As planned, we celebrated the end of 2016 in the parish of St Mulumba, a suburb of Monrovia. A closing mass was like of the animation style Christmas Mass 4th power! The priest, with his powerful voice and supported by a saturated micset, exites his assembly in the manner of the evangelical pastors. Placed near the loud speakers, I hurt my ears.

At midnight, a clamor: “happy new year”, the children of choir threw themselves on the bells and agitate frantically, the faithful came out of the benches wishing their neighbors a “happy new year” in a sympathetic chaos and a communicative fraternity. The next day I preferred to accompany my companion priest to a small chapel near the beach, and I did well because the Mass at the parish center lasted nearly four hours with the same energy deployed by the parish priest.

Our last stop, Cape Palmas, is a mythical place for me, because I went there in 1971 while we were still volunteer in the Ivory Coast. On holiday in Tabou, we crossed the river Cavali and reached the parish of Cape Palmas. I confess that I did not recognize anything except the beach and the sea!

Cape Palmas (at presebt Harper city) is very, very difficult to access because of the bad state of the roads, it would have taken us 2 days to reach this place. We were advised to take the plane. First departure, failure … we were not on the list, supposedly we should have confirmed our trip inspite of prior registration and prepaid! Returned home, and had slightly changed program. New attempt two days later, no problem, it must be said that on that day there were fewer people. To embark on a domestic flight we have to go through immigration, it took three immigration technicians to understand our passports and especially our visas. Every time, they claim that we are not up to date. I suspect that they are trying to get some money looking for the offenses. Alas for them, they got nothing, neither at the beginning nor on the return.

For the take-off, we were 9 passengers with the pilot, who, a few minutes earlier, filled in the boarding sheet, weighed us and our luggage. It must be said that it is a small cuckoo and better not to exceed the weight for safety.

Once in the airplane, our host steward wears his pilot stripes, gives us the safety instructions and invites us to prayer. A non-believer could say to himself: “He has so little confidence in his plane that he relies on God … So we’re done! “

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The small plane advances on the paved trail with sinister crunches of the floor, nothing to increase the anxiety of the non-believer. But once launched, our bird rises quickly in the sky unveiling Monrovia under a bright day light. An hour and forty minutes of flight in a regular noice that pushed us to sleep at 10,000 feet above the sea.

Landing on a mud ruway that runs along the huts where children play, three people assured the runway security so that it is cleared for landing.

Father Joseph Yanti, the priest of the cathedral came to welcome us, and took us to the bishop’s house. A Warm welcome, with a meal of princes, was served. But we needed this because a trip of 5 hours on a horrible road was awaiting us as a digestive! I feared for a moment that we were going back to Monrovia by the track! In fact we were going to Sasstown where one of our colleague lives, a newly ordained who finds himself as the head of a mission lost in the forest because his parish priest was hospitalized in Kenya. A true missionary life cut off from everything. War and Ebola really hurt this region. There are only ruins of big buildings showing that the region had been prosperous in the past, but since then those who have fled have never returned.

What a pleasure to see young missionaries happy when the conditions are not ideal, no fridge, only rice and fish as a daily food (it suits me, I like grilled fish). The next day we set off for Betou, a small village which can only be approached by a canoe. Many emotions because this village welcomed the very first SMA missionaries in 1906 in Liberia. We took the unique and tiny canoe probably like these pioneers. The village was also partially deserted during the war, there are only a handful of villagers who welcomed us, proud to show us their new church, behind which are the ruins of the old church with its first altar and the presbytery Itself in ruins, which is now occupied by goats, sheep and cows.

We spent the Sunday with our brother Moses, the young missionary who is assisted by a diocesan deacon in his home.

Harper, is our last destination. we interviewed several people, among others the young bishop Mgr. Andrew, very sympathetic who took us on a pastoral visit to a small village, throgh very beautiful tortuous and broken tracks.

Today, January 11, we were back to Monrovia by the small plane with a stopover at Grand Cesse. Initially, we were only the two plus the pilot. Joseph Guvvala took the place and held the role of the co-pilot during the first part of the trip. Then it was a young American who replaced him.

So here we are. We realize that the country has fallen far behind with the war, there is need to rebuild the infrastructure, Ebola came on to defeat the first steps of the reconstruction. Many have left their region to seek refuge in Monrovia or in the United States, leaving villages to die. Difficult to get into plantations and other productions because of the bad road conditions. The country is tarrying the main roads but it is long, very long, too long for the population that despairs of the future.

Many images and faces  go aroundin my head, fortunately, the photos allow me to put a little order in my memories.

As a concluding picture, I would like to give you that of this wood planted in the ground to serve as a support for the church bell in Sasstown and which today takes root, a young shoot comes out of this wood that seemed dead. It will be long for it to become a tree, but life is stronger than death.

Gerard and Guvvala.