Six weeks, it took to get an electricity connection in my new apartment. Six weeks to get a connection that, without fail will go out during a rain storm (it rains almost every night), will go out at random throughout the day and that is so unstable in terms of voltage, that anything worth anything needs to be plugged in through a stabilizer. (Did my fan short out AGAIN?) Six weeks of : We need light. “Yea, 2 weeks.” 2 weeks later: Hi we need light now. “Yea you didn’t pay” (lies). Yea, yea we did (twice actually). “Well we can do it for you for something small (a bribe).” I’ve given you that (TWICE) how about you do it now. 5 weeks: it takes 3 people, 5 days in a row to go to the company office and sit there until they come to my place. One week and many struggles later (no, no more small things for you!) and we have a connection…that shorts out within an hour. Julian: it shouldn’t be making that popping sound. No breakers are installed in the apartment (say it with me: fire hazard) and we get those put in. All is well after a battle with a contractor over the idea that when you say “we’re friends, now” it means that you give us a deal, not that we pay you twice as much. We’re not friends anymore. Thanks so much, leave now.
I was content with my little unstable electric connection, until I woke in the middle of the night to my fan no longer blowing on me. It’s truly amazing how a fan and the slightest bit of perspiration can cool you down (it’s a beautiful combination). Fan not blowing=electricity off, but it’ll come back in a couple hours. It didn’t. We come to discover, through the lovely help of my neighbors, that my electricity cable has been stolen. It was stolen from off the top of a 3-story building guarded by guards, a cement wall and barbed wire. Hey guards, what the heck? Now my cable is being thrown in a pipe and secured in a cement trench, in which my neighbor’s cable sits. Try stealing that, suckers. (no but really, don’t). Now we get to have the sketchy electricians come back and do it all over. If you say “2 weeks” or “something small” to me one more time, we’re definitely not friends anymore. Thanks for letting me enjoy electricity for at least a week.
On top of which we’re back to “8 days a week” at the office. Back to losing my weight in sweat, reading and changing survey sections (the 7th time is still the charm), and going to sleep thinking of survey answer skips. If yes, SKIP TO IN067. If they don’t use one of these 7 weapon choices, SKIP TO other.
When I have weeks (or months) like these I put in my headphones (or just step outside) and listen to a very popular song here. “I Love My Life.” Never fails to make me laugh. I don’t have light (I love my life). I don’t have water (I love my life). I’m in Liberia (I love my life). At least that’s how my version goes.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
M.I.T
The education system is a slowly improving institution in Liberia and one of the popular reasons for aid workers to come and take part in “building capacity” here. How nice of you, you American high school teacher, to come to Liberia and fix the school system. You know better. You teach in Massachusetts and obviously know how a proper school should run. “My students go to MIT when they graduate.” Of course they do. You’re teaching in an upper class, privileged neighborhood where the kids get every ounce of guidance they need. Your job is easy. “What’s wrong with these Liberians? These kids just don’t compare.” I’m five seconds from turning around and throwing my tonic in your face.
These kids are growing up in a country that went through 2 civil wars that destroyed the country’s infrastructure and tore apart their families. Let’s forget about that for now. Let’s also forget about the fact it’s hard enough to get Liberians in school seats. Sitting in school earns 0 Liberian Dollars a day, while selling plantains on the street can feed your baby sister for the day. Instead, let’s assume that none of that has anything to do with the capacity of Liberian students (wouldn’t that be nice) and assume that they just learn differently than other students. How about you do your job as a teacher and actually figure out how the students learn and teach in that fashion? How typical of you to come in with your “one way is the write way” mindset and blame it on the children when it doesn’t turn into X suburbia high over night. Not every school has the funding or support of an affluent community (like mine). Sometimes getting students to understand the material, like you at the end of the year and decide that getting a degree at any level is better than drugs or a gun (have you seen a weapon at your little prep school?), means more than an entire school going to MIT.
Take some pride in your job and do what your title implies; teach. Take responsibility for your students and stop blaming them for your inability to understand how they learn best. By the way—giving Liberians books and buying them new desks does not mean crap. They have to be able to read the books. You put them in shinny new uniforms and given them all a box of pencils and then blame them for not meeting your prep school American standards. Do yourself a favor and find a job you actually enjoy. I bet you became a teacher for the summers off. Go back to Massachusetts, fool.
These kids are growing up in a country that went through 2 civil wars that destroyed the country’s infrastructure and tore apart their families. Let’s forget about that for now. Let’s also forget about the fact it’s hard enough to get Liberians in school seats. Sitting in school earns 0 Liberian Dollars a day, while selling plantains on the street can feed your baby sister for the day. Instead, let’s assume that none of that has anything to do with the capacity of Liberian students (wouldn’t that be nice) and assume that they just learn differently than other students. How about you do your job as a teacher and actually figure out how the students learn and teach in that fashion? How typical of you to come in with your “one way is the write way” mindset and blame it on the children when it doesn’t turn into X suburbia high over night. Not every school has the funding or support of an affluent community (like mine). Sometimes getting students to understand the material, like you at the end of the year and decide that getting a degree at any level is better than drugs or a gun (have you seen a weapon at your little prep school?), means more than an entire school going to MIT.
Take some pride in your job and do what your title implies; teach. Take responsibility for your students and stop blaming them for your inability to understand how they learn best. By the way—giving Liberians books and buying them new desks does not mean crap. They have to be able to read the books. You put them in shinny new uniforms and given them all a box of pencils and then blame them for not meeting your prep school American standards. Do yourself a favor and find a job you actually enjoy. I bet you became a teacher for the summers off. Go back to Massachusetts, fool.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Beat into Submission
I have a pretty set routine here. My days begin and end in the same way with some unexpected exceptions (bush breakdowns, tracking ex-coms, health issues ect) in between. For a while it was all surprising. Every experience was a new learning experience and would prepare me for the next. A bit of excitement and slight fear would come with most experiences simply because learning to survive here is less of an “ease in to it” process and much more like shock therapy. Many different researchers and organizations alike, openly admit that Liberia is without a doubt the most difficult place they’ve worked in. Even though I was living here I believed that and didn’t at the same time. Logistics are impossible here, technology is consistently touch and go and even though the rest of Africa has a rising middle class investing in the growth or their respective counties, Liberia is at the bottom with 4.8% of the population being middle class. Liberia is a rough place.
The earlier experiences coupled with excitement and fear have officially faded. I am no longer surprised or shocked at the inner workings, or lack of working in Liberia. Explaining instructions to staff 6 times. Waiting 3 weeks for electricity when they said “we’ll do it tomorrow.” Knowing full well that a bribe could solve this problem. Knowing that one bribe is not enough, being dirty and sweaty everyday all the time and accepting it. Accepting that walking for 3 hours out of this jungle is the only way out. Knowing that every job (even getting your passport picture done on the street) will be a battle.
What scares me the most about all of this is that it’s no longer new. I am, for the most part, used to it all. When you say I can do it in 2 hours, it will take 4 and I’m used to that. I’m used to bartering for everything. Convincing the store owner, the motorbike driver, the electrician, the cell phone company and even our bounty hunters that X thing does not cost that much. I know it, you know it and we can spend 30 minutes arguing about this until you either take the amount we all know it costs, or I just walk away from you. You want to laugh and pretend to be offended? I can do that too. Knowing that getting a local to get these things for you will be cheaper, but also knowing that they will take their cut, undoubtedly (what change?). I’m used to that. Worn down from the everyday antics and at least mild malnutrition becomes the norm (at least I’m not sick). Finding a comfortable rhythm in one of the most difficult places in the world is a fascinating realization in itself. Whether I’ve become comfortable or have just been pushed passed the breaking point, I’m adjusted nonetheless...or beat into submission, but I don’t really see a difference. I should get out of here before I convince myself that I could stay.
The earlier experiences coupled with excitement and fear have officially faded. I am no longer surprised or shocked at the inner workings, or lack of working in Liberia. Explaining instructions to staff 6 times. Waiting 3 weeks for electricity when they said “we’ll do it tomorrow.” Knowing full well that a bribe could solve this problem. Knowing that one bribe is not enough, being dirty and sweaty everyday all the time and accepting it. Accepting that walking for 3 hours out of this jungle is the only way out. Knowing that every job (even getting your passport picture done on the street) will be a battle.
What scares me the most about all of this is that it’s no longer new. I am, for the most part, used to it all. When you say I can do it in 2 hours, it will take 4 and I’m used to that. I’m used to bartering for everything. Convincing the store owner, the motorbike driver, the electrician, the cell phone company and even our bounty hunters that X thing does not cost that much. I know it, you know it and we can spend 30 minutes arguing about this until you either take the amount we all know it costs, or I just walk away from you. You want to laugh and pretend to be offended? I can do that too. Knowing that getting a local to get these things for you will be cheaper, but also knowing that they will take their cut, undoubtedly (what change?). I’m used to that. Worn down from the everyday antics and at least mild malnutrition becomes the norm (at least I’m not sick). Finding a comfortable rhythm in one of the most difficult places in the world is a fascinating realization in itself. Whether I’ve become comfortable or have just been pushed passed the breaking point, I’m adjusted nonetheless...or beat into submission, but I don’t really see a difference. I should get out of here before I convince myself that I could stay.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Brinys In Training
Warning: It’s a long one. Settle in for a bit.
“Brinys! Good to see you back in the bush!” Yes, I’m glad you’re excited while I’m still recollecting how this happened, again. The break down:
Wednesday: I inherit the task of creating a better way to track respondents down (because that’s easy).
Friday: I, in a lapse of judgment say: I want to see Gbarpolu, “Phil’s going, go with him.”
Sunday: I find myself packing for Gbarpolu. Face wipes. Check. Head lamp. Check. Bug spray. Check. You know the rest. Hey, at least we’re not going to pass through Sabas town with bad tires.
Monday: Phil and I make it to Gbarpolu, head in to a cook shop and order some food. This time, there’s no questions about what it is. Phil just leans in and says “bush meat.” It’s dark and I can’t see it anyway. I still can’t decide if that’s better than seeing what I’m eating. The Bounty Hunters in the bush are in their last two weeks of tracking and this time I need to focus on the inner workings of how they find who they find. I have to return to Monrovia with a slew of ideas for tracking in the city. Bush tracking and city tracking…I don’t think I need to point out that they are two completely different animals, but let’s go find some ex-coms. Who’s excited? Brinys: the bounty hunter in training.
Tuesday: divide up the county and decide who will venture where. Gordon, Albert and Phil in one direction. Brittany, Agon and Weefah in the other. “Be back by dark” Okkie dokkie, Phil. 30 minutes of tracking discussion with my two bounty hunters and Weefah motions that this “road” to the left is what we need. For the next 30 minutes there’s no chatting. Only maneuver suggestions. If we go in this divet to the left the car won’t tip. Agon hop out and direct us over this “bridge.” If we balance on the tree trunk there we can make it through this turn. Welcome to Sando Village. Population: 20, sweet. Let’s cut to the chase. The guy we were looking for, wasn’t there, but we got some decent leads. Back in the jeep we go. Right on schedule.
10 minutes in, we’re stuck. We assess the situation and retrieve the shovel, axe and machete from the jeep. At least it’s not raining. We convince a man walking by to tell the men in Sando village to come and help us. In the mean time we shove planks of wood under the tires. Reverse. YES! Forward again. Awe come on, stuck again (we’re definitely walking). Is that rain? Figures. How did I get stuck in the bush again? Where’s a UN jeep with Nigerian Police when you need it? Phil thinks I’m dead for sure. Queue arrival of six villagers with picks and machetes in hand. Who knew I’d be happy to see that. “Brittany get in the jeep.” Don’t have to tell me twice. 20 minutes of hacking away at the road and throwing wood and rocks into gaps means we’re ready to give it another go. “It is not advisable to keep Brittany stuck in the bush.” You know, I couldn’t agree more. How about you get us out of here. We barrel through the turn while villagers and Agon jump out of the way. We pay the villagers for their handy skills (that’s a 53109! Receipt code…) 15 min later, another tricky situation and were back on the main road. We were not back by dark. Lesson learned: Brinys and bounty hunters in a jeep without Phil=Brinys stuck. Do not repeat, again.
Wednesday: Track guy with Phil and Agon. If you take this road to the left, you can drive until Teekay town and then it’s a two hour walk. “ We drive pretty far into the jungle, chat it up with some villagers and decide that the guy we need is in a farther village. We’ll tackle that tomorrow.
Thursday: After sleeping in a town with essentially no food, no lights and the most bugs I’ve seen yet --Brittany and Weefah on motorbike. 4 hours through the bush. I get the dorky looking helmet. Phil and Agon, 6 hours, start walking. See you tonight. After all this Phil and I head back to Monrovia, dirty, hungry and tired. As soon as I get into town someone corrects my mistake (I got my phone stolen). It’s 9pm, I don’t have a phone or apartment keys and I haven’t eaten since 8am. Nice to see you too, Monrovia.
“Brinys! Good to see you back in the bush!” Yes, I’m glad you’re excited while I’m still recollecting how this happened, again. The break down:
Wednesday: I inherit the task of creating a better way to track respondents down (because that’s easy).
Friday: I, in a lapse of judgment say: I want to see Gbarpolu, “Phil’s going, go with him.”
Sunday: I find myself packing for Gbarpolu. Face wipes. Check. Head lamp. Check. Bug spray. Check. You know the rest. Hey, at least we’re not going to pass through Sabas town with bad tires.
Monday: Phil and I make it to Gbarpolu, head in to a cook shop and order some food. This time, there’s no questions about what it is. Phil just leans in and says “bush meat.” It’s dark and I can’t see it anyway. I still can’t decide if that’s better than seeing what I’m eating. The Bounty Hunters in the bush are in their last two weeks of tracking and this time I need to focus on the inner workings of how they find who they find. I have to return to Monrovia with a slew of ideas for tracking in the city. Bush tracking and city tracking…I don’t think I need to point out that they are two completely different animals, but let’s go find some ex-coms. Who’s excited? Brinys: the bounty hunter in training.
Tuesday: divide up the county and decide who will venture where. Gordon, Albert and Phil in one direction. Brittany, Agon and Weefah in the other. “Be back by dark” Okkie dokkie, Phil. 30 minutes of tracking discussion with my two bounty hunters and Weefah motions that this “road” to the left is what we need. For the next 30 minutes there’s no chatting. Only maneuver suggestions. If we go in this divet to the left the car won’t tip. Agon hop out and direct us over this “bridge.” If we balance on the tree trunk there we can make it through this turn. Welcome to Sando Village. Population: 20, sweet. Let’s cut to the chase. The guy we were looking for, wasn’t there, but we got some decent leads. Back in the jeep we go. Right on schedule.
10 minutes in, we’re stuck. We assess the situation and retrieve the shovel, axe and machete from the jeep. At least it’s not raining. We convince a man walking by to tell the men in Sando village to come and help us. In the mean time we shove planks of wood under the tires. Reverse. YES! Forward again. Awe come on, stuck again (we’re definitely walking). Is that rain? Figures. How did I get stuck in the bush again? Where’s a UN jeep with Nigerian Police when you need it? Phil thinks I’m dead for sure. Queue arrival of six villagers with picks and machetes in hand. Who knew I’d be happy to see that. “Brittany get in the jeep.” Don’t have to tell me twice. 20 minutes of hacking away at the road and throwing wood and rocks into gaps means we’re ready to give it another go. “It is not advisable to keep Brittany stuck in the bush.” You know, I couldn’t agree more. How about you get us out of here. We barrel through the turn while villagers and Agon jump out of the way. We pay the villagers for their handy skills (that’s a 53109! Receipt code…) 15 min later, another tricky situation and were back on the main road. We were not back by dark. Lesson learned: Brinys and bounty hunters in a jeep without Phil=Brinys stuck. Do not repeat, again.
Wednesday: Track guy with Phil and Agon. If you take this road to the left, you can drive until Teekay town and then it’s a two hour walk. “ We drive pretty far into the jungle, chat it up with some villagers and decide that the guy we need is in a farther village. We’ll tackle that tomorrow.
Thursday: After sleeping in a town with essentially no food, no lights and the most bugs I’ve seen yet --Brittany and Weefah on motorbike. 4 hours through the bush. I get the dorky looking helmet. Phil and Agon, 6 hours, start walking. See you tonight. After all this Phil and I head back to Monrovia, dirty, hungry and tired. As soon as I get into town someone corrects my mistake (I got my phone stolen). It’s 9pm, I don’t have a phone or apartment keys and I haven’t eaten since 8am. Nice to see you too, Monrovia.
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