Sand and Sunburn

After a day in the sun I am now a wonderful, albeit painful, brown-red color. Yes I did put on sun screen.

It was Tuesday morning and I was thrilled to be bouncing over potholes and sloshing through puddles on our way to El Wau beach. After a 45 minute drive in one of the Mercy Ship vehicles, we reached the beach. It was amazing; The white sand, the huge waves crashing over black rocks, the smell of the salt water. Sure there was trash, but the sheer beauty of the waves and the sand and freedom suddenly thrust towards us, far outweighed any human touch.

We proceeded to set up camp under one of the palm trees lining the beach. I went in search for shells or sea glass along the shore. It was ever so Anne of Green Gables romantic, with the wind blowing my skirt and the waves lapping my feet. Eventually Lydia and I ran screaming and whooping into the waves. It was incredibly warm and I have never seen larger waves. I had heard of the dangerous rip tides and didn't dare go in farther than my shoulders. Even then the pull of the waves rolling back were enough to knock me off my feet untill the next crested over me and brought me soaked and laughing back up towards the sand.

We were probably making spectacles of ourselves and we drew quite a crowd of onlookers. They all came silently, chatting under their breath, taking a break from their work to watch the crazy white ladies swimmming in the ocean. We eventually tired and headed towards some rocks. A group of young men approached us. I couldn't understand much of what they said due to their thick accents, but I got the gist. "Your friendship is important to us." How do you tell people that you can't give them aide when they havn't even asked? It seems callused, but the sad truth is that when people here want to be your friend it is because they have been taught that white people are an opportunity to get something. Lydia very tactfully responded and we were able to continue without them following us.

After eating lunch we laid out on the white sand. I began hearing woops and the patter of bare feet. I turned around to see a crowd of young boys chasing after the tiny crabs that enhabited the beach. They looked to range from 6 years old to 10.

They were so sweet. We made little tunnels for the crabs and I played a soccer game with them. This was the first time I had met Liberian children who didn't seem to want something from me. It was innocent and refreshing. They crouched around me as we shared names and ages and the occasional drawing when I didn't understand something. After several hours of playing with them I reluctantly told them I had to leave. It was almost time to visit the orphanage.

Scare of the Day: Slowly they all circled around. The last one to kneal down beside me had a foot long kitchenn knife clutched in one of his small hands. I was trying to understand what they were saying. "Go home."

Hurt, "you want me to go home?" "no, no...with us....there."

They pointed at one of the homes on the edge of the beach were their mother was working. Ity was then I saw the stick that they had been widdling into some kind of toy. I wanted to go with these precious children and meet their family, but I knew it probably wasn't safe and we had to leave. I promised them that I would come back and play more soccer with them. I plan on keeping that promise.

The orphanage consisted of several small huts surrounding a sandy courtyard with a pump and children of all ages running every which direction. the entire area had a fence around it-partially of wood and partially of a kind of plant they weave into mats for huts/ceilings etc. as we entered, even more children emerged from the huts and ran towards us-arms open wide. They were adorable. They all fought to sit on our laps or hold our hands or be held and snuggled with. Little hands touched my hair-trying to plate it and put it in the cornrow braids they are wo used to. Little fingers clutched my legs and arms. We would sit in the dirt and the children would run up behind us and ask for piggy backs or cover our eyes and make us guess their name. We drew pictures in the dirt and laughed at our different interpretations of cars and trees and houses. We drew eachother. I would look down and they would be touching my toenail polish and measuring how wide my feet were. And it was filled with laughter and wonder and I wanted to keep them all. They told me how old they were and what their grades were and were horrified when I told them Jordan was in 11th grade: "That many more to go?!"
I would get up to walk around and they would all insist on brushing of the dirt from my skirt and flip flops. We made sand castles and talked and talked. They trieid to brush the sand fromt he beach off my skin. By this time I was thuroughly red, salty and raw. I would have to move around because my legs would get so sore from them sitting on my lap. It was wonderful to be so completely accepted despite differences. When we had to leave they wrote a list of their names down so I could tell you about them. So I have told you about them. Lydia still has they list of names. I cant even remember their names, but I remmeber their faces and smiles and that is all I need.
Thank you all so much for the support. Please pray that God would bless these children. I feel bless just being around them.