Why the Peace Corps Rocks

I needed to get out of Monrovia. I was feeling trapped, and just wanted a solo escape. I had heard that there was a village, Gbarnga, that was only 2 hours away AND had a leper/TB basketweaving colony. What better get-a-away could you find?

Saturday morning, woke up at 6:15 and got myself together – traveled uber light since I would only be gone for the day. I walk to the junction to grab a car, but it’s Clean the Nation Day. Yes, the infamous African clean the nation day where public transport comes to a standstill from 6am to 10am on the first Saturday of each month. This is actually only the second one in Liberia, great timing on my part. Luckily, motorbikes can run, so I jumped on the back of one and headed to “Red Light,” so named not necessarily for lewd activities that might take place there, but for the traffic light that characterizes the area. Sadly, the motorbike could only take me as far as Samuel K. Doe Stadium. And from there I had to walk. I thought Red Light was fairly close by . . .

But I just kept going and going. Actually, it was a good thing because I had no idea what I was going to do when I got to the car park: cars couldn’t leave until 10 and it was only 8ish as I was walking. I don’t know if anything would have struck me about the area if I had never heard about Red Light. But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about the fact that I was advised to possibly only go there with a Liberian. I think knowing that made me more cognizant of the situation, which was a good thing, but perhaps made things seem a little more intense than they actually were. Anyway, there were a lot of people milling around the streets, and no cars in sight. I actually walked completely through Red Light without seeing any “car park.” It was crowded and for one 10-foot span the smell of feces in an open space was more pronounced than I’ve ever experienced. I stayed on the main road, and it was fine. But the side streets were packed with people and small stalls and lots and lots of mud.

The thing I noticed most: no one seemed to notice me. Which on one hand you think, great, I’m blending in. I, clearly, was not blending in. For me, not being acknowledged is not a good thing – you can’t make a connection with anyone if they don’t look at you, say hello back, or at least smile. And, while not a guarantee of safety, I think making a connection does reduce the chances of having any type of problem. It was interesting to be completely ignored, and slightly unsettling, and very crowded. I stopped at a police junction to get their advice on a car, and then asked them if I could stop and rest a second at their post. Without even looking at me, they told me to move on. That was fine, but something I’ve never experienced in West Africa, police may be corrupt but they always let you sit and chat.

I continued on, not seeing any place that looked like a good place to stop and settle in for a bit. Finally, after about an hour of walking, I came to yet another police checkpoint and figured I’d see if they were more friendly. They were. We chatted and I told them where I was going and one actually found a car for me that was leaving sooner than 10. As I was standing there with them, as luck would have it, a woman approached and flashed a Peace Corps ID card. Of course, I pounce: Hello! Peace Corps! Me also! Mary Ellen, it turns out, was on her way to Monrovia to head back to the States after finishing up here. As we went our separate ways she mentioned that there were Peace Corps in Gbarnga, in Pheobe Hospital. This knowledge would prove vital.

Off I go – first car to Kakata. That turns out to be about an hour and a half ride. I was comfortable in the back seat next to Gami, who was a Kpelle woman from Lofa county. Very nice and helpful, and we ended up getting in another car together to make the last leg of the journey to Gbarnga (pronounced Ban-ga). It was a fun car ride – everyone was chatting and laughing. Sadly, I still don’t speak Liberian English so I was out of it most of the time, which was fine – it was a scenic ride: so many trees, and even some rolling hills. The car was a bit decrepit, we had to stop for repairs a few times along the way, and didn’t roll in to Gbarnga until around 2. So I would have pretty much had to leave at 3 to get back to Monrovia before dark. . .

I went to the motorcycle taxi guys and asked: Do you know where the lepers are? They had no idea what I was talking about. Ha. What? Who? Lepers? It dawned on me that I had some false information. Amy had visited the leper colony in 2007 and had mentioned the village’s name to me, but the only thing I remembered was that it began with a “G.” There are multiple towns that begin with “G” in this country. After asking about 15 different motorcycle taxi guys with no luck, I decided to head to Pheobe Hospital to look up the PCV.

The hospital was nice – had a huge compound with lots of living quarters for staff. I got quite the tour roaming around trying to follow the directions to the PC house. Finally I found it, but sadly it was empty. Hm hm hm. A bit of a conundrum: what to do? Go back to town and drive all the way back to Monrovia? It was looking like that was the only option, so I started walking to the road and spotted a Peace-Corps-esque looking couple in front of me. I stalked them, subtly, until I was close enough to awkwardly call “excuse me!” Turns out they weren’t PCVs, but as I was talking to them, a young woman, clearly a PCV, walks out of a nearby building. Kyla, very nice, working in the health sector, was on her way to dinner at the house of a local NGO couple. Would I like to come and sleep on their floor? Why yes, I would. This is just one reason that Peace Corps rocks: show up in a random African village at mid-afternoon and get offered dinner and a place to stay and shower. Fantastic.

So we head back to Gbarnga and meet up with the other PCVs from the area – Casandra, Ed, and Lauren. The five of us show up at Tate and Kristen’s house for dinner: home made tortillas and BBQ’ed chicken and cold drinks and red wine and great company. I reeeeeeeked from my travels and was utterly filthy, but Tate and Kristen are RPCVs from Cameroon, so they didn’t mind. They are awesome, and are not only working here, but are raising a two-year old here! They were so welcoming, and just genuinely cool, good people. It was really a fun night to sit around and chat, talk about all our different PC experiences. Some of us were in Africa, but there was also Dominican Republic, Guatemala, and Tonga thrown in there as well. It was great night J Tate works on some Ag projects so I am hoping to actually have a work related reason to go up there and hang out. But even if I can’t justify it with work, I’ll probably still visit.

So, Peace Corps serendipity. Great weekend. Sunday morning we woke up and Kyla and I went for a walk around the community of Pheobe. She’s only be in town three weeks, so she’s still learning as well. As we walked around, we met Julie, a young guy who was standing outside a really, really nice house. Next to Pheobe is an area called “New Airfield,” which is pretty much all new houses built after the war. It’s still clearly a poor-er farming community, but I really think this was the nicest and most well-kept village I have ever been to in my life. The lawns were manicured! There were flowers that served no purpose other than to look beautiful! Every single lawn and yard was swept perfectly clean. I really was amazed. It was lovely! I was ready to buy property.

Julie walked us around a good part of the neighborhood, pointing out all the trees, plants, and crops. It was a great review for me, a nice refresher course from old Gambie, so I don’t look foolish showing up at a community farm and not be able to identify beans or eggplant (garden egg) or something. Though, admittedly, that’s still a possibility. He also took us around to the riverside, and even the cemetery. I thought it was interesting to go to the cemetery and even walk around some tombs, because in Gambia I wasn’t even allowed to look in the direction of the cemetery as a woman. That’s an exaggeration, but I certainly wasn’t allowed to go there, and never did. And I’m sure there were no marked graves.

This one actually had rather large, above-ground cement tombs for “special people,” meaning those with money. But there was also the head nurse at the hospital that was just buried a few weeks ago: she was riding in an ambulance on her way to pick up a pregnant woman when the ambulance struck a parked truck, hidden in the dark on the side of the road. I actually saw the ambulance on the side of the road before hearing the story, and it was reeeeally mangled. Two people died in the crash. That’s a huge problem along the roads upcountry – cars or big trucks break down and park off to the side, but they don’t have reflectors, so you can’t even see them until it’s too late. Needless to say, I will not be driving at night. I was talking to Kyla about this, and it’s ridiculous to think about all the capacity that was lost because of that one truck parked on the side of the road: an ambulance in a country that has very few, a highly skilled nurse in a country that has very few. Furthermore, the ambulance driver was arrested for reckless driving. Have to blame someone apparently, though I’m not sure why the person who parked the truck isn’t accountable as well?

After the walk, I made my way home to Monrovia. It was a direct ride and went much faster. I had the whole front seat to myself: not because I insisted, but because the driver insisted. He kept saying, “No, no! You’re skin is too big!” Hm. Interesting. I didn’t argue too much because by taking the front seat and paying just a fraction more, the car could leave right away without waiting for another passenger. The only problem: it was mid-day. The sun was too hot. And I was sitting like a tortured bug under the magnifying glass that was the windshield. I got pretty burnt. And all I could do was sit there and burn, for 4 hours. I knew I was burning, but I had no sunscreen, no cloth to cover myself. I am pretty red, but turning gloriously bronze J

It turns out, there IS actually a leper colony around Gbarnga, though I think the one Amy was talking about was actually in another village called Ganta. Ah-ha. Next time. But I didn’t even need lepers to have a great time!