Life at the Front: Part III

In my last post, I implied that our first swimming attempt was a certified failure.  That's not entirely true.  (I did make the mistake of putting on sunscreen, which means that my painfully white winter skin stayed painfully white.)  There was one redeeming factor to it...I found some sea glass.  Behold the glory:

I haven't visited any of the “sea glass spots” where those beauties often end up, so perhaps my collection will grow to rival my previous one; few people have been “harvesting” sea glass since the missionaries were evacuated.

Before I launch into the two main points of this post, I must make a confession: some of my pictures don't fit into the general scheme of this article.  Accordingly, I'm just going to dump them here with captions.  Enjoy:

I CAN'T TAKE THE CUTENESS

Our neighbors brought us some almonds; they're thinner, softer, and longer than the almonds you find in the States.

A view of Peace Island from the highway; it's called an island because it's surrounded by swamp.

Pretty typical sign for the urban Liberian, although I've never seen anyone label their apartment before.

That one building at ELWA Junction is finally finished and functional.  I kinda like the clock to the upper left; it's a nice touch.

Done?  Okay.  The dump is over.

Several days after we arrived, we headed in town to go to Lonestar, one of the three major phone networks in Liberia.  Dad went in armed with the iPhones we acquired in the States, and at the end of the day, we got two of our three phones working on Liberian networks.

While we were in town, we saw a mind-boggling number of Ebola signs.  I took pictures of all of the ones I could; here's a selection.

This sign was across the road from Lonestar.

Even "NO LEMON", an automotive service center that focuses on post-war countries, got an Ebola facelift.

One of the main themes seems to be that “stopping Ebola is everyone's business”.  I think it's safe to say that a lot of the expat money pouring into Ebola relief has gone into mobilization and advertisements.

Not all the signs were about Ebola, obviously.  Here's a new Cellcom sign I find simultaneously hilarious and disturbing:

Uh...what?

On our way to Lonestar, we passed the “new Ministry of Defense”, as they call it, even though the building had been half-constructed decades ago, and abandoned during the civil war.  The site had been requisitioned for a large Ebola unit.

It was from one such unit that Liberia's only (some are calling it "last") case of Ebola was recently released.  News has been getting progressively better since we arrived; according to some secondhand information I obtained, there were around twelve unconfirmed cases when we arrived.  Last week there was just one confirmed case, the aforementioned woman who was cured and released.

Word on the street has been that Ebola finish from Liberia; still, everyone is being cautious.  One doctor told me that we have to prove it's not April, referencing the time period last year when Ebola slowed down drastically and opened the doors for a massive resurgence.

Part of the Ebola response is that I've been seeing a large number of helicopters.  Some appear to be run by the United States. Here's a glimpse of one I got with my phone, flying over ELWA:

Like I mentioned earlier, all of the expats are being very cautious.  Alex and Dad visited a Samaritan's Purse hub last week and the precautions were very thorough.  The bottoms of their shoes were sprayed with bleach, their temperatures were checked, and a “certification” was stapled to their clothes with their temperature and the date.  (As a minor collector of Ebola artifacts, I've half a mind to visit the SP office and get a certification myself, so I can save it for posterity.  I'll frame it beside my copy of “Time's Person of the Year - 2014”.)

Still, even in the midst of Ebola response, the normal rhythm of life is being reestablished.  Here are some familiar (and unchanged) places that I think you may appreciate:

Across the road from the entrance to the ELWA campus

The Exclusive!

The beach.  I think this deserves a virtual heart: <3

The painted palm trees.  For those of you who don't know, Liberians often paint trees and locales for Christmastime, to make everything look fine before the big holiday.

Business as usual at the house—it's a hot day, so naturally we've got the laundry out.

The lagoon, on the interior side of the bridge.  If you want to contextualize, pronounce it lah-GOON.

Also, the beach is still just as awesome as ever.  We went swimming for several hours yesterday, and it was glorious.

Before we left the States, some very generous people gave us what is called a “Watershot” case for iPhone.  It allows you to take pictures with your phone underwater, as deep as 130 feet.  (Not that I'm going to go that far down.)  Here's a picture of it:

During our beach trip, I took over 600 pictures with the Watershot, some above water, and some under the water.  (I deleted most of them, since underwater pictures tend to be blurry if you don't hold the camera still.  I ended up with 52 pictures total.)  I caught some pretty stunning stuff; here's a brief gallery, complete with captions.  Be very, very jealous.

Some of my favorite fish; they swim in small schools in the rockier parts of the bay.

I'm not sure what fish this is.  It's one of the more generic fellows that swim through from time to time.

I feel kind of like a submarine should come rumbling through here.  Oooooo-ummmmmm...

I caught this guy accidentally turning towards me and got a quick shot.  Not the clearest picture, but isn't it cool?  It tends to blend into the sand, save for the neon orange fins and a light electric blue streak running from the mouth to the gills.

Water pouring over one of the rocks, with the sunset behind.  You can see that, during the dry season, the sun disappears into the haze rather than the horizon.

Doesn't that foam look kind of delicious?  It's at this spot that we have a slightly dangerous game, of who can stay balanced on the rock the longest as the waves pummel us.  Falling off is pretty safe, however, since there's a deep spot just behind us that reaches seven or eight feet deep at high tide.  (This was taken at mid-tide, when the water was probably stomach-deep.  The waves that wash over the walk are gentler and don't really take much skill to withstand.)

I also got some quasi-artistic shots, and they were totally on purpose.  Really.

The little wave that could.  (On a serious note, I had no idea an iPhone could take such good pictures.)

I got Beth to take a picture of me (our goggles-strap was broken so I had to hold them to my face).  It's like sea-ception or something.  I feel proud of the artistic achievement.

Beth took a picture of her feet.

I took a dramatic picture of Beth framed against a sunset, sitting on a rock as the waves crash around her.  Slap a filter on it, and voila!  "This is real art, Emmet!  Dark and brooding."

Take a look at the beach; it's beautiful.

Ah, yes, Liberia.  It's good to be back.

–

About this series of posts: “Life at the Front” isn't sure what it's supposed to be, so it settled for part Ebola commentary and part missionary life, which ends up being pretty sporadic.

I'll be continuing this whenever possible, covering both the developments in my personal life and whatever news comes my way concerning the current Ebola outbreak. Including taking iPhone pictures of signs I've never seen before. (Guilty as charged.) My sisters tell me I look like a tourist. (Certainly not guilty as charged.)

But, I've got this notion in my mind that I'm writing down things that people are interested in. So I can afford looking slightly idiotic as I brandish my smart phone and fake a wide-eyed tourist look.

Dad and I are going in to Immigration sometime this week, so I should get enough story and picture fodder for Part IV—stay tuned!

Life at the Front: Part II (The Theo Post)

You know, I said previously that these posts focus on a cross between Ebola news and missionary life.  I wanted to do this primarily by narrating with a series of iPhone pictures, to give you an idea of what things are like in (almost) post-Ebola Liberia.

I plan to continue this approach.  However, I neglected to remember that a large number of my pictures focus on one very specific subject: the hilarious bundle of four-year-old energy known as Theo.

Obviously, this must be remedied.  Brace yourself.  (Some select captions feature Theo himself.)

–

Back in December, Theo broke his arm.  He had been jumping off of a pickup in one of his typically daring maneuvers, except this time it went a little too far.  He ended up having surgery and was shackled with an unwieldy cast.  (Theo didn't care for the cast too much, so one of his perpetual vices was to mess with it; one time he took it completely off while his mama was sleeping.)

Despite this, the little turkey was still hyperactive.  For instance, we brought him back a foam sword, which he has used to great delight.  (“Theo In Pictures” is a man after my own heart.)

Theo: "You and me, we had swords!  In the grass!"

His ninja moves were honed instantly, and he wreaked justice on our banana trees...with his cast still on:

(Note the bananas; we planted this tree last year, and it's getting close to producing!)

We took him to the beach a couple days after coming back, but that was a mistake with the cast.  He couldn't really swim, and the temptation to dunk his cast under the water was a little too much for him.  (He made it about twenty minutes without incident...but then it happened.  While I was watching him.  Oops.)

So maybe it wasn't the best idea.  We decided it would be better to wait for a full-on swimming spree till he had his cast off.

"That me!  And chicklet."  (On his way to get his cast off.)

"That me-o!"  (FREEDOM! Also, Brantlys, you'll be happy to learn that Stephen's ACU shirt is going to good use.)

So the day he got it off, we headed to the beach again, this time armed with snorkels and a camera.  Needless to say, Theo had a lot of fun.

"I splash the water - I make the water to go in Alice eye!  And mama looking like monster.  See, mama?  You look like monster."

Theo and Rebecca Epp, a friend of ours and a doctor who works at ELWA

(Frieda: Theo says he misses you!  He remembers you pretty clearly, probably the best as the owner of Mr. Fuchs.  Speaking of your “campus dog”, he followed us to the beach:)

What can I say?  Theo is the same Theo. Based on the antics he's had thus far, he's sure to feature in my later posts as well.

Catch you later...my man. *cool bike riding face*

"That me-o!  On my bike."

–

About this series of posts:“Life at the Front” isn't sure what it's supposed to be, so it settled for part Ebola commentary and part missionary life, which ends up being pretty sporadic.

I'll be continuing this whenever possible, covering both the developments in my personal life and whatever news comes my way concerning the current Ebola outbreak. Including taking iPhone pictures of signs I've never seen before. (Guilty as charged.) My sisters tell me I look like a tourist. (Certainly not guilty as charged.)

But, I've got this notion in my mind that I'm writing down things that people are interested in. So I can afford looking slightly idiotic as I brandish my smart phone and fake a wide-eyed tourist look.

Next up is Part III, which will feature dozens of new photos...including some ridiculously cool ones I took underwater.  Happy reading!

Life at the Front: Part I

A little crumpled but intact.

Shortly after I stepped off my Brussels Airlines flight and into the humid Liberian evening, I was handed a small pamphlet, three fold-out pages in length. “Welcome to Liberia!” it said, and without skipping a beat, the next line began, “There is an outbreak of Ebola.” It went on to cover the basics—what the disease is, how you contract it, what the symptoms are.

Just one of the many changes that have come to Liberia since I left. After getting off the shuttle bus—where I received my pamphlet—I was directed to wash my hands at a large fifty-gallon cooler with “EBOLA IS REAL” printed on it. I did so. (Why they would have incoming passengers wash their hands, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is to accustom travelers to the reality of the situation in Liberia—a little practice, maybe?) There was no place to dry my hands, so I patted them on my clothes and hoped it wouldn't bleach them.

It was an encouraging sign of progress, especially since the only public notices I recall when I left in early August was an “EBOLA IS REAL” banner strung across ELWA Junction.

Going in, a woman in scrubs checked my temperature and let me into the airport building. Getting through immigration and customs was thankfully brief, and by my count we had collected all twenty-three of our checked bags in record time. I won't spend long on the reunion that followed outside the airport, but suffice it to say that it was wonderful to see many familiar faces again (including the face of one ornery four-year-old.)

My bowl of joliff rice.  (I went back for seconds.)

We got back to our house and unloaded our luggage, piling them in the living room. (Most of them are still piled there; we're digging through the mountain bit by bit.) I ate (JOLIFF RICE—forgive my enthusiasm), showered, and hit the sack.

I woke up to rain the next morning, which is unusual in the dry season. But for an American readjusting to the hot and humid climate, it was a beautiful thing—I even had to pull on a sheet halfway through the night.

Going out that afternoon revealed even more changes. ELWA Hospital had been restructured in some ways, with new fences and tarps. The ELWA 2 unit was no longer hidden behind sheet metal; there was an entrance cut from the zinc with a banner hung to the left. (It read, “Welcome to ELWA-II Ebola Treatment Unit”, alternating between sinister block letters—“Ebola”—and a curvy “Welcome” to a place no one wanted to be welcomed to.) You can see it pictured below.

We went past it and out the middle entrance to the ELWA Campus, right beside MSF's ETU. For those of you who don't speak Acronymic, it was Medecins sans Frontieres—“Doctors Without Borders”—and their Ebola Treatment Unit. MSF has been doing much of the Ebola response since the outbreak began.

The MSF sign outside the ELWA Campus

A glimpse of ELWA-3, the world's biggest Ebola unit, through an orange fence.

While driving, we went past the Chinese ETU, which was up before any of the American units. (I'm not sure where the American units are, but I didn't see any American presence—there were Ebola response vehicles, but those were often UN or Liberian.)

One of our errands was to go up to the supermarket. We visited the Exclusive first, and had our temperatures taken and washed our hands with bleach water before going in. Handshakes, where they happened, were replaced with first-bumps and elbow-knocks. Still, we saw many familiar faces, and the store looked the same as always.

A sign at Rehab Junction, warning Liberians that Ebola is still on the prowl.

Yes, much of Liberia was the same as it was six months ago. There were some aesthetic things that changed, but everyone was out and about, buying and selling in the market, honking wildly, waving for taxis, manning their commercial stands on the side of the road. (That's a big phrase for a plywood shack and wares, but it works.)

However, everywhere we went, we saw many different signs of Ebola. (No, literally, look below: it's a sign of Ebola about signs of Ebola.) Billboards, banners, and even logos on cars.

One of the half-dozen signs posted about Ebola at ELWA Junction

An Ebola Task Force vehicle,
one of several Ebola-related vehicles I saw
while we were out.

I mean, an outsider might just take this in stride. Ebola was serious, people are working on getting it contained. Cool.

Except, save for that aforementioned banner over ELWA Junction, these are the first outward signs I've seen of the outbreak in Liberia, and I left in August—months after the outbreak began, and in the middle of the horrifying exponential growth that gripped the country for several months afterward.

Bike tires for sale near Rehab Junction

Now do you see it? To go from a solitary banner during a week in which there were fifty cases of Ebola to billboards and preventions everywhere is a solid indication of the progress that has been made. The huge drop in cases seen at the end of 2014 and the beginning of 2015 was not without reason. A massive campaign was launched to make sure the average Liberian knew Ebola was real, and even indoctrination can be good. In this case, the same things were repeated so often that they actually took root—Ebola is real, Ebola is dangerous, wash your hands and don't touch sick people.

I'm withholding full commentary, considering I've only been here a couple days. There are obviously exceptions. Dad went in to an electronics place yesterday afternoon without washing his hands, and then lectured the security officer afterward for neglecting to make him do so. (The security protested that he didn't think of it and didn't want to bother him.) Still, what I've seen so far is encouraging.

Moving on, there are other, subtler changes to Liberia. For instance, bicycles have made huge gains in the past several years. Today I spotted someone selling bike tires—common enough for regular tires, but it shows how prevalent bikes have become in Liberia. Also, just in case you don't know what gum is actually called, here's a sign correcting you:

What can I say?  It's good to be back. I'm only here for three and a half months, but it's going to be an awesome three and a half months.

I could say some rubbish about how our garden represents our lives—our banana/plantain trees are beginning to produce and our papaya tree is big-o—but that analogy would break down when it comes to the mess of weeds and abandoned plants we have beside the house. Suffice it to say that we're really moving forward and everyone feels renewed and chomping at the bit. 

Till next time! 

****

About this series of posts: “Life at the Front” isn't sure what it's supposed to be, so it settled for part Ebola commentary and part missionary life. Definitely a mix of styles. And it's also really sporadic, so sorry about that.

I'll be continuing this whenever possible, covering both the developments in my personal life and whatever news comes my way concerning the current Ebola outbreak. Including taking iPhone pictures of signs I've never seen before. (Guilty as charged.) My sisters tell me I look like a tourist. (Certainly not guilty as charged.)

But, I've got this notion in my mind that I'm writing down things that people are interested in. So I can afford looking slightly idiotic as I brandish my smart phone and fake a wide-eyed tourist look.

Happy reading.

Speaking of faking a wide-eyed tourist look...

The Board of Time Management Discusses Adulthood

When God created the world, he wanted to ensure that time went on as normal and that no one interfered with the inner workings; and he created a government for time, so that his creations in general couldn't get anything done.

Said government was called the Board of Time Management, and the Board met today to discuss a special case of human age, the most common topic of discussion before the Board. The person of question was the honorable Jacob “Jake” Buller, who is in the unfortunate position of turning eighteen on the Eleventh.

Debate opened on the floor with a filibuster from an existential philosopher who believed that age is a relativistic construction and doesn't in fact matter in human affairs. Having drank too much Diet Coke, he had to exit the filibuster to use the little boys' room, and discussion resumed on the grim topic of adulthood.

Normally teenagers attain adulthood automatically, a dubious practice, but this case required special consideration, since several board-members raised questions about Buller's general maturity and readiness for adulthood. He was already on their radar due to his queer writing habits, primarily of humor, and that he had other cases of age modification that already ran in the family. (His mother was granted pension by the Board to stay twenty-six for the rest of her life, and one of his siblings, a sixteen-year-old girl with medical aspirations, was accidentally given an irrevocable amendment to her mental age, causing her to have the mind of one who is thirty-two.)

The first half of the debate on whether or not to grant Buller the right to become eighteen started with the opposing party, who brought evidence to the table. (This group primarily consisted of people called, ironically, “old-timers”.) Video footage captured by the NSA showed Buller gallivanting about in a trench-coat on a cold November night, evidence of his relative insanity; more recent footage showed him dancing about his farmhouse to movie soundtrack. At this several of the members who witnessed this video had to be taken to a facility for the mentally unstable, as the sight was deeply disturbing.

Despite these images destructive to the reputation, much of the board was unmoved. Thus, the other side presented their case. While Buller was weirdly unique in some ways, they said, particularly in the fact that he possessed an odd sort of cheerfulness that is obviously unnatural in today's gritty and wonderfully realistic world, he is in fact no worse than any other teenager. As there are different species of Dog, Buller was simply a different species of Teenager, and ought to be rationed out his age accordingly.

Several members objected to this, and said that they strongly felt that Buller was not enough like the typical teenager to be allowed Adulthood in this way. He had neither the wonderful atmosphere of the modern high school to lift him up, nor the egotistic and monocultural American worldview which is essential to the American dream and American society. What is worse, they said, is that Buller had dared to speak out against American society and was recorded on Facebook showing intense disapproval and even vulgarity. Their example followed: "Society is a steaming heap of wormy feces crawling with decadence and shallowness."

The debate devolved from there, and many of the anti-Buller board-members defected to the pro-Teenager party, resulting in a debate on whether Buller should be allowed Adulthood as a Teenager or whether he should be given Adulthood because he didn't like it.

The vote is scheduled to take place shortly before midnight; pundits say that it is likely that Buller will become an adult to-morrow. What they are unsure of is whether it will be a gift or a punishment.

A Moody Pluto

Sometimes I have this nagging feeling that I live on a planet that is not my own, where all of a sudden the world takes on a different hue, as if the color of my lenses have changed; and everything that seems ordinary becomes extraordinary.

Take, for instance, the marvelous sensation of driving at dusk, in some lonesome and half-forgotten spot in central Kansas. The sun has set some time ago, and is sending out the last gasps of light to the horizon nearly choked by darkness. The crescent moon, thin as a needle, makes the dark circle it is tied to nearly tangible, if only I looked for it hard enough.

It is light enough enough that you can tell the grasses are there, but dark enough to where you cannot make out the individual tufts. Little swells of pastures and fields roll on into the world, to meet the dying horizon. It is the sort of landscape that I feel like requires a music of its own, a minor key from some haunting woodwind. An empty feeling starts in my stomach and goes up till it reaches my throat, and the world shifts.

It's as if I have a larger view, not quite a bird's eye but not quite a human's gaze. I can see the world gently turning on into the night, and the moon hanging above, mostly darkened; and this darkly blue sky rimmed with a dusty green horizon somehow seems like a different wrap entirely, a strangely foreign blanket over strangely foreign soil. The grasses darken, and the world looks like a moody Pluto, far from the sun and yet hanging onto existence.

The lonely wind sings over these hills with the slightest flavor of chill. It whispers to me that the whole land is empty; this is a new planet, and I have suddenly left the old one behind.

The minutes that pass are immeasurable, marked only by the emerging stars above; then the dusk dies, and the night comes on like a slow burn.

Then the vision leaks away from me, and gradually I hear the sounds of life again, seeping into my ears. Yet some measure of this sight, this lonely land with foreign hills, remains with me. And the next day, everything I've seen before has a different look to it—an aura of possibility, that this world I live on might have been a different world.

And somehow that makes me grateful that Kansas is, in fact, Kansas; and that I stand on rich brown soil rather than the windblown red of Mars.

Independent Contender Says He Will Create 200,000 Jobs for Kansas

WICHITA, KS – The race for Kansas governor is heating up as incumbent Republican Sam Brownback faces off against Democrat Paul Davis.

An unlikely contender has risen up against them, however, in the form of independent candidate Bill McDoothly. A Kansas native, McDoothly was born in Kansas and moved to Scotland for the first ten years of his life before coming back to the United States as a teenager. He quickly gained a reputation for accented brilliance in his rural community, and after graduating from a local college, climbed the political ladder with the speed of a freight train.

Now, he has his sights on nothing less than the governor's seat. “Aye, I think I've got a fair chance,” McDoothly says, in an exclusive interview with The Satirical Kansan. “Kansas has common sense. We're going down a political road that leads to a worse political road.”

When asked if his political ads were a little too “brash” and “ugly”, McDoothly took a strong stance. “Our experts have focused on creating a pushy smear campaign. There's a difference between pushy and ugly, and we're being pushy. I hired a writer last week that promises to come up with catchy insults, and I will be using those to full capacity in my next debate.”

His choice of policy may seem aggressive to some, but McDoothly believes strongly that his policy is the only way out for Kansas. “I can create 200,000 jobs for Kansas,” he says. “We can restore Kansas together. The governor has the right and the ability to completely take over the government in the form of firm leadership; and by providing 200,000 jobs, we can usher in a new age of prosperity for our beloved state.”

Despite his foreign accent, he views himself as home-grown. “I've got common sense and a strong back. I believe in Kansas, and I believe in the people of Kansas. We have values that everyone else in the United States has, and I believe in protecting those unique values. I sit around with a lot of random families, telling them of my political wonders, and I can feel the positive support they give me every day. I love my home state, and I would rather work here than anywhere else.”

McDoothly's first political ads, such as “Give Some Flak to Sam Brownback”, “Paul Makes Me Want to Bawl”, and “My Accent is Better Than Yours” debut on local channels later this week. “We're primed for victory,” McDoothly says. “All we need now is voters.”

Frank Discussion on Dihydrogen Oxide Addiction

“I've been drinking as long as I can remember,” Joseph remembers, clasping his hands in his lap. Joseph Weedy is a short guy, with corrective lenses and mouse-brown hair that tapers into short sideburns. He clears his throat and continues: “I think it started when I was a baby. My mom gave me dihydrogen oxide, or oxy as we called it. It was clear, tasteless, but utterly addicting. By the time I was two, I couldn't live without it. Scarcely a day could go by before I was begging my parents for more.” 

Joe is just one story out of many. Millions all across the planet are hopelessly addicted to this deceptive liquid drug. Taking it is simple: you get a glass from the nearest source—often as close as a sink or a fridge—and bottoms up. Many people take it dozens of times per day. Some more daring addicts try to drink it less often, but the withdrawals are devastating: within hours, your mouth dries out, and you start feeling weak. Sometimes this process, called dehydration, can lead to vomiting and diarrhea, and eventually leads to death.

This makes stopping an impossible task. Joe's tried before. “It was awful,” he recalls. “I stopped in the morning. By the time evening hit, I couldn't help myself: my hands trembling, I got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it up. When the glass was empty, my symptoms began to go away, but the knowledge that I couldn't kick this habit remained.”

Some enterprising characters have lobbied in Congress for the outlawing of this drink. “Drinking causes millions of people worldwide to have fulfilling and healthy lives,” one spokesperson said, the chairman of the National Nihilist Association. Their efforts remain fruitless, since oxy is an integral part of cultures worldwide.

There are many who think that dihydrogen oxide is, in fact, good for you. Joe dismisses this. “Oxy's an old disease. It's been around for a long time, and I guess it's a fairly harmless tradition. But traditions can hold us back, and I know for sure that there's a better liquid out there—one less constricting and better for you. We need to be free to drink what we want.”

Will scientists find a cure for the “H20” addiction? Many think that it's impossible. Regardless, drinking remains a crucial social problem in modern society.

“Look at both sides of the issue,” Joe says. “The NNA is just one of the many organizations trying to spread the word. We need as much tolerance and respect as both sides can muster, in order for the word to get out. Get educated, get involved, and help us find a cure for this old problem.”