Monrovia, Liberia

Safe
After four days of travel, three missed transfers, 2 flight delays, six airports, four time zones and one hotel, I am in Monrovia, Liberia, West Africa. And while my travels were eventful, I am so happy to say that I am physically, emotionally and spiritually healthy. During my stopover in Brussels, I had a moment of lucidity, thanking God for all the unexpected blessings that I've experienced en route to Monrovia. I had one full day where I had nothing to do. While others encouraged me to see the sights, I couldn't get myself out of the hotel. Aside from the dreariness of the weather outside, it was my sheer mental and physical fatigue that kept me in bed reading, writing, meditating. Even watching a ridiculous German voice-over episode of Criss Angel's Mindfreak was a way of just resting. It was the best thing that could've happened and the rest was much needed. It had been months since I had a day where I was not anticipating a move, an event, an errand or coming to West Africa.

While waiting for my flight at the Brussels airport, a beautiful African woman walked in, donning a dress of yellow and blue. Then another, and another. From my pitiful French, I deduced that they were a Catholic choir from Cote d'Ivoire (where we would layover for one hour). There were about fifty of them. Upon touchdown in Abidjan, they applauded and broke out into songs of praise. Its good that "Hallelujah" is the same in all languages whether literally or metaphorically.

First Impressions
Flying south through Africa through Algeria and into Mali, I watched the sun set. The sky was a bright turquoise color, light diffusing itself through scattered clouds dipped in orange. A moment later, the sky matured, its colors changing into a deep sapphire - almost purple - streaked with a hot pepper red, the sun a ball of fire dipping off into horizon.

Disembarking in Monrovia, the humid air clung to me like it knew me. I was in Africa.

The Monrovian airport is small. And by that, I mean maybe twice the size of a large McDonald's. By western standards, it is chaotic, confusing, abrupt. My intitial impressions were that Liberians were curt and forceful, but I'll add to that they are airport officials after all. As my fellow crewmates gathered their bags and got on the SUVs waiting for us, my second bag was nowhere to be found. I searched under piles of bags, dumped in the middle of this small room. Nothing. At this point, I was holding onto a shred - maybe a straw - of a sense of humor. I felt slightly panicked and afraid that my crewmates would leave without me. After ten long minutes, I saw a woman holding my bag and inspecting its tags. I shouted, "That's mine! That's mine!" A local grabbed it and handed it to me with a smile. I left the airport and was immediately offered help by a young boy to whom I gave a dollar as a tip. (Keep in mind $5/day's wages is considered very adequate). Thankfully, my new friend Grace had noted that I hadn't arrived and urged the others to wait.

Though I was escorted through Liberia in the dark, it was still easy to see the crudeness of the roads, the destroyed buildings from the war, the unpaved streets. There was, however, more electricity than I thought there'd be. Groups of people walk on the side of the streets, in the dark. Local eateries were still open and it was half past midnight already.

Low billboards dotted the sides of the road with slogans such as 'Stop the Mob!' or 'Community begins with us.' Little if any pop culture references were made, a vast difference from the US. Facades of buildings, if they existed at all, are old. Some are very, very humble and while I don't judge them against the things of west - in that every molding be in place, all paint new, glass, well lit, etc. - there was still an aura of depression over everything. A sense that this place was trying to wake up again, trying to heal itself, trying to find its own identity after being brutalized.

The Ship
We made it to the ship a little before 1 am. So vast and bright, she sat patiently at the dock. A gasp of anticipation leaked out of me and of course, all my fears were realized. What was I doing here? Why should I be here? Will I be useful? Is anything we're doing useful? Do people care? What is the right thing to do? What is the godly thing to do? At that moment, I decided to chuck anything solid plans that I had. I will listen, learn and follow my instincts that God puts in my heart. I will do my best.

The ship is a floating city. We have wireless internet from a Marine satellite. There is a modest cafe on board with Starbucks. As I type, they are watching Night at the Musueum on some really nice looking flat screens in the common areas. There is clean water. What I am saying is, we're comfortable here.

From the deck, you can see the meager skyline of Monrovia. Some high rises, you can actually see through because they were decimated in the war. Next to us is a capsized ship, rusted. Near us is an old dock, rusted, and scavengers who look like teenagers or children work at getting the pieces of metal from the towering crane and dock. Whatever they can get, they will sell for money. They work at this slowly, meticulously. Not unlike the work we try to do here, perhaps, but hopefully we do it with added love, compassion with a hope for real change.

Thanks, everyone, for your continued prayers, interest and support. They have not gone unheard!

So close, so far away

My flight to Liberia has been delayed for three hours and I am currently in the Brussels airport. So close, still so far away! Last night, I was so excited that I didn't sleep. I met a friend who will also be in the ship, so I am happily though tiredly commisserating with someone. There is a huge choir from Cote d'Ivoire on board with us and there's nothing like 50 loud voices demanding a refund!

Midnight snack

I was so exhausted that I almost landed face down into my overpriced hotel dinner. I went upstairs and crashed at about 8 PM, waking up at midnight, thinking it was 5 AM or something. I headed downstairs to buy some overpriced water and as I made my way back up to my room, I saw my name written on the white board behind the front desk. Upon my inquiry, these were produced to me:



If you were able to see the tags, you'd see that they have been put on about four different flights, with many different notes from many baggage handlers. The fact that it made it to little me here sitting in this small airport hotel, well, its just terrific :).

Lemons out of lemonade

Well, they don't call it the Windy City for nothin' (though I've heard that that isn't a direct descriptor for Chicago's weather, but its politics). Anyway, due to the wind, I was delayed flying out of SFO. Which, if I were pitching you a script right now, I would say, "And then hijinks ensued!" Said hijinks caused me to miss my transfer to Brussels,miss my transfer to Liberia, misplace my bags and sit here at Etap Hotel blogging from a communal computer. I'll be leaving Friday from another flight to Liberia. I've almost forgotten that that was my final destination!

Belgium is very rainy, very dreary. My hotel room faces a humungous field of what looks like smashed grain, remants of crop circle making perhaps, if you believe in that sort of a thing.

Thanks everyone for your good thoughts and prayers. I am doing ok, but would like my stuff soon (who am I kidding, I want it now!). There were a few moments where I felt a bit alone. Through the wonders of the internet, I received many comforting emails from my siblings and mother. Chris found this hotel for me and it is perfectly European, which is to say, small.

I have already seen alot of good things come out of my mishaps of three missed transfers. For example, I met a really cool nun. We chatted for a bit and she gave me a card and asked me to call her when in Rome. She reassured me that everything would be okay and that God was in control. I almost burst into tears. I was seated next to a young military man who insisted on putting Neosporin on his new tattoo. The fact that he was trying to show off his arms was not missed, though such a thing didn't really appeal to me especially when I asked him about the meaning of his artwork and why he chose it. His response was, "I think its a Celtic thing." After some lively conversation about his post in Rome, he then took a ton of NyQuil and slept.

Amongst other fortunes would be seeing Brussels tomorrow, being able to rest and not get on a plane yet again. Also, because I got rerouted through London, I get more airmiles. Additionally, I never met nicer folks at an airport than the Belgians. God bless them, they are so efficient and friendly.

The hotel here is modest, clean and just right. I felt the bed for firmness. After 24+ hours of being in constant transit or in an airport, I hear it calling my name. More to come.

Thanks everyone for your prayers and good thoughts and advice!

And The GRAMMY goes to...

Today was my last day at work. It was two and a half years ago that I stepped foot into the Academy. Never would I have imagined that it would foster so much worth, comfort and stability in my life. And never did I know how much I needed all of those things until it is now over.

It is always the people who make places remarkable. When humans can actually add to the process of creating beauty in life, the collaborative effort proves to be such a powerful thing. We are bonded together in a mysterious mission, I suppose. Sometimes, unconsciously. And for all the deadlines, paperwork, eye-rolling moments that day to day office life can have, it is a precious thing that friendships are forged at all. People make fun of the water cooler talk that happens, but I think those moments are where relationships can actually be formed and I don't underestimate it.

I found a receipt the other day from 2005. On the back was a short journal entry that I scribbled while sitting in the parking lot of the Academy. Thoughts, fears, maybe a prayer of sorts. Just needing some strength. Cos it was the first day of school, and while I had a great interview, I had no idea what to expect. I do not know why I was so nervous - I am not typically nervous about jobs or new people. The fears were unfounded, of course, because 2.5 years later, the experience turned out to be probably the best job I've ever had. I'm going to keep that little receipt - it was an answered prayer.

And here we are. Goofing off. My going away lunch.

My coworkers created a framed collage for me and signed the borders. All the kind words sort of lift me up and out and towards the next step, the next day. It is incredibly humbling to be thought of anything more other than just ... me. This little girl who has an idea about how the world can be like. Maybe not "should" because I don't know think things will be perfect on this earth. After all, that's the business of Heaven. But still, to have people who support your ideals about justice, love and purpose - well, only the blessed have that experience. And that I am.

Thank you to all my friends, my family at GF/MC. I think of each of you uniquely, fondly and I thank you for adding to my life.

Technology

One of the many ongoing issues that I have been trying to resolve is the usage of a webcam while overseas. If you haven't tried to mess with a Skype-sanctioned webcam that also works with Mac OS 10.3.9, then you'll probably have a few more added moments of joy in your life. Seriously. It has been a time drain and I can't say that all the techno-babble excites me either.

Previously, I had deduced that not many webcams work with my operating system, so I won a bid on eBay (my first auction won! finally!) for MAC OS Tiger. Tiger was ordered, paid for, and shipped. And never arrived. Hrmph.

Last night, Grandizer Chris in his Mac, um, not hating, but opposing ways, sat down and tried to figure out the intricacies of why our webcams were not working well together. I won't bore you with the details, but when Skype finally recognized my webcam, both of us leapt for joy. I took a photo of us together from my Rocketfish cam. This will go in our "red" period.



We tried out the webcam last night - he from his apartment and me from mine. It worked! And as for Mac OS Tiger, if I get it great, if I don't, I'll know why - I never needed it in the first place (and I can get my money back). These are the moments when I say to myself, God is in the details.

In other news, I am "official." Mercy Ships has finally added me to their system and I can receive donations ... hold your breath... online! Waaa! I'm in the 21st century. Awesome. My donation link is to the right, in the sidebar. And thank you to all who have donated. I am totally awed by your generosity and I thank you for making it happen!

Being sent forth

I should really be getting sleep now so that the viral cesspool doesn't brew again - I've been fighting off illness for about a week. However, I have to take some time out to brag about my friends. They are just some of the most thoughtful, considerate and generous people, a person could be graced with knowing. On Saturday, they threw a "see you later" party for me at the Irving House. Barrels of food from Eliz Kim's good dip to Young Mi's Madeleine's to Sandra's meringues descended upon the food table:





Sandra spearheaded a wonderful, lighthearted warm evening with the help and generosity of my other L.A. family. It was a perfect party, and I wouldn't have wanted it or needed it any other way.

Chris opened up with a time of worship and praise, choosing some of my favorite songs. At the end of the fourth song, he turns to me and says, "This is for you, Michelle." He goes on to sing a ballad, eyes closed, opening them now and then to smile at me. There's lyrics about wanting to see the world as you see it. Wanting to understand it the way you do. I'm thinking, is he singing about God? Finally, at the bridge, he is crooning about missing me. Oh! ME! My boyfriend wrote an original song about me and serenaded me in front of some of my closest friends. If I had an actual clue sooner, I would've cried. But by the time I felt my sinuses pinch and my tear ducts fill when this bright blogger "got it", the song was over. (He says he'll encore it for me. I will cry then for sure).



Bethany, mistress of ceremonies, opened up the floor for me to discuss my prayer requests. She then asked people to affirm gifts that I have specifically, and give words of encouragement. At least three fourths of everyone there shared. And with everything they said, I just felt so incredibly humbled, spirits buoyed - essentially, I became a bit braver and more confident. These people were not paid, by the way, though one might have thought they were. These were people who have known me - some, as Maestro Wong pointed out - for nine years. What I mean is, they know the good and bad. And they love me in the midst of everything else. And thats what love is. Its a blessing. Thank you, God! (Dear reader, if you do not have friends like these - and you don't need to go away for six months to find out if you do - I suggest getting some! Better yet, be that kind of a friend! Here's the sassy group:



And the second wave of folks (sans Thena and Ted and Helen - boo!):



I wrote down everything that each person shared about me. It was a blessing to me. So many people said things that I feel like were from God, Himself. A way that He wanted to use my friends to speak to me and my heart for a mission that is not my own, but His. After that, Bethany began a prayer time.

Then the crying began.

I know I've said this before, but it is wild to me that people would shed one tear over my absence. I'm serious. This is not a low self esteem thing, but its more like, "Wow, I can't believe you feel that way about me!" It is deeply, almost -how shall I say? - incategorably humbling and touching. It has added a deeper dimension for me in terms of intimacy. It teaches me something. That is, I want also to experience that love for others. Not just strangers in a third world country, but I mean the love for the people you just live with, the people you know on a day to day level. The people who you allow to know you. There are people who can lay down their lives for strangers, but somehow when it comes to just saying, "I love you" or "I'm sorry" to their families, spouses or best friends it is the hardest thing in the world! God help me, that I can be that person - a person not just simply good for the adventurous task, but a person who is steadfast enough to accompany someone on the long road ahead.

And then I cried.

What overwhelmed me was just the gift of friendship and kinship. That unnatural, unexplainable thing that points to the evidence of God. And I thanked God for that - cos no one deserves it, but He certainly doesn't withold it!

Thanks, everyone, for your prayers. They help shape my beliefs, which in turn shape my decisions, which in turn shape my character, and in turn, it shapes my future.

Thank you.