We are in the midst of our North American journey of meeting, greeting and eating. I cannot believe how much food is available, and everybody loves to see us eat. Like I need it. Not that I'm really complaining. We are spending time with the people who love us most, people who have been with us throughout our time in West Africa. So it is "busy-o plenty but a good good tie."
But I miss Liberia.
I can't believe I'm saying it, but I do. I miss the simplicity-- the basic, uncomplicated but daily struggle of our neighbors and friends. I miss rubbing shoulders with people who have little more than some rice and their souls to share. In Liberia, my life just seems more real.
So last night, thinking about what to write today, I started looking over possible pictures of our time in North America. You all came to mind and I thought, "These people do not want shots of Renita or me in meetings or Hannah or Noah in a Michigan swimming pool." Maybe you do, but I guess maybe I don't want to see them. Then I began looking over the images of Liberia, and I realized there are a bunch of shots that almost made it to the blog but for one reason or another-- e.g. they didn't fit the theme that week or there was something wrong with the quality, or there was a different pic that fit better-- they just didn't get in. So, here are a few pics that you never saw-- blogworthy but until now without a blog. Enjoy.
Next week: "Family Reunion(s)"
But I miss Liberia.
I can't believe I'm saying it, but I do. I miss the simplicity-- the basic, uncomplicated but daily struggle of our neighbors and friends. I miss rubbing shoulders with people who have little more than some rice and their souls to share. In Liberia, my life just seems more real.
So last night, thinking about what to write today, I started looking over possible pictures of our time in North America. You all came to mind and I thought, "These people do not want shots of Renita or me in meetings or Hannah or Noah in a Michigan swimming pool." Maybe you do, but I guess maybe I don't want to see them. Then I began looking over the images of Liberia, and I realized there are a bunch of shots that almost made it to the blog but for one reason or another-- e.g. they didn't fit the theme that week or there was something wrong with the quality, or there was a different pic that fit better-- they just didn't get in. So, here are a few pics that you never saw-- blogworthy but until now without a blog. Enjoy.
Next week: "Family Reunion(s)"
Our first few weeks here. Rainy season, and Lionel wears a water crown under the drain spout. Note the stare. Since it is rainy season Liberia, he's probably under there right now.
October 2005. The road from Rivercess with CHAL. (Look it up in the archives, you can see Yers Trooly waiting for these guys to haul the cab out of the mud.) This is typical of interior roads during the rainy season.
One day, Noah got it into his head to get shots of people jumping. This surreal piece is called "Nikki the Dog Stupified Yet Again By Human Behavior." The subjects are Victoria and Rachel.
Looking down upon a fishing boat in Mali.
Another Mali shot. The Reeds enjoying quiet moment.
Vera, the woman who cooks for us during the week and does our laundry, cooking for her own family late afternoon at home. 
This may be the strangest billboard I have ever seen. I'm thinking the baby (note the five o'clock shadow) looks a tad like former president Charles Taylor. 
One last shot of the Monk. This is her being angry. You won't like her when she's angry.
Hannah, in the midst of a Liberian-style, in your face, tell-it-like-you-see-it argument. You can actually see her speaking Liberian English.
Where our 300 friends from Barclayville drink. They call it their well. What would you call it?
Another Noah piece: "Sand Rain on Sand Dome via Enoch and Jackson."
We hear the pangolin is doing just fine. Hope to see her soon. 
Meanwhile, back in the States, the Reeds are livin' large in the VanderStelt's guest cottage. Sponge Bob Square Pants blesses the children from the TV whist Renita networks.
