There’s nothing more obnoxious than developing world elites. Oil rich southerners with their boots, ripped tank tops and over all “I’m the master to your slave ” demeanor make me cringe. The UN workers who go from air conditioned vehicle to air conditioned sushi restaurants can’t be forgotten and the IMF workers (so I’ve heard, but have yet to experience) make even the UN and World bank workers squirm, but they all pail in comparison to the developing world elite.
The well off, Americo-Liberian, who, has created an all too familiar master-slave society. Blasting your music for the whole slum outside your apartment to here, while you lounge on your balcony and order the security to stop what he’s doing so that he can trek up to your apartment and carry down your dirty bath water.
You park anywhere you want and cause a huge scene when you’re told you can’t. No, the guard doesn’t know who you are and yes, you look like the driver (that’s why they treated you as such). Some drivers do have gaudy looking shoes too. Calling the Lebanese owner of X hotel and restaurant doesn’t change anything (he doesn’t know you either…yet), except for the fact that I’ve now put in my headphones to muffle your incessant screaming.
Most expats come with some form of white man’s burden, which tends to limit and even eliminate their master like attitude (at least publicly). but Americo-Liberians have the opposite of that. Their people were slaves so when they got dumped off by Americans and deemed “free,” they created the only society they knew. Now they are the masters with hundreds of years of oppression to make up. So while generations of Anglo-American youth are trying to make up for slavery by being too political correct and giving every hungry street child a dollar, Americo-Liberians are making up for lost time and relishing in a master’s lifestyle.
I hate to break it to you my man, but you do look like your driver.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A Day in the Life...
A few of my favorite (daily) things:
the use of small in Liberian English. Wait small, talk small, try small. (I tryin’ small to have plenty patience)
-Water bags. I like sucking down half a liter of water in under 5 minutes.
-The wind from motorbike rides, even with the occasional glide into on coming traffic.
-The response I get when I ask why we might be doing this. “There can be less traffic on this side.” (fair enough my man, drive on).
-The heavy rain even if it’s up to my shins in the streets.
-daily coconut water
-Adding an extra 15 minutes to our drive anywhere so that Phil and I can find a man with a wheelbarrow of coconuts.
-Mosquito hunting. Often a spur of the moment thing (quick kill in the kitchen). Sometimes pre meditated (get out of bed to find the buzzing). See it and smack it.
-BBC radio news: focus on Africa, while in the jeep.
- the soundtrack that comes along with focus on Africa BBC
-The Liberian handshake. It’s a standard handshake, glide your middle finger as you let go and snap with the other person’s finger and your thumb. There’s something truly satisfying about it when you finally get a good snap at the end.
The awkward moment you experience when you innately go for the Liberian handshake with someone who just got here. Nothing makes people more uncomfortable then dragging your finger across their palm and realizing they aren’t going to reciprocate.
Settlers of Catan and the heated battle that always ensues the second the game’s begun (I am not giving you my wheat, man!)
Billboards: Violence against women=justice (that's not what you mean)
Just a bit of the things that fill my days…Brehaung’s back to work.
the use of small in Liberian English. Wait small, talk small, try small. (I tryin’ small to have plenty patience)
-Water bags. I like sucking down half a liter of water in under 5 minutes.
-The wind from motorbike rides, even with the occasional glide into on coming traffic.
-The response I get when I ask why we might be doing this. “There can be less traffic on this side.” (fair enough my man, drive on).
-The heavy rain even if it’s up to my shins in the streets.
-daily coconut water
-Adding an extra 15 minutes to our drive anywhere so that Phil and I can find a man with a wheelbarrow of coconuts.
-Mosquito hunting. Often a spur of the moment thing (quick kill in the kitchen). Sometimes pre meditated (get out of bed to find the buzzing). See it and smack it.
-BBC radio news: focus on Africa, while in the jeep.
- the soundtrack that comes along with focus on Africa BBC
-The Liberian handshake. It’s a standard handshake, glide your middle finger as you let go and snap with the other person’s finger and your thumb. There’s something truly satisfying about it when you finally get a good snap at the end.
The awkward moment you experience when you innately go for the Liberian handshake with someone who just got here. Nothing makes people more uncomfortable then dragging your finger across their palm and realizing they aren’t going to reciprocate.
Settlers of Catan and the heated battle that always ensues the second the game’s begun (I am not giving you my wheat, man!)
Billboards: Violence against women=justice (that's not what you mean)
Just a bit of the things that fill my days…Brehaung’s back to work.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Rogues on Randall
For over a month now my life has been the Urban Youth survey. Eat (sometimes), sleep (hardly), breath (deep breaths in and out) the survey. Waking up every morning to a down poor and debating a shower given the inevitability of becoming absolutely drenched. Walking to the survey site in streets flooded with water wondering why I even bother with a rain jacket, while Liberians yell “this is Africa!” (yes, thank you).
With the recruiting of these young street youth now happening in my neighborhood I’ve made it my goal to meet all of them. With 3 robberies and 1 robbery attempt under my belt I’m determined to know all of them. I’m just waiting for one of these guys to come in with my boyfriend style gap jeans on (I will rip those off you). Remember my face, sucker. If I see you or your friends scaling my back wall again, I’ll know where to find you. If it's not someone we’ve recruited maybe while they’re running away in the dark, I could chuck my card at them. I may as well add a note that says “Dear rogue, I will find you. I want my shirts back.”
Spending my days surveying criminals (get your hand out of my backpack please) and getting yelled at by said criminals because I wont give them my snack money—
“give me that money!”
“I don’t think so”
“You don't need to eat, you need to give it to me to get home.”
“my man, I can’ give you this”
“then if you people wont help me, you should just leave liberia!”
(oh trust me, I’m on it) “go away from here man, we’re done.”
as if you’re the first guy to try and get something out of me, fool. Where’s a motorbike? I’m heading back to the office.
All I need now is hostage negotiation and I’d say I’ve rounded out my time here. Oh wait, did that last night (the hostage being my friends stolen cell phone). 20 min of getting my friend to try and negotiate his phone back, using my phone (for something small). Luckily he was talking to Phil when it got ripped out of his hand, so Phil made first contact and texted me the “terms.” Status of said negotiation currently undetermined, but I did enjoyed the many phone calls throughout the night from the hostage taker.
With the recruiting of these young street youth now happening in my neighborhood I’ve made it my goal to meet all of them. With 3 robberies and 1 robbery attempt under my belt I’m determined to know all of them. I’m just waiting for one of these guys to come in with my boyfriend style gap jeans on (I will rip those off you). Remember my face, sucker. If I see you or your friends scaling my back wall again, I’ll know where to find you. If it's not someone we’ve recruited maybe while they’re running away in the dark, I could chuck my card at them. I may as well add a note that says “Dear rogue, I will find you. I want my shirts back.”
Spending my days surveying criminals (get your hand out of my backpack please) and getting yelled at by said criminals because I wont give them my snack money—
“give me that money!”
“I don’t think so”
“You don't need to eat, you need to give it to me to get home.”
“my man, I can’ give you this”
“then if you people wont help me, you should just leave liberia!”
(oh trust me, I’m on it) “go away from here man, we’re done.”
as if you’re the first guy to try and get something out of me, fool. Where’s a motorbike? I’m heading back to the office.
All I need now is hostage negotiation and I’d say I’ve rounded out my time here. Oh wait, did that last night (the hostage being my friends stolen cell phone). 20 min of getting my friend to try and negotiate his phone back, using my phone (for something small). Luckily he was talking to Phil when it got ripped out of his hand, so Phil made first contact and texted me the “terms.” Status of said negotiation currently undetermined, but I did enjoyed the many phone calls throughout the night from the hostage taker.
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