Liberia Stories (Part 4)

I have to admit, at this point my memory gets a little more fuzzy, so I will stop including days, and stop deluding myself that they are in chronological order.

We went to the beach, AHEAD owned property, with a couple of buildings, one of which must have been magnificent, but now is stripped down to concrete, and has the visible scars of war. People still live there, mainly because there are solid walls, and a solid something over their heads. Imagine living where an abandoned building is considered good shelter. I want you to imagine it, then tell me how that makes you feel, or what you think of that prospect. The comment box is there for a reason. The beach was totally awesome! Reddish sands, good waves, and pleasantly warm, I guess warm in comparison to Pacific Ocean temperatures.  Swimming was great fun, bobbing in the waves, occasionally bodysurfing a wave. The most fun was when I would catch a wave, and then get smacked into the sand, which for some reason was hilariously fun. I finished swimming, went and changed my shorts, and then went back down to the beach. In retrospect, changing my shorts was a moot point, because the entire reasoning was that I would avoid having sand all over me. A futbol game was breaking out, and I naturally jumped in, cause that's what I do. Those guys were way out of my league, and I knew it, and they knew it. I didn't hold back, and they didn't. I didn't get totally embarrassed, so that was a great game. My standard for African futbol games is not making an absolute fool out of myself. All in all, the game was pretty fun.

After the beach, on the way home, we stopped by the THE Liberian ice cream place. Bonjal. Still don't get the name. The place was a large compound, surrounded by 7 foot high walls, and two strands of barbed wire, the only visible points of entry were two heavy metal gates. Inside was a large plaza, with a stage to the left, tables to the right, buildings to the back left and right, and gazebo tables to the back center. The ice cream was......unlike any other ice cream I have ever had. I think they used powdered milk, because the texture was very grainy, and I know their freezer was not running so well, because this was soft-serve, taken to the extreme. The ice cream was not exactly Haagen Daaz, and the atmosphere was just as interesting.  I went in expecting Baskin Robbins, and came out having experienced an odd cross between a club, and a McDonald's Playplace. It was pretty interesting. Never thought of an ice cream place as a social scene. Perhaps there is an unexplored market for that in the U.S.

The guesthouse was in a neighborhood called "Bushrod Island", which is about 20 miles from Monrovia.  Along the way, I saw plenty of tiny enterprises, and I started noticing some of them had yellow marks, mostly "XMCC" When I asked about those marks, Chipi told me that MCC stands for Monrovia Cleanliness Corps, and that X means that building, or structure is going to be knocked down. My immediate reaction is that is wrong, but then the situation got explained to me in a little detail. During the war, many people fled from the interior to Monrovia, and there they set up those little huts, shacks, stands, etc. Those who had businesses established away from the road, where they are supposed to be, got crowded out by those who basically jumped ahead of them in line. Now the roads are going to be expanded, and those people who built closer to the road are getting their buildings knocked down, so the road can expand. This will allow the economy to expand, which is a good thing. This brings up a question about if this is ok morally, and how the conflict can be avoided, or diffused. This is a tricky moral and ethical dilemma. Tony and I were talking about the problem, and we both came to the conclusion that the the buildings needed to be knocked down.

My next post is going to focus on the economy, and transportation, which plays a huge role in the economy. I will also talk about the effects of the war on the nation, and on the people of the nation. One final story to introduce transportation in Liberia.

Motorcyclists sit at the corners of major intersections waiting for people to hire them as mini-taxis. We were driving along, and I saw a crowd gathered around something at one of those intersections, and I caught enough of a glimpse to see that it was a person lying on the ground. Chipi speculated that someone in a car had hit that man, and then continued driving, instead of stopping. In other words, a simple hit-and-run. We have those in the States. My thoughts were along the lines of "Poor guy, I hope someone helps him. Seen it before though." As we continued driving along Chipi told us that the police could never catch this person, but that some of the other motorcyclists sitting at that corner would have taken off after the perpetrator of the crime. Sure enough, about 3 miles down the road, there was a car, pulled over, with several holes in the windows, ranging from 3 inches in diameter, to 6 inches in diameter. Rock sized, basically. There were 4 motorcycles, parked there, and several men around the car. We asked Chipi what would probably happen to the driver. "Beating." This is a totally different way of dealing with a similar problem that exemplifies the differences between Liberia, and I imagine most 3rd World nations, and the U.S., and other nations like it.

That's it, tommorow I will be starting Liberia Stories (Economy, Transportation, and the Effects of War)
Thanks for reading.
Feel free to comment with questions, ideas, or replies to questions I posed.
Have a good day!