Where's My Christmas?

The Christmas Beggar dances around in an oversize shirt and creepy Santa mask until you fork over a few 'liberty' (Liberian dollars). But they don't go away after Christmas -- I danced downtown with one on New Year's Eve. Actually, they should stick with this act year round. It's pretty irresistible and it emptied my pockets more than once.

We camped on the beach at Nyangbah village for Christmas. It's not quite paradise, but it just might be heaven on earth.

The villagers welcomed us with open arms and fed us loads of fresh fish. Our new friend Prince (above center, shirtless) won our hearts with this initial conversation:

Us: "Hey Prince, can you give each of us a traditional Bassa name?"

Prince: "Yes. He can be...um, let me see...Timothy!

"No, Prince. That's an English name. We want a common name from the Bassa tribe."

"Ohhh, okay. Yes, yes. You are...John!"

"What? I know that's not a Bassa name, man. Like, your best friend in the village -- what's his traditional African, Bassa language name? That's what we want."

"Ah! Okay, I understood. I should give you real fine Bassa name?"

"Yes!!"

"Okay, okay...Daryl."

Pounding cassava leaves is hard work. Prince snapped this shot while his mother took a break, looking decidedly unimpressed.

Meet Bubba Davis. At least that's what his name sounded like to us. And his sidekick was Tito (we think). Communication with Bubba and Tito was a chore, but who needs to talk when it's Christmas Day in Liberia and "Feliz Navidad" is crackling through the radio?

Liberians have a subtle way of inquiring as to the whereabouts of their Christmas gift from you. "Where's my Christmas?" and "Gimme my Christmas!" are common refrains. And the best one, which I once heard from a random little kid as I ran past his house: "Christmas on you, right?!"