From Liberia to DC to Afghanistan

The end of Liberia went swimmingly. Fantastic time. Lovely country. Wonderful people. Hope to get back there again one day.

After finishing my work in Liberia, I went to visit my host family in The Gambia. It was incredible. Loved every minute and had so much fun seeing how all the kids had grown but still remembered me. It was awesome. :)

Then I went back to DC, settled down on a street called V, decided to indulge myself for the month of September since I had been in Africa all summer, got really really comfortable with indulgence and just never stopped having fun, but actually learned a lot in the fall semester while working considerably less than I did in the first year, danced a lot, sang off key in karaoke bars, traveled to Jamaica over Christmas break, studied for and squeaked through Oral Exams, had more fun, had more fun, had more fun, had more fun, had more fun, graduated with a group of amazing, beautiful, and talented people, fully embraced funemployment and East Coast travel in June, started looking for jobs in July, got hooked up with a lovely temporary gig with a small NGO in Bethesda, realized - in the span of one week - that I couldn't afford rent anymore and moved my possessions into the welcoming and generous homes of friends and family, existed and thrived in the temporarily vacated, awesome apartments of fantastic, world-saving friends for almost two months, as well as the non-vacated home of an equally fantastic, brilliant, and world-saving amiga, and then transitioned to a six-month position with DAI. In Afghanistan.

And so here I am.

:)

Fisheries Forever

Meeting with community members in Greenville, Sinoe County about their current fishing industry and the potential for a cold storage unit in the city.

"Liberia Becomes Satanic Shrine"

I had a revelation on one of the long car rides of last week: I’m doing incredibly cool stuff this summer. Last semester, my internship consisted of sitting silently in an office I shared with two to three other interns, depending on the day. My desk was dilapidated and child-sized. My computer didn’t work. I read and took notes on things I’m not convinced ever got read. And I never once used the printer. Though I did get to go to a lot of interesting lectures and Senate Hearings, I myself was doing very little of substance. I did not contribute.

Today, I edited a Press Release from the Minister of Internal Affairs, in response to the National Chronicle newspaper front page headline, reading: “As Liberian Zoes, Witches, Bodeos Dedicate Chiefs’ Compound: Queen of the Coast Arrives – Liberia Becomes Satanic Shrine.” Underneath this headline is a photo of the President and then my boss, Hon. Ambulai Johnson. Apparently, the “Queen of the Coast” – also known as the Queen of Sheba, is from Egypt and not so much admired by the church. Our response was that we didn’t invite the Queen of Sheba, that the President had nothing to do with inviting her, and that the Ministry of Internal Affairs does not appreciate the Chronicle taking advantage of freedom of press in order to incite the people by accusing major leaders of witchcraft. Random, yes, but substantive as well.

After editing that, I worked with my two consultants on our project briefs – which are slow going and need to get done asap. I am finishing mine today, by the grace of Allah. Before editing the press release and meeting with the consultants I was working on a Communal Farming Policy that – if it actually makes any sense, which is hit or miss – will be given directly to the Minister of Internal Affairs and would be implemented at a nationwide level. Which, when you think about it, is pretty ridiculous. Cool. But also ridiculous.

Then there are the template ordinances and mayor Terms of Reference that I need to finalize with my counterparts, and that will be used to structure city-level governments throughout all the counties.

All this needs to be finalized in the next two weeks. Yikes.

Project Assessment Trek: River Gee and Sinoe

Day 1 and 2, 13/14 July 2009: Long journey, only to be delayed in Zwedru

Another adventure into the African bush, and here I am typing this in Zwedru, watching a Nigerian film and charging my phone, sitting on a leather couch, above me a chandelier, before me, drapes. This, too, is Liberia.

I’m staying in the Superintendent of Grand Gedeh’s house: Mr. Christopher Bailey. It’s quite a nice place, in quite a nice city. Zwedru has paved roads, night life, amazing city layout, and nice people. Seems quite livable, the model city for the decentralization efforts I would think. This is day two of the journey, and my second night in Zwedru, though last night should hardly count – since we didn’t arrive until 1:33am, after a long, arduous, painful journey from Ganta, on a road that would have been bad during the day, but turned terrible during the night: you can’t actually see the bumps so you hit them harder, more awkwardly. It’s far from glorious. This night driving on bumpy roads makes me annoyingly car sick. Sat limply in front seat, head flailing about with each bump, organs rattling, deep breathes to fight nausea. I had a hard boiled egg and laughing cow on bread for dinner, constructed in-transit (remember: bumpy) with my exceedingly sharp knife. Not advisable. I kept picturing accidentally puncturing my stomach and thinking about how not worth it that sandwich would be. And it wasn’t – it actually made me feel terribly nauseas. By the time we finally got to the Superintendent’s house, I was never so happy to see a bed on the floor covered with a silky green comforter. So fantastic.

Though I can’t really complain about the journey – I got dropped off at the Superintendent’s house and my green, silky, comfy bed and the men (traveling with 5 African men on this journey) then went to look for a place to sleep. They ended up sleeping in the car. So so so so so so glad I was not among them. We were supposed to drive on to River Gee this morning to meet with community members – about a 3.5 hour drive from here – but the car was far from agreeable, and spent the day in the shop after last night’s adventure.

On Monday morning, just before leaving MIA, I had a meeting with the Minister, who asked, “How are you getting to River Gee, flying?” No no, I say, we’re driving. He looks apprehensive as he asks, “Whose car are you taking?” I respond, “George’s.” He looks amused as he comments, “Well, I hope you make it back.” What a lovely omen, and already coming true after the first, and possibly easiest, leg of the journey.

So, what to do during a free day in Zwedru? Well, this morning I visited the unfinished mansion of President Samuel K. Doe. He started building the place to commemorate his birthday, and then the war broke out and he got killed before he could finish the place up. Doe’s death was beyond cruel, carried out by Prince Johnson. Prince Johnson was in my office last week for a meeting: so strange to see a known, violent, murderous, insane warlord-turned-Senator simply sitting at the conference table 10 feet away from me. If he had killed my family – how would I feel about him just sitting there? Man, I would be bitter and livid. Thinking about it that way gives you an understanding of the need for a good TRC. He should be held accountable. Interesting interview just published in Foreign Policy this month: http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2009/07/07/you_cant_look_back?page=0,0&new=

Last night while we were driving, my body hanging limply against the seat belt, I listened to the conversation: TRC of course. President Johnson Sirleaf essentially gave the TRC credibility by really pushing for it, and then making the statement that she would support it no matter what the recommendation. That clearly puts her in a tough spot now that her name is on the list. My informants think someone bought out the Chairman of the TRC, convincing him not only to put her name on the list, but to release it without showing her first. All very political. Some people don’t want her to run again. But this TRC report brings both her and the warlords on to the same side – when she was trying to isolate them to get them out of power. Problematic in many ways.

Anyway, back to Doe’s mansion – it would have been gorgeous! Huge, nice design, lovely really. And the writing on the walls was epic. Said so much about Liberia during and post-war. Some of the most telling images were the crude drawings of rape and guns. Also striking, the messages scrawled on the walls in charcoal:

http://picasaweb.google.com/mtd933/TheWritingOnTheWallsDoeSUnfinishedMansionZwedru

Nigerian Film

This Nigerian film is going to depress me. You have in this corner the perfectly happy African couple. And in that corner, the pesky, non-supportive, I-don’t-approve-of-your-husband-African mother-in-law, in another corner, the once-in-love-with-your-husband-but-now-“born-again-Christian”-let’s-all-be-friends sister. And now, suddenly, shockingly, one of the happy couple’s kids just died. Oh man. I think the sister who once loved the man poisoned the kid. Oh man! Another one of the kids just dropped dead Good Lord, now the shock has killed the unborn baby in her womb! Wow.

This is ridiculous. My oh my I love Nigerian films. But they can be so depressing. They’re not a happy couple anymore. She’s rather depressed and going insane, and it’s wearing on him. Ugh, and the bitchy woman is totally poisoning the kids and now the wife, all to get a man. Ugh, and now the wife is really going crazy, accusing this amazing and attentive husband of cheating and trying to kill her (the influence of the sister) and being really really really mean to the husband. Who is a nice guy. And very sad. And who just got angry and beat the wife after years of being super attentive to the cost of his own health. And now everyone is against him and telling her she needs to leave him. Even though he’s awesome and she’s been a bitch to him.

Nigerian films are great – they can make you sincerely and passionately defend a man who beat his wife. Oh but wait! The mother-in-law just reappeared and is suddenly supportive – and encourages the daughter to take him back! And, gasp, they catch the sister trying to poison the last surviving kid. The end.

Travel Compadres

A quick note on my travel compadres. We are traveling in a much smaller group this time – only one car, with me and five men. George is the boss man, and also does the driving. Then there is Lendeh, 72 and obsessed with refrigeration. Then D. Karfala Johnson, the consultant for the rice/cassava mills. Then Aba and Lendeh’s travel mate (son?) – referred to collectively as “the young men,” though both are older than me, and pretty much around to fix/push the car if necessary. Anyway, they are all good people. George is cool, funny, down to earth. And then there’s Lendeh and Johnson. Both lovely individuals. Really. Lendeh is super nice to me, tells me he’s praying to be 30 again so he can marry me, and tries to buy me things often. Quite flattering. So, while not calling into question the nice-ness of these men, just imagine if you will a 10 hour car ride with 1.) Johnson: a rogue-preacher-like character always in sermon mode, paranoid that no one cares enough about redemption to listen to him: Are you listening to me? Maggie, are you listening to me? He also has the propensity to proclaim things like: “Wherever you are happy, there you beeeeee!” – his voice rising in volume and pompousness. And, of course, my favorite: “Life! What is life?! What is life but an empty dreeeeeeeeam?”

Then there’s Lendeh, who is set in his ways and only talks about refrigeration. I mean that literally, even when conversation shifts to the TRC he will swing it right back to refrigeration. And he is loud, animated, passionate, constantly in angry Donald Duck mode: arms flailing, irate sounding, and wide eyed. Please, I beg you, imagine a ten hour car ride with Donald Duck and the rogue preacher trying to talk over each other. Again, lovely people, but hour ten, car sick and exhausted, tests my already short-fuse.

Day #3, 14 June 2009: Fish Town, River Gee County . . .and then into the forest en route to Sinoe

The men are cooking a monkey and I have commandeered the Superintendent of Sinoe’s bed. It’s been a long day.

We started out from Zwedru, though right now that seems like weeks ago. Headed on the road towards River Gee, to the town of Fish Town. It was about a 3 hour ride on a muddy but not terrible road. I’m a little disappointed in the meeting in River Gee – small crowd, not very energetic, seemed like we were all going through the motions. Lots of women though, which was good. But we rushed, got all the information but didn’t spend any extra time there, which to me seems ridiculous after taking over two full days to get to the place. Two full days to get there and we only spend 3 hours there? Not the way I like to operate. Can’t wait to be the boss.

After the ok meeting, grabbed lunch on the Superintendent of River Gee’s tab, and headed on the road again – to Sinoe. An estimated 10 hour drive. It was already 3:45. I was ecstatic for another night drive, I assure you. And off we went, back in the direction we had just come for about 2.5 hours. Very pretty, lots of trees, farms, villages, and people selling lots and lots and lots of bushmeat. We had our choice of multiple monkey species, quite the variety was strung up along the side of road. Well, we passed about 6 full ones and one arm. The last place had three, hung by tails wrapped around their necks. I didn’t voice any moralistic opposition, primarily because I didn’t know on what moral grounds to oppose, besides pointing out the fact that their hands look a lot like our hands. I was surprised by my lack of bushmeat education awareness to be honest, and must rectify that. I also kept my mouth shut because I had only minutes before pulled out the morality card when I interrupted the 30 minute conversation about women from last night explaining that it was in everyone’s best interest if I didn’t expound on my thoughts on the subject but that I just thought they should know I disagree. The response was not the change of subject I had anticipated, but basically: “lighten up, Maggie, you’re one of the guys.” Ha. I am an African man who frequents prostitutes. Dream come true.

So the monkey was purchased, a full one, for $250 Liberian dollars (exchange is about 70 Liberty to US$1). Threw it up on the roof of the car, strapped it in, and we’re off. Poor monkey. Shortly after, we turned off onto the Sinoe Road, which was shrouded in mystery: would we actually be able to make it? There were horror stories of mud up to the top of the car and impassable sections of road. But we decided to try anyway. I supported that actually, the other option would have taken 15 hours, or more. So off we went, into the deep forest of the Liberian countryside.

It was beautiful – towering walls of old growth forest for miles and miles, interrupted suddenly by small patches of mud huts. As the conversation in the car darted between politics, how to keep the women you just see passing through certain towns happy and not asking for too much money (mm hm, still on that topic), the TRC, and how great and intelligent all the passengers were, it took a lot of restraint not to open door and jump out of the car and run into one of the villages and live there for, say, two years, three months. I restrained myself, while dreaming of a muzzle for poor Mr. Johnson, bless his soul, who loves to preach but has nothing terribly interesting to say. I’m being overly harsh – long drive, long drive.

The Sinoe Road was good. Good in the sense that it was fun and exciting, and never quite clear if we would actually make it. The excitement kept me from getting car sick. That, or the fact that I was actually hydrated today. Luckily, it hasn’t rained for a couple days and the ground was pretty dry in most places. That’s not to say we didn’t need the 4-wheel drive a lot, or that we didn’t almost get stuck a number of times – but had it rained today, we’d still be in transit, or we’d be camping next to our stuck car in the woods. We passed one big truck that had gotten sucked into the mud and didn’t look like it was moving any time soon. George did a good job with the driving, got us through some patches that weren’t easy. The car hung in there, although one mysterious light kept coming on…and the battery wouldn’t seem to charge.

That was problematic, because it made the lights flicker. And old growth forests in Africa are very dark. We needed lights. With the high beams on, you could see about 30 feet in front of you. Without them, only ten. George kept turning the high beams off to save the battery. At one point, the road started to seem smooth-ish and we began to pick up speed. I distinctly remember thinking to myself: we’re going too fast. The low beams illuminated the muddy hole in the road ahead just after it was too late. Bam.

George did have time to break a little, but we hit the reverse pot-hole pretty hard, with the car nailing the not-so-sloping upward slope of the hole with vigor, throwing us off course (but luckily not fully of the road) and leaving us in utter darkness and silence: the lights and the engine, both off. I was glad to have my seat belt on, for sure, since it stopped me from flying forward into the windshield. The car wouldn’t start, so here we are the in middle of the forest – Sapo National Forest actually – in vivid darkness, with no cell phone reception, and no idea how far the next village is. The sky was amazing. Perfectly clear with possibly the brightest stars I’ve ever seen. So gorgeous. The kind of sky that warrants waking people up to see – just really striking. I wasn’t worried about the situation: cars always re-start with a little push in Africa. Or someone comes along to help you. Or you take the monkey off the top of the car and roast it up before passing out in the car. In this case, a little push did the trick.

From there, smooth sailing to Sinoe, just long, muddy, and late. We arrived in town, Greenville, at midnight. This was a late night ride I didn’t mind though – no car sickness and an exciting adventure. We came to the Superintendent’s place to find a bed for me, but the place was packed. It’s actually more of a guesthouse owned by the Superintendent than his personal house. I can sleep anywhere, under any conditions – I may complain about it, but I can still sleep there – but I don’t mind being pampered and put in nicer places if it means I don’t have to witness loose men and their questionable activities. Thus my accepting when the Superintendent moved his stuff from a room and I stole his bed. He seemed like a really nice guy (though I learned later that he may or may not have stolen almost a million dollars from concessions in the area…….hm). By the time we were settled it was almost 1:00am, and the men went off to cook the monkey. I declined the invite. To be honest, I might have tried it if it was placed in front of me on a platter, but I was a little grossed out by the fact that monkey’s hands are very human like AND that the carcass had been sitting on the side of the road for ???? and on top of our car from 3pm to 1am AND it’s a monkey!

About to go to bed in the Superintendent’s room and some loud electronica is blasting through the walls – Oh Susanna. Random.

Day #4: 15 June 2009: Greenville, Sinoe

I felt like a cannibal. The monkey meat was densely packed and dark, and its hand, doused in cassava leaf and oil, floating in my food bowl, made me feel ill. Nonetheless, it was presented to me on a platter, and I looked at it as a research opportunity: why do people even want to eat monkey? Is it really so delicious?

Perhaps it was the fact that this one was killed over 24 hours ago, rode on the top of a bumpy car for 7 hours, was cooked at 2am the previous night, and had never known the glory of refrigeration….or perhaps it was because I kept thinking about it poor hand, our common ancestry, and all the hard work of the Bushmeat Crisis Task Force and the weekly newsletters I’ve browsed for the last year or so. Whatever the reason – the meat was not delicious. I cringed as I ate it and they all laughed at me – a few weak bites and I was spent. Conclusion: don’t eat monkey. No clear signs of Ebola yet.

So, this monkey lunch followed a long and productive morning/afternoon of meeting with community members in Greenville and visiting their fishing sites and market site. This is how these meetings really should work. Got a lot of great information, got to know people, spread the word about our project, got to walk around, see the community, understand the layout, etc etc. Fantastic. Great place for a cold storage – must get that brief done and get this money rolling . . .

Even after I passed my chunk of monkey on to one of the men, slightly nauseas and pretty horrified, I could still feel the meat in my teeth. I bought a Fanta to try to burn it out of my mouth, and then we all jumped in the car ready for the long trip back to Monrovia, estimated at 8 hours. It was 4ish, but again I didn’t mind because I was just ready to get home. We bumped along, bouncing on the hardened road – really hasn’t rained much at all this week – and felt like we were making fantastic time . . . until we hit a bump, then heard a rattle followed by a scraping noise that just wouldn’t stop. The rod connecting the two front tires had come loose on one side. To me, it didn’t seem completely necessary so I encouraged tying it up and continuing on. Turns out, it was necessary and George couldn’t really control the car so well. So, turn around, back to Greenville, check back in to the guest house, and settle in for one more night.

Went out for beers with Aba, George’s son, and Henry, Lendeh’s son who actually lives in Greenville, of course we talked about women, the TRC, and the Taylor trial, the most popular subjects in Liberia. After explaining why I would not accept my husband having girlfriends on the side, I made a comment about the bad-ness of Charles Taylor. Aba looked at me very very seriously and nearly whispered, “Do not say anything bad about Charles Taylor in Liberia.” He went on to explain that Charles Taylor was actually NOT a bad person, it was simply the people around him who were bad. And then explained that if Charles Taylor came back to Liberia today he would instantly be made President because the people love him, and admire him, and want him to be there leader. It was one of those moments, sitting at a plastic table, drinking beers, surrounded by African men and a few, scantily clad women, when the world seems to have shifted to a place you never thought it would go.

Wait – Aba, you like Charles Taylor? He did, he does, and he doesn’t think the man should be found guilty. Furthermore, the table next to us, having the same conversation, came to the same conclusion. Really makes you wonder what you’re working for and what this country will be like in ten years? Crazy.

Day #5, 16 July 2009: Homeward bound

We were supposed to leave Greenville at 4am, but delayed until 6am – ate dry, peppery rice and were on our way. Made amazing time, home in Monrovia by 1, asleep on my front porch until 6pm. Quite possibly the best nap I’ve ever taken. Went off to Garden Café – a live music/hooker bar (ohhhh just can’t seem to escape that) to see everyone after being in the bush for a week . . .

Charles Taylor Begins War Crimes Defense

This week, Charles Taylor will begin his war crimes defense in the Special Court for Sierra Leone in The Hague. Some stories and quotes from BBC:

Jerine Colendo, Monrovia: "I feel bad that Charles Taylor as a former president has been taken to a foreign land for trial. Whenever his birthday comes, I think about him. But equally so, justice has to be done. He has to face justice and there is nothing that we, Liberians, can do about it.

Alusine Fofana, Sierra Leone MP: "Even though Charles Taylor did not appear, I feel happy that his trial has started. I feel good that the day of justice is here and he will answer to any part he played in the destruction of Sierra Leone."

Deddeh Lavala, Monrovia:"I want the trial to be free and fair so that if Taylor is guilty of what he is accused of doing, he will be convinced that he is guilty and face the consequences. But if he is not then surely the law should set him free. Witnesses being called must feel free to testify in the name of fairness."

Amalia Smart-Kamara, Freetown: "I have come to the special court to listen to how the proceedings are going. I believe in justice and I am happy that Mr Taylor is facing justice. It is one of the happiest days in my life."

Ibrahim Khalil Sesay, Freetown: "Members of my family were killed by rebels. Without him the rebels would not have been as strong. I did not have the chance to go to watch the trial, but the trial starting is good news for the people of Sierra Leone, both dead and living."

For pictures and more quotes: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/spl/hi/pop_ups/07/africa_charles_taylor_trial/html/1.stm

Some background articles:

The charges against Charles Taylor: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4871656.stm

Taylor starts war crimes defense: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8147181.stm

Taylor made rebels eat enemies: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7295300.stm

The Morning Commute and the Ability to Look Past

The body was on our left. Undeniably dead, sprawled out on side of the road. We were in the car, on the way to work in the morning, listening the BBC’s report on “Michael Jackson’s Monkey” (Seriously? Seriously). A relatively small crowd, orange cones, and two police officers directing traffic marked the scene. It was unclear if the body was struck by a car in the night, or murdered. The irreverence of the moment was what was most striking. A crowd of strangers, an uncovered body, legs exposed, face towards the road, on display for the unending line of traffic passing slowly, methodically by. We drove by only seconds before the monkey-keeper started talking.

Some of it maybe had to do with not wanting to really think, first thing in the morning, about a dead man – young-ish looking – who’s face was turned towards our car, who has a family and friends and didn’t want to die. It was easier to look at him as a body than to think about him as a man. You find that here – it’s often easier to look at terrible or sad or depressing things and acknowledge they are terrible or sad or depressing, but not to really think: children selling deodorant in wheelbarrows during school hours, government employees wasting the day sleeping on their desks, men with scars on their arms and faces from machetes or bullets, amputees, blind singers, grown men with shriveled legs crawling through the market begging. The list goes on. It’s not surprising, but it is shocking, how much you can look past without really, really letting it register.*

* During the same one-hour-ish family car ride, a BBC interviewer asked a man working with gang rape victims in London, “Were you surprised or shocked about [something or other]?” His response: “I wasn’t surprised, but I was shocked,” stimulated discussion about whether or not it was actually possible to be shocked, but not surprised. The verdict: no, but it makes you think for a second, and I like that.

Truth, Reconciliation, and Red Lips: Can You Have Peace without Justice?

"Charles Taylor used to call me ‘the girl with the red lips." My co-worker said this with a flattered smile on her face, but she has no illusions: he’s a brutal war criminal. He killed arbitrarily, depending on his mood, depending on the way a potential victim walked down the street. He took lives simply to take them, innocent lives, young lives, unborn lives, old lives, he made people die in undignified ways, just because he wanted to. And everyone knows this. Nonetheless, when Taylor comes up in conversation – and he often does – you certainly here about his war crimes and brutality, but you also hear about his charisma, his great smile, his ability to say just the right things to make people crumble a little: Ah, it’s the girl with the red lips. True assholes always seem to have that ability.

The TRC just released its report last week. I mentioned this in a previous post, the Truth and Reconciliation Committee (TRC) was formed to hear testimony about people’s actions during the war, and help the country move towards peace and reconciliation. The TRC had the mandate to make recommendations for the next step in the reconciliation process - thus the document last week. A document that recommends a list of people to be tried as war criminals, and another to be banned from holding public office due to economic crimes committed during the war. It’s been met with mixed reactions. Some people say it was too heavy handed, while others say that it goes too easy on some of the main perpetrators. Furthermore, it’s been accused of being overly vague about the wartime role of some key political players. Both of the lists include not only very wealthy Liberians, but heavily political Liberians. Many of whom are members of the Senate, House of Representatives, and various Ministries. Including President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. She’s not being recommended to be tried for war crimes, but recommended to be banned from holding public office for 30 years.

I haven’t actually read the report yet, so I can’t say whether it’s thorough, or goes too easy on certain people, or is too heavy handed. But putting Ellen on the list has definitely stimulated some interesting office discussions. Ann Dora, my co-worker with the red lips, began talking about her days working in the Executive Mansion before during the time that Wilton Sankawulo was the Chairman of the collective presidency that lasted from September 1995 to September 1996. This “collective presidency” brought together the previously warring factions into one joint government – meaning that Charles Taylor, leader of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL); Alhaji Kromah, who headed the United Liberation Movement (ULIMO-K); George Boley of the Liberia Peace Council (LPC); and a civilian representing the interests of civil society, Oscar Quiah, were all supposed to be working together with Mr. Sankawulo.

[Sidenote: Wilton Sankawulo was not a politician by nature – he kind of got swept into it. He was primarily a writer – Liberian folklore, specifically Kpelle culture. He got his MFA from the Iowa writer’s workshop (which is impressive!) in the late 60s and has written ten books. Haven’t read any of his stuff yet but will look into it…]

Anyway, Ann Dora worked directly for Mr. Sankawulo, essentially as his administrative assistant. She worked closely with him in the executive mansion, and often saw and worked with Taylor and those other ex-warlords. During Sankawulo’s time as the Chairman, he was hosting his daughter’s wedding at his compound in Monrovia. Ann Dora had done all the arrangements, and had spent a good deal of time working on this wedding, so she was at his house the night before for the last minute preparations. But things weren’t right. There was a lot of talk going on around the city that Taylor’s people were mobilizing, and just a general sense of unrest growing in the city. So Ann Dora’s husband shows up at the house, asking her to come home. But she promises him things are fine and despite his protests, insists on staying.

Not long after, Taylor and Kromah appear with their people in the compound. Ann Dora is in the next room, listening, when the two warlords essentially tell Sankawulo that they’ve decided to take control, and they’ll kill him if he resists. After they leave, Ann Dora realizes she probably should have listened to her husband – and tries to leave. But there are no cars, people are running around naked and painted for war, and it’s clear she’s stuck. Luckily, her husband returned and got her out of there and that night, the city broke out into chaos and Sankawulo had to seek safety with Taylor, the only person powerful enough to protect him.

The point of the story: everyone has a connection to the war and war criminals and people who aided and abetted. Does it make it right? No. But in a place where half the population could be held liable, how to pick and chose who should be held accountable? The charge against President Sirleaf is that she provided financial assistance to Taylor when he was in the bush, prepping to take over Monrovia. She’s never denied that. The real question is how clear his insane-war-lord-ish-ness was at that point. I don’t know the answer to that, to be honest. Interestingly, the US supported Taylor, particularly Jimmy Carter – who really liked him. Not saying Carter should be on the list too, just noting that Taylor was a charming and convincing man . . .

I myself am currently supporting two warlords. Taylor was one of the founders of the cell phone company I use, Lone Star. And, best of all, the house that I am currently living in is owned by Mr. Saa Gbollie, current Representative for Margibi County and former, under Taylor. The headline of this article: "Saah Gbollie Was Responsible for My Torturing."* A co-worker told me to give some rice to the boys next store – former rebels – and they’ll make sure we’re protected. Again, there’s the underlying layer of surreality that you can so easily miss: we live in the house of a former rebel leader who is actually on the TRC report’s list to be tried for war crimes. And it’s not uncommon. That’s just how it is here.

It will be interesting to see how much truth and reconciliation this report will bring. So many on the list are in power - politically and financially. The former warlords are in the House of Representatives, so the likelihood of the recommendations passing in the House seem slim. It has stirred up some underlying tensions, but so far, in my limited scope of understanding, it seems to be mainly in the political realm and not spreading in the population. However, what do I know? I have too much to learn about the TRC - politicaly implications and motivations etc etc etc. It's difficult to tell where to draw the line with the accusations and the trials - and begs the question - can you have peace without justice? Without holding these public war lords accountable, how will the country move on? But at the same time, is the country strong enough and ready to address these issues without inciting more tensions?

*Full article: http://allafrica.com/stories/200811270843.html