Sooo tired of malaria. I don't have it, but feel like I do. My partner has it and I'm responsible for finding medicine, cooking dinner, and comforting the sick. These things would be simpler if there were more pharmacies or if pharmacies carried real drugs and not skin bleaching cream. Seriously?! I went to buy triple antibiotic cream in Gbarnga and the store clerk handed me fade me light cream. On the way back from the pharmacy, I saw a large banner advertising a herbalist--traditional healer. The sign read "Body Each" 'body itch' and had a painted picture of a person covered in sores. I almost stopped for help. Unfortunately, many Liberians will go to the herbalist and bypass sustainably good health for totems and untested herb remedies. 

Burnt teeth and Ivorian fabric

"No disrespect, but I don't want your man." 

"Why did my husband take you into the market? You didn't ask if he was married."

"I'm not asking if he's married, unless I'm interested. Again. No disrespect, but I don't want your man."

I look hard into this woman's eyes and see her insecurity and fatigue. I'm not to blame for her husband's bad intentions. A few days ago, I ducked into a pharmacy to hide from the Liberian deluge. It was a sudden and violent storm that sent raw sewage gushing down the street. I was wearing sandals.

A pharmacy had a sign posted outside advertising German pharmaceuticals. I thought I may stay dry and find a transplanted German apothecary. Instead I found a young Liberian man with rotted teeth and a whole lot of ideas. Time flew by. We talked about health, religion, and education in Liberia. I then went to the more superficial topic of fashion and jewelry. 

"Where do you think I can find Malian beads and Ivorian wax cotton?"

"Madam, I am not a woman. I do not know these things."

Simple response in a country that has clearly demarcated gender roles. 

"But, I do know a woman who sells these things. I will take you there when the rain stops."

I hesitate, but go anyway. He knows the back way to avoid the flooded streets and raw sewage. We skip over stones like frogs jumping over lily pads. We finally make it to well- kept secret along Water Street. A small kiosk with a rotund Mandingo woman sells the most exquisite fabric in West Africa. Every piece feels smooth and has a wonderful weight to it. Unfortunately, I am nearly broke and try to strike a deal.

"Can I pick out a few I like and pay a deposit?"

"Sure, put your phone number and name on a sheet of paper." The rotund oma smiles with a shiny gold tooth up front. She then says something to the rotted tooth man in a language I don't understand.

Rotted tooth man looks at me and says:

"Pick up the fabric at my pharmacy on Friday. Friday's a holiday and she won't be working."

Friday's a holiday for sure. I reluctantly agree. My spidey senses are tingling, so I hurry onto a motorbike and zoom off to the house. The next Friday I am back at the pharmacy to pick up my fabric, but the burnt tooth man is not there. His wife is. She may accept my explanation, but she doesn't trust her husband. She gives me a coded warning and I feel a little foolish. No man takes a woman shopping without a hidden motive.  

These few weeks haven't been the easiest, but when is it ever easy in Liberia? The hydrocephalic baby passed away. I forgave myself for not doing more. Hopefully, I can pass on information or serve as a link to help future cases. Capacity- building is the hot word of development, but what does it truly mean? It means that doctors and staff should be trained on cutting- edge life- saving techniques here in Liberia. It means that children should not be thrown away by their parents out of ignorance and fear. People should be educated and allowed to grow physically and mentally without strain. I'm not sure what part I'll have in it all, but I'll try small- small

Happy Easter and a Rooster too!

Yesterday, I celebrated Easter Mass with the Foundation for Women. FFW is a non-profit organization that provides small micro-finance loans to women and disabled people throughout Liberia. They are an amazing team of motivated and dedicated men and women. They are trying to address many of the inequities present in society by empowering the most marginalized members of society.

Great group of people.

Not so great church service.

Members of the church reenact Christ's sacrifice by offering the fruits of the labor. Some brought toiletries. Others brought clean cleaning supplies. Many brought farm fresh produce. Plantains. Bitter balls (fruit related to the eggplant.) Spicy peppers. Edoes (tuber related to the potato.) 

And a large rooster.

As the priest is delivering a most Solemn Mass complete with incense and incantations, the rooster sounds loudly on the altar. The priest continues, but the rooster has found his own rhythm. He boasts and crows right along with a flock of boastful roosters passing outside. I begin to pray that the rooster at the altar will be freed tor un around the church. I think a three hour Solemn Mass will be more interesting if a rooster is running around. The priests dressed in his vestments. Altar boys in robes dropping their incense and picking up their hems to chase the chivalrous cockerel would be hilarious. "Come on rooster. Come on rooster. Saint Kizito please grant me an Easter Rooster." Yet, he isn't freed and I have to sit for three more hours on a hard wooden pew in an overcrowded church with no air- conditioning. Happy Easter!