Margaret and my family had this special relationship. Her untimely death on February 26, 2010 devastated our spirits. This is my tribute to her. She was buried in Careysbyrg, Liberia on March 20, 2010.Recently, I have had a serious problem with the Latin saying: Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit, the meaning of which is Man proposes and God disposes. I just wish when Psalms 90:10 says that “The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away;” I wish that the Man upstairs would keep His promise to us mortals. Any of God’s children who fly away before the age of three scores and ten leaves with us a strange feeling of disbelief and unbelievable sorrow.
I got a call at 4:12 a.m. on the 26th of February, 2010. I saw the name on the caller ID and refused to immediately answer the telephone. My friend had been sick for a while; her health was deteriorating rapidly, but I always felt in my heart that she would make it through. The call that came in that early morning had an ominous ring to it. I preferred to listen to the voice mail rather than talk live to the person who was about to give me some sad news.
It did not take long before I finally decided to listen to the inevitable. I dialed *86 and put in my pass code. The voice was that of Korto Lake, Margaret's sister. This is what I heard: “Cooper, your sister passed away to be with the Lord at about 3:01 a.m., New Orleans Time.” Korto Lake was sobbing as she left the message. She had been crying from the time my friend, her sister stopped talking two days earlier.
How I got to know Margaret Lake
I was driving from the Harbel Supermarket one evening in late 1984 when I saw a car parked in the middle of the road. The driver was still in the vehicle trying to get it started. The engine of the car had apparently stalled. I parked on the side of road and walked to the car to see if I could help to at least push it off the main road.
As I approached the car, I realize that it was a female driver. I volunteered to help by asking her to put the car in neutral and get down. She did as I told her. She helped me push as I steered her vehicle off to the side of the road. Happy for the gesture, the lady introduced herself: “I am Margaret Lake and I am a teacher at Staff School.” “Oh, I am Cooper Kweme,” extending my hand for a handshake. “Oh, are you Theo Kweme’s father?” she inquired. “Yes,” I replied.
After the short introduction I told Margaret to wait by her car. I ran into the Firestone garage that was nearby and told the garage Manager that a teacher from Staff School was in distress and needed help getting her car started. A mechanic was sent to help and Margaret Lake was able to do her errands that evening.
After the short introduction I told Margaret to wait by her car. I ran into the Firestone garage that was nearby and told the garage Manager that a teacher from Staff School was in distress and needed help getting her car started. A mechanic was sent to help and Margaret Lake was able to do her errands that evening.
Two months after the encounter, I got a letter from Margaret Lake inviting my wife and me over to her place for dinner. She immediately found likeness for Yonger, and that’s how the friendship blossomed. Margaret's family and my family became very close after that. We had many dinners together at Sugar Hill and Center Site in Firestone.
Margaret and I always talked about the mystique of America. She was obsessed with Chicago. “Chicago, here we come!” We would hi-five each other. I had traveled to the United States, but the Windy City had not been my destination. I had gone to Los Angeles, and that place blew my mind. The cars I saw for the first time on Highway 101 as we drove from LAX; the road network and buildings I saw, made me to feel sorry for myself and for everything I had known or seen before then. I did not let Margaret know how I felt. We celebrated Chicago with glee and much anticipation.
The War Years
Margaret Lake left Liberia way before December 24, 1989. I lost contact with her but knew all along that she was in America, probably in the windy city of Chicago. War was coming to Liberia and many people took it for granted. We had not experienced war before. The coups of 1980 and 1985 did some damage to our psyche, but those were all we had to reflect upon. We had no idea that the war would be far, far different from the coups.
On May 8, 1990 I arrived in the United States. The same day or week, in Silver Spring, Maryland, I was told that Margaret Lake was getting married, with the reception being held on Rhode Island Avenue in Washington, DC. What a coincidence, I said to myself. Margaret did not know that I was in America and in Silver Spring. She was amazingly surprised when I greeted her at her wedding. She introduced me to her husband and the friendship rekindled.
Being in America involuntarily takes a toll on the faint hearted. I was no exception. I felt the walls of unfamiliarity closing in on me as I went around in search of jobs. One day I got a call from Margaret, who was now Mrs. Margaret Lake-Young. “Come tomorrow to my office in DC,” she told me. I had no idea what she was calling me for, but I found my way to DC the next day. She was on the phone all the while, directing me to where the train would put me and how to get to her office.
I had told Margaret during conversations that I always wanted to be a Medical Doctor, but did Forestry instead when Plan A appeared doomed. “Cooper,” she told me in her DC office. “I have put together some documents that would allow you to enroll at UDC, in the Nursing Program.” I was desperate to work, not to go to school. How would I pay the rent if I went to school? I thought to myself. I had refused going to Nursing School at TNIMA in Liberia. Margaret knew that. Yet, she was adamant in her desire to see me do Nursing. She was a patient and understanding Counselor.
Because I did not have a Green Card, any hope of going to Nursing School in Washington, D C took a southward dive. Without a Green Card, the Dean could do nothing for me. Margaret Lake-Young was visibly devastated and I went back to join the rat race in search of a job.
I did find odd jobs here and there, but I was getting depressed that the war in Liberia was not coming to an end. I desperately wanted to go back home. Then one day, I got another call from Margaret Lake-Young. This time the call came from where she worked in Maryland. She knew I was depressed; she knew the war in Liberia had traumatized many of her people; Margaret Lake-Young knew that many Liberians were going crazy from what was happening in their country.
In her office, this time, Mrs. Young wanted to know if I still wanted to go to Nursing School. I told her how I was at the brink of going mad and how it was difficult for me to concentrate or decide what to do. I finally told her that I wanted to go to computer school. She smiled and told me how smart I was and how she wished she had a tiny bit of the brains I have. Anyone who graduated from LTI, Cuttington College, George Washington University, and later Nursing School did not need any of my brains. Who was she kidding? I used to tease her. Going to Computer School under her guidance and patience and encouragement allowed me to take care of the responsibilities of life in America.
Mishawaka, Indiana, USA
Our friendship was such that no matter where she was or no matter what help she wanted, I would drop everything I was doing to give her that helping hand. There was no reason to say no to that soft voice of hers. I was even willing to drive to California if that was what she wanted.
Korto Lake and I took the car to Mishawaka, Indiana. For the nine hours we drove, we got a call every one hour. Margaret Lake-Young wanted to know the condition of the road, whether I was taking a short cut to Mishawaka from Maryland or whether I had eaten something or whether I was tired and needed to stop and sleep. Her concerns were just too overwhelming. No matter how many times I told her to go to sleep and leave the driving to me, she stayed up until we rang the door bell to her apartment at 4:30 in the morning.
Leaving Ohio, I was stopped by the police. The charge was that I was speeding 15 miles over the speed limit. I did not want Margaret to know about the speeding ticket. She was in Indiana to seek medical treatment. Telling her about the speeding ticket would raise her concern-level to the sky: She would demand that she pays for the ticket, and I did not want that. I was happy that she never mentioned anything about the ticket incident in Ohio.
Our Plans for Liberia
Margaret and I found out last year that we had purchased land opposite each other on Robertsfield Highway. One of our many plans was to contribute to the construction of a Pedestrian Bridge over the highway! We would use that walking path to come to each other’s place to ask for salt or pepper or cooking oil or even smoked fish. I would make the vegetable garden and she would bake the rice bread. Margaret Lake-Young was the best rice bread maker in the whole of Maryland. A party without Aunty Meg’s rice bread was no party at all.
Margaret encouraged me to go to Liberia. “Go and see for yourself whether you will like the place,” she would caution me many times. When I told her that I was finding it difficult locating the place I had purchased opposite her land, she promised to give me a place to build my house. When she saw that her sisters Dee and Judy Lake were trying to corner me as I narrated my story about Liberia, she gently kicked my leg under the table and said: “Cooper, please let’s change the topic.”
As I reflect and think about that last statement, I feel that Margaret wanted to make sure the two families remain friendly. She called me a day after the incident and asked whether I had talked to Dee Lake. She did not understand why her sister, especially Dee-Zoe was so upset with me. After all, Margaret told me, I was only expressing my feelings about what I saw and experienced during my trip. "Call Dee and give her your Resume," Margaret told me. That was the last conversation we had together. The day of the incident at Mr Young's house was the last time I saw the face of my friend and mentor and counselor, Margaret Lake-Young.
Goodbye, Aunty Meg
I try to compare our friendship with other friendships. I searched and searched. The feeling I have for Margaret Lake-Young is the same feeling David had for Jonathan. David lamented the death of King Saul and his best friend, Jonathan (II Samuels 1:19-27). Today and forever, I lament the passing away of Aunty Meg, Miss Lake, my friend and counselor. Just as the beauty of Israel was slain upon the high places long time ago, so it is that the beauty of Liberia, one of the country's best humanitarians was taken away by the Bayous of New Orleans in Louisiana, on February 26, 2010.
Let the soul of Margaret Emily Lake-Young forever rest in peace.
