Children Ask the Darndest Things

+15:00 Zwedru~

I revisited Nixon School today. The classrooms are filled with wonderful children with highly inquisitive minds. Joe and I met with each classroom this morning, but this time it was for me to talk to them a bit and to answer whatever questions they may have. I spoke a little about where I am from, and thanked them for affording me some time to talk to them. Then the floor was open for questions. Some were the usual questions you would expect to hear, while others were a little harder to answer.

The students, as well as the teachers and any other person I've ran into, wanted to know what I did for a living - which isn't really easy to answer when you are in a country who doesn't have researchers or analysts or political workers. The other questions would flow at nearly the same time in each classroom; am I married, do I have kids, where do I live in America? When they found out how old I was, the classroom would erupt in laughter. Not because it was strange to have a 28-year-old visit them, but because they didn't expect someone so young to be done with high school and college. Some of the kids in the higher grades were near my age.

When we moved to schooling, the real differences between schools in Liberia and America were revealed. They were surprised to hear that I would be the one who had to move between classrooms for each subject, and they thought it was amazing that I didn't have to take the meticulous notes they did because I had textbooks.

While those questions were fun to answer and enjoyable to discuss, others were hard to find the right response. Each class from fifth grade to tenth grade had at least one student who wanted to know what I could do for them. Some thought I was a missionary or pastor who arrived to give money or build a school. None could understand that I was just a visitor (more on that in a second) who came to witness the work being done.

These children aren't asking this question because they want something from me. They are asking it because various organizations - namely USAID, UNMIL (UN Mission in Liberia), and the EU - are trying to help but at a detriment to Liberia. They hand out money (as I mentioned earlier) but don't hand out opportunities to learn. The churches and other non-government organizations are doing great work but they can only go so far. Their funding is limited and their reach is restricted by the poor road conditions throughout the country (more on that in a few days). More is needed so people won't grow up asking how will you help me and start asking what can we do to help ourselves.

Because of this situation, when I brought the money raised from St. Mark's, we didn't tell them it came from me or that I brought the money. Instead, Joe would explain that Americans who care about what is going on through the Liberian Children's Ministry have provided the funding necessary to build two new school buildings and add on to another school (the money I brought from the church provided the half of the funding). This way, when others come to visit, they will not expect anything similar because I didn't bring the money, but the organization raised the money.

On another note, last night was fun. Joe, the Dweh's (the pastor and his family) and a couple of other visitors sat outside all night and talked. Most of it was Joe talking about America since he can understand them better than I and speaks their dialect much easier than I could ever imagine speaking. Every time Joe would mention something mundane for us (mowing the lawn or taking the trash out), they would be amazed at America's lifestyle. Then whenever Joe talked about an aspect of American life, they would be amazed at how much we could have and how much more we wanted.

Not only was it interesting to see how two cultures try to understand each other, it was also eye-opening to realize how little we really need to get by in America. There is no power here in the daytime, and only at night if the family can afford the fuel. There is no running water, nor indoor plumbing for most. No X-Box, TVs, DVDs, sports cars (or cars unless it is a government vehicle or taxi), decorations, sound systems, or any other kind of toy. Instead, there is the family, a roof, food to eat and a means to help other friends or family. I'm amazed at it all, but also thankful for what I have been blessed to have.

The Beginning

This is like some warped story that tells you the end before revealing the beginning. I guess a lot of people have been wondering how the thought transpired into a action. There is a lot to this story, some of it personal and I will keep to myself, but much of it occurred before I even heard about the opportunity. This may take some time, but I will do my best to keep you interested in the story and will avoid the boring details.

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It would be easier if I heard about the opportunity one day but thought nothing of it. Then, while driving later that day, I heard Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dying," only to switch the station because it was too coincidental. But the other station was playing Van Halen's "Right Now" and knew that it was too good to be coincidental. Then, later that evening, I was sitting at home and the Discovery Channel showed a special on the Civil War in Liberia and knew I had to go. Unfortunately, I have never been lucky to have signs fall on my lap like that. Instead it was a progression of thoughts and meditation before I came to the decision that I should take this chance. Okay, back to the story.

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As many of you know, I moved to the Chicagoland Area in October 2007. I told work I was leaving to pursue a Master's Degree at Loyola or Northwestern. In reality, I left because something felt right about leaving DC. Not that I didn't like living in the Washington Metro Area. On the contrary, I enjoyed it quite a bit! It was a grand experience living in Virginia and experiencing the life of a government official (even if was as a contractor). The friends I made and the life I had was, for the most part, great. But when I went to Chicago in July that year, there was something that made me want to stay. Which I did when I stayed another week before begrudgingly driving back.

By the time I arrived back in Virginia, I had pretty much made my mind that I needed to get out of Washington soon. When an opportunity presented itself, I took it. That opportunity led me to quit my job out of the blue, pack my bags (and boxes, and bed - no I didn't pack my bed, I just threw it away) and head back to the Midwest. It was a thrill, thinking that I was going back to my birth state - yes, I was born in Illinois, not Oklahoma - and start this great life that would be wild beyond my imagination.

Two months later and still no job, that grand dream was fading away fast. I didn't have many opportunities landing at my doorstep. Turns out, they want you to have an accounting or finance degree to be a business analyst in Chicago. You only needed a college degree in DC, which has fostered my fear of how our federal government operates.

I had been asked a few times by family to talk to this guy running for Congress in the Tri-Cities area, but had brushed off the idea. I had been in politics before and was done. After Thanksgiving and turning another year older, I realized that I needed to do something. At least until I could find a more permanent job. So I met with this guy. I will admit, he had the charisma and the look for Congress, but I could tell there was something missing. I took the position and started helping out.

Of course, this didn't last long, as he lost a key endorsement and then decided to suspend the race. This led, however, to another job opportunity with the campaign that picked up the endorsement. I took the job, this time a paying one (since the campaign was actually raising funds).

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I know, what does any of this have to do with Africa and helping children? It makes sense, but sometimes you have to trudge through the nonsense. Think of it as the few minutes of a movie where you have no idea what's going on before things start making sense.

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Fast forward to February and the campaign wins the primary. This wasn't one of those "oh how nice, you won, let's all hold hands now." Instead, this was a race that made Rocky seem like a pillow fight between girls at a slumber party. It was brutal.

There was no cool-down before the next fight, though. After running a tough race, we had to regroup and sprint towards another 35-day goal. The next morning (and that was really early for some of us who had stayed up pretty late celebrating the night before) saw all of us hitting the ground running.

Thirty-five days of campaigning. Thirty-five days of non-stop work, from surveys to phone calls, press releases to door knocking (and the occasional big-name politician). Most of us thought we had the election by March 8, but most of us were wrong. It was such a deflating loss. The national media hailed it as the monumental upset, pundits blamed the campaign and the candidate, party officials grumbled their disdain. It was an even that makes everyone just want to crawl into a cave for a few weeks. Or months.

But that day changed everything. I didn't know it then, but it lead me to redefine who I want to be and it led me towards where I am today, just 46 days away from taking a trip that will change my life forever. I think this is enough for today. We have plenty of time for me to finish this story another day.