The following week, I travelled with two Beninese clergymen to Tabu beach in Ivory Coast where there were Liberian refugee camps. We had a truck full of dry food to be distributed, and we were supposed to meet the aid teams from the main church in Abidjan. When we reached the refugee camps in Tabu, thousands of Liberians who had fled the second Liberian war were packed in temporary shelters that had already been soaked with the rain waters. Many of them had not eaten any cooked food for the past two days. Some children had been weakened because there was no milk in the breasts of their mothers as they had been walking dozens of miles in the bush without proper food. Many of them were suffering from Malaria, Typhoid, and severe weaknesses.
Most of the women had already become widows during the journey while fleeing the war with their men. They had left their loving kids in the bush because they were not strong enough to retain until the end of the journey. In most of the cases, children had died of Malaria; some men with fresh wounds due to gun shots, mutilations that needed immediate medical attention. Some kids were looking like Kwashiorkor patients, but it was certain that their conditions would aggravate pretty soon and most probably, they would be leaving their parents and this world before long.
Our truck was full of dry food, but it was nearly impossible to prepare food in the temporary tents where the refugees were staying. Nonetheless, everyone gathered around us immediately after they saw the pastors because the presence of clergy was simply the presence of aid—specially food but not the presence of God. Amidst the calamity and confusion, the need of God seemed hibernated, but underneath the relief blankets there were thousands of problems remaining unmet, and thousands of stories lying unsaid that God would be called back soon after the immediate needs were met. Therefore, I knew that the violent rush for immediate needs might be followed by a time when the humid air in Tabu would be overwhelmed by the heavy sighs of the victims of torture, rape, loot and various types of violence and losses that could be usual in any conflict situation.
Unlike my first experience in which I was also displaced by war, even though I had better conditions in the Church I looked at myself as a resourceful person to serve these people who were hard hit by the second Liberian war. As it always happened, long lasting frustrations in my life that remained latent within me were covered by the tough cell of purposefulness before the immense population that had been pushed to live in a hell on earth.
‘Desperateness is contagious, so is the hopefulness,’ Oldman used to say whenever his wives worried about something as he always believed the bad times were creations of the Creator to check the stamina and the strength of our communities. When the Bush-curse broke out in our village, I heard someone repeating what I heard from Oldman many times.
After distributing the dry food items, we left for the nearest church of our denomination to spend the night which was around 50 kilometres away from Tabu beach. The church was simply a hall, and there were no proper rooms, the pastors used to sleep on the benches. We had a wash from a nearby water stream which reminded me of the church that the Reverend Maurice put up in Kpelle village in Liberia. I loved that place since it was the first step which lifted my life to the place where I was when I came to Ivory Coast. The stream, big trees, and the brick building gave me a homely feeling. It was most probably because of its resemblance to the church in Kpelle village and its environment. It was the place where Tamba was reborn as George, and God took my life into his hands from the Creator and our ancestors we relied upon as Kissi people. It was the place where I did not have much frustration, sadness or hardships and the place where my complete transformation commenced that I always recalled with much delight.
‘This is the ideal place for our mission,’ my thoughts were translated into words without my knowledge.
‘I was thinking the same,’ one among the Beninese said.
‘It’s a bit far from Tabu,’ the other said.
‘We have the old truck,’ I said as I did not want to move from the place where I was able to re -establish my ecological and spiritual sense of place.
‘I am ready to travel every day to Tabu from here,’ I verbalised my genuine thoughts.
‘Help me God in my endeavours,’ I said with veritable faith that seldom came from within.
‘Probably a few boys can help you in setting up a temporary place for the people to gather for the service,’ one pastor said.
‘That was what I was about to request,’ I politely endorsed his idea.
‘Maybe, we can go back tomorrow morning and try to find out whether the old community centre can be used unless refugees had already broken into it,’ Soro, the caretaker of the church, said reminding me of my grandfather—Oldman. He was as old as my grandfather when he passed away. The spontaneous problem-solving skills of long-lived people were way higher than our structured and framed minds force-fed by the knowledge in the books. What Oldman taught me to respect grey hair and many old people, whom I came across in the journey of my life so far made me believe in the wisdom of age.
‘That is a brilliant idea,’ the Pastor Aminu, a Nigerian clergyman, who had just joined supported Soro.
‘Early morning tomorrow we will leave here with a few chairs, a table, and other necessities,’ Soro was quick in response despite his age which was apparently seventy plus.
‘Soro, Are you sure no one is living inside there?’ I asked him as it was usual that people occupied public places during displacement situations.
‘I did not see people in it,’ Soro replied leaving us a question mark. A question mark left an uncertainty before the instantaneous excitement which had just conceived within me.
‘Trust in God! We will get it,’ Soro said trying to keep everyone hopeful. Several times life had taught well enough the gap between the realities and the dreams; therefore I decided to plan the rest once we reached Tabu on the following morning.
‘Let’s call it a day! We will reach tomorrow for breakfast,’ I left the table desirous to have a restful night to re-energize myself for the unforeseen adventures in the store of the following day.