Liberia

Being in Liberia is a very sobering experience, and the collective sadness is palpable even to outsiders. After a few moments casual conversations seem to peter off, the other person falling into an absent silence highly uncharacteristic of most Africans I've met. If I wanted to be melodramatic about it, I could have a field day - how people will gaze past you into space distractedly, how they seem to carry a weight, how they lack that easy, playful humor you find so often in Africa. I did not hear very much laughter in Liberia, and everyone assumed I was with the UN.

The food's really good, though.

Food: See above.
Best eaten: I had a chocolate ice cream milkshake in a Monrovia restaurant that made me see the face of god.
Also, litchis!! Sold on the street for nickels each, delicious, only these ones you can't eat (tried), you just suck on them like candies.

Worst eaten: I guess I've been pretty spoiled in mango territory, 'cos I found the Liberian mangos to be seriously disappointing.
There, that's the worst I can come up with for Liberia. Monrovia has some good eatin'.

Numbers you should call Right Now: This should have gone with Côte d'Ivoire, but I forgot. The youngish aviator-sunglassed rebel soldier who mans the last military checkpoint before the Liberian border will demand money from you unless you give him your number. (And people say the good men of the Forces Nouvelles aren't professional... such slander!) But please, call KEVIN for a good time - 03-38-07-56, country code 225.

(somebody should TOTALLY do this on skype or something. and then tell me about it.)

Quote: The morning after crossing over from what may have become Satan's Province In Africa, in which strange men with extremely large guns will scream obscenities at you, David and I found ourselves on a share-taxi ride that began for all five passengers with the driver's suggestion, "Let us pray."

We all bowed our heads and I thought, dang, not in CI anymore...

New Hygienic Lows: I know everyone talks about how gross money is, and yeah, American bills may have the dubious distinction of containing more crack residue than any other nation's, but they ain't got squat on Liberia for stench.

Taking a few folded bills out of my pocket after a cloudburst, I was overwhelmed by the same smell I use to identify where the public outhouses are. Just like when you see a horrible accident and can't stop yourself from getting a better look at the carnage, I actually brought the bills to my nose for a closer sniff. And choked a little.

Trouble was, we'd just crossed the border into Sierra Leone, making the bills unspendable and (if you're me) unthrow-away-able. Faced with the extremely unsavory prospect of tucking this obviously used toilet paper back into my suitcase, I decided to wash them - bringing a whole new soapy-clean dimension to the term 'money laundering.'

They smell much better now, and I think I've got some extras.. anyone want one? ;)

Worst Experience: Witnessing the public justice of the music sellers wasn't necessarily so awful, but it was very sad in a profound way. I'm glad I had the experience because I hope it will enable me to have a better understanding of the social climate, but it was probably the most negative one I had in Liberia.

Best Experience: Getting clean. After the joy that is overland travel in the rainy season, we both seriously needed a breather. The shower I took upon arrival in Monrovia was, like above-mentioned milkshake, a religious experience.

Could I live here? It's not chaotically unstable, it's musically well-connected, and the people are polite and honorable, but I don't think I could wake up happy and bound out of bed like an eager squirrel to chirp HULLO! to my PTSD-afflicted neighbors. I could not live here.. it's just too sad.