A Pocket Full of Seashells

With a pocket full of seashells jangling, we tread over sand and surf. With each step, our surroundings come alive. To one side is the Atlantic Ocean – waves crashing – undeterred by human existence. To the other – the world turns with breezy palm groves, busy villages, and new millennium homes. My eyes swallow their share of Liberia’s beauty.

Grinding bare feet into wet sand, I quickly lose myself in thoughts of the future. In a walking daydream, I marvel at the grand structures in front of me. I picture my own home one day: there are rooms with bookshelves, large windows filter the natural light streaming in from outside. Perhaps, I too will boast a balcony towards the sea.  After all, dreams are free to be dreamt by the many. 

Every so often I stop to pick up a glint that catches my eye.  My comrade laughs at me, wondering what I plan on doing with my newfound treasures. Little does he know I haven’t thought this far ahead.

We walk mainly in silence, steadily maneuvering stretches of sand. Soon we come to a giant excavation site with tire tracks leading away. Illegal sand mining: a reminder that despite the luxury of a few, life remains a hustle.

We don’t break stride climbing over sand dunes to higher ground. For the first time since arriving in Liberia, the immediate sense of urgency about my mission is elsewhere. Land grabs, community titles, and unfair agreements take a backseat for a few hours. Right now, the sun beats down on my back, the sound of children plays in my ear, and a feeling of triumph washes over me.

But it all keeps moving. Tomorrow brings a public forum on land rights at the University. And then a return to Rivercess – a place where my dreams can be their most vibrant. Deep in the forest, there are questions of how a country so naturally rich can struggle with providing basic social services? It’s then I remember the lyrics that played non-stop during my youth: “What we don’t know keeps the contract alive and moving.”

The setting sun signals our return. Through neighborhoods of thatch and zinc, we pass the skeletons of unfinished homes. Tall, green grass guards these concrete shells. Outside, big walls separate one reality from another. But dreams of the future don’t know the meaning of such boundaries. Instead, they seep through the cracks, connecting the realities of today with our hopes for tomorrow.

As my pockets hang low with treasures, I return home to see what I’ve collected. Scattering shells, seeds, and stones on my dresser, I try and translate what is front of me. I shift around these un-deciphered hieroglyphics, searching for some message.

Maybe it is as simple as realizing that the natural wealth and beauty of the world belong to everyone. That land – the single most important resource for agrarian societies – should benefit the people.  And those benefits should be distributed to ensure prosperity and dignity for all.