Liberia: Through my mother's eyes.

My mom has spent the last three weeks with me, here in Liberia, and it has been unbelievable. Earlier today we were debriefing a bit, discussing her time here and she shared some observations with me-

The Kids- The kids are amazing! They are always full of hugs and smiles and so accepting of me. They can sit and read books for hours and be completely content. And they are truly happy.

The ORR team- Your team works like a fine tuned machine. There are so many facets to what you do—healthcare, delivering food, even making a difference in the government to help the country’s children and orphans. You fight to find a balance between the endless needs of the children, nation and area as well as be able to encourage and support each other and have fun together too. (We sure don’t feel that way the majority of the time. It is a good reminder to see things through new eyes, thanks mom.)

Liberia as a whole- Such a land of contrasts. On one side of a fence is a family struggling to survive-- slaving over a hot coal pot to cook, hoping for one good meal a day, carrying heavy loads of water to do basic chores, no electricity, no job. While literally, on the other side is a five star hotel with air conditioning and a swimming pool. You can sit on the beach in front of a resort, beautiful and pristine, and across the invisible boundary line the beach is littered with garbage and human waste.

The hospitals are so different as well. The focus here seems to be on death. All the care revolves around if the person will die or not as opposed to the focus on wellness in the states. As we toured a hospital the nurse showing us around told us how four people had died in the last 24 hours plus a stillborn baby. That was about ten percent of the patient population that day. That is how it is every day. And it is not sacred, the tour included the delivery room where the mother who lost the baby was still lying on the table and was within earshot when the nurse told us “her baby died this morning.” Later, the nurse explained that the woman lived in the bush and had been in labor for five days. She had to walk three hours, in labor, to the closest road to find a car to carry her to the hospital. By the time she finally arrived and got the help she needed, it was too late.

There is a simplicity here too. Without fancy gadgets to get work done everyone is left to using basic tools. You don’t often see lawn mowers, chain saws, food processors or electric pencil sharpeners. Instead it takes hours of hard manual labor to cut the grass or chop a tree with an axe. Fixing dinner is an all day affair using a large mortar and pestle to beat palm nuts into soup. We even got blisters on our hands from manually sharpening pencils for the kids at the orphanages.

When asked if she would still come if she knew how much she would cry, my mom replied, wiping a tear away, “Of course.” She said that through pictures she had seen and stories I had told she felt prepared to come. Then she went on to say, “I don’t think you can ever be prepared. Could I do this full time? …I know I could if God wanted me too.”