West Point is a semi-peninsula that is probably the most densely populated slum that I've ever seen.
Apparently, over the years migrants from a myriad of West African countries ended up in West Point, seeking refuge from past persecutions or simply lack of resources. So, it is in West Point that the largest group of orphans and street children live and hang out. Many of them sleep on the beach under fishing canoes and fight for their survival every day. There are several ethnic factions within West Point that live so close to each other because of the density of the community, if I may call it that, providing ample sparks for conflict. Apparently, during the Liberian war to annex Sierra Leone, the fighting avoided West Point because soldiers were too afraid to enter these slums. I guess, you could call it the ghetto of Monrovia.Some of our staff in Monrovia tell me about aid workers who have contracted unknown diseases in West Point. It sounds possible in a place with high population density, lack of sanitation facilities, or any facilities at all for that matter. In a country that saw a war destroy all their powerlines, the lack of infrastructure is common. The sight of a water truck driving into West Point is always interesting. The crowd of children running after it, hanging on to the leaky parts, desparately trying to drink their bellies full, is illustrative of the living conditions. Germs and viruses probably have easy access to evolve beyond a person's immune system, jumping from host to host. HIV/AIDS rates are impossible to measure in a place where the UN Mission to Liberia is too afraid to enter. Every time that UNMIL personnel do enter West Point, they need to set up a check point, with very high security and blue helmets to provide a viable exit path. That was exactly what was in place when I was able to visit West Point . . . lots of blue helmets and AK47s.
It was in this context that I came into contact with the street children in West Point. The football tournament was organized for one of the schools that were set up in West Point. And entertainment in the form of a radio DJ was hired to provide the children with some messages on sexual exploitation. It was anti-sexual exploitation week in Monrovia. I was searching in their eyes for their sentiments towards all this hoopla that strangers organized for them. I wondered what they were thinking . . . do these people really care? They are going to pack up their 4x4s and their lemonade bottles and leave us here before the sun goes down. Their eyes were weary. They looked tired and many of them furrowed their eyebrows. Occasionally a fleeting smile would pass across their face when the DJ made a good joke.
There was an "obruni" (or "whitie" or whatever people in Monrovia called white people) lady standing in front of a group of children with an empty plastic water bottle in her hand. When she turned to leave, she accidentally dropped the bottle. The group of 5 or so children who had been eyeing the bottle for quite some time scrambled over each other toward the ground in order to score the precious plastic container. It must have been a valuable commodity. You could fill it with water to carry around. You could maybe even sell it. These children certainly didn't care about the DJ or his message at that moment, they cared about whatever it took to survive. It was written all over their faces. They didn't have the luxury or the privilege to remain innocent; they understood that their lives were in their own hands. There was no one else to take care of them. They had to be fierce and physically strong to fight others for the scarce resources available.
The adults had a difficult time keeping the circle of children from encroaching upon the DJ standing in the middle. They used canes to keep the children back and the circle from shrinking. MTV was rumoured to show up at this event and all I could think about was the image of the adults disciplining the kids with sticks. The sickest part was that I was thinking, that would look really bad on TRL. The inner conflict is still nauseating.
The next day, the team took me to a Sierra Leonean refugee camp just outside Monrovia. I've been to other camps before, but this one struck me as peaceful and tranquil. I know this is not the typical description of a refugee camp in a post-conflict setting. This one had been in place for over 8 years. The people who lived there had essentially formed a community with little desire to return to Sierra Leone. The infrastructure was simple, but peaceful. There was a MSF or Red Cross (I can't remember the details) station where physicians provided medical assistance. There were outhouses with giant UNHCR logos on them. The shelter or "homes" were pieced-together much like the ones in West Point, but there was plenty of space between one family's home and the next. There were central wells that pumped water (I'm assuming treated) and there were schools with football pitches built in each camp grouping. I'm also assuming that there were regular rations of food available.
The children that joined me when I walked through the camp were probably born in this camp. There was one boy who couldn't have been older than 6 or 7, who decided to walk along-side me. He had a sort of bored but trusting look in his eyes--as though he and I walked around in his neighbourhood together all the time. Then at one point, he just grabbed my hand without looking up at me.
I thought, ok, this little bugger is going to hit me up for some cash or at least ask for some sort of material good. But, he never did. He was just happy holding my hand and walking with me. He was totally trusting towards me and every few minutes, he would look up with a smile. At that point, I truly understood the effect a peaceful and stable environment has on a child. I know this sounds incredibly provincial, but I don't think the importance of a child's innocence has ever hit home so hard for me. The contrast between the look in this boy's smiling eyes to those I saw on the faces of the children of West Point was incredible. I'm in awe of people who are ready to bring children into this world and are ready to be responsible for their innocence. The failure to do so has such devastating consequences.
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