African Prayer

My muraling project in Fissebu, Liberia, was at a teacher training institute outside of the village.  I wandered the community a little, but when I left the Zorzor Rural Teaching Training Institute, I really wanted to shop for things like batteries, a bathroom towel, or cold soft drinks (which were non-existent when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer).  That required a trip to Zorzor.

I know I'm a spoiled person.  I never considered walking to Zorzor.  It was a fifteen-minute motorcycle taxi ride to the second largest town in Lofa County.  Peace Corps Volunteers were not allowed to ride on motorcycle taxis and neither were employees of the U.S. Embassy.  Before such rules, motorcycle wrecks were the number one cause of death for volunteers.  I had no such restrictions and I loved the short motorcycle ride (usually wearing a helmet).  Sometimes it was just me with the driver.  On occasion there was a third passenger.  I never rode with more people, but I saw motorcycles with four or five riders. 

I stated that I was spoiled because many, many people walked to Zorzor because paying for a taxi just wasn't an option.  And, the statistic I read that really shocked me was how long it took to walk from Zorzor to Monrovia.  Someone had to do it to know the trip took seven days.

In 2016, the most recent census of Zorzor declared the population just under five thousand.  It wasn't that big.  It was very easy to stroll, aside from the blistering African heat.  Zorzor really had one main intersection.  It was next to the marketplace, a mosque, the gas station (with those cold soft drinks), and several little diners with African deliciousness. 

Since there really wasn't a lot to see and do, it was good to have a destination.  As a general rule, I don't drink soft drinks.  That rule is completely and totally tossed aside when strolling in blistering heat.  But, after the gas station, I tended to go to Mama Gayflor's home.  She was usually on the front porch because the family had a business selling daily necessities in the community.  It was very common to purchase only what was needed for that particular day's cooking.  Instead of the entire jar of cooking oil, it was separated into smaller plastic bags.  Mama Gayflor made home-made peanut butter in bags of about two tablespoons for Liberian recipes.

I thoroughly enjoyed experiencing Zorzor from Mama Gayflor's porch.  Across the street, I saw Gayflor's silk-screened T-shirts drying in the breeze.  The daily hustle and bustle of town life passed by as I sat in the comfortable shade.  And, a whole host of family members kept me entertained.  I never knew if the relatives were cousins, sisters, aunties, uncles, nieces, nephews, or family friends "adopted" into the clan.  There were just always lots of people sharing the porch.

Traveling with a digital camera is a luxury I always appreciate, since I well remember traveling with film and carefully budgeting how many photographs I could take in one day.  Now, I can take hundreds, thousands of photos, delete to my heart's content, and hopefully get that one great shot.

This adorable little girl was one of the relatives.  When she and her friends realized I was willing to take their pictures, I had quite an entertaining photo shoot.  And, as hoped for, I took a lot of photos, deleted to my heart's content, and captured that one great shot.