Refuge

At the age of three years, we left Monrovia to seek refuge in Lofa from the war.  My mother, aunt, cousin, and I walked for four hours to get there. Considering our age at the time, they did most of the walking for which today I am grateful for.  We arrived welcomed by grandmother’s family. My great grandmother Gayduo, several grand aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. Given my age at the time, I have limited memory of my time spent there.  However, the little I do remember intrigued me to return for two reasons. 1) To prove my memories right after so many years of living outside of the country and 2) learn more about the place my extended family call home.

On our way to Fessibu

Fessibu, Lofa County

Yes! I returned to the place I sought refuge.

Refuge from hunger that gaged others to eat one of their own.

Refuge that shielded me from watching babies gutted out of pregnant women.

Refuge that helped me sustained my sanity.

Refuge that brought me back to Liberia.

As I ran to the foundation that once protected me from the evils of the world, the chill breeze swept by leaving me with a kiss from Gayduo my namesake. I knew I was being welcome again, by the woman who business swag educated over fifteen kids.

I stood on the foundation of the house, and I saw faces smiling back at me, allowing me to reminisce over the little I remembered, running tiredly down a hill to a place I no longer recall after a game of hide and seek. Skipping through a dark hallway, stopping for a taste of Fufu, and Palava Sauce at each room door. Hiding from the so-called country devil that came out when kids were behaved bad. I remembered the feeling of the sand between my toes, as the ground I stood on was once a sanctuary for games like hopscotch, lapa, jumping ropes, and around the world, games we played.

Once a home, now a dome

As I walked away and saw faces I no longer remembered, but I once ran to for refuge, I knew I was walking away from something. I had longed for the moment my feet will touch the soil of Fesssibu for so long, and as I walked away from the happy faces that greeted me, I wonder …is Fessibu still a place of refuge?

Still shock by what I saw

Lofa County was one of the most productive counties in Liberia, producing minerals and coco for export. Today towns are plaster with signs of NGOs showcasing projects they are implementing. Yet, with all the ongoing, and completed programs one cannot see the physical results they are yielding. As I drove away a little boy ran towards the car to ask for “lil something” in Liberia that means money, explaining through grasping breath that he needed to buy food for the day.  With the experiences I have had in the past given money to young men on the street could be potentially dangerous.  There is a 50/50 chance the money will be use for food, or drugs.  Thus, I have created my personal method for determining who I should give “lil something” to, and who I shouldn’t ( a bias method I must say). Making a quick judgment based on his appearance I came to the conclusion that if I give him any money it would be used for drugs. Consequently, I left him staring after the car with anger and sadness fusing out of his eyes, after I explained I could not help him.

As we drove away from Fessibu it became obvious the place that was once a safe haven for me, possesses new terrors for others. Terrors perpetrated by the errors of decisions makers since 1847. Un-rational, unethical, selfish, power-driven decisions executed in the interest of few, is now hunting a generation fighting daily to ensure tomorrow does not come. How do we make Liberia a place of refuge?

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New Year Old Problems

As the new year settles in I have been pondering these two subjects extensively lately.....

Youth Disparity

I realize it took over fifteen years to destroy Liberia, and it will take longer to rebuild. Yet, I hate I am bombarded daily with the ills of my society. Knowing in the depth of my heart there is little I can do to change it, and the little I do does not make the intended impact. Liberia was inhabited land of my ancestors; I will not give up on it. Change is coming, and I hope it is inclusive….

I’m Too Young To....

I grew up knowing I was a child of King Zulu Zumba.

My forefathers were gatekeepers of the land.

My mothers had the last words. 

I learned and understood the meaning of life through the Sino and Poro Bush.

My forefathers were strong, independent, and enlightened.

They cherish the land, and the fruits that sprout from its tender soil.

I lived in a home of discipline, love, and precaution.

Today, I am a child of survival. I live a life of destitute.

I live in a home of self-reliance, and inflated pain.

The soil beneath my feet can attest to my struggles, and frustrations as I pound it left to right trying to regain all I have lost.

I wake daily to dread the mornings, afternoons, and nights.

The mornings commence with the unknown.

The afternoons are reminder of my self-reliance.

The night helps me escape from my inflated pain to the days of my forefathers.

I dream of my future…...… I am discipline, love, and enlighten.

Moments of Serenity 

Infidelity

The first twelve years of my life I grew up thinking I had the perfect family, only to find out nothing is perfect. I never saw my parents argue (true to this day), I got along with my siblings, and my immediate family was always there to hear my whinings. We didn’t have everything we wanted, but we had everything we needed. The luxury of having both parents and the privilege of knowing they were indispensable was a blessing. I discovered at the age of twelve nothing is, as it seems. My close to perfect reality was disoriented when I learned of infidelity in my family. I didn’t comprehend at first the possibility of such an act, plus I never ever saw my parents argue! They seem to love each other, they were always together, and everyone knew they were partners. So, how can one partner cheat on another when everyone is aware of their commitment to each other and does not get reprimanded? 

At the time I didn’t think much of my discovery; I thought I made a mistake, but four years later my mistake became a reality. I discovered I had two siblings I never heard off, and I was going to meet them. Disgusted, mad, excited are few words I can use to describe how I felt at the time. While exploring my own trauma I talked to others, and discovered infidelity was not just in my family, or among my friends’ families, but it was an accepted behavior within the Liberian cultural.

I explored the subject with several individuals and was disgusted by the normalcy towards infidelity. Although many concluded it was wrong they showed little or no remorse. The effect of infidelity does not only disorient the family structure but breed individuals with demolishing morals and ethics. How can we rebuild our country when individuals do not respect each other, and consistently repress their moral obligations to enjoy moments of pleasure? Such attitude towards life does not impact individuals solely, but the society in which they live. In response to the normalcy towards infidelity in the Liberian society….

Bartee, OOOOH! Bartee…Bartee!

(Listen, OOOOH! Listen…Listen!)

Men oh men!! Men!.......Bartee.

Men oh men!! Men!.......Bartee.

My fathers, my brothers, my hustlers, my down on the corner chilling peakins.

Every day I am slap in the face with a behavior I detest. I wonder why you act this way.

At first I thought it was normal, but…I later realized no, no, no it is just down right f*** up!

Can’t you see your mothers, your sisters, your big jue are going through?

Inside they scream for you to stop!

They bare your children because they love you.

They endure the pain because they hope you will change.

They stay because our society has adapted this disgusting behavior as the norm.

In the depth of your heart, you know it is wrong. 

It is damaging to your mothers, your sisters, your big jue, but most of all to your children.

I am sick of seeing it, hearing about it, living it….

It sickens me to see siblings that will never know each other.

It sickens me to watch women grow cold in silent hatred.

It sickens me to acknowledge no one is reprimanded.

It sickens me to know it is encouraged, through silence.

It is time for our culture to deviate from cultural norms that take away the essence of who we are. We have to eradicate old practices that are no longer conducive to our culture.

I say to my fathers, my brothers, my hustlers, my down on the corner chilling peakins, STOP!

I say to my mothers, my sisters, my big jue, DON'T ENCOURAGEGARE  IT!

I say to my generation we are our parents’ children, not our parents, CHANGE IT!

Prostitution in Senegal

Over the years I have come to the realization, as an individual who had the opportunity to acquire education and experience, it is my responsibility to not only speak up for those who cannot but also take a stand on what I believe is right.

Recently, it has been interesting voicing out my opinion on the issue of prostitution. Given, I was raised in a Christian household, with values align with the Holy Bible, many found my stand appalling. My justification for the legalization of prostitution is not about me. We need to challenge individuals who can not accept what I believe to be one of the oldest credible professions in the world, when an individual is not force into the sector. If individuals are going to engage in the practice of prostitution they should be protected and regulated if necessary like any other profession.

As I listened to a popular program on West African Democracy Radio, I thought I heard wrong when the commentator announced the topic of the hour, but when he repeated himself I had to listen. After getting over the shock of what I heard I wanted to understand why Senegal a predominately Muslim country legalized prostitution.

I had to find out the reasoning behind the legality of a profession many despise, however, the justification was not simple. In 1970, the government legalized prostitution under these conditions: institutionalized medical follow-up of self-professed female prostitutes and made it compulsory for any female prostitute older than 21 to register with the health service. Registration is followed by the delivery of a health record to the woman and her socio-demographic information to the police. Medical follow-up is conducted in specialized centers, which were created for this distinct purpose in Dakar, at the Institute of Social Hygiene, and in four other urban agglomerations later. Every 2 months the women receive a complete follow-up, which includes a clinical examination and a vaginal swab alternated with monthly visits during which they only have a clinical examination and a swab upon request. Blood samples are taken every 6 months to assess syphilis status and yearly to assess HIV serologic status. Social workers and nurses initially managed these centers. Physicians joined the centers later. This system provides prostitutes with opportunities for health information and access to condoms. Free condoms are provided on the first visit and women are instructed on how to use them. On subsequent visits, women are again counseled on condom use. Free provision of condoms is renewed on a monthly basis. Soliciting customers is illegal in Senegal.

The Senegalese government realized that prostitution was going to occur regardless of what measures they took to it illegal, so instead they put in mechanisms that could protect those willing to professed themselves as prostitutes. This reveals the country is progressive to some extent, but the lingering question in my mind is: why these women feel the only means to survive is by selling their bodies when it leads to exclusion?

If Senegalese women chose to sell their body for money or material possessions as a means to survive, what does that say about the role of women in Senegal and the opportunities available to women? My problem is not with the legality or illegality of prostitution; my problem is the reasons for which women chose to engage in the field. Majority of the time it is not by choice.

However, as I learn more about the legalizing of prostitution in Senegal, I realize their situation is not unique. More countries have declared prostitution legal compared to countries who declare it illegal. To view countries click here.

In conclusion, legalizing prostitution is not about justifying the profession, but rather making sure those who partake in the profession are safe. Prostitution is going to exists legally or illegally. Society should not focus on condemning prostitutes, but to understand the circumstances within the society that lead to their career choice, and how we can eradicate those problems in order to elevate those engaging in the field forcefully.