ROAD CROSSINGS

The other day as I attempted to time the appropriate moment to cross the always bustling Tubman Boulevard, I was caught off guard by two school children. A big sister and her little brother, each respectively no more than 11 and 5 if I had to guess. “Aunty, please help us cross”, the girl said to me.

Liberia, has honored me with the privilege of being called “Aunty” by actual nieces and nephews and sometimes strangers. My ears have yet to acclimate to the title. So I received her entreaty to me welcomingly and  said “No problem” as I positioned myself between them and the direction of the most traffic as I inched onto the road attempting eye contact with approaching drivers and maintaining the façade of cavalier coolness typical of New York City pedestrians who  defiantly claim the right of way (en masse at times especially if you’re in “the city” read: Manhattan).  As we crossed successfully, and she said “Thank You” hauling her little brother behind her and I uttered “No problem baby”,  I couldn’t help but think of the news I had just read out of Brooklyn, New York. Babies. Two mothers left devastated when a car mauled down and apparently dragged a stroller and did not stop until the alleged intervention of passersby. Reactions on Facebook and my own review of the incident via video footage, left me void of words as I wondered what those parents must be going through as a result of this horrific incident. The assailant who had a few traffic violations already under her belt, I read,  was hoping to claim some sort of mental instability defense. The reports I read painted her as callous and unemotional even after she realized what she did. I too, had crossed at this very intersection a few times in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

I thought about how previously terrified I used to be of crossing Tubman Boulevard, Monrovia’s main thoroughfare.  My very 1st weekend in Monrovia, I’ll never forget the sound of a human body hitting a car and being thrown into a grassy area a few short steps behind me as I ran to their side hoping to offer some help. The girl was young and had to be no more than 14.  I remember wondering where the ambulance would materialize from and quickly learned it’s the assailants job to transport a victim to the hospital---if he wasn’t attacked by an angry mob of family members first.

As I stood in the bank after crossing the road with those two kids I was grateful not only for my partially feigned confidence in the midst of their fear, but the confidence they had in me to ask me to help. I was grateful for the divine intervention that kept us safe that day from a motor vehicle mishap. Most of all, I’m grateful to the attentive driver (They do exist in Monrovia despite what appears to be the status quo) who slowed down and allowed us all to cross without harm.  There are few stoplight/crosswalks on Tubman Boulevard and I’m beginning to think it’s a public health imperative to put some up or even hire people to stand as crossing guards; even if like that fateful day in Brooklyn, you have the occasional miscreant…