It is in this corner of Liberia where I've been getting my
NGO on. Baseline surveys, questions lost in translation, smiles at accents not
completely understood. Under the unforgiving afternoon sun, it can be slow and
tedious work. But there is something like strength in embracing the unfamiliar,
trusting the process, and fighting to win.
The goal: organize local communities to receive formal ownership
papers from the State for their customary lands. Land that has no title or
deed, simply worked and lived upon for generations. As we seek to build the
capacity of communities to manage their land and natural resources, establish
community governance structures, and harmonize boundaries with neighboring
clans, I realize we are talking about something revolutionary.
The importance of protecting rural land ownership rights
rests, in part, on peacebuilding. These efforts are equally tied to sustainable
development, social justice, and food security. The larger context is a national
and global land rush with community land being sold off to foreign investors,
with claims that few benefits are being distributed locally. The added nuance
is that communities rightfully want basic social services – roads, schools,
clinics, latrines, and employment – and are at times quick to sign agreements
with companies.
The journey to the bush is an adventure in itself. Leaving
Monrovia behind, the asphalt quickly turns to mud as the countryside extends
its open arms. Wrestling the road ensures a constant jostle – back and forth,
up and down. Any moment could mean being stuck in six feet of mud for who knows
how long. There are times when the bush swallows the dirt path we are passing
along, leaving green simply everywhere. After six hours my lower back begins to
howl, thankful for our arrival.
The simplicity of life is tough, captured through clichés of
young children carrying water along blazing paths. Here your cell phone is of
no use. Electricity and sanitation are virtually nonexistent. Such realities
demand reflection on the inequalities that persist in our modern age, and the
benefits of balanced living.
I can remember the first time entering remote villages in
the Himalayas: the sweeping sense of estrangement I felt. This time village life doesn't seem so stark or particularly romantic. This time it’s just life lived
daily. Here there are village elders,
town chiefs, and forefathers to consider. At times, the bushmeat can seem
excessive, the war stories – jarring. But the constantly candid conversations, strong
social commentary, and laughter, ensure that the learning is endless.
The setting sun signals people’s return from their farms.
Hearty smiles and handshakes initiate our gathering as we once again re-engage
communities on our joint land protection efforts. As our discussions go into
the night, I tilt my head all the way back to be assaulted by an unending
canopy of stars. Deep in the cut years are added to the spirit. Providing
guidance from above, they remind me I am here in Liberia to learn certain life
lessons. Lessons I do not understand right now, but will prove invaluable in
years to come.
Under the night sky, my thoughts try to keep up with all
that has happened in the past few days. The kindness shown from strangers, the
impassioned pleas against promises not kept, and the changing face of rural
existence. Exhausted, I am given a bed that will be my refuge for the next few
hours. I take comfort in knowing there is value in all that has passed, and
everything yet to come.
