When I was little, I went to school in a house. Every school year, a teacher or two would come out from North America and teach a group of us with US American curriculum. Five, ten, however many of us there were in town that year who did not fit into Liberian schooling or LAMCO schooling, sat at desks our dads made (I had the coolest one) and worked on whatever grade level we needed.
We went on the most interesting field trips.
One year, we went for a ride on a tugboat in the harbor. I sat at the front of the tugboat on a metal post that looked something like an H. I sat on the crossbar of the H and pretended I was riding a horse as the tugboat tugged up and down in the waves. (I was a little horse-obsessed at the time.) If I recall correctly, this tugboat actually did not TUG boats. It pushed them. Years later, in 2000 and again in 2006, I saw this tugboat, or one very like it, beached and broken at the edge of the same harbor.
We went on the most interesting field trips.
One year, we went for a ride on a tugboat in the harbor. I sat at the front of the tugboat on a metal post that looked something like an H. I sat on the crossbar of the H and pretended I was riding a horse as the tugboat tugged up and down in the waves. (I was a little horse-obsessed at the time.) If I recall correctly, this tugboat actually did not TUG boats. It pushed them. Years later, in 2000 and again in 2006, I saw this tugboat, or one very like it, beached and broken at the edge of the same harbor.
broken LAMCO tugboatOne year, we went to a Chinese restaurant, where we learned to make spring rolls and the woman who owned the restaurant wrote our names in Chinese characters on the backs of menus.
One year, we went to a pig slaughterhouse.
For crafts, we tie-dyed. No, I mean real tie-dying, like they do in West Africa. Not silly rainbow-colored blotches, but tie-dying with designs and purpose.
A man came to show us how to weave traditional Liberian baskets. We sat in the carport watching him entwine the grasses and form a sturdy round base, then build up the sides. We all took a turn, clumsily.
Can I just say that I think I had one of the most interesting childhoods ever?
One year, we went to a pig slaughterhouse.
For crafts, we tie-dyed. No, I mean real tie-dying, like they do in West Africa. Not silly rainbow-colored blotches, but tie-dying with designs and purpose.
A man came to show us how to weave traditional Liberian baskets. We sat in the carport watching him entwine the grasses and form a sturdy round base, then build up the sides. We all took a turn, clumsily.
Can I just say that I think I had one of the most interesting childhoods ever?
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