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.