Contributions by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

Erecting Stones, Part Five

By | Patricia Jabbeh Wesley, Prose

Outside my once destroyed home, my son continues to carve away the trees I planted in my younger days when he was only a toddler. He’s clearing some to make room for light. He’s attempting to smooth the rugged ground, to build a fence, to renovate our war-damaged home. Maybe he will succeed, I think …

Erecting Stones, Part Four

By | Prose

A week later, I’m sitting at the wedding of a young couple in Paynesville. There is hope. The young are still getting married. Flowers everywhere, the bride is late as always in Liberia. Before arriving at the church, some of us closest to the family, gather at the home where the bride is being readied …

Erecting Stones, Part Three

By | Prose

This evening, March 31, three months into my stay, my brother, Norris, and I are at the John F. Kennedy Memorial Hospital, not to visit a sick relative, but to arrange medical care for our sister in-law who is dying. I’m scared that she will die if we don’t help. She’s been ill so long …

Erecting Stones, Part Two

By | Prose

Outside, the neighborhood is alive with noisy children, the new children of the new Liberia. They will not go to school tomorrow. They will not eat tomorrow. They will never know what life used to be before the war. Why did we go to war, I keep asking myself as I walk around Pagos Island, …

Erecting Stones, Part One

By | Prose

There’s a huge box of books leaning against a corner of the living room wall. Outside, the day is bright and humid. It is the Dry Season in Liberia. Everything here in Congo Town feels like hot plastic, as if it will soon melt. The coconut and mango trees cast shades here and there, across …

Erecting Stones

By | Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

There’s a huge box of books leaning against a corner of the living room wall. Outside, the day is bright and humid. It is the Dry Season in Liberia. Everything here in Congo Town feels like hot plastic. The coconut and mango trees cast shades here and there, across our yard, the afternoon shadows of …