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.

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.

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.

Hopes and Dreams

Staying in this line of work and keeping your hopes and dreams is difficult to do. Your sunshine, rainbows and basket of cute puppies assumption about how you will help bring peace and end poverty in this country drains out with every power outage (which I’m enjoying right now) you experience. I don’t know about you, but I can’t bring peace to a country with a head light. End poverty with a horrible internet connection? Heck no. It’ll take me 20 minutes to download the UNDP’s piece on poverty in Liberia, shoot looks like that won’t be solved.


Ok maybe being in this field doesn’t kill your hopes and dreams, it just reshapes them. For example: I hope these ex coms are successfully reintegrated, turns into I hope I find these ex coms in a stationary place. Heck even jail will do (at least I know they’re not going anywhere). I dream about turning this armed robber into an honest carpenter turns into, you’re home now has walls? YES! Party time. Dream fulfilled. A friend of mine recently said that innovation and jaded don’t go hand in hand in international development (http://resistingthecoolaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/sustainability.html). Although there is definite truth to that, sometimes their experience makes them seem jaded. Innovation seems lacking because the original hopes and dreams were repeatedly beat out of them with a reality stick. Or at least that’s how I see it. I’m of course, excluding the UN from this. Their little check list of post conflict success makes it easy to say they’ve done their job well, so they can move on with their fleet of jeeps to a new destination…check list in hand. Bring on the peace.

Sure, sometimes the realistic beat down and donor pressure (they are just as at fault here) leads organizations to re implement programs that hardly meet the definition of success, but that doesn’t mean that innovation has escaped them completely. Innovation, just like their hopes and dreams, simply reshapes into something more obtainable. They know what can and cannot be achieved so innovation comes in baby steps. Like: now I’m writing this with a head lamp and candles. Baby steps. Now would be the time to say “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

For those orgs that re implement mediocre programs, knowing full well that it didn’t work, well they’re not jaded, they’re just looking for a way to spend their excess money.
That must be nice.

For Truth?

I’m pretty convinced that if I was to construct a survey around drugs, sex, abuse and alcohol and then conduct this survey in the US, it’d be difficult to get an honest response. Hardly any American is going to tell a surveyor how often they buy cocaine or that they have a wife, a girlfriend and yet frequently enjoy some late night female company. Denial would be the response of choice in the US because, heck, who wants the fact that they have a profitable drug business operating on the weekends to be public knowledge? No one. Sure you spend your Saturdays with women who charge by the hour, but you keep that to yourself.

This however, is Liberia and the bounty hunters (in the bush or in the hood) get the info we need. Liberian men will admit to things that many Americans would never admit to. In the bush: “You spent how much money on “going on the block” (prostitution) this week?” I could buy three meals with that. Wait, and you have a wife? Who’s got belly (her ego is prego) and you have a girlfriend? (in a school uniform, classy) I’m struck by your cavalier attitude. In the hood: you spent all that money on rubber bands? Previous job: drug dealer. Current job: hmmm let me guess…drug dealer? What are the rubber bands for? To tie you plastic bags, ok. Seeing as how you have bought 3x the amount of rubber bands than last month, I’d say you’re doing rather well for yourself. Oh good, you agree. So you’re expanding your drug trade with the money we hoped you’d change your life around with (give me the money back, you honest little hustler).

Things we’ve realized: prostitution, drug dealing, stealing and my favorite so far, fighting:

[What happens if someone get you vex (makes you angry)? “I’ll find something and hit them in the head with it, brother” For truth (really)? Ok, let’s not get him vex]

are all acceptable things to admit to. Beating and drug usage (for the most part) at present are not, but if these things happened in the past, they’ll tell you all about it. The difference between what I find acceptable and what they’re willing to say openly, always amuses me. You pushed you girlfriend into a wall once? Oh, I guess she should keep her mouth shut then? Oh, you agree again. Not surprised.

Despite the Liberian honesty on these matters, they are masters at never overtly asking for money. “You have something for me?” Do I? “You were suppose to send it to me in the field” We were supposed to send you a lot of things. “Yea, but you said yesterday that…” Oh you need money? Why can’t you just say “where’s the money!?” We have people admitting to illegal actions and you can’t say we need money? I just wasted 20 min deciphering your rambling. The things that are culturally acceptable here...man.

Street Cred

So, I get in my cab last week and get greeted with “yea I don’t travel without a weapon on me-o.” (awesome cab choice, Brehaung). The conversation continues with something about cab drivers and crashing and danger. “If it seem like bad ting will happen I can stab the driver and get out quick quick.” (I should get out quick quick, where’s a motorbike?) More about trips down to Broad Street (my neighborhood), sketchy cab drivers and then “I get out and hit the driver in his face.” By the end of the cab ride it’s just crazy woman and me. “Why don’t you move tis way.”(no I’m good over here, armed and dangerous). By the end of the ride, I get out, shake my head and say the only thing you can say at this point: “oh, Liberia.” This all happened right after Phil brought up street cred. Liberia, of all the places I could be gaining street cred. What gets me is that there are tons of expats around the world gaining equal street cred and having a lovely time. Where’s my CV shirt? On top of listing the places off in alphabetical order, I’ll group them by level of difficulty. Liberia should go in bold, maybe in a different color and in bigger font on the shirt, because let’s be honest, not ever street cred country should be treated equal. Heck not even every African country should be equal (because Africa is not one place).

Soon I’ll be lining up for jobs with a bunch of eager beavers who have earned equal street cred. I’m sorry, you were where? Beirut? Accra? Tunis? No. Not the same to me. Did you have decent electricity? Running water? How long can you go without a shower? Can you track down an ex combatant? How about a drug dealer? Stranded in the jungle in the rain? No. Revoking your street cred is pushing it, knocking it down a notch or 2…or 12, is fair. I’m not discrediting your time in Geneva, I’m just saying there should be a point system and you should get a 3. Oh you don’t speak French? You get a 4. Come back to me when your nurse thinks putting on gloves before drawing your blood is unnecessary.

ipal workers: I give you a 10.

The first Milestone

I am of the firm belief that only wusses count down their time here by days. Eager much? That said I’ve officially been in Liberia for 1/3 of my allotted time. The first of three Milestones. 2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days (hypocrite). So, in the spirit of this accomplishment, because it is an accomplishment, I’m going to throw out some tips and favorites (from my all of two months of experience).

Shared taxis:

Seating: Since the back seat of these golden chariots are nice and snuggly (i.e. your head is in someone’s armpit), slow, shallow breathing is the best way to go. 2 reasons: 1. There’s a less likely chance you’ll notice the odor spreading across the back seat. 2. Someone’s hand, arm, shoulder, donut bucket or toddler (they’re the worst, squirmy little suckers) is jammed up against you in a way that restricts any normal, deep breaths.

Singing: There will be singing in the golden chariot. Sometimes to music and sometimes not. If it’s just one person, let them do their thing. They will serenade the entire cab all on their own. “I can be your hero baaaaaabyyyyyy” (gotta love Enrique). Be warned: if it’s Akon, Justin Bieber (yes, Liberia has a bit of Bieber fever) or P squared, it’s going to be a full cab affair. Know the lyrics people. You don’t want to stick out more than you already do. As a side note: I was shocked to find myself singing to Nelly and Kelly. Not on the list of songs to know, but luckily on my list. Close call.

Food:

“Are those ants in my oatmeal?....the hot war will kill them. I’m good.” Learn to embrace eating small creatures such as these. It’s happening whether you're consciously aware of it or not, so get over it, or don’t eat. The fridge is your friend. Stick something with little bugs in it, in the fridge and it’s edible in 15 minutes. Problem solved. You need the protein anyway (seriously, you do).

Health:

Think you got something? Google it. You and a friend checking off symptoms and figuring out what meds to buy at the pharmacy is the way to go (I am not advocating this, only suggesting). Go to a clinic and you’ll come out with more holes in your arm than a heroin addict and a malaria diagnosis (no, I’m sorry. Every fever is not malaria). And, every infection is not a mango fly! (had to get that out). Google it. Mental Health—when you stop asking yourself what the heck you’re doing in Liberia, worry. I’m convinced that so long as I think I’m nuts for being here, I’m ok. Even while typing that, I must admit I thought: that sounds nuts!

Responses:

“White woman!” Response: “Black boy!” (It’s only fair).

Favorite quote so far:

I’m war affected. If they didn’t have 2 wars, you think I’d be here? They should give me aid.
–Ben, during a “Make Fire” meal.

Most interesting name acquired:

Brehaung (on my Liberian Driver’s License documentation). That’s a keeper.

56 days down, 120 days (and change) to go.