Written Friday, 20 June 2009:
So, my trip today to Bomi [last Friday] was, not terribly surprisingly, cancelled. This is the third failed attempted to get out into the field with my government counterparts. However, this time, it’s actually not their fault. The rubber workers of Guthrie are on strike in the region we were planning on going to. They haven’t been paid in ?????. Apparently, the sight of UN and government cars are often the target of angry striking people, and therefore, we were forced to stay at the office today. This, too, is Liberia (a favorite phrased used by the people when things just don’t go right – it was bound to be the title of a blog entry sooner or later….)
It’s not the end of the world, I do have things to do. I’m actually researching Agro-processing in Ghana to see if we can set up some informational meetings/small training sessions there with people who are doing it on a large-scale (though it’s been impossible to contact anyone so far. . . anyone know anyone in Ghana?). Also, trying to get an outline together about the information I’ve been gathering about communal farming policy. Looking over the City Ordinances for Monrovia and a suburb, Brewerville (pronounced Bro-ville) and outline the role of City Officals. There’s some political reason they want the mayor out so we are looking in to the legal road to do that. . . or something. Also trying to generalize that Ordinance to create a template for all other cities in Liberia. I like the farming aspect of the job best :)
* * *
We actually ended up going to Brewerville today to pick up some documents. The mayor was just outside of town at the Unity Conference Center where they were holding closing ceremonies for the Truth and Reconciliation Conference (TRC). The Truth and Reconciliation Commission, also TRC, is responsible for bringing peace and reconciliation back to Liberia, a lofty goal. Their mandate calls for them to 1.) investigate gross human rights violations; 2.) provide a forum to address issues of impunity as well as allow both victims and perpetrators to tell their sides of the story; 3.) investigate the roots of the conflict; 4.) conduct a critical review of Liberia’s history to address socio-economic and political causes of conflict; 5.) specifically address the atrocities committee against women, children, and vulnerable groups and pay special attention to gender based violence; 6.) publically report all findings. (https://www.trcofliberia.org/)
We were at the Conference just for an hour or so – and didn’t actually see anything, except for the arrival of the Vice President. I also found a woman selling Moringa seeds outside so I bought a bunch from her and got her number. That was rather exciting. (Moringa was a tree that was all over Gambia and is really healthy – but isn’t around here too much). This is a somewhat dull blog post, but more interesting ones to follow this afternoon . . . . . .
26 June 2009
18 June 2009
Fear Not the World But the People
I spent Monday and Tuesday of this week visiting Gbarnga (Ban-ga), being carted around on a motorbike checking out various farm sites and feeling the wind in my helmet-less hair. Few things are better than that. However, it only took a few hours back in Monrovia to remind me why motorbike riding is the utmost asinine thing you could ever do in the capital city – especially when it’s dark, and even more especially when it’s raining. It all began with a missionary and a drunk prostitute.
I went to Gbarnga on Sunday for a BBQ at Tate and Kristen’s house (an RPCV couple living in the area). My driver stopped the car at the beginning of the 3.5-4 hour drive and had me lead us in prayer before we started the ride, which really can’t hurt on these roads and with these drivers. The BBQ was really nice: meat on a stick, fried plantains and grilled mangos, Lebanese food, potato salad, tequila shots, and a man with a guitar. A fantastic combination, great weather, and a good time. I stayed with them in their guest room – they are great, super welcoming, and cool. Monday morning, I headed off to a meeting Tate set up for me with one of his coworkers who has some knowledge about communal farming. And by “some knowledge,” I mean taught me more than I’ve learned since being here. Great guy – Fahn. We’ll definitely be talking again soon. He was headed on a week long field trek to Lofa county, so he set me up with his coworker Jeff, who carted me around on his motorbike to a Palm Oil Plantation/Processing Site. The site is using the Freedom Mill to process the palm oil - which decreases both the time and physical energy needed to produce oil. Winrock Internation, the organization that Tate works for, is training local metal workers to make the mills so that it's actually sustainable (hopefully). If anything breaks or goes wrong with machines, there is the local capacity to fix them even if Winrock has left Liberia. It's a good plan! From there, we went off to Cuttington University (a private University located just outside Gbarnga) to see who we could meet there.
When I was planning on going to the BBQ and then missing work on Monday, I was hoping they would be fine with it because I was meeting with people about farming. And then it turned out that my work people had scheduled a meeting at Cuttington on Tuesday, so I would just stay and meet them there. Once I arrived, however, I realized that “scheduled” was a strong word – they had thought about it on their end, and it was up to me to find the right people to meet with and schedule something one day in advance. Ha. Luckily, when Jeff and I arrived at Cuttington, there was a 60-something missionary man there who was a huge help and super nice. Me, I am skeptical of missionaries after meeting some absolutely horrid ones in Gambia (just not nice or cool people). But this man made me considerably less distasteful of missionaries as a whole.
So I set up my meetings, and then met up with Kyla (PC at Pheobe hospital) to head out to Kpatawee Falls – beautiful. I actually think it would be better to go there in the dry season, because the water was rushing so fast it was hard to appreciate the intricacies of the falls, but the power was more than clear. Check out the pictures, if you so please: http://picasaweb.google.com/mtd933
Tuesday: my people arrived, only slightly late, and we had a really successful meeting with the Dean of the School of Agriculture about a potential collaboration between MIA and the University. They essentially want to create an internship program for agricultural students to work on the government agriculture projects. There’s also interest in training farmers in a short, non-degree program. All in the works, but interesting.
I had actually set up another meeting at C.A.R.I, which is the agricultural training center in the region, but we didn’t have time because we had to go back to Monrovia (I won’t dwell on the wasted resources of sending two cars, and five people out to a meeting 4 hours from the capital…). It was a much faster ride in a government car, and I was home and showered by 5:30. The missionary man, who had been such a big help to me, was actually in Monrovia for the night and didn’t know many people in the city, so I had told him I would go out with him. Thus, after a long weekend out, I cleaned myself up and headed into the city around 6. Met up with some people for yoga, and then did dinner with my missionary friend. It was really nice – he’s had an interesting life in international business and has traveled all over the world and bought my dinner.
From there I went to meet up with my housemates, who were also doing dinner in the area, to all share a cab home together. We call cabs to take us home at night because some of them can be a little shady or drunk. So one cab comes, and half the roomies jump in there, and I’m waiting for cab number two. But there’s confusion, and another cab pulls up and we run out in the rain and jump in. I jumped in the back seat first and realize there is a woman sitting in their already. But no matter, we’ll all squeeze in and we do. Though in the close quarters, it’s clear she’s drunk – from both her breath and from the bottles jingling at my feet. The driver, who is NOT the one we called, says, “No worries. She is my boss lady.” Hm. And then he gets out, disappearing into the compound next to where we were. At this point, the whole situation becomes quite clear: he’s arranging this woman’s work for the night. He then reappears, saying: “He said you should come.” And the woman gets out and we drive away. That’s clearly not cool or ideal, but if the man could get us home safely, I would have stayed in the cab. However, the bottles in the back, the drunkness of the woman, and his insistence that he “never drinks” kind of made us all wary. My one room mate pretended to be sick and we got off at the main road to wait for one of the cabs we usually take.
So we’re standing on the main road, under the awning of Lucky Pharmacy, watching the rain and the cars pass on the slick, dark road. My back was turned, but suddenly I hear a scraping sound, screaming, and a horn. Barely visible on the road is the outline of a capsized motorbike. Apparently it had been clipped by a passing car. The three passengers of the bike had immediately run/limped off the dark road so they weren’t hit. As they sat on the sidewalk recovering, a big SUV with it’s bass blasting comes barreling the other way, hits the fallen motorcycle, and drags it for about 50-75 yards of loud screeching and sparks. The motorcycle driver, in full yellow rain gear, sprints after his bike as a rather large woman gets carted our way on the back of a skinny man.
She’s bleeding from her knee and her foot and they bring her in to the pharmacy, where she is immediately yelled at by the owner for getting blood all over the place (there was a fairly good amount) and kicked out. Me and Javi go in and demand gauze or something – they must have something she could cover it with! Come on! I was annoying by this owner – turning a bleeding woman away! Just give her some gauze at the very least! So the owner gives us a small piece after I demand it and tell him I will pay for it, and I go out and give it to her as she gets in a car that magically appears and drives off in the opposite direction of the hospital, which is directly across the street from us. We also saw another accident on the way home. The next day, walking around the city, I witnessed another motorcycle crash right behind a taxi emblazoned with the phrase: Fear not the World but the People.
I went to Gbarnga on Sunday for a BBQ at Tate and Kristen’s house (an RPCV couple living in the area). My driver stopped the car at the beginning of the 3.5-4 hour drive and had me lead us in prayer before we started the ride, which really can’t hurt on these roads and with these drivers. The BBQ was really nice: meat on a stick, fried plantains and grilled mangos, Lebanese food, potato salad, tequila shots, and a man with a guitar. A fantastic combination, great weather, and a good time. I stayed with them in their guest room – they are great, super welcoming, and cool. Monday morning, I headed off to a meeting Tate set up for me with one of his coworkers who has some knowledge about communal farming. And by “some knowledge,” I mean taught me more than I’ve learned since being here. Great guy – Fahn. We’ll definitely be talking again soon. He was headed on a week long field trek to Lofa county, so he set me up with his coworker Jeff, who carted me around on his motorbike to a Palm Oil Plantation/Processing Site. The site is using the Freedom Mill to process the palm oil - which decreases both the time and physical energy needed to produce oil. Winrock Internation, the organization that Tate works for, is training local metal workers to make the mills so that it's actually sustainable (hopefully). If anything breaks or goes wrong with machines, there is the local capacity to fix them even if Winrock has left Liberia. It's a good plan! From there, we went off to Cuttington University (a private University located just outside Gbarnga) to see who we could meet there.
When I was planning on going to the BBQ and then missing work on Monday, I was hoping they would be fine with it because I was meeting with people about farming. And then it turned out that my work people had scheduled a meeting at Cuttington on Tuesday, so I would just stay and meet them there. Once I arrived, however, I realized that “scheduled” was a strong word – they had thought about it on their end, and it was up to me to find the right people to meet with and schedule something one day in advance. Ha. Luckily, when Jeff and I arrived at Cuttington, there was a 60-something missionary man there who was a huge help and super nice. Me, I am skeptical of missionaries after meeting some absolutely horrid ones in Gambia (just not nice or cool people). But this man made me considerably less distasteful of missionaries as a whole.
So I set up my meetings, and then met up with Kyla (PC at Pheobe hospital) to head out to Kpatawee Falls – beautiful. I actually think it would be better to go there in the dry season, because the water was rushing so fast it was hard to appreciate the intricacies of the falls, but the power was more than clear. Check out the pictures, if you so please: http://picasaweb.google.com/mtd933
Tuesday: my people arrived, only slightly late, and we had a really successful meeting with the Dean of the School of Agriculture about a potential collaboration between MIA and the University. They essentially want to create an internship program for agricultural students to work on the government agriculture projects. There’s also interest in training farmers in a short, non-degree program. All in the works, but interesting.
I had actually set up another meeting at C.A.R.I, which is the agricultural training center in the region, but we didn’t have time because we had to go back to Monrovia (I won’t dwell on the wasted resources of sending two cars, and five people out to a meeting 4 hours from the capital…). It was a much faster ride in a government car, and I was home and showered by 5:30. The missionary man, who had been such a big help to me, was actually in Monrovia for the night and didn’t know many people in the city, so I had told him I would go out with him. Thus, after a long weekend out, I cleaned myself up and headed into the city around 6. Met up with some people for yoga, and then did dinner with my missionary friend. It was really nice – he’s had an interesting life in international business and has traveled all over the world and bought my dinner.
From there I went to meet up with my housemates, who were also doing dinner in the area, to all share a cab home together. We call cabs to take us home at night because some of them can be a little shady or drunk. So one cab comes, and half the roomies jump in there, and I’m waiting for cab number two. But there’s confusion, and another cab pulls up and we run out in the rain and jump in. I jumped in the back seat first and realize there is a woman sitting in their already. But no matter, we’ll all squeeze in and we do. Though in the close quarters, it’s clear she’s drunk – from both her breath and from the bottles jingling at my feet. The driver, who is NOT the one we called, says, “No worries. She is my boss lady.” Hm. And then he gets out, disappearing into the compound next to where we were. At this point, the whole situation becomes quite clear: he’s arranging this woman’s work for the night. He then reappears, saying: “He said you should come.” And the woman gets out and we drive away. That’s clearly not cool or ideal, but if the man could get us home safely, I would have stayed in the cab. However, the bottles in the back, the drunkness of the woman, and his insistence that he “never drinks” kind of made us all wary. My one room mate pretended to be sick and we got off at the main road to wait for one of the cabs we usually take.
So we’re standing on the main road, under the awning of Lucky Pharmacy, watching the rain and the cars pass on the slick, dark road. My back was turned, but suddenly I hear a scraping sound, screaming, and a horn. Barely visible on the road is the outline of a capsized motorbike. Apparently it had been clipped by a passing car. The three passengers of the bike had immediately run/limped off the dark road so they weren’t hit. As they sat on the sidewalk recovering, a big SUV with it’s bass blasting comes barreling the other way, hits the fallen motorcycle, and drags it for about 50-75 yards of loud screeching and sparks. The motorcycle driver, in full yellow rain gear, sprints after his bike as a rather large woman gets carted our way on the back of a skinny man.
She’s bleeding from her knee and her foot and they bring her in to the pharmacy, where she is immediately yelled at by the owner for getting blood all over the place (there was a fairly good amount) and kicked out. Me and Javi go in and demand gauze or something – they must have something she could cover it with! Come on! I was annoying by this owner – turning a bleeding woman away! Just give her some gauze at the very least! So the owner gives us a small piece after I demand it and tell him I will pay for it, and I go out and give it to her as she gets in a car that magically appears and drives off in the opposite direction of the hospital, which is directly across the street from us. We also saw another accident on the way home. The next day, walking around the city, I witnessed another motorcycle crash right behind a taxi emblazoned with the phrase: Fear not the World but the People.
***
I am hopefully headed to Robertsport this weekend to chill on the beach and do some surfing! It's supposed to be an amazing place to surf even for people who actually know how to surf. They just made a movie about it - Sliding Liberia - which is a traditional surfing movie PLUS some cultural stuff that highlights the difficulties of post-war life in Liberia. Here's some links that are cool:
http://www.slidingliberia.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0eru45CK5Y
To be honest, I can't actually look at either of these because my internet is too slow, BUT I did see the movie last week and it was really great.
http://www.slidingliberia.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0eru45CK5Y
To be honest, I can't actually look at either of these because my internet is too slow, BUT I did see the movie last week and it was really great.
12 June 2009
Malayah Association of Bong Mines: War Against Poverty
Project Brief:
The Malayah Association was founded by Finda Francis, a woman of Bong Mines who wanted to find a way to respond to the destruction and devastation in her community.
The first phase basically centered on “Susu” loans (each week members pay in a certain amount, which is pooled and given to one person to start a small project, such as soap making). The association still does Susu loans, but has also moved in to agriculture, which is an area it hopes to expand in the coming months.
I originally thought it was a women’s group, but it actually pulls in all members of society – old, young, men, women. Rev. Anthony works closely with Ma Finda with the association’s organization. He’s also incredibly nice and welcoming – really fantastic people.
One man told me, “Before the war, we were lazy. We had life very easy. But now, we know we must work. We know we must rely on the land.” And so they are trying, slowly slowly, to establish a livelihood from farming – which is heavily promoted in developing countries, but much easier said than done, especially when considering the fact that it is all dependent on manual labor. It’s truly not easy, deh.
“Malayah” is translated from Kissi to mean “help me,” but it’s really more in the spirit of “self help.” Currently, there are 72 members (50 of whom are actively engaging in the agriculture project). The goal is to increase the skill level of community members so that they can have some sort of livelihood whether or not the mining company ever comes back. They farm rice, plantain, bitter ball, banana, eggplant, pepper, banana, corn, and are looking to add more vegetables to the farm as well. The farms are not centrally located – they were unable to get one large plot of land.
Opportunities:
1. Niapele Project School Feeding Program: Linking with NP to provide produce for the school feeding program will give the Malayah Association a consistent buyer. Presently, Malayah is trying to become a Government Accredited NGO, so that they have some credibility within both Liberia and the international community. Their association with the Niapele Project is not a formal link, rather NP is contracting them to be involved with the school feeding program.
2. Transportation: Bong Mines has access to a train that runs directly to Monrovia three times a week, giving community members the ability to easily and cheaply transport their goods to a larger market.
Challenges:
1. Transportation: While Malayah does have access to the train to Monrovia, getting the produce to the train is in itself an issue. The walk to the farm is about 45 minutes. Furthermore, the road is not good and difficult to access by car. In order to transport the goods back to the town, association members must pay a driver to pick produce up – it’s not cheap and it has an impact on profits. The Association is working to find a plot of land (5-6 acres) so that all the farms can be located in one place.
2. Revival of Mining Industry: There are rumors that the Chinese are coming back to re-open the mines, however I’m not sure when that will be. It’s also an interesting issue – because I wonder how many people will shift from agri back to mining if the company comes back. There are the undeniable benefits the community will feel in terms of commerce and emerging businesses, but there’s also the issue of the environmental implications: what impact will the waste have on the soil? Water? Produce?
3. Funding: Malayah is looking to expand their activities from Susu loans and agriculture to supporting sick members, peacebuilding activities, and working within the community to settle land disputes. The registration as an NGO can cost up to US$300, and there is also the need for tools and transport costs. Obviously, the goal is to be self-sustaining. And hopefully associations like the one with NP will help with that, as will a more targeted marketing approach; however start up costs are necessary and do go a long way when used well. And this group really seemed to have its act together. (They were also rather kind to me :))
More information:
If you’d like more information about the Malayah Association, you can check out Niapele’s project description (http://www.theniapeleproject.org/blog/story-field-women-malaya). When I was getting on the plane to come to Liberia from Ghana, an African woman boarded and saw someone she knew, who asked how her time in America was, “Oh but the money is finished there! It’s all finished!” That said, if you’d like to donate directly to the Malayah project you can contact me :) Or if you’d like to donate to the Niapele Project’s school feeding program, you can do so on their website (it is separate from Malayah but still doing good things!). No worries though, the money is finished in America and it’s not easy deh!
The Malayah Association was founded by Finda Francis, a woman of Bong Mines who wanted to find a way to respond to the destruction and devastation in her community.
The first phase basically centered on “Susu” loans (each week members pay in a certain amount, which is pooled and given to one person to start a small project, such as soap making). The association still does Susu loans, but has also moved in to agriculture, which is an area it hopes to expand in the coming months.
I originally thought it was a women’s group, but it actually pulls in all members of society – old, young, men, women. Rev. Anthony works closely with Ma Finda with the association’s organization. He’s also incredibly nice and welcoming – really fantastic people.
One man told me, “Before the war, we were lazy. We had life very easy. But now, we know we must work. We know we must rely on the land.” And so they are trying, slowly slowly, to establish a livelihood from farming – which is heavily promoted in developing countries, but much easier said than done, especially when considering the fact that it is all dependent on manual labor. It’s truly not easy, deh.
“Malayah” is translated from Kissi to mean “help me,” but it’s really more in the spirit of “self help.” Currently, there are 72 members (50 of whom are actively engaging in the agriculture project). The goal is to increase the skill level of community members so that they can have some sort of livelihood whether or not the mining company ever comes back. They farm rice, plantain, bitter ball, banana, eggplant, pepper, banana, corn, and are looking to add more vegetables to the farm as well. The farms are not centrally located – they were unable to get one large plot of land.
Opportunities:
1. Niapele Project School Feeding Program: Linking with NP to provide produce for the school feeding program will give the Malayah Association a consistent buyer. Presently, Malayah is trying to become a Government Accredited NGO, so that they have some credibility within both Liberia and the international community. Their association with the Niapele Project is not a formal link, rather NP is contracting them to be involved with the school feeding program.
2. Transportation: Bong Mines has access to a train that runs directly to Monrovia three times a week, giving community members the ability to easily and cheaply transport their goods to a larger market.
Challenges:
1. Transportation: While Malayah does have access to the train to Monrovia, getting the produce to the train is in itself an issue. The walk to the farm is about 45 minutes. Furthermore, the road is not good and difficult to access by car. In order to transport the goods back to the town, association members must pay a driver to pick produce up – it’s not cheap and it has an impact on profits. The Association is working to find a plot of land (5-6 acres) so that all the farms can be located in one place.
2. Revival of Mining Industry: There are rumors that the Chinese are coming back to re-open the mines, however I’m not sure when that will be. It’s also an interesting issue – because I wonder how many people will shift from agri back to mining if the company comes back. There are the undeniable benefits the community will feel in terms of commerce and emerging businesses, but there’s also the issue of the environmental implications: what impact will the waste have on the soil? Water? Produce?
3. Funding: Malayah is looking to expand their activities from Susu loans and agriculture to supporting sick members, peacebuilding activities, and working within the community to settle land disputes. The registration as an NGO can cost up to US$300, and there is also the need for tools and transport costs. Obviously, the goal is to be self-sustaining. And hopefully associations like the one with NP will help with that, as will a more targeted marketing approach; however start up costs are necessary and do go a long way when used well. And this group really seemed to have its act together. (They were also rather kind to me :))
More information:
If you’d like more information about the Malayah Association, you can check out Niapele’s project description (http://www.theniapeleproject.org/blog/story-field-women-malaya). When I was getting on the plane to come to Liberia from Ghana, an African woman boarded and saw someone she knew, who asked how her time in America was, “Oh but the money is finished there! It’s all finished!” That said, if you’d like to donate directly to the Malayah project you can contact me :) Or if you’d like to donate to the Niapele Project’s school feeding program, you can do so on their website (it is separate from Malayah but still doing good things!). No worries though, the money is finished in America and it’s not easy deh!
Bong Mines: Communal Farming Research Trek, June 10-11
Bong Mines used to be a thriving community known as “Little America.” It’s sitting on over $6 billion worth of iron ore (according the locals) and used to have 30 – 40,000 residents, including over 3,000 Germans from the German mining company (funny, though, that they called it “Little America” and not “Little Germany” . . . . . . . . ). It was a large, wealthy place, and the workers still talk about how well they were treated by the mining company: free housing, free schooling for children, free health care for workers and their families (much better treatment than you hear about from Firestone (more on that at some point), another huge presence in the country). Very well done, Germans.
But during the war, the success of the town turned out to be a curse: when the war was raging Bong Mines was hit hard. It was well know for its wealth and the rebels came and looted, killed, and destroyed buildings. I’m not sure when exactly the Germans left, but they did – handing out promises of employment and pensions upon their return. The main headquarters is now a skeletal structure on the side of a hill. And there are countless other skeletal buildings. The church building is completely blown out – the “new” church is a stick, rice bag, scrape metal structure nestled within the crumbling walls of the old church. And the Germans never came back – 14 years of war and the entire infrastructure of the company destroy, the pieces of paper given to residents promising employment and pensions are now meaningless.
To get to Bong Mines, you drive 1.5 hours from Monrovia to Kakata, and from there you get a jeep to Bong Mines. The drive to Kakata was very smooth, enhanced by the awesome music played by UNMIL Radio (“The Voice of the United Nations Mission in Liberia”), which plays the most random, but fantastically catchy songs. The words are in English but I have no idea where they find this stuff, though I’d like to know. The one song I particularly liked was super catchy (the driver and a couple passengers were singing along) and had a chorus of, “Life. Oh Life. Ohhhhhh liiiiiiiiife. Oh life. Bam bam bam.” Not everything has to take on elevated meaning because of the war, but it’s interesting to be singing this chorus over and over in this happy, hopeful, cheerful tone and then talk to the man next to you who explains that Bong Mines was his home before the war but he fled when the fighting got so bad, and never went back. It makes you wonder about the people who stayed – what did they do for those 14 years?! How did they survive?
I went there because a friend of mine, Megan, who works with an organization called the Niapele Project (http://www.theniapeleproject.org/), is working to establish a partnership with a farming cooperative in the village. The Niapele Project (NP) works to increase the capacity and sustainability of Liberian organizations that are working to help returning refugees and refugee children. The idea is that the farming association in Bong Mines will be contracted to provide food for the Niapele Project’s school feeding program.
The organization, The Malayah Association, was founded by a very cool woman: Finda Francis. They kept translating “malayah” (a Kissi word) as “help me,” but I think it is more in the spirit of “help myself” or “self help.” Ma Finda talked about her “vision”: she looked around her after the war and saw many orphans, widows, widowers, unskilled/uneducated young people, and a destitute town with no jobs. She came to understand that the community had to help themselves if they wanted any relief from poverty, but she wondered: Where to start? How to start? And with what? So she started the Malayah Association (I’ll be posting more about this specifically at some point today).
So, I arrive in Bong Mines around 1 after a less-than-smooth but not terrible ride from Kakata. The road is not paved and is quite rolling with many many potholes. I was sitting in the middle of the front seat, which offers a lovely view of the road but is slightly uncomfortable, especially in a stick shift. Also, the jeep kept breaking down. . . nonetheless, I arrived by one, ready to head out and see the farm. I called my contact there, Rev. Anthony, and he sent someone to pick me up at the car park, and take me to the compound.
I arrive at Ma Finda’s compound and immediately realized that I had forgotten the basics of a visit to an African village. 1. The white visitor is given water and told to rest. 2. Cooking commences. 3. Village tour. 4. More rest. And that’s pretty much how it went – the farm viewing, it seemed, would have to wait until tomorrow. Which was unfortunate because I had planned to leave at 7am. . . but once you are in a village, you are often at the mercy of said village. So, Ma Finda brings me mineral water and starts cooking slightly spicy tomato pasted plantains and crawfish (delicious! My first crawfish experience actually). Finda lives with her husband and children in one of the old mining workers quarters – even post-war they really aren’t too bad. Very sturdy, you can tell they were definitely even nicer at some point.
Rev. Anthony took me on a quick tour of the town – school, church, main drag. I told him I spoke Pulaar, so we went and visited the Fulas (they are everywhere and it’s glorious) and then he had to head back to seminary class. He sent two young girls, and members of the association, Hannah and Benitta to come hang out with me. In the evening, Hannah took me around to show me the train and the market. Each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a train comes from Monrovia to Bong Mines, it used to be for the iron ore but now it brings supplies and produce to Monrovia for sale. It’s a great way for the farming association to transport their goods, and the amount of goods was incredible! I’ll post pictures soon – bananas, plantains, palm oil, bitter ball, pepper, crawlfish, corn, charcoal – all in mass quantities! It was incredible – the amount of produce and goods moving out on such a regular basis. Really impressive.
From there we went to see Hannah’s stall in the market. She was in 11th grade when the war got too bad to be in school, but she’s clearly a really, really smart young woman and speaks English very well. She works in agriculture with the Association but also has a business – selling plastic buckets and sandals at the market. African markets are amazing: all these woman who are friends, selling pretty much the same thing from stall to stall. You wonder how they make any money? How people in the village decide who to buy from? Although, Hannah was the only woman I saw who was selling plastic buckets, and they’re a sure sell.
There were a ton of empty stalls though, I honestly thought people had just started to go home already because it was getting later. But Hannah says: “Hey, this market used to be much bigger. All these empty stalls used to be filled up. But all these people are dead. They died during the war.” Wow. I found it so moving, and also a little eerie, that the stalls still remain empty. And they aren’t just all the stalls at the end of the market, or all the ones in the last row, or far away from the road. They are interspersed between filled stalls, two empty ones here, another one next to Hannah, three more four rows over. Pronounced, specific emptiness. I knew if I had asked: “Who was here? Who sold what here?”, Hannah would know them by name and a story about their families. Now, I’m sure once the population gets back to its former size (if ever), the stalls will be filled in again, slowly slowly. But for now, they are strikingly empty.
Not surprisingly, the people were really so nice to me. The ones I was hanging out with were mostly Kissi, and they told me they are related to the Fulas – both are derived from the same tribe in Sudan. Many of the women in the association came to visit me and chat, and – of course – I got my very own Kissi name, which pretty much rocks: Siah Tamba (first born girl child drum). After a delicious dinner of Potato greens and rice, I went back into town again with Rev. Anthony, back from school, to see the people loading up cars with produce to take to Monrovia. So, Bong Mines definitely has a lot of poverty, but they are also definitely working hard. There was so much commerce, it was great. Still has a long way to go, but I found the activity quite impressive. And at night the town was BUMPIN’. Fancy, popular hip-hop music blasting on the street, people everywhere, generators throbbing, TVs visible inside the shops along the road. We went in to a small shop and sat in the back and watched a little TV: WWF wrestling highlights from 1991-1994. Talk about mullets. And you know, perhaps it was the setting or the fatigue, but it was soooo much better than wrestling today – it didn’t even look as fake! Quite entertaining AND really amused me since I had been savoring the post-dinner-sitting-in-silence-staring-up-at-the-dark-night-sky time that I don’t get in Monrovia. But instead ended the night with Brett “The Hitman” Hart’s mullet and hot-pink spandex. Rock on.
And then, still having seen nooooo farm, it was time for bed and a reminder of another African detail I completely forgot: there is absolutely, categorically NO ventilation in African bedrooms. I was smoldering. Smoldering. Covered with sweat, just hoping to be able to fall asleep and get through the night. It was soo soo hot in that room, but around 3am it suddenly got cool and it was glorious. It was so hot, and not just hot – heavy, stuffy, suffocating – that it prompted me to use my aircon for the first time in Monrovia last night.
The plan: wake up early eeeearly, go to farm quick quick, head back to Monrovia and go to the office (not because I have a specific task, simply because I told them I would be back by noon). The problemo – woke up to rain and wailing. Not only was the weather miserable, someone had died in the night. I heard the wailing start around 5:30am. It was far away, but it was clearly the wail of death: shrill, high pitched, frantically rhythmic. I heard it was a middle aged woman who had been sick for some months.
Obviously, I understand that people need to go mourn, but some still show up to chat and hang out with me. Really, so terribly nice. Another issue, however, is the confusion over my mission. I went there on what was essentially a research trip – I wanted to see how their farm worked. But when a white woman shows up in your village, even when she says repeatedly, “I’m just here to learn from you,” it’s hard to believe that she isn’t going to help in some way, and that she really did just come to take your knowledge and food. So despite multiple attempts to explain myself, I am now considered a partner in their efforts. And that’s not a bad thing, I want to help, I just hope I can find a way to do so (see entry “Malayah Association: War Against Poverty” if you’re interested in helping too J)
My American-ness came out a bit in the morning as we waited and waited for the rain to subside. Just sitting, waiting. Got a bit impatient – not because I wanted to go, but just because I felt I should get back to work at some point. But they were just so so so nice, and so welcoming, and so thankful that I was there. We finally had a quick little meeting, and then the rain stopped and a motorbike came to take me to the farm. That’s right – the white girl needs a motorbike to take her to a farm that old, crippled women walk to. Mmm hmm. But it was far deh! About a 10 minute motorbike ride and we only went to the closest one and saw it from quite a distance, because of the time and the weather. Crazy. This one old woman kept showing me her leg, which got bashed up in the war and didn’t heal correctly – and she walks out there a few times a week.
It was a great trip – I actually did get a better sense of what’s going on in the world of communal farming and got to get out into a Liberian village and really hang out with people and get to know them a little. I’d really like to go back to visit again, so hopefully I’ll be able to work that. After having ANOTHER delicious meal, I made my way to the car park with an escort and about 30 plantains (literally), only to find what I suspected: no cars were going at that very moment. No worry, I had planned for this and I love motorcycles, so I wrapped all my stuff in plastic, it’s strapped to the back of the motorcycle, and I ride gloriously out of Bong Mines, sandwiched between two young men in the pouring rain.
It did dawn on me that this wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. I was on a motorbike. It was pooooooouring. I was going into the bush. And I was sandwiched between two men. Hm. However, it was a great journey – the guys, Emmanuel and Eddie, were really nice and great and the ride was as smooth as possible for an unpaved, pot-hole ridden, dirt road. It also dawned on me at one point that I was too old to be spending a Thursday on a motorbike in the pouring rain, soaking wet, covered with mud – but that was a fleeting thought: even at 27 I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do on any Thursday.
But during the war, the success of the town turned out to be a curse: when the war was raging Bong Mines was hit hard. It was well know for its wealth and the rebels came and looted, killed, and destroyed buildings. I’m not sure when exactly the Germans left, but they did – handing out promises of employment and pensions upon their return. The main headquarters is now a skeletal structure on the side of a hill. And there are countless other skeletal buildings. The church building is completely blown out – the “new” church is a stick, rice bag, scrape metal structure nestled within the crumbling walls of the old church. And the Germans never came back – 14 years of war and the entire infrastructure of the company destroy, the pieces of paper given to residents promising employment and pensions are now meaningless.
To get to Bong Mines, you drive 1.5 hours from Monrovia to Kakata, and from there you get a jeep to Bong Mines. The drive to Kakata was very smooth, enhanced by the awesome music played by UNMIL Radio (“The Voice of the United Nations Mission in Liberia”), which plays the most random, but fantastically catchy songs. The words are in English but I have no idea where they find this stuff, though I’d like to know. The one song I particularly liked was super catchy (the driver and a couple passengers were singing along) and had a chorus of, “Life. Oh Life. Ohhhhhh liiiiiiiiife. Oh life. Bam bam bam.” Not everything has to take on elevated meaning because of the war, but it’s interesting to be singing this chorus over and over in this happy, hopeful, cheerful tone and then talk to the man next to you who explains that Bong Mines was his home before the war but he fled when the fighting got so bad, and never went back. It makes you wonder about the people who stayed – what did they do for those 14 years?! How did they survive?
I went there because a friend of mine, Megan, who works with an organization called the Niapele Project (http://www.theniapeleproject.org/), is working to establish a partnership with a farming cooperative in the village. The Niapele Project (NP) works to increase the capacity and sustainability of Liberian organizations that are working to help returning refugees and refugee children. The idea is that the farming association in Bong Mines will be contracted to provide food for the Niapele Project’s school feeding program.
The organization, The Malayah Association, was founded by a very cool woman: Finda Francis. They kept translating “malayah” (a Kissi word) as “help me,” but I think it is more in the spirit of “help myself” or “self help.” Ma Finda talked about her “vision”: she looked around her after the war and saw many orphans, widows, widowers, unskilled/uneducated young people, and a destitute town with no jobs. She came to understand that the community had to help themselves if they wanted any relief from poverty, but she wondered: Where to start? How to start? And with what? So she started the Malayah Association (I’ll be posting more about this specifically at some point today).
So, I arrive in Bong Mines around 1 after a less-than-smooth but not terrible ride from Kakata. The road is not paved and is quite rolling with many many potholes. I was sitting in the middle of the front seat, which offers a lovely view of the road but is slightly uncomfortable, especially in a stick shift. Also, the jeep kept breaking down. . . nonetheless, I arrived by one, ready to head out and see the farm. I called my contact there, Rev. Anthony, and he sent someone to pick me up at the car park, and take me to the compound.
I arrive at Ma Finda’s compound and immediately realized that I had forgotten the basics of a visit to an African village. 1. The white visitor is given water and told to rest. 2. Cooking commences. 3. Village tour. 4. More rest. And that’s pretty much how it went – the farm viewing, it seemed, would have to wait until tomorrow. Which was unfortunate because I had planned to leave at 7am. . . but once you are in a village, you are often at the mercy of said village. So, Ma Finda brings me mineral water and starts cooking slightly spicy tomato pasted plantains and crawfish (delicious! My first crawfish experience actually). Finda lives with her husband and children in one of the old mining workers quarters – even post-war they really aren’t too bad. Very sturdy, you can tell they were definitely even nicer at some point.
Rev. Anthony took me on a quick tour of the town – school, church, main drag. I told him I spoke Pulaar, so we went and visited the Fulas (they are everywhere and it’s glorious) and then he had to head back to seminary class. He sent two young girls, and members of the association, Hannah and Benitta to come hang out with me. In the evening, Hannah took me around to show me the train and the market. Each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a train comes from Monrovia to Bong Mines, it used to be for the iron ore but now it brings supplies and produce to Monrovia for sale. It’s a great way for the farming association to transport their goods, and the amount of goods was incredible! I’ll post pictures soon – bananas, plantains, palm oil, bitter ball, pepper, crawlfish, corn, charcoal – all in mass quantities! It was incredible – the amount of produce and goods moving out on such a regular basis. Really impressive.
From there we went to see Hannah’s stall in the market. She was in 11th grade when the war got too bad to be in school, but she’s clearly a really, really smart young woman and speaks English very well. She works in agriculture with the Association but also has a business – selling plastic buckets and sandals at the market. African markets are amazing: all these woman who are friends, selling pretty much the same thing from stall to stall. You wonder how they make any money? How people in the village decide who to buy from? Although, Hannah was the only woman I saw who was selling plastic buckets, and they’re a sure sell.
There were a ton of empty stalls though, I honestly thought people had just started to go home already because it was getting later. But Hannah says: “Hey, this market used to be much bigger. All these empty stalls used to be filled up. But all these people are dead. They died during the war.” Wow. I found it so moving, and also a little eerie, that the stalls still remain empty. And they aren’t just all the stalls at the end of the market, or all the ones in the last row, or far away from the road. They are interspersed between filled stalls, two empty ones here, another one next to Hannah, three more four rows over. Pronounced, specific emptiness. I knew if I had asked: “Who was here? Who sold what here?”, Hannah would know them by name and a story about their families. Now, I’m sure once the population gets back to its former size (if ever), the stalls will be filled in again, slowly slowly. But for now, they are strikingly empty.
Not surprisingly, the people were really so nice to me. The ones I was hanging out with were mostly Kissi, and they told me they are related to the Fulas – both are derived from the same tribe in Sudan. Many of the women in the association came to visit me and chat, and – of course – I got my very own Kissi name, which pretty much rocks: Siah Tamba (first born girl child drum). After a delicious dinner of Potato greens and rice, I went back into town again with Rev. Anthony, back from school, to see the people loading up cars with produce to take to Monrovia. So, Bong Mines definitely has a lot of poverty, but they are also definitely working hard. There was so much commerce, it was great. Still has a long way to go, but I found the activity quite impressive. And at night the town was BUMPIN’. Fancy, popular hip-hop music blasting on the street, people everywhere, generators throbbing, TVs visible inside the shops along the road. We went in to a small shop and sat in the back and watched a little TV: WWF wrestling highlights from 1991-1994. Talk about mullets. And you know, perhaps it was the setting or the fatigue, but it was soooo much better than wrestling today – it didn’t even look as fake! Quite entertaining AND really amused me since I had been savoring the post-dinner-sitting-in-silence-staring-up-at-the-dark-night-sky time that I don’t get in Monrovia. But instead ended the night with Brett “The Hitman” Hart’s mullet and hot-pink spandex. Rock on.
And then, still having seen nooooo farm, it was time for bed and a reminder of another African detail I completely forgot: there is absolutely, categorically NO ventilation in African bedrooms. I was smoldering. Smoldering. Covered with sweat, just hoping to be able to fall asleep and get through the night. It was soo soo hot in that room, but around 3am it suddenly got cool and it was glorious. It was so hot, and not just hot – heavy, stuffy, suffocating – that it prompted me to use my aircon for the first time in Monrovia last night.
The plan: wake up early eeeearly, go to farm quick quick, head back to Monrovia and go to the office (not because I have a specific task, simply because I told them I would be back by noon). The problemo – woke up to rain and wailing. Not only was the weather miserable, someone had died in the night. I heard the wailing start around 5:30am. It was far away, but it was clearly the wail of death: shrill, high pitched, frantically rhythmic. I heard it was a middle aged woman who had been sick for some months.
Obviously, I understand that people need to go mourn, but some still show up to chat and hang out with me. Really, so terribly nice. Another issue, however, is the confusion over my mission. I went there on what was essentially a research trip – I wanted to see how their farm worked. But when a white woman shows up in your village, even when she says repeatedly, “I’m just here to learn from you,” it’s hard to believe that she isn’t going to help in some way, and that she really did just come to take your knowledge and food. So despite multiple attempts to explain myself, I am now considered a partner in their efforts. And that’s not a bad thing, I want to help, I just hope I can find a way to do so (see entry “Malayah Association: War Against Poverty” if you’re interested in helping too J)
My American-ness came out a bit in the morning as we waited and waited for the rain to subside. Just sitting, waiting. Got a bit impatient – not because I wanted to go, but just because I felt I should get back to work at some point. But they were just so so so nice, and so welcoming, and so thankful that I was there. We finally had a quick little meeting, and then the rain stopped and a motorbike came to take me to the farm. That’s right – the white girl needs a motorbike to take her to a farm that old, crippled women walk to. Mmm hmm. But it was far deh! About a 10 minute motorbike ride and we only went to the closest one and saw it from quite a distance, because of the time and the weather. Crazy. This one old woman kept showing me her leg, which got bashed up in the war and didn’t heal correctly – and she walks out there a few times a week.
It was a great trip – I actually did get a better sense of what’s going on in the world of communal farming and got to get out into a Liberian village and really hang out with people and get to know them a little. I’d really like to go back to visit again, so hopefully I’ll be able to work that. After having ANOTHER delicious meal, I made my way to the car park with an escort and about 30 plantains (literally), only to find what I suspected: no cars were going at that very moment. No worry, I had planned for this and I love motorcycles, so I wrapped all my stuff in plastic, it’s strapped to the back of the motorcycle, and I ride gloriously out of Bong Mines, sandwiched between two young men in the pouring rain.
It did dawn on me that this wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. I was on a motorbike. It was pooooooouring. I was going into the bush. And I was sandwiched between two men. Hm. However, it was a great journey – the guys, Emmanuel and Eddie, were really nice and great and the ride was as smooth as possible for an unpaved, pot-hole ridden, dirt road. It also dawned on me at one point that I was too old to be spending a Thursday on a motorbike in the pouring rain, soaking wet, covered with mud – but that was a fleeting thought: even at 27 I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do on any Thursday.
You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em
Written 9 June 2009:
I’m sitting in my bedroom listening to traditional African drumming and singing coming from the hotel. It’s grand opening night tonight. We were not invited but I had the chance to sneak my way – a man offered to get me in if I went and got dressed up for the occasion. The problem – quite humorous, I admit – was that I had just changed into my “nice clothes.” So I told the man this, and he laughed in my face. Ha. He thought I was kidding, but it’s the nicest I’ve looked in a while. Perhaps indicative of a problem . . .
Anyway, it’s the GRAND OPENING of the Robert L. Johnson Kendeja Resort. I mentioned this before – it’s a huge, fancy, ridiculous place in the midst of regular Liberian people. It just seems opulent and obnoxious. I have since heard some of the back story which is both interesting and makes the place seem a little better. First of all, Mr. Johnson – who I never heard of before coming to Liberia but who I believe owns BET and who is known here as “the richest black man in America” – went to Ellen and said, “I want to invest in Liberia, what do you need?” Apparently, a very nice hotel. Ok, I can see that, you can’t encourage tourism without a nice place to stay.
I think I mentioned that they knocked down the youth cultural center in order to build the hotel. That is still true, but they already broke ground at the new site of the cultural center – which will also include a clinic and a brand new school. Currently, the hotel employs just under 200 Liberians, and I heard that will increase to 300-400 when it is running at full capacity. So, I still think it’s oddly placed and mildly offensive, BUT it isn’t, perhaps, the devil. I got all this information from Sekki, my new friend at the Attaya Shop. I’m still boycotting the hotel though.
Mostly, the music has been drumming and clear African rhythms, but not long ago I heard, “You got know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, you gotta know when to walk away…..” Very random. Ellen is actually there for the ceremony. I kind of wish I had gone over – after dressing much nicer than I am now apparently – just to check out what’s going on. But Irena, in Saypa’s compound, had just gotten back from traveling and brought me a pineapple, which was so so nice of her, so I went there instead to eat it (delicious!!!) and chat (they are awesome). They've started to try to teach me Kpelle (pel-lay) . . . though I think I may have already written about that so I'll stop here. . .
I’m sitting in my bedroom listening to traditional African drumming and singing coming from the hotel. It’s grand opening night tonight. We were not invited but I had the chance to sneak my way – a man offered to get me in if I went and got dressed up for the occasion. The problem – quite humorous, I admit – was that I had just changed into my “nice clothes.” So I told the man this, and he laughed in my face. Ha. He thought I was kidding, but it’s the nicest I’ve looked in a while. Perhaps indicative of a problem . . .
Anyway, it’s the GRAND OPENING of the Robert L. Johnson Kendeja Resort. I mentioned this before – it’s a huge, fancy, ridiculous place in the midst of regular Liberian people. It just seems opulent and obnoxious. I have since heard some of the back story which is both interesting and makes the place seem a little better. First of all, Mr. Johnson – who I never heard of before coming to Liberia but who I believe owns BET and who is known here as “the richest black man in America” – went to Ellen and said, “I want to invest in Liberia, what do you need?” Apparently, a very nice hotel. Ok, I can see that, you can’t encourage tourism without a nice place to stay.
I think I mentioned that they knocked down the youth cultural center in order to build the hotel. That is still true, but they already broke ground at the new site of the cultural center – which will also include a clinic and a brand new school. Currently, the hotel employs just under 200 Liberians, and I heard that will increase to 300-400 when it is running at full capacity. So, I still think it’s oddly placed and mildly offensive, BUT it isn’t, perhaps, the devil. I got all this information from Sekki, my new friend at the Attaya Shop. I’m still boycotting the hotel though.
Mostly, the music has been drumming and clear African rhythms, but not long ago I heard, “You got know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, you gotta know when to walk away…..” Very random. Ellen is actually there for the ceremony. I kind of wish I had gone over – after dressing much nicer than I am now apparently – just to check out what’s going on. But Irena, in Saypa’s compound, had just gotten back from traveling and brought me a pineapple, which was so so nice of her, so I went there instead to eat it (delicious!!!) and chat (they are awesome). They've started to try to teach me Kpelle (pel-lay) . . . though I think I may have already written about that so I'll stop here. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
