Photo / Philip Marcelo
Dixon Sherieff and his wife, Mercy, tend to their two-week old son, Shetra, in his mother-in-law's home, which has no running water or electricity. Sherieff works for Ecohomes Liberia, a firm founded by a former Providence resident that is building a large-scale housing development near the country's airport.
Editor's note:Journal Staff Writer Philip Marcelo is spending two weeks in Liberia this August to report on that country's progress 10 years after the end of a devastating civil war. This is the latest installment of an online and print series called "Rebuilding Liberia: The R.I. Connection. "The project is funded by the International Center for Journalists, in Washington.
PROVIDENCE, R.I. - "You've never seen rain like Liberian rain."
It's has been a common refrain as I've prepared for my two-week reporting trip to the West African nation these past few months.
After a nearly 15-hour flight from Boston -- with stopovers in New York and Accra (Ghana) -- I arrived in Monrovia, the capital and largest city of Liberia, late Sunday afternoon.
The country, bordered by Sierra Leone and the Ivory Coast, is about halfway through a nearly six-month rainy season.
Weather forecasts predict thunderstorms through this week and next, promising to make the country's pot-holed highways and barely navigable clay and dirt roads nearly impassible.
So far, though, it hasn't been bad. The intermittent rain is a lot like the UK. Just warmer. Liberia in August is not as humid as you'd think for a country that boasts a sizeable rainforest.
Then again, Monrovia is a coastal city, with miles of beaches fronting the Atlantic Ocean. There is a nice, steady ocean breeze. Temperature has been in the lower 80s and just slightly cooler in the evenings.
Local time here is four hours ahead of the U.S. East Coast.
Currency is the Liberian dollar, or Liberty. Exchange rate is roughly $1 USD to $78 Liberian. I have yet to change my U.S notes, though; they are widely accepted, and, so far as I've found, the preferred currency.
I'm staying at a hotel about five blocks from the massively walled U.S. Embassy. It's a former hospital, I'm told, which would explain its labyrinth of disjointed hallways.
Like most major businesses and institutions in Liberia, the hotel has its own electrical generator. The country does not have a significant electrical grid, even now, 10 years after the end of its nearly 15-year civil war. Which is why the lights flicker on occasion.
All in all, the hotel is cozy. There do not appear to be many guests. It has 24-hour security, running hot and cold water, a solid restaurant, and free WiFi. And you can't beat the view: a wide sandy beach is across the street.
I arrived via Roberts International Airport, the country's lone international airport for the general public, located about a 40-minute drive from the center of Monrovia.
My transport -- James Brenner and his staff from Ecohomes Liberia -- wasted no time giving me the lay of the land.
EcoHomes is a firm attempting to build a large-scale housing development near the airport. I'll have more to say on the project in the next post, as Brenner has strong ties to New England: a Harvard graduate and former Providence resident, he was a vice chairman on U.S. Sen. John Kerry's campaign for president in 2004.
The nearly four-hour tour of some of Monrovia's surrounding communities began at Harbel, the largest single rubber plantation in the world, owned and operated since 1926 by Firestone. The tire maker is by far the most significant company in Liberia's history.
Named after Firestone founder Harvey Firestone and his wife Idabelle, Harbel abuts the airport. It is a company town in every sense of the word: more than 6,500 rubber tappers and their families live, work, go to school, church and shop in its 200 square miles.
In recent years, there has been controversy over treatment of the workers, some of whom are part of families that have lived for generations among Harbel's eight million or so rubber trees.
But Brenner says that's been improving since Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf renegotiated the company's long-term lease after taking office in 2006.
"You can really see the difference. They've really been making an effort to improve the quality of life. They're building more housing. They're paying more attention to the worker's health," he said. "Firestone is a really mixed bag. It's really tempting to say its a big, exploitative industry. But the truth is, there is no one in Liberia that wouldn't want to work at Firestone."
The driving tour continued through countless bustling commercial centers -- often no more than the junctions of where two major roads intersected.
We also visited the humble, zinc-roofed home where driver Dixon Sherieff's wife, Mercy, was tending to their two-week old son, Shetra.
It was set deep back from the main road in a town called Paynesville, among a warren of similar shacks and huts. There was no electricity, no running water and barely room to stand.
We used cellphones to see the quiet, clean-swaddled baby in the light. Brennan gave the family a $100 bill. The wife and her mother were on the verge of tears.
"People think they understand how the other half lives. But they really have no idea," Brennan said as we walked out into the night.