Liberia

Friday night, before my trip to Liberia, I enjoyed a marvellous night on the beach. It felt like day time and everything around had a clear shadow. It was unbelievable for a city girl like me to see so much natural moon light. Hypnotised by nature I didn’t go to bed until 3 am but was still ready to go at 6am as instructed. I still think that every day and every appointment I have might just occur at GMT . I’m always ready to roll, always unprepared for BMT (black man’s time). At 9.30 we drove away to pick up every other crew member of the renewable energy team to finally leave Freetown at 11.30 squashed in the front (which always makes me feel a lot safer than having all the space I need to bang around when there’s an accident). Being the only woman on the trip I was allowed to enjoy the front seat together with our shortest colleague (I quote another colleague: “Where’s Kaiza? Did you put him in your pocket?”) listening to my favourite (I think it's SL) tape over and over again. Apparently Nigerian music is considered the best, then Ghanaian, third is Sierra Leone. Not sure whether this is a well known fact or an opinion, but in terms of the music you hear in the Sierra Leonean and Liberian streets it's right.

On our way through Salone there were signs absolutely everywhere besides the roads designating projects and initiatives for the development of the country. But what is actually going on behind the signs is less clear. Either all projects are finished or have stagnated. Entering Liberia there were even more signs, possibly due to the fact that the war continued for longer. I haven’t seen the whole of Salone and Liberia but it struck me that Liberia has better houses (less huts vulnerable to the weather) and generally has benefited more from ‘quick fixes’: solid, tarmac roads that will possible be improved to slightly less wobbly but definitely already beneficial for trade and commerce. Monrovia, the capital city, is American-like in the sense that it has huge, broad highway roads and you can pay with USDollars or Liberian dollars (1USD=70LD).

On our way to Monrovia we drove in the direction of Tiwai island and passed village after village that made me feel like I was living a déjà vu dream. Every couple of miles there was an identical village to the ones before and after. Every village had couples of women sitting in the shade braiding each other’s hair. Every village had people outside cooking rice and fish and laundry drying on the frames of houses or what looks like unfinished market stalls. The same food is sold everywhere, groundnuts (or peanuts if you like...like I keep saying. An ‘oh-is-that-what-they-taste-like-fresh?’ moment is guaranteed) candy (caramel under the sun? Just eat the wrapper too), deep fried salty crunchy fishes. Delicious. One thing they don’t sell here is dust. That’s a free bonus, all-inclusive. It’s Everywhere. Up your nose, behind your ears, on your food. A little rain does wonders in preventing you from full cover but has the side effect of enhancing gap and pool formation on the roads.

EFA has some extremely skilled drivers. So skilled I’m scared as the drivers have the confidence to drive on the opposite side of the road when the road has too many ditches because that way they can see how far they can slide off the road whilst trying to avoid the roller-coaster pits.

Entering Liberia is amazing. After Sierra Leone, which is quite dry and only has about 30% of its natural forests left, Liberia is incredibly green (and it’s dry season!). Liberia has about 70% of its natural forest left and even now with sweltering 38 degrees it’s green green green (and I’m no longer sweating anymore, no I’ve reached a whole new physical dimension of heat: I’m just open and pouring. Can someone please close the Fee-tap?) As I enjoy a lot of cold fizzy drinks (other cold options would be beer or metallic tasting (hard!) water which does get boring not the beers!...) I do keep worrying about my teeth but my new motto is ‘better cold than clever’.

We were just in time to cross the border actually, which closes at 6pm. I thought the customs police were talking in a local language until someone told me it was English. I seriously could not understand anything of what people were saying unless they spoke extremely slow. Liberian English sounds like a drunk, sleepy person trying to save energy by connecting all words in a sentence and omitting as many consonants as possible. By the end of the week I mastered to decipher 1 sentence independently.

When we arrived in Monrovia (12 hours door to door journey) we stayed at the Atlantic Guest House which charged ridiculous prices (30 dollars) for used sheets, a noisy fan, no mosquito net, and red lighting (naive as I am I didn’t realise this guest house was particularly for those who like to bring home the ladies. The pile of condoms on the TV should’ve made that clear to me).

Sunday we left for Ganta where I'd be visiting the REP project (solar panels for an UNICEF school, LAB4LAB project). A 5 hour journey brought us to a lovely Methodist guest house with crisp white sheets, a fan and a mosquito net for a lovely 15 dollars. I met Moulou, from Ethiopia, teaching ministers of health and such about nutrition for 3 weeks. Interestingly enough she’s the best friend of the owner of Addis Ababa, my favourite Ehtiopian restaurant on the Overtoom in Amsterdam. They went to school together. She shared her pineapple and bought me an egg. The caretaker, Emma, was a wonderful lady and I spent most of the evening chatting to her and Jonathan, the technician. Jonathan let me try some of Emma’s bread which she must have regretted because I begged her to bake me one for the road. After lots of soft white bread with no texture or flavour the crunchy home made banana bread with some spices was just the best thing since...white bread I guess. Consequently Jonathan would not have any of ‘my’ bread. “I cannot take food from a stranger.” I guess I am the stranger in this case, being in his country. Though he’s as much a stranger to me as I am to him in my eyes. An interesting cultural difference in perception of communities and belonging.

I told Jonathan about the education system in Holland and he couldn’t believe my words. I, me, small lady (meaning only 24 years young) have a master’s degree? And the government helped me pay? And that’s it? Most people in Liberia don’t get their master’s until they’re 40 years old, when they can finally afford to study. Unless you’re wealthy and in that case you’d rather send your kids abroad to obtain their degrees instead of supporting your own educational system.
Although I felt bad about my privileges I continued talking, not to make him feel bad, but to try and get him motivated to look for opportunities, scholarships etc. But there’s hardly any electricity in Liberia, people keep their computers to themselves and the internet is just not within reach of many people. If I had internet in the guest house I would’ve taken my time to show him some opportunities...One of the electricians on the team (a pastor/mathematics and physics teacher) cannot work within his field of expertise and is earning a living as a teacher because electricity is just not happening in Liberia. A 2 million USD project should have sorted the Methodist compound out but they’re still using the generators. Apparently because the new system is underground which is not familiar enough.

Tuesday I left for Monrovia. On our way back we had a site visit stop in Salala where Aloysius showed me around the former Internally Displaced People’s (IDP) camp. The landowner who gave his land for use to UNHCR to build camps has now been compensated with seeds and restoration of his land.
The rest of the week was filled with site visits and talks to the country director for EFA in Liberia. The site visits were a little too much in terms of heat. We’d usually arrive at midday and I mastered the skill of wiping the sweat of your forehead, nose and lips in one sweep like a windscreen wiper.
After several short nights (the owner of the guest house also owned a ‘disco’ across the road) a colleague convinced me to go watch the people dance rather than lie in bed awake in frustration. In the disco/supermarket it was mainly men doing their thing. The ‘disco’ was actually a shop with huge speakers outside and some chairs and tables. Most customers soon forgot what they came for and started dancing either before or after their purchase. Worryingly enough I discovered that the kids helping around in the guest house (from 7am) all stayed working in and around the disco/shop until closing time (around 1 or 2 am). But it seemed like the disco offered them a satisfactory reward for their work.
The journey back was a lot easier knowing I’d be in quiet, comfort and coolness. I’ve moved from the front of the guest house, where the sun shines full blast all day, to the back, where the sun doesn’t come and there’s an almost continuous breeze.

I certainly have plenty information now to start writing the annual report for EFA... if only there wasn’t so much gossip around to distract me...