Every time school closes, every student everywhere is seeking somewhere to spend their vacation. It was 2011; I was promoted to the seventh grade. “Pa, I want to go for break ooh.” I said to my dad. “Okay, I’ll see what to do”, my dad – Mr. Titus P. Tardeh – replied that evening. Around the period the red rooster usually crows in Liberia to wake people from sleep, dad called my little sister and me.
“Your pack your clothes so we can go to my home and spend time”. He said, asking us to spend our vacation in the rural part of Grand Bassa County.
“Where is your home? I na want to go any kinda place ooh”, my sister Princess asked in her usual frisky voice. “We are going to Tardeh’s town, Little Kola, district # 4, so you can see your other family members,” dad answered.
We didn’t pick up early. Around 4:00pm, we began our journey. I was happy. I had always wished to experience village life and see some amazing things that set nature apart. In a country where road connectivity is a barrier to movement into faraway areas, the rain usually splits the roads apart when it’s late April. Like many Liberian hinterland roads, ours wasn’t an exception. We slept in a town not too far from our destination. When we arrived in Nyonbehn’s Town, where we slept, darkness was already ruling. The people in that area used fire-wood for movement and slept with lit clothes placed in plates of red oil.
They welcomed us and gave us a place to sleep in the house of the town’s chief. After a few minutes, a lady told my dad that our water was ready for showering. “Dyu Beo Be Dele Ken ken ne um ke dele la-ce”, she spoke in the Bassa vernacular, telling my dad that we should take bath first while he took bath last. She fixed us potatoes mixed with palm butter for eating and brought blankets for the night.
The next day, we reached my father’s village. Like any Liberian would do after not laying eyes on your relative for years, groups of women jumped from under a hut and ran towards us, one hugged my dad, another lifted me up to her chest. “Ke! dyor gaar ke uh dyu gar whein chaa waa”, a lady told her sisters how my dad and I resembled.
“This is Prince and Princess”; my dad introduced us to one of the women. “This is Marie – your aunty,” he said as he pointed to her. When we dropped our bags, Aunt Marie ran under her rice kitchen and brought us a white chicken that was laying eggs. She ordered her son, Solomon, to kill the chicken while her daughter, Saydah boiled the eggs for us to eat. In the evening hours, she went to her cassava farm to prepare for us dumboy. Thinking I would have loved it as traditional food for us Bassolians, I told her that I barely swallow. Not long, she took a few cups of country rice and cooked it with the usual potatoe greens for me to eat while Princess, (real lover of dumboy) and my dad swallowed.
At night, every child gathered in the middle of the village to play and sing songs. Princess was there. I sat afar, biting my nails as if I would manufacture one when everything had gone away from my fingers. The kids changed the location of their play and brought it to where I was, asking me to join them. Then, Aunt Marie joined us and said, “La your sister them here ooh; you mun play with them yeeh.” I joined and we sang and danced across the village till it was 12:00am. Afterwards, my uncle – Garjay- who was the only man owning a mattress in the village told us to sleep in his hut while he slept in another hut.
The next morning felt like Christmas morning. Uncle Garjay had risen early and brought us crocodiles for us to eat. He had also killed a cassava snake and ordered that it was cooked for our afternoon meal. When the sun was very hot, Garjay took us to the nearby creek and began teaching me how to swim.
When our four-day vacation was over, we set up for Buchanan the next day. One woman brought a banana bunch for us to carry, another -a plastic of Gari, Garjay brought a water duck and an opossum while aunt Marie fixed us a bag of country rice, fufu, and some dry crawfish for us to take to Buchanan.
My vacation ended but, for ten years now, the memories still linger in my head every time I think about the way Liberian people love.
Authored by Prince Tardeh
Featured Picture by Pinterest
This is so inspiring, the ending caught my heart-the way Liberian people love!?????
That was wonderful brother. You have chosen a path that only a few number of Liberian have or would choose (to be a writer). After reading about your experience back then, I can’t stop but to think about visiting one of those rural places to have a personal experience too. Keep it up brother.