Please Take Time

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but sometimes you don't know where one point is, or you haven't figured out the concept of distance yet, or the idea of 'straight' doesn't make sense for the world in which you find yourself. So finding that shortest distance, that smuggler's route, the backroad, takes a little time. Here in Liberia, if you want someone to slow down and be careful in any context (for instance, a driver going too fast on a terrible road in the dark in the rain), you say, "Please, take time." It's a simple idea, but the application can be complicated, especially for someone who struggles with impatience and control. This past week is a perfect example.

Last Sunday was Adoption Day, and in true Liberian fashion, it was a capital-E Event. All the host families sent at least on representative to Doe Palace to pick up their bouncing new baby Peace Corps Trainee. Sam Sampson, one of our Liberian training staff, served as the MC. There was supposed to be a cultural demonstration in the form of drumming and dancing that was rained out. All the Trainees were seated facing our new prospective parents and I didn't think I would be nervous, but I was pretty excited by the time the 3:00 ceremony actually started at 3:45 (Liberian time works much like Ghana time did and a lot like Navajo time, for those of you who read Tony Hillerman novels: not at all on the same scale as we are used to...).

My name was the third one called, and my new father came up to the front to give me a hug in a dapper grey suit coat with short sleeves over a white tank top. Once I joined him in the group of prospective parents, I gathered from context clues that he was a pastor at one of the (many, or as they say here, plenty) churches in the neighborhood. Since I was close to the beginning of the pack, I got to sit with a lovely smile on my face waiting for everyone else to be adopted and trying to make (awkward) conversation with my new father trying to find common ground. I was able to deduce that I have at least one younger sibling, a brother who was at that very moment celebrating his graduation from Kindergarten. Once the ceremony concluded, my host father showed me to his vehicle (a nice, late-model, extended-cab Nissan truck!) and helped me load my belongings in the back-most people had sent their stuff in advance since they were walking or catching a taxi to their new homes, but mine had stayed in a little pile under the carport and now that mystery was solved! We were also apparently providing rides to other Trainees and their new families, so the extended cab was packed, bush taxi style, with a crowd of people in all their lappa finery. 

Once we dropped everyone off at their homes, we headed to the Kindergarten graduation celebration, which was held at my new father's church. I really think it was an excuse for three more hours of church, and I got to sit up on the dias at the front as an honored guest/new daughter of one of the church leaders, so I had to at least pretend to pay attention. I got to meet my little sister, Abigail, who is 4, my brother Delwin, who is 17, and my mother, Winifred. The graduate, Royal, is 6 and going into first grade next year. After the graduation ceremony (and sermon, and collection), everyone came back to my new house for another sermon and a (surprise!) speech from the new American Peace Corps and a tasty and celebratory meal of joloff rice. I set up my bug hut and mattress while it was still light and was pleasantly surprised when the bulb hanging from my ceiling went on! I took my bucket bath and sat down with my family to watch part of some american movie about army soldiers training for war.

Reverend Roosevelt Dickson's house is more of a compound, actually. A duplex unit and a half-built two-story house are surrounded with a high cement wall entered through a (rust)red set of metal gates on which is scrawled "Be Aware of the Bad Dog." The yard is grassy, with a small paved area off to the side for laundry and kids' baths. One half of the duplex houses my family and the other is rented out to another Liberian who works for Save the Children, which has an office down the road. The front door opens into a living room with comfortable chairs and a shelving unit holding a tv/dvd set-up (my family has a generator that they run for a few hours every night). There are two bedrooms and a bathroom off the main room to the left, and a small, dark kitchen that opens onto a back area outside. Most cooking, food prep, and clean up are done out the back, where there is more light and space. There are also attentive animal friends waiting for scraps of food to fall from above. My family has a young cat, a very bedraggled duck-like creature, the advertised Bad Dog, his lady dog wife, and their three (5 week old?) puppies. The household consists of my Papay and Ma, Delwin, Royal, Abigail, and a 13-year-old who I think is my sister. In addition to the blood relatives, there is a small boy named Raj who is (I think) the son of the woman who comes to help cook and clean while my Ma is at school all day for teacher training. The noise and bustle of everyone getting ready feels like home in the best way...

Monday morning was an exercise in confusion, but at least I started it after a good night's sleep. My first breakfast was cream of wheat, hard boiled eggs, and pineapple, and I was not able to finish all of it. I really didn't want to go back home to my new family on monday evening after training, mostly because I was very unsure of my place in all the usual routines, or even what those routines should be. I got home and sat down with Delwin to have a little chat about things like how to flush the toilet (pour some water in the bowl from a barrel in the corner of the bathroom), get water for my bath and to put in my fiter for drinking ("Oh, I will fetch it for you!" "I really think you should show me, though." "Next week, next week I swear I will."), or participate in chores ("Ah! No, you do not need!" A battle I have yet to win). I also had the hilarious experience of trying to describe my favorite sport (ice hockey) to someone who has spent their whole life living right above the equator. He was with me through goalies and nets, through offensive and defensive players, through a small disc of rubber hit with sticks, but the expression on his face when I mentioned the thin sheet of ice that forms the playing surface or the special skates (shoes with...knives on the bottom?) was priceless. And I felt much better after figuring out some of the daily household routines. 

For our Liberian English class on tuesday we had to go to the market and purchase the ingredients for, and then cook over a coal pot, ground pea (peanut) soup. Our group, Tree Goats, did well with the purchasing and set up, but the stress of the previous days was getting to me, and a gentle rebuke from one of the training staff sent me into a frustrated, hysterical meltdown that took a while to subside because I kept getting frustrated that I hadn't stopped crying yet. I had taken so much pride in the fact that I was adjusting so well to (coming back home to) West Africa, hadn't been sick, hadn't been confused. And it took me aback to be confronted with the fact that though I have done this before, I am not immune to the ups and downs of culture shock, or above the stress of relocating to a new place and acclimating to a 100% new environment and people. The demands I placed on myself were perhaps too strict. And I needed to crash in order to realize that I could let go a little and ride the wave of new experiences. Our soup turned out quite delicious, as well, which helped.

On Saturday I made Delwin teach me to draw water (And it turns out that it comes from a well in the corner of the yard, hauled up in a five-gallon plastic can on a long rope. It was apparently very impressive that I was able to haul it up on the first try without help...), I asked my Ma to teach me to do laundry with a washboard and a bucket (my right ring finger knuckle will never be the same, I'm sure), and I requested a guided walk to the market so that I could orient myself and find my way around town more effectively. I can give directions to my house from the coal tar road (bend left on Old Road, go past the green church with the nice windows and no bend-bend for long time, then bend left and its on the left opposite CH Rennie hospital), and I feel much more settled into my new family, my new community, and in Liberia in general. I even know the shortcut (at the video club on Old Road, head up the hill behind the nice o-ma's house, walkabout through the grass up to the parking station behind the broken water treatment plant, then take Old Main Road up to the coal tar) to get to Doe Palace if I feel like walking home.

I think I've found my straight line, and learned to be patient with my family, the training program I'm in, and most of all myself. I am slowly adjusting to the pace of life here, and I have to remember to take time, and it will come as it is meant to come.

eidt: my new siblings!
edit 2: now with bonus host mother!

Delwin, listening to blues and jazz music last night

My Ma, Winifred, getting her hair braided by Munah, with Raj's help

Raj

Abigail

Royal