The Curmudgeon DNA

Ahhhhhh, the election blew my mind (heart, belly, sleep, etc.). I took a long break from these stories - and I miss thinking about what to share, trying to see with your eyes, hear with your ears.

Some snapshots:

• Keh-Kehs, three-wheeled mini-cars/motorized buggies, clog the streets and sidewalks all over. Most are decorated with exuberant sayings about family, God, faith, blessings. One of my favorites so far is "J-love." (Cause one of my favorite nicknames is G-love.) Keh-Kehs are almost uniformly taxi-cab yellow; I don't know who made that rule, but it's one that seems to stick. My first K-K ride was with a co-worker, Moses, whom we call Prophet, his brother Mike, and a Rising colleague who was visiting. This had 5 people in the K-K, which is on the low-end of K-K density. If not crammed with people, they might be crammed with charcoal, casava leaves, or any manner of things people are bringing to a market. When Victor and I were headed out of town on Saturday morning, we were stuck in a river of K-K's, and I watched them whip quick u-turns around a median. With their super-tight turning radius, I was transported to the bumper cars in Rehoboth, turning the wheel, whipping around in ovals, and trying to ram my family members. Then I saw a K-K - remember, they are cute, toy-like - with "Fuck Love" on its roof and "AK-47" across the bumper. I kind of loved it just for being out of step.

• Children standing in brightly colored plastic bowls getting bathed. Yellow, green, blue bowls with dashes of another color creating whirly patterns. These 2-3-4 year old chocolate bodies with white suds coating them, glistening. Their parents/aunties/siblings scrubbing them fiercely on front steps, in the entry way of a little store, in a side yard/alley. I imagine the children slipping out of their grasp and running to escape the sponge - or just for fun. But I haven't seen that yet, and it makes me think there is love and comfort in that scrubbing - or maybe they just know they will get popped if they make a run for it.

• At work, we are emptying a large shed of old curriculum materials. I have become manic about this for no good reason. (I'm an ace saver of things, and believe almost anything could be useful to someone if I just find the right person. Like all superpowers, this one can bend back on itself and be a curse instead of a blessing.) There is a rumor that a snake lives in the shed. But Gifted, one of our security people, laughs that off. She says it isn't possible. So I climb into the shed, on top of piles of paper, tossing things we can't use to one side and trying to pull out complete books (Reading - Grade 6 - Lessons 1-17; K1-Stories-Teacher Guide) that we can give away. Joe, the staff person who is most feeling the brunt of my obsession to empty this shed says to me: "Please don't be offended, but can I ask you a question?" Yes, of course. "Were you trained by the army?" No, why? "You are very brave." I think to myself: I better watch out for that fuckin snake. But I say to him: No, not trained by the army. But I am a single mom, and you have to be brave to do that.

• I am walking through Invincible Fields, an athletic park with soccer fields, tennis courts and a basketball court. You are thinking: In Monrovia?? And you are right; this is an amazing thing - and I can walk to it from my house, so I go frequently. (The less amazing thing is that this may be the signature contribution of the former president and former footballer, George Weah. The other signature thing being how he pilfered the country to enrich himself.) I sit on a bench to switch from flip flops to sneakers; a little girl - maybe 3 years old - waves and kind of saunters over. She is with some 14-year-ish older sisters. This toddler has alot of snap; she cocks her hip, dips her chin and looks at me like she might give me a sassy little lecture. Then she runs back giggling to her sisters. As I am tying my shoes, I look up and she is wresting blooms from a bush that is part of a small and struggling bit of landscaping. "Ugh," I think to myself, judgement faster than any other reaction, "why can't they enjoy this little bit of beauty and let it survive? If everyone picks a flower, none will be left!"

And then she walks over and puts the flower in my hand. She is lovely; the flower is lovely. And I have an excellent reminder not to be a judgmental pain in the ass.

It's November 25; I come home inside one month.

xo