, mamá!”
Since my mom visited me
during our summer break from school, she didn’t get to watch me teach. However, she did get to experience what we
PCVs do best in Liberia when we’re not in school: just hang out. We hung out at the house most days of our
weeklong visit at site. We also went on
small walkabouts to hang out with other people.
Community members would get vexed with me if I didn’t carry my ma to
them! We got to cook and listen to music
together, and she also sewed a dress for me with some lappa, the traditional
fabric here. She sewed it by hand…that’s
how much free time we had. I got to
bluff (show off) with it on market day, the “Weh-nes-day” of that week, so that
was cool. The requests for Ma Hawa-made
apparel came rollin’ right in!
People were also very
warm when meeting her. Just in case we
had a momentary lapse of memory and forgot where we were, my community members
would remind us with their standard greeting:
“Welcome-oh! Dis is Bah-ma Town, Bah-ma District, Bah--poh-loo
County! You are welcome!” We were gifted food, too. SO.
MUCH. FOOD. We ate and ate and just couldn’t eat it all,
so most of the time we re-gifted some things or shared with the kids out on the
porch. My Counterpart even said I was
getting fat during my mom’s visit. “Bendu,
you getting fat-oh! You getting big body now!”
My response was, “Tank you, I know!” Oh, Massa, she really knows how to give a girl
a compliment.
Watching my mom and
Massa together was like watching old friends interact. They were comfortable with one another and
told jokes and stories, and it was the same with all the kids. They LOVED my mom. They still ask about her and wonder when
she’ll visit again (and look disappointed when I answer that unfortunately she
won’t). Anyways, during our first walkabout
towards the checkpoint of the town, Mommy said she felt like Mother Theresa
with all the kids hanging off of her arms.
(Or like ears and the kids were the earrings. Aren’t her analogies weirdly awesome?) I said I felt like Jesus. We surely had a following.
During that first week
at my site, we were gifted a rooster “for the season”. July 26th, Liberian Independence
Day, was just around the corner, and it’s celebrated much like Christmas. A student of mine, Abraham, had his parents
bring this live animal a very long distance for us. They live in a gold mining community that’s
nearly 20 miles away. Imagine carrying a
live roster for that motorcycle ride! Just
to fully understand the magnitude of this gesture, you should know a few things
about Abraham and his family. His
parents live north of us in an area that’s a good six hour walk away (I should
know, I walked most of the way there to visit during this past Christmas break)
and send what little money they can to the grandmother, who is raising Abraham
and three other children. Abraham has a
younger brother Abu (who’s 12 but looks like he’s 8); a younger sister, Jenebah
(who’s ? but looks 4); and his nephew, Larmin (who’s 8 but looks like he’s
4). Malnourished kids here are
unfortunately the norm. They all live
together in a dilapidated, two-room house made of crumbling, earthen bricks and
a palm frond roof. Besides sharing a
room, Abraham and Abu also share shirts and shorts…although there’s nearly a
three foot height difference between them.
Anyways, the fact that their family gifted us with a rooster when they
should’ve kept it for themselves for the protein was a grandiose gesture in
Liberian culture and was very much appreciated.
I didn’t realize how much Abraham’s parents appreciated Rachel and my
work towards their son’s education.
On July 26th,
we had the celebration of the century! Ma
Hawa not only got to experience Liberian
Independence Day, but she also got to experience a Royal Ladies Birthday
Club celebration. And it wasn’t just any
celebration…it was mine. Here’s what I
wrote in my journal about the start of the party: “After all the craziness of the day, we bathed
and got ready for the party. To start it
off, the cultural group of 3-4 drummers went to get Decontee [the other
birthday girl] at her place. Then the
blob came: all of the Royal Ladies and the
drummers (and everyone else in Gbarma Town, basically) came here to the house. We had a porch dance party and Nancy and
Maima [Meh-ma”] showed off their moves. Even
Ma Hawa did too! After lots of people
danced in the center of the circle of bodies that made up the crowd, we began
to march towards the Administrative Compound for the real party to begin. All the while, Abe had my camera and got some
awesome shots!”
After we arrived at the
Compound, we began the formal program, where everyone and their brother gave
speeches. I also got to say a little
something. I welcomed everyone to the
event and thanked them all for their warmth during not just my mother’s visit
but during the time I’ve lived here. I
tried to convey to them just how grateful I was for them making me feel like a
part of the community, but my nerves took over and I cut my speech short. Mommy was next, and despite the microphone
cutting in and out, people were able to get the basic gist of her speech. It was directed towards the women there,
especially to the female members of my Girls Club who were also in attendance,
and the basic message was to stay in school and work hard to achieve something
in life. Mommy’s speech was punctuated
with sudden, short bouts of clapping from Massa and the grand finale was rolled
in by thunderous claps, also initiated by Massa. I smiled so much my cheekbones began to hurt
small! I was so happy and proud that my
mom was reinforcing some of the messages I try to send to my students each and
every day in class and in meetings. Yay!
After the speeches
ended, I began to distribute some snacks among the children, which didn’t go so
smoothly. Frankly, it was a total and
complete shitshow. Never in my life have
I shouted that loudly at kids. Actually,
never in my life have I shouted more loudly and angrily, period. I definitely didn’t handle the situation in
the best way. I had some pent-up anger
and frustration from an incident that occurred the night before in which
children fought like gladiators over scrap chicken parts on my porch, so I kind
of exploded. This display of greediness was
the last straw. I couldn’t believe how
savage some of these kids were acting.
Basically, when the
kids rushed me at the 26th party for their share of juice and
popcorn, I felt disrespected, angry, and hurt.
The children were rude and all the parents and other adults just stood
by idly, watching the scene play out as if they were “witnessing a show at da
video club”. No one stepped in to help me
get the kids under control or to help me distribute the snacks. I wanted to make sure my kids got served
first before random kids I’ve never seen before got theirs. Only after I flipped out did Mark, my
landlord, and his fiancée, Joanna, step in to help me. That’s when I shut down. As I’m walking away from the herd of savage
children, a random drunk ol’ma began pestering me for free food, insisting she
and my mother were BFFs. That only added
to my infuriation, so I refused to officially open the dance floor. I was in a bad mood and didn’t feel much like
entertaining a bunch of Liberians right in that moment. Instead, I grabbed a Heineken, took a couple
deep breaths, and went outside to the plum (mango) tree in the courtyard to
start the piñata party.
At first, that seemed
to run more smoothly. Mommy and I first
demonstrated how the game works, and then we encouraged Liberians to come
play. Some of the Royal Ladies and my
Girls Club members got a chance to take their own turn, and they really enjoyed
it! For each person’s turn, I
blind-folded them and then spun them around 10 times, the crowd chanting along
with me. “One! Two!
Three!” we all counted together. At “Ten!” I helped direct the dizzy contestant towards the piñata
while my mom pulled and loosened the rope to raise and lower the target. We were using my broomstick to “knock da
someting”, and people cheered excitedly when someone gave a good blow. It was really cool to watch people get so
into the game and it was nice to be able to share something from our heritage
with my community. Joanna broke the
stick with one strong hit, so when Mark―who’s pretty tall, maybe 6’5”―went
next, he looked pretty funny trying to whack the piñata with such a small
stick.
The last person to go
was Massa, who made a big gash in the side of the piñata and candy instantly
began pouring out. Children rushed
around the tree from all directions, making me trip over the large, thick roots
and I got pushed into the trunk. I was
in the middle of a stampede! My heart
was racing and I was afraid I was going to be trampled to death. A headline flashed in my mind: “Peace Corps Volunteer, 25, dies by dirty barefoot
children in Liberia.” I grabbed the rope
and used it to keep myself upright as the crazy pekings dove for the
goods. I shouted to Mommy to pull the
rope so the piñata would be raised up high above the children’s reach and then
I unfastened it. When I tried to
overturn the piñata to dump the rest of the candy out, I got pushed from behind
and almost fell again, so I just decided to let a Liberian deal with divvying
up the candy. That way they could spank
a kid if necessary. (PC doesn’t like us
to do that.) Fortunately, Mark stepped
right in and spent the next 20 minutes shouting at the unruly little beasts to
get into lines so he could make sure everybody got a piece. All I can say is “Kalay fay daya” (Thank God,
in Gola) for that man. When something
like that happens, it’s easy to get pulled into the Liberian tendency to grumble
over it for a long time, but we didn’t dwell on it for too long. We had a celebration to go back to.
Back inside, Mommy and
I danced the night away! We danced with
kids and adults, students and Royal Ladies, friends and strangers. It was a lot of fun and a good
stress-reliever for me from the events of the party and leading up to it. After the party, I opened my gifts and we
ooh-ed and ahh-ed at all the nice, items I got.
My fellow Royal Ladies and other friends in the community really got me
good stuff! I now have enough lappa to furnish a new
wardrobe and/or to make enough throw pillows, curtains, and tablecloths for an
apartment when I get home!
After the party, the
next day we got things ready to go “in town” again. I wanted to see some PCVs before they COS-ed
(close of service) and went back home to the States. It was nice to have her meet some of the
friends I’ve made while being here and everyone agreed: “Your mom is awesome!” “I know, right?!” was my standard reply. J
One night while in
town, we got to cook Mexican food for Vince, the then Country Director, and
some other PCVs. It was a great meal
with great company! The menu consisted
of refried beans with shredded pepper-cheese on top, guacamole (deliciously
made by my sitemate, Rachel), sautéed mushrooms+bell peppers+onions+peppeh in a
fideo (little star-shaped pasta) base, and rotis (like Indian tortillas). I probably ate enough food to feed three
people, it was that good. (Although I
couldn’t really move after the meal, it was totally worth it.)
While at the dinner, we
met some Response PCVs who were here for a three-month-stint to help train a
group of 100+ Liberian volunteer teachers.
They weren’t in their 20’s or 30’s like the majority of us here at post
are, and they have been educators in the States for decades. It was very interesting to see the
dysfunctional Liberian education system from their perspective and to hear their
suggestions for improvements. It was
also nice to hear about their experience here since their job was to train
teachers and our job is to teach in high schools.
Before I move on, I
want to mention that it was inspiring to me to see people not in my age group
volunteering. Despite leaving their
lives back home (kids, grandkids, home, cars, etc.), they still signed up to do
Response (a shorter service). While I’m
here for two years, I’m in a transition state and don’t really have assets like
a house or kids to worry about. I just
hope that in 40-50 years, if I’m still healthy, I can sign up for Response or
another full service or something similar to PC where I can live abroad and help
others. Kick ass!
Next, we went to
Kakata, the city where I lived during my first two months in Liberia for my PST
(Pre-Service Training). She got to meet
some of the American and Liberian PC Staff at our training center, Doe Palace (named
after former President Samuel K. Doe). I
didn’t know I’d be so highly praised by everyone! It was such a good feeling to know that
Staff, including the Doe ones whom I don’t know very well, think so highly of
me. And I’m sure Mommy felt reassured
knowing how loved and well supported I am here by the PC family. She also got to tag along with me for a few
days of Model School, a big part of PST.
We observed the new group of PCTs (Trainees) practice their teaching
techniques with local jr. and sr. high students. (Those of us older PCVs who are available
will come help train the newbies.) We definitely
learned some new things in those classes, and while some PCTs initially
struggled with classroom management the first couple classes, it was great to
watch them improve over the course of the week.
While in Kakata, my mom
and I benefitted greatly from the generosity of two people. Abraham, a Lebanese man who owns a shop along
the main road, gave us a lot of free items.
And business had not been doing that well for him lately. He lost a lot of money by giving us free food
and wine, and just because we sat and had a couple two-hour-long conversations
with him. Dat no small ting-oh! And the owner of guesthouse where my mom
stayed, Kem, was just as awesome. The GH
is right next to Doe so I figured I’d stay in the dorms and Mommy could stay in
a room at Kem’s so we could save on some money for the rest of her visit. But Kem insisted I stay in the room with her that
week free of charge. He acknowledged that she had come such a long
way to spend time with me that he didn’t want money to get in the way of
that. That would never happen back home! We were amazed by the generosity and very
grateful. The next time I went to Kakata
I baked and delivered some banana bread to AB and Kem as a thank-you, and Mommy
recently sent them a little something for Christmas. They were both estatic to receive “their
season” and to hear from her.
Last but not least, I
also took Mommy to meet my host family during our jam-packed week in Kakata. If I could use a word to describe the moment
when my American mom and my Liberian mom met, it’d have to be unusual, at least by American
standards. We walked into Mama Patricia’s
dark bedroom to see her beasts exposed, as she was breastfeeding her newborn
son. The first thing I thought was “this
would be so awkward and socially unacceptable back home, but here, it’s totally
okay!” And Mommy didn’t mind…I knew she
wouldn’t. Anyways, Mama P had just given
birth to Small Caleb, on my birthday (!), a couple weeks earlier, so we got to
hold my new baby brother! He was tiny
but already had lots of curly hair, just like his older American brother,
Caleb, for whom he is named (the PCV my host family had the year before
me). It was nice for my mom to meet my
other sisters too: Marthalyn, 10, and
Fefe (short for Felicia), 2. She also
got to meet some of the neighbors and my other “Kakata kids”. I think Mommy could see why I love visiting
my Kakata family so much. It always
feels like I’m coming home. J
Over the week, we
visited the Seyboes three times, exchanging gifts and stories each time. We gave my host dad, Eddie, a bible with “The
Seyboe Family” engraved and printed in gold on the front cover. Pa Seyboe is a reverend and really appreciated the gift. Mama P even platted (braided) Mama Z’s
hair. Corn-rows never looked so
good! (Haha, poor Mommy abhorred wearing
her hair like that…said it was too painful.
But at least she can now say she’s done it, right?) One day, Mama P had Jacob, one of the older
church boys, to carry us to her tailor to get Mommy’s measurements taken. Two days later…voila, a full lappa dress had
been made! We all clapped and hooted as
I took photos of Mommy trying it on for the first time. She was really bluffing-oh!
While I wish my two
moms could’ve spent more time together, I’m just glad they had the chance to
meet. My host family took such good care
of me during my PST and continue to check up on my when I’m at site. I’m glad that people I love and care about
from my two different lives were able to interact with one another. The best part about experiencing these two
worlds come together was seeing how naturally everyone acted with each
other. Although there are many
differences between us, we have so much more in common than we realize.
I think my mom’s visit
here to Liberia could be summed up by this conversation she had with some PCT’s
one day after Model School. To give you
a mental backdrop, we were all sitting under the palaver (“palava”) hut at
Kem’s, kickin’ back with some Club Beer.
Mommy was giving people back massages, and they were lovin’ it! Someone asked her what she thought about the
way I live and about how her trip had been so far. Her response was, “You think other moms could
do this, what I’m doing? I grew up like
this. This isn’t the Girl Scouts!” [Note:
No offense to the G.S.! I was one
for 12 years!]
But what she said is
valid: serving in Liberia ain’t no
campin’ trip and visiting here ain’t no vacation. Yes, we were met with lots of generosity and
warmth and love during Mommy’s visit, but we also faced some discrimination,
rude/greedy behavior, small-small theft, and corrupt police (man, bribing drunk
officers when you’re trying to get to the airport, in the rain, really
sucks!). Not to mention, my mom slept on
uncomfortable foam mattresses and traveled in crowded bush taxis. She even sprained her ankle leaving my host
fam’s home, and subsequently got bitten by tons of ants! She experienced, for the second time in her
life, what it’s like to live without running water and electricity. She saw the effects firsthand of civil war on
every aspect of a nation’s infrastructure.
But she still went through everything like a fucking champ. She never once complained. She even handled some situations with more
patience and grace than I did. Serving
here in Liberia isn’t always easy, but it meant the world to me that she came
to see my life here. For that and so
much more, I am so thankful I was fortunate enough to have my mother come visit
me. Gracias, mamá, por todo. ¡Te
quiero más que a mis ojos!
