Kids, rain, clinics. I met a mentally ill boy named Chris, he was the happiest. By day’s end, we’d seen 15 or so. And so many kids! In one village, Joseph (who has six kids of his own) turned to me and said, “De a too many child her. De run da viyage.” I agreed. Crawling, running, everywhere.

Night at the Angel Guest House… where it’s still Christmas? (Or where wall decorations are in short supply…)

All over Nimba County, Liberia.

Up country with local partners — go, go, go. We stayed the night in Garplay, at the house of a local partner employee… Not our most comfortable night. There were a few things missing, is all. No electricity, which is fine. No pipe connecting the porceline sink to anything else, which is fine, too, unless you spit all your toothpaste into it to then notice it’s ending up on the floor. No sheets beyond the basic mattress cover. There were curtains (a sheet… we could’ve used that on the bed) on the windows, but nothing behind them… that’s only a problem when you’re in the bush and anyone can climb in your room and take your stuff.

So the night wouldn’t have been so bad had I not (a) remembered bedbug horror tales from friends or (b) heard something knock over bottles on a table and think, “Rat! Wait… maybe it’s a child? Who climbed through the window??”

We think it was a rat.

Anyway… the two days have been a whirlwind of villages and health committees and local water project managers’ trainings… and I’m starting to really love Liberia. The people are more emotional, more lively, than some other parts of Africa. The women step forward. They talk to us (most of the time). They even interrupt the men to say what they have to say. Tradition is still huge here; some villages believe autistic or mentally ill people are bewitched, some adhere to the Poro (a secret society that encourages female circumcision), some won’t eat eggs from their own chickens (but eat the chicken meat)… but the people are more open about their lives and how they feel. There isn’t a religious or conservative curtain over their actions when we walk up to the village.

They do love to celebrate and put on airs for their donors, though. Bananas, pineapples, limes, live chickens… Luckily, our partners will somewhat boldly disseminate how they do (or don’t) look after their water projects. Our partners here are just as interested in sustainability — making sure the communities are engaged enough to look after their own water points — as we are. And they join us to grill the community leaders accordingly.

All over Nimba County, Liberia.

We started in Monrovia, hungover by an airplane stupor but intrigued by the eerie feeling of the city at dusk. Glass shards stood guard on the walls of the modest Methodist guest house, our place for the night. Across the courtyard, a man hammered atop a bombed-out building. To the west, the ocean crashed loudly. No one ventured to the beach.

We headed out to Nimba County early the next morning. The road to Ganta is mostly dirt sliced by small rivets of water streaming down the hillsides. It’s the rainy season (though not as wet as I’d expect) and we have a jam-packed schedule of water points to see. On the way to our projects, we flew by what seems like hundreds of other wells. The only other cars on the road are SUV’s marked by NGO logos on their side doors. We’re in the epicenter of international aid.

We have a lot to learn a lot more to see… and the director of our local partner is more than equipped (he’s been working and living in Liberia for 26 years) to teach us.

Monrovia to Ganta.

Rainy season here can mean either great photo lighting… or broken equipment. We’ll see.

Shelter Gardens, Columbia, Missouri.