You can't help but smell it

I have started running in the mornings here (have I already mentioned this?) I didn't like going to the gym after work, and figured I could squeeze in a quick run before the car arrives. Quite possibly because I'm trying very hard to put the hot, thick air out of my mind, I've been taking in many different scents on my jogs around town.

When I pause at our front door, about to head outside, I can feel and smell the air seeping through the door frame. It's very different from the air-conditioned climate I've just spent the night in. It smells faintly of burning rubber and farm animals and heat (I realize this may be hard to imagine, but roll with it). As I step outside our compound and start to jog, I see the city waking up. It's early, but some Liberians are walking to work, others are carrying things to their families, and a few are zipping around on motorbikes. I fan away the exhaust from the bikes and cars (most use diesel fuel) as I run through clouds of it. Ironically, as I run past a couple of the nicest hotels here and head up a hill toward the U.S. Embassy, I smell raw sewage, which gathers in an open drainage system I jog past. Not my favorite, but it's brief.

As I keep moving up the steady incline, I pay less attention to the smells and focus on regulating my breathing. I say good morning to all the Embassy guards (I think they must be good people to know) and try to look like I'm really enjoying the hill. When it finally slopes down I head into a more residential neighborhood. It's dusty and sometime smells a little bit like friend food. There are piles of trash dotting the road, which I don't need to describe, and then take a right turn and go up a steep hill. I really need to remember to hold my breath right here, because there's a good five seconds for which you just don't want to be inhaling. If I'm lucky, someone is selling oranges on the side of the street and I get a burst of citrus. It's a wonderful thing.

At the top of the hill is a busy intersection that's already bustling when I arrive, so I'm hit with exhaust again. The road evens out and after about 25 yards I pass fewer people, though if I'm lucky I run past boys playing soccer in the street. At one of the last corners I take, there's a mechanic/auto body shop, and the accompanying smells fill the air.

Soon I'm welcomed back by the cool embrace of our air conditioning. While not nearly as aromatic as the streets of Monrovia, I like to believe it helps me to re-charge and appreciate all that I'm bombarded with when I step outside again.