When the roads disappeared, so did the path to care. It was June, 2024, the thick of Liberia’s rainy season. I thought I was ready — I’d packed for heat, humidity, and the occasional downpour. But nothing could have prepared me for what “rainy season” truly means here. We expected highways and main roads, yet found ourselves navigating dirt paths that turned into rivers of mud. When the rain came, the roads vanished beneath rushing water; tires sank deep, and travel stopped entirely.
It’s one thing to talk about barriers to care. It’s another to witness it firsthand, to see how a flooded road can make already complicated journeys to care nearly impossible.
We embarked on a five-day trip alongside the Liberian Ministry of Health through 3 counties — Grand Bassa, Margibi, and Buchanan. The landscapes were beautiful, yet unforgiving. The air was heavy, the sun relentless, and still, the people were filled with smiles and waves that cut through the heat.
Villages welcomed us with open arms. Children sang and danced, proudly showing us their homes. One of my favorite memories was playing games like red light, green light with children while interviews were being conducted nearby. Joy Kim (Monitoring & Evaluation Specialist at Effect Hope), led in dance moves, while Emerson Rogers (NTD Case Management Coordinator, Ministry of Health Liberia), kicked a soccer ball around — laughter echoing throughout the village.
At health clinics, we met workers who spoke passionately about their desire to see their communities thrive. Their dedication and compassion left me confident that their patients were in the best hands possible.
Field officers shared how the rainy season isolates communities, cutting off access to clinics for weeks. One community health worker told us she rides a motorcycle for hours into remote villages to find people who would otherwise be missed. The reality of the rainy season became clear as we traveled to several villages that week. Repeatedly, we encountered washed-out roads, with no alternative routes and the unsettling sense that we could be stranded overnight at any moment.
And yet, I felt protected and guided. God made the timing of this trip and the weather intentional. He showed us enough to understand what needs to change.
I have been thinking about that trip recently as Liberia enters another rainy season. We’ve just launched the next phase of our work to address a neglected issue affecting an unknown number of women and girls in Liberia: Female Genital Schistosomiasis, or FGS. Because FGS is widely misunderstood and misdiagnosed, we don’t have an accurate picture yet of just how many women and girls are affected across the country. Before they can be treated, they have to be found.
This means understanding where FGS is most widespread, which communities are most affected, and what barriers stand in the way of women accessing care.
My experience two years ago gave me a deeper understanding of life in Liberia during rainy season, and renewed my passion to share that reality with supporters in Canada — to show the barriers we must overcome to reach everyone waiting for care.
Looking ahead, Liberia’s first national strategy marks a turning point — a chance to make real progress for more women and girls. Eliminating barriers to care is at the heart of it: making roads passable, both literally and figuratively. Because before she can be treated, she has to be found, and together, we can clear the path.
