Sketches from Buduburam

Lines of laundry crisscross the paths,
towering obrunis bend low
While the diminutive guides stride ahead

Cheerful faces meet our curious eyes,
as Liberia’s children run to our side, arms open
intertwining lanky limbs with ours.
Enraptured with the foreign peculiarity,
they pet our “smooth” hair
giggle at our outlandish dance moves.

walkways littered with refuse, discarded water bags, dead mice
Stagnant channels of sewage meander around the dwellings,
An obstacle to be climbed, crossed
the stench of urine overwhelms the nostrils

While behind us
idle men retreat to the forest to escape
the heat
the boredom
the rubbish
to get high.
Self-proclaimed men in their prime
Wasting away.

Disintegrated from past floods, the rubble of feeble foundation

leaves a lingering sense of vacancy, mirroring the absence felt in the camp
20,000 refugees have been sent home in the past few months.