Saturday morning my boss and I visited an orphanage. The children were surprisingly well-disciplined and approached me one by one. They said hello, but the rest of our interaction was mostly non-verbal. They just wanted to touch me and be touched. For the next two hours, we sat there and just held each other. There was a 1 year old baby boy named Noah that I just couldn’t let go of. He had big, sad eyes and a quiet demeanor. When I laid him down to put him to sleep, he rolled over on his stomach with his eyes still open and started crying without making noise. All those things that I thought mattered in life. My education. My career. My goals. All of it seemed so unimportant for those two hours. All these children wanted and needed was affection. I was so emotional that I couldn’t look into a child’s eyes for more than a brief moment. I couldn’t really talk. I could barely smile. I seriously thought that I could live with these children for the rest of my life. I would be so happy just making sure that each kid was hugged and kissed before they went to bed. It was a passing, irrational thought, of course, but it reminded me of how I need to keep myself in the field and never distance myself too much.

The children were fascinated by my glasses, nose ring, and hair. They kept saying, “Real hair. This is real hair.” I would then have to tell them that they have real hair too and that it’s just as pretty as mine.

There are a total of 29 kids in this particular orphanage, ranging from 18 months old to 8 years old. There are a total of 115 orphanages registered in the entire country, and of those, 90 are planning to close. I also found out that there is a specific reason for “lack of funding.” Many of these orphanages are not providing even the most basic services or infrastructure, but all the while making a profit from the funding that they receive from the government. More importantly, orphanages have become the primary site for trafficking, rape, drugs, and abuse. So it is not that funding is lacking per se, but that funding is being deliberately cut by the government for non-compliant and mismanaged orphanages. Equally interesting is that the ministry estimates that at least 50% of the children have parents or immediate family, but they are either unwilling or unable to take care of their children. So the ministry is in charge of evaluating each and every one of these orphanages, doing psychosocial evaluations of all the children who currently live in orphanages that are to be closed, and trying to reunite the “poverty” orphans with their families who mostly reside in the rural counties. From Thursday through Saturday, we will be visiting orphanages in the rural counties, so I’m very excited to be getting out of the capital city.

That same night, my boss was invited as guest judge for a beauty pageant so she, her aunt, and I got dressed up and headed to the city hall where the beauty pageant was to be held. The pageant, I realized, was actually a kind of a prom for students from 4 different universities so everyone was dressed up. After a 2 hour delay, the pageant finally started. The first 30 minutes were entertaining. The next 5 hours (I’m not exaggerating, we were at the pageant for 7.5 hours) were the slowest 5 hours of my life. The majority of the program was pretty much like a strip show that later turned into a dance off between the different schools. There was “entertainment” in between the appearances, which involved a bunch of dudes in fake bling coming on stage and lip-sync-ing (?) to top 40 hip-hop from 5 years ago. The aunt (who I now call auntie) was sitting there just ripping apart all the contestants, which provided a little bit of relief, but both of us were giving the death stare to our boss for having brought us there. By 5 am, everybody was drunk, naked, and dry humping. Around 6 am we finally got back to the hotel that auntie owns and passed out. It was really like a big slumber party, with the three of us getting ready together for the pageant, sleeping in the same bed, watching movies, waking up and rolling around all afternoon.

Auntie decided to call me Chinese-African girl, which is just wrong in so many ways. There is actually a huge Chinese presence here, but they don’t have such a good reputation. Apparently they just built a new embassy that is so huge that Liberians call it the China village. Anyways, Liberians definitely have had more exposure to Asians than an average African would in another country. So when auntie first saw me, she said, “You have a behind for a Chinese girl. You keep eating the way you do, eating all that foufou, you’ll become full African by the time you leave.” Since then, she’s been calling me Chinese-African girl every single time. Auntie is certainly not the only one that has commented and it seems that everyone agrees that I just need to gain more weight to make my half-African butt a full one.

Sunday afternoon we went to a cousin’s house for an amazing dinner. It was amazing because they had really good salad. And good chicken. And good collard greens. It was like Thanksgiving. We ate and drank for hours.

I haven’t had internet for the past two days and it seems that I’ll have very irregular access from this point on. With the travels coming up this week, I probably won’t post another entry until the end of this week!

I went out with the foreigners last night. I found out that I had been living with a recent SIPA grad from Nigeria all this time at my temporary residence. He and other UNICEF staff, consultants, and fellows went out to dinner and shared experiences. It seems like Liberia will be a great place to network professionally since it’s so saturated with foreign workers.

I went into the town center this morning to accompany Reuben, the administrative assistant who is now one of my closest co-workers. He introduced me to the head commissioner at the Liberian Embassy, who promised me unlimited re-entry into Liberia for free! The city center was pure chaos of course, but I would have to come back and explore it on foot rather than vehicle.

When I got back to the office, there was a 19 year old girl named Princess (it’s her actual legal name), who wanted her son Obama to be adopted by another Liberian couple. Obama is now 7 months old, but Princess is already pregnant with another child. After a yelling match that involved mostly screaming at Princess to get her tubes tied, the social worker and my boss finally filled out the necessary paper work and sent her on her way.

Orphanages and adoption are huge national issues at the moment. First of all, orphanages are closing due to lack of funding and the ministry is in charge of coordinating the reunification with relatives or birth parents, which is preferable to domestic or international adoption. However, because many children have been trafficked into orphanages and internationally adopted by unknowing parents (mostly westerners), adoption has now been suspended. So today we started developing intake forms for social workers to fill out during visits to orphanages that are about to close.

The rest of the afternoon was spent interviewing social workers for the new Peace Building Project. A total of 80 social workers will go into the rural communities and finally start referring returning refugees and war victims to appropriate social services. Their salary is a meager $100 a month. Once hired, they will be trained by our ministry, which I am totally excited about. The interviewees range from fantastic to not fantastic at all. It was like American Idol, really. The crazies and out of controls, the comedians, the talkers, the shy and painfully awkward ones…

I stepped out to get some lunch at the ministry cafeteria. The lunch lady is Mrs. Margaret. She’s big, loud, old, and barely understandable. When I asked her for food, she said no more food left for ministry workers unless we’re a part of the professional training that was going on. Then she called me into the kitchen, had me squat down next to her, and gave me a plate to eat anyway. I think she was trying to hide me from the rest of the ministry people. As I gulped down my first glass of Liberian tap water, I gained my official approval from Mrs. Margaret. We’ll see how long it takes for my stomach to react now…

In the evening I dropped off my luggage at my boss’s house and we headed to a soccer game. She made a phone call to a good friend who was able to get us VIP tickets. He rolled in with his SUV, blaring Jay-Z. He used to be a banker in the states and has now returned to Liberia for the rebuilding, working for its central bank. We arrived at the stadium and got seated two rows away from the President! Soccer games are really a must experience in Africa. The energy was insane. The rain was pouring down and the crowd was roaring the entire time. We could only stay for half of the match, however, out of fear that the Liberian national team would lose and that the security situation would get out of hand. We then came back home, drank some wine, and relaxed. This housing situation with the boss is going to work really well =)

Side note: I already started my weight gain. Pants are barely fitting. The Liberians love it. They’re on a mission to make me bigger. And I have some good pictures. Will post them when I have a better internet connection.

My boss! Oh my boss. So I forgot to describe my very first interaction with her. She yells at me to go into her office, then slams the door on a woman’s face who was trying to barge in. She then tells me that she’s really a nice person but that sometimes some people cross the line. She constantly puts people on the spot, has an amazing sense of humor, doesn’t hesitate to just grab food out of people’s hands for herself … Men literally have their head down with hands in between their legs when they talk to her. She emasculates both men and women viciously yet somehow manages to balance it with her humor and maternal qualities. For those of you who were with me in Senegal, she’s like Anne-Marie times three if you can even imagine. The things that she says are absolutely hilarious, although she could really say anything and it would still be funny. For example, she said this morning, “I’m not trying to make anybody rich but me.” Whatever the context, who says that?

She offered to rent out her room to me this morning. I briefly hesitated at the thought of living with my boss, but professionalism has been completely redefined by my experience at Planned Parenthood (in a very positive way). Really, professionalism is and should not be mutually exclusive with keeping personal life private, at least in the social services field. She lives on the “other side of town” with the rest of the “social welfare people” (the health ministry staff constantly shake their heads and mumble, “oh, those social welfare people…” and suck their teeth). We’ll all be commuting to and from work together. So my housing situation is finally settled then. Not a “family” setting per se, but like so many of my past living experiences, I’ll be with an outspoken single woman (my Senegalese grandma had been widowed for over 20 years, my Ecuadorian mom was abandoned by her husband, and I haven’t quite figured out what my boss’ situation is other than the fact the she is a single mother) who will yell at me incessantly and take care of me all at the same time.

Equally exciting is the fact that she’s close friends with the president (president Sirleaf) and her family. She was talking about a private dinner party that she attended with the president last night and she described the president as a ball-breaking lady in her 70s that intimidates even my boss herself. Can’t wait!
Today we went to the police station. Once we got there she asked me what happened to Maurice? I told her that she left him at the parking lot of the Ministry. She does this often. She’ll ask for people that she left behind either on purpose or by neglect. Anyways, we accidentally walked through the “exit” and the guards made us come back out and go through the “enter” side of the door. We met the head of the women and children protection office, who presented us with a trafficking case. The social workers, the department of social welfare (us), the police department, the parents, and the victim all sat down for two hours and had the craziest, most productive discussion together. Long story short, the handicapped girl had been abused by her father, but the social workers mishandled the case because the girl was 17 at the time of abuse and still a minor, and then the parents were trying to take her out of the group home accusing the social workers of kidnapping and trafficking. After coherent conversations, yelling matches, and crying, each of us (Yes, including me. My boss totally put me on the spot) went around and expressed our final opinion and came to a conclusion. Somehow there was a balance between something that resembled community justice in which the most respected (for example, the aunt of the victim who was the family mediator) informally came to a conclusion and a more modern justice system in which staff from different fields followed through with official protocols to complement the former decision. Meanwhile outside there was constant shrieking from a rape victim who had just come into the station.

Other random things:

-I found the most amazing yoga class. Since my instructor in Seattle I haven’t found a good one, but this yoga instructor was amazing and I got a great workout last night. Combined with some running and jump roping, I think I’ll be able to stay in decent shape.

-Oh, an example of the Liberian accent: “We-yi-ah?” means where are you at… imagine entire sentences being spoken in that incompleteness with a West African accent..

-I love love love the smell of Africa. Every African country I’ve been to, it smells the same. It’s intoxicating. It smells a little of dirt and of something burning…?

First day at work

At 1pm yesterday, someone from the ministry came to pick me up. It was the saddest thing saying bye to the receptionist who had adopted me for the past 12 hours. She started yelling at the ministry person, of which I couldn’t understand a word, and then she gave me a big hug.

We headed to one of the ministry staff’s apartment where I would be temporarily living until I find a more long-term place. I spent the entire day exploring the neighborhood. Other than a small population of Liberian elites who came after the war and foreign workers, everybody else lives in abject poverty. The division between the two groups continues to surprise me even though I logically understand that this country is recovering from war and that the socioeconomic inequalities are probably the most pronounced in the entire world.

It poured so hard all night that it kept me up for hours. When I woke up the sky was completely clear and it was like seeing Monrovia for the first time again. Monrovia has the most beautiful coast line and lush landscape. I could see how Liberia was once considered to be one of the most promising and beautiful countries before its long civil war.

And then I started work. I couldn’t believe that a day ago I felt like an adopted refugee and here I was in my suit up at 7:30am being introduced to the Ministry members. I LOVE my boss. I love Liberian women really. They are the sassiest, most sarcastic, and outspoken people. Most of the staff are Liberians that were educated abroad and embody both passion for their country and amazing competence despite the chaos and lack of resources that plague the ministry. They break out into serious and ridiculously focused conversations about both the logistics and philosophical aspect of different programs.

I don’t have concrete responsibilities, but here’s what I have as of today: I’ll be accompanying staff members out to the field, develop and finalize different policies (social welfare policy, mental health policy, etc), help with the departmental reform (revising terms of references, re-interviewing staff members that either lead to a promotion or demotion), etc. I attended a meeting on the new mental health policy, in which I was reaffirmed of the importance of budgeting and particularly of including printing costs. Printing paper seems to be privilege not even endowed to the Deputy Minister. When technology is lacking, printing paper can be everything to carry out a program. I also observed that WHO and UN documents provide so much of a foundation/template for developing countries to base their national policies on. Related is the realization that a post-conflict situation can provide a unique opportunity for a country to start completely anew. As long as they do their research and take advantage of pre-existing documents that were created by international organizations such as the UN, they have the advantage of incorporating lessons learned and not having to start from scratch. All of this of course I read during my first year at SIPA but to see how it actually plays out?! Plus there’s been so much criticism pointed towards the UN, but after today I really don’t think they’re as useless.

I, of course, have expressed strong interest in gender-based violence issues and will be working closely with the GBV person at the department who will be returning from a trip to the rural areas next week. Being the dork I am, I squealed when I saw the poster with the slogan “stop sexual exploitation and abuse, no sex for help, no help for sex.” I had written a paper on GBV and complex emergencies last semester and cited precisely this Liberian program as a model for other countries to follow. It’s weird how life works out. It’s so nice to work directly and specifically with countries and programs that I once wrote about only with a vague idea.

There are actually quite a few interns here. Most of them seem to be post graduate and Ph.D. students doing research. All of the foreigners, including interns, NGO workers, and UN personnel really to stick to each other. Consequently, their presence and life style drive up prices. On average a foreigner or Liberian elite will pay $1000 for shared housing and $7-10 for lunch. That’s pretty much NYC prices, I would say. Anyways, it’s been an active struggle trying to get away from all this madness. As I was heading to lunch with the interns, I spotted one of the administrative assistants and practically forced him to take me to lunch with him. He took me to this alley stall and I had a dish called cassava leaves. It’s a super spicy dish with lamb fat, fish that is mostly bone, and shrimp stewed in cassava leaves. It actually wasn’t that bad. And it only cost $1.25. When I got back the ministry staff overreacted as expected and started yelling at him for feeding me street food.

So, summary: work is AWESOME, I’m still looking for housing (not giving up hope on finding a Liberian family despite people’s pessimism for it), weather is humid and rainy, food is great so far, no problems with mosquitoes or cockroaches yet, and security situation is excellent.

Hello, Monrovia

I'm here in Monrovia. My ride was not at the airport, unfortunately, and I started panicking. Very quietly to myself. A dude, named Lansana, approached me and offered to take me into the city for free. After finding out that he actually works with refugees for a non-profit organization and after having felt him out more, I decided to accept his offer with no other real options available. After an hour drive and jamming to Mariah Carey in the car, we tried looking for the few hotels close to the city, but they were completely booked. One seemingly mean looking receptionist lady, who turned out to be the nicest EVER, took pity on me and let me sleep next to her on the hotel lobby floor. Then there was a shift change and another receptionist lady took over in the morning, who was also ridiculously nice. She brought me coffee (Nescafe, woohoo!!) and breakfast. She snuck me into one of the guest's room so that I could take a shower, and helped me track down the Ministry. Somebody will actually be picking me up at the hotel this time.

I took a quick walk outside this morning and the kids are sooo freakin cute. They're sooo friendly. Liberians seem much more accustomed to foreigners than what I saw in other parts of Africa, so I seem to be able to walk around without too much harassment or attention.

It is raining of course. And super humid.

I barely understand anyone when they speak. It doesn't sound like English at ALL. I have a much easier time communicating in French with other French speaking Africans.

I'm going to go out for another walk now. I'm excited to try some Liberian food today!! I'm also going to take some pictures and post them while I have reliable electricity and internet at this hotel that I was never formerly a guest at.

I'm out!

I'm leaving for the airport in 30 minutes. Everything in one luggage. Savored my last bite of cold, fresh yogurt and a strong cup of coffee.

I have someone picking me up from the airport and a temporary place to stay.

There hasn't been electricity there for some time, so emails and blog entries will be put on hold for a few.

Love and Peace

Pre-traveling

Went to visit Little Liberia in Staten Island yesterday in search of contacts who could potentially set me up with housing and transportation from the airport into the city, which is a one hour drive. I'm arriving at 2:30am in Monrovia, but public transportation is not guaranteed. Of course I could make friends on the flight over to Monrovia, but it seemed like too risky of a plan even for me, so I decided to go do some recon in little S.I. I took an express bus, which apparently requires a prepaid $5 metrocard or $5 in exact change (yes, change as in coins), which I certainly didn't have, so the bus driver was nice enough to take a $1.10 donation and let me on the bus. He told me that I looked tired and that I should take a nap and that he would wake me up when we arrived at Targee Street stop in S.I. The express bus took about 45 minutes.

Little Liberia was a 10 minute walk away from the bust stop, but Little Liberia in its entirety took 10 minutes to walk around. It was basically a bunch of low-rise projects, a dollar store, a "west African" restaurant that is actually more Senegalese than Liberian, and a Liberian grocery store. I was rapidly losing faith but then found a non-profit organization in the middle of the projects that offered job placement, health education, and a bunch of other services that seemed randomly grouped together.

They were having "technical issues" and didn't have any electricity in the office so I walked into a completely dark room full of men. I thought to myself, "what, are we already in Liberia? how do you not have electricity?!" The rest of the afternoon I spent talking with each of those men. 4 older Liberian gentlemen and a wonderful Senegalese dude who was providing social services to the West African community in S.I., including Liberians. First guy was the executive director of the organization who told me that the organization was in part funded by the Mailman school of public health. SCORE. The second dude was a Columbia Business school alumni, whose brother is a member of the Liberian Parliament who would be eager to help me out, although he lives a little bit ways from the Ministry of Health where I need to be commuting to. Still SCORE. Third guy worked at the Ministry of Health himself and said that his ex-superior is currently the associate minister of Health. SUPER SCORE. He then went out and bought a phone card and called this ex-superior, who said that she had actually read my c.v. and was excited to meet me. Unfortunately she planned to travel out of the city for the next two weeks but she said she would get back to us in the next two days. The 4th dude just sat there and talked in a crazy Liberian accent. The Liberian accent is English spoken in a Senegalese French accent. Sorry, but it's the only reference I have!

After hours of conversation, the Senegalese dude asked me if I wanted an HIV test... He needed to fulfill his quota for the day so I consented. After a fake counseling session, I gave him some feedback, but I thought he really did a great job so there wasn't too much room for improvement.

How likely is that I would just walk into this office and find exactly the people that I needed? I was totally counting on it, but it was nonetheless a nice surprise. For probably the second time, I really really got excited about going there, which I so needed because I've actually been feeling nervous. They don't have ATMs, they don't take credit cards, it rains all the time (second most wet country in all of West Africa), and... that's about all I know.

But what a fabulous pre-travel experience. Hopefully I'll have housing figured out before I leave in two days! Keep your fingers crossed for me.