The engine waits patiently, and so must we, as various pieces of cargo (lumber, steel, different metals) and cars (owners of scrap metal companies, visitors, etc.) are loaded onto the flatbeds.
I've been told that we will be sitting outside during this train ride, which is part of the appeal. The missing detail was that we'd be loading the Land Rover onto the flatbed where the car will be parked, and that we'd be sitting on top of the Land Rover. There is a small red flag that comes up in my mind. I presume that they will secure the wheels of the vehicles. When I sadly totalled my vehicle in 2003, I remember the tow company throwing it on a flatbed and then securing its wheels with a belt like device. And today, they do secure our vehicle. With large cantaloupe sized boulders that they place behind the wheels of our Land Rover so that it doesn't roll backwards. And off we go.
We leave the city and head northwest into the country. Weaving through the city, the sounds of cars honking are replaced with silence, and the churning of the train. City huts made out of sheet metal are replaced by thatched roof huts. But in all cases, children run out to greet the train, to greet the Mercy Ships vehicles, and to catch a glimpse of foreigners. Their voices are joyful sounds, hatching out of nowhere, a welcome delight for someone in a foreign place.
The wind rushes through our hair. The clouds are creating big shadows on the ground, as we travel through patches of sunlight and shade. Carol scratches her face, nudges her hat and it flies off into the distance, lost to the jungles of Liberia. The foliage is vibrant, green and alive from last night's rain. Bananas and mangos dangle from the trunks of trees. Small bursts of leaves rise from a thick cluster of dark green bushes, stemming towards the sky like giraffes. Looking around, I thought to myself that it is indeed man who ruins God's creation, not the other way around. Liberia is blessed, luscious, and precious with its many fertile resources - iron, gold, diamonds and rubber.
Forty five minutes or so past. My bottom is beginning to fall asleep. The train slows to a stop. We have travelled through a long distance through the jungle, and then we arrive at a small township. We pick up a mother, a small child and a large bag of rice the size of the child.
We marvel at how people seem to travel from long distances in order to get to the train tracks. I suspect that they are waiting for different trains for purposes of trade or transportation. Also, walking along the train tracks provides a cleared path for them to travel upon.
As for us, we enjoy the sun and fresh air which we rarely receive in Monrovia and on the ship. Smiling happy and proud, here we are sitting on top of a Land Rover, trundling through the jungle on a train. From left to right: Timon (Switzerland), myself (USA), Debbie (Australia), Ester (Norway), Leena (South Africa) and Rosemary (England).
At the Bong Mines, our driver Odecious, formerly an employer at the mine, recalls the day that the LURD rebels came and drove everyone out. They captured strongholds of prosperity in the country and the mine was an attractive prosperous place. From accents, looks, behaviors and dialects, the LURD discerned between different tribe members. Odecious made it through. The others who were of the wrong tribe were shot here, the Ezekiel Valley. Over 5000 bodies were thrown in this valley. When President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf came to power, she held a memorial service here.
You would not think such a beautiful place, as it is now, was once a trench of horrors.
Leena becomes silent. She turns to me and says, 'Would you pray with me?' I nod and she utters words that come from that place that has none.
Odecious gives us a tour of the formerly prosperous mine, now a place where people scrap for metal to sell.
It is a broke down palace.
Odecious shows us some lakes in the surrounding land. There are still people living in Bong County. Before the war, people lived here then worked at the mine and enjoyed this beautiful countryside.
My ears are ringing. It is deafeningly quiet. I have been so attuned to the sounds of the engine whirring all day, the loud talking of Liberians, and the sounds of traffic that when I meet silence, it overwhelms me. Ester notices this too. We eat our lunch on a small jetty that reaches out into the lake, watching large dragonflies dart around in the air.
Odecious drives down a dirt road in the Land Rover. In Los Angeles, people drive Range Rovers and Land Rovers, but on well paved streets to go fetch their starbucks. Here, the Land Rovers rise up to the challenge and we drive over gravel, rocks, large pools of water and other things that Land Rovers were created to to.
We also visit a local hospital, which I will discuss in a later blog post. On our way back, we drive through the township to buy mangos, coconuts and pineapples. We stop off for a cold one at a local cafe.
As we return to Monrovia, I fall asleep inside the Land Rover, the warm breeze rushing against my sweat drenched clothes. Suddenly, Carol yells, 'My hat!' A man is standing on the side of the tracks, his hand in the air, her hat in his hand. He has been waiting all day for the train to come by. We are unable to stop, but she smiles at him.
Lightning strikes and it begins to rain. We pass through this patch uneventfully. I climb out of the Land Rover to breathe in my reserve of fresh air. The train rushes head long downhill. The speed picks up. I hold on with one hand to the roll bars of the vehicle. And with a smile on my face and the other hand in the air, I wave, and wave, and wave.
Liberia is alive.
