This is Olando. He was my driver for most of my time in Liberia. He's 19 years old and lives alone. His mother lives with her boyfriend and his 14-year-old sister lives with her boyfriend. He lives his house every morning before the sun rises and comes home every night after it sets. Like most Liberians, he has no electricity due to rebels from the war destroying there power plants.  He's lucky to eat one full meal a day. You can't see in the picture, but on the left side of his face is a giant scar. When I asked him where he had gotten it, he had fallen on a stick as a small boy.  He was one of my favorite people that I met in Liberia. I always knew I was safe with him. Liberia is not a safe country. It is quite dangerous, even more dangerous for fair-skinned, blonde girls. There's no way for someone like me to blend into this country and pretty much everyone thinks white people= America and money. My group and I were pulled over twice for the week I was there and at one point, we were pretty sure we were about to go to prison. I cannot express to you the fear of thinking you are about to be taken to an African prison, you could literally disappear and no one would have a clue where you had gone. Anyways, Olando protected me. He shooed people away from the car and constantly looked around to make sure we were never in danger. Two things absolutely broke my heart about Olanda.  He had only a second grade education and could not read. The second thing is something he told me. We were sitting in the car waiting one day talking about America and Liberia.

Side note: Liberia is the country the US founded after the civil war was over. Freed slaves were allowed to go back to Africa if they chose and that is how Liberia started.

Anyways, we were talking and he said, "Liberian men love America and American men love Liberia." I didn't have the heart to tell him that a large majority of Americans didn't even know that Liberia existed, where it was, or its history and ties to our nation. I also didn't have the heart to tell him that even those who knew about Liberia, well most probably didn't care.

I wanted to put a face and name in front of you today. Of someone who is real, lives in such heartbreaking conditions, and isn't just a picture on a TV commercial. In many ways, he is nothing like us, but in many others he is exactly like us.
He knows the hardships that war bring. His uncle was murdered by rebels. He watched his village be taken over by them. And as a young boy, he watched other young boys carry around machine guns and  brutally murder people.
However, the scar on his face is from something most little boys and girls have done. Fall. He has to work for a living. He loves to laugh and he wants to get married and have a family one day. He gets embarrassed but won't tell you if you start talking about something.

He loves his country. He is someone who makes Africa real to me. His picture is on my wall and when I think of Liberia, I think of him. I have no idea where he is and how he is now. I'll never see him again most likely, but I'll never forget him.