Always something to see...

Here are some interesting sights we encounter as we travel around Liberia:

A "More Often Than Not" Day

A.J. and Gabriel with Grandpa, Grandma, aunties and uncle.

Today was one of those typical "I'm going to get some work done" Saturdays. The difficult-to-work-with child care director had a list of items that she had given me Friday night that would only take two or three hours to knock out. So, out the door bright and early! I am gathering up a few tools and I run into my lovely wife who informs me that the dining room septic tank is backed up and running down the side walk. This is not the first time this has happened, so I know the routine: call the maintenance guys to pull the covers off the tank and we will have this fixed in a jiffy. No problem.

We just get the covers off and the gate guard informs me that there is a gal there to apply for a job. She has an appointment with Mrs. Veneman at 10 a.m. It is now 8:30 a.m. Mrs. Veneman is having Bible Study with the mothers until 9:30am, so I guess that leaves me to escort her in and get her an application.

While I am walking her to the clinic, where she can fill out an job application, some family members arrive at the gate to visit their two nephews/grandsons. These boys have been at the village for six months now, and grandpa, grandma, uncle, and two aunties want to see how they are doing.

So after I get the potential new hire situated at the clinic desk, I escort the five family visitors to the dining hall and inform Mrs. Veneman that visitors are here. Interrupting the Child Care Director in the middle of her Mother's Bible study is not a high productive move ordinarily, but there are exceptions. She is happy to hear about the family visitors.

Back to the house to get an application for the girl applicant; back to the dining hall to see if our five guests are doing OK; and then back to the septic tank, that is conveniently located in the middle of the dining hall, the clinic, and my house, to deal with the two yard maintenance guys who have been watching me walk back and forth, while leaning on their shovels. I tell the maintenance guys to get the pump and pump some of the water out of the tank so we can possibly see where the obstruction is while I go back to the clinic to check on the potential new hire.

Babs, now done with her Bible Study, is with the family visitors and calls me to please get the camera and take a picture of the boys and their family. So, back to the house to fetch the camera with a stop at the septic tank to answer some high tech questions about why the stuff is not running downhill at the moment. With camera in my hand, I head back to the dining hall and take two Ansel Adam quality pictures of Gabriel, A.J., and their extended family, and I am headed back to the house to print and laminate two award winning photos for the family to take home with them.

Back to the dining hall to deliver the pictures. The maintenance guys again leaning on their shovels is not lost on me. I am beginning to think these guys must have trained with CalTrans. The family is incredibly grateful for the pictures, and so thankful for the care being given their two precious children. We are confident that one of the boys, and possibly both, would not be alive if it had taken two weeks longer to get their paperwork through the Ministry of Health. Even after the boys arrived at the village, they scared us at how long it took for them to respond to good nutrition and meds.

As Babs and I walked this family to the gate after the visit was over, the grandfather said that if he dies now, he will be at peace because they did the right thing by letting the boys go. His wife was doing a Liberian dance, thanking Jesus that their boys were alright. All this is happening while the maintenance guys are leaning against their shovels (again), wanting me to come over and talk to them about the septic condition (again). But that is not to happen yet, as I head to the clinic to interview the job applicant to determine if she would be a fine addition to our staff. The maintenance boys look quite dejected.

The 23 year old applicant has completed her application quite thoroughly. We find that she has finished high school and speaks understandable English. Babs thinks she would like to hire this candidate for the kitchen, so that means another trip to the house for the whole hiring kit (paperwork). On the way by, I make a stop at the septic tank and the "boys" and I embark on some genius level conversation about why the stuff is going down the sidewalk instead of the drain pipe.

After the trip to the house to get the hiring kit, I am back at the clinic explaining what it means to be an employee here. Little things, like actually coming to work, and letting someone know when you need to be gone for three days to attend a wedding or funeral. The one rule that is quite precious to me is that after each pay day, an employee is expected to come back to work even though there might be money left over in his pocket.

Following our little talk of why we pay employees once a month, it's back to the house to print off her passport photos so she can get a police clearance letter. I bring the photos to her in the clinic. The master plumbers are now tired of the whole septic tank thing and inform me that they are going back to what they were doing before (cutting weeds). I inform them that if they can leave the whole area as they found it before starting on this project, they can go. They concur, but first it is time for lunch. And they leave for lunch. They will finish the septic situation after they return.

And so goes my morning. Nothing accomplished that I had on my list. This is a normal day.

Have a good, productive day!

Dave

Count Your Blessings

Thursday, November 4, was Liberia's Thanksgiving Day. We had a simple Thanksgiving service with the Mothers and the children, and then we headed to the ocean.

Here are some of the things I am thankful for:

I am thankful for a cloudy, almost-cool day.

I am thankful for a fun, safe time at the beach this morning with all the kids and mamas.

I am thankful that Manny saw his first kite flying and was almost overcome with excitement.

I am thankful that Isaac actually got a kite up in the air for a few minutes.

I am thankful that A.J. did too.

I am thankful for the sweet spirit of children who shared toys and played together.

I am thankful for Faith's laughter, as we jostled our way home on bumpy roads.

I am thankful that Dave can fix almost anything (this I was thinking as we were bouncing over those roads!).

I am thankful for eyes to see the thunderclouds billowing over the ocean; to see glowing sunsets and green palm trees.

I am thankful for ears to hear the birds calling, the frogs croaking, the crickets "cricking", and the children singing.

I am thankful for internet connection in order to be able to communicate with folks I love back home.

I am thankful for a dry bed, for a cozy house, for shoes, and for plenty of food.

I am thankful that I can read.

I am thankful that I own a Bible.

I am thankful for good hymns that tell of God's faithfulness to His people.

I am so very thankful that I am one of His people.

Wishing you days full of thanksgiving this November.

Babs

The Name Game

The cooks at the village call me "Mother". The children call me "Mrs. Veneman" or "Mr. Veneman" or "Mistress Veneman". The Mamas here call me "Sis Barbara". The people in the neighboring villages call me "Oma" (for Old Ma. That used to hurt my feelings, until I was informed that it is a sign of respect. OK, whatever! It still is painful!). The guards just call me "Sir!"

My real name is Barbara. My parents named me Barbara with the intent of calling me "Babs" as they liked the cute nickname. And so, since birth, I have been called "Babs". Only the bank, creditors, and telephone solicitors called me Barbara.

Until I came to Africa.

Liberians have a difficult time pronouncing "Babs" so I soon learned it was easier to introduce myself as Barbara. It made life smoother, as when I call myself Barbara, I do not have to repeat my name several times as confused people try to pronounce that odd, foreign name of "Babs". Barbara is a name that is more familiar to them, although it is not real common in Liberia. The nationals we see regularly call me "Sis Barbara".

(Where is she going with this, you wonder.) Well, Melvin, our social worker, had a baby. A sweet baby girl who is four months old now. She is darling. And Melvin named her "Barbara". Hm-m-m-m. We are not sure how this works here, but we might be on the hook for four years of Liberian college tuition someday! Rats.

On the other hand, I think Barbara Kiazolu is a good name! She could go far with a name like that.

Wishing you a wonderful day, without creditors or phone solicitors!

Sis Barbara

Sneaky Snakes

The girl rushed into my home and announced that she had seen a green mamba in her house. Of course, Dave had just driven out of the village, and technically, I was the person "in charge". So I bravely grabbed a bath towel ("Why a bath towel?", you ask. I do not know! It was handy!) and I called Zubah the guard.

Zubah, carrying a shovel, and myself, carrying a bath towel, carefully entered the house. We headed to the back bedroom, where the vile creature had been last seen. Brave Zubah looked under the bed, under the rug, and slowly opened the closet door. I supervised his movements from my perch on top of a dining room chair in the hallway (yes, holding my towel).

There was a lot of clanging and banging as Zubah located the disgusting critter in the closet, and beat it with the shovel. Zubah is my hero! This is not the first time Zubah has saved me from the deadly jaws of a snake. Once he saved me from a twelve inch garden snake. (I probably could have handled that one myself, except I forgot my towel.)

Zubah carefully searched the house for more snakes, but did not find any, and I thanked him as he carried the still writhing behemoth out the door (it was about 24 inches long). All was well again in the village. Yes, I had everything under control!

Later that day, I was back in the girl's house, reliving the life and death experience for Dave, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted another green mamba, as it was tucking itself behind a broom in the corner of the front room. (And me without a towel!) I calmly rushed out of the house and allowed Dave to do his manly thing and kill that creepy crawler. It was not quite as long as the first one, but it was thicker. Now Dave is my hero.

Have a wonderful, snakeless day!

Love, Babs

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