Adventures with the coal pot – sangria, too!

Arriving in Liberia, I knew I wasn’t going to have running water or electricity.  What I did not bargain for, however, is not having a stove to cook with.  Living with our home stay family in Kakata, I soon realized what life with a coal pot would be like.  Though Mona, my sister, was rather adept at lighting the coal pot, I realized that upon moving out to Maryland County, I was going to have a pretty steep learning curve.

Needless to say, I underestimated how long it would take me to truly master the coal pot.  While we were able to light it and cook some decent meals, our first month at site was rough.  Sarah and I went through so many boxes of matches, pieces of rubber, and last bits of patience, I never thought we would make it through.  Today, however, we have it down to an art, and I’m pretty proud of our coal-potting skills! :)

Once we mastered lighting the coal pot, it became time to experiment with what types of meals we could make for ourselves.  Some have been crash and burn experiences, while others have been all-star recipes we have repeated too many times to remember.  Our lunch is typically kidney bean soup and rice, which is a cheap and filling meal to make.  Dinner during the week is something equally as quick and easy to make.

Some favorites of ours include spaghetti (we put okra in the sauce for a little something extra) with garlic bread, fried rice, and eggs and tortillas (yes, we make our own tortillas!).  Other meals we have tried with varied success include sweet potato perogies, peanut butter soup, Spanish rice, refried beans, and chicken – our take on a Mexican night, pasta with a four-cheese sauce (thanks, Mom!) and chicken, jollof rice, Indian masala with chickpeas, eggplant parmesan, bean burgers, macaroni and cheese, onion rings, popcorn, and many more. 

Like I said, some have been huge successes (eggplant parmesan!), while others have been huge failures (like the time we made jollof rice so spicy we couldn’t finish it).  They all make great stories, though, and it is fun to laugh about it now.  We have an entire cookbook to work through while we’re here, and I’m excited to discover what else we can make.

Spaghetti with okra and garlic bread

Bean burgers!

Spaghetti with real tomato sauce

Baking with the coal pot

In the baking world, we have been adventurous, as well.  Some of our favorites in that department include banana bread, brownies, and muffins.  We have so many fruits available to us here, though, so after training at the end of November, our goal is to experiment a little more with what goodies we can bake :)

One of the reasons I wake up in the morning…

For anyone who knew me in the States, I think it’s fair to say that I absolutely despised donuts.  Just the smell of a fresh Krispy Kreme, and I was ready to run out of the room.  I’m sure all of my friends thought I was crazy, but something about the thought of donuts was enough to make me queasy. 

Enter Peace Corps Liberia and Zone Two of Pleebo.  In our first few days at site, we noticed how many people would walk by the house every morning selling donuts.  You can hear them coming from a mile away, and it’s so tempting to just let them pass by the house.  Finally, we caved and bought two…just to see what all the hype was about.  Little did we know our lives were about to be changed.

We quickly learned that some donuts were better than others and that it is better to buy a donut from someone with a full bucket than to buy the ones at the bottom.  A fresh donut is a better donut, obviously!  In time, we came to the realization that one boy’s donuts were the best we had tried, and we decided to make a concentrated effort only to buy from him. 

Since that day three months ago, Sarah and I have formed quite the relationship with Jim.  He knows that if he walks by our house, we will more than likely buy a donut…or five.  Ideally, we would like to think that we are supporting an education fund; the chances of that are slim, but we can hope :)  In all reality, I think Jim sells donuts for his ma every day.  I’d estimate his age to be anywhere from 12-13 years old, and he is one of the sweetest kids we have met here. It’s unfortunate that he does not attend school (at least that we know of), but that’s how it is here for a lot of children.

Jim!

Jim is a welcome site when he passes by our house, and I think he knows this as much as we do.  Jim doesn’t judge us.  He simply understands what we need a few mornings a week – the best donuts in Pleebo.  

“Somebody listen please: it used to be so hard bein’ me.”

Sitting on our porch, in our house, or on the school campus, Pleebo is never quiet.  Instead, you can always hear something going on, whether that is a rooster crowing, a child crying, or the neighbors blasting the local radio station.  Music here in Liberia is a mixed bag – every day, you will hear something different.

A few local favorites my readers will recognize include Lil’ Wayne, Chris Brown, Rihanna (“Diamonds” is played much too often here), Akon, and Brandy.  Additionally, we hear plenty of local music…most of which we cannot understand.  Songs with titles like “My Pot Can’t Boil,” “Enter My Center,” “Chop My Money,” and “Shake Your Bum” are everyday occurrences for us.  Don’t get me wrong, we can sing them with the best of them, but a little variety is nice every now and then.

To combat this infiltration, Sarah and I are making full use of the vast music selection we each brought with us.  We’ve been making the rounds, too.  Lately, I’ve been discovering a lot of random stuff I put on my iPod this summer; iTunes’ Genius option is, well, genius!  Sarah has rediscovered a lot of the bands she put on her iPod, as well, and I’m grateful for her introducing me to some great stuff.

One of our best decisions, musically, however, came from my iTunes library.  Many, many years ago, I was a big fan of Ashlee Simpson.  Yes, I went through that dark phase, but so did every other girl my age in the United States, I’m sure.  For some reason, I thought it imperative to rip her album “Autobiography” onto my computer…and Sarah and I have now listened to it altogether too many times. 

Our next goal is to introduce it to our Liberian neighbors; I’m expecting mixed reviews, but that’s alright.  The speakers I brought with me are loud enough to compete with Robertson’s radio, and that is all that matters.  We can sing along to “Autobiography” for the next two years, and who knows, maybe we’ll get them hooked :)

Oh, and if you’re wondering, the title of this post is from the artist herself.  Ashlee Simpson, thank you for your support during the past three months.  You’ve never doubted us, you’ve been your angsty self just when we’ve needed it, and I can’t wait to see how you’ll be a part of our lives for the next two years.  Oh, and Mom, thanks for buying that CD ten years ago – it’s by far the best purchase you’ve ever made. 

The Sisterhood of the Poopy Bathroom

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is a tale of events which took place in the second week of September.  You may find yourselves queasy or just plain disgusted upon reading this, but I wish to remind you, the reader, that you are not required to read every post found on this blog.  If you do wish to enjoy this saga, I ask that you are able to laugh about it after, as Sarah and I can.  If you think about it, the story is quite funny.

 One of the things I knew I was signing up for by accepting my position with Peace Corps Liberia was a life without running water and electricity for two years.  With this came a life of pit latrines, or “squattie-potties,” as they are sometimes called.  Fortunately, every house that Peace Corps volunteers are living in here in Liberia is required to have an indoor bathroom with an actual commode; needless to say, we are pretty lucky. 

Moving into our house, we were blown away by how nice our bathroom was.  Everything was nicely tiled, it was rather spacious, and we had a toilet – we were set for the next two years!  By the next day, however, we soon realized that everything was not peaches and cream as we had imagined it being.  To flush our toilet, we have to pour a bucket of water down it; not a bad deal, really, but the problem came with the fact that not everything was flushing.  Instead, toilet paper would hang out for a while before it finally disappeared down the drain. 

An easy fix, we thought – we’ll burn all of our toilet paper every few days, and life will be great.  We continued with this tradition for a few weeks and noticed no improvement.  Instead, we noticed small amounts of water starting to leak on the floor every time we poured a bucket of water down the commode to flush it.  Great.  With this water came the smell that comes with a dirty bathroom – I’m sure you can all imagine what that is like.

In September, we had visitors to Pleebo and after they left, we noticed our toilet was very broken.  This time, instead of a small amount of water leaking when it was flushed, a deluge was appearing from underneath the commode any time we poured even half a bucket of water into the toilet.  During this time, we were calling our landlord, our DEO, our PTA chairlady, and the principal, asking for them to find us a plumber ASAP. 

We continued using our toilet for the next week, hoping that a plumber would arrive soon, and nothing happened.  Running out of ideas, we headed over to our neighbor, Patrick, and asked him for some advice.  Thankfully, he knew a plumber who was able to come within two days.  Patrick’s house has two bathrooms, and this plumber had done all of his work there.  Mr. Freeman was to come over after school on Friday, so on Thursday morning, Sarah and I made a decision. 

I travelled to the market and picked up lots of plastic bags, four towels, and two long handled cook spoons.  (You know what’s coming…)  After school, we did what was necessary.  Our toilet had sat for a week of use without a single bucket of water down it, due to the major leakage going on all over our bathroom floor.  With Mr. Freeman coming the next day, we knew we had to make the situation a little more bearable for him.  With Sarah serving as the claws of the operation, and I as the garbage collector, we emptied the toilet as quickly as possible into the multitude of plastic bags I bought in the market.  We threw this away outside, washed our hands with lots of soap, and settled back into a pseudo-normal life.

Mr. Freeman’s visit the next day brought with it interesting news…  The place they put the septic tank is very swampy and the water level is high.  The reason that our toilet does not flush well is due to this high water level and high pressure inside the tank.  To combat this, he broke into the side of the tank and added a pipe which drains into a ditch near the house.  Any time the tank reaches that point, it drains out the pipe and allows for our toilet to flush.

He was also gracious enough to completely clean out our commode and re-cement it to the floor with enough cement to hold it through any storm.  That toilet is not coming off the floor any time soon, and for that we are grateful.  Within two days of talking to Patrick, we got our predicament sorted out and our normal life back. 

I never would have thought that I would one day scoop the poop out of a toilet, but I guess now I can say I’ve done everything.  I’m hesitant to share this story here on my blog, but it’s so funny now, that I had to.  Life here surprises me constantly, and this is just another shining example of the mystery behind the door of every new day.  I wouldn’t change it for the world, though; I mean, how many people do you know who can tell a story like that and laugh about it?  :) 

The rainy season: It gives us hard time!

The rainy season here in Liberia runs from April to October, or so, just depending on the weather that year.  Everyone here says that global warming has played a big part in it, but who is to know for sure?  No matter what, we have been living in the rainy season for almost all of our time here in Maryland so far, and it is an adventure every day.

At our site, there are no “coal tar” roads.  In other words, all of the roads, paths, and public spaces are dirt covered and perpetually muddy.  Walking to the market, it is common for us to catch ourselves from falling at least once, and coming home from the market is another story entirely.  Thank goodness for good sandals; without her Chacos and without my Tevas, Sarah and I would be an even bigger muddy mess when we got home!

With this excess rain comes excess mud puddles and ample opportunities for us to point out to our community that we are not adept in navigating the rain-filled streets of Pleebo.  One of my favorite memories from our time here so far comes from the day that Sarah and I went on a short walkabout with Evelyn and May, two girls who are our neighbors.  Walking onto this path, we had to step over a pretty large puddle.  Evelyn looked at it, cautioned us to “take time,” and made it across safely with three-year old May in tow.  Sarah was next, and all looked like it was going to be fine.

The next thing I know, however, Sarah is lying in the puddle, covered in mud from the waist down.  She slipped in the puddle, and all we could do was laugh about it.  May looked at us like we were crazy, and Evelyn was kind enough to help her up.  Thankfully, there was a well right next to the entrance of this path, where, luck would have it, a group of women were drawing water.  They were gracious enough to draw a bucket for us, and we all took time to wash as much mud off of Sarah as possible.  With the little dignity she had left, we made it home slowly and for a while, our continuous joke to each other was to “take time.”

A few weeks later, walking home from the market, I tried to step over a big puddle on the path near our house and completely missed the mark, getting mud all down the front of my dress.  Karma caught up with me, too, for laughing when Sarah fell, as there was a large group of guys sitting on the porch of the house near this path.  They all were quick to laugh and say the obligatory “sorry, yeah?” before watching me stand up and struggle home.  Sarah and I laughed for a while about that one, too :)

The final time that deserves mentioning was one day while I was walking home with my few-days old umbrella (Umbrella #2, if you must know).  I slipped down a small hill, and instead of catching myself with my hands, I attempted to catch myself with my umbrella.  I’m not sure what I was thinking exactly, considering I am much bigger than my umbrella, but I did it nonetheless.  That umbrella was rather short-lived after that incident…

The view off of our back porch - look at the rain!

A view of Regina's house - look at the rain!

Thankfully, as we are entering November, we are beginning what is supposed to be the dry season here in Liberia.  We have not seen evidence of that yet here in Maryland County, as it has rained almost every day since the start of the month.  Elsewhere, however, it seems to be starting, and we are anxious for its arrival.  Though that means we are entering the start of an even hotter season, it also means that we can plant our garden, which is something we are really looking forward to getting started.  It also means we won’t have to tote our umbrellas with us everywhere we go, which will be a nice change!  All in all, we will miss the rainy season, though.  I’m sure by the time April rolls around, we will be praying for the sky to open up and rain just one more time.  

An umbrella by any other name is still an umbrella

Moving in with our home stay families, Peace Corps provided us with quite a few items to make the transition easier.  Included in that was buckets, a water filter, towels, soap, a lantern, and an umbrella.  Arriving in Liberia in June, we were in the midst of rainy season and any thinking person would not be caught without an umbrella.  These pretty blue skies have the ability to turn dark and stormy in less than five minutes; trust me, that’s not a fun situation to find yourself in without an umbrella.

My umbrella bestowed to me by Peace Corps served me well in Kakata.  Until the plastic portion that held in the clip which insured the umbrella stayed closed broke.  And then the Velcro on the strap wore out and I had to be careful how I closed my umbrella…  If I wasn’t careful, it would pop open at the most inconvenient of times.  And then finally, the handle broke completely, resulting in a rather sad looking umbrella.  While it was still functional, I thought it would be best to leave it at Doe Palace upon moving to Maryland County, hoping it would find a home with someone there.  I mean, you can never have too many umbrellas, right?

After living at site for two weeks, I realized that I needed to buy another umbrella.  The rainy season was catching up with me, and I hate being caught without an umbrella in the pouring rain.  (Who doesn’t?)  I went to a shop and bought a basic black umbrella for a few dollars; a good investment for the next two years, or so I thought.  It wasn’t two days after I bought the umbrella that it was raining while I was walking home from the market, and I slipped in the mud.  Instead of catching myself with my hands, which were full of my purchases, I managed to (ever so gracefully) catch myself with my umbrella.  That, in turn, bent a few of the metal pieces, making my umbrella look a little funny while we were walking to school every day.  Sarah was always laughing at me, but I was just grateful to have an umbrella that worked again.

One day, walking home, I noticed how bent my umbrella was looking.  With no idea how that happened, I thought nothing more of it and put it away for the night.  The next day, walking to school it started to rain, and upon opening my umbrella, I found that the main post had completely snapped.  To this day, I have no idea how that happened, but needless to say, it made it impossible to use my umbrella to keep dry. 

Thankfully, we were passing by a shop of a woman who we talk to every day, and she sells umbrellas.  I asked her how much for an umbrella and purchased one on the spot.  She was even kind enough to chunk my old umbrella for me!  When it came time for me to grab one, she asked what color I wanted.  I laughed; I mean, why does the color of the umbrella matter?  She thought about it for a second and then grabbed the most beautiful (note the sarcasm) pink umbrella. 

“You’re a lady, so you get a lady umbrella,” she said.  So there you have it…  Four months later, and I have a lady umbrella.  It only took me three tries to get it right.

For Sale: red paint, and lots of it.

When we found out we would be moving to a brand new site and into a brand new house, Sarah and I went crazy thinking of awesome ideas for decorating our new space.  An obnoxious amount of time was spent searching for murals for our walls while we were still in Kakata, and looking back now, I question our motives.

Since our arrival in Pleebo, we have accomplished two murals in our new space.  Or…let me rephrase.  Sarah has accomplished two lovely murals in our new space.  In her room, she has painted beautiful flowers on her walls that serve as a nice accent and make her room look just a little homier.  On the wall in our hallway, she also did a cool mural in Sharpie marker, which has added a little inspiration to our lives :)

Armed with grand schemes of beautiful murals, we arrived in Pleebo and then realized our situation.  The only way to buy paint in town is by the gallon, so we now have 4/5 of a gallon of red paint if anyone should need some.  Pair that with the giant paint brushes that are available here, and you have a recipe for anything but a detailed mural.  Instead, you get beautiful flowers on Sarah’s wall and a nice collage of pictures I brought from home on my wall. 

I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.  We know what we wanted for our space, and upon realizing our limits, we adapted quite well, I think.  Besides, we needed a door stop for our front door, and that full paint can works perfectly.