A week before arriving becoming the White Man in Grebo Land...
Our final nights of training reunited us in the dorms of Doe Palace. We embraced the close quarters living in anticipation of looming loneliness. We milked every last interaction with fellow Americans, peeling our eyes till the morning sun rose. Friday morning we bused to Monrovia to swear-in as official Peace Corps volunteers, shedding the skin of trainees. At the wee hour of 6AM we received our sweet breakfast of donuts, a boiled egg, and soda-pop, sporting our meanest Lappa attire. I opted for fusion-wear; a tuxedo made from the finest polyester Lappa I could find. I drew a rough design for my tailor, Robert (a Peace Corps favorite due to his attention to detail), and after ample time the work was complete – the total summing to less than $15.
The entrails of a monsoon gave us that fresh-from-the-shower hairdoo as we entered the city hall where the ceremony was to take place. We stood staggered up a staircase for a big group photo, waiting patiently for Liberian President George Weah to arrive. He strolled in just before our legs gave out, wearing an ankle length gray tunic.. The 1995 FIFA World Player of the Year turned politician joined us for the shot – front and center. We relocated to the auditorium as trainees, stood for the instrumental track of the Liberian National Anthem (no one was bold enough to begin singing, perhaps), took the oath every Peace Corps before us has taken, and sat as volunteers. We enjoyed speeches from the Ambassador, a fellow Volunteer, the PC Country Director, and the President, and feasted with our host family ma's.
I do solemnly swear or affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, domestic and foreign, that I take this obligation freely and without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps by working with the people of Liberia as partners in friendship and in peace.
Splitting ways the next morning, a steady drizzle watered down the salty drops on our faces. As a group, we grew quite close during our 3-month training (we like to think that it all started with the overnight flight delay out of DC). Volunteers loaded into cars to drive to their respective sites, but us Southeasterners had a different mode of travel in mind. Disoriented from our convoluted land route through Monrovia, we arrived to the blip of an airport where we would fly along the coast to Harper in the Southeast. It was Sunday, and us Peace Corps were the only passengers on the plane – in fact two brave comrades volunteered to experience the 3-day dirt-road drive so that we didn't overload the plane.
This photo was taken by a fellow volunteer traveling to site.
Security was more lax than a bag-check at a middle-school dance, and for once there were no flight attendants to compulsively demonstrate how to tighten our seat-belts. We guessed a number between 1-100 to decide the co-pilot, said a group prayer as the flight was facilitated by a Mormon NGO, and took off. Being rainy season, the clouds were quick to envelop us and block our sight of the coast – but as we descended we caught a brief view of the rocks off the shore of my soon to be site. A thick zone of coconut trees lined the coastline, confirming prior intel that suggested my site would be rife with the fruit. Our landing was smooth, easing us into life in the Southeast of Liberia.
