By 10:30am, the sound of the funeral was in full swing wailing with the loud and jarring traditional Bassa music, West African bible pop music and Rihanna. My wife was losing her mind. Only the baby could make any sense of the noise, moving back and forth to the music with a smile.
After Liberia’s disarmament, 18,000 guns were turned to weapon scrap. This is how one artist made weapon scrap steel a medium of beauty and protest.
There would still be plenty of coconuts, pineapples and fish (though not the frozen type). There would be goat soup, plenty of hot peppers and some local chicken for flavoring. There would still be dancing and singing, lots of smiles, there’d be motorbikes and taxis, but no buses. There’d be a lot of flat tires, broken down vehicles, and closed up mechanics. There’d still be church sermons on shadowy pulpits, Sunday dress, shiny leather shoes and colorful fabric. There would still be weaves and sturdy women tapping their hairdos to relieve the itch, but there’d be no clippers for men’s haircuts. Monrovia would become a city without haircuts.
When I moved to Liberia I decided I should probably get one. After all, they are buried all over the jungle if you can get there and you know where to look. My friend Alex knew where to look, and I wanted to find one.
From her conception to birth, 9 months in 9 paragraphs tells the emotional story of our international pregnancy that spans three countries, a wedding, moving house to West Africa and a dog who pissed on the sofa before anybody knew about the pregnancy.
All around me raindrops, darkness and frogs. Can you think of any better way to spend the rainy season in Liberia?
Want to start an organic farm in a post-conflict Africa? Then you may want to learn the story of William Tolbert, Liberia’s first organic farmer.
Here’s my first impression of arriving in Liberia, including observations of Monrovia’s Temple of Grayskull, pricey salads, and Lebanese who love Bon Jovi.