It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog entry. In some ways, I think that’s a good
thing. Why? Well, first, it feels like I’m settling
comfortably into my new routine of work and rest. Second, the busyness of life has been less time for
writing. Third, it felt, for a
while, like I was living life behind the camera instead of just living. By that I mean that I was always
on the look out for the next blog entry.
What can I write about? What would surprise other people the
most?
I’ve got a few things to write about today, but it’s with a
gracious heart that I document them – not out of greed for people to read my
“newsworthy” adventures…
In the past few days, I’ve really begun to experience the
meaning of community here in Monrovia.
On Thursday, Adisa, Linda, and I bummed ride from the US Embassy bus
that shuttles kids back and forth between the school’s compound and the embassy
compound. From the Expat Listserv,
Adisa had found out about a consignment sale. The sale was held at Coconut Plantation, a compound not far
from the embassy.
I don’t know what I expected of the outing. The most I had hoped for was to buy a
few kitchen things and a few items to adorn the walls of my spartanly
apartment. What I got out of it
was a glimpse into the female expat community. As we introduced ourselves as teachers at the American
International School, one of the hostesses recognized my name; she had gotten
an email about my blog for students!
There were a gaggle of ladies there, including several moms
of students at my school. Some
people browsed and exited quickly, but most people sat down and enjoyed the
company of the fellow females. It
seemed like not many people were in a hurry to head home. The comfy seats and the delectable
finger foods (I must inquire abut the recipe of the puff pastry with the goat
cheese inside!) invited guests to stay and mingle. I saw Sandra, the beautiful Italian/Swiss hairdresser who
just trimmed my hair on Tuesday and met Christina, the founder of Resurrection bags. She helps a group of
seamstresses turn the local fabric, lappa,
into wonderful totes. I met Jenny,
a former British head of school who’s here now volunteering her time at a
mission with her husband. The
ladies hosting the event also had tales of volunteering their time to teach
English at Francis Gaskin, a local school/ orphanage in Payneville.
These are the women, I realized, who understand that I am
going though.
I think when people back home here about what I’m doing they
think Yikes! Africa. but they say That’ll
be a wonderful adventure adding the cautionary Be careful.
These ladies know
that life is different here, but somehow it’s still the same. We still work and cook and clean and
raise kids and eat and play. (We
just have work harder at finding the fun things to play at.) We live in a country plagued by
poverty, not by depression. We
live in a place that has been riddled by violence and war but is in a growth
spurt of positivity and peace. No,
it’s not what we grew up with. No,
Liberia is not a place of convenience and affordable luxury. But, yes, it is a place where you can
exist and live happily.
I looked around the room and not one of the women looked at
me with pity or concern in her eyes.
They looked at me like, Yeah,
well, this is what normal looks like here.
In the end, I came home with a pair of earrings, a
Resurrection handbag, a Pyrex dish, a dress made out of lappa, a pair of “sailor” pants, and an excitement to hang out with
the girls again.
Another feeling of community has extended on the school
compound. I got sick on Saturday
and thought I had beat it by this morning. Not so. My
gracious assistant Theresa took over the classroom while I tried to sleep off
whatever bug it is that I have.
I have never had more visitors to my room than today. Klubo, the school nurse, came to look
me over; Ed brought me crackers; Adisa brought me tea; and Weata, Suba, and
Linda checked in on me after school.
Gertrude and Theresa scoffed when they saw that I had soup past its
expiration date in my pantry; they ventured to the grocery story and returned
with chicken noodle soup and juices.
Sure, they mocked my constant denials of needing anything while the soup
heated, but they did it out of love.
Gertrude said that we have to watch out for our fellow Lower School
Teachers. And, she didn’t hesitate
to add that the soup she’d just brought had an expiration date of 2013!
Note: As of yesterday, the student blog I’m working on has
already had over 500 visits!
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