I once blogged about the New Normal.  I happened to be strolling around a capital city in Europe while it was on lockdown for an imminent terrorist attack.  I know, not the best time and place to stroll.  As soon as I learned about what was going on, I caught a train back home, before the trains were shut down.  Yes, it is the New Normal that we have sadly all gotten used to in recent years.  Any day in the news, there may be a report of some kind of attack in cities like London, Brussels, Madrid, Paris, Berlin, Barcelona, Casablanca, Tel Aviv, Istanbul, Nairobi, New York City, Melbourne and Ouagadougou.  And, these are only places I've visited that have had attacks.  A complete list of terrorism sites is just too depressing to compile.

But, in recent weeks, it seems we've been hit with the New Abnormal.  And, now with the coronavirus in our midst, every day has new shocks with an ever growing list of "I can't believe this is actually happening" experiences.  Who knows what will be added to the list, but so many places have closed: schools, churches, salons, theaters, parks, restaurants and bars.  The Ohio primary elections were postponed until June and, for the life of me, I don't understand why the governor received any grief about that decision.  Personally for me, I bank at a little branch inside a grocery store.  Except, it is now closed.  I must go to other branches and bank through thick glass windows from the safety and social distance of my car.  I can't exercise in the little gym in my condo community.  And, there really isn't any demand for community murals when everyone everywhere is supposed to hide in their homes and not venture out.  Yep, I had a few murals in the works, but life for everyone in the world is on hold and that includes starving artists.

When things first started happening as the virus took root in Seattle, I was safely snuggled in my home in Ohio.  I heard reports of shopping madness in the Pacific Northwest, but I felt no need to rush out to the store and start hoarding.  I didn't see lines of grocery carts snaking down the sidewalk.  I didn't personally have to go to seven stores to find diapers.  It might have taken me a week to finally go shopping.  When I decided that maybe I should stock up on some things, I was amazed with what had happened in Ohio.  Unfortunately, the coronavirus brought out the worst in some people.  At that moment, there had been no diagnosed cases of the virus in the state, but that didn't stop the hoarders.  I'd never seen empty shelves in stores in the United States before.  Never.  So, this was my first "I can't believe this is actually happening" experience.  Row after row of shelves were depleted of potatoes, rice, pasta, pasta sauce, bleach, paper towels and toilet paper.  I went to three stores on that trip and found most of what I wanted.  I even found really nice disposable gloves, which I thought would be next to impossible to locate.  But, there is one thing that is just completely missing in Central Ohio.  You can't find any hand sanitizer to save your life.  And, with the current virus in our midst, it actually could save your life.  But, it's all been hoarded.  None.  Nada.  Zip.  It is not to be found.  Fortunately, soap and water work really well.  Remember, frequent handwashing and social distancing are two of the most important ways to protect yourself during this outbreak.

Now, I can understand why people want most of the items that have flown off the shelves.  I bought some of them as well.  But, one item mystifies me.  Yes, one item just leaves me completely puzzled.  I have no idea why people are hoarding toilet paper.  I've not heard any mention on any newscast about Montezuma's revenge, dysentery, diarrhea, loose stools, the runs, flux, backdoor trots, voodoo doo doo, the squirts, thunder from down under, the Aztec two-step, trouser chili, chocolate thunder, nasty faucet, poop soup, dirty dynamite, dishonorable discharges or Cleveland tap water.  Nobody associates the Corona virus with this problem.  This virus may give us cause to panic, but (butt?) there is no reason to worry about toilet paper unless everyone hoards it.  However, just to clear up this mystery, a friend of mine in Australia shared a theory about why so many people need so much toilet paper.  She suggested that every time a person sneezes, ten other people mess their pants.  Yes, if true, this absolutely explains the phenomenon.

When I lived in Africa, there were a lot more reasons for hoarding toilet paper.  However, it never happened!  Everyone at one point in time, and usually much more than one point, had some form of diarrhea.  And, in Africa, it was completely acceptable to discuss colors, smells and textures that I've never once heard people in the United States discuss.   Also in Africa, it was considered terribly rude to give someone anything with your left hand.  Because, as everyone knew, there was only one use for your left hand and it may or may not include toilet paper.

Of course, I was inspired to do a little research.  You do realize that many more people in the history of the planet have lived without toilet paper than with.  History tells us that it was first used in China in the sixth century and sheets were individually perfumed.  Yes, a gift from China that we can all appreciate!  And, over the centuries, those without any Charmin to squeeze have used wool, stones, sand (yuck!), grass, leaves, sea shells, husks, hay, moss, water, ferns, pebbles, broken pottery, corn cobs and even snow (no, thank you).  Now, if you find yourself without toilet paper in these days of empty shelves, you could doo doo as the Romans did did.  But, I don't think you'll want to to - even if you find the supplies at the grocery store.  They used sponges attached to sticks and then when finished, they plopped the sponges back in a pail of vinegar.  (I told you that you'd probably pass.)  So much for that old saying, "When in Rome . . . ."

Although you've most likely never heard of him, the man who should be considered a national hero, and possibly a world-class citizen, is Joseph Gayetty.  Our hero from Pennsylvania invented the modern toilet paper roll in 1857.   It was widely - and gratefully - used until the Northern Tissue Company made an improvement on the product in 1935.  Their toilet paper was splinter-free.  In the USA, more than seven billion of those splinter-free rolls are sold annually.  However, I have no doubts that that amount was sold just last week.

I'm fully convinced from my travels, that most people outside of the United States have never heard of Ohio.  Everyone knows about California, New York and Florida.  Ohio, as one of those states in the fly-over region, isn't known so much.  But, we made international news about a week ago.  The Ohio Department of Health Director declared that one percent of our population of eleven million, that is 100,000 people, were already exposed to the coronavirus.  Where did she get that statistic?  She made it up.  Perhaps she didn't have toilet paper and the smell of soiled vinegar affected her thinking?  She later had to take back those words, but the news was out and my friends overseas heard it.  And, it was heartwarming.

One friend from Africa wrote:
The outbreak of the coronavirus is really terrible. I can’t imagine the closure of activities and a lot of things that have to wait due to this circumstance.  I pray and hope that Jesus will mask you and hide you from this disease.  May the blood of Jesus be above your doors and this ugly disease pass over you and all connected to you.   I’m sending you blessings.

Another friend from Europe wrote:
My dear friend, how are you doing?  I pray that you are fine and shall be protected against any harm.  I have heard that the coronavirus is infecting thousands of people in Ohio.   I saw in the news that 1% of the population in Ohio is infected and I got very worried.  Please respond as soon as you read this.  Please be careful.  Don't make contacts a lot.  Let me know how true or false this news is that I've heard.  I wish you were living here.  That would be the only way not to worry about you.

So, there may be no available toilet paper, and the world panics as we face daily changes in our lives, but this virus also brings out the best in people.  After years of news stories about division and derangement, I'll take good news stories every chance I can.  I am thankful that the president asked for a national day of prayer, and I hope that everyone takes this moment to think, pray, meditate, sing or whatever you choose to do to bring us all together.  If ever there were a time to ask for divine help, this would be a good one.  And, I truly believe that the Good Lord gave me one very excellent guardian angel.  In Psalms 91, it says, "He will command his angels concerning you in all your ways.  On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone."

That verse said "angels".  Plural.  I've always felt that I may have worn out one angel.  Additional help may have been required as I've wandered the globe.  I mean, I've had malaria five times.  Need I say more?  Throughout my travels, I've survived multiple car, truck and motorcycle accidents.  I've wandered the globe with a very expensive camera to places I probably shouldn't have wandered.  Because I never look like a local person, I most likely have had a huge target on my back.   But, I've never been mugged - although there have been rogues with knives in Abidjan.  (Another miracle!)  My home in Belgium was been broken into four times - once when I was in it.  I've fallen terribly many times, especially in Fiji, and never broken a bone.  And, I'm quite sure there are so many other times when I've been saved from disaster that I'm not even aware about, because I have been so well protected.  Yes, I'm hopeful that my protection continues and this virus never crosses my doorstep.  But, if it does, I'm quite possibly overdue.

Often, when things like this happen, it's difficult to know what an individual can do to make a real difference.  But there are heroes in our midst.   In my mind, they are the people who continue to work and face the public because that's just the kind of people they are.  Doctors, nurses, hospital support staff, police, firemen, emergency crews, first responders, grocery store employees, attendants at care facilities, truck drivers, and sanitation workers all rate high on my hero list.  The world needs more people like them, and I pray they get some of the protective blessings that my friend in Africa mentioned.

Now, I'm the first to tell you that I meet wonderful people when I paint my murals.  But, in the past week, I was warmly impressed by some of my painters around the globe.  They came from opposite corners of the planet, but it just demonstrates the kind of people I meet wherever I paint my murals.

My friends in Brazil posted this on Facebook for the people in their community:
I live in your neighborhood. If you are over 60 years old or are part of the risk group, I will go to the supermarkets or pharmacies to buy supplies for you so that you may stay home.  I will help with any of your needs and I will do this for free.  Everything will pass, this is the time to help each other.

Another muralist in Albania shares a similar good heart:
We need to help each other during this time.  If you are a student who needs to eat a meal, but you can't afford this for any reason, I want to help you.  Just let me know and I will be there.

Humor also helps in all kinds of situations, including global pandemics.  But, you may also need to travel a little and know your Mexican beers.  Advice on Facebook isn't always the best.  There is, after all, a lot of stupid in the world and it frequently finds its way to social media.   But a couple of my friends had great advice that is worth repeating.  Since it appears that March and April are going to be cancelled for all practical purposes, the next holiday that we'll have to celebrate is Cinco de Mayo.  Of course, it'll be sponsored by Corona.  And, finally, this is the first time in history that we can save the human race by staying home, lying in front of the television, and doing nothing.  Let's not screw this up.

1.  Wash your hands often.  Use soap and water or an alcohol-based hand sanitizer for 20 seconds.
2.  Cover your nose and your mouth with a disposable tissue or cough into your elbow.
3.  Your social distance is at least six feet from other people because you can't know who is contagious.
4.  Do not touch your nose, eyes or mouth.
5.  Stay at home if you can. 

Prior to my trip to Jamaica, I suspected that at least every other person on the island was a Rastafarian with dreadlocks.  I was fairly sure the smell of marijuana lingered around every street corner.  And, if you were at a tourist destination, there was no doubt you were bound to be pestered to buy souvenirs from peddlers or meet someone who wanted to braid your hair. 

It didn't take long for me to see just how little I knew about this jewel of the Caribbean.  You do see dreadlocks.  If you stand in any public location, you'll see those locks, but most people have short hair.  I personally felt that it was too hot to sport any other style.  And, as I observed people on the street corner, I never smelled a whiff of marijuana.  But, honestly, I don't know what it smells like.  So, I can't say if I smelled it or not.  I do know that marijuana is legal in Jamaica.  However, I also know that the closest friend that I met in my muraling experience never touched the stuff. 

And then, there was the tourist experience.  I don't have enough hair to worry about braids.  But, there was one souvenir shop near my hotel.  I was grateful that I didn't stay at a tropical beach resort location.  No, I stayed in Jamaica's answer to Manhattan, a new and modern part of the capital city.  Not many tourists lingered in New Kingston when there were beaches and rum cocktails awaiting at Montego Bay and Ocho Rios.  Still, there was this one souvenir shop in the vicinity where I walked, and I learned to walk on the other side of the street.  I didn't give anyone there any eye contact.  I didn't look at any of the souvenirs.  I refused to walk into the shop.  And, I wasn't about to give one Jamaican dollar to the aggressive shop vendors who called out to me.  That kind of pestering never works on me.

During my free time in New Kingston, I ventured out of my air-conditioned hotel to see the area and swelter in sweat.  It didn't take long for me to wilt.  It's kind of my tropical look and I have to live with it.  But, on my wanderings, I often saw a Rasta man who sat by his bicycle.  He had necklaces for sale.  They really didn't interest me.  But, just to be on the safe side, I walked on by and didn't make any eye contact with him either.  I didn't necessarily feel the need to cross the street to avoid the guy.   However, I seriously wasn't interested in buying anything.

Well, after a week of this, the Rasta man finally stopped me to ask, "Why do you go to the souvenir shop but never stop and see what I have to sell?"  I made it clear to him that I never set foot in that souvenir shop.  And, I told him why.  But, the conversation forced me to take a look at some necklaces.  They were all his own unique creations and were certainly more interesting than anything that dreaded souvenir shop could possibly offer.

Now, this Rasta man was more interesting than I ever could have imagined.  He lived in the United States at one point in his life and he was obsessed with American presidents.  I'm quite convinced that he knew more about the presidents than I ever did - or anyone I'd ever come across in the States.  On multiple occasions, I had to go to the Internet to see if he had the facts correct.  He almost always did.  So, every conversation was entertaining and educational.

The one good thing about that avoided souvenir shop was that it was always there.  If I wanted to go to that shop, I knew where to find it.  The Rasta guy wasn't always so easy to find.  I'd seen him in several locations in my neighborhood as I took my walks.  When I finally decided that I should buy a necklace from him, he wasn't so easy to find.  I went to the souvenir shop and asked about him.  They had not seen him.  They didn't know his name.  He was only known as "Rasta Man".  But, I was told that he sold weed.  "Do you want weed?  I have some," the merchant offered.  It gave me another reason to walk on by and never make eye contact again.  (Not only did I not want weed - ever -  but I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to risk doing that in a foreign country.  No, thank you.

I did take comfort in the fact that if my Rasta man actually sold drugs, he knew not to offer them to me.

Eventually, I found Rasta Man parked by his bike, not far from my hotel.  And, I purchased one of his necklaces.  More important to me, I took his photo, which was one of my better souvenirs from Jamaica.  And, on the last time that I saw him, I also learned his name.  Donovan.

I recently wrote about how I was not even close to Boy Scout material when it came to power outages in my life.  Always prepared?  Not hardly.  Close to prepared?  Not that either.  After what I went through, you would think - at the very least - I would own some fancy, schmancy flashlight by now.  Nope.  It's still on the "to do" or "to buy" list.  And, sadly, it'll still probably be on that list when the next power outage comes around.

I'm really not much better prepared for car problems.  Flat tires were never a problem when I drove around in Africa.  The roads were so hard on tires in Zambia.  I had lots of flat tires.  But, it didn't matter how remote the location, every single time it happened, a young man showed up out of nowhere and offered to change the tire.  How did these young men know how to do that when odds were close to one hundred percent that none of them owned a car?  It's one of life's African mysteries to me.  I don't have the answer to that riddle.  But, they knew.  And, it was the best investment of a few dollars tip that I've ever had in my life.

Fortunately, roads are better in Ohio.  I've never had a blowout from driving over pot holes in Buckeye Nation.  But, on a couple of occasions, I've discovered flat tires when I approached my parked P.T. Cruiser.  They have all been temporarily fixed by those handy, dandy canned tire inflators.  God bless whoever invented those wonderful little cans of liquefied propellant and tire sealant.  They've fixed the problem long enough to get me to a repair shop.  (Funny thing though, they've never once fixed the flat.  It always seems to require a new tire.)  Anyway, I'm not completely hopeless in the Boy Scout department.  I always carry a can of Fix-a-Flat in my car.

Another reason I'm very glad not to have had serious flat tires in the past few years is because I never knew how to access the spare tire in my P.T. Cruiser.  I knew it was located under the car, but that's all I knew.  My first step with a ruined tire would be to call a repair service.  And, fortunately, that never happened.  But, in recent weeks, I've changed to a Fiat 500.  So, at the car lot, one of the questions I knew to ask about was how to access that dang tire.  You have to open the trunk, unscrew a bolt inside the car that lowers the tire underneath.  I never would have figured that out on my own.  

This Fiat is really a baby sized car when compared to my previous one.  I'm a little shocked by the lack of storage space in it.  But, I have a box of goodies for emergencies that takes up about a third of the trunk space.  It has the usual assortment of treasures: jumper cables, a four-way cross wrench (I had to look up the name for this tool), first aid kit, flashlight, collapsible orange cone, pocket knife and, of course, a can of Fix-a-Flat.  I felt moderately prepared.  Maybe even a little more than moderately.

The day after I bought the car, I headed off to that state up north that no good Buckeye even likes to utter.  That's a good way to test and see if you bought a lemon or not.  Take it on a seven hour ride to rural, rural *ichigan.  Now, it was not all that cold in Ohio when I departed.  I wore a long-sleeve T-shirt and a long-sleeve shirt.  It was warm enough for the length of time it took to fill the car with gas.  But, it never occurred to me that I was driving into a winter wonderland.  Seriously?  Who would want to live in that kind of cold with that kind of snow?  One day it snowed seven inches!  No wonder wolverines have such nasty temperaments!

While up north, my sister and I planned to visit some cousins.  We hopped into my baby car and headed to the gas station.  That's when I realized I didn't have my wallet.  Always prepared?  I told you that wasn't me.  My sister took over the wheel and off we headed.  When we turned on to a new road, the ride was suddenly bumpy.  We weren't sure if it was the road or the car.  Then, a new light showed up on the dashboard that my older car never had.  It said that the right front tire needed an air pressure check.  Well, air pressure wasn't the problem.  The car needed a new tire.  The old one was totally shredded with several gaping holes.  I'm really not sure what happened.

This might have been a good time to call for roadside assistance.  However, ever the unprepared Boy Scout, that insurance card was in my wallet which wasn't with me.  Yeah, I'm a lot closer to a Beagle Scout.

It was this day and this moment when those seven inches of snow fell.  It was a freezing mess outside.  And, it was also when I realized some of the things you need in order to be prepared for car problems in a winter wonderland.  Seriously, you need a pull-over hat.  A stylish fedora just didn't cut it.  You also need some heavy-duty gloves.  I didn't have any, either stylish or any kind of duty.  My shoes were my usual red tennis shoes.   In no time at all, they were completely soaked.  No, it never once occurred to me to bring sturdy warm shoes for potential problems up north.  And, there were a few mechanical issues that I was about to realize as well.

Okay, I knew how to access the spare tire.  I opened the trunk and unscrewed the bolt.  Amid the flutter of snow, I read the owner's manual.  It said to lower the tire and unscrew a special bolt that was specially made to be turned by human hands.  Well, it might have been made that way, but it wasn't turning.  It obviously hadn't been turned in a long time and it wasn't going to budge without a wrench.  Wrench?  Who carries one of those?  Who even owns one of those?  That wasn't in my car (or home) so I certainly wasn't prepared for it.  So, my sister put up the orange cone and we crawled back into the warmth of my car. 

My brother-in-law got the call and was on the way.  In the meantime, a good Samaritan (er, Michigander) stopped by.  He took a look at the tire and agreed we needed a wrench.  But, this guy traveled with one.  Who does that?  (I now do.)  The joint that held the tire under the car needed to be folded in half and slid through the hole in the tire rim.  It wasn't about to fold.  We hammered it a few times with the wrench, but it was decided we probably needed to spray some WD-40 on that sucker.  Well, guess what "Samarigander" had in his truck?  Guess what is now on my shopping list?  And, it worked!

By this time, my brother-in-law showed up and took over the rescue.  The "Samarigander" went on his merry way never hearing one word about the Ohio State Buckeyes or how they shellacked those Wolverines 56 - 27 this past football season.  Nope, not a word.  My sister agreed it was a good time to keep silent on that subject.  This man only received sincere gratitude and repeated thanks. 

As my brother-in-law knelt down in mud and slush, he said, "You two can go on in my truck, and I'll take care of this problem."  But, you really can't leave someone out in blizzard cold when they are helping you.  Instead, I unsuccessfully tried to block the wind and swirling flakes from his path.  It might not have helped one lick, but at least I was outside suffering at his side until the tire was replaced and he could go on his merry way to find new ones.

Obviously, I wasn't prepared for a winter wonderland.  Seriously, I learned a thing or two from this experience.  But I am a little curious why my sister and her husband were not as prepared as they could have been.  After all, they call this "wonderland" home.  When my brother-in-law replaced the tire, he wore neither gloves nor pull-over hat.  He knew full well what he was getting himself into.  That's a mystery.  And, my sister had no hat and the wrong shoes as well.  Her hair, which had been curled and looked her best, was damp, stringy and miserable by the time we crawled into that truck for warmth.  Our cousins had to accept us "as is" when we arrived at their doorstep.  But, seriously, isn't that how you want family to accept you any time of the year, winter wonderland or not?

Who's counting down to Christmas? 

I mean, seriously, what is there not to love about a jolly old guy with a sleigh and eight reindeer?  And with unlimited funds, the guy travels the globe giving presents to all good little boys and girls.  Somehow he manages to do it every year.  Yep, call him a right jolly old elf or Santa Claus or Saint Nicholas.  Whatever you call him, everyone loves him.

But, shhhhh!  We know he isn't real.

I, however, know someone who is the closest thing to a saint that I'll ever meet.  He's the best friend I made while I was in the Peace Corps.  So, if I had a sleigh with eight flying reindeer, I'd go visit Daniel in Liberia as often as I could.  And, if I had unlimited funds like the guy at the North Pole, this friend is the first person on my "nice list" that I'd help.

Now, you may remember that I once blogged about Daniel when I located him after so many years of separation.  But, this guy deserves an update.  I don't remember all the details, but when Daniel fled Liberia during its civil war, he didn't just sit around in the Ivory Coast moaning, "Woe is me!  Woe is me!"  And, to be very honest, I might have done that after the police in that country beat me and robbed me on multiple occasions.  But, that is not Daniel.  He helped aid projects with United Nations who came to support the Liberian refugees in the Ivory Coast.  During that time, many Liberians qualified to immigrate to the United States as refugees.  Daniel could have, and should have, been one of them.  However, resettlement opportunities for refugees were not yet available to Liberians in the location where Daniel had fled.  Before this was possible, the situation in the Ivory Coast became too difficult.  Daniel had to flee back to Liberia for safety and his opportunity to immigrate disappeared.  He returned to the village of his birthplace, Tugbaken, in southeast Liberia.  

Tugbaken remains his home.  And, I can testify that it is so very beautiful.  It's like walking in the pages of a National Geographic.  But, when you sit in the comfort of your living room reading that magazine, you cannot possibly imagine what it is like to live without electricity, running water, air-conditioning, refrigeration, television, internet and the rest of the things that most of us just expect out of life.  There are no shops in the village.  The closest ones require a walk of at least and hour and a half.  In Liberia, the average annual income is around four hundred dollars.  If that is the average, there are a lot of people in rural Liberia living with much less than that average.  They survive on subsistence farming, mostly rice.

Life in Tugbaken, and most of rural Liberia, is as it has been for generations.  It's a hard life.  A few modern conveniences have slipped in since my Peace Corps days.  Fortunately, there is a community well that is sealed and clean.  Everyone in the village, including visiting Americans, can safely drink from that well.  That is life changing!  There are also solar powered lights.  Yep, even in Tugbaken, little solar panels can be spotted on top of thatched-roof dwellings.  When I lived in Liberia, I had a kerosene lamp.  It lulled me to sleep.  When the sun when down at seven, I was soon in bed.  So, yes, I was very well rested in my Peace Corps days.  Solar lighting would have rocked my time in Liberia.

Also in Tugbaken, these days everyone has access to cell phones.  And, there was even one home in the village where everyone could get their batteries charged.  I'm guessing it was solar-generated as well, but I could be wrong about that.  However, it really wasn't easy to get telephone reception so far in the bush.  For the best luck with your call, you had to walk outside the village and up a small hill.  Then, it was possible to call friends in Zwedru, Monrovia and beyond.  Communication with Daniel remains difficult in a country without good telephone service and no postal deliveries.  That's right.  It is impossible to send him a letter.  So, it probably comes as no surprise that I've never gotten a phone call from Tugbaken either.  But, we have been able to communicate by way of his daughter's Facebook account.  His daughter lives in Harper, a rural capital city, with Internet access. 

But, times they are a changing.

You may remember that in recent months I finally took the plunge, kicking and screaming, and bought a smart phone.  That's right.  I'm slowly learning about apps, "Hey, Google", and the rest of things that have so addicted most of the rest of the world's population and caused so many auto accidents.  And, one of those apps is WhatsApp.  Low and behold, I can make and receive phone calls from friends all over the world now.   That does not include Tugbaken.  But, when Daniel comes to visit his daughter in Harper, he can use her telephone, Internet service and one very special app.

So, Christmas came early this year when Daniel called me on WhatsApp.  I couldn't have asked for a better present.  I must confess, I've rarely ever heard so much joy in another person's voice upon hearing me on the other end of a phone conversation.  I don't know how often Daniel will visit Harper.  But, I do know one thing that he will do from now on, every visit.  And, I can hardly wait.

I got a little update on Daniel's life that confirms my sainthood theory.  First of all, he's still a teacher and the principal at his local school.  Need I say more?  But, there is more to say.  It is a building constructed by the teachers in the community.  I've never heard of that anywhere else in the world.  It's an entire school taught by saints in my mind.  At one point, the school was supposed to be replaced by a facility built by the government.  However, the contractor took the money and ran.  Ran where?  Nobody knows, but he had the money to finance his run.  And, the villages of Tugbaken and Parken still share a school built by their teachers.

I've already told you about the average income for Liberians.  It's my guess that the three paid teachers at this school make less than the national average.  But, that means a few of the teachers work for free.  Who does that?  Nobody that I know at any school anywhere else.  More reasons for sainthood in my mind.  And, Daniel told me at one point, one of the teachers was sick, the other teachers were missing, and he alone ran the school.  The school has five or six classrooms.  He had to rotate around the school and teach each group of students.  How anyone can do that and maintain their sanity is beyond my comprehension.  When the other teacher recovered and came back to work, Daniel had to take some time off for his own recovery.  Who could blame the guy?

And, just to get a more complete picture, when the school day is over, all of the teachers have to go to their rice farms and work.  It is backbreaking.  But, if you don't work the farm, you have nothing to eat.  Life is a struggle for everyone in the community.
                                                           What can you do for twenty-five dollars?

Daniel also explained that many of the children in the community can no longer afford to go to school.  Education used to be free, but the government now requires that students pay an annual fee of 5000 Liberian dollars.  For many families it is just too much to afford.  I checked a currency converter to find that it equals a little over twenty-five dollars.  So, five cups of coffee could pay the education fees for a child in Liberia for an entire year.  That puts a lot of things into a whole new perspective.

I'm still looking forward to Christmas.  But I don't need any presents.  I seriously wish that I had funds to support my personal friend and nominee for sainthood.  I wish Saint

Nicholas could help fix up the school in this village and give Daniel and his teachers a real Christmas surprise.  And, I know there are plenty of children in this community, actually about 500, who would be on Santa's nice list.  I would love to give them some Christmas cheer and pay for their school fees, every year.

I wish a Merry Christmas for Tugbaken and all the best to my friend, Saint Daniel.