Monrovia is closed for business today. All the roads were shut down and only official vehicles were allowed to pass. Military helicopters buzzed overhead and there were police stationed on every corner. Thousands of people were lined up along Tubman Boulevard, the main street into town, to celebrate the arrival of a much anticipated visitor.
However, when I turned up to greet my adoring public they all had their backs turned. Having become something of a local celebrity in my neighbourhood over the past couple of weeks I was slightly taken aback. Many bystanders were wearing t-shirts that read “Liberia and America. United for Progress”. It was after seeing the gigantic signs saying “Liberia welcomes President George Walker Bush” and the banner draped from a nearby building which said “Welcome Bush. Liberia Loves You” that I finally took the hint. These people weren’t here for me. Someone asked me which newspaper I was from. Another if I was in the CIA. “Do I look like a secret agent” I replied pointing at my ragged t-shirt and flip-flops? I suppose it could have been a good disguise.
Yes good old ‘W’ was in town. Remember him? It seems like he’s been somewhat absent from the news recently but apparently he’s still breathing. Liberia is the last stop on his week long tour of Africa and what better way to round off a trip? People waved flags and cheered as his motorcade rolled past. It must feel strange for him to receive such a rapturous welcome considering he’s more or less equated with Satan in most other parts of the world these days. Imagine if someone put up a sign saying “Britain Loves You George” when he visited London?
He’s due to meet assorted Liberian dignitaries, speak at Monrovia University as well as visit a military training installation that the US has paid for. The Americas have given US$139 million to modernise Liberia’s army. One wonders if this should have been a priority given the recent history of the place (two decades of civil war?….I know lets train more soldiers!).
The more sceptically inclined might say that the only reason he’s here is to build support for an American military base in Africa (something the Liberian government has said it would willingly provide land for) or perhaps to counter the ever-increasing Chinese presence in the region (they resurfaced the road Bush just sped down as it would happen). But none of this seemed to matter to the cheering crowds who’d come out to show their appreciation. It’s the first time an American President has visited Liberia in 30 years. Who cares if he’s only staying for seven hours!
Thursday 21 February 2008
Monday 18 February 2008
Some first impressions and observations
Fuel shortages
I am picked up by our driver every day and on our way to the office we go past a modern Total petrol station. The only thing that sets it aside from one you might see on any street in Europe is the long line of cars, mostly the battered yellow taxis, that are sometimes backed up for almost a kilometre down the street. There seem to be supply chain issues when it comes to fuel i.e. there often isn’t any to buy and people simply wait in line for hours on end until it arrives. This must really suck if you’re a taxi driver and dependent on gasoline to make a living. How much money must they be losing simply due to the fact that they have to take a day off just to fill up?
As we drove past on the way home the queue didn’t seem to have gone down much. I noticed one taxi with a strikingly obvious observation painted on the side: Life in Africa is hard. Amen to that.
Livin’ La Vida Liberia
However much I want to try and fit in here and live like an ordinary Liberian it’s never going to work. I’m obviously a foreigner on account of my skin colour and this means I’ll get special treatment. This can be both good and bad of course. The thing is, although there are a lot of gringos in Monrovia, you don’t see many of them just wandering about. The SUVs they drive around in are almost an extension of their bodies. They board said vehicles inside the compounds they live in and do not exit until safely inside the compounds where they work. Admittedly I do this too but since I don’t have my own car or a duty driver at my beck and call 24-7 I am forced to brave the outside world on my own two feet from time to time.
It’s hard not to be suspicious when people you don’t know approach you on the street. On my way to find some lunch today a guy came up and introduced himself and proceeded to walk alongside me. Being the polite Englishman that I am I told him my name and started chatting. I was almost certain he’d eventually ask me for money but instead he invited me to go to church with him.
A similar thing happened when I’d just finished eating my dinner and was standing outside the Bangladeshi restaurant beside where I live. People emerged from the shadows and came up to greet me. That’s it. No strings attached.
Of course some people ask for money, and who can blame them considering there’s an 85% unemployment rate? A kid followed me back from the supermarket and offered to help me carry my things (an offer I rather stupidly declined). Although I have a principle about not giving out money to people on the street he was a friendly little fellow and it was just too hard to send him away empty handed.
However I think the majority of people are just generally very friendly and curious about what I’m doing here. It’s hard to accept that coming from Europe where we’re told at an early age never to talk to strangers but I find myself becoming more gregarious by the day.
Scary white man?
Being the token white guy and sticking out everywhere I go makes me think about how Africans must feel if they ever find themselves in small towns in Europe. I’ve just finished reading a book by a Polish journalist who lived and worked in different parts of Africa over a 40 year period. He recalled that in some African countries mothers told their children that if they didn’t behave themselves a white man would come and get them! I got my first piece of evidence that this may indeed be the case in Liberia when a toddler took one look at me, burst into tears and started screaming. Then again I have been known to have that effect on people sometimes.
I am picked up by our driver every day and on our way to the office we go past a modern Total petrol station. The only thing that sets it aside from one you might see on any street in Europe is the long line of cars, mostly the battered yellow taxis, that are sometimes backed up for almost a kilometre down the street. There seem to be supply chain issues when it comes to fuel i.e. there often isn’t any to buy and people simply wait in line for hours on end until it arrives. This must really suck if you’re a taxi driver and dependent on gasoline to make a living. How much money must they be losing simply due to the fact that they have to take a day off just to fill up?
As we drove past on the way home the queue didn’t seem to have gone down much. I noticed one taxi with a strikingly obvious observation painted on the side: Life in Africa is hard. Amen to that.
Livin’ La Vida Liberia
However much I want to try and fit in here and live like an ordinary Liberian it’s never going to work. I’m obviously a foreigner on account of my skin colour and this means I’ll get special treatment. This can be both good and bad of course. The thing is, although there are a lot of gringos in Monrovia, you don’t see many of them just wandering about. The SUVs they drive around in are almost an extension of their bodies. They board said vehicles inside the compounds they live in and do not exit until safely inside the compounds where they work. Admittedly I do this too but since I don’t have my own car or a duty driver at my beck and call 24-7 I am forced to brave the outside world on my own two feet from time to time.
It’s hard not to be suspicious when people you don’t know approach you on the street. On my way to find some lunch today a guy came up and introduced himself and proceeded to walk alongside me. Being the polite Englishman that I am I told him my name and started chatting. I was almost certain he’d eventually ask me for money but instead he invited me to go to church with him.
A similar thing happened when I’d just finished eating my dinner and was standing outside the Bangladeshi restaurant beside where I live. People emerged from the shadows and came up to greet me. That’s it. No strings attached.
Of course some people ask for money, and who can blame them considering there’s an 85% unemployment rate? A kid followed me back from the supermarket and offered to help me carry my things (an offer I rather stupidly declined). Although I have a principle about not giving out money to people on the street he was a friendly little fellow and it was just too hard to send him away empty handed.
However I think the majority of people are just generally very friendly and curious about what I’m doing here. It’s hard to accept that coming from Europe where we’re told at an early age never to talk to strangers but I find myself becoming more gregarious by the day.
Scary white man?
Being the token white guy and sticking out everywhere I go makes me think about how Africans must feel if they ever find themselves in small towns in Europe. I’ve just finished reading a book by a Polish journalist who lived and worked in different parts of Africa over a 40 year period. He recalled that in some African countries mothers told their children that if they didn’t behave themselves a white man would come and get them! I got my first piece of evidence that this may indeed be the case in Liberia when a toddler took one look at me, burst into tears and started screaming. Then again I have been known to have that effect on people sometimes.
Wednesday 13 February 2008
First week in Monrovia
The first thing you notice as you’re coming in to land over Liberia is that it’s very green. This isn’t surprising since it’s statistically one of the wettest parts of Africa. It’s not just the colour of the countryside that stands out but also the lack of ‘things’; roads, bridges, buildings, farms etc., that sets it aside from most other places I’ve seen from the air. But as the aircraft closes in on the runway the infinite expanse of jungle is suddenly punctuated by large white tents bearing nothing but two letters: UN.
After collecting my bags from a similar large, white tent and passing through ‘passport control’ (which consisted of a guy in a shed behind a wooden table) I met my driver, David, and hopped into a white Toyota Landcruiser to begin the drive into Monrovia. Toyota seem to be doing brisk business in Liberia. Every NGO owns at least one, not to mention all the UN Mission to Liberia (UNMIL) personnel – and there are a lot of them! In fact the white Toyota Landcruiser competes for dominance with only one other vehicle on the streets of Monrovia: the communal taxi. These clapped-out, yellow heaps splutter their way up and down the peninsula on which the city is situated, laden to bursting point with paying passengers. This is the only option the city’s commuters have given the almost total lack of public transport (a fact I find rather frustrating having lived in Stockholm for the last four and a half years where buses and trains will take you anywhere you want to go).
After briefly visiting ActionAid’s office and meeting my new boss, Ernest, I was shuttled over to my accommodation at a complex owned by the Lutheran Church in an area known as Sinkor. I initially thought I was the only occupant of the huge dilapidated guest house but I have since bumped into others in the gloomy corridors. Shortly after I arrived the sun started to go down which brought to light (or rather dark) the next logistical issue characteristic of the city – the lack of an electricity grid. Shortly after lighting a candle however I was relieved to hear a loud rumbling as my air-conditioning unit began blasting out refreshingly cold air. It was 7pm and the generator had been turned on. I could breathe again and turned on the light to inspect the place more closely. While my room certainly won’t win any awards for comfort, I shouldn’t complain given the conditions most of the local population are living in. I have a bathroom with a shower and running water, at least when the generator is turned on. Failing that I have an ‘en-suite bucket’ to pour cold water over myself at other times of the day if need be! What I don’t have is any way to prepare food and my fridge appears to heat things up rather than cool them down (I’m pretty sure it’s not an oven!). Supposedly I’m moving into a bigger, better-equipped room down the hall this week which is currently being renovated. I guess I’ll just try to suspend judgement until then…
My first week at work was as busy as I’d hoped it would be. The ActionAid team here are all very friendly and extremely competent and knowledgeable. After introductory meetings on Monday I set off to visit some projects in rural communities about three hours inland together with some of the staff from the office and a colleague from London who was here to run a series of workshops with partners and field staff. The route we took was partly by paved road (crossing through UN check points) and partly by heavily pot-holed dirt track. The projects we visited have been financed by the UK’s Big Lottery Fund and are aiming to provide skills training for women affected by the war. I was very impressed with what I saw, especially the level of engagement of the people involved. The countryside was beautiful and the villages were almost exactly how I’d rather stereotypically pictured a West African village to be. We were met by excited groups of small children wherever we arrived, waving and shouting “hello” and it was hard not to leave feeling optimistic despite the obvious level of poverty that people are faced with.
I would have loved to stay longer and learn more about the projects we are supporting Ernest called me back to Monrovia to work on a concept note for a new project which was to be submitted to the EC for funding before the end of the week. I was rather daunted by the prospect of being thrown in at the deep end but after an afternoon of brainstorming with colleagues in the Monrovia office we managed to pull it off and got the application in on time. Now we just have to wait and see if our project is short-listed, in which case we’ll submit a detailed proposal.
I’ve also been endeavouring to make new friends as quickly as possible – I’ve never been very good at being on my own! Thankfully it hasn’t been difficult and I got a good taste of Monrovia’s nightlife this weekend, being ‘forced’ to dance to some very cheesy music as well as sing karaoke. Monday was also a public holiday and I tagged along with two other NGO ex-pats for a day trip to the Bomi Lake where Pakistani peacekeepers have built a somewhat surreal artificial beach.
Well, now I’ve broken my silence and bored you all to tears I’ll sign off. I have a lot to get done, logistical issues to address (my internet connection is too slow for Scrabbulous among other things) and periodic bouts of homesickness but I’m enjoying it and looking forward to what lies ahead.
After collecting my bags from a similar large, white tent and passing through ‘passport control’ (which consisted of a guy in a shed behind a wooden table) I met my driver, David, and hopped into a white Toyota Landcruiser to begin the drive into Monrovia. Toyota seem to be doing brisk business in Liberia. Every NGO owns at least one, not to mention all the UN Mission to Liberia (UNMIL) personnel – and there are a lot of them! In fact the white Toyota Landcruiser competes for dominance with only one other vehicle on the streets of Monrovia: the communal taxi. These clapped-out, yellow heaps splutter their way up and down the peninsula on which the city is situated, laden to bursting point with paying passengers. This is the only option the city’s commuters have given the almost total lack of public transport (a fact I find rather frustrating having lived in Stockholm for the last four and a half years where buses and trains will take you anywhere you want to go).
After briefly visiting ActionAid’s office and meeting my new boss, Ernest, I was shuttled over to my accommodation at a complex owned by the Lutheran Church in an area known as Sinkor. I initially thought I was the only occupant of the huge dilapidated guest house but I have since bumped into others in the gloomy corridors. Shortly after I arrived the sun started to go down which brought to light (or rather dark) the next logistical issue characteristic of the city – the lack of an electricity grid. Shortly after lighting a candle however I was relieved to hear a loud rumbling as my air-conditioning unit began blasting out refreshingly cold air. It was 7pm and the generator had been turned on. I could breathe again and turned on the light to inspect the place more closely. While my room certainly won’t win any awards for comfort, I shouldn’t complain given the conditions most of the local population are living in. I have a bathroom with a shower and running water, at least when the generator is turned on. Failing that I have an ‘en-suite bucket’ to pour cold water over myself at other times of the day if need be! What I don’t have is any way to prepare food and my fridge appears to heat things up rather than cool them down (I’m pretty sure it’s not an oven!). Supposedly I’m moving into a bigger, better-equipped room down the hall this week which is currently being renovated. I guess I’ll just try to suspend judgement until then…
My first week at work was as busy as I’d hoped it would be. The ActionAid team here are all very friendly and extremely competent and knowledgeable. After introductory meetings on Monday I set off to visit some projects in rural communities about three hours inland together with some of the staff from the office and a colleague from London who was here to run a series of workshops with partners and field staff. The route we took was partly by paved road (crossing through UN check points) and partly by heavily pot-holed dirt track. The projects we visited have been financed by the UK’s Big Lottery Fund and are aiming to provide skills training for women affected by the war. I was very impressed with what I saw, especially the level of engagement of the people involved. The countryside was beautiful and the villages were almost exactly how I’d rather stereotypically pictured a West African village to be. We were met by excited groups of small children wherever we arrived, waving and shouting “hello” and it was hard not to leave feeling optimistic despite the obvious level of poverty that people are faced with.
I would have loved to stay longer and learn more about the projects we are supporting Ernest called me back to Monrovia to work on a concept note for a new project which was to be submitted to the EC for funding before the end of the week. I was rather daunted by the prospect of being thrown in at the deep end but after an afternoon of brainstorming with colleagues in the Monrovia office we managed to pull it off and got the application in on time. Now we just have to wait and see if our project is short-listed, in which case we’ll submit a detailed proposal.
I’ve also been endeavouring to make new friends as quickly as possible – I’ve never been very good at being on my own! Thankfully it hasn’t been difficult and I got a good taste of Monrovia’s nightlife this weekend, being ‘forced’ to dance to some very cheesy music as well as sing karaoke. Monday was also a public holiday and I tagged along with two other NGO ex-pats for a day trip to the Bomi Lake where Pakistani peacekeepers have built a somewhat surreal artificial beach.
Well, now I’ve broken my silence and bored you all to tears I’ll sign off. I have a lot to get done, logistical issues to address (my internet connection is too slow for Scrabbulous among other things) and periodic bouts of homesickness but I’m enjoying it and looking forward to what lies ahead.
Nairobi
I finally made it to Africa. My first port of call was Nairobi where I was to attend ‘security training’ together with three colleagues. This all seemed somewhat unwise and morbidly ironic given the current situation in Kenya. Following a disputed election result, once dormant tribal rivalries had simmered to boiling point. Kenya, a country that has enjoyed years of peace and stability, was awash with reports of villages being torched, protesters being beaten and at least two opposition politicians being assassinated. Clashes all over the country and the ensuing clamp down by the authorities had claimed the lives of hundreds of people (the figure is now thought to be over a thousand) and tens of thousands of people had been displaced from their homes. By the time we arrived for our training however, the violence was concentrated in the Rift Valley. Nairobi, never the safest of cities, was unexpectedly calm. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was the odd military aircraft flying overhead, some troops dozing in Uhuru Park and a couple of trucks laden with furniture as people fled into the city.
The security training surpassed my expectations even if it did make me think about a couple of things I would probably rather forget! Our trainers Michelle (formerly responsible for the British Government’s security in Iraq) and Rob (ex-army, almost certainly SAS but reluctant to reveal too many details) covered more or less everything that could possibly happen to us with limitless zeal and an unstoppable tirade of eccentric, and at times rather black, humour. Hopefully we’ll never have to use anything we learned (normally that would be a bad thing) but suffice to say that if I was lost in a jungle occupied by rebel guerrillas, Rob and Michelle are probably the two people who I would want to have with me! The most memorable part was the first-aid. I particularly enjoyed hooking up an IV-drip on a rubber arm complete with plastic veins and fake blood. It was probably just the relief of not having to perform the operation on each other, as Rob had initially led us to believe we would be doing!
After the training my colleagues (Sarah, Fiona and Matt) and I began to go our separate ways. We have all been assigned to different ActionAid country programmes and will be stationed on different corners of the continent. Our mission is to build each of the countries’ capacity to fundraise by applying for grants from institutions that disburse development aid money. Sarah has the unenviable task of fundraising for Somaliland, a country that doesn’t even officially exist! She will however be based in Nairobi and had already begun to install herself in her new apartment. Fiona (aka ‘Braveheart’ on account of her being Scottish but also on account of taking said film along with her on DVD) set off for Zimbabwe and 50,000% inflation leaving Matt (who will be working in Cameroon) and myself to spend the day looking at Kenya’s number one tourist attraction: big animals. Our first stop was the elephant orphanage inside Nairobi’s national park. Not wanting to miss out on the spirit of the ongoing African Nations Cup the young elephants were keen to display their football skills. After this we called in at the giraffe sanctuary. Keen not to be outdone by the football-playing elephants we were treated to the giraffes’ own party trick, namely kissing unsuspecting tourists (well, it was more like licking of the face – I was assured that giraffe saliva is antiseptic though!).
The security training surpassed my expectations even if it did make me think about a couple of things I would probably rather forget! Our trainers Michelle (formerly responsible for the British Government’s security in Iraq) and Rob (ex-army, almost certainly SAS but reluctant to reveal too many details) covered more or less everything that could possibly happen to us with limitless zeal and an unstoppable tirade of eccentric, and at times rather black, humour. Hopefully we’ll never have to use anything we learned (normally that would be a bad thing) but suffice to say that if I was lost in a jungle occupied by rebel guerrillas, Rob and Michelle are probably the two people who I would want to have with me! The most memorable part was the first-aid. I particularly enjoyed hooking up an IV-drip on a rubber arm complete with plastic veins and fake blood. It was probably just the relief of not having to perform the operation on each other, as Rob had initially led us to believe we would be doing!
After the training my colleagues (Sarah, Fiona and Matt) and I began to go our separate ways. We have all been assigned to different ActionAid country programmes and will be stationed on different corners of the continent. Our mission is to build each of the countries’ capacity to fundraise by applying for grants from institutions that disburse development aid money. Sarah has the unenviable task of fundraising for Somaliland, a country that doesn’t even officially exist! She will however be based in Nairobi and had already begun to install herself in her new apartment. Fiona (aka ‘Braveheart’ on account of her being Scottish but also on account of taking said film along with her on DVD) set off for Zimbabwe and 50,000% inflation leaving Matt (who will be working in Cameroon) and myself to spend the day looking at Kenya’s number one tourist attraction: big animals. Our first stop was the elephant orphanage inside Nairobi’s national park. Not wanting to miss out on the spirit of the ongoing African Nations Cup the young elephants were keen to display their football skills. After this we called in at the giraffe sanctuary. Keen not to be outdone by the football-playing elephants we were treated to the giraffes’ own party trick, namely kissing unsuspecting tourists (well, it was more like licking of the face – I was assured that giraffe saliva is antiseptic though!).
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