Hold On

In the still of the night
As the heat settles and darkness takes over, she dials his phone
The space in her chest racing
Her hands shaking as she hears the sound of the phone ringing
She hesitates for a bit
Maybe she should hang up
Or maybe she should just say something else
But this needs to be said
He had to know that despite what they have, she wants an end
An end to hiding and sneaking
Late nights and early mornings
She just wants it all gone
“Hello”? He says
She answers softly, but really wants to just cry out for him to hold her 
She wants him with her
Right there in that very minute
She wants him
But their situations calls for separate beds and Separate lives
She swallowed her saliva before speaking
There’s a feeling in her stomach that some called intuition
Instead of her regular chatty voice she says “Hold on” in a way that is unfamiliar to even her
She pushes her work away, wipes her eyes and commence talking to him
Tonight she wants to tell him to let go
But his presence and voice changed everything
Tonight, his voice reminded her to just hold on
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Dear Madam President

Dear President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, 

I am a patriotic Liberian who was privileged to have received an American education, but not before I got my foundation from J.J. Roberts United Methodist School in Monrovia. I gave up corporate America experiences to walk the red dirt roads in Maryland county because of my devotion to the new Liberia you have led over the past 11 years. I say new Liberia, because the Liberia I grew up in was the one with bullets and relocation every now and then, with only tales about the “normal days” as my parents would refer to prewar Liberia. I came back to the new Liberia, where as a female head of state you gave hope to so many young girls and women like myself, in a world where educating girls is still considered taboo. I have had faith in your leadership and came back with the passion and purpose to work for the days my future children would no longer have to seek better opportunities outside of Liberia, like my parents did for me.

I attended undergraduate and graduate school in the college city of Boston studying Education, because I strongly believe development starts with educating the minds of the people. Immediately after my graduation in 2013, I emailed every college and university in Liberia with my resume and cover letter, eagerly outlining my accomplishments in higher education and my passion for my dear country Liberia. To my astonishment, not one of my 6 emails got an answer. I still went ahead and bought a one-way ticket to Liberia with the hope of being on the ground to speed things up. In between the many “come back tomorrow” and “I’ll see what I can do”, I found time to visit rural schools and organize drives for school supplies, having started a charity organization I named Kporma (meaning Help me in my mother’s native tongue, Kpelle). With my savings drying out and Kporma not being sustainable, I returned to America still hopeful about providing help to the faces I encountered during my stay. I worked tirelessly with organizations and individuals in and around New England, selling African fabric to fund libraries and study centers in rural Liberia. In the midst of all this, Ebola struck our dear Liberia.  With the help of a few good friends, we formed the Ebola Be Gone group in Providence, Rhode Island. Under this umbrella, we organized and collaborated with churches, schools, hospitals and other community groups to send a 40ft container home to help those working on the front-lines.
Madame President, I am mentioning this not to outline my achievements, because by all means I have yet to do much for my dear country Liberia, but simply to paint a clear picture of Liberians who have their country at heart. When Tubman University emailed me in 2015 with a job offer, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a dream to have received their offer as head Registrar of the University, so I quickly handed in my two-weeks notice to my then employer in Boston. I  saw my duty in Liberia as a far more urgent calling than being a Violence Prevention Counselor. I was ready to mold the minds of young Liberians through my service at the University and more importantly, I was ready to be part of the new Liberia you have been creating. 
To my great disappointment, on February 15th of this year I had to turn in my resignation to the Tubman University administration because in order to stay at my dream job, I would have had to forfeit my integrity. I woke up one day being the Senior Director of Admissions, Records and Registration to then pondering my next move. I was asked to ignore the University admission policies and allow a student into the school who had failed the entrance exams twice, as a favor to the current President of the University. I had witnesses over a thousand prospective students fail the exams, many of whom had done much better than this one.  I still believe in merit over connections.  I have documentations to these allegations and presented them to every senior administrator at the university before my departure. I am here as a prime example of the foundation a quality Liberian education produces. I admire the values I was taught throughout my education sojourn in Liberia. Who you know can get you places, but certainly does not keep you there. I am not the daughter of a prominent Liberian leader. I did not get to Tubman University because of any connections. My assumption was that the new Liberia rewards merit, not status. This assumption landed me in meetings where I was faced with the decision of choosing between staying at the university or leaving. I left with my pride still intact, but cannot say the same for the administration. 
My dear President, this is a testament as to why Liberians abroad do not return home. This is the “I told you so” they all said when I relocated to Liberia. This is not the new Liberia I envisioned. It is clearly not the place to dream a big enough dream to scare me as you said. The only thing that scares me now is the lack of integrity among those we have entrusted to educate the next generation. It is alarming that in all this, people still looked me in the eye and said “Dah Liberia here ooo what can we do?”  This is a lame excuse we use for reasons why we do nothing about moving forward as a nation. I know we can do something and I will not stop until that happens. You said and I printed and stuck on my walls these words “We are committed as a people. To build a new Liberia from the ashes of an old turbulent and tragic past to a future of hope and promise.”
God bless the days these words were said and God continue to bless the hearts of Liberians striving to follow them through each and every day.
In service and disappointment,
Randell Zuleka Dauda, M.Ed