I know things have been quiet on the Liberian Living front lately, but a poorly done article from the Washington Post has roused me from my blogging slumber! It is titled "In Postwar Liberia, Paradise Amid the Poverty" and you can read it here: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/05/29/AR2008052903983.html
My colleagues and I can't get it off of our minds, for a lot of reasons.
First, there are far more important stories to be writing about Liberia. The topics are endless…from visible infrastructure improvements made since January…to the country trying to be a model in post-conflict health services delivery…to the food crisis and rice shortage facing this country.
Second, I have no idea how two sushi restaurants and a supermarket that stocks pop tarts have come to represent paradise (and I ask you, what good are 16 types of pop tarts when wheat bread, canned tomatoes, and black beans are never guaranteed?). The few amenities that are here can be found in any suburb in America. Should ex-pats feel badly because they want to enjoy a Friday night meal at a restaurant, after spending the week in an office with irregular electricity and no running water?
Third, you have to acknowledge the reality that during 14 years of civil war, most educated and/or elite Liberians left the country and have not returned. It is challenging to find Liberians in the diaspora who are willing to come back and fill posts here. There are some programs that are trying to make it happen (The Scott Family Fellows Program, run by the Center for Global Development) but it is slow going. Salaries, benefits and amenities here are nothing like what these Liberians have been enjoying in their new environments.
I will not pretend to be an expert in economics, but in a country where the majority of people earn less than $1 a day, businesses and NGOs that are employing Liberians are providing a fair, consistent wage that goes directly into building the local economy. While ex-pats may frequently support non-Liberian owned businesses, the money they spend does trickle down to the population. It seems naïve to think that a country emerging from prolonged civil war that is missing entire segments of its population could instantly rebuild its own economy.
I realize I might sound defensive, but it's laughable to describe the ex-pat lifestyle here as "paradise." It's true that there is a disconnect between the ex-pat and Liberian populations, one that continues to give many of us pause in our daily lives, though it is perhaps no different than the gaps that exist between aid workers and local populations in any developing country.
I do anticipate being in paradise early next week, when I travel to Nairobi, which sounds like a vibrant city! I am visiting my friend Elissa for one week and I cannot wait! The plan is to spend time exploring the city (or showing me around) and taking a 3-day safari. I hope to enjoy an iced coffee with soy milk as well.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
License to drive
At home, it is generally acknowledged that I am not the best driver. It’s not so much that I’m bad as it is I’m out of practice. I’ve only owned a car for one of the 13 years I’ve had a driver’s license, and I spent six years living in a city where driving is completely unnecessary. When I do drive, I notice that I spend a lot of time looking in the rearview mirror, so I’m aware of who is behind me and how close they are (you never know when you’ll have to stop short and I want to know how much leeway I have!). I am told this is a poor driving strategy.
In Monrovia, cars are very much a necessity, but they typically come with drivers, so I have been spared the exercise of getting behind the wheel. In all honesty, I really don’t think that my driving here would be a good idea. Despite some improvements in the roads (since we arrived in January, two major streets have been paved), there are multiple obstacles on each stretch of road here. Potholes are everywhere, and will only worsen with the impending rain. Manhole and sewer covers are missing entirely (although those tend to be things to watch out for while running or walking, rather than driving). There are no crosswalks or street lights, so pedestrians have to just make a run for it when they can – which means that drivers have to watch out for people darting across their path. When night falls, the lack of street lights adds another layer of complexity to road travel.
In order to manage all these challenges, drivers often end up snaking down a street, so that a trip that would take you 10 minutes on a more functional road takes you twice as long here.
Interestingly, last night we were driving home from dinner at our friends’ apartment when Alfred gently swung around a small bench someone had put in the road. He slowed the car down and was considering getting out and moving it, but thought better of it and drove away. He explained that during the war, bandits would place things in the street that would prevent vehicles from passing. Drivers would inevitably have to get out of their cars to move whatever it was and the bandits would take the car or the money and valuables that people were traveling with. He doubted that the placement of the bench had been deliberate, but didn’t want to take the risk.
Today, a few of us went to the beach for a few hours, and were joined by a friend who has lived in Liberia for seven years. He has a Liberian driver’s license, and was telling us about taking the written test. Apparently he only got 80% correct because he found some of the answers counterintuitive. One that he remembered being asked was “What do you do when you are approaching pedestrians who are crossing the street?” He didn’t remember all the options, but the correct answer was “Look in your rearview mirror to see if anyone is behind you.”
Frightening (and kind of excellent) that my driving instincts are best suited to Liberia!
In Monrovia, cars are very much a necessity, but they typically come with drivers, so I have been spared the exercise of getting behind the wheel. In all honesty, I really don’t think that my driving here would be a good idea. Despite some improvements in the roads (since we arrived in January, two major streets have been paved), there are multiple obstacles on each stretch of road here. Potholes are everywhere, and will only worsen with the impending rain. Manhole and sewer covers are missing entirely (although those tend to be things to watch out for while running or walking, rather than driving). There are no crosswalks or street lights, so pedestrians have to just make a run for it when they can – which means that drivers have to watch out for people darting across their path. When night falls, the lack of street lights adds another layer of complexity to road travel.
In order to manage all these challenges, drivers often end up snaking down a street, so that a trip that would take you 10 minutes on a more functional road takes you twice as long here.
Interestingly, last night we were driving home from dinner at our friends’ apartment when Alfred gently swung around a small bench someone had put in the road. He slowed the car down and was considering getting out and moving it, but thought better of it and drove away. He explained that during the war, bandits would place things in the street that would prevent vehicles from passing. Drivers would inevitably have to get out of their cars to move whatever it was and the bandits would take the car or the money and valuables that people were traveling with. He doubted that the placement of the bench had been deliberate, but didn’t want to take the risk.
Today, a few of us went to the beach for a few hours, and were joined by a friend who has lived in Liberia for seven years. He has a Liberian driver’s license, and was telling us about taking the written test. Apparently he only got 80% correct because he found some of the answers counterintuitive. One that he remembered being asked was “What do you do when you are approaching pedestrians who are crossing the street?” He didn’t remember all the options, but the correct answer was “Look in your rearview mirror to see if anyone is behind you.”
Frightening (and kind of excellent) that my driving instincts are best suited to Liberia!
Monday, May 12, 2008
In Liberia...
I realize I have been delinquent in my posting – work has become steadily busier and there seems to be less to comment on during a given day. However, I realized today that I’ve started to become accustomed to life here, and that much of the way we live is still interesting and fun to share.
So in that spirit, here’s a little “you know you are living in Liberia when…”
…running water at the office is a big deal (normally we flush by pouring a pitcher of water into the toilette and wash up with Purell)
…making a phone call requires hanging out of your office window to pick up a signal (there are no land lines here) and yelling into the phone to be heard through often scratchy connections
…the generator that powers your office is switched at 5 p.m. every day, so that for a short stretch of time you are disconnected from email (if you’re lucky enough to be on it), cannot print or make copies, and depending on your office, end up working in semi-darkness
…your friends come down with malaria instead of the flu
…peppers and tomatoes at the supermarket are cause for celebration
…50% of the men you pass by in the hallway at work call you “baby” and men on the street call you “fine girl”
…24 hour electricity is a luxury
...a night on the outdoor dance floor leaves you drenched in sweat
…terms like “ASAP” and “ballpark estimate” don’t apply
…people use the expressions “fine” and “not fine” for “good” and “bad”
Today I was speaking with two Americans who are in town for about a month and looking for recommendations for restaurants, entertainment, etc. After I rattled off some options and they left, one of my colleagues said, “It’s nice not to feel like a newcomer, isn’t it?” I hadn’t really thought of myself as a bearer of information on Monrovia, but I suppose these things tend to creep up on you…
So in that spirit, here’s a little “you know you are living in Liberia when…”
…running water at the office is a big deal (normally we flush by pouring a pitcher of water into the toilette and wash up with Purell)
…making a phone call requires hanging out of your office window to pick up a signal (there are no land lines here) and yelling into the phone to be heard through often scratchy connections
…the generator that powers your office is switched at 5 p.m. every day, so that for a short stretch of time you are disconnected from email (if you’re lucky enough to be on it), cannot print or make copies, and depending on your office, end up working in semi-darkness
…your friends come down with malaria instead of the flu
…peppers and tomatoes at the supermarket are cause for celebration
…50% of the men you pass by in the hallway at work call you “baby” and men on the street call you “fine girl”
…24 hour electricity is a luxury
...a night on the outdoor dance floor leaves you drenched in sweat
…terms like “ASAP” and “ballpark estimate” don’t apply
…people use the expressions “fine” and “not fine” for “good” and “bad”
Today I was speaking with two Americans who are in town for about a month and looking for recommendations for restaurants, entertainment, etc. After I rattled off some options and they left, one of my colleagues said, “It’s nice not to feel like a newcomer, isn’t it?” I hadn’t really thought of myself as a bearer of information on Monrovia, but I suppose these things tend to creep up on you…
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Monkey Island
Recently we decided it was time for another day trip outside of Monrovia. We had heard of a place called Monkey Island where lots of (you guessed it) monkeys live. You take canoes out and get close enough to take pictures and watch the animals.
Turns out it’s not actually called Monkey Island – the locals don’t really have a name for it. Also, it’s inhabited by chimpanzees, not monkeys. The story is that the chimps used to be part of a German research project and when it finished they were released onto this island. All seven of us were able to take a larger boat out together – a long, slim, felucca-like boat that had a motor and about ten planks for seats.
The 15 minute trip out to the island was lovely. It was hot, but the breeze was really refreshing. As we approached the island we saw a “Danger” sign but no chimps. Before we got onto the boat we bought a lot of mangoes (or plums) to bring with us. I had thought they were our snacks. Turns out we were going to throw them at the island to lure out the chimps. It worked. Quickly several chimpanzees emerged from the woods and they went right after the fruit. It was amazing how quickly they peeled and ate them, and the mangoes looked so vivid against the animals’ dark fur!
At one point a small fishing boat got pretty close to the island and the lead chimp started shouting / squawking at it. The closest we got was about 50 yards away. After about 20 minutes of frantic picture taking and mango throwing, we sailed around the island and found a little jetty where we could ground the boat and explore. Most people went for a swim. The setting was like something out of a tropical vacation (minus the luxury accommodations, food / beverages and exotic fish).
It was the perfect weekend for a trip like this, as rainy season is upon us and beach days are no longer guaranteed. The rain hasn’t been consistent yet, although about three days in a row last week we had storms overnight and randomly throughout the day. The one benefit to increased rain is cooler temperatures, most notable during my morning runs!
Turns out it’s not actually called Monkey Island – the locals don’t really have a name for it. Also, it’s inhabited by chimpanzees, not monkeys. The story is that the chimps used to be part of a German research project and when it finished they were released onto this island. All seven of us were able to take a larger boat out together – a long, slim, felucca-like boat that had a motor and about ten planks for seats.
The 15 minute trip out to the island was lovely. It was hot, but the breeze was really refreshing. As we approached the island we saw a “Danger” sign but no chimps. Before we got onto the boat we bought a lot of mangoes (or plums) to bring with us. I had thought they were our snacks. Turns out we were going to throw them at the island to lure out the chimps. It worked. Quickly several chimpanzees emerged from the woods and they went right after the fruit. It was amazing how quickly they peeled and ate them, and the mangoes looked so vivid against the animals’ dark fur!
At one point a small fishing boat got pretty close to the island and the lead chimp started shouting / squawking at it. The closest we got was about 50 yards away. After about 20 minutes of frantic picture taking and mango throwing, we sailed around the island and found a little jetty where we could ground the boat and explore. Most people went for a swim. The setting was like something out of a tropical vacation (minus the luxury accommodations, food / beverages and exotic fish).
It was the perfect weekend for a trip like this, as rainy season is upon us and beach days are no longer guaranteed. The rain hasn’t been consistent yet, although about three days in a row last week we had storms overnight and randomly throughout the day. The one benefit to increased rain is cooler temperatures, most notable during my morning runs!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Koombaya
We have had one of Alfred’s gospel tapes on rotation in the car since last week. There are six songs on this tape. I have been singing about salvation, jubilation, and exultation for days on end. One of our friends found the CD for sale in one of the music wheelbarrows that’s rolled around town and burned copies for each of us. It will soon be on my iPod.
The last song on the tape is Koombaya. I thought that was a funny song for a gospel mix. I thought the same thing when I went to a performance of the Monrovia City Choir a few weeks ago and they sang Koombaya. But I recently learned that it’s a classic African spiritual / gospel song and that the word “koombaya” is a combination of the words “come by here.”
I think those words are an apt reflection on spirituality in Liberia. Whenever you ask a Liberian how they are spending their weekend, they mention Sunday services. The typical answer to “how are you?” is “thank God.” When I hear colleagues singing in the office, 95% of the time the material is a spiritual (the other 5% it’s Akon).
Spirituality is a fact of life here. God is in control. But the approach to religion is generally not zealous. There’s an almost passive acceptance of God’s presence, which “come by here” really captures. There’s a desire for his company, but we really just want him to swing by for a bit. It’s like he’s a friend that we have a close relationship with.
The last song on the tape is Koombaya. I thought that was a funny song for a gospel mix. I thought the same thing when I went to a performance of the Monrovia City Choir a few weeks ago and they sang Koombaya. But I recently learned that it’s a classic African spiritual / gospel song and that the word “koombaya” is a combination of the words “come by here.”
I think those words are an apt reflection on spirituality in Liberia. Whenever you ask a Liberian how they are spending their weekend, they mention Sunday services. The typical answer to “how are you?” is “thank God.” When I hear colleagues singing in the office, 95% of the time the material is a spiritual (the other 5% it’s Akon).
Spirituality is a fact of life here. God is in control. But the approach to religion is generally not zealous. There’s an almost passive acceptance of God’s presence, which “come by here” really captures. There’s a desire for his company, but we really just want him to swing by for a bit. It’s like he’s a friend that we have a close relationship with.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Trying to Try
Liberians are pretty honest. They tell you when you look fat or thin. They make a distinct face or sound if they don’t like what they hear. Liberians don’t really soften the blow like we would back home.
Liberians also like to tell stories and really draw out the narrative. In Liberia, you’re never simply late for work. You had to wait for a taxi and then the traffic was really bad. You tried to call your boss but were out of money on your phone and had to buy a scratch card somewhere. Your cousin needed some help with a job so you had to help him out.
But despite all these obstacles – and more – you are here. You are trying to try.
If the day hasn’t been quite so dramatic, you may just be trying. “How are you today, Jeff?” “Not bad…trying” is often the response. On a Friday morning, you are more likely get a sigh followed by, “just trying to try.”
Frankly, I have some sympathy, as I was trying to try today. I have a cold that came out of nowhere, we were running a program in a stuffy conference room that lost air conditioning about three hours before we were done, and we have to work tomorrow (Saturday).
It’s sort of a bulletproof statement. If someone is trying – let alone trying to try – what can you do but encourage them? They are trying their best at that moment, given all they are dealing with. They haven’t given up. They are trying…to try.
Liberians also like to tell stories and really draw out the narrative. In Liberia, you’re never simply late for work. You had to wait for a taxi and then the traffic was really bad. You tried to call your boss but were out of money on your phone and had to buy a scratch card somewhere. Your cousin needed some help with a job so you had to help him out.
But despite all these obstacles – and more – you are here. You are trying to try.
If the day hasn’t been quite so dramatic, you may just be trying. “How are you today, Jeff?” “Not bad…trying” is often the response. On a Friday morning, you are more likely get a sigh followed by, “just trying to try.”
Frankly, I have some sympathy, as I was trying to try today. I have a cold that came out of nowhere, we were running a program in a stuffy conference room that lost air conditioning about three hours before we were done, and we have to work tomorrow (Saturday).
It’s sort of a bulletproof statement. If someone is trying – let alone trying to try – what can you do but encourage them? They are trying their best at that moment, given all they are dealing with. They haven’t given up. They are trying…to try.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Fresh air
Today we opened a window in our apartment. This might sound crazy, but it’s the first time we’ve done that. It’s usually too hot for fresh air so we put the air conditioning on. We spend all day at the Ministry, in and out of offices or rushing through hallways that are saturated with humid air. I’ve accepted that fact that there will always be a sheen on my face at work. All I want is the cool, clean air of our apartment when I get home. (We also didn’t know the windows in our apartment actually opened – the curtains block the tabs you slide open, if that’s any excuse.)
Opening up the window meant that we could bring a little bit of Liberia inside and somehow ease the divide we feel when we drive into our compound and burst into our apartment every evening. It meant that I heard birds chirping and bugs buzzing and Bill moving around on the chair outside as he napped during his down time. It helped me realize that the work we’re doing is not happening in some sort of bubble, but we are – if only temporarily – a part of this place.
It smells like Liberia inside our apartment and it’s nice.
Opening up the window meant that we could bring a little bit of Liberia inside and somehow ease the divide we feel when we drive into our compound and burst into our apartment every evening. It meant that I heard birds chirping and bugs buzzing and Bill moving around on the chair outside as he napped during his down time. It helped me realize that the work we’re doing is not happening in some sort of bubble, but we are – if only temporarily – a part of this place.
It smells like Liberia inside our apartment and it’s nice.
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