The Myth of the Self-Made Woman

For Sarah H.

I have a pair of almost three inch heels from my housemate Lisa, navy blue with pink polka dots, a peep toe hole and a little ruffle, definitely my cutest pair of footwear. My nieces love trying on these shoes more than any other of my shoes, and as much as I can imagine my mother clucking in disbelief that I’d actually wear them, I love how the shoes instinctively make me feel feminine, and maybe even a little sassy. I could buy a lot of things that would make me feel trendy, well-dressed, and cute … and this is what advertisements and magazines help do – inform us and introduce products that we could choose to perfect a certain image of ourselves.

Even if you are frugal enough to see through materialism, society still requires conscientiousness about the things that you eat, offers you a character type based on music you listen to or TV that you watch, and subtly judges where you got in to school or where you work… amongst other things! All of these decisions and choices weigh down upon you as you try and navigate who you are and what the ‘right way’ to proceed is – just for you to be ‘who you want to be’. If you get introspective like I do, sometimes you angst over what you are supposed to be wanting to be after all. Even if you can truly celebrate for Kate Middleton (whom People Magazine has called “A Perfect Princess!”) you can’t help wondering if you are as put together as you ought to be yourself, and what sorts of reviews your life would get if splashed before the public eye. “Dress for the job you want” or “fake it till you make it” and other such truisms lodge themselves deep in your cultural lexicon as you contemplate identity.

Frankly, I think it’s malarkey. Even in my cute shoes with my make-up on and my hair just-so – networking at a Christmas party in the hopes of landing a job – I am not a self-made woman. I am not the sum total of my decisions, a choose-your-own-adventure story in the making. Life is so much more complex than my ability to control it! So many blessings and so many challenges in life come from other people.

Obviously, there is still an important element of choice. My friends who choose to regularly follow the Food Network have really become pretty good cooks, and those who chose to go to Medical School are now doctors. What you follow, what you do – these are still very important pieces – but my main point is that we are primarily people in relationships: first with our family, then with friends at school, and then later with co-workers, neighbors, and significant others. “We are shaped most” someone once said, “both by those who love us and by those who refuse to love us.”

Sometimes, when I’m feeling blasé about myself or my life, I think through all the people who have loved me well over the course of my life: late night conversations, care packages, back rubs, words of encouragement and challenge, smiles and winks and happy dances…. And then I’m glad that I’m not a self-made woman. So thank you, each of you, for helping me keep it real – for loving me when I’m messy to love – not just when I’m dressed to impress.

Leaves...

Have you ever watched a tree? I intend the anthropomorphism, because the other day, while waiting for a friend, I sat and stared at a few trees, and I began to feel sorry for them. I felt like I was watching the sheer amount of work in growing and sustaining leaves each year and the grief of loosing hundreds of thousands of leaves in these next few weeks...

But I also was drinking in the beauty of the richness of color... Each leaf, whole or torn, lovely or misshapen, is part of a continuum of colors that set each other off, especially against the pale blue of an October afternoon sky. And each leaf interacts with the elements, twisting to the subtle breezes, and catching the waning sunlight.

As I watched and appreciated God's creativity expressed in nature, I began to mull that the leaves had done little (or nothing at all, really) to earn their color, or wave their unique patterns in the wind ... they had simply remained on the branch. Their role was, most simply put, staying until it was time to leave. Staying until it is time to leave.

"Now - I - something - can - do"

"'Not my will but Thine be done' ... in the middle of this period of exhaustion, this anxiety, this particular shock, this prison, this wheelchair, this set of bandages on our eyes, this kind of frustration, this pile of dirty dishes, this lack of understanding.... this unbearable, dull monotony, this unending succession of changes. Whatever the immediate 'now' is made up of... "

Edith Schaeffer, Affliction

The immediate now is always haunting in its inescapability, whether overwhelmed by the work to do, or frozen in place, unsure of how or where to proceed. I've finished my time in Liberia and had a few weeks with my parents in the Emirates, relaxing, observing, processing, and applying to jobs. On Tuesday I'll begin the journey back to Washington, DC, returning to start my fourth year in the happy little house on 15th street...

Big questions loom in my mind, and I realize yet again how often I would just like to know what comes next. But let me choose the way of trust, and in my immediate now echo the simple declaration, 'Not my will but Thine be done.'

Religion and Politics...

I think it's considered a general rule of thumb that all good dinner party hosts should initially avoid the controversial topics of religion and politics - yet one that it thrown out as soon as everyone feels well enough acquainted to broach these more volatile topics.

The musings I have here can be used for one of those such moments, if you'd like.

Abu drives the shared taxi between Robertsport and Monrovia. If you didn't deduce it from his name, you would know that he was a Muslim when his mobile phone rings with the call to prayer. In the middle of steering wheel there is a sticker containing a picture of Osama bin Laden. The background of the sticker is a yellow to green continuum, and just above Osama's head, small enough that from the back seat it looks like it might be a rip in the sticker, is an airplane. Oh thank you, Abu, now I feel quite welcome here.

Yet the irony is in the tension that a mere six inches away, dangling from the keys in the ignition, is the full smile face of Barack Obama in front of a royal blue background. Maybe I'm welcome after all? Conspiracy conservatives in the US might choose to explain this by positing that Abu clearly believes that Obama is a Muslim.... but my question is, doesn't he understand that these two leaders are enemies? It's like in a celebration of one for faith and the other for race, the fact that they are philosophically opposed is negligible, they are both still inspirations to him.

Even as I say that, I'm amazed, I cannot digest such dissonance. I want to know what he thinks, so that I can know where I stand. Am I welcome? I'm a Christian, and I'm white - neither of which he identifies with nor inspires him. And the fact that I'm American too? I don't know....

So what do you think about the proximity of the two likenesses? Any other similar stories to share or shed light?

Community and change...

Growing up, my mother was always an advocate of leaving a place well, she said that it is important for our emotional health. Looking back over the years of people and places that I have loved, there is always an inevitable pain associated with goodbyes and separation, you leave pieces of your hearts everywhere you go if you truly let yourself love and be loved. But I have always tried to listen to her advice and proactively consider how to leave a place well.

How much harder, then, thinking about a place where leaving is normative for half of the population, and those who remain have to continually say goodbye. What can you do to honor their hearts? If it were just a matter of readying them .... I could make a royal stink out of myself and then it would be a "good riddance!" They'd be ready for me to leave alright! But it is so much more complex than that...

I suppose it lies in savoring 'this minute' and listening to what they themselves are saying... and, not 'transitioning out' too soon.

Ruins and ruminations...

It’s Friday, which like elsewhere in the world means the weekend for Strongheart, although since we all live in the same house, it only means a slightly different schedule/routine. For the Fellows and I it means looking forward to a field trip tomorrow – we’re heading out to Tala, a place where the US had a military base during WWII. The US was quite interested in Liberia at the time - for the export of rubber for war time production efforts and as a place from which to launch military forays into North Africa. Things have generally been quite busy here at Strongheart. Since last weekend, where I was surprised by my DC house-mate Sarah Day and enjoyed a fun weekend of relaxing and catching up, the Fellows have written their first drafts of their five page papers as well as practiced designing an interview. Not to mention moved a truck load of black dirt and transplanted the seedlings from the nursery, painted a blackboard, and performed some community service – both in front of our house as well as by the high school.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love and healing. As concepts they are beautiful, inspirational, and very, very good. In reality they are messy, complex, and still very, very good. Yet how much we all need both in our lives, even when we had happy, stable childhoods. I realized that I had become so preoccupied with the things that needed to happen here – the learning circle schedule! The expense report! – that I had lost sight of the people that I came to love and help. As I took the time to tell each one personally that I loved them, I felt my stress level melting away, I was able to receive their love back myself. How grateful I am for the depths of the Father’s love, that no matter how self-absorbed, trite, or weak we are – we can trust His faithfulness, the consistency of His love towards us. Quiet confidence: I can rest in that love, and then help pour out healing for the nations.

Oh, for wisdom!

It's raining outside, a steady heavy rain, only a little lighter than the monsoon rain we've had most of the day. We were supposed to go and pick up black dirt this afternoon - to ready the garden for the seedlings growing in the nursery, but that would be a miserable (and likely futile) experience this afternoon - so it is on hold.

Cori left back to the States on Sunday and Timmy went into Monrovia for four days respite this morning, so I'm technically the only learning circle guide here -- and probably ought to be coming up with an alternate lesson right now, since we can't move the dirt. But I think that everyone just needs a little down time. This morning Sis Essie - the House Mother who cleans, does laundry and provides cooking relief to the chef - came to me and told me that all of the Fellows need to stay home after dinner - that they don't need to go out afterwards, because some people in the community were concerned about them getting involved in inappropriate things. That idea went over like a ton of bricks.... although no small wonder, some of them are almost 25! Instead, we agreed that Sunday could still be a 'going-out' day (until 10) but said that for the other days, we would stay at home unless there was something specific that they wanted to see or do. But the snide comments that were said and the anger that came out was intense - lasting through two sessions (including your's truly's non-violence movement session in Conflict Resolution learning circle) - and boiled over in a palawa at lunch. It is hard to watch boys becoming men cry because the honor of their mother was attacked - and it is unsettling to have the only girl in program who hasn't yet caused 'problems' begin muttering and sputtering about being made a chicken (Liberian slang for a derogatory version of a homebody). The difficult thing is that the generator broke a week ago, and the temporary replacement that we have doesn't have enough power to run the movie projector - and everyone is going a little batty being cooped up in the house with all the rain. Personally I'm stressed because I'm trying to figure out how to make the budget stretch and also be patient as I wait for directives from headquarters...

The frustration from this morning is the type of thing that people calm down from, I think -- but it makes me wonder about the design of the program - the purpose of each of the rules/restrictions - and whether changing attitudes and minds is really possible... Mostly, it makes me desire more wisdom. Wisdom for which words to use, wisdom for when to comfort and when to push, wisdom for when to organize something or let people have down time to process/adjust/heal. Wisdom that assures me that it is okay to hide away in my room and blog instead of facing the emotional lions out there.

Speaking of lions, a funny note. When Timmy left this morning, he dramatically stated, "Okay, household, the lion of the jungle is leaving to go to town." And Alieu, the security handiman said "No problem Timmy. The funny frog will stay here in the swamp." :-)

Oh that the sun would come out!

I Comin’ for my 26th to da House-o!

Tomorrow is Liberia’s Independence Day, making her 163 years old, and the children in the community could hardly be more excited. Drums are beating and have been all day, and various dancers are putting on “cultural shows” – a mix between a dance competitions, beauty pageants, and ethnic festivals. For the last few days, I have heard this refrain over and over, “I comin’ to da house for my 26!” Admittedly, some children get a little confused and say, “I comin’ for my Christmas.” The Mayor told me all about the regular parades, dances, and candy giving sessions that are usually put on – except that this year the County Superintendent never sent the money to arrange anything. All of this put me in a predicament – what on earth would I do if Strongheart House was swarmed by small children demanding some sort of treat? Culturally, it’s as though the build up for Halloween had only one house that you could trick or treat at, and they didn’t know they were supposed to have something planned! I couldn’t very well scowl and send everyone away – nor did I foresee giving out clothes, copybooks, or money like some of the bolder ones had asked for... that would be chaotic and way out of budget.

So we’ve decided to run the generator during the day (a rare to never before event) to play music for a dance party in our yard … since our sound system will make it fun. Then, if the crowd is a manageable size, we’re going to pass around popcorn for a treat. Then at night if the clear weather holds, we’ll show a movie on the outdoor blow up big screen. Hopefully that strikes the happy medium. Perhaps I’ll even get someone to teach me the words to the national anthem, “O Hail, Liberia, Hail…”

Since I’m now more situated in our routine and since we won’t have Learning Circles tomorrow, this weekend has been a relaxed one, with more forays out into the community, which the anthropologist in me loves. I’m beginning to learn the names of many of the children in my neighborhood, which is made harder because almost everyone has a real name and a ‘play name’ – little Fred Weah goes by “Pastor”, and Rachel Nigmba is “Queen Girl” – and sometimes they don’t differentiate, so you have to say “Call your real name na, or your school name”. Alice Mensa even introduced herself to me as “Ugly” and so for two weeks I called her “Yong Girl” instead.

Pastor has had a string of sweethearts among volunteers and staff here at the Strongheart house, for a four year old he is already a ladies man with his doleful big eyes. When I had to go to Monrovia for a few days last week he wrote me a song that he sang repeatedly, “Diana gone, dats a sorrowful night” Except, since last consonants are often dropped in Liberian English, night sounds and awful lot like the ‘na’ in Diana… This joke has enabled me to finally get to know some of the women in the community, which is my ultimate aim, so I’ll play along!

It’s been really wonderful watching the Fellows grow into a community together too, Fitzgerald and Donnett are from two separate families but look like brothers – and have taken to razzing each other. Emmanuel has taken on the role of house barber, and he carefully bics down the boys hair whenever they feel like they’ve gotten too bushy. And whenever the sun shines we try and take an afternoon trip out to the ocean: Emmanuel and Adolphus are the strongest swimmers and take on the waves, Donnett and Gabriel usually wear life jackets but are slowly improving, and even Fitzgerald comes down and sits in the waves, although since he is blind he doesn’t want to venture further. The girls in the program usually come down to watch, and Mercy sometimes jumps in too, as long as she doesn’t have hair extensions in that she doesn’t want to spoil. When the kids in the community join us, and they often do, I feel a little bit like the pied piper… especially since the under 10s swim commando.

The Fellows are cooking tomorrow, and they’re really excited about a making a big bowl of Jollof rice. It’s one of my favorite dishes, a West-African version of fried rice or Spanish rice. I plan on making cinnamon rolls myself, which means I need to sign off and get working on the dough!

Images from Liberia

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but they didn't tell me that was because it would take an image 1000 times longer to load when you are on a slow internet connection! I'm pretty sure that it just took 5 minutes for one picture to move from 12 to 13% loaded! I had intended to submit a 5,000 + "word" entry for today, but if we successfully load one picture, I shall be satisfied.

So, this picture is from the balcony of Strongheart House - where we sit to eat our meals or kill time.

If you can see the water just outside the fence - that's accumulated rain water - evidence of rainy season. Otherwise the beach between the house and ocean is used as a football pitch - although it also houses a "Palawa (Shouting) Hut" for community negotiation or arbitration.

Oh! I'm finally at 99%! Let's see if this picture actually loads??!!?

The Chief, Mr. Crab, and Liar

This has been a bit of a funny week and a half with most of the Fellows away for the conference in South Africa, no jokes about "Lock and Load" (the excessive eating of teenage boys) no 'shows' or DVDs being played either for educational or recreational purposes.

But we did pick up another lodger, "Mr. Crab." Really, Mr. Crab is Craig - an Australian surfer who came to Robertsport as a backpack tourist surfer. Sometimes, because of his long hair he's called Jesus by the small children, but more often those who know him by name try and pronounce it and it comes out "Mr. Crab" - so we jokingly call him that. Craig has come to help teach water safety and some basic swim lessons to the Fellows that don't know how to swim as well as small children in the community. Timothy - the other Learning Circle Guide - we call our chief, because he has an entirely different relationship with the community. Perhaps it is because he is Nigerian and taller than many others - or because he is naturally gregarious and amenable - but people are constantly bringing gifts -so we call him chief. Me, I get to be Liar - some children misheard my name and called me that - so even though it is corrected it is my pet moniker.

Earlier this week I went into Monrovia to buy some materials for courses, staying the night at St. Theresa's convent. When there I met up with an ex-combatant that I knew from Ghana - it was interesting to get insight into his world and his work among the other ex-combatants. I also brought one of the other Fellows back with me, so we've had Donnett around the house. The other five arrive tonight so we have been getting the house ready for them. I'm most certainly looking forward to it!

A snake, a rat, and a palawa...

My team and I are working to prepare the five fellows who are going to South Africa for the Man UP conference with culture shock /biculturalism training, information on the other countries the participants are coming from, etc. But we knew that they would also need some time to think about how best to represent their own history as well. With that in mind we decided to show Pray the Devil Back to Hell (a well-worth seeing documentary on the women's peace initiative and their actions in Liberia and Ghana) last night. Otherwise, civil war being such a heavy subject matter, I would have waited to show the movie until later on in the course - but they are going to see it at the conference in South Africa next week anyway, and as they are the contingent representing Liberia, we thought that it would be a good idea to show now.

It's an intense movie - along the lines of Constant Gardner, maybe not as intense as the Last King of Scotland. But watching it with the fellows, the other staff, and some members of the community that join us when we watch "shows" -- you could feel the tension mounting in the room, the veritable heckles rising. A loud "gong, gong, gong" outside on the metal stair railing caused Sis Essie to yell "Whooze dat na?" and Allieu to reply "dat snake-o".... Lo and behold, Jimmy had stepped on a smallish snake, coiled up on our welcome mat, and Allieu had killed it by whipping it against the stairs.

Interrupted for a few minutes as the excitement died down - we eventually finished the film. "Ayh man. Too sorrowful." We sat down to talk to some of the fellows who were particularly disturbed by the snake and the fear of sleeping in a house that could have one come in..... until Mercy pointed out, "there's a rat!" Oh boy. In Liberian English a rat might mean a mouse, but whatever the case, the chase was on. Emmanuel pursued it out of the linen closet, and Cori grabbed a mattress to blockade it into the front entryway - where Emmanuel and Allieu cornered it. Allieu grabbed it and threw it down, breaking it's neck. It was a rat alright, and it had bitten Allieu's finger - which he promptly stuck into a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

We turned to the mundane task of washing dishes when a 'palawa' - a heated discussion/fight - broke out between some of the fellows. We spent some time trying to debrief with them there.... and committed to work on it more when the day broke. Mostly I kept wondering to myself - was this just the wrong time to show this movie? Why was there so much intensity atmospherically beyond the content of the documentary itself?

Sometimes, when I'm walking through the towns, and I walk past a crowd of young men who are clearly (at least in my mind) ex-combatants: the glazed-over eyes, the hardened expressions, the controlled swagger..... I admit to myself that I haven't the slightest idea how to really bring about conflict resolution in a post-conflict setting. How does transformation come to a country, a community, a household, an individual? Slowly, I'm sure. I'm afraid of those guys, at least when they walk around in groups like that, and yet many of them are my age. I avert my eyes when I walk past them - wondering, what do I represent to them? What do they represent to the average citizen who lost family members to the "small smal boy soldiers with big guns" ?

Oh keep me from doing more harm than good - I hope that showing the documentary wasn't a bad idea...

Fruit, bugs, and thoughts on life...

Robertsport is a bit of a tropical paradise, in all honesty, a town where expatriates and the upper-class of Monrovia can escape for some beach side surfing or quiet get away; and looking out my window or front door it isn’t difficult to see why. The beach coves just in front of Strongheart house, and tall coconut palm trees mark the entry into town. Sure there are parts that are really swampy and somewhat smelly, and electricity exists briefly at night and only by generator – and most places don’t have running water yet.

Today, my greatest discovery was the ‘sour sour’ fruit. I was out on a walk around town where finding the post-office had been my primary purpose, when I saw what looked like a kumquat just before the log bridge. I picked it up and showed it to a passerby, “Morning-O. Excuse me now, but dyou know what dey calla dis fruit?” “Eheh, I’ll callit by the Pelle name, we can callit gbeh. And it’s the season for it now now.” Another conversation revealed that it was called a sour sour in Liberian English (would I call a kumquat sour, I wondered to myself?) “But it can be sweet-o!” the lady said, looking at my face. So I arranged for Edwin to buy me some from a tree inside the bush….

Edwin caught up with me when I was at the creek drawing water (thank God for wheelbarrows!) and handed me a small bag asking for 10 Liberian dollars (like a nickel). Eating one, I realized it was as if a kumquat shape had mixed with a mango fruit, although the pit inside was softer than a mango pit. Cori said it’s called a loquat in the States, who knew?!

My biggest problem so far has been coexistence. I have a next to zero tolerance policy with mosquitoes that I see – especially if they are anywhere near my body. When the ants decided they needed to scour my entire bag for several days because of a pack of gum, I fretted over that. When a large 2 inch cockroach decided to run at me during my bucket bath, I decided it had to die, although I made my house mate kill it after I was fully clothed. Now I know that I also share my bedroom with a large, furry brown spider which is okay because of my preference that mosquitoes die – but when I found one in my suitcase… I shuddered to think of little spider babies being born inside. I do not coexist very well with the insects of the tropics….

Early Robertsport reflections

Here in Robertsport we’ve had a torrential amount of water that has been falling from the heavens – although what exactly I expected, coming to a country whose primary environmental descriptor is ‘rainforest’ in the rainy season, I couldn’t tell you. I feel like I’m back in Bangladesh in the monsoon season in 2004 during which the flood waters adversely affected the lives and livelihoods of 36 million people. We in the Strongheart House end up chasing leaks in our roof with buckets, mopping water up from the walls and floors and throwing it back outside or watching the ocean come closer from our balcony. The haze of gray blends the ocean to the sky, blurring the horizon.

When we aren’t fighting the elements, life continues at a happy pace as the Fellows and Program Guides get settled into the program and become familiar with each other. As many of the Fellows have just arrived, and some others are still coming in the next few weeks, the program isn’t rigorous, it has plenty of time for playing games, singing songs, and (when it isn’t raining) kicking around a soccer ball or splashing around in the ocean.

I’m leading two learning circles – Global Studies and Conflict Resolution, although I think the first is going better than the latter as of yet.

Less than a week...

Of course in the larger, metaphysical sense, all of life is a journey - and the questions pulse right along with you. Why am I here? Where am I going? What should I do?

Now, for a few months, I'll have answers to some of those questions. I have a ticket and a visa to Liberia, a plan to stay there for two and a half months and be a learning circle guide to some of the coolest young people on Earth. There is a suspension of the questions and the injunction to invest, connect, plug in.

I plan on using this blog to share some of my explorations and thoughts along the way, and probably some pictures.