There comes a time in a man’s life when he decides to buy a juice extractor.  My time came last week.  At around 10 a.m.  I was sitting in my office, working diligently, but something wasn’t quite right.  I looked out of my window, trees swayed in the breeze, branches bulged with citrusy delectables.  I looked back at my computer screen, began to type a few words, and then paused again.  It was time.  I pushed my chair back with resolve.  In the hallway, I saw Tim.  Tim is a graduate anthropology student at George Washington University working for the Carter Center and the United States Institute for Peace this summer.  Tim, I’m going to buy a juice extractor, want to come?

Moments later we were walking with purpose and steely gazes towards what I fondly refer to as the Carter Car.  Zinnah, our driver, was listening to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings on the radio.  This was no time for national catharsis.  This was a time for impulsive consumerism.

Hey Zinnah.  We have a mission!  Juice extractor!  To the Carter Car!

One of the things that I’ve been struck by in Liberia is the overt nationalism of the UN Peacekeepers. I used to think that once a soldier put on a blue UN Peacekeeper helmet the transformation would be akin to that of Bob, the hapless deli employee who at night dons makeup, becomes the uninhibited Chiquita, and serenades drunk business men at the bar – in other words, complete and utter. No longer would the soldiers be tools of the nation state, but rather faceless cogs of the UN, ready to go anywhere and stay just long enough to be fired upon before being withdrawn. Sadly, I was wrong. Turns out that giving a person a blue helmet just amplifies their nationalism.

Dear Uncle Ken,

I was in the forest, far from the hustle and bustle of Monrovia with its tin shacks, gnarled barb wire, free-flowing street sewage, and rampant armed robbery. The oppressive heat, even now, at mid-morning, suggested that the sun had saddled up next to Venus overnight. Sweat poured down my face. I pressed through the knee-deep brush, taking care not to betray my position with a careless step on a land mine. The dense forest densified with each step.

They were somewhere behind me, nearer now.

Unless you have been hiding under a Tercel, you are aware of China’s growing presence on the world stage. If you are particularly informed, you might have heard that by mid-century we will all be playing lots of Mah Jong, speaking Mandarin, and writing poor English subtitles for Bollywood films. 不是！you may say, but you’re wrong. While these are all true, it’s hard for the average person to feel Chinese economic, political, and social encroachment in their daily lives…unless you live in Liberia.

My name is Sean and I have a showering problem.

I take long showers.

God, it feels so good to get this out in the open. Cathartic, even. You don’t understand what it’s been like, all these years… It is not uncommon for my showers to be interrupted by impatient knocks at the door or for me to find roommates waiting patiently outside, twiddling their thumbs. I often come to in the morning and realize that I am in the shower, my fingers pruned. How long have I been there? I have no idea. I’m a monster.

The jungle strangled the dusty road. Plompington asked the driver to stop so she could ask for directions from a Liberian half-immersed in the foliage. Excuse me, is this the road to Guinea? The Liberian nodded slowly as though to say, “Yes…and this is really the only road around here, so you should probably know where you are headed by now…” In the backseat I giggled and tried to infuse the situation with some context. Plompington, I hope you realized that you just nonchalantly asked that man how to drive to Guinea – when will you ever do that again?! She blushed, the driver kicked it into first gear and we bumped forward.

I was sipping a cocktail out of a hollowed-out coconut at a poolside party in Monrovia.  Things taste better when they come out of coconuts.  Across the bar, the pilot who had flown my plane back from Harper was clearly at one end of the ‘bottle to throttle’ spectrum.  I ordered him a coconut and we got to talking.  I noticed when we were flying that at one point you turned a knob that on the pre-flight check you had called the ‘fuel line’.  Did something go wrong?  He lowered his head and responded. Well, not exactly…  

(Note: I’m trying to keep this blog linear, but I had to skip to this recent story.  More from Harper in the next post.)

There are two rival cell phone companies in Liberia, Cellcom and Lonestar.  Lonestar has been the dominant force, but Cellcom pulled the marketing ploy of all marketing ploys and decided to sponsor a concert by Akon, the Senegalese-born grammy-nominated rap artist.  Akon is a sort of deity in Liberia.  For weeks, Monrovia has been plastered with Akon Live! billboards and getting a ticket has mildly resembled a scene from Willy Wonka (they have been priced out of most people’s reach – $20 and up).  There has been a contagious buzz about his arrival, about the concert, about how the world will be a better place once people see Akon with their own eyes. 

Maybe I was wrong about Liberia Time.  I awoke at six in the morning to a soft rapping at my door.  The security guard informed me that Vincent, the driver to Harper, was waiting.  But 8am!!! Agreed start time!!!!  These promises meant nothing to Vincent.  I hurriedly splashed water on my face, grabbed some things, and went out to the truck.  If I could muster one emotion at that early hour, it was satisfaction that my organizational turn around time from ‘happy slumbering’ to ‘epic journey mode’ was under the five minute mark.  If the Rapture comes, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to catch it, regardless. 

Is the vehicle ready? 

I just talked to my guy and he says it will be ready tomorrow. 

I have had this conversation for the past four days.  On Tuesday, I was supposed to head to Harper, a town in the southeast by the Ivorian border.  It’s about 120 miles away, but with the road conditions the journey takes about two days.  I’ve seen pictures and heard horror stories about the roads, poor to begin with, even worse after 14 years of civil war.  Trucks stuck for days in ditches.  In the rainy season it is impossible to journey by road to most parts of the country, it’s that bad.