Big Brother

Africa, there’s never a dull moment with you. Liberia’s neighbor, Ivory Coast has taken their little presidential disagreement to a whole new level (they’ve started shooting http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12582014) The fighting has become so strong that now instead of hundreds of refugees coming into Liberia a day, up to 5,000 have come in 24 hours. Schools are shut down and NGO workers in the country are evacuating. UNHCR is flipping out because of the massive influx and the rest of the UN community is estimating that this could lead to another civil war (we’ll see about that). Liberia, I am happy to say is just peachy. What else is going on in Africa? Oh yea, Qaddafi. This fool. He has riots and fighting going on in Libya and is doing what he does best, oppressing people.

Fun facts about this dude: He is known as the “Big Brother” of Africa. His country is the training base for many “special forces” around the world. ( Al Qaeda, rebel forces who fought in Liberia and Sierra Leone, the list goes on). Big deal? Not unless he’s looking for some fighters to save his Libyan butt from riots in his own country.

Here’s how he works: He trains you. He sends you in to start some conflict in a country. You set up the government and are permanently indebted to him. He needs some support, you give it. After all, he owns you. Let’s apply this to Liberia just for fun. Let’s say that during the civil wars in Liberia, the special forces (I like to think of them as high ranking rebels) were trained on Libyan territory. They go in and do what they do best (wreak some havoc) and in the end are promised a reward by the leaders who “employed” them to fight (which they were). Let’s say they never got this reward and fell under the radar during the reintegration process (which they did). So we’ve got Libyan trained Liberian “special forces” wandering the city with no real job skills, who are angry because they have yet to receive what they thought they would years ago. Neglected by the bad, the good and the international. Excellent. In the words of Johnson (local Liberian NGO worker) who enlightened me on this topic: “No one pays for that kind of skill.” Except Qaddafi. Johnson's argument was that if Qaddafi owns them, then there would be no hesitation on the part of these special forces to come running if Gaddafi calls. “He’s the big brother of Africa. You do what he says.” What if he doesn’t call them? “They could start something here out of spite.” That’s what scares locals like Johnson the most. The big brother made promises he didn’t keep and these highly trained special forces have one skill; bringing on violence. “You want his attention. You get it doing what he taught you to do.” So, 1. They go to Qaddafi’s aid in Libya. 2. They join the madness in Ivory Coast. 3. They rally up some old buddies and put their training to use in their home country because they were never reintegrated properly and are wandering around angry. All winning options…if you’re them. Maybe they’ll just continue to wander around jobless and not cause any trouble. Research topic change? Absolutely. I'm snatching up Johnson’s number and we’re chatting about this more.

Great work Qaddafi, thanks for nothing. I liked you better when you brought your own sleeping accommodation to New York and literally set up camp on D. Trump property. You won me over when in response to your choice of accommodation you replied: “that’s how I roll.” Just don’t “roll” your trouble into Liberia. That goes for you too, Ivory Coast.

Sabas Town

I wish I could say the drive on the way back from the countryside was uneventful. Or even that it was the expected 8 ½ hours, but it wasn’t.

Because Ben left us days before, Philip and I could split up and each ride in a different jeep. Of course I enjoy your company Philip, but the bounty hunters in jeep 2 convinced me that riding with them was way cooler than riding in jeep 1. I mean heck I rode in that one on the way here and wanted to mix it up and experience the driving skills Moses had to offer. Woot woot, jeep 2. We’re off, jeep 1 takes the lead. See you later Philip! Moses rushes the team at the water stop because it’s already almost 2pm and we need to get to Buchanan before dark (5 hours away). The roads to Buchanan are not pleasant to maneuver through, even in daylight so bumping along in the dark is not an option in his mind. Estimate arrival time in Monrovia: 10pm.

2 hours in. Moses is a good driver, he knows how to work these roads and definitely knows the area. He likes keeping the conversation in the jeep going even if he’s the only one talking. He knows someone in every town and announces each county we enter. With no marker in site…“Welcome to Rivercess!” How do you know? We’re in the jungle. As we trek up the beginnings of a wooden planked bridge we feel the tires lose grip and we slide around. A bridge is not a good place to do this, but hey it’s Moses, we’re good. Everyone notices and a conversation on the quality of the tires (they are complete crap) begins. This UNHCR borrowed vehicle is a disaster. 3 or 4 tires have no grip. We move forward and in 15 min a tire blows. “Shhhhiiii, man-o bad tires.” We all hop out near one hut and wait as they change the tire with the spare on the back. Commence rain fall. “AWWW see this tire is no good too!” He points to the patches and punctures. Great. One spare and it’s almost as bad as the flat. Put it on and “by the grace of God we get to somewhere with tires.”

“Don’t bounce hard-o. take time yea? This blows and we walk.” Moses is worried. This tire is in rough shape as it is and we have narly road ahead. On top of which we’re racing the daylight. “Hey! Take time!” Lawrence is the one paying closest attention to the tire. “I have no fear. It either make it or not.” Oh Moses, I’m glad you have confidence. Boom! Same tire, flat. We’re screwed and we all know it. No spare, no service and no town close. It’s dusk. Crap. We all hope out again. Moses takes two guys and they start walking. They need to flag down a motorbike to carry the tire to town. We remove the tire and sit in the road to wait. Kelvin wonders off into the trees trying to find cell service (not happening homie). Brinys you feel bad about the tire? (as in am I worried). I'm too focused on where were going to sleep if we can’t make it back. Worried? No. Focused on back up plans. “Philip wouldn’t leave you yea? He can’t go to Monrovia without you.” I’m sure he would think that if he knew what has happened, but we can’t call him. Jeep 1 is trekking along.

If Bounty Hunter, Yamah was in this jeep I bet she wouldn't be lovin' IPA right now. It did make us know Liberia. In the hitchhiking sense.

“We might walk it, Briny—that ok?” How far we talking here? In reality if we have to I will. End of story. 3 hour walk to the closest town. Ok. 20 more min pass. One last attempt, cars are wizzing by like mad and we need to slow them down. Throw things in the road. Done. UN vehicle, heyyyyyyyyyyyy, what’s up Nigerian police force. “What happen to your car?” Two tires blown. We get them to ferry us to town with one tire, while Moses comes on a bike and collects the second tire. 20 min later we’re there. We can’t fix these. No one has any money. Ummmmm I have IPA allotted funds for this trip. Luckily I’ve used none of it yet. Done! Definition of IPA expense right here. Despite the fact that I’m stranded with them, Lawrence admits that if I were in jeep 1, they could not get home. Period. Let’s write up some expense receipts. Description for expense: these tires are worthless pieces of crap! Next goal. Call Philip. I’m the only one with money on my phone so bounty hunter, Helen and I wander off to find service. “You have to climb the wood tower two flights up and face to the left. Maybe you get some.” Helen: “really? Ok le’ go”” Thank you Liberia. You make everything so easy. Off we go. Helen: Hey! How you call the town?! Sabas town-o! ok. Up we go. We fill jeep 1 in on our situation. They’re in Buchanan and will wait. Fine. Helen, let’s eat. Briny buys. Bush meat, again. What is it? Who knows, again. 3 hours pass filled with many conversations about briny and her marriage status, why she choose Liberia and her Liberian English skills. Let’s move on. It’s dark and we’re two hours outside Buchanan, 5 outside Monrovia. Tires fixed. 5 min in, tire wabbly. Change to spare. Son of a…..

We reach Buchanan at 10pm. Jeep 1 is not there.They are in Monrovia. Turns out they didn’t wait. Moses, don't fall asleep on me buddy.Monrovia arrival time: 1am. All exhausted and in slight disbelief about how the day turned out. Happy we aren’t sleeping in the Bush tonight. Home at last. 7 am, up for work.

Ps--This experience landed me a Liberian name: Bendu: said Binu (Liberian version of Binta—my Gambian name).

The Two HQ's

“Brinys! Ready for the bush-o?!” So ready. So ready for the 8 ½ hour jeep ride on the finest roads Liberia has to offer. Headlamp, check. Passport for checkpoints, check. Chlorine, check. Pepto and wipes, check. 2 jeeps and 5 bikes full of our finest surveyors and we’re off. 4 hours of rough riding and a cracked windshield later and we pop in to the last town with “good” food. Into the hut we go for some bush meat, served in bowls with rice that I share with two surveyors. This place is like a dirt sauna with blazing hot food, great combination. “How you like the food?” What is the meat? Shrug. “It’s just bush meat.” Rat? Ben answers from the other end of the hut: “too big for that.” Monkey? Philip: “no, not. I’ve had that.” Ok, I’ll just eat it then. They get a second bowl and we eat up because, “you need to get big. Bush meat make you big.” What’s going to be big is the stomachache I’m going to have when this is all over. I can do this. Digestion of steel, in theory.

Onward! “Man I love IPA, they makin’ me know Liberia.” I realize that many of the surveyors are from the city and haven’t seen much of what we’re seeing. 3 more hours of being tossed around in the back of the jeep, 3 instances of the jeep almost tipping over and they say: “This is Liberia, too. You ok Brinys?” That was my first time hydroplaning on mud, but I’m in the front seat with a seatbelt, so I’m excellent. Are you? Much of their comments about how “this is Liberia, too” came in a tone of surprise. Some of them are experiencing this with me and in some cases I knew more about what we were getting into, at least in terms of the roads. Only one more hour to go.

Success. We’ve made it. Finding a guesthouse wasn’t as easy. We arrived on Valentine’s Night and Camella, who we sent ahead to prepare everything, says finding somewhere for tonight has been hard. “Love is in the air.” You mean prostitution’s in the air? “Hahaha Briny, yes.” We finally find somewhere acceptable (i.e. with mattresses) and decide to set up headquarters for the next two weeks. 7 am meet at HQ and let the tracking begin. From 7-9am we get them prepped, debriefed and sent off to find and survey the ex-coms. 6:30-midnight we take all their data, sync it, load it, talk about problems and update everything. Charge and repeat. Within 3 days we have a system that works and in the middle of the days we stick around HQ and keep track of progress. Except for when 2 teams decided they would essentially draw straws on who takes Brinys out for the day. Where’s my sunscreen? Let’s go!

Once we have a break, Philip, Ben and I go eat at Make Fire. You yell this when you pull back the curtain and enter so he knows you’re there. He also goes by the name Make Fire. Guess what he does. This is the staple place of our diet for all three meals, everyday--our HQ. Dirt floor, metal roof, wood bench. Menu- Tea, Bread, Bread and Egg, Spaghetti. What else do you need really? A clogged artery, perhaps. All of this is covered in oil, thrown into a plastic bowl and served with a side of mayonnaise. The tea is actually tea with a ton of condensed milk. Washed? Maybe. Good thing I brought Pepto. I love me some Make Fire.

Every night is a hectic recap of the surveyors’ day. I went to three towns to find them (dang).They died (oh, dang). My PDA stopped working (ughhhhh). I have three guys who say they are the same guy (no, they are not all Patrick). We should announce their names on the radio (we did, twice). Who gets the phones? (ex-combatants who were in the control group. I quizzed you on this!). Did you give that respondent a phone? Yea. Where’s the tracking sheet? He had it (what are you, 5?). I need to keep track of 1000 phones and sims here, try and find the sheet…please.

12 hr days of finding people is rough, but kudos to them. They’re doing it and doing it well. We trust them to know what needs to be done to find these people. Working into late hours of the night to bring everything in and smooth out all the kinks is rough too, but worth it. When this HQ is cleared, all we need is a trip to our HQ again. Make Fire! One tea-o!

They function so well that we move on early. Back to the Monrovia tomorrow, leaving a team behind to function on their own. The other six teams head back with us and break off to other counties. The bounty hunting continues, but this time without Brinys. I think.

A New Problem

As mentioned before I live in downtown Monrovia, which is walking distance from Mamba Point. Mamba Point, where all the Western government and UN employees hang out. It’s the money of the city and presumably very nice. I finally decided to go into Mamba with a friend who works over there and experience what I knew was going to be the quintessential expat lifestyle. We go to a hotel restaurant and sit on the balcony facing the ocean. We order overpriced western food, of which I still managed to get really cheap and enjoy pretty good service surrounded by high profile expats. Feel like a colonialist yet? “Hey at least were not sitting where those guys are.” Ahead of us on the white, ocean breezy balcony are 5 tank top wearing, beer drinking, from the south without a doubt Americans sitting in the perfect viewing seats that both look over the ocean and at the poverty stricken locals walking down below.

We couldn’t help but assess every single group of people sitting around us. Sipping their imported drinks and eating $20 sandwiches. Hypocrite I know, but I had a local beer and a $7 sandwich. “I wonder what they all do here?” My friend and I confirm that the group next to us is UN of some sort, US Aid across the way and the loud southerners…”here for the oil, I bet.” Usually I would discredit my own statement as a joke, but him and I both know that the newest billboard in Monrovia says; “A New Day for Liberia: drilling oil in early 2011.” HA HA. Just what they need I’m sure. A new day huh? More like a new problem. Diamonds, gold, rubber…let’s throw oil into the mix and see how that goes. I can’t wait for that nightmare to begin.

“Soak it up, you’re going to the bush.” Despite our 1.30 hr judgment of the society sitting around us, the thing that makes me the most uncomfortable about being surrounded by this kind of colonial society, is that I am quite comfortable. It almost bothers me that I’m not bothered by them. Almost. The way they conduct themselves has its flaws, of course, but I will still enjoy the amenities they offer. Not too often naturally given that I am now in the Bush, where no such amenities are offered, but I like that too.

Bounty Hunters

It’s official. I am leaving with two of the guys in my group (Philip and Ben) to the countryside, known as the Bush, in less than 24 hours. I’ve spent all week learning this ex-combatant reintegration survey we’re running inside and out…now I know why. IPA has chosen 28 of there best local Liberian surveyors to come out with us and evaluate whether what Landmine Action (the NGO implementing the program) chose to do with the ex-combatants in these rural areas worked or didn't.

I channeled my inner high school teacher this morning and gave out a quiz to all the surveyors on the 60+ page survey that they also need to know in their sleep. Just for fun I’m going to throw out a question I gave to them. What are 3 main tasks of the surveyor? Build a good relationship with the respondent (yeah, yeah), conduct the interview (no kidding) and track down the respondent. Track as in they may not be where they say they are or where they were last time so take a motorbike, a truck, or just yourself and find them. This is their most important job, You don’t track them down you can’t evaluate them.

Surveyor question: What if they’ve left the country for Ivory Coast?
IPA answer: we’re not sending you outside the country so don’t worry.

Personal thought: if they’ve let for the Ivory Coast then we know whether the reintegration program worked or not then…I’m going to go with didn’t work for now.

Either way if part of what we’re asking these surveyors to do is trek around different far off villages and find these ex-combatants, and they have successfully surveyed for IPA before, then I’m thinking they have pretty decent bounty hunter skills.

So off Philip and I go with 28 of these rockstar surveyors for at least 1 week, possibly 2 and Ben will hop in some form of air transport and meet us early in the week. Catch up with you when I return.

Destination: Old Road

Let’s run through my first 2 days of work. Monday, after 2 days of hibernation, my director picks me up at 8am outside the Stop & Shop, yes that’s where I live, and begins to instruct me on how to get to work from now on. The office, of course is way on the other side of town (where they all live, naturally) and the commute can be quite difficult. “Do you drive stick?” No. “oh we’ll you’ll learn.” Great. Yea, let’s tack on “learning how to drive stick in a run down SUV on the fantastic streets of Liberia” to my list of things to do right now. That has not taken place yet..

So as we’re driving she points out where I will need to go to catch taxis and what I need to say/the hand signals I need to make to get where I need to go. Hand signals are very important. Where the office is located requires that I make the “one” hand signal, yes as in point your figure up. As a side note: I live so far from the office that sticking my finger up on this side of town means nothing. I need to catch a taxi into the neighborhood (Sinkor) first (25 min), get out somewhere in Sinkor and then stick my finger up for an Old Road taxi. Get out somewhere on Old Road and walk it (40 min total, maybe). Then, you pretty much do the same thing on the way back.

Clear? Not so much right? Who’s stoked for the next morning? Me.

Tuesday: 8am Ok game time--wave down a taxi. Yes! “Goin’ to Sinkor.” There’s some mumbling mixed with a “yea, yea” as I hop in and this man drives off while I’m still not quite in. So far, doing good. Second side note: shared taxis are what I need because they are cheap, since the driver crams as many people as possible in one tiny car. I’ll give you a minute to imagine that smell. Liberians aren’t keen on the big D.O. for the B.O.

I recognize how much each person seems to hand the driver, so I don’t get the “expat” price and by the time I recognize that we’re within Sinkor I lean forward from the middle seat: “So I need Old Road, where do I go?” The entire car answers me. “You know the hand signal? In town that don’t work, but you get out…oh! See that man? He do hand signal. The next ten minutes are all about 5 people waving their “one” signal in my face. “Don’t turn your finger at all, that’s the signal for AF.” Awesome, I turn my finger out of momentary laziness and I end up at the random air field in Monrovia. Let’s not do that. Where do I get out? “Oh, we tell you.” Taxi pulls over. “Go, go that’s an Old Road Taxi. Give her the change man!”

I jog to the next rose scented sardine can on wheels and tell them, I need Keyhole. Which is the specific area I need on Old Road. How I remembered this, I don’t know. The guy in the front says “don’t worry I go to same place, you don’t remember me?” (Are you kidding me home boy? No, no I don’t). Despite my hesitation he does get out right where I need to be. You’re are awesome, man! (My bad, you’re in the workshop we’re running). 5 min walk later and we’re there. Success. Let’s not do that again. Dang, I have to get home, which was not at all the same. “200 to get in town.” Ummmm hahaha no, I’ll give you 60, 200, no. What do I look like to you? Oh, yea- an expat.

P.S. survival questions continued. You like camping? Bugs? I can handle both. “Good because we might send you into the jungle with the boys at the end of the week.” More on that later.

So it begins...

"We just throw you over the fence and see if you can make it home on your own." About an hour into my time here in Liberia this is what a fellow expat tells me over dinner. 24 1/2 hours of travelling with little to no sleep and this is exactly what I want to be talking about, my ability to survive. Granted the night went exactly as I thought it might. I get off the plane, hop in the UNHCR borrowed vehicle and immediately get a phone call: "Welcome to Liberia! Have the driver bring you to dinner." 

By the end of the night, the entire IPA office was there to meet me/watch me struggle to stay awake at the table. At some point, fries were brought to the table. I'm using the terms fries here because they we cut up and fried, but whether they were actually any vegetable that I had ever seen is yet to be determined. 

Alot of the time was spent talking about a new project IPA is looking in to starting....and what exactly the Monterey Institute does over this internship period. Shoot, give me an opportunity to talk about the Monterey Institute over a plate of mystery fries and it's bound to be a good time. My director and I went back and forth for awhile over the "uniqueness" of the choosing process. She didn't choose me to begin with, I was offered up to her. She had many others to choose from, just none from MIIS. Not receiving a long list of people was foreign to her. I didn't choose them to begin with, I was given to them. So neither one of us chose the other, but hey "we're happy you're here now!" Thanks...

After too many minutes talking about the choosing of interns, they move on. "What happens if an org rejects the intern?" In theory we have back ups, but I didn't have those. You take me or I stay in Monterey. "Oh don't worry, if you can't hack it, we'll still send you home. There's plenty of time for that." I hate to break it to you buddy, but if this doesn't suit me, I'm sending myself home. Speaking of home...I've been up for 28 hours now, take me to my apartment. I need to rest for the coming months of free slave labor you'll be putting me through. Free on your end of course, not mine.

oh and by the way, if you threw me over that fence, I'd so make it home on my own.