ahhh colloquialisms

The kids are playing some Marvel comic book video game right now. Big P had a controller and he threatened, "You wanna piece of meat?"

But it doesn't end there. The smack continued...

He went on to shout, "I will throw it at you!"

The classifieds

(possibly posted in the want ads by yours truly)

Looking for a good excuse to go to Africa. Not to mention the money as well as the time to go. If you are able to supply any of these things (excuses, money, or time), please feel free to reach me; but I do request that you have your contact information readily available.

Oh. One more thing. I'm also looking for a different mode of transportation to get there. Know of any cruise ships headed to west Africa? That kind of thing. Please let me know.

Pray the Devil Back To Hell

Helplessly watching Liberia continue to experience unrest from afar, this is a good reminder that action is what shuts the mouths of those that gorge themselves on confusion.

a part of someone else's story

It's going to be 90 degrees here today and the kids were SUPER excited to pull out ye ole summer clothes. The talk of warm weather and warm weather activities spurred on a conversation about Liberia over the breakfast table. Lots and lots of memories of the first time they met Husband and I, as well as when they got dropped off at the orphanage.

I exited the scene to get myself ready and remembered when I was in Liberia and, without knowing it ahead of time, dropped two children off at the orphanage. I wondered if I'll forever be a part of their memory of the day that they got dropped off at the orphanage.

On the drive there, their momma talked about music and who her favorite artist was to another Liberian woman in the van. I sat in the back seat thinking that we were just giving the family a ride to their home. My nephew and I traded a few whispers and then, about 10 minutes later, we pulled up to a place that looked SO familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. I'd never been there but DANG it was familiar. Then it all whooshed into my brain... I had many pictures of my children playing on these steps... this is the orphanage. Why are we at the orphanage?

The mom didn't hug or kiss her children, she just patted their backs as they squeezed out of the door to the van. She stayed seated and watched her children walk across the yard to those familiar steps. It was then that they slipped into the large group of kids leaning over the hand rail, almost blending in. The only way that one could pick them out was to see how everyone but those two beautiful children were laughing and messing around. Those two kids were staring... those two seemed in shock. The son looked at his mom and the daughter into nothingness. The mom, still in the van, says that she thinks her daughter won't look because she doesn't want to cry. It's then that I finally realize that these kids are staying.

The van backs further into the yard so that we can turn around. I watch the mom to make sure that she's okay. She spends a lot of time pretending like she is okay. She glances out the window and gives a half hearted wave to her son. As we pull out of the yard, the van is filled with silence and I wait to see if the mom will look back ... if her and her daughter will make eye contact just one last time. Mom never looks back. But I do. I stare at the girl, with devastation pumping through my thoughts.

The girl looks up, one last time. Red Liberian dust fluffs up between the orphanage and the van.

I wonder if someday she'll be sitting in America wondering who that white woman was over breakfast....

Our trip to Liberia in video

Many hands make light work

To all of you that donated to The Underwear Fairy, I just want to say thank you! She collected 750 pairs of underwear for orphans in Liberia and is even being featured on pledgebank.com's success stories! And Ashley, I'm proud of you for giving your time for something as simple and as easily forgotten as this. I'm so glad we met, chica.

The young girl holding the twins cared for those babies and she alone carried them all over. The four girls on the left often came with us to the beach (the boy on the right followed us all of the way from the market, about 1/4 of a mile, and I can't remember his name). They either wore very little or very tattered clothing. Those gorgeous babies would wear soiled diapers for lack of money to wash the ones they had on. Babies, children, orphans, widows, adults, families, EVERYONE deserves to be clean... to have clean underwear.

How to Make Plantain Chips (Liberian Style)

Ingredients:

-Oil
-Green Plantains (as many as you're hungry for)
-Salt to taste
____________________________________________

1. I pre heated my oil first, about 1/2" deep on med/high
2. While that warmed, I began slicing the plantain. For *best* results, cut the suckers as thin as humanly possible. Have patience. If you're taking forever, turn off the oil and focus on this as it's a key to yummy chips.
3. Salt the raw plantains before throwin' em in. Now toss in the slices individually so they all have room to fry evenly
4. If a slice is turning the slightest bit tan, take 'em all out as the batch is probably done (you've cooked them too long if the veins on the plantain are visible - that's a no no - you've officially burnt the chips). I leave 'em in for around a minute-ish, just long enough to crisp them and watch the color change from pastey white to a yellow.
5. Throw 'em on a napkin covered plate and toss on some salt before the oil dries.
6. Enjoy (I was planning on sharing with the rest of the family but... well.. at least we had good intentions!?

A morning with the US president

We left around 5:30am hoping not to have to foot it the whole way. Roads were blocked off and so we tried to get through in a vehicle hoping they would assume that we were the press... didn't work. We trudged along as the sun came up, nibbling on some nasty granola-type bars for breakfast. But we finally made it (around 6:30am and we posted right at the exit of Springfield Airport where Bush was landing.

The Liberian police harassed us for a while and so I argued back. Arguing with the police became kinda like a game to me after a while. What could I say that might make them back down, who could get louder, would they even understand me, could I get away without having to pay any fines, that kinda thing. They bugged us about moving back (even though we were posted before they even showed up that morning - it was just us, the wild dogs, and the UN troops) off the street. Then some guy with a southern accent (presumably American) yelled "THE BIBLE SAYS TO SUBMIT TO AUTHORITY!" and I physically ignored him while thinking, 'What about all of the Biblical greats that didn't do as the authorities asked them because the authorities were corrupt and wrong?'. And then the Liberian police heard the dude and they said, "See! Even that American knows that he should stand back from here!" I told the guy that it was because they feared him, not respected him. I told him that they made trouble where there was none in order to make a buck. He didn't like this but he then backed off.

Well, that's not all the way true. They went and got a secret service agent and she told us that if the Liberian police asks us to move back, then we should probably do that. You can bet that I didn't argue with her.

The roads were completely blocked off, not even the kids going to go to school were allowed to cross. They started just piling up on our side of the street. (Each school wears a different uniform and I thought the pink ones were pretty cute).
We sat for a few hours in the heat while more and more people crowded to watch Bush drive by in his limo. UN troops lined the street, probably about one every 15 feet, facing the neighborhood. Someone near us in the crowd had a radio so we listened as the announcer gave a play-by-play of what was going on in the air field. HUGE helicopters began circling the area, first two and then four. Soldiers hung out the doors with huge artillery, ready to shoot at a country that isn't allowed to bear arms.

Then over the radio we could hear a band playing the Liberian National anthem as Bush presumably did his thing with Sirleaf:

He drove by in a long line of cars, it was hard to tell who was going to be in which of the million cars. But, in the second limo, there was our president and his wife just waving away. And I swear to you, he did a double take when he saw my pale skin in a sea of Africans. We all shouted and laughed... it was a REALLY fun morning.

After the cars drove through, a group of us went to have a drink... it was 10am ;P Some of us had Coke, others had not-Coke.

Then, as we were walking back, this freaky "dio-devil" (that's what it sounds like, I have no idea if I spelled it right) tried to jack my flag with Bush and Sirleaf on it. He wore some leather gloves that were SOAKING wet and he petter my arm to get my attention before he jacked the flag outta my hands. It took me a second to come to my senses (I was staring at him and taking in the enormous amount of BO that came with him) and then I snatched the flag back (he wasn't the only one who tried to steal it from me).

two questions

A friend asked me on the phone what my happiest and saddest memories of Liberia are. I answered her incorrectly on the saddest one so let me get it right here. (btw, it's 5:45am here and I've been laying awake in bed for the past hour. this whole sleeping thing has eluded me for quite some time now...)

saddest:
I would actually call it the most disturbing memory but it's sad too.
So if you've never heard Liberian English, it's a whole nother dialect and virtually impossible to understand for the newbie. Knowing this, the Liberians speak freely (aka quickly and without fixing grammar and vocab) around the white folks (they considered my nephew white as well which I got a kick out of) when they don't want for them to understand - like their own secret language.
So I'm chillin at the compound and there's about 10-15 guys sitting on the steps with me. One of them is telling a story and they're all laughing and prodding him on. I begin to tune them in, curious about the topic that has them all attentive.
The story teller is in front of the group (they're all about 20-30yrs old) and his whole body moves as he acts out portions of the tale. If I can read his lips, I understand about 50% more of what he's saying so everytime that he turns his head, I have 25% of an idea what he's saying.
'The general was just standing there, totally surrounded. You know what they did to him?'
(audience laughs)
'They stabbed him and stabbed him and kept on.'
(more laughter as the story teller acts out the part of the general getting stabbed in the lungs. He begins wheezing for a breath that his body cannot hold. he looks surprised everytime that he gets stabbed. more laughter)
'And he just takes it! And he's like (storyteller continues wheezing) and there's blood blood a-ll over the floor coming from him, like a river, more and more blood'
(I rise up from the stairs and exit the scene, trying not to cry at the reaction to the story being told. I understand that there's only so much that these men can handle and that we all deal with war and trauma differently... but the callousness and the emptiness that is required from someone to speak this way... it's a side of humanity that we ignore and push aside {have you seen 'The Beach'?} because it's so much easier to speak of Brittany and her boys rather than the brutality of the world that surrounds us. I can't help but wonder how we can just stand aside and watch this happen... I wonder why so few are willing to help, and why even fewer follow through when they're on the ground.)

happiest:
Probably hearing my son call me 'Mommy' for the first time. I've never, and will never, tell any of my children to call me Mom. I want for them (the adopted children) to come to that conclusion within their own hearts without my pushing them to it.
I was headed to the bathroom for a splash of cool water on my face when I heard Big P ask some woman named Mommy what she was doing. I glanced around the bedroom, and sure enough, I was the only woman there.
I looked over at my nephew to ask if I had heard Big P correctly. My nephew smiled and nodded his head, "he called you Mommy, Raquel. Congratulations!"
I, of course, gave Big P an unexpected and delayed hug. He winced with pain. I apologized for forgetting about the tumor on his back. I rubbed his arm instead. He smiled at me quickly and then looked down shyly. One of the pineapple-and-beaches moments...

home again home again - where to begin??

...oh man...

this one is going to be quick because I don't know where to start nor where to end. I wish that I had a list of questions that I could just answer.

what's on my mind now?

I'm feeling overwhelmed with the scary diagnosis that Big P received while in Liberia... saw the pediatrician today who is setting us up with an appt at Children's nuero-oncology department. if that doesn't make a momma nervous, I don't know what would.

Big P is glued to my husband like white on rice - they deserve one another's love. It's amazing to watch.

Liberia is beautiful and disturbing and hot and wonderful and I miss it and in my heart I feel between two places at once, home and Liberia. I haven't downloaded any photos yet but I'll work on it this week.

Switched Little P to the girls' school today. Tired of the communication gap.

My house smells new. Liberia smelled like damp, hot, sweet spices. Getting off of the plane and smelling that wonderful scent will forever be indented in my brain. So many times I questioned the paths that I took when I was down there. Thought about my past and my future and all of the things that I could do but haven't done. Thought about how families should stay together and we should enable them to raise their own children. Thought about how everyone deserves an education and how the US is spoiled so rotten that it makes my stomach sour.

Spent many an hour sitting on the white sandy beach listening to the Atlantic ocean spill up onto the shore while the sun fell across the horizon and thought, 'it doesn't get better than this.'

Not actually home yet

You goofballs! We definately are not home yet and it is HOT up in Liberia! I'm telling you! Life is slow and dramatic and sad and wonderful.

The poverty here is immense.

Whether you like it or not, you'll hear all about it when I get back home.

Gotta jet - I'm in someone else's room and their kid might have malaria - dr just got here....


KEEP PRAYING!