Update on Westpoint

The place never sat right with me. My gut told me from the moment I stepped through the door of that ugly, abandoned warehouse that something wasn't right. And not just that it was a terrible place for kids to be living, but that kids probably weren't living there at all; that the caretakers who obviously had no idea how to take care of kids probably weren't; and that this director, who had sought me out through the internet, was probably more of an entrepreneur than anything.

After running my very unsettled impressions past the rest of the team, we contacted our friend and colleague in charge of child protection at UNICEF to ask her advice. She suggested a joint assessment with the Child Protection Task Force, the body in charge of accrediting and closing orphanages in Liberia. So I took them there, a not-so-official looking convoy of officials through the winding laneways and alleyways of the poorest market area in Monrovia, to this warehouse. We arrived ahead of the director, so I began the tour without him:
The 10' x 10' room where 19 boys supposedly sleep.
The dirt-floor, no-window warehouse that is their dining room, play area, rain shelter.
The alleyway "school".
The well covered only by a metal grate, the water table only a foot below ground.

The assessment team -- UNICEF, the Ministry of Health & Social Welfare, UNMIL, Le Page and myself -- exchange skeptical looks. The representative from UNICEF addresses the class, and begins gathering information from the children about where they're from, whether they have parents in the community, how long they've been here, etc. Very interesting answers from the kids as they get more and more excited about telling their stories: "I'm from Ghana! I came here with my uncle two weeks ago!" ("Good, clap for him!")

I begin talking to one of the older boys, asking the names of the other kids. None of the names his friends answer to are on the list. "So where is... Moses? Is Moses here?" No, Moses has gone to school. Only two of the 28 on the list are present, even though there are 28 seated in the alleyway-school, 19 boys and 9 girls just as there should be.

The director then arrives, and we plow through the questionnaire part of the assessment. I had asked most of the questions previously, but only a Liberian can really get answers out of a Liberian -- I marvel at how the story develops as the questions chase his answers round in circles. "We established in 2003" becomes "I started this orphanage two months ago" in less than ten minutes.

We thank everyone, thank the children, and walk back to the vehicles. On one hand, we're upset that children are being left in the care of these young and clearly irresponsible caregivers; on the other hand, we're glad that the kids are from the community, and not living in the "orphanage" at all. Most likely the director and matron live there with their children -- that's certainly what it looks like from the state of things -- and the children come in as a sort of daycare arrangement from market families. In a week we meet again to discuss our observations and to make recommendations, and it becomes from there the Ministry's problem to deal with. They will suggest to the director that he reorganize as a daycare, and will look into finding a qualified teacher for the children. Beyond that, we can only monitor to try to ensure that other organizations don't become benefactors to a fraud.