Night and day

Before I knew which country in Africa I'd be living in, I talked to various people who had lived and worked across the continent. When I asked about freedom of movement, the typical answer was "[fill in the location] is very livable, but I wouldn't walk around after dark." After arriving in Liberia, a country lacking a functioning national power grid, that advice took on a new meaning. When night falls, the city is completely dark. There are a few scattered streetlights, and some apartment complexes have dim lights in their driveways or at their gates, but when you're on the road, the pot-holed terrain is lit up only by your headlights.

It's pretty strange to have night and day divided so starkly, to have your mobility completely curtailed by the setting sun. Even more strange is turning onto a road awash in darkness, and to notice your headlights are now shining on dozens of Liberians walking toward home, or just walking around, many of them in the street. From what I can tell -- and confirmed by our drivers -- the majority of Liberians do not own cars, so our rides through town take us past people who are getting around completely on foot.

When we ex-pats are heading home to settle in for the night, or driving carefully from place to place, I've noticed that many Liberians are still outside. Those who aren't walking around are sitting outside of their homes with friends or family, on porches or patches of dust in front, waiting until it's late enough to call it a day. I actually think there's a common time for everyone to go inside and board up their homes. When that time comes, the people on the street vanish, and homes are literally closed up for the night. It may not sound that different to nighttime in the states, but the migration inside is so noticeable because this town lives outside, in its streets and front yards. It's actually a little unsettling to see everything closed up so tightly, and I'm relieved when we drive outside our gates in the morning, and everyone has burst from their homes once again.