Hello. My Dad and Deacon Reeves and I went out to pick up some boards and blocks, to make Mom shelves to hold all me and Hannah’s home schooling stuff. Yes folks, school. Here. On the way, we saw some tropical scenery along with a family of chicks, and it rained lizards and toads. Not Literally. I took some pictures of our adventure.
What made it an adventure was the way home. On the way home, when we parked to buy ice, a policeman told us it was illegal to have wood boards next to me in the jeep. Yes folks, I was liable to be killed from sitting next to wood boards. The chief policemen came and wanted to take us to headquarters because Dad refused to turn over his driver’s license. I thought what the policeman was doing was stupid and I was pretty angry about it. I did not take any pictures of this because I didn’t want us to get into deeper trouble. We waited about a half hour while Deacon Reeves talked to the policemen.
After some time, the policemen allowed us to go home, but dad will have to go back on Monday and pay $10.00. Dad said he wasn’t sure if he was paying a fine or a bribe.
That was my Saturday morning. Hope you like the pictures!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
What Do You Do When Their Lights Go Out?
Poverty in Africa is providing new challenges to our lifestyle choices. One of Renita’s favorite slogans is “Live simply so that others can simply live.” I have believed the truth of this for a while now, but here in Africa, there is immediacy to it. Last night the implications hammered me.
Next door, right next door, lives a man who has been a support and helper to us since the first time we visited Liberia. A small man, he is deeply humble, gracious and yet speaks with authority, so there is a “Ghandi-esque” quality about him. His name is Sam Reeves, and he is our former pastor’s father. When we first visited Liberia in 2004, there were about eight people living in his three bedroom house, including several children not his own. Now there are twelve or thirteen living there, and more children. His pension provides about $20.00 US a month. There are little jobs he does in addition that pays less than a subsistence wage for him. When he runs out of rice or gas for his generator, he and those he cares for simply wait in the dark. They do not complain, for God has always been faithful. And they are grateful for the rice or the gas when it comes. After all, many of his neighbors do not even have the generator.
The hammer that hit me came when I powered up our little generator for the evening. Next door, it was dark. They had run out of gas. In fact, they ran out of gas three nights ago. I heard it sputtering and then die, but the next night my neighbor asked me for a gallon, and thanks to you I had it, so I gave it to him. But last night he did not come to ask, so his house was dark while ours was full of light. In addition, I was aware that he was almost out of rice, and I had half of a hundred pound bag in the pantry. The hammer was in the form of a question: “How can I enjoy family power when my neighbors have none?” And then, “How can I eat rice when their bag is empty?” These are deeply troubling questions, because even if we gave all our food and gas to our neighbors, the many neighbors beyond next door are still out of both frequently. So on the one hand, I cannot have rice or gas when my next door neighbor is out, but on the other hand, I do not have the resources to apply this to everyone in my community. So we will do what we can. And since we are on a limited budget, it means there will be some nights we both sit by candle light, and some nights we pool our resources so everyone eats. For us, “living more simply” will have direct implications on our neighbors’ quality of life. Using less gas means our neighbors get to have light. Using less food, or sharing more means the kids next door get a bit more rice with their bitterballs. Living simply so others may simply live means also our neighbors and us become more interconnected. Our needs become theirs and vice versa. And while living a bit more simply is a bit scary for me, I know in my heart it is simply… right.
More pics soon. We miss you all.
PS I don’t think I’ve said it lately, but I don’t think you can know from there how much we appreciate you from here. We would not be here, could not make the progress we are making, without your steady and faithful support. Tuesday, as I was on my way back home from Monrovia, I had a blowout. Getting a flat anywhere is a drag, but getting a flat on the road from Monrovia is a bit unnerving. As I changed the tire with my all-precious spare, I was ok. I knew God, through you, had already taken care of the replacement tire I would need. So thank you for keeping the Reed wheels from falling off.
Next door, right next door, lives a man who has been a support and helper to us since the first time we visited Liberia. A small man, he is deeply humble, gracious and yet speaks with authority, so there is a “Ghandi-esque” quality about him. His name is Sam Reeves, and he is our former pastor’s father. When we first visited Liberia in 2004, there were about eight people living in his three bedroom house, including several children not his own. Now there are twelve or thirteen living there, and more children. His pension provides about $20.00 US a month. There are little jobs he does in addition that pays less than a subsistence wage for him. When he runs out of rice or gas for his generator, he and those he cares for simply wait in the dark. They do not complain, for God has always been faithful. And they are grateful for the rice or the gas when it comes. After all, many of his neighbors do not even have the generator.
The hammer that hit me came when I powered up our little generator for the evening. Next door, it was dark. They had run out of gas. In fact, they ran out of gas three nights ago. I heard it sputtering and then die, but the next night my neighbor asked me for a gallon, and thanks to you I had it, so I gave it to him. But last night he did not come to ask, so his house was dark while ours was full of light. In addition, I was aware that he was almost out of rice, and I had half of a hundred pound bag in the pantry. The hammer was in the form of a question: “How can I enjoy family power when my neighbors have none?” And then, “How can I eat rice when their bag is empty?” These are deeply troubling questions, because even if we gave all our food and gas to our neighbors, the many neighbors beyond next door are still out of both frequently. So on the one hand, I cannot have rice or gas when my next door neighbor is out, but on the other hand, I do not have the resources to apply this to everyone in my community. So we will do what we can. And since we are on a limited budget, it means there will be some nights we both sit by candle light, and some nights we pool our resources so everyone eats. For us, “living more simply” will have direct implications on our neighbors’ quality of life. Using less gas means our neighbors get to have light. Using less food, or sharing more means the kids next door get a bit more rice with their bitterballs. Living simply so others may simply live means also our neighbors and us become more interconnected. Our needs become theirs and vice versa. And while living a bit more simply is a bit scary for me, I know in my heart it is simply… right.
More pics soon. We miss you all.
PS I don’t think I’ve said it lately, but I don’t think you can know from there how much we appreciate you from here. We would not be here, could not make the progress we are making, without your steady and faithful support. Tuesday, as I was on my way back home from Monrovia, I had a blowout. Getting a flat anywhere is a drag, but getting a flat on the road from Monrovia is a bit unnerving. As I changed the tire with my all-precious spare, I was ok. I knew God, through you, had already taken care of the replacement tire I would need. So thank you for keeping the Reed wheels from falling off.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Election Madness
The much anticipated presidential elections are just around the corner, and today is the official start of the campaign season. Driving into the city is only topped by attempting to get out again. Everywhere I go, there are large groups of people marching, or dozens hanging from cars, handing out posters, trying to affix bumper stickers on my vehicle. I wish I had my camera with me, but I'll remember next time. All of this in the middle of the rainy season. Yesterday we must have received five inches.
The situation in Liberia is impossible to describe in a blog entry, but chaos short of anarchy is close. I imagine it’s a lot like the old American West. The “Law” is rarely available, and chances are the local lawman is looking for a bribe anyway. I think most Liberians forge alliances with neighbors and family, trying to makes a living the best they can in a decimated economy, all the while being watchful for the lurking scoundrel-- or “rogue” as they are called here.
But, since I have no shots of the campaign or of any rogues, here are a couple pics of yesterday's post-tropical storm water fight action.
The situation in Liberia is impossible to describe in a blog entry, but chaos short of anarchy is close. I imagine it’s a lot like the old American West. The “Law” is rarely available, and chances are the local lawman is looking for a bribe anyway. I think most Liberians forge alliances with neighbors and family, trying to makes a living the best they can in a decimated economy, all the while being watchful for the lurking scoundrel-- or “rogue” as they are called here.
But, since I have no shots of the campaign or of any rogues, here are a couple pics of yesterday's post-tropical storm water fight action.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Around the House
Hello folks,
A few more shots of the daily grind. We'll get some scenery and city pics soon.
You know, while it is true we are all making steady progress adapting to Liberia, it is healthy and wise that we acknowledge how much we reflect on our life in Michigan. We do. The other day I asked Noah, “How much do you miss Grand Rapids?” In an immediate whisper I heard the words, “A lot.” Tears welled in my eyes as I croaked out, “Me too.” And I thought how normal this is, to miss the place one has left, no matter where one has gone. I still miss living in Middleville before living on Prospect in GR, and I miss California before I came to West Michigan, and before California, I miss Chicago, and forever ago, long before Chicago, I miss Strathmore Street and Bogart Street in Lansing. So if there are a few minutes everyday when I’m sad, its probably more than that for everybody else.
But we are getting used to it, day by day. Things like birthday cakes, and dogs (we just got a new puppy-- Nikki by name), and becoming friends with the folks here help a lot. Some days Renita and I can see it fitting together, and some day, as Noah reminded me during that talk, we will miss Liberia too.
Oh, before I go, I have telephone numbers for you. To call Renita from the US, dial 011 2316 452 356. To call Bob dial 011 2316 452 381. Because we are out of the city the call may not go through. And Renita just text messaged me to say she got her phone wet, so we'll see if that number holds up. If you change phones, you change what are called SIM cards, which means you change numbers too.Just keep trying. It does not cost us anything to receive calls, but it costs a lot to make them.
Keep in touch. We miss you.
A few more shots of the daily grind. We'll get some scenery and city pics soon.
You know, while it is true we are all making steady progress adapting to Liberia, it is healthy and wise that we acknowledge how much we reflect on our life in Michigan. We do. The other day I asked Noah, “How much do you miss Grand Rapids?” In an immediate whisper I heard the words, “A lot.” Tears welled in my eyes as I croaked out, “Me too.” And I thought how normal this is, to miss the place one has left, no matter where one has gone. I still miss living in Middleville before living on Prospect in GR, and I miss California before I came to West Michigan, and before California, I miss Chicago, and forever ago, long before Chicago, I miss Strathmore Street and Bogart Street in Lansing. So if there are a few minutes everyday when I’m sad, its probably more than that for everybody else.
But we are getting used to it, day by day. Things like birthday cakes, and dogs (we just got a new puppy-- Nikki by name), and becoming friends with the folks here help a lot. Some days Renita and I can see it fitting together, and some day, as Noah reminded me during that talk, we will miss Liberia too.
Oh, before I go, I have telephone numbers for you. To call Renita from the US, dial 011 2316 452 356. To call Bob dial 011 2316 452 381. Because we are out of the city the call may not go through. And Renita just text messaged me to say she got her phone wet, so we'll see if that number holds up. If you change phones, you change what are called SIM cards, which means you change numbers too.Just keep trying. It does not cost us anything to receive calls, but it costs a lot to make them.
Keep in touch. We miss you.
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