Adios Africa

Everybody needs a little closure. Despite many months of bloggy neglect, it's time to wrap this baby up and move on. I could list about a hundred things I'll truly miss about West Africa, followed by a hundred and one things I'm thrilled to leave behind. But that's lame. Instead, these photos are my final farewell.

It's become popular in Liberia to borrow a phrase coined by a local newspaper's back page: 'This, too, is Liberia.' The paper's version usually involves a photo of typical Liberian life (a caterpillar scare, a prison break, a corrupt official) followed by a valiant effort to be poetic in the caption. A totally awesome night club (above) in a tiny town has adapted the phrase in glow-in-the-dark glory. This, too, is Zwedru.

Decaying houses made of wood and rusty corrugated zinc are everywhere along the coasts of Liberia and Sierra Leone. It may look like a house of cards that will topple at the slightest breeze, but I love it. In America, it would be an eyesore. In Africa, it's like a work of art.

This history of Liberia is written on the wall inside former president Samuel K. Doe's house in Zwedru. It tells the story of the country's founding by freed slaves sent back to Africa by the American Colonization Society. Lots of old abandoned buildings were occupied by rebels during the war, and they drew all sorts of vulgar, violent, and in this case strangely educational things all over the place. While we were checking out this creepy house, my Liberian colleague smelled marijuana, got spooked at the possibility of ex-combatants squatting on the property, and hurried us into the truck to make our getaway.

Me with a super sketchy merry-go-round at the Government Demon School in Robertsport. As often happens in West Africa, locals can't understand why in the world we think the name of this school is funny. It's like the ubiquitous 'Beauty Saloon' of West Africa. "Why do you laugh? It's just a saloon where women do their hair."

West Africa is a beautiful place. Don't be scared of it. Heck, take a vacation there if you ever get a chance. Sure it has umpteen enormous problems. But if you're like me and never learned a blessed thing about Africa in school, a visit will teach you a heap in a hurry. See you someday, Africa. Next stop: Mexico.

The Joy of Sapo

Cassava. Cassava leaf. Cassava fish. And now, a cassava snake. One word for a lot of West African things. Five days in the rainforest of Sapo National Park and this was our best wildlife sighting. Monkeys and guinea fowl made cameo appearances. Our fearless leader Jefferson crouched in the trees once and busted out his duiker mating call, resulting in one super-confused little deer wandering into the clearing. And huge forest elephant tracks were everywhere. By the way, when a cassava snake gives birth, the babies explode out of many different holes up and down her body all at once, thus killing the mother. So they say.

Our guides quickly proved their worth. On arrival at this campsite, we moseyed on down to check out the river. Ten minutes later we returned and they'd already built this sweet shelter from scratch. They tossed a butt-large tarp from the United Nations refugee agency over the top as the finishing touch. The T.P. is our contribution. (By the way, ever dared to relieve yourself in the middle of the night in the middle of the rainforest? I don't recommend it.) The guides also loved to fashion all-natural custom chillin' chairs for themselves. Cutting down trees in a protected forest for all this construction seemed questionable. But hey, it's their park.

Solo caught us delicious catfish for dinner a couple times. The guides' daily menu lacked some variety. Every meal began with the same familiar white man-black man exchange. Hey, what are you guys eating? Rice! Ahhh...not exactly a shocker.

We picked up our small friend Prince from his village and took him on his first trip outside Grand Bassa County. He was a little freaked out by the 8-hour car ride and endless hikes through the forest. Who'd have thought an African boy would complain about walking far distances? I guess it's different walking with a purpose and just walking through the woods for no apparent reason. Prince was baffled, even at the end of the trip, as to what the heck we were doing there. And don't ask me what he's up to in this photo. Boys will be boys.

The Sapo River. An ideal hangout for killer crocodiles and hippos if you ask me. Supposedly, they're in there, but we never saw any signs. It's unclear why Frederick is half-naked and stuck in that tree. Looks like easy prey.

Meanwhile in Mali...

On assignment in Mali, I escaped Bamako for some hiking through Dogon Country, a collection of Dogon villages set along a vast escarpment. These are Dogon kiddos with a Dogon door. Dogon people in each Dogon village all have the same Dogon last name. The Dogon are famous for their Dogon spiritual beliefs and Dogon traditional way of life. Doggone it, aren't you glad I didn't say Dogon again?

Visiting Dogon Country sorta feels like a field trip to ancient ruins of a lost civilization, like Mesa Verde or Petra. Except for one thing -- people still live there. Rock-and-mud huts cling to the cliffside and millet fields cover the plains below. Before the Dogon, mysterious Tellem people lived in caves carved high into the cliff. The Dogon believe the Tellem were little people with magical flying powers. How else could they reach such inaccessible places? Scientists say the wetter environment of the time may have provided natural ladders in the form of vines hanging from the cliff above. Pssh, to heck with science. Flying little people are so much cooler.

The toguna is where old Dogon men hang out and bask in their hard-earned superiority. Every village has one and it's also where decisions are made and conflicts resolved. That's why it's so low to the ground. If you get pissed off in an argument and try to stand up, you will regret it. That's called smart design.

On the way to and from Mali, I pit-stopped in Guinea. Kankan is the brownest town on earth. Everything is tinted various shades of brown. Some of it is dust and sand from the Sahel, but the rest just seems like a bad habit. You become your surroundings after a while, I guess.

For some reason, much of my extended family calls me Grant Bob. In Guinea, 'Grand Bob' charges cell phones for a living. And he's apparently a buff bodybuilder.

Taking Liberia out of Monrovia

Just me and my motorbike rider chillin' in the claw of monstrous machinery at the edge of an old iron ore mine. Note the difference in attire. West Africans freeze to death when the wind blows. Hey, I think that's my Dallas Cowboys starter jacket from seventh grade.

We picked up this hip old lady on the road and gave her a ride to a village. She asked us to pump up the jams in the car so she could get down in her shiny sequin blouse. Turns out she's a country doctor, offering up several variations on the same thing: mud. This one is for your ankle. You take this one for the knee. This one will clear your head. Hmm...thanks but no thanks, ma.

The Fertility Stream is teeming with giant catfish. If you're having trouble conceiving a child, the oracle will send you there. You must throw a piece of bread into the stream. If the catfish go for the bread, your problem is solved and you shall give birth. But if they don't, you will remain barren. Locals worship these magic catfish and will never eat them, even though they're tremendously fat and probably delicious.

Believe it or not, until just last year this was the prison for the tiny town of Zorzor. The UN found out, and now the prisoners are held in a new screened-in gazebo just a few yards away. Unconventional? I'd say so.

The Organization of African Unity (now the African Union) was first dreamed up in this Sanniquellie building during an historic 1957 meeting of three West African leaders. The white sign above has a nice slogan: Taking Liberia out of Monrovia. It's good to get out of the city and into the 'hinterlands' or 'leeward counties' as they call it. Charles Taylor dubbed it Greater Liberia in his heyday. And if you prefer to take your world out of Liberia, the web has come to Nimba County. The little internet café there is called "Nimba is connected to whole world."

So far so good

The County Meet is a sports tournament for teams from Liberia's 15 counties. After a dramatic extra-innings finish in the kickball final (yes I said kickball), the 1500-meter runners took the track. In the women's race, only one runner bothered to train. On her last lap, the stadium announcer got excited. "And it looks like we may have an overtake coming up...Let's see...Oh! Yes! The lead runner has overtaken the last place runner! She has now run one lap more than her slowest competitor." Ouch. So much for encouraging words and a sympathy clap for the slow kid.

Outside the stadium, I found my African twin.

Millions of bats hang from two dead cotton trees right outside our office windows, in town for the dry season. A couple times a day they all fly around, covering downtown Monrovia in a batty blanket. We once drove past a woman toting a huge tub of somethings on her head, and we're pretty sure it was full to the brim with dead bats that will end up in someone's soup. But it also could have been monkey, which is rather prevalent as well. Sometimes the meat in Liberian dishes is vaguely called "spare ribs." I once inquired about the animal of origin, and a lady said "Hmm...I think horse. Or camel."

There's a law concerning walls in Monrovia: If you build it, they will urinate. And so you must paint a warning against potential perpetrators. This one, near my house, is particularly clever. But is dog urine really any more desirable than human urine? Just curious.

Obamania in Liberia 01.20.2009

"Huh?" Moments:
- A taxi bumper proclaims "I'm not easy, but we can discuss it."
- A high schooler in our workshop presented his fake radio broadcast to the group and concluded by saying "So far so good."

Where's My Christmas?

The Christmas Beggar dances around in an oversize shirt and creepy Santa mask until you fork over a few 'liberty' (Liberian dollars). But they don't go away after Christmas -- I danced downtown with one on New Year's Eve. Actually, they should stick with this act year round. It's pretty irresistible and it emptied my pockets more than once.

We camped on the beach at Nyangbah village for Christmas. It's not quite paradise, but it just might be heaven on earth.

The villagers welcomed us with open arms and fed us loads of fresh fish. Our new friend Prince (above center, shirtless) won our hearts with this initial conversation:

Us: "Hey Prince, can you give each of us a traditional Bassa name?"

Prince: "Yes. He can be...um, let me see...Timothy!

"No, Prince. That's an English name. We want a common name from the Bassa tribe."

"Ohhh, okay. Yes, yes. You are...John!"

"What? I know that's not a Bassa name, man. Like, your best friend in the village -- what's his traditional African, Bassa language name? That's what we want."

"Ah! Okay, I understood. I should give you real fine Bassa name?"

"Yes!!"

"Okay, okay...Daryl."

Pounding cassava leaves is hard work. Prince snapped this shot while his mother took a break, looking decidedly unimpressed.

Meet Bubba Davis. At least that's what his name sounded like to us. And his sidekick was Tito (we think). Communication with Bubba and Tito was a chore, but who needs to talk when it's Christmas Day in Liberia and "Feliz Navidad" is crackling through the radio?

Liberians have a subtle way of inquiring as to the whereabouts of their Christmas gift from you. "Where's my Christmas?" and "Gimme my Christmas!" are common refrains. And the best one, which I once heard from a random little kid as I ran past his house: "Christmas on you, right?!"

Thanks for being there.

Liberian small talk...

Me: "Wassup?"

LiberiaMan: "Fine."

Happens every time. I mean, it kind of makes sense if you think about it. If someone tells me not much is up, I'll then ask how they're doing. So Liberians are just cuttin' to the chase. Skip that meaningless answer and save a little breath.

"Hey, what's goin' on, man?

"Not bad."

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Some big-time Nigerian movie stars dropped by our studio. And pandemonium ensued. When you put 'Nollywood' actors live on the air, people will figure it out: If we besiege the station, maybe we can see them! After the interview, we released the celebs to the wolves in the street and hurried to our balcony to watch the madness. It was shades of The Beatles down there. Screaming girls, shirts tossed into the crowd, cars damaged, stars ducking into their SUV. Chaos.

An actor is mobbed by the masses as our staff surveys the scene.

The Listener is a friend to Radio. Radio needs The Listener to survive. The Listener is always around, and Radio appreciates it. Hence, our hosts sign off with a simple phrase: Thanks for being there.