Departure

+18:00 Monrovia~

My time in Africa is nearing the end. But even the efforts to return to America was filled with a new outlook on life.

The concept of scheduling and living with plans is virtually lost for most Liberians. There are basic schedules; keeping track of the school year, knowing when Christmastime is approaching, and when to plant/harvest crops. But for the most part there is no need to keep a schedule. I learned this on our way back to Monrovia.

On Monday morning, Joe went to the "parking," a central location for taxis and other transportation services, to find a car bound for Monrovia. After waiting two hours, he returned to the Pastor's house empty-handed. He said there was only one car going to Monrovia and it already had people in it. We waited throughout the day for the car, but as the sun stretched over the African sky, no car was willing to take the trip. Instead of spending my day in a car on my first leg home, I sat outside on the porch reading.

This was a good exercise in patience, because most Americans do not have it. I will admit it was frustrating, and a bit worrisome, not knowing if I was going to make it to Monrovia in time to confirm my flight and return home. But as the day wore on, and as Joe made arrangements for my flight confirmation, my anxiety diminished and I began to take life in stride.

Tuesday morning I was awoken to the sound of a car running outside as we had a car and were packing up for the long road home. This time the car appeared to be well kept, running smoothly (compared to the previous cars I had been in) and ready to go. Before I took off, however, I had to start my string of goodbyes. The Dweh family, who had been gracious hosts, will always have a place in my heart. Their hospitality and their company were key factors in making me feel comfortable in a strange land. I especially will always remember the fun evening conversations we held each night.

After I had said goodbye to the Dwehs, except the pastor who was travelling with us, I nestled into what would be my seat for the next 13 hours and took one last, longing look at the town that opened my eyes to a whole new world. Saying goodbye to a family can be hard, but saying goodbye to a place that has changed my entire outlook on life is nearly impossible.

The next day brought me to the heart of Monrovia. The city was littered with street vendors. Everywhere you turned, you would find someone selling something to the masses. From knock-off paintings (I can get you a great deal on a wonderful print of a European home, only $200. It's a steal, so they say) to bars of soap, you can buy anything you need in the streets of Monrovia. You can even buy a meat for dinner that night, freshly killed (which no longer surprises me).

The city landscape is vastly different from many I have seen before. The cities are mixed between glorious buildings symbolic of the rebuilding occurring in the war-torn nation alongside bombed-out shelters. The nation's capitol building is across the street from a walled structure that once maintained some home or business but not acts as a shelter for many families. The walls are blackened by fires long extinguished and the signs of a war that nearly destroyed the oldest African republic are evident throughout. There is little joy taken from the sights of children scrounging for food or families living in gutted buildings, barely surviving beyond the day. It is a stark contrast to the quiet life in Zwedru.

But is it really surprising? American life is vastly different between the urban centers of New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, and the quieter towns of Dixon, Ill., Norman, Okla., and Fredericksburg, VA. The cities have abject poverty, run-down buildings and signs of despair throughout while the smaller towns have a quieter lifestyle. There is still the blights of society, homelessness and lower-class citizens still exist in every community in the nation. But there is a vast difference between the lifestyle and the morality of the two differing communities.

The same can be said of Zwedru and Monrovia. While both have their problems, the extreme poverty and the street vending and the signs of a life long diminished by bombs, the amplification of the devastation can be seen in the larger city.

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It seems just yesterday I had arrived, wondering what lay before me and what had I landed

into. Now, I sit in the airport's lone terminal, waiting for my flight home.

I could never imagine longing for the quiet afternoons in Zwedru, sitting in the growing shade beside the house and visiting with whomever decided to stop by that day. I will miss my time with the Dwehs and I will miss the kids at the schools clamoring to touch my pale (now slightly darker) skin and meet the American. I'll miss the exotic, and now very familiar, food filled with flavor and spices each revealing a new insight into African life.

But, I also look forward to my return home. I will arrive on Thanksgiving and could not think of a time more appropriate to return. There is much to be thankful for in my life, and now so much more. I can say the most I am thankful for, however, is being an American. I am impressed with life in Liberia; how they can live so fully with so little. But I am thankful for having a government I can complain about that will listen to my grievances. I am thankful for having the opportunity to take a car from one city to the next, or even one state to the next, without delay or haggling over price. I am very thankful for having a home with running water. I am most thankful, however, for the ability to choose to live the life I want without worry.

The world is a lot smaller for me today, but my future could not be any larger. My eyes have been opened to things I have never seen, nor ever thought I would see. I am glad to have been given this opportunity, thankful for everyone who helped me on my way there, and look forward to taking my life to the next step, wherever - and whatever - that may be.