Gun to My Head

The UN flight is down for maintenance tomorrow. Grrr. We've been going all over the place trying to get my paperwork in order (even coming up with "technical advisor" as my title) ... all for nothing.

Back to Slok.

I'm getting to know this city with all this driving we have to do. It's much hillier than Monrovia, and I can often get a glimpse of the water. The roads are a bit better, but the houses are worse. My host Saidu (more about him later ... he deserves a whole entry) has been doing more work on this little problem than I have.

Good news: Slok had a cancellation. My flight tomorrow is now confirmed. Phew. I don't think I could do another day here without Larry. I'm feeling a bit emotional after hearing all these stories.

I'm sitting at World Hope's MicroFinance office now, waiting to finish my interview with the big boss here. Estee is a former pastor and one of my new favorite people. (People here are like books—too many good ones to decide which is my favorite.) He started telling me his story— about being captured by the rebels, stripped, and threatened. He left me at the point where a little kid is pointing a gun at his head until the rebels return and decide what to do with him.

Estee is gone to deal with some business. I'm not surprised. I had to walk up five flights of stairs where at least a hundred people were waiting to see him. He processes about 80 loans a day, of about $50-$75 each. The applicants have to prove they have a job to get the cash. Fifty dollars here is a lot of money.

Whoops! We're off again. Estee's story will have to wait.