For Christmas this year Tim and I headed out to a town on the coast of Liberia called Robertsport. Now getting there by SUV or private car wouldn’t be a big issue, just a couple hour trip, but where is the fun in that? Public transport like a Liberian is a much cooler option.
Our ride: Kakata -> Red Light: After clawing, biting, itching and scratching our way into a station wagon (think classic 90’s American version) we were 4 deep in the backseat, 3 up front. We pulled away, and then stopped on the side of the street. The driver opened up the back and let in another 4 for the back. Totaling 11, if you are keeping tabs. We were then stopped for the first time by Immigration and asked for our passports, which we don’t have because they are being processed for a Residents Visa. After attempting to get this point across for a good half hour and refusing to fall for the overly obvious bribe requests, we were let through.
Red Light -> Duala: We got 2 nice seats in the back of a van. We had somewhere between 20-24 in that at all times, but for the most part it was uneventful. Ride length: about an hour.
Duala -> Robertsport: The car of choice this time was a 1990’s Honda Civic type car. We were stuck in the backseat. The lineup in the back: Tim, another Liberian male, a very husky lady and her 10-year-old son, and me (now mind you, we have been told it’s a couple hour drive from here). At about 45 minutes in my left butt cheek and right hip started to lose feeling. We were stopped at 2 different immigration checkpoints and again spent a half hour trying to explain why we didn’t have passports. Our defense mechanisms for not paying cold water or Christmas’s (bribes) to the officers is simple, either play cheap “we work for charity” or play dumb “what is a Christmas? Merry Christmas!” Generally they get frustrated and give up. The last 45kms of the drive to Robertsport is on a clay road with numerous potholes, thus you crawl at a snail’s pace. When we turned onto the dusty road Tim naturally rolled his window up. The driver looked at him like he must be some sort of idiot. He said (and I kid you not) “no no, don’t roll it up. You will trap the dust in. You must leave the windows down so the dust can leave the car…” For the last hour of the ride it felt like I had a dislocated hip and a permanently damaged left gluteus maximus cheek. Please see pictures below to see how well the dust was able to “escape” the car.
In the long run, the pain was all worthwhile.
Just a couple of 1930s Dust Bowl Kids
Through some random luck, we were connected with an NGO that works in Robertsport and told they would have some extra space to stay. Upon arrival we learned that we had hit the jackpot. We were welcomed with open arms, and their location and house couldn’t have been cooler.
Their organization is called the Strongheart Fellowship Program. Essentially what they do is take the resilient kids who have been victim of some tragedies during the war, and give them a space and outlet to thrive. Their website does a much better job of explaining it than I could, so please visit to learn more:
http://www.strongheartfellowship.org/
The rebels occupied their house during the war. Nowadays it houses the Strongheart group; what a place to learn huh? The man in charge on site is a Nigerian guy named Timothy. Timothy has been all over the place in past couple of years so it was great getting to hear about his experiences with travel, working with different organizations, and just general insight on the world. Our meals were cooked by some of the Strongheart guys in the house; they have an incredibly ability to spin up a tasty meal no matter what the ingredients available.
View from the deck.
Looking left.
Front view.
The kitchen.
The main living room, a popular hangout.
Timothy in his favorite hammock.
A couple of the Strongheart fellows play on the local team. Over Christmas they held a Peace and Reconciliation Tournament between the local towns. After pleading, suggesting and begging I wasn't allowed to play (I would've been destroyed anyway). I did, however get to root the guys on. They lost in the semis but it was entertaining futbol.
Danet (#4) in on a tackle. He has asperations to play for Man U someday. As you can imagine, futbol or soccer is religion around here.
A nice sunset.
A couple gnarly shredders. Robertsport is a popular surfing destination for locals and those brave enough to weather the travel.
Tim catching a wave, riding the pipe, and probably doing a backflip at the end. In reflection on my surfing that day I would say I caught .53 waves (Trev, "no that wave wasn't right). Kelly Slater better watch out.
This is Momo. He is the 12-year-old neighborhood kid who seems to always be around. I am pretty sure we all had that kid growing up. Anyway, I want to take you to my Christmas Eve night. My prior 23 Christmas Eves have been spent with my Mom’s side of the family eating, drinking, hanging with family. Not this year… I looked down at my watch and it was 9:30pm. Tim and I have been trucking along in the sand following Momo and his other 12-year-old friend in the pitch black for about 25 minutes on the beach. “We have to get to the right spot.” I spent the next hour of my Christmas Eve watching two 12-year-olds try and teach Tim how to use only string and a hook to catch fish in some random lake in Liberia. I found it comical to compare the norm with my current situation.
At one point this was a very prestigious private school for girls. Like many things that signified wealth and prosperity, it was targeted by the rebels during the war. It's now a wasteland.
The view from the school overlooking the town.
The exact court where MJ got his start.
This is another part of the school, it appears to be where assemblies were held. It was built in the year 1900, and hopefully someday it will be restored and used again.
One last shot; as you can see, the Strongheart digs has a nice setup.
The is Isacc. The local artist and canoe carver. For that reason, people find him a bit odd. He was nice enough to show us his studio/house (whichever you prefer).
We all have our vices. He is just a bit more... artistic about it.
Bonus points for the supersoaker.
He's a deep dude.
I wanted to reach out to you all and see if you or anyone you know may be interested in coming and volunteering at Strongheart. They are looking for someone to come teach from January to April at their house. Your curriculum doesn’t have to be anything specific and you can cater it towards what you feel is important and will help the kids. You would live in the house where we stayed on the beach (rough life, I know). I truly believe in this organization and what it is doing for these guys. So, if you have any interest in not only a great resume booster, but living and spending some time with these awesome people living literally on the beach then please email me for more details. In the spring/summer, the organization is being moved to Texas so this would be your only opportunity to live literally on the beach.
It's worth thinking about...
Here's to 2011 and a better 2012. Happy New Year!
