Just a Mirror for the Sun

As part of our training, we trainees of LR-4 got into bush taxis on Saturday morning and headed in to Monrovia for an orientation weekend/American food fest.

Mitch, Amy, Mike, and Sarah in the back seat

The road from Kakata to Monrovia is coal tar (paved) the entire way, so aside from the pot holes, makeshift speed bumps (piles of earth constructed by villagers to slow traffic through their neighborhoods), speeding pen-pens, and heavy trucks, the ride was smooth and easy for our convoy of cars. The drivers who picked us up at Doe Palace were admonished to "take time" so we made the journey at half-speed.

The roads in Liberia are populated by the ubiquitous white land cruisers with icons on the doors for World Food Program, Save the Children, UN, the World Bank, and others from the alphabet soup of NGO's operating here, by pen-pen (motorcycle) taxis, bush taxis kept running on prayers, and giant trucks belching diesel exhaust piled high with large bags of coal. Looking out the taxi window (or even at the dashboard of the taxi, decorated with a stuffed llama and flags for Liberia and Monserado County) reinforces how much of a stranger in a strange land I am sometimes. The dual feeling of familiarity and strangeness together happened all weekend long. 

Part of the plan was to hit Red Light transit center on the return trip, so we took ELWA junction road to bypass the insanity on the way in. Once you get close to Monrovia there are intersections with actual street lights, though the volume of traffic seems to render them less effective. 

an uncharacteristically quiet corner of Red Light

pen-pen boys waiting for passengers in Red Light

The architecture here is mostly civil conflict revival featuring half-built or half-destroyed facades, with a smattering of modern construction and some left over buildings from the building boom of the 1960's and 1970's, arguably the best decades for style of any kind, let alone architecture. But there are some interesting buildings, and even the falling-down structures tell a powerful story.

new construction at the corner of Tubman Blvd and ELWA junction

When we arrived in Monrovia we checked in to St. Teresa's convent/hostel/school, had an 'american' meal at Monroe Chicken (KFC-lite), and set out on a walking tour of Monrovia. Our group, led by an LR-3 and a response volunteer, took us along United Nations drive past the white-walled compounds to go with the white land cruisers and up the hill to the old US Embassy and the masonic lodge. The land on which the US Embassy housing currently stands used to be the British embassy grounds until they pulled out during the war and the US laid claim to it. The bluff looks out over the Atlantic ocean, with private beach access and a truly impressive view, and is the highest valued real estate in the city. 

On some levels I am impressed with the infrastructure I saw in Monrovia. We have been watching documentaries about the conflict and its aftermath, so the images I had in my head of Monrovia were of broken bridges and empty streets populated by child soldiers. The reality of ten years of development and rebuilding are paved streets with gutters (still overflowing into the street, but there) and a bustling, if, informal economy. Progress is gradual but visible, which is encouraging.   

Our tour took us past the new US embassy building and up (again) to Ducor Hill and the abandoned hotel perched above the city. After coming down from on high, we stopped to rest small and have some water at the Bamboo Bar on Broad and Randall streets, the busiest intersection in town. 

across the street from the US Embassy

Randall Street

After our rest, we wandered through the controlled chaos of Waterside Market, whose concentrated commercial energy reminded me very strongly of the big market in Accra: streets full of vehicles and people, sidewalks lined with shops and stalls and vendors, everything imaginable for sale. 

Our tour group won a trivia contest from Vince, the country director for Peace Corps Liberia, and the prize was a ride in Vince's 4Runner to dinner at a steak house (!) and dessert at an ice cream parlor (!!). Through the two American meals, a real grocery store, and driving the night streets of Monrovia listening to the Beatles, I was caught up in the foreign-familiar feeling of the place.  I asked one of my fellow trainees what she thought the strangest part of the trip was, and we couldn't make up our minds if it was the food or all the non-Peace Corps ex-pats and other white people. Those things seemed as foreign to me as the roadside attractions on the drive down. Monrovia was a nice adventure, but it was really good to get back home to my host family, take a bucket bath, and have some pumpkin soup while talking jazz and blues with my host brother. I guess the next two years of my life are going to follow the same theme, of new and old, and I get to learn from both of them.