The fading light brings relief to another hot day. Four
triangles of thatch consistently meet at the tops of homes and outdoor kitchens.
A pot sits precariously balanced on two mud-bricks sending up smoke over fire. The
glowing wooden sticks burn bright orange before turning to the ash we all
eventually become. Children howl as their mothers bathe them under the evening
sky with water collected from a nearby creek. Straight from God to Man the trees are tapped
for wine.
Walking through the bush has become a daily observance. Surrounded
by forests, echoing many shades of green – bamboo reed, palm tree, cassava leaf
– I am reminded of summers at my grandparent’s house in India. It was at the
foothills of the Himalayas where I first fully explored dense green hallways
and corridors. On these journeys memories come rushing back and I quickly get
lost in my own jungle of thoughts.
This is my eighth – and at two weeks, longest – trip to rural
Rivercess County. Leaving my insecurities behind in the city, I find myself
surprisingly more at ease now for the first time in Liberia. With no electricity,
phone signal, or means of communication, being cut off forces a mindset of complete
presence. Willingly or not, I am discovering discipline in daily practice –
controlling the mind and enjoying the little things.
The days revolve around our mission to organize rural communities
to protect, document, and govern their land and natural resources. Calling
meetings between clan chiefs, community people and traditional elders we seek
to establish local ownership over the process. With large-scale land acquisitions(land grabs) on the rise, rural communities’ abilities to retain control over
their customary land is being comprised. Building connections with our
collaborators on the ground, I am starting to find my feet by stressing the
importance of strong organizing practices, dedicated workplans, and a commitment
to the land – and the People.
But operating in the cut means being flexible to the
schedule of farmers. Between community meetings there is plenty of time to
read, write, and explore. There are also the lively debates that rage between
our teammates. Sitting under a magnanimous mango tree or thatch-roofed kitchen the
loud, spirited – and sometimes, heated – discussions are endless. We cover nearly
everything: competing conceptions of love, the impact of colonialism on Africa
(and India), and War.
It helps that I have
picked up enough Liberian English to sharpen my arguments. Our banter reflects
the diversity of our life experiences. The phrases and colloquialisms roll off
the tip of my tongue as I joke with friends and strangers alike with an ease built
up over the past six months.
Deep in the cut, the adventure don’t seem to stop either.
Like the other day when our jeep’s wheels fell through a bridge, getting stuck
for hours. Or the night when a giant scorpion scurried in our midst sending
grown men screaming to go home. And the mice that occasionally fall on top of
me from the thatch-roofs while I sleep.
Despite my awkward screams in the night, I have grown
accustomed to the environment, using the generous spaces of time for
self-reflection and self-improvement projects. There is nothing like fresh
pineapple or coconut on a blistering day. And while I do not eat everything
around, I can devour fried plantains cooked with pepper and ginger, and swallow
fufu until my stomach is satisfied.
Making a conscious effort to bond and build relationships
with community members has added color and context to the journey. Sometimes I
can’t help but smile and shake my head at the scenes and stories playing out in
front of me. But as each day passes it lets me know that I am growing with it.
Half-way into my time in Liberia I have found a new sense of
comfort. While acknowledging the fragility of this feeling, there is a
familiarity between me and the people and the trees. Deep down I understand
that each moment I spend in the bush I am building strength. Strength that will not only see me through the
rest of this journey, but will inform everything to come after. The releasing
tension in a handshake culminating in a snap of fingers – the ubiquitous
Liberian greeting – helps put the pieces together inside of me. Finding their
way I can sense they are cementing lessons learned – and in the process forming the foundation of something like greatness.
