Here are the lessons. Check the article for the details.

1. Young journalists are eager to help shape our profession. We have opinions, are not afraid to share them, and (sometimes) know what we’re talking about.

2. There should be repercussions for improper use of social media.

3. Journalists are smart. The audience is stupid.

4. Social media norms are still developing; involve all stakeholders before making a brash regulatory decision.

When Wayétu Moore fled war-torn Liberia as a five-year-old and arrived at an elementary school in New York City, she was greeted with a surprising question:

“Did you go to school on an elephant?” one of her new classmates asked her.

“Something I experienced as a young foreigner here was the lack of knowledge about other cultures,” the now 26-year-old Moore said from her apartment in Prospect Heights.

So in January 2011, Moore launched a children’s book publishing company called One Moore Book, which strives to share the stories of foreign people and the customs of foreign countries with American children. Its books will “serve as a key to unknown people and places for all kids who do not have access to cultures outside of their own.”

“I hope that children can pick up these books… and understand that the world is just so much bigger than what we know and what we have been taught,” said Moore.

Thus far, One Moore Book has sold more than 3,000 books across the country, and is present in schools from Houston, Texas to New York City.

Chloe Taylor, a kindergarten teacher at P.S. 116 in Gramercy, thought that her students would do well to learn from Moore’s books. Last November, in a colorful classroom draped with pastel drawings and splotchy paintings, she introduced her class to Moore’s first book, “J is for Jollof Rice.”

The book tells the tale of a young Liberian girl who scours her nation’s countryside, her city’s markets, and her parents’ kitchen for food to make for dinner—all while learning the alphabet. Jollof rice is a mix of rice, tomato sauce, vegetables, meats and spices, and is one of Liberia’s signature dishes.

The students sat squarely in front of 25-year-old Taylor, on a colorful checkerboard carpet. It was near the end of the day, but they all still had boundless energy. They squirmed in their spots, imaginarily affixed to the ground, and shot their hands into the air whenever Taylor probed them with questions.

“How many of you have eaten rice before?” she asked.

Almost all of the children’s hands shot up.

“I’ve eaten brown rice,” said one student.

“Rice with beans,” said another.

“Sticky rice!” shouted someone from the back.

“I really liked “J is for Jollof Rice” because there are a lot of similarities between what the girl in Liberia did and what children do in New York,” Taylor said.

The book’s main character even transforms the apples she buys in a Monrovian market (Monrovia is the capital of Liberia) into the classic American food: apple pie.

“How many of you have eaten apple pie?” Taylor asked.

“Me! Me! Me!” the classroom erupted.

Indeed, in Moore’s Liberia, J may be for jollof rice, but P is still for pie. And parallels.

“I want children in America to learn that Liberian children are not that far removed from them,” Moore said.

Parents of Taylor’s students agree.

“I think it’s great when the kids learn about any other culture and country,” said Sarah Browne, Julian’s mother. “I think it expands their knowledge base and expands their view of the world.”

Shanika Bailey, whose daughter Neeasia is the only black student in Taylor’s class, concurred. She was particularly pleased that her child was learning about African culture.

“When blacks were enslaved they lost their language, their culture and their way of life,” Bailey said. “That’s why I feel it is very important for [Neeasia] to know as much about Africa as possible, so that she can get a sense of self.”

But Moore’s aim is not merely to educate Americans about other cultures. She has also targeted her books towards children living in countries with low literacy rates. By telling stories that reflect specific cultural narratives, she hopes that she will be able to increase literacy levels in countries like Liberia, where such levels remain low.

According to the State Department’s last calculations, done in 2008, 42 percent—nearly half—of Liberians are illiterate. And according to the United Nations, in Liberia’s rural areas, 74 percent of people do not know how to read. Only 19 percent of men and eight percent of women in Liberia have completed high school or university, the UN also reported.

“It would serve the children in Liberia so so much if they had access to literature written for them,” Moore said.

Since January, One Moore Book has published six children’s books, all about Liberia. Moore authored or co-authored all of the titles, while her siblings provided the illustrations. Next, Moore plans to write books about—and for—children in Afghanistan, Haiti, and Bolivia.

“I feel like children are so impressionable and so vulnerable to the world,” she said. “I hope that children can pick up these books and say: ‘I want to go to Liberia someday,’ or… ‘maybe I could have a friend who is Haitian.’”

As Taylor closed “J is for Jollof Rice” and carefully placed it back on the shelf, her students all began to clap and cheer.

“Who wants to go visit Liberia now?” she asked.

“I do!” the crowd in front of her answered.

A bit about the show, which aired on Ontario’s public television station, TVO, from the legend Joe Motiki: “The Bod Squad was created with the Dairy Farmers of Ontario to educate young people about healthy eating habits… they easily became the most popular series of shorts we produced.”

A big thanks to Joe for finding me on Facebook and sharing this video. Enjoy!

_______________________________

I also snapped this photo of Olivia with my iPhone…

(Produced and moderated)

Bangura Kromah said that she thanks God when she is able to earn $10 in one day. (Photo: Olivia Smith)

By: Jake Heller

In the shade of a low-lying oak tree in the heart of Staten Island’s Park Hill projects, Bangura Kromah sat selling palm oil.

Kromah is one of about 15 elder Liberian women who sell the greasy, deep-red cooking oil—as well as other traditional Liberian provisions—whenever the weather is nice; it’s a way for her to earn a little money and get away from the television set, she said.

“I don’t want to be inside,” the 64-year-old Kromah explained. She lives alone, has never gone to school, and has trouble walking.

Selling food in the makeshift market is also a way for Kromah to connect to her home in Liberia. Before coming to New York City 10 years ago as a refugee from that country’s civil war, she sold fresh produce in one of capital Monrovia’s many markets.

There, she was part of a movement. Market women make up a significant part of Liberia’s economy—an economy where only 15 percent of the population is employed in the formal sector. The women are often a family’s only income-earner. And they are a significant political force. As portrayed in the documentary Pray the Devil Back to Hell, the market women’s peaceful protests brought an end to Liberia’s civil war, led to dictator Charles Taylor’s resignation, and culminated in the election of Africa’s first female head of state, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.

Both Sirleaf and the leader of the women’s peace movement, Leymah Gbowee, won this year’s Nobel Peace Prize.

But here in Staten Island, Kromah is struggling to get by.

“If you make $10 per day, you say God, thank you,” she sighed.

Kromah is a sturdy woman—the type of person who could actually be described as big boned—but sat half-slumped next to her table of produce. Her bright red and black dress was covered up by a weary gray fleece, and she kept a red Yankees toque snug on her head.

Like her fellow vendors, she imports palm oil in bulk from Africa and repackages it into Snapple bottles. They charge $5 a bottle. A bag of dried fish costs the same amount.

For Juah, a 60-year-old woman dressed in a bright orange and yellow robe called a lappa, that income was not enough. Last year, she could no longer afford to buy the palm oil. She now sells popsicles of frozen red Kool-Aid mixed with sugar for 25 cents each.

She said that she makes “sometimes $2, sometimes $3” per day.

Juah, who like other women refused to give her full name, also works part-time as a home caretaker. She accordingly makes just enough money to pay for essentials.

“In the mornings, I pay my rent,” she said, referring to the first two weeks of every month. “Over the following two weeks, I buy my rice.”

And she’s budgeting for another purchase: “Now that it gets cold, I have to buy sweaters,” she laughed.

Juah admitted that she does not have a permit to sell her popsicles, but was steadfast in her defense of the other vendors. They all have permits, she said, even though the permits are hidden from the casual shoppers.

Still, legality may not matter: the New York City Health Department, who administers the permits, has not received any complaints about the market. The children who were eagerly waiting for Juah to pull the popsicles out of her small blue cooler certainly had no qualms with her being there.

Older Liberians, meanwhile, enjoy the ambiance of the area they call “under the tree.” They gather there to talk politics and weather, and to trade local gossip.

“It is the tradition back home,” said Bamah Massalay, Kromah’s aunt who sells at the table next to her.

They also come to Sobel Crescent because it is the only place in New York to buy Liberian food.

Selling everything from sweet African beans—black and brown—to hot peppers—ground and whole—to banana chips, onions, dried fish and, of course, palm oil, the market is the center of a little Liberia hidden within a suburban Staten Island.

“We come and buy because it’s our traditional food,” said a woman named Hawah, who was chatting with a vendor dicing up green potato leaves. “We love to eat it.”

Other African markets do exist across New York, notably at the corner of 116^th Street and Malcolm X Boulevard, where the Malcolm Shabazz Harlem Market proudly displays signs that thank former Mayor Rudy Giuliani for orchestrating the market’s construction. The market was set up after Giuliani shut down the informal African market that used to be located on 125^th Street. A sign outside the 25-vendor market reads: “Building a better community is our job.”

Outdoor markets in general are also experiencing a surge of popularity, as New Yorkers develop an appetite for local food. Diane Eggert, Executive Director of the Farmers’ Market Federation of New York, estimates that there are more than 120 farmers’ markets in New York City, and says that the number of markets has increased steadily since the first market opened in 1976.

But Kromah and her fellow Liberians prefer to stay under the tree. There, they get a taste of home.