Wake Up Call - Why Liberia Still Needs Clinics

Current Clinic under construction in Johnsonville
near our Heart of Grace School

We've been working with clinic building since the mid 1980's in Liberia (Camphor Clinic), but since the devasting Civil Wars that ended in 2003 clinic development has been slow. Roads are coming and clinics are being built, including a new one in the village of Zondo of which I've previously written. We have also been blessed to help another organization build "True Life Clinic" in Grand Bassa and are currently working on another clinic in Johnsonville in the City View area of Monrovia on our school campus. 

Building the Camphor Clinic in Grand Bassa County circa 1985

Wall building Camphor Clinic
GBC, Liberia (c. 1985)

However, these can all just seem like projects when we're sitting over here Stateside where we have great hospitals and clinics with EMTs, first responders, and life flight helicopters all on standby. I just received an email from a friend that shook me. It brought things back into focus on the reality of the desparate needs in Liberia. Sometimes we just need to see one of our own US citizens in the situation that Liberians are in every day to bring home the Liberian's plight. One brave lady was chosen to be just such an example to us. I will share her story below in a moment. 

No, mom isn't smoking a cig - it is the syringe cap in her mouth!

Clinic sign ready to advertise
Compound 2 GBC, Liberia
(Funded through BFCC - NGO)

Before I do I just want to say that these clinics are not just projects or fundraising campaign goals that we can reach so we can pat ourselves on the back. Great things are happening in our organization (Change Agent Network), but there are living and breathing children of God in Liberia (and all around the world for that matter) who face life threatening situations like the following story everyday. With the author's permission I've re-posted her email below. It is quite the harrowing ordeal, and I am grateful this dear sister is still with us:

Making the journey home from Liberia is always difficult.  We are leaving "family" behind and the trip itself takes over 24 hours and 4 flights to complete.  However, my return trip this year included extra challenges.

The team left Sunday, November 3rd but I needed to conduct some Change Agent Network business so I stayed behind for 5 days.  When I boarded my flight alone on Friday, November 8th, everything went smoothly. As I flew the 1.5 hours from Liberia to Ghana, I was tired from the last two weeks and was hoping no one would occupy the seat next to me when we picked up passengers in Ghana.  The stop in Ghana is an on-plane layover during which some passengers disembark, the security/cleaning crew prepare the plane for the 11-hour flight to JFK and new America-bound passengers board; all while those of us in transit remain on the plane and visit.  The turn-around takes about 1.5 hours.

I was fine when we landed in Ghana at 8:30 pm.  I pulled my carry-on luggage out of the overhead, spoke to the flight attendants and visited with passengers.  As the new passengers boarded, my stomach didn't feel well so I went to the bathroom.  That was when the trouble began.

In a 20-minute window of time, I went from visiting with passengers to being so sick and weak after 3 trips to the bathroom that I could not get up off the floor of the airplane.  I could not sit up, I had to lie down.  Then I heard the captain's voice announcing that the flight would be delayed because they had to get a sick passenger off the plane.  It was surreal to know he was talking about me.  The America-based Delta crew surrounded me and told me the Ghana crew would take good care of me.  When the wheelchair arrived I could not get up off the floor, so a strong African crewman reached down and deadlifted me into the wheelchair.  The next thing I knew I was sitting on the tarmac with the giant plane looming over my head, and two Ghana crewmen were telling me they had my luggage.  Seriously???

Thankfully, children in Ghana learn to speak 3 languages including English; but I can assure you we don't speak the same language as the word "urgency" is not in their vocabulary.  The American in me was expecting some sort of "emergency vehicle" which never arrived.    I am not sure how long I sat on the tarmac but I could feel screaming and/or tears coming.  I resisted both because I knew neither would do any good.  Finally, a shuttle bus pulled up next to us.  Then, it simply took us to the back of the airport and the two men began to slowly push me through the most disjointed airport layout I've ever seen.  I still couldn't sit up in the wheel chair and had to ask twice for them to find me a bathroom. 

We finally got to the front of the airport and stopped on the sidewalk to wait for something.  I start saying "I have to lie down."  The next thing I knew I felt like my throat became 6 inches wide and the next phase of my sickness began. 

Another shuttle bus finally arrived and took me to a private clinic that was on airport property.  Once inside, the nurses tried to admit me but I became so weak that I started climbing out of the wheelchair to lie on the floor.  They reluctantly gave up and started moving me into a little room with 5 beds and told me to take the one in the corner.  They helped me into that bed and I started saying out loud "Thank you Baby Jesus, thank you for this bed.  I am so happy to be here."  At that point, my body began shaking so violently that I was coming off the surface.  I reached for one nurse's arm and all I could softly whisper was "help me, help me."  I knew I was going down.

I am not sure who taught African doctors and nurses to run I.V.s but they have the impression that you must nearly break someone's arm with tourniquets and needles to get the job done.  They started alternately running saline solution and Cipro and trying to take my blood pressure - 70 over 40!  The next day the nurses told me "Our women's ward was closed when you arrived so we were not going to take you, but you were so sick your face turned blue and we thought we were going to lose you so we put you in the men's ward."

That first night was tough.  I was so sick I could barely get out of the bed and my stomach continued to empty itself in all directions.  They continuously ran I.V.s wide open but as quickly as they would get fluid in, my body would get it out.  By 8:00 the next morning, I felt a little better but that was short-lived. 

My blood pressure was now 70/50 but the bacteria must have been fighting back because I became sick all over again.  The two women who saved my life the night before were now off duty and I asked the new nurse for Cipro for 2 hours before he brought it.  When I needed it again, the doctor decided to switch to Flagyl which was a mistake.  About a minute after it dripped into my body I had some sort of reaction to it and I started going down.  I knew it was bad and again started begging for help.  They quickly switched the I.V. back to saline solution and ran it wide open.  A few minutes later my body was stable again.

I asked "What is wrong with me?"  The response - Cholera.  When I tried to think about what I had eaten the previous day I was told that the bacteria was probably in my body for 2 - 3 days before I got sick. 

I spent 2 days in a clinic with sick people all around me who were suffering from different symptoms but were receiving the exact same treatment.  The clinic consisted of a women's ward and men's ward with 5 beds and 1 toilet in each, a small pharmacy, a business office and no cafeteria.  Patients’ families are supposed to bring food.  My only lifeline to home was my cell phone.  My family and closest friends started calling, texting, crying and offering to get on a plane.  Truthfully, I was a world away and there was nothing anyone could do to help me.

However, the Lord provided everything I needed, big and small.  They hit me with so many I.V.s and medications that I had no idea how much the medical bill was going to cost.  The day I left Liberia I had $100 to my name.  Right before I departed, our driver asked if I would help him get money to his sister in the U.S. and handed me $1,700 in cash.  I always travel to Liberia with protein bars and had 4 of them left.  I didn’t think I would need them but decided to put 2 in my purse “just in case” which is what I nibbled on for 2 days in the clinic.  Since I was alone, towards the end of my stay I gave the clinic staff $10 to buy me 2 hard-boiled eggs and 2 pieces of toast from a nearby Holiday Inn. 

By the end of the second full day, I was very ready to go.  I called Delta to upgrade my flight to first class because I could not sit up for any period of time; and I requested wheel chair assistance.  I was so wiped out that I slept 10 hours of the 11-hour flight and could not lift my carry-ons.  About 4 hours away from New York my stomach started acting up and I started to panic.  But thankfully I found an expired prescription in my American medicine bag that calmed my stomach and allowed me to continue sleeping.  During my 4-hour layover in New York, I had to find a seat next to the wall so I could lie against it.  It is difficult to express the relief I felt when I saw the lights along New York's coast line because I knew I was home, that I would receive the best medical care possible and that I would be OK.

This was more than an adventure; it was a life-experience.  We've been talking about the need for medical clinics at our school locations but now I have a much better appreciation for the urgency.  The people we serve are hours from the nearest hospitals in Liberia and don't have the funds for transportation or medical attention.  The total bill for saving my life in the clinic - $200; outrageously cheap by American standards; impossible for Liberians.

I interviewed the clinic staff and learned that they primarily treat 6 conditions: Malaria, Gastroenteritis, Urinary Tract Infections, Diabetes, High Blood Pressure and Lumbago.  The most urgent of these are treated with I.V. fluids.  We don't need American size hospitals; we need small clinics stocked with 20 - 30 medications and we will save countless lives.

However, that is not the most important lesson I learned through this.  As I sat on that tarmac and looked at that plane I realized I was stripped down to nothing and could not count on any of my business achievements, any of my friends or family members or even the body that supports me on Earth.  In that moment I started praying "Lord, it is just you and me.  I have no idea where I am going or what is going to happen but I am too sick to handle this so you are going to have to." 

For whatever His reasons are, the Lord saved my life that night.  If I had fallen ill 20 minutes later, the plane would have taken off; and since severe and sudden dehydration are symptoms of Cholera, the doctors in Ghana and the U.S. tell me I probably would not have survived the 11-hour flight.  Also, if I had gotten sick earlier in the day, I am not sure we could have found the medical attention I needed in Liberia on a timely basis. The Lord put me in the place I needed to be, at the time I needed to be there, and surrounded me with people who could help me, all of whom were complete strangers.

My Mom picked me up in New Orleans and immediately started campaigning: "You are never going back to Liberia. You are never traveling alone again."  But here's the problem; my mother’s pleas are counter-intuitive to what I learned through this.  When you have an encounter with the Lord on that level it teaches you that He truly does have you in His hands and you trust Him even more.  Believe me; I hope to never get that sick again.  But I would not trade the misery of the illness for anything because it stripped me down to nothing and forced me to trust Him and only Him.

Remember Me When You Eat

Wooden bowl and two spoons from Zondo, Liberia

"What if you gave your friends a bowl and spoon to take home with them whenever they left your house?" 

This question was asked to a curious group of children last week during a presentation on Liberia. They laughed and giggled. They were curious about the bowl and two spoons I had received from the people of Zondo in Liberia.

"Why would you do that? Why would you give someone a bowl and spoon when you say 'goodbye'?" That was their question. It is a good question. They had good answers:

"Maybe your friends will get hungry on the way home."

"They may not have bowls and spoons so you want them to have some to eat with."

"So they can remember eating with you."

The presentation of the bowl and spoons in Zondo. 2011

Symbols have this ability to make us rethink common things like eating food and they provide us with new and powerful perspectives that can change how we view the world, ourselves, and others. For example, these symbols from Zondo caused me to ask things I wouldn't normally ask myself like, "How do I eat nice with others?", "What does it mean to hang out with friends?", "Is it OK to share a spoon with someone even though my mom said I shouldn't?", and even "How do I say goodbye?"

"Bowl and Spoon" Means What?

To us a bowl and spoon are usually just tools. They aid us in ingesting our Count Chocula or clam chowder. They can be styrofoam or plastic and thrown away. However, upon further investigation we find that we also practice a symbolism of bowl giving in our culture. For example, bowls of china or crystal are often given as gifts at weddings. Why? Because we hope in some small way that the newlyweds will remember us when they use them or look at them. We hope that as they set the table for Thanksgiving perhaps they will remember us and even mention us in a brief prayer like: "God, I hope those guys are doing alright. What nice people."

Perhaps something similar was meant with this Liberia goodbye-gift of Bowl and Spoon. Perhaps it would be best though to hear why they did this in their own words. Fortunately, we videotaped the Bowl and Spoon ceremony at Zondo and had translators who explained to us the meaning of the Bassa words. Here is what giving a Bowl and Spoon mean to the Bassa.

Explaining the meaning of the spoon

Bowl and Spoon in Bassa Tradition

A Bowl and Spoon Presentation

There were two sets of "Bowl and Spoon" handed out to us by the wonderful people of Zondo. Each presentation included a speech. First, the translation of the speech giving in the presentation of the bowl and spoon to my mom and dad:

"Our own Liberian way of telling people goodbye. This is a eating bowl. This is what our fathers used before people began using rubber bowls or manufactured bowls. In our culture we show that we are of one accord, that we have fellowship with one another when we eat together from the same bowl. Your visit to us shows us that you love us and so on your way back we are giving you this bowl. We want you and us to be one family eating from the same bowl.

The spoon also symbolizes something in our own culture. You have your family, your children. You feed your children to grow up to become man and woman tomorrow. As you dish out your food to your children, or to your family, or to your friends, we want you to remember us as you do so when you use this spoon."

My parents receiving their own bowl and spoon set from Zondo

Bowl and Spoon Bassa Speech #2

A second presentation was made from the people of Zondo. To help the following make more sense I was in Zondo by invitation of my childhood friend Floyd Morgan. With that in mind, the following is a translation by my friend Arthur Crusoe:

Arthur Crusoe handing off the bowl and spoons

"Significance of the bowl. We eat together so we will be closely united. Since you came here we are very happy. We don’t have words to express our feelings. Now you are going home. You will want to say, “I have been to Floyd’s home.” So you should have some artifact, some symbol to take with you from Floyd’s home. Our forefathers ate in something like this. Bowl and spoon made of these materials. We are happy. We are happy! Since you are going to your family and when you go and are seated, when you take this spoon and you eat with it, remember us from Floyd’s home. Praise God!"

Remember Me When You Eat

I was a bit confused and nervous when I was asked to respond to the community after receiving these amazing gifts. For one, I don't deserve this royal treatment, and for two, I wasn't quite sure what it meant. I mustered a few words in reply and realized it didn't matter how eloquent I was in response. The people were happy to clap and say 'amen' to just about anything that came from my mouth. They were simply happy I was there. I was happy to be there too and have remembered them often.

Stumbling through some words in a short response speech.

After two years of reflection I realize I have not yet plunged the depths of this Bowl and Spoon symbolism. Perhaps I never will. However, as a Christian this whole concept seems rather at home to my worldview. I mean, who else has said, 'goodbye' through the use of symbols relating to food? For me the words of Christ, 'eat this bread in remembrance of me' and 'drink this cup in remembrance of me', have taken on new meaning because of my Bassa friends. As also His promise that one day we will share in the same cup when He returns. And so remembering is a part of fellowship.  

Sharing bowl and spoons with Zondo brothers

The Power of African Theology

I say all of this to re-emphasize what I hope is being communicating through out all of this blog: we need to hear from Africa. In fact, the whole world suffers when African voices are silenced. Whether they be silenced through wars, disease, poverty, neo-colonial corporatization, or even aid organizations who aren't interested in listening; the fact of the matter is that their silence hurts us all. Their oppression oppresses us all. We all suffer when their voices do not inform us. We need more African theology informing our walk with God. 

Every tongue and tribe?

As Christians we know our holy text tells us that the body of Christ is diverse and made of every tongue and tribe and is therefore not defined by Western traditions, songs, or theological perspectives alone. In practice however we tend to want to use our current positions of power to usurp other traditions, stories, and perspectives. We silence them to our own poverty. 

Who is really oppressed?

In fact, I would say that the church in the States is experiencing a deep poverty of fellowship with Christ as a result of our blindness to other cultures even within our own borders. Like the proverbial Laodicean; we think we are rich, but we are poor. We think we see, but we are blind. We tend to think we know best for Africa and other 'third world' cultures. Yet it may very well be the voice of those that our culture has historically oppressed that can teach us how to finally break free from our own chains. 

I don't desire that we degrade our own perspectives, nor that we adopt everything African, but rather that we include the perspective of our African brethren like they have included us. They have invited us to share the same bowl with them. 

From the mouth of babes

Consider again the children who asked such good questions about the Liberian bowl and spoon. What did they see in these African symbols? I think they can teach us a few things about remembering Christ, considering one another, and true fellowship. Why would anyone do something so strange as give someone a bowl and spoon when they say goodbye? Listen again to the children (and the African wisdom behind it):

"Maybe your friends will get hungry on the way home."

"They may not have bowls and spoons so you want them to have some to eat with."

"So they can remember eating with you."

Who Is Helping Whom?

Junior Bob helping me across a log bridge. Was I there to help him? Was he there to help me?
---- Yes.

Liberia is scattered with empty school buildings, broken wells, and rusting equipment. These things stand as monuments to the twin failed philosophies of ‘we know best for you’ and ‘money fixes everything.’ So while the immediate crisis in Liberia may have ended a decade ago, the long lasting and pervasive re-development crisis lingers. Why?

"We Know Best For You"

In Ernesto Sirolli’s recent TEDtalk he tells the humorous story of how his Italian NGO knew what was best for ‘those poor Africans’ and decided to show them how to plant their wonderful Italian tomatoes and zucchinis in the fertile soil near their village river. He expressed frustration at how they couldn’t get these Africans to work this farm that was 'for them', and how they actually had to pay them to work it (although many still did not show up to work). In the Western superiority model of ‘we know best for you’ he admits to thinking, ‘thank goodness we’re here to help these people!’ Fully expecting to change public opinion with a wonderful harvest of Italian vegatables, Sirolli’s plan came to a screeching halt one night. Just before harvest, a herd of hippos ate the entire farm!

‘We knew that all along’

Sirolli goes on to say that the villagers were not surprised at this unfortunate event. In fact, while Sirolli expressed surprise at this event the villagers stated that they had known about these hippos all along, which is why they never planted crops in that otherwise fertile soil. When asked why they didn’t let the aid workers know about this they answered, “You never asked.” 

One of the reasons that Liberia is home to so many monuments of failed ‘aid’: Aid workers seldom ask Liberians what is best for Liberians. The philosophy has usually been: ‘we know what is best for you.’

My brother learning the concept: Raised by a Village. :-)

"Money fixes everything"

Another failed philosophy is that money fixes everything. Any absentee father who has tried to win his children’s hearts through the bribery of gifts knows that money is no substitute for real relationship. Whether you agree or not the 2009 book “Dead Aid” by African economist Dambisa Moyo at least brought up the elephant in the room that no one wanted to discuss.

The Elephant In the Room

“Dead Aid” was willing to talk about the fact that trillions of dollars in aid have been spent in Africa for over 50 years and yet Africa is still struggling with wars, famines, unclean water, death from easily treatable diseases, etc. If money were the answer, Africa would be ‘fixed’ by now! Surely Africa would be sitting in a much better position at the worldwide table, but this is not the case. 

What If Bill Gates Wanted to Help You?

The reality is that those receiving aid without input are not dumb. They will say whatever they think the one giving money wants to hear. What would you say if Bill Gates said, “I think we should build a playground in your town for the children.” I’d say “great idea!” Why? Because I think HE is going to do all the work building and maintaining it.  Too often aid workers come in and say, “I think we should build a clinic, or school, or whatever.” And the people respond “Great! Let’s do it!” Why? Because they think the Aid organization is going to do everything and build, staff, and maintain it after completion… empty clinics in Liberia tell us this is not the case.

Now while some will allow ‘aid’ to take advantage of them in order to get some sort of benefit, often people receiving handouts will manipulate the giver as well by playing the game. Once the giver is gone it is back to business as usual. This is why we see weeds growing in empty school rooms in Liberia, aid workers build schools because locals tell them they want it, not realizing that locals tell them that because there are other benefits: pay for construction, meals, small gifts on the side, whatever.  There is no ‘buy in’ from the community, only community meetings where people said, “Please do it!” with hopes of getting something small for themselves. I can’t say I blame them. I’d do the same thing if Bill Gates said, “I’d like to help you.”

My dad helping to dig a well by hand for a school in Liberia. It isn't just about telling people what they should do, but sharing in what the community knows needs to be done. 

Arrogance of Patronizing

So often we hear about people being ‘touched’ by the situation in Liberia. When pressed you often hear that underlying these statements is a sort of patronizing: “Those poor people! If only we could educate them to be smart like us then their problems would go away. If only I would come in and save the day for them by providing health care, clean drinking water, agro-techniques, microloans, or whatever; then their communities would thrive like ours.” While all of these things may be great --- what if the community doesn’t want them? What? People don’t want what I know is best for them? Yes. Anyone who has ever offered advice knows this happens. 

But why is it that aid workers often see those in a time of need as needing hand outs instead of realizing that people in general just want a hand up? It’s because much aid work (specifically 're-development' work) lacks the most important ingredient: deep relationships. In times of emergency it is common sense that people need water, food, medical attention, but re-development needs relationships. More on that in a moment, but first…

What I’m Not Saying

Love is being there in a time of need.

I am not saying that (all) Westerners are stupid and uncaring, nor that money should never be shared with those in need. I am saying that (most) Africans are extremely intelligent and true wealth is not measured in possessions. The fact is that Westerners do know things that could be very helpful to Africans and vice versa. It is also true that while money doesn’t fix everything, it can empower projects that are viable as well. What I believe is needed most in Africa (and every corner of the world for that matter) is for people to love one another; to see past one another’s ‘problems’ and ‘handicaps’and ‘differences’ and view each other as people. You see, sometimes they will be in need, sometimes you will be in need, but we all need one another. Which brings me to this…

The Liberian Handshake. Traditionally one black and one white. Why? Depends on your perspective, but what I see is a desire for deep, genuine friendship between our two cultures. Not one better than the other.

Who Cares? We Have Enough Problems Here

In fact, all of what I’ve said so far comes back to the oft heard statement I get when trying to raise funds for various projects in Liberia: “We should help our own first.”  This misses the whole point on so many levels. First, who are your own? Secondly, those who have said this to me usually aren’t even involved in helping ‘their own’ at the local level. Yes, there is poverty and problems in the US; and yes, we should be doing something about it. If that is what is on your heart just do it! Don’t criticize someone for helping someone who doesn’t look just like you and who sleeps in different GPS coordinates. We all need help sometimes and when it is in your power to help, help! Wouldn’t it be great if we were all too busy providing loving help to those in need that we were unconcerned whether someone else was helping the ‘wrong’ person?

Why I Want To Help In Liberia

Me and my Liberian brothers. To see us 35 years later click here.

The Missing Ingredient

Here is where we get back to the missing ingredient in many Aid Organizations: Deep Relationships. So often what I see in these NGO’s (and short term mission trips for that matter) is a lack of deep relationship. Relationships take more than just concern, they take time. They take more than just annual hugs and handshakes, they take presence. 

NGO’s are corporations and by their very nature can’t have relationships with people. However, people working for them can and I’ve read great stories online about NGO workers who got it and have deep friendships with Liberians.  To you I say, “Thank you for your friend-ya!”

My friend Mark Hubers lending a hand in rolling textbooks shipped from the US to a school in Liberia (c. 1985)

Also, Short-term mission work by its very nature does not allow opportunity for true deep relationships. Surface friendships? Yes, but deep relationships? Just like marriage; it is one thing to date someone, and quite another to live with them. I have great memories and made great contacts on short term trips, but short terming tends to focus on projects, not people, and if they get a well dug or a wall built then it is a success. A success for whom though? It may not really provide any lasting help to the people. The broken wells and empty school buildings attest to this fact. 

A once beautiful school campus that now lies empty in Grand Bassa County, Liberia.

However, some agencies are happy to have some pics of finished projects and smiling faces so that they can raise more money to send more short termers, but what happens day in and day out in the lives of these people they call friends? Most short termers don’t know the daily life and true needs of their ‘friends’ because they’re not there living with them.  Usually when they are there it is a burst of project-focused energy and surface relationship connections. Don’t get me wrong, I think there is a place for short term work, but their main strength comes from reinforcing relationships that are already present on the ground. If short-termers want to participate in those deeper relationships however all they need to do is go on over and live with them! I'm sure you'll hear, "Ya ah welcome!"

Concrete work at a school in Liberia. c. 1985

Not Rocket Science

I don’t want to help Liberia because I think I know what is best for them. I’m not doing it because I feel the need to throw away guilt money towards the people we’ve help impoverish through wanting cheap Firestone tires, or diamonds for brides, or palm-oil based soap, or iron ore, or gold or whatever else we’ve stolen ‘by the book’. I help Liberia because of Liberians. I help Liberians because they are my family. 

My Nephew Alex who just recently graduated with an Associates in Engineering. He fell victim to the recent Entrance Exam/fee scam debacle at the University of Liberia. That is 2 weeks pay ($25 USD) spent for nothing!

Just like every child born in Liberia: I did not choose Liberia, Liberia chose me. What child doesn’t feel a deep responsibility to help their mother or father in a time of need? What about my brother, my sister, my nephew, my uncle, etc. in their time of need? Aid work shouldn’t be rocket science. This desire to provide a hand up should be as simple as breathing and as natural.  There is no formula for correct aid, just like there is no formula for love.

 

My Liberian mother: Sarah Toe (c. 1985).

My Liberian mother Sarah Toe - Summer 2013

My parents brought me to Liberia when I was 3. I didn’t choose it. I was adopted by several Liberian ladies who I now call Ma. I didn’t choose it. I ate termites in the mud with my Liberian brothers because that is what we did. I didn’t choose it. Liberia chose me. I didn’t ask the people of Zondo to make me a citizen of their village. They chose to do it. I didn’t ask God to make me think about Liberia every day of my life. He chose for me to think of her. I just do it.

When “Helping” Hurts

However, if Liberia hasn’t chosen you, you are probably better off leaving her alone. In fact, I would invite you to go fix some other problems in the world. There are other problems happening than those happening in Liberia. I say this because so much of what is wrong with Liberia is based on people trying to “help” Liberia who really didn’t love her. For example just consider the following “help” that my own US of A has provided for Liberia so far:

• “Help” freed slaves in the US by purchasing huge amounts of land from Bassa and other tribal chiefs under gunpoint for a few hundred dollars.

• “Help” those in the US that won’t be able to integrate into society (read freed slaves or “mulatto” offspring of slaveholders) and hide them in Liberia under the disguise of a humanitarian work called the AmericanColonization Society.

• “Help” these Americo-Liberian colonists who in turn enslaved many of the native Liberians, by sending US warships every time the population rises up against their oppression.

• “Help” Liberian economy by giving them “jobs” at Firestone after forcing the Liberian government to take a loan it can’t repay and forcing tribal people without a voice off their land (1 million acres).

• “Help” Liberia by forgiving her “debts” with clauses that force Liberia to accept foreign companies to work there who won’t help provide any community service.

Enough “Help” Already!

I think we’ve already done enough to ‘help’ Liberia! Why don’t we instead simply shut up and listen like real friends do.  Let Liberians tell us what they believe their true needs are. Even today the UN is trying to force Liberians to have ‘needs’ that they themselves could care less about (they often only say they do care because they know the ones who hold the money want them to care about it.) 

A Case In Point

For example, never once did I hear a Liberian say that they wanted same sex marriages recognized by the state until the UN came in and began making this an issue. I'm not sure if these outside voices are aware of it or not but they sound like they are saying that these poor, dumb, uneducated Liberians should wise up and embrace their worldview in order to be properly civilized and worthy of aid.  

I understand there are many issues under the surface here, but when it comes to lending a hand, a guiding issue in my opinion has to be: can any of us love anyone who is different than us? Should I trust a ‘gay’ advocate who preaches others must accept them for who they are in the name of love, while at the same time being willing to withhold love to Liberians who on the whole think differently than Westerners on this and a great many other issues?

Love Embargo?

What sort of ‘love’ would be willing to withhold malaria medicine from a child because his parent’s Poro African tradition holds that homosexuality is taboo? Do you hate African tradition? The child? The parents? Even the main solicitor of international aide, President Sirleaf, has made the following statement concerning homosexuality: "We've got certain traditional values in our society that we would like to preserve." Do you feel that pushback? Is anyone listening to Liberians? So much to say here, but I digress…

In Whose Image?

The bottom line is that I cannot make you attracted or not attracted to the same sex any more than I can make you accept or not accept another person attracted to the same sex. I can't do this anymore than I can make you a believer in Christ, or a Muslim, a Poro initiate, or have you born as a Gio, a Bassa, a Vai, an Americo-Liberian, or a Cajun, Texan, Hillbilly (Ozark boy here!), or whatever else for that matter. My belief is that God made us all and we are all made in His image, you are not to be made in my image any more than I am to be made in yours.

So Who Is Helping Whom?

I care deeply if you are hurting my Liberian family even if you are calling it “help” while doing it. I’m not saying that we won’t ever hurt each other. Lord knows I’ve hurt my Liberian family, but we are family and we work this out. Lord knows I have abandoned them in their time of need. We continue to work this out. Family does that.

My Ma Augusta (RIP). She taught us her recipe for Liberian Shortbread. My mother intends to pay it forward by sharing this recipe with other Liberian women in the bread business.

Buchanan circa 1985 with big brother Omise (RIP) and my brother Emmanuel (Ma Augusta's son)

At the end of the day I’m not even sure that I can actually ‘help’ Liberia, however one thing I do know: Liberia helps me. I’m not sure I have anything to teach Liberians, but one thing I do know: Liberians teach me. I’m not sure I have anything of value to give Liberians, but I do know this: Liberians have given me their very best and I as their brother will try to do likewise.

Junior Bob, wherever you are, I wish you well my friend. 
You helped me cross the bridge. This means more than you may know.

Last Days Of The Coo Coo Cafe

The Coo Coo Cafe is marked by the MPW for destruction in order to expand the sides of the road from Monrovia to Gbarnga

THE YELLOW MARK 

I remember traveling the road to Buchanan in 2011 and I kept seeing all of these yellow marks on the buildings as we drove by, which naturally led me to ask, "What do those yellow marks mean?"    

The Yellow 'X' on the Coo Coo Cafe signals her last days

In short, it means that those structures are marked for destruction so that roads can be built.  In practice it means that the MPW (Ministry of Public Works) goes around and decides how much money a person will get for the building they are about to destroy and then spray paints it with a yellow mark.  Many churches, homes, businesses, structures, etc. have met their fate due to the notorious yellow X. 

Across the street from the Cafe one can see the yellow 'x's on the gate and fence in front of the Coo Coo Nest Hotel

Liberian Historic Sites Marked For Destruction

I was saddened to learn that the Coo Coo Cafe and some of its surrounding structures were also marked by the MPW for destruction.  This is an area of great historical significance to Liberia as it represents the glory days of the Tubman era.  In this spot just south of Totota President Tubman had his 6,000 acre rubber tree farm, his getaway mansion, a hotel named after his daughter which was called the Coo Coo Nest, and this restaurant: The Coo Coo Cafe.

The Coo Coo Nest Fountain and Tower are also marked
the dreaded yellow 'x'

Besides the Coo Coo Cafe, several other Tubman era structures are also marked for destruction.  This includes the fence and gate to the Coo Coo Nest, the tower sculpture and fountain in front of the Coo Coo Nest (which was sculpted by Tubman's son), and the Elephant Tusk Gate and guard house that leads up to the mansion and the one-time zoo that I visited as a child.  I overheard that the total payout by the MPW appraisers for all of these structures is $300,000 USD.  I doubt it will go to revitalize what is left of this beautiful property, but who knows? 

Me standing by the yellow 'x' on the Elephant Tusk Gate that leads to the Tubman Mansion and abandoned zoo.
The Guard House behind is also marked for destruction

Has Liberia Spoken on the Tubman Legacy?

It might seem that Liberia has spoken about how she feels about president Tubman.  Several of his magnificent structures are today in disarray.  His Center for African Culture in Robertsport was in shambles when I visited it in 2011.  I have no idea how bad it looks now.  His zoo was looted and/or shipped out of country to the Ivory Coast.  His mansion lies vacant and is a home to thieves, rotting taxidermy, and bats.  And lastly his 'eternal' flame on his grave has long since been extinguished.     

This picture shows the entire Elephant Tusk Gate in her last days. June 2013

However, an opposing case could be made that Liberia loves Tubman in that they commemorate him on their $20LD bill, they have a High School named after him in Monrovia, and a University in Harper.  Whatever the case, he was a powerful force that one is unable to ignore when studying Liberia's history and even current events.  Tubman may have left his mark, but today many of his structures find themselves marked for destruction.

The old metal Buchanan Welcome Sign was also removed when the road to Buchanan was paved.
Some say it will return but time will tell.  Picture taken in 2011

In summary, that road I mentioned from Monrovia to Buchanan is now completely paved and the travel time is even comparable to US standards!  (As a side: I hope that the road lasts through this rainy season as there was water just feet from it at the beginning of the season in June and I saw no drainage system.  It was lowest bidder, Chinese construction from what I've been told.)  Now it is the road from Monrovia to Gbarnga that is underway.  Liberia seems to be saying, "full steam ahead!" and also that some of her past is something she would rather just pave over.  

On the road to Gbarnga June 2013