The Beginning of the End

When you see a thing beginning, you don't know it's the beginning of the end. That's how I feel about Christmas Day 1989. That was the beginning of the end of my life, my family's life in Liberia.

Christmas in Liberia was a sweet family day. There was no media hype, no commercials, no constant reminders that you needed to spend money to be happy. People planned to use their resources to make their family and friends happy and if they were Christians, they planned to be thankful, and to praise God. A sweet family day.

I remember that my gift to my children had been a small television set that I had scrapped up the money to buy so that we could watch television for a couple of hours several evenings a week, when there was electricity. I remember giving my business partner Esther a Christmas gift and buying some small things for my children. Mostly things they needed anyway, simple things.

The excitment for us was that we had invited a guest to share Christmas dinner! A friend that I had met in recently had come to Liberia to head up a diamond mining expedition. Ron Watkins was witty, and urbane and I found him interesting and attractive. I hadn't found a man interesting or attractive in a very, very long time and the notion of having a man posessing both those attributes in my home was a gift in itself! I typically had very little contact with Americans and while Liberian men made overtures, I kept to myself. I hadn't healed from the breakup with my children's father after 20 years and just making a living and keeping my children in school consumed all my waking energy.

But talking to Ron was easy conversation, like turning on a faucet and running water. There was nothing to translate, nothing to misunderstand.
He was probably in need of good company too because he agreed to have Christmas Dinner with a vegetarian and her five children. How brave is that?

I remember laboriously and lovingly preparing a savory, hot palm butter (sans meat) with my eldest daughter and making sure that the country rice was perfect. We also prepared potato greens, and there was soda for the children and a couple of icey bottles of Club Beer purchased for us.

After dinner Ron and I talked comfortably as the children played and kept a watchful eye on their mother, who after all hadn't had male company in quite awhile. And then, on television, or was it the radio? I can't say that I remember how we heard the news, that Charles Taylor had crossed Liberia's northern border with his rebels on December 24th, my eldest daughter's birthday.

The so-called rebel incursion wasn't something on everyone's lips. Everybody didn't have access to the information and truthfully most people on Chubor Road were tired of President Samuel Kanyon Doe and wanted him overthrown. In our experience, a coup removed the head of state, cabinet members and those closest to him. A coup wasn't a war and definitely wasn't a civil war.

As Ron and I sipped Club Beer and smiled at each other my children and their friends played oblivious to the life-altering changes that rode towards Liberia leaving a trail of blood. We just continued enjoying our sweet family day.