Driving in, the first thing that struck me was the resilience of the people. Maybe it was the bustling market scene that welcomed us, or the hospital standing as a symbol of continuity proof that the community of Liberian refugees had not only survived but created something enduring.

The tour itself might have seemed simple to an outsider, but with Leo’s guidance and storytelling, the spaces came alive. The basic school, where hundreds of children learned by day and where, at night, it doubled as a post-secondary classroom. The square, once filled with tears and heartbreak, as families were torn apart when some were able to leave and others had to remain the “departure ground” that bore the weight of goodbyes. The football field, still standing, carrying the dreams, agility, and excitement of the young.

What stood out even more was the way the people lit up at the sight of Leo. Their joy and recognition carried a kind of contagious energy. It was as though his return connected past and present, reminding everyone of shared endurance.

Being there, I realized we were standing in what felt like a country within a country, a self-sufficient space with its own electricity system, schools, hospital, and sports life. The ground itself seemed to hold a mixture of resilience, bravery, vulnerability, and fear.

And then there was the moment with the taxi. A simple picture I snapped of the phrase “Wake Up Africa” on its back seemed harmless to me, yet it stirred something powerful in the men standing nearby. Their reaction, loud, angry, and disproportionate on the surface, left me rattled. On a deeper level, though, I realized their response was shaped by history, mistrust, and the delicacy of their space. They didn’t know me, was I an informant? A disrespectful stranger? Their reaction reminded me of the fragility beneath the resilience.

I wasn’t afraid, but I was shaken. Yet, being with the group brought me a sense of calm. That moment, however, revealed just how delicate the ground was that we were walking on. It made me think about how survival, memory, and mistrust coexist in such a place. The camp is a living testimony to human endurance, but also a reminder of wounds that don’t fade easily.