For those that don't know, I will be approaching 25 here in a few months, so it's only right that I am allowed a quarter life crisis. I have no girl friend, my employment is going to run dry in about a month, so clearly I need some responsibility. What is the most cliche way to dip your toe into responsibility without over doing it? A pet chicken of course! Meet Winnie or Winfird if you prefer his full name. We mentioned that we wanted a chicken to Bandu (our cook) and sure enough the next day she brought Winnie, legs tied up in a plastic bag.
Winnie has an identity problem. He thinks he is a person. He sleeps inside. He often walks in the guesthouse during the day and will take a seat on a chair. Above: he strolled in to the kitchen and was grabbing some leftovers. Note: for those that are wondering, I am not raising him to eat him. That's just barbaric. Unfortunately I don't think they are going to let us bring Winnie through customs and I don't think Liberians will see him as a pet and not dinner... Sorry.
CMB (Cash Money Boy) don't a little anti-termite painting on the wood.
Complete finished look of the walls.
The roof is beginning to take shape.
The carpenter in action. Bonus points for the Starbuck's barista look.
Most of our deliveries are done through Uncle Sam (the irony of the name was not lost on me) and his truck. We roll around and even Liberians make fun of it for its beater qualities. But, I like it; it has character.
I still can't figure out seasons here. There are 2 seasons, a dry and a rainy. It's dry season, but the leaves are following off the trees and it's still scorching during the day.
I know what you are thinking because I thought it too, "Ohhhhhh, what a cute kid." Yes, I agree. Until he gets going, then it's like Dennis the Menace mixed with Kevin McCallister and that redheaded kid from Problem Child all stirred up into one. Never judge a book by its cover. His name is Rash (pronounced Razz) but I quickly renamed him Taz. They aren't familiar with the Tasmanian Devil over here, but it's a fitting nickname. His mom is helping around the house so he has been around for the last couple weeks.
Taz finally collapses after receiving a ruthless spanking session (the spanking sessions in Liberia are no joke, it's called "making his butt hot"). He cried on the floor until he realized no one was listening, and then passed out. Pretty epic if you watched it all unravel. I promise I am not a cruel person.
Harrison's son Waka. My favorite cry baby of all time.
It's good to be scared and pushed from time to time, and I had my moment a few weeks back. It was a Sunday afternoon and Tim came out of his room looking like he was ready for an adventure. I asked him what he was doing and he loosely said, "I am going to go check out the jail," (it's down the street from us). My deep fear of missing anything and just general curiosity thought I will go along too.
What I didn't know and would soon find out, was that Tim didn't just want to go take some pictures of the outside of the building and head home. He had a calling, and he wanted to go visit the actual prisoners. So, as we walked up he knocked on the door and they open up and let us in. Tim and brought some food along, so they made him test it to be sure it wasn't poisonous. Then the guard told us to walk across the yard to "where the other guards were." Now this is an open prison field with plenty of prisoners just walking around. I have watched way to many crappy movies and shows to be comfortable with this situation. I would love to say I didn't have any worries, but I almost soiled myself is much more accurate. A third world prison is pretty much what you would expect. The cells are packed (often 15-20 prisoners per cell) and the scent is piercing. It's dark, depressing and dreary.
Anyway, we ended up getting to meet pretty much all of the prisoners (there were about 70 there that day). Some prisoners were arrested and have been waiting for trial for multiple years, and their families don't know where they are. I didn't think it was possible to become more popular than I was with the little kids on the road, but I was wrong again. Tim and I have since been back a couple different times (with food) and the "Tim and Justin are here" can be heard long and far away. It's been a rewarding experience for me. We have learned that for the most part, all the prisoners want is to know someone cares about them. Oh, and there are a few of them that would like an iPod, my hat, and my shirt.
