Off Road

Driving along the main street in Monrovia is an adventure in itself—with the crazy taxi drivers, the UN workers walking around with machine guns, the police officers pulling you over for some "cool water;" but when you go off the main road, the craziness really begins.

This morning we drove for about an hour an half out of Monrovia, and then took another 45 minutes to drive the five off-road miles to Flomotown, one of the villages where Marshalls have been working. The path is narrow and surrounded by the wild—though the only dangerous animals we saw were driver ants: creatures that can take down a large animal and leave only the bones. Thankfully they weren't much interested in our metal vehicle.

You wouldn't be able to pay for this kind of off-road driving in Colorado. We dug through crater-sized potholes and over precarious palm log bridges, tipping every which direction. The Marshalls have a decent Pathfinder, but Uriah was wishing for his buddy's tricked-out Jeep—and probably his buddy too—to make this slow-going a little more exciting.

It's hard to believe we'll be in Brussels again tomorrow.