Happy 26!

The red carpets are out, the brass band is playing, the performers are getting ready, ladies with glamorous dresses are trooping in and cameras are flashing. The whole event felt a bit like an African Oscar party. Craning our necks, we spotted the arrival of the special guests for this occasion – one by one, former presidents of various African republics, including Monzambique, Benin, Namibia, Botswana and Ghana, appeared. Finally, the President of Liberia also arrived and kicked off this big ceremony consisting of speeches, prayers, cultural performances, bestowment of honours, football games and cocktail receptions.

Independence Day Celebrations kick off in Margibi County

Why this extravaganza? Well, on 26^th July each year, Liberia celebrates its Independence Day. Liberians take this occassion very seriously, and this year marks the 161th anniversary of the establishment of the Republic of Liberia. A different county is in charge of hosting the official celebrations each year, and this time, the festivities are held in Kakata in Margibi County. These celebrations consist of a full week of events, starting off with an intercessory service, then visits by the President to various development projects in the county, culminating in a big ceremony held on the 26^th itself. On this day, it is customary for Liberians to spend time with family, dress their children up in new clothing, exchange gifts with friends and attend social gatherings and entertainment events. Liberian food, needless to say, plays an important role in the celebrations. These typically include dishes of rice, palm butter, potato greens, fufu and dumboy (both of which consists of pounded root vegetables), accompanied by palm wine and bottles of Liberian Club Beer. Although it was a privilege to be able to attend the formal ceremony, the informal celebrations which my colleagues described to me definitely sounded more fun and relaxed.

Aside from providing a good excuse for throwing big fufu parties, Independence Day is more importantly, an opportunity for Liberians of different counties, ethnic origins and religions to come together to celebrate. In her speech, President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf half-jokingly commented that this is the first time in recent years that there has been sunshine on Independence Day. This must signal brighter days ahead for this 161 year-old nation.

The Rubber Republic

We had been hearing a lot about the Firestone rubber plantation since arriving in Liberia, so we decided to go and see it for ourselves.

The plantation was founded in 1926, and is the largest single natural rubber operation in the world. It is situated in Margibi County, around one and a half hour’s drive from Monrovia. The journey there was a mini adventure in itself. It took us along winding roads and rolling hills, past the new Liberian army training camps and the ‘ambush curve’ (a sharp bend in the road where rebel groups used to hide during the war to ambush unsuspecting vehicles).

It was only when we reached the plantation that I fully comprehended its size. The plantation is organized into 45 ‘divisions’. Each worker is allocated to a division, where they work and live with their families. There is a quasi bus system transporting workers from one place to another. In particular, under the agreement between Firestone and the Liberian government, the company has the social obligation to provide schooling and healthcare for workers and their dependents, so the buses help to transport workers to these services. At the entrance to the plantation is a bustling marketplace, the centre of life in the plantation.

Inside the Rubber Republic

However, it would be mistaken to think that life as a worker in Firestone is an easy one. The little red cups hanging on the rubber trees tell the story of the daily life of a rubber tapper. A tapper gets up in the early hours of the morning and makes a small cut in the rubber tree, and the white latex is left to run down the tree for about five hours to collect in the red cups. The tapper repeats the same procedure for around 500 to 550 trees each day. The rubber collected from all the little cups are poured into large buckets, and handed in at a nearby collection station. A tapper can collect up to 6 buckets of liquid latex per day. The latex is then exported to the United States mainly for processing into tires. The tedious and labour-intensive nature of the work means that tappers often draft in their family members to help with the collection process. There have been various protests from international groups against the use of child labour in the plantation, and concerns that the management pays little attention to the general welfare of women living in the plantations. Living conditions for many of the workers are also unsatisfactory – as we drove around the plantation, we saw crowded huts lacking electricity and other basic services.

Left: Rubber trees with red collection cups

Right: Tapper making cut on rubber tree

Following the amendments made to the concession agreement between Firestone and the Liberian government earlier this year, there seems to have been some improvement in the workers’ welfare. However, given that the company has already been in the country for over 80 years, one cannot help but feel that they could have done more for the people living in their Rubber Republic and for the people of Liberia.

The Perfect Storm

There are spectacular storms here in Liberia. One minute, you are out walking in the streets, shielding your eyes from the sun. The next minute, a loud clap of thunder, and the rain comes pouring down. There is no escape - even with big umbrellas and raincoats, you are bound to get wet. Since the roads in Liberia are littered with potholes, pedestrians have to start hopping from one island of concrete to another, as the rain comes down and potholes start to turn into mini lakes.

In the United Kingdom where I have lived for years, the sound of drizzling rain outside my bedroom window acts as a comforting lullaby. In Liberia, I am often woken up in the middle of the night by the drama of rain, lightning, thunder and wind outside. Maybe it is in my imagination, but once or twice, I have even felt the whole apartment shudder in the middle of the storm.

When the storm has passed and morning starts to dawn, I sometimes get out onto the balcony of our apartment to survey the surrounding neighbourhood. There is a pleasant freshness in the air and one can smell the earth and vegetation all around. Further out in the distance amongst the fields are clusters of small huts. During a walk around the neighbourhood one afternoon, I had seen that many of the huts were constructed of simple materials, some have thatched roofs, others have rusty tin roofs. The whole family often sat outside of the hut – since space is limited and there is little or no access to electricity, the interior of the hut is often shrouded in darkness on a cloudy day. Given that we live in a concrete building and are still affected by the dramatic weather, I can’t help but wonder how those huts and the families living in them survive the storms here in Liberia.

There is rumble of thunder in the distance. Another one of those perfect storms is drawing near.

Mob Justice or Mob Violence?

We were in the Team Liberia minibus on our way to work when we noticed a large crowd of people standing on one side of the road in Sinkor Fish Market. In the midst of the crowd were a couple of policemen and some UN patrol vehicles. We drove past quickly. I thought it might have been a road accident. It was only when I got back to the office that I learnt from my colleagues what had happened. A man had reportedly tried to steal something from one of the houses in the area that night, and as a result, the community had descended upon him and had beaten him to death.

This type of mob justice is all too common in countries where there is lack of trust towards formal institutions of law and enforcement. The community sets up their own informal system of retribution in fear that the criminal, if handed over to the police, would end up paying a bribe and walking free.

However, mob justice has its costs. There are numerous instances where innocent men and women have been subjected to mob ‘justice’. When I got home from work, my friend said that she had heard a different version of what had happened at the Fish Market that day. Apparently, a Liberian had returned from America and was trying to locate his fiancée. Because she had moved house since he left, he was knocking on a couple of doors in the area to find out where she was staying. An unfortunate misunderstanding occurred, he was mistaken as a thief, and was killed by the community as a result.

Whichever the true version of the story, it serves as a reminder of the fragility of peace here in Liberia. When people continue to live on a daily basis by the mentality of ‘an eye for an eye’, a sustained improvement in the formal institutions of law and justice will be crucial in guaranteeing long-lasting peace in the country.
Left: The Temple of Justice in Monrovia

Aggressive Self-Rescue

Earlier this year, I was whitewater rafting with some classmates down Kennebec River in Maine, when our raft hit a huge wall of water and threw most of us overboard. I did not manage to catch hold of the side of the raft in time, and was soon swept far away from the raft. I panicked. The water was freezing, and I was barely able to keep my head above the relentless surges of whitewater. Suddenly, I saw the end of a rope landing close to me, and I grabbed it in relief, expecting to be pulled back to the safety of the raft. Seconds went by and nothing happened – no tug from the other end. I realized then that whoever had thrown the rope must somehow have let go, and I was just holding onto a floating rope that was going to take me nowhere. I struggled to remember what the guide had said in the 5-minute safety talk at the beginning of the rafting session, and a single phrase came to mind: aggressive self-rescue. In that instant, I realized that I couldn’t wait passively to be rescued, and that the person who cared most about my own safety was me myself. I started swimming towards the raft, and eventually my friends reached me and pulled me to safety.

Currently, Liberia is heavily dependent on aid and assistance from the international community. There are around 14,000 UN military personnel stationed in Liberia, and if you took a casual stroll down any one of Monrovia’s busy central streets, you are guaranteed to spot at least a couple of UN vehicles on patrol. Liberia is also heavily dependent on food imports. Even though its soil and climate should have been perfect for agriculture, Liberians import most of their staple diet, including rice and vegetable oil. One of the government’s top concerns at the moment is the large surge in global food prices, which has hit the poor hard, and which might have negative consequences for the country’s stability if not dealt with swiftly and effectively.

It is no doubt that in the short run, both the UN peacekeeping force and food imports are paramount to the country’s peace and food security. However, the government of Liberia also realizes that it needs to engage in aggressive self-rescue if the country is to be able to stand on its own two feet in future. Some of my fellow housemates working at the Ministry of Internal Affairs have been assisting in the training of traditional leaders in various counties. The aim is to help establish local laws and institutions that would help build peace and promote stability in the longer run. In terms of agricultural development, the government been making efforts to attract investors to make investments and build technical expertise in the sector. Liberia still has some way to go before it can achieve peace and food security independent of external assistance, but realizing the need to be aggressive in its approach to development is a very good start.