Yesterday marked the anniversary of our completed circumnavigation. And the relationships made during our 4.5 year adventure continue to this day. Such as with “Santa Gee” in Cape Verde. He’s a story of a(nother) COVID hero and my own GoFundMe campaign link to support him:

COVID19 in Cape Verde

As of March 17, 2020

Confirmed cases: 328

Active cases: 239

Deaths: 3

14 MAY 2020

President of the Republic decides to extend the State of Emergency on the island of Santiago for the fourth time.

The President of the Republic, Jorge Carlos Fonseca, decided to extend the state of emergency for another 15 days on the island of Santiago, to be in effect from 00:00 on May 15 until midnight on May 29. 

“While on the island of Boa Vista the epidemic is controlled, with no new positive cases registered in the last three weeks, the situation on the island of Santiago, especially in Praia, is different, characterized by a daily increase in new cases in more of two dozen neighborhoods.”

The president of Cape Verde has done much good work to save his country from COVID-19. Unfortunately, the poor in Cape Verde’s capital city, although not dying so much from COVID-19, are apparently at risk of dying from hunger.

THE STORY OF CACHUPA & SANTA GEE

The weather on Mother’s Day, Sunday May 10^th, was very warm in Calabasas. We’re not quick to spend money on air conditioning. Instead, we open our second-story bedroom window to vent in the cooler night air. We didn’t expect our neighbor to wake us at 3 am with his loud mobile phone conversation. His front door and driveway face our bedroom window. Carrying on loudly for about 10 minutes between his front door and shiny black Suburban SUV, he was oblivious to his rude conduct. Finally, just as I was preparing to step out onto the balcony to ask him to be quiet, he entered his home for good. But the damage was done. Leslie and I were awake and, calmly as I might try, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Normally I do, but not that night. Trying to be still for Leslie, for some unknown random reason, I acquired an intense craving for cachupa, the national dish of Cape Verde. Cachupa is so delicious that I had it for breakfast nearly everyday the 2 weeks we were there in late November, a year and half ago.

I couldn’t fall asleep. Not wishing to disturb Leslie and with a strong hankering for ‘cachupa, I slipped out of bed and headed downstairs. Seeing my cell phone, I picked it up and saw a minutes-old Messenger text from an acquaintance in Cape Verde. We had met on a beach, randomly starting a conversation together, and had maintained simple contact between us ever since. He goes by the name, Kci Gee. His text asked how we were doing. I said we were all fine, how about him? He explained that with the lockdown, as a day laborer, he was unable to work—no work, no food. That his family, a wife and four kids, was desperate for food and his son needed medical attention for what appeared to be an infection on his upper lip. He had no money. “Only God rite now.”

After several questions, I learned that grocery stores were open, but food prices, as a result of the lockdown were higher, and that customers were required to show cash before being allowed to enter. I also learned that Kci Gee had no bank account (hand-to-mouth living means no savings), but that Western Union and MoneyGram were open. Due to our travels, my wife and I had not earned an income for 7 years. We left our jobs to sail around the world for 4.5 years with our two young sons aboard our used 42-foot sailboat. We lived off the savings we’d set aside for the trip. With our savings nearly gone, we are now dipping into our retirement funds to cover us until we can launch new careers for ourselves. COVID19 hasn’t helped, but we are still better off than most. Our friends, family, and government have generously pitched-in to lessen our financial stress while we retrain and regroup. And we are well accustomed to living frugally.

We’ve all seen those scam emails from Western Africa asking for money to get someone out of jail, etc. This was not the first time Kci Gee asked for financial assistance. But this request felt different. Like the CVV security code on the back of a credit card, I felt the ‘cachupa’ craving meant something…combined with the fact that my neighbor woke me up around the same time Kci Gee was reaching out to me. It seemed more than coincidence.

Kci Gee didn’t want to put a number on his request, “Cant tell u the amount cuz I dont know ur standing just want u to help me with wat ever u can to get my kid to a doctor n to buy us food for the time we are i door.” After some more back and forth, I learned $10 feeds his family for a day. Later I learned, the more money he receives, the lower the daily cost because more money affords buying in volume. With that number in my mind, I told him it was still early in the morning in California and that when my wife woke up, I’d present her with the proposition, but I reminded him, we didn’t have jobs, and we were living off savings… no promises. He wrote, “Let God touch her heart.”

Later that morning during our daily power walk, I recounted to her my early morning story, cachupa and all. She too saw the ‘cachupa’ as a sign and agreed to help, but how much? I suggested $150, $145 for two weeks of food and $5 for MoneyGram’s fee. She agreed, but felt a bit guilty spending money that others gave to help us. However, in our hearts the ‘cachupa’ sign seemed to confirm it was the right thing to do, that Kci Gee’s request had somehow been “authenticated.”

Note to the reader: English exists in many forms. I don’t know Liberian English. I don’t know what education is like in a West African slum ghetto where people work 14 hours for $0.65 and kids drop out of 10^th grade because their families can’t afford the $150 high school semester fee. When Kci Gee apologizes for his English, I tell him I read his text, not with my eyes, but with my heart, and it’s clear. I offer you Kci Gee’s texts as he sent them to me: typos, abbreviations, and grammar; unedited except in which ones I chose to share. So grateful is he and locked down with little else to do, he sent a lot more texts than I present here. Reading his texts can, on occasion be a small challenge but one I find well worth the little extra effort and I enjoy his flavor of English.

Kci Gee was ecstatic:

“sirGod blbless u n family”

“For remembering us in time like this”

“Am so greatful ne n my family”

“Thanks sir”

“U are so kind in time like this we are so happy da tomorrow we will eat better”

“I will never forget this,u n ur family are my greatest hero”

“Am so happy fill with joy,dont even knew were to turn again went God just brought u online for me to ask u,thanks sir”

He placed emojis of tearful expressions in between his texts.

A little while later, I sent him the wire transfer receipt. It was after business hours there. He would have to wait until the next morning. But, I knew he was relieved, knowing that come dawn, help would be there. He texted:

“Thank u my friend n brother thanks also to ur wife,a woman with a golden heart who care for human,God will bless u all n my greeting to ur kids as well thanks my friend n my hero,will never forget this in my life,I had no where to turn but God brought u in the picture to safe life,wat u n ur wife did,is that u people just safe a hole family from hungry,am tellin u the true.God will protect n keep ur family safe from all evil.we are greatful.”

I shared this text with my 89-year-old uncle and a friend of mine. They both wanted to match our $150 donation. My friend took the money from part of his unemployment check, “He needs it more than me.” I let Kci Gee know more money would be there in the morning, three times the amount we discussed.

“Sir hunger want to kill us”

“U are a great help my friend”

“Don’t even know how much to tell u n ur family thanks”

“We all are in tears,for the wonderful thin u n ur wife did for us today”

“God is inside u”

“U got me crying”

“Wow”

“God is working yesterday we ate bread n water soup to sleep”

“My brother wat u are doin only God will pay u dubble”

“We were dieing n u came n save us”

“U are more than a friend form today u my uncle,I bless God for u n ur wife n kids ur family n friend who have a heart to help us in time like this”

“Many people are hungry n keeping in door cuz they dont have anywhere to get it from”

“U are a blessing”

“Wow”

“Cant stop crying oooo”

“U are a different kind of person I see in u”

“Ur story will be different”

“More Grace n blessing for u”

“Ur family will always see joy,gud health.prospertiy and long life”

“Amen to that uncle”

“Wow my life have just change”

“I dont know how special I will be first thin tomorrow moring in the bank”

“My God u are so gud”

A little backstory: we met Kci Gee in Cape Verde. He spoke English, which was unusual for most Cape Verdeans. They speak Portuguese or Cape Verdian Creole. We learned Kci Gee was from Liberia, a former American ‘Colony’ purchased for the purpose of providing freed slaves a place to live that would be less prejudiced and more free for former Africans or people of African decent than were they to continue to live in the US. Kci Gee discussed in the briefest terms the poverty of his upbringing and how he ultimately wanted to return to relieve some of the pressure his impoverished community was experiencing. He had recently worked with an American woman who got involved in philanthropy after visiting Liberia and saw she could make a difference. He helped her direct and get distributed used clothing from the USA to the slums of Monrovia. By the time we met Kci Gee, she had passed away, ending his ability to direct aid to struggling communities in his homeland.

I wrote back, “Although it arrives in the form of money, what my uncle, my friend, and my wife and I are sending your family is love. You are loved because you love so many, especially those in your homeland. God is just giving you back a little of what you’ve already given so much to your homeland. You’re a good man.” Having traveled the world, I advised Kci Gee, “Please be careful that no one robs you at MoneyGram? Be smart. Be safe.”

He replied, “Okay thank uncle I will be careful my family are crying dancing because of wat ur just did”

“I am tears”

“Wow”

“Man I dont know how to say this”

“My heart is full of joy u make a lot of people happy n u ar giving us food for about two months we can go”

“God bless u my uncle ur wife ur uncle n family who choose to put smile on our faces”

Again he sent a sobbing faced emoji.

He continued to thank us, wishing us good night. It was late there. The next morning, he retrieved the money. I asked if he had slept better knowing help was on its way. He said, no, all he could think about was being early at the bank. He arrived at 6 a.m. and was given number 49. At 9 a.m., he got his money, went home, collected his kids, and they all went to the grocery store. With cash in hand, they were allowed into the store to shop. He took pictures. His kids were smiling, happy. He allowed them to pick a treat. He took more pictures. Then he took his son to get medical attention. Treated, he returned home and took a picture of the $100USD he set aside for emergencies, in case he needed it more urgently for something non-food related, like an unexpected medical emergency. All this happened 6000 miles away as we slept comfortably in our California beds. During our morning walk together, before checking in with Kci Gee, I told Leslie “I’ll bet Kci Gee couldn’t keep all that food for himself, knowing his neighbors were starving. I bet he shared some with them.” When I checked back, I learned he indeed had fed some of his neighbors as well. This impressed me. Throughout our extensive travels I learned that a starving man has a greater chance of a meal from a poor household than from a wealthy one. Those who have often fear more will be asked, and rightly so…give an inch and they take a mile. But what if, asked an inch, he gave a foot? What happens when you give someone in need more than they imagined? What happens then? Well, the answer is: they share it.

“Everybody asking me who u people are”

“And I told them u are the gud smaritan”

“Told them all wat u n ur family just did in a day n half to save a lot of people from dieing from hunger”

“Thank u sir”

“Cant stop saying thanks cuz there few people in a million that will do wat u n ur family just did”

“U put a smile on my kids faces n my neighbor’s as well,u think is small but u have save life n because of this God will keep u all save n give ur long life”

So there you have it. In giving more to Kci Gee, we not only helped him help his family, we helped him help his neighbors. Or as he described it, “put a smile on” his neighbors’ faces.

When he wrote that I was a miracle, I needed to correct him. I described to him the ‘cachupa’ story…about the neighbor waking me up so early, tasting ‘cachupa’ in mouth, seeing his message, etc. And I finished by writing, “So I am not the miracle. God heard your prayers and in a clever way suggested I help you. God is the miracle, not me. Take care. And it is you who blesses us. You and your joy make us feel better in our world that is struggling. Stay well.”

What happened next, his response, I did not expect. Not knowing that Kci Gee graduated from a US church sponsored Bible training center in Monrovia, Liberia 20 years earlier, apparently the telling of my story confirmed something deep within him. He asked if the story I told was true. I confirmed that it was. He chose to take my story as divine intervention, as a holy calling from God to him to pursue his greatest ambition. After much praise and gratitude toward me, “Am greatful I didn’t have a dan in my pocket. No food was in my house no money was there to buy my son drugs,but wat ur did get me on n I left with 100usd in my hand keep just incase.” He writes, “After this pandemic we are working together am goin back to Liberia to pland a church,to preach the gosple, and u goin to be the general overseers u n ur wife,I will I make up my mind”

“I sure is the time to do this”

“I want u n ur wife to do that for God to have a church in Africa that can bring people to the true gosple of Jesus in preaching the true n goin against corruption that people practice now n than in churches”

“I know from the way u talk to me just for a few hours I see in u that u want to a change in this world but how? Used the word of God,dont used politics my brother african politics are different n bad”

Stunned, I didn’t reply right away.

He texted, “Say somethin”

I thought, “Uh oh, he wants us to sign up for way more.” Was this the “mile?” That was not our calling. As much as I was impressed by Kci Gee’s new found purpose, it was his, not ours. Instead of being upset, I chose to feel honored that he wanted to share his passion with me. And I would share with him that my passion takes me in a different direction. I replied: “You are correct. I hope to make a difference in the world, a very big difference. But my way will be different than yours. I’m in the process of making plans to create media messaging models and programs that teach communities how to teach their members to improve their lives in simple ways, giving them real information that works in their real circumstances to solve real problems truthfully. You’re a good man. You will do good work to make your world better. We will probably work together in a few years, but in different ways than you may be thinking right now. Your church will be good for you and especially for those you touch.”

He thanked me with profuse gratitude before signing off to make his dinner. He expressed no disappointment in not getting his “mile.” He expressed gratitude for his dinner. So maybe the math is really: asked an inch, gave a foot, generated a mile of gratitude…for us both, and his neighbors. Gratitude equals happiness. I like that math.

So impressed was I about Kci Gee and his story, our story, that I thought the experience might help a friend of mine, a youth minister here in Los Angeles. I thought he might find it useful, a story he might want to fold into his ministry as a teaching tool, a practical demonstration of fraternity and altruism. Indeed, David was touched and impressed by the number of ways one act of kindness was manifesting into multiple acts of kindness. He remarked how key it was that the annoying neighbor woke me up. I responded, “I guess some gifts are wrapped in anger.” My friend said that not only was he going to share the story with his congregation, but he immediately transferred another $150 into my account to give to Kci-Gee. At this point, my verbal brain raced like Kci Gee’s, “Wow, this means a lot to me, and even more to Kci-Gee. He doesn’t even know more help is coming. And to come from a minister will mean even more to him.” Since Kci Gee was flush with food and reserve money for the moment, and knowing how my minister friend devotes his life works to helping others (his day job is representing the mayor’s office, communicating within a specific district as the mayor’s representative and reporting back to the mayor as his eyes and ears), before he even knew the money was coming, while he was still asleep, I texted Kci Gee, requesting that he use David’s money to feed his neighbors, those most in need. What happened that next morning, the power of love that multiplied went beyond my expectations. The money we’d sent the day before, helped Kci Gee feed his family. The money we sent this time, fed his soul, as well as the empty bellies of many more. For the first time in a long time, Kci Gee had purpose. Purpose gave him pride, gave his life greater meaning.

Giving Kci Gee the opportunity to help others in need was more powerful, perhaps more fulfilling to him than was feeding his own family. Without us asking, he took pictures of all the food he had purchased and a video of him blessing the food, “in the name of Jesus.” He bagged the food, one bag per family, 11 families, 3 days worth of food: chicken, rice, corn, milk, and cooking oil.

He took pictures and again videotaped his work in appreciation for our trust and the good work it afforded. He also sent pictures of the receipts, explaining he spent all but $10, set aside for the taxi to drive him and his grocery bundles to the needy households and bus fare back. As pleased as we were to have helped him feed and care for his family, the power and feeling of love that emanated from his voice will forever stay in my heart. Forget about miles, Kci Gee’s love for himself and his neighbors brought me to the moon and back.

I couldn’t keep quiet the “love story” from my donating group of friends, family and I were experiencing, this story of love multiplied. Sharing it with yet another friend, he generously offered to match our donation. I wired it again to Kci Gee, and again asked him to go to work to help more neighbors, and again he sent pictures and a video, this time spending money on gasoline for a friend’s minivan instead of a taxi and bus. This way, he could take more time making his deliveries and his needy friend received some help too.

“…wat u have done also have brought many people to know me n to thank God for using me in this position,off helping people….”

“Thanks a lot u got people blessing me”

“And I told them that the sender is in the United states no me”

“I am so happy for wat u did u n ur family”

“Thank u”

“Brother”

“I already started making me famous in my community every where I pass people talkin about me the help u people send”

“U got me working n loving it”

“This is wat I love doing beat”

“Thank u forgiving me that opportunity”

“I will never in my life let u down or betray u”

“I make that vow to me n God”

I started identifying Kci Gee by a new nickname, “Santa Gee.” He didn’t understand the reference. He didn’t know of Santa Claus. I explained to him the concept of Santa in the USA, about a man we see as Father Christmas who magically delivers bags of toys to good children all around the world, similarly to his delivering food to families in need, without their asking, with nothing asked in exchange. He wrote:

“That gu of u”

“Thanks for that”

“I love it”

“Love the name”

“Will keep it”

There are apparently no Cape Verde state sponsored support programs available. The country is not set up that way. Wondering what more could be done to effectively reach more Cape Verdean families in need, I asked Santa Gee more questions. He figured there are about 100 families, households with 2-6 children that are starving right now in his immediate area. With bulk purchasing, he thinks $100 would feed a family for a month, preventing starvation, $150 would feed them full. So $10,000 keeps about 500-600 people from starvation for a month. Once the lockdown ends and day labors, housekeepers, and nannies are allowed to resume work, the financial assistance would no longer be necessary. In the meantime, it would keep them alive.

Santa Gee texts, “Many see me n asking went”

“They didn’t get”

“I told them to wait”

“Thins will be fine have to talk to my boss”

I wrote Santa Gee that too many in the USA are in need as well. Many do not have homes. Some families live in bushes or in hidden corners in our cities. He apologized, stating he is in Africa and he can only help Africans right now. I told him, I just wanted him to know that US people have problems too, and as much as they might wish, cannot afford to help him right now. He said, any help that is given is a blessing. I reminded him that I was awoken at 3 a.m. with the taste of ‘cachupa’ in my mouth, not a hamburger and French fries. So, I reminded him that I did what I did because I think I was supposed to. I wrote him, “God apparently listens to the prayers of Santa Gee,” so I told him to pray for the 100 families and that I would do what I could, asking friends to help, in hopes that we might help God answer those prayers.

SANTA GEE’S BIOGRAPHY

Anthony Tugbeh Geegbae, born April 2, 1979, created his musician’s name by combining his devotion to his favorite musical group, K-Ci and Jojo with his abbreviated last name, Gee, so Kci Gee. With the recent history of our relationship, his exuberant altruistic giving nature, I call him “Santa Gee.”

Born just north of Monrovia, Liberia’s capital, in the ghetto slum of New Kru, Point4 Zimbabwe, rife with drugs, prostitution, physical abuse, crime, poverty, and hunger. His widowed paternal grandmother, Margaret Munah Blidi, or just “Grandma” as he called her, raised her abandoned infant grandson, Anthony. Years earlier, her husband died of illness. In a ghetto like New Kru, illnesses were not diagnosed. No one could afford medical attention and going to the nearby Government Hospital was a generally a one-way trip because the hospital was too poor to treat any one. The desperately ill went there to die more comfortably. All Grandma had was her small green painted two-room corrugated tin “house,” constructed around bare earth: no electricity, running water, cooking gas, toilet, bed, or flooring. Instead, a single kerosene light, water bucketed from the communal well, charcoal burning stove for cooking, a communal outhouse, and a length of cloth spread over the dirt floor as his bed. He wore his clothes to not feel much the cold from the ground. Each morning, he rolled his “bed,” keeping it in a plastic bag to guard from getting damp when it rained and keep out insects. He and grandma used a bucket at night for peeing, dumping it in the public toilet the next morning. Nighttime was no time to be walking to the public toilet, a hole with a tin box and two horizontal sticks to sit on. Once the “toilet” was nearly full, the community covered it with the dirt left over from the new hole. This was how his grandmother and he lived together for over 20 years, until her death at 67 years of age, when Anthony was 21.

Grandma, when weather and her health permitted, made and sold typical Liberian doughnuts to local school children and laborers outside her tin shack, on a table just outside her door. Each morning around 5 am, she started the cake dough, built the charcoal fire, and heated a large bowl of vegetable oil for frying.  Well before 7 a.m., she began frying her circular cake-batter doughnuts, roughly the size of an adult’s closed hand with a hole in the center, pulled from the hot oil and touched on both sides with granulated sugar. Around 7 am, the children, around 20-25 of them, ages 1-15, stopped to buy them on their way to school. This was their breakfast, holding them over until noon. Returning home, they bought another doughnut, their lunch. Laborers came too, morning, noon, and night. In the early evening, around 5 pm, older kids and adults, coming home from day of hustling work, stopped in front of her home to buy her fresh doughnuts. She wasn’t alone. Several like her made and sold the same doughnuts. She sold doughnuts each day until she had no more customers, usually by 7 or 8 at night, a 14-hour workday. When it rained, she sold few. Breathing constant frying oil vapors paid a toll on Grandma’s health. Sometimes she was too ill to cook. On those days, a young Anthony would go to school hungry. As he grew more capable, Anthony helped with the fire, fetching water, cleaning the house (emptying the evening’s toilet bowl), and on occasion, selling the doughnuts. She earned about 100-150 Liberian dollars a day ($0.50 -$0.75 USD), about $225USD a year—not enough to keep teenaged Anthony in high school. He attended school from age 4, until Anthony dropped out of 10^th grade, unable to pay the $150/semester fee. At 63, Grandma’s poor health prevented her from making any more doughnuts. Anthony learned to “hustle” odd jobs, day labor mostly.

New Kru is a hard place to live, a hard place within which to grow up. Hand-to-mouth subsistence, poverty, drugs, crime, violence, disease, and Liberia’s constant civil wars and coups converting young boys into soldiers. Grandma wouldn’t let her beloved grandson out from her sight for longer than 2 minutes. She adored her grandson and did what she could to keep him from harms way. Her greatest joy in life was a grandmother’s act of tenderness. She loved to bath her beautiful grandson, wringing the soapy water (when there was soap) from her washing cloth and into the large bathing bowl, the same bowl she used to mix dough. Bathing her grandson imparted in her great feelings of love and adoration for her precious Anthony: a simple joyous act for a simple grandmother.

Anthony was the only one of her 7 grandchildren that Grandma Margaret would ever care for. Grandma’s son, Anthony’s father, was a dockworker. A self-described “player,” Anthony’s dad fathered 2 more sons and 4 sisters, each from different mothers. Sometimes his father would attempt to house all his children under one roof. When, against his grandmother’s wishes, Anthony moved in with his dad, Anthony clearly recalls harsh treatment by his step-mothers, and harsher still, from his dad. He recalls his father beating him for smiling. On his own, back to Grandma he went, and there was nothing his dad could say to Grandma to convince her to let Anthony go. Anthony had a special spirit, she knew it, and she would protect it with all her might.

Anthony’s mother was not better, arguably worse. For it oft said, the opposite of love is not anger, but indifference. Similarly to Anthony’s father, from four different fathers, she birthed 3 more boys and 2 girls. Anthony’s father is one of five men with whom she bore children. Both father and mother lived in the same slum as Anthony and his half-siblings. He was 15 the first time he saw his mother, a teacher of children, ages 1-10. She’d ignored him, evading any questions he might have had. He said he saw regret in her eyes. Whether she regretted abandoning her 3-month-old baby or regretted the life her son Anthony represented, he does not know.

Around age 9-10, the first Liberian Civil War broke out. Hunger ravaged the slums. Neighbors died. Seven years later, as the war neared its end, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) under Prince Johnson aggressively conscripted young men to soldier. April 6, 1996, having just turned 17, Anthony and others like him sought refuge 1000 km away, in neighboring Ivory Coast, entering as refugees. His grandmother, after years of inhaling heated vegetable oil vapors, was too weak to travel. She did not want to leave her home and her familiar neighborhood. It pained Anthony to imagine her alone. As soon as it was safe, 9 months later, Anthony returned to care for his grandmother.

Around this time, Anthony was growing closer to his Christian faith, feeling touched by what he heard and read to be the message of Christ. Grandma Margaret was a devout Christian and raised Anthony accordingly. Anthony felt compelled by God, a calling, wanting to teach and spread his understanding to his community, especially those closer to his age. In 1999, a friend of his, a young man, recently completed the first year of a three-year Bible Training program. He thought Anthony would benefit greatly from the program and urged him to pursue it. Nothing else in his life attracted Anthony’s ambitions as much. The only thing preventing him from enrolling was money. Appreciating Anthony’s predicament, his friend approached his own mother who, after meeting Anthony, offered to cover his first year’s tuition. Anthony was eager. At age 20, he began his study at Living Water Ministries’ Monrovia Bible Training Center, meeting Saturdays between 8 am and 3 pm in Logan Town on Bushrod Island. At the same time, his friend started his second year. Anthony completed the first year, the youngest in his class, earning an “Ambassador Class” certificate. With no way to fund himself and not wanting his friend’s mother to feel he was ungrateful for what she had already given him, Anthony didn’t ask and she didn’t offer to fund subsequent, more advanced Bible training years. Feeling empowered with his training, Anthony started his own youth ministry in his New Kru community, meeting in open spaces. Having grown up his whole life surrounded by poverty, disease, war with a second one starting, corrupt leaders, drugs, prostitution, and crime, one can easily understand why he recognizes his living circumstances as the very apocalyptic events of civilization’s collapse. Over his 20 years, he felt he was experiencing first hand the prophecies taught in Bible Training; the Biblical foretelling of “the second coming of Christ.” So he called his ministry; “God’s End Times Evangelist Youth Ministry” with plans to spread his ministry across all 15 Liberia counties. He slowly built a following, feeling empowered by the ground he was gaining, when his world imploded. Grandmother, too poor to seek medical treatment, died. The center of his world, the one person that always believed in him, his moral compass, and his emotional gravity . . . was gone.

Year 2000, Grandma gone, disconnected from his parents, with Liberia’s Second Civil War is in full swing, Anthony finds no reason to stay in Liberia, and at age 21, leaves Liberia again to take refuge in Ivory Coast.

In 2000, Ivory Coast was experiencing war tensions of its own. Not wanting to be caught up in anyone’s war, he left two months after arriving. From Ivory Coast, he made his way north to Senegal. Not speaking French, Senegal’s official language, made hustling day labor difficult. After 8 months, Anthony made his way into English-speaking Gambia, a western African country surrounding the Gambia River in the center of Senegal’s Atlantic coast. Gambia offered stability and peace. For two years he worked, mostly as a day laborer. He made a friend from Ghana who had lived in Cape Verde. He told Anthony that with his soccer skills, he could easily get a paying job as a soccer player on a club team in the Cape Verde Islands. With that goal in mind, after a lot of hustling, Anthony saved enough for the $400USD plane flight to Cape Verde. In 2003, he left the refuge of Gambia for the promise of greater financial security and doing something he loved. Soon after he arrived, he realized the reality was different. Yet, finding himself further from African wars, he decided to make Cape Verde his home and has lived there ever since.

As they say, you can take the man out of New Kru, but you can’t take New Kru out of the man. Anthony explains, “I will ever feel really hunger u will under why people committed crimes.” Translated: If you ever experience real hunger, you’ll understand why people chose crime.

Today, Anthony lives in Praia, the capital city of Cape Verde Islands, a former Portuguese colony, part of the Atlantic Slave Triangle used as a maritime weigh station during the African slave trade. Today, Anthony makes a living as a day laborer and, on occasion, as a singer. A mutual friend unintentionally introduced him to Isabella, expressive and smart. It was love at first sight. She recognized his potential and his good heart, and set aside his hard upbringing. They married and have been together ever since. Their four children all attend public school and keep the couple busy. Jennifer (13), the quiet type, is in the 8^th grade. Margaret (11) named after her great-grandmother, is a cheerful optimist. “Jr,” (10) like his namesake, loves to play soccer and is quite the dancer. Not to be outdone, Hectoria (7) dances too and loves to sing as much as her daddy does. Her favorite singer is Soraia Ramos. Anthony says of all his children, Hectoria resembles mostly his grandmother; her facial features, her mannerisms, and even her walk, all remind him of his beloved grandmother. Working as a day labor and musician to provide for his family, Anthony’s ultimate goal is to return to New Kru, build a church, and help his ghetto neighbors live better, healthier lives, . . . better than his grandmother and he did.

ERIC & LESLIE RIGNEY MEET KCI GEE

February 2015, Eric and Leslie left Ventura, California aboard their 42-foot sailboat to sail around the world with their 11 and 13-year-old sons. They returned a year ago, May 2019, with having experienced no major storms, no major injuries or illnesses, no life-threatening breakdowns, and no piracy. Eric’s thorough and diligent, nearly daily, planning paid off. They visited 41 countries, 6 continents, crossing 3 oceans, 10 seas, 3 canals, and the pirate zone between Somalia and Yemen. In short, they introduced themselves to the world, working tight quarters together as a family, delving good-heartedly with an open mind into each circumstance and culture that their water-bound adventure provided. Cape Verde was one of those stops. It’s where they spent Thanksgiving 2018 before setting off across the Atlantic, from Africa to South America, their third and final ocean crossing.

Cape Verde is a former Portuguese colony, the last African stop for newly captured West Africans on their torturous way to the Americas to be sold as slaves. It’s where Portuguese slave traders sorted and counted people like livestock, provisioning their ships for the transoceanic crossing. South America, the Caribbean, or North America, . . . the destination was unknown to the “cargo.” The end of slavery left newly “freed” West Africans to fend for themselves in the Cape Verde Islands. Several Portuguese remained, making it their home as well, their place of business. The mix created a unique cultural blend, dance, music, art, and culinary staples, cachupa being one. Eventually, Cape Verde gained independence.

For trans-oceanic sailors crossing the Atlantic, east to west, the Canary and the Cape Verde Islands are the two main jumping off points. Each year, nearly a hundred boats leave from Cape Verde. In part, because every year, three different rallies, organized groupings of individual privately owned and crewed boats, set their fleets to depart on a specified date from the Cape Verdean island of São Vicente, from Mindelo Marina. The groups are mostly separated by language: a French-speaking and two English-speaking groups. Departing from Mindelo, the cruisers arrive at or near St. Lucia in the Caribbean. Planning to land instead in South America, in French Guiana, the Rigneys did not participate in a rally. Waiting for an updated credit card had them in port 10-days longer than planned, plenty of time to tour Sao Vicente and enjoy cachupa and Cape Verdean molasses-based grogue, a locally distilled spirit. Servers appreciated Eric’s enthusiastic grin as he ordered his served in combination with their sweet native lime & molasses ponche (punch) liquer, a cocktail he dubbed, “corps mort” which is French for mooring buoy, but translates more directly to “dead body” which is how his limbs felt after imbibing one (his smile frequently encouraged a more generous pour).

On one of their morning walks, Leslie and Eric met a friendly English-speaking local near a public beach workout area. Cape Verdeans typically speak a Portuguese creole. He, coming originally from Liberia, wanted to practice his English and was curious about them and their trip. Learning they were from the US, he told a story about a woman from the US who helped him service an impoverished neighborhood in his Liberian homeland. She organized shipments of used clothes and he organized their distribution.  She since passed away, but he suggested maybe they could some day work together to continue her good work. And he, like Leslie, was a singer. They shared Facebook contacts and bid farewell. Days later, the Rigneys left Cape Verde, keeping not only their memories, but also loose contact with their new acquaintance: Kci Gee.