8 Days A Week

If there were 8 days a week, we’d be working all of them right now (queue Beetles song). This last week set the pace for the rest of my time here in lovely Liberia. The phrase “burning the candle at both ends,” comes to mind. Actually, we’re burning the candle, period. If it could be burnt on both ends and in the middle, that’s what we’d be doing. Tight deadlines with limited resources tend to push you as far as possible. Someone may end up throwing a computer out the window, but hey if it makes you feel better, throw away, my friend.

Saturday--9:30am: hail a golden chariot to the office

10:15am: in the office—after a call to the roommate, it’s concluded that I’ve lost my thumb drive with all the work I’d done the previous night in that golden chariot (way to start the day off right).

10:20am: get survey files from Tricia and begin redo of the lost work. Estimated time: 5 hours. 5 hours of which I need to do new survey work and accounting codes. I’m already loving this day.

2:00pm: Helen, Phil and Ben (BAM or Ben jammin’. Not Ben who went to the Bush) arrive.

5:00pm: Switch from survey work to accounting work with Ben jammin’. Helen’s taken to dancing around the balcony, a sure sign that work time needs to end. “I gotta get outta here.” Can’t do anymore survey work, must leave. Do we leave? No, no we do not. Tricia, Helen and I agree (reluctantly) that we need to finish this stuff tonight. We don’t want to work Sunday (ha!). 2 more hours (Fine, if there’s food). Let’s get this done.

7:00pm: Done? Yea, with half of it. Tricia writes variable names, skips and makes sure everything is perfect, Phil writes the programming code, I turn it into paper, Helen checks it for errors so she can prep for training (Bounty Hunters in the Hood to come). 4 people, 1 survey. 1 change and all 4 have to be updated. Nightmare. Sure, I’ve looked at this survey section 6 times, but it’s not perfect yet. The 7th time’s the charm, maybe. Ben jammin’ meanwhile fights with accounting errors. Maybe if you ask nicely that accounting program will download within the hour.

9:00pm: Helen’s out. Her job hinders on me being done (and I’m not). Break free while you can!

9:30pm: Ben jammin’, I think we’ve lost our weight in sweat. My eyes can’t read these column coordinates anymore and if the power keeps cutting in and out one of us may have an aneurism. "Why is October spelt 5 different ways in this accounting file!?” I can only think of three ways…

10:15pm: I've now begun laughing at random. “I’m out of here at 10.” It’s after 10, Ben jammin’. “We’re leaving.”

10:30pm: Come home to find my thumb drive on my dresser in my room. What a way to end the day.

Finished it on Sunday. Bring on Monday.

Going Native

Have I mentioned that I currently live with somewhat of a legend? Since day one, I say his name pretty much anywhere and I get “oh you live with him??” So you know him? “Well no, but I know of him.“ When I was still fresh off the plane I would get “This is Brittany,” followed by my roommate’s name. What’s up with mentioning who I live with? “He’s like a legend here.” That of course did nothing for my newbee reputation at the time. Darn. After 5 min of interrogating him, he laughs and says “well yea, I guess if the expiration date of an expat is 1.5-2 years max, being here for 3 years makes me something.” You mean, other than nuts?

There’s a reason behind the expiration date. 1 ½ to 2 years gives you enough time to settle in, figure things out and get your job done effectively (your boss Stateside or in Europe doesn’t need you going native either). Scratch that, both done and effectively may be taking it a bit far. The 2 years is nothing in comparison to the amount of work that needs to get done. Yea, you may be really effective in the 2 years you are here, but then someone else comes in, does it how they see fit and changes everything up. Doesn’t sound too effective to me. If I were the local staff, I’d be pissed. You’re going to come in here and do everything your way because you think it’s better? It was fine before! Who the heck are you? Oh right, the new boss. The 3rd one in 6 years. Great. Ugh white people. Siding with the local staff? A bit. Don’t worry it’ll subside. Expat bosses wouldn’t need to be cycled in and out if a local could do what expats do ( yes, I said that). It’s true. Going native? Heck no. This is Liberia. I couldn’t truly fit in, even if I wanted to (and I don’t). Have you seen me? Not happening.I could get a Liberian wardrobe, eat palm butter everyday (clog an artery), speak perfect Liberian English and still would not be native.

So, the whole “they might go native while they're here,” reason behind the 2 year expiration date—I reject that. 2 year expiration date, due to your mental health? Now, that I could get behind.

Bendu out.

Keeping up with the Jones's

Friendships here are a funny thing. The entire expat community is based on a hierarchy of how long you have been in the current country. The second you meet someone new, you spout out how long you’ve been here and where you work. Josh, 10 months, Carter Center program coordinator. Mike, 7 months, Oxfam. Three months or less and you’re still fresh (even though 3 months feels like an eternity to most). If you can still express how long you’ve been here in terms of weeks, just give up now. Newbee. There’s a great chance that you’ll say something that annoys the “veterans” near you, so just do yourself a favor and don’t have an opinion until you’re deemed worthy. “Oh you mean Mercy Corps Sean? That dude, I don’t talk to him.” Not yet you don’t. Did he say something too flowery for you? Awe, does he think he’s going to solve poverty? Shucks. Don’t worry, Sean. I’m sure there’s someone newer coming in on the 5:30 flight tonight.

I’m about ready to silk screen my CV on my shirt and get introductions out of the way. I’ll give you 2 min to look my credentials over and then we can get on to having an actual conversation. At least that’ll save me from 15 minutes of getting “sized up,” so to speak.

“Actual conversation”
-So I was just in Kenya for 3 weeks. You have to go there, it’s amazing!
-I know! I did some work there. In a month I’m off to Ghana, then ugh back to civilization for a bit (did I hear that right?)
-ew. For how long? (ew?)
-A week, I know, but then I’m back here in Liberia, before heading to Zambia. So it won’t be too bad. (It’s a miracle that I’m not laughing)
-oh yea I have a friend in Zambia, I think I’ll take holiday there before relocating to Mozambique ( …I get it! We’re competing)

Someone should have told me. I was too distracted by your seemingly blow dried hair to notice that this was “keeping up with the Jones’s: Expat style.” On the back of my CV shirt I’ll just list off where I’ve been (in alphabetical order for extra brownie points) and end it with how much I detest civilization with something like “ hot showers are for babies.” While you ramble on about how disgusted you are by proper amenities, I’m still stuck on the fact that you have a blow dryer. By the way, your friend from the UN over there is complaining about the fleet of new cars they just got. Him and I should chat. Do they have good tires? I bet they’d get you to the bush and back. How nice.

Be Like Botswana

Tea, George Michael, Paul Collier and a rainstorm: all the things that make a beautiful start to a weekend. I met up with Julian last night and every time we get together it becomes an academic geek fest, coupled with hours of judging the surrounding society (oil hungry southerners, yea Julian and I). “Hey did you go to Paul Collier’s talk on Monday?” No. I didn’t. I was busy loading up on antibiotics. I did know he was in town though and knew it would be broadcast over the radio. So, I do know what was said. As a precursor: I do not view post conflict development from an economic lens. Yea you need it. Yea money is good, but if you take the needs of a people and filter them only through economics, you’re an idiot. Did I just call Paul Collier an idiot? Not directly. I wouldn’t do that. Collier literally told the Ministry of Finance what to do. He also added insult to injury by waving his finger while speaking (in case you were wondering). “Yea! He turned away from the audience, toward the minister and lectured him on what to do in Liberia.” Inappropriate in front of hundreds of Liberians? Most definitely.

He continued to go on and on about how resources in a country are key for development. “I think he either forgot where is was or just didn’t care.” You’re honesty going to talk about how diamonds can save a country in a country where diamonds helped do just the opposite? Well, he did just that. I was offended, and I was only listening to it over the radio. Apparently the Minister of Finance took this verbal beating like a champion though. Kudos to him. To Collier’s credit (not really) he gave one example of success; Botswana. Opinion: This is typical Collier to me. I don’t know him obviously, but I willing to make this generalization. It seems to be his style to say something that may have a kernel of truth to it (resources fuel development), site one, maybe two success stories (which means nothing!) and run with it. No, I’m sorry Sir, that’s not how theories work (miss that day in school, did we?). Every moment he spent talking about how Liberia has gold, diamonds and soon oil, was like a stab in the side of the entire audience. Liberians were flustered and expats were in shock. “Botswana was such a success story.” Shut up about Botswana, man. We get it. You think every nation that has these resources should be Botswana. Julian: “the next thing I know he’s going to site Saudi Arabia as a successful oil state.” Well people recognize them. “Yea, because they bought their legitimacy with oil!” Come on Liberia you have oil, be Saudi Arabia. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Ok fine. The resources here could be an asset, but to make that statement and lecture the Minister of Finance as if the entire resource and war history of Liberia doesn’t come into play, is obscene. Julian and I agree on a phrase that captures his talk: How dare he. At least he raised my blood pressure a bit. Good thing George Michael was playing on the projector in the restaurant. His faith album lightens any mood, even when walking home on flooded muddy streets.

My Chinese Woman

So as previously stated, I am back from the bush after long hours of bounty hunter check ups, days of oil covered mayo layered, egg and bread and not one, but two decently noteworthy jeep rides, to and from Monrovia. What I didn’t mention was that the wonderful walls of Make Fire left me with a souvenir; a pretty significant scratch (borderline cut if you will) on my elbow. Nothing to fret over. I bandaged it and moved on with the rest of the week in the bush. Flash forward to a week and a half later and my slightly obsessive desire to pick at it led to a small (in my opinion) infection. By Sunday the need for me to get it taken care of was apparent and my first thought was: well heck if I have something sharp and sterile, coupled with some rubbing alcohol and a band aid this problem would not be a problem.

My roommate, who’s lived in Liberia for years, has no such materials in the apartment (what!? Who are you? Really). “I have Neosporin.” No, that will not do anything to the swollen,infected, angry wound on my elbow. I need to attack this thing with conviction and you have Neosporin, failure. This is a particularly perplexing issue simply because it’s Sunday and nothing is open. Nothing. Crap. So I wake up in the morning and head to what he deems the best clinic in Monroivia. Health care here is touch and go and sporadic in terms of services. You need to know what you need and choose the right one for that need. For me- “The Chinese Clinic that's 2 blocks from here.” Good. Email my director and tell her I’ll be late on Monday. This needs to be dealt with. It’s not too good at this point. I mosey down there and come to find that the doctor’s on vacation. “You should go to the one in Sinkor. His sister is the doctor there.” Fine. Onward. Because of the fact that I am already 45 min late, I head to work and tell my director what’s going on. She didn’t read my email (no biggie), but she sends a local staff member with me to the Chinese clinic. “Your job is to make sure Brittany get’s taken care of today.” Le’ go, Camelia!

We stumble into Chinese clinic number 2 and I explain the mess that is my infected elbow. Here’s what I wanted: cut it open, drain it, clean it and bandage it (with some possible antibiotics on the side, since it’s spread a bit). Here’s what she does: Takes my temperature (typical), Takes my blood pressure (oh it’s low, great) and the prescribes what I need. “Ok I give you injection, some pills and a cream and it be ok.” No, why aren’t we cleaning it out? Drain it. Come on look at it. It wants to be drained. “No, we no need.” Ughhhhh woman. “You take injections and pills and rub cream and it be ok in 3 days.” Yea, you said that. Ok fine. I know the antibiotics are legitimate, because I’ve heard of them before, so I’m good there…despite the fact that the rest of the box is in Chinese. The cream (also in Chinese) is clearly explained with pictures on the box. Good to go there. The injections are another form of the antibiotic. Clean needle, you bet I checked that. Camelia leaves the room after her “You’re butt is going to hurt for days” comment and says she’ll come back after the needle part. Bring it on. I return to the office sore and medicated and coworker Helen tells me that Ben has an infection in the countryside and is “going under the knife for it today.” Dang it! I wanted that! Unfair. He also has a bad fever that knocked him out for days. Mine wasn’t too bad yet. “Oh and Philip is heading back, he has a bad fever too.” The original bush team is just doing spectacular right now. All three, down for the count.

Day two: Head back to the clinic for the second round. She notices that my wound is extra angry today and has begun oozing. Cooooooool. Drain it! It’s better in terms of swelling, yes, but please OPEN IT! She agrees that there is something in there and it needs to come out (you think?). “It may be mango fly. They burry in after bite.” No, it’s not a bite, but hey if it means you’re going to get serious with your little tool kit, sure it’s a fly. Next 35 min: ouch. At least Ben got some kind of anesthetic when they dealt with his. Despite the large hole she’s now created in my elbow, I am relieved that it’s cleaned out. Shot two. Other side please. I’m sore over there still. I slowly walk to a taxi and get to the office. Ben’s there and we swap stories. I am weak and in pain from the meds and draining session and he can barely walk. Philip is back and is sent in for a malaria test. Those are another tricky thing to get done right. “We need a clinic with the right test.” Two tests are available: the finger prick and the machine. We cacus about it and talk about where the staff has gone before for malaria. Calls are made and we find a machine. Go, Phil, go.

Day three: Ben calls: “is your doctor for real?” Yea. “She has a legit medical education and you think she knows her stuff?” Yea, I mean I’m exhausted, but it’s been 2 days and it’s on its way to healed, like she said. My Chinese woman knows what she’s doing. “I’m coming with you. Let’s get some injections.” Yes, let’s. She looks at it and it’s doing great. She gives it one more splash of alcohol, a swab and I’m ready for injection number 3. I tell her about Ben and how we have the exact same thing, but they cut his open much sooner. “Oh it is also mango fly, yes?” Sure. “Brittany, let’s get some injections.” His hole is bigger and needs more days, but he gets the same treatment and is still going back. Thursday- I finish the antibiotics and just have a band aid to cover the still healing hole. Philip has malaria and is on the meds. Ben is getting better, but still has trouble moving…and we’re all still at work. I’m first to the finish line, but they aren’t far behind. Health care in Liberia, you take a group effort. Shout out to the clinic I chose and my Chinese doc. You are much appreciated.

PS: I now own rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. I will not be repeating this experience.