We step out into the thick warm night of Liberia. Liberia, land of freedom. Land of life and war. Land of African American Hip Hop Rebellion Villages Tupac Civil Conflict Dead and Born Again. Land colonized by the freed men. Land shredded by ethnic violence. Liberia, right here right now. March 29th 2008 year of Liberia, Land of anything.Life is here. Liberians walk or stand by the side of the one lane highway, waving for us to stop as we pass. Looking for a late night lift toward the capital. Dark skin, bright eyes open wide glisten in the headlights. Children skip as they walk. young men chat as they wait. Women carry heavy loads. Some walk. Some wait. Short hair, long thin legs. Colorful t-shirts, shorts, skirts, and dreams.
Inside the truck, we discuss how rape is the most common crime in Liberia. Its lamented that even to advocates it’s practically accepted as normal here. My heart hurts in my chest. Tears being made.
We roll and bumble down the road into the capital city of the land of freedom. Monrovia’s streets are pulsating slowly by the candlelight of small food stands and headlights of the passing traffic. Many young people fill the streets. Moving, walking, heads held up. Moving.
At the entrance to the parking lot, David smiles like the world is a just place. We shake hands. Watch the traffic go by on foot, motorcycles and cars. A girl walks by and looks at me with one eyebrow up like I was a possibility of some sort. She is wearing her work clothes. Short skirt, tight tank top, and her hair down. She is sad and beautiful through my tired eyes. David smiles his smile. We agree that Liberian women are beautiful. Quiet.
I notice David furrow his brow. What’s wrong man? - “ahhh, the electricity. Its liberia’s biggest problem.” He points out that the hotel and the supermarket across the street are the only places with power. I look farther down the street and see he is right. People walking, waiting, moving in the glow of candles and cars. Across the street young men sit amidst the pitter pattering illuminations with their backs against the wall. One plays a smooth rhythm on a plastic barrel. Laughter and conversations bounces off the wall and over to me and David. Why is there no electricity? I ask. –“It was destroyed by the war.” The smile is gone. “Everything was destroyed by the war.” Quiet. Now it’s real. I am in Liberia.
My eyes are on the ground where dusty feet track home or away from home. Moving. I try to sum things up with David, so what’s up with Liberia?
-“Oh, Liberia, well… it is free.”
