Mamma Ellie, We Welcome You!

2.26.2011

My second night in Robersport was when Madam President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf came to town. Her visit had been forecast ed to occur earlier that week, perhaps on Wednesday. But each day the reports in town circled the message relayed from Monrovia that the impending visit would occur later that day, or then, tomorrow. Saturday morning we saw that perhaps the degree of suspicion that her arrival would actually occur that day was increased, as evidenced by the furious raking of yards to hide any litter or trash, and a last minute effort by the town of Robertsport to paint “curbs” and lines along the parts of the road that involved pavement. Young boys rushed about town with buckets and rags, smearing paint along the perimeters of the road, and placed dashes down the middle. Never mind that not one of the lines was the same size or even in proportion to the others. I saw that the paint was so watered down, that it would shortly ware away, so, why worry?

We walked through town, noticing a degree of anticipation. Childrens' choirs were rehearsing. Crowds congregated at the intersection of the town’s main road, and the only road leading in. Children ran to the high points on the bordering hill to watch for the road dust indicating an approaching motorcade. Right on time (African time), the line of security vehicles began to arrive, as the sun turned red and dipped low. We watched the commotion from a shaded roof top, waiting for the sun to drop completely before we ventured down into the heat and dust. After a visit to the town sports and youth center, a wire and tin building with a playing field worn to dirt by the constant pounding of young footballers’ feet in what seemed to be a never ending match, in play day in and day out, the presidential vehicles paraded through the main street, making its way to the town hall, where the address would occur.

Robertsport citizens were understandably excited. It was now very dark and the energy level of the crowd rose in proportion to the approach of the SUV identified to be carrying Madam President herself. The security team maintained strict watch, preventing people from crossing the street and approaching vehicles. I was photographing the groups of children waving braided palm banners, and was startled to be asked to show the security director all pictures on my digital camera. I was worried that they were going to try to take it from me, but they calmly, without expression, informed me that I just needed to delete any images of security, presidential vehicles, or staff. And yes, I should do it right now, in font of them. This one, and this one, that one is ok, and so on. Done and done. No problem. 

As we turned the corner, following the line of foot traffic that flanked the motorcade on its way to the town hall, I saw a group of women wearing white T-shirts, covered in marker pen lettering, and homemade banners proclaiming “Stand by Me, Women in Development-Rights and Skills for the future”. These women were chanting and stamping- old women with gray braids, young women with infants on their backs and hips, linking arms with each other, their voices rising above the crowds, harmonious. Small children clapped along, mimicked their words and movements, beaming at their moms, perhaps unsure of their cause or reason for passion, but excited none the less.

I felt a switch turn inside me, and my footsteps brought me to stand in front of them, before I even could consider what I was doing. Like a dummy, I smiled, and shyly waved, then leaned to one of them who was curious enough to make eye contact with me and said, “I like your group, I like what you are doing”. That moment was like in kindergarten, when you take a risk and wait to see what the other kids are going to do in response. I watched her dark eyes consider for a moment, me, a tall, white stranger, distracting her on a very important day. The corners of her mouth quivered, then turned…up at the edges, into a smile. That smile was like a warm rain for me; it spread slowly across her face, revealing beautiful cheek bones and perfect teeth. She reached out, pulled my arm and drew me into their midst. It was all I could do to wave to Rob on the way in, hoping he would see what was happening, realizing that though the town was small, I barely knew it, and could easily get lost.

The inner circle was loud and raucous. I clapped along with their chanting, but my new friend wasn’t satisfied. She slowed down the words to their song, enunciating each word, teaching me patiently. “Ma-ma El-lie, We will-come –yooo…”I parroted. Like a baby learning to talk, I made the sounds. Slowly it dawned on me what we were saying. We were welcoming the president! I got it, and sang loudly, clearly. My friend nodded approval, and then I saw that the others were smiling around me to. They pointed to me, when they said the words “welcome you”. I pointed back to them, humbled. They kept me with them all the way to the hall...saying, “you are with us now…We stand by each other, for women…for rights”. We got separated at the door, as my messenger bag again drew suspicion from the presidential security. Not wanting to disrupt these women in their effort to be recognized by Madam President, I waved them on. It was for the best, I found Rob again, and we found a corner inside the hall to squeeze into and wait for Mama Ellie to speak.

Madam President of Liberia is a regal woman; savvy, incredibly charismatic, and an excellent speaker. I observed, with awe and consideration, the way she engaged the entire crowd. Men cheered her on, emphasizing their agreement with a traditional cow’s horn instrument. Young people, in flip flops and T-shirts glorifying American rap music icons dropped their cool aloofness, stood straight, smiled, and nodded when she directed them to pursue their education with a hungry heart and a disciplined mind. Of course the women loved her, and she acknowledged them by shouting “Ladies, my sisters, thank you, I Stand By You Too!”  Of course, I cheered, happy for them.

Madam President’s visit was a quite event for this town, and for me. I am humbled and thankful to say that I got to meet her, both that night at the event, and the next day, when she made a surprise visit to St. Timothys Hospital. Being in Liberia for a whole two days, I did not feel even close to deserving, but am glad that the county superintendent made her aware of the hospital project and that it seems to be to her liking.

Weeks later, having settled into a routine, I was walking home from an evening swim, and heard a familiar cadence coming from a yard behind me. I looked up to see 3 women, braiding each others hair and waving to me…calling, “we welcome you…” 

This time it took me less then a second, the words came to me and I was at their side, laughing and shaking hands all around. “I told you, you are with us now”. My friend from that night reminded me. It was her yard we were sitting in, underneath a hand painted sign that said “Beauty Salon-Woman Entrepreneur Site”. I nodded my head, so touched I could only manage “Yes, I am.” 

They asked me how things are at the hospital, and we talked for a few. As I continued up the hill, I could not help but smile, warm from the walk, but more from the glow of those smiles reflecting back at me,  pure human connection and kindness.