Melvin update:

Just a quick note here:

Melvin got sick. He claims it was malaria, but I am not sure.

Melvin eats monkey...Melvin gets sick. Coincidence? I think not!

Stay well!

Babs

More Shopping With Melvin

We went into the interior to check on three children whose father died last year. Melvin, our social worker, went with us to do background checks and to help with transporting the children to the local clinic for medical exams. The area we ventured into today was Melvin's old stomping grounds. He grew up in a village in this county. In fact, the physician's assistant who helped us at the clinic was Melvin's cousin.

As we left the clinic, Melvin asked if we could make a small detour on our way home. Melvin assured us it would only be a fifteen minute detour.

Thirty minutes and twelve hard, bumpy miles later, we arrived at his home town. All the villagers were happy to see him! Everyone knew Melvin. He was greeted with shouts, smiles, handshakes, and hugs. They gave him a large bag of garrah (ground up cassava root that cooks up to the texture of oatmeal) and a dead monkey. Yes, you read that correctly! A dead monkey. Dave dutifully stashed the garrah and the monkey in the back of the Land Cruiser.

We then headed back to the main road, but first we had to stop beside a stick jammed in the dirt by the side of the road. It had a plastic bag tied to it. "What is this?" was hardly out of my mouth, when Melvin jumped out of the car and ran about ten feet into the jungle. He returned with a large sack of fufu. His sister had stashed it by the side of the road and marked the spot with the stick/plastic bag. Another gift for Melvin. Fufu is fermented cassava root. It has the texture of play dough; in my opinion, play dough tastes much better than fufu. Now, the car smelled like rotten cassava. I jokingly made some comment about having a little monkey stew with the fufu, and Melvin almost got giddy with excitement! Apparently, monkey stew over fufu is the best!

One more stop before we reached the main road...for two large sacks of charcoal. Melvin is a bargain shopper, and he always gets a good price on charcoal when he goes away from Monrovia to buy it. The price is especially good when he and the charcoal-maker are childhood friends.

The back of the vehicle was now full. We delivered the children and uncle back to their village, and we headed home to Monrovia with Melvin, monkey, and fufu. It was a good day for Melvin. But a bad day for the monkey.

Wishing you all a good day, enjoying whatever foods you like best!

Babs

More Rain...

It is raining.

As Liberia receives about 200 inches of rain a year, I guess this is not unusual. But it still seems novel to me that it is pouring rain so hard we cannot talk to each other in the house as it is too noisy. And it is July. Back in California, it is hot and dry. Here, it is hot and wet. Even after two years, it still seems odd to me.

The rivers are all swollen and running fast. The swamp land is flooded. Now would be a good time to survey land for a prospective land purchase, as one could tell if it floods. For those who did not do their homework, there are newly-built homes that are surrounded by large bodies of water! One fellow down the road recently built a four foot wide cement sidewalk to the door of his store. He built it about eighteen inches tall. There was such a large lake around his new store building that customers could not come in, so the new sidewalk goes to the edge of the highway.

The roads have become muddy rivers. People walking down the road get splashed on by cars driving by, as tires hit mud puddles. Walking anywhere becomes a challenge to stay clean. The mud is slick, red, and tenacious!

In this current storm, it has already rained for thirty hours straight, without ever completely stopping. At times, it was ferocious, with strong winds and deluge downpours, and then it would calm down for a few hours to a steady drizzle before again getting angry and unleashing another round of unrelenting precipitation. We have new streams on the village site today, and the regular drainage streams are overflowing. It is a rather impressive Liberian storm.

I do not mind the rain. Neither do the frogs, as there is a constant symphony coming from the swamp area around the compound. They all sound happy; it is a choir of throaty, cheery songs.

Hope you all stay dry today (oh, that's right! You will stay dry...it is July! I forget.)

Babs

So Many Children...

Last night we got word from our social worker that signatures had come through from the Ministry of Health on a child that we have been waiting to pick up for the last two months. This morning, at 6:30 am, I met the social worker to get the signed documents. The boy’s family did not have a phone, and the neighbor’s phone was answered by someone who did not speak any English, so I then drove into town to notify the family that we would be back at 10 am to do the final paper work and to take the boy to his new home. I returned to the village to collect Babs and the house mother who will receive this boy into her cottage. The three of us drove back to Monrovia. We parked the car on a dirt lane that had not seen a vehicle in many days. As we approached the grandmother’s house where this young man was residing, a crowd started to gather.

It is not too often that white people visit this area. We were a novelty! A few minutes later, our social worker showed up so we could get down to the business of getting their signatures on the documents. Aunts, uncles, and grandmother were all there, with the exception, of course, of the uncle who is the boy’s legal guardian. This uncle was working on a pipeline project a few miles away. Things were explained to the relatives and papers were signed. Grandmother offered a prayer for the boy. Now we were off to get the signature of the legal guardian. As we piled into the car, the little boy’s Grandmother began to cry. Grandma knew the reality that she would probably never see this grandson again. He will only be an hour away, but when every dollar is spent on food and necessities, the chances of Grandma coming to visit are “slim to none.” There will be no money for a taxi ride.

Now, where is uncle? How do you find a man in the middle of a work crew when you don’t remember what he looks like? Once again, we just played the part of “stupid American” and everyone was helpful. We have had lots of practice of playing “stupid American” here in Liberia. Uncle saw us coming and climbed out of the ditch to greet us. He was pleased to sign the documents turning over his nephew to us. He now had one less mouth to feed on his wage of three dollars a day. He shook hands with his nephew, and we headed down the road, to a new life for this little boy. So, one more child has been removed from the masses of children that are left to live in squalor, lacking the basic necessities of life.

We try to not get overwhelmed by the many children we see living in hopeless situations. What makes this possible is that we see God’s hand in the process of acquiring new residents for the orphanage. We see how God places specific children in our path, and then God orchestrates the pieces to make all the investigation and background checks happen. He assembles the people necessary to make the decisions to change these children’s lives. He moves bureaucracy and governmental agencies to action. He causes family members to be in agreement. All these events are certainly by His doing, as in this country, few people agree about anything, and to get government agencies to complete paperwork is very difficult. Our new resident will be fine. He already was playing “football” (soccer) with his new brothers this afternoon. He enjoyed a good lunch; was delighted with an afternoon snack; ate a hearty supper. Clean pajamas and a cozy bed. This place is alright! We cannot help every child. But we are privileged to be able to help some of them. And what a thrill to see God at work in children’s lives.

---Dave

Turn Left. No, The Other Left!

Here are some more interesting vehicles we see as we move around Monrovia.

We feel sorry for anyone who is trying to learn how to drive in this town, as often traffic laws seem to be "for the other guy" and the lines painted on the roads are just suggestions, not really lanes. We do give student drivers a lot of room on the road. We are not sure what seasoned drivers are going to do, so a student driver is really a scary thing!

Born to be Wild

Motorcycles have become a big thing here in Liberia in the past two years. When we first arrived, there were few bikes on the road. The Chinese begin importing them into Liberia, and now motorcycles are everywhere.

The bikes are relatively cheap (about $900) and often a entrepreneur will buy a bike and hire a young man to drive it for him. The driver gets paid per day and and for a fee, taxis people around town. It is a prestigious thing to be a motorbike driver. One must have nerves of steel, reflexes of a cat, a sense of immortality, and probably the intelligence of an artichoke to drive a motorcycle on these roads! These guys are crazy!

Sometimes, there will be three, four, and even five people on a motorbike. Often a young child will be in front of the driver, and other children will be sandwiched in between adults. Other items transported via bike include: lumber, bags of coal, baskets, vegetables, brooms, and fish. We once spotted a full drum set being taken to church Sunday morning, and we have also seen a goat on a bike. We managed to get a picture of the chickens and ducks (fast food?) and the guy with the keyboard on his way to Praise Team practice.

"Bridge Over Troubled Water"

I consider myself a rather supportive wife, who over the years has silently (yeah, right!) and graciously (hah!) suffered through many of Dave's "good ideas". I have gone chukkar hunting in Nevada when I was eight months pregnant; I have gone fishing in
northern (unpopulated) California when I was eight months pregnant; I have sat on the back bumper of a AMC Hornet to give it traction on a muddy hillside; I have flown in teeny airplanes; I have climbed ladders, sat on roofs, ridden in trucks bearing over-width loads; I have driven in remote Mexican areas; and now I am living in Liberia.

However, I refuse to drive over bridges that do not seem very safe to me. Plunging into a raging river/stream in a foreign country without Medi-flight available is not my idea of a good time. Since we have been here, I have chosen to walk over some of the bridges rather than ride over them. It seems like a a good plan that one of us be able to tell the authorities what happened! This suits Dave just fine, as then I can take some pictures of him in the Land Cruiser, creeping over the unsafe bridge. He always seems so pleased. What it is with men, anyways? Are they nuts? My theory is that estrogen causes rational thinking, and testosterone...not so much.

Wishing you all a good day. Be safe and, fellas, be reasonable, O.K? For pity's sake, think it through!
Babs

This is what I get for not writing the blog on fun and exciting bridges that I was going to write.
Dave