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
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
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
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
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:
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
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
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
That was problematic, because it made the lights flicker. And old growth forests in
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 –
From there, smooth sailing to Sinoe, just long, muddy, and late. We arrived in town,
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:
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
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
Went out for beers with
Wait –
Day #5, 16 July 2009: Homeward bound
We were supposed to leave
hahahaha. Oh man Maggie, this stuff is priceless. Your poor mother is gonna have a stroke! But you give awesome, DETAILED recaps. Since we never see each other in real life, I'm thrilled to have this to track your every move.
ReplyDeleteCrazy how sympathetic people can be to warlords - so much is clear cut ethnic lines, ie the Americo-Liberians, the Gio and the Mano were specifically targeted by Doe and Taylor "saved" them. And some just thought he was a good pres? Yikes. But of course I have never actually been to the Interior to see all that you have. Just Bong Mines where I was back to last week--- they went on and on and on and on about how great you are! They miss you.
My comment is almost as long as the post! Btw: days 3 and 4 are labeled June which makes the trip seem even longer.
We gotta hang over a beer sometime soon, this weekend my stomach feels like I ate monkey meat (I didn't!)but call me soon
Peace
Megan