I am waiting for my flight to Baltimore. It is a really late flight because I am cheap, but I also hate long journeys- I don’t know how I got through those 13+ hours trips to Liberia!
I checked in my bag with all my things so I only have one carry-on item- my favorite bag from Mali (similar to the one pictured above). It is a wonderful work of art woven to perfection by hand. I love it because it is fashionable, but also easy to carry. I’m not a big handbag person because I hate looking for things in them. I always feel like I need a search team just to get my lipgloss from my bag.
Back to the story about my trip to Baltimore to visit my friend. As I sat in the uncomfortable airport seat, I kept getting stares from a man sitting across from me. I tried to avoid eye contact because 9/10 times it only leads to conversations I regret having. Don’t get me wrong, I love talking to random people when I travel, but when my headphones are on, I am in no mood to chit chat! Also, when people stare at me too long, it makes me feel like something is stuck between my teeth or my forehead is shining from my makeup. I do not take kindly to long stares.
The man starring at me finally muscle the courage to come up to me right as began boarding. He was a tall White man wearing jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt and glasses. I remember looking away from his gaze right before we stood up to get in line with my boarding group. Standing close to me in line, the man asked if I was East African. I told me no and smiled politely before saying, “but you got the right continent. I am from west Africa. Now, I know I shouldn’t be this vague when identifying myself, but he started the whole East and West thing so I played along. I thought my vague answer and polite smile was enough to make him go away, but this was only the beginning.
The tall stranger told me he asked because my bag looked like something he saw in Kenya. He told me he was into coffee and worked in Kenya and Rwanda. He shared his love for his time there and thought my bag was a nice reminder. I stood and listened as this is something like a broken record now.
This story was like every single story I’ve heard from people (White and every other Westerner) making connections to my African identity and their experience somewhere on the continent. People love to tell you about their mission trips to a random part of Africa. Most times I stand there and listen with the urge to say, Do you also know my friend from Colorada since you are from Florida? I fight off the urge just as I did that day. I told the stranger that I am Liberian and had gotten my bag from there even though the vendor got it from Mali. There was a nice awkward silence before he went on and on how beautiful Kigali, the capital of Rwanda is. Again, I was back to hearing about a place in Africa I have yet to visit. This is the routine. if you meet an African, tell them about your time in Africa. It never gets old. It is always the same people doing the same things, but yet I am shocked every single time that in this day and age, we are still looking at Africa like it was a little town where everyone is somehow cut from the same cloth. Just as a reference….
We (living in the West) have got to find other things to talk to Africans about.
People always remind me that I have an accent. The thing about accents is, oddly enough, we all have them. Somehow, only a few of us are constantly reminded that we have them.
Whether I am on the busy streets on Monrovia or the small township of Christiansburg, everyday conversations somehow start off with “You have an accent. Where are you from?” Welcome to my life.
I am an immigrant living in America with strong connections to my birth country. When I am in America, I talk about “back home” as the Liberia I grew up in before the civil war forced me out. When I am in Liberia, I also refer to America as home because this is home and has been for over 15 years now. Interestingly, it doesn’t matter where I call home, people are quick to remind me I do not belong because of how I sound.
I was away from Liberia for way too long so I’ve lost the authentic Liberian accent. Conversely, I do no roll my Rs good enough to fit in as an American so, somewhere in the middle of both countries, I find myself answering questions about where I am from. I have been treated both like an American tourist in Liberia and like an international student in America. I cannot blend into everyday Liberian happenings neither can I pass for an American even with my best Boston accent. I went to school, live and work in Boston for almost 10 years, yet in the middle of a Red Sox game someone will pick up my accent and ask “where are you from?”
I must say while dealing with this question and the microaggression in the undertone of not belonging, I can’t help but wonder about the meaning of home. While working in Corporate America, I would tell people I was Liberian whenever they asked about my accent. I felt connected to my culture in so many ways. I was born and raised in Liberia. I spent the first 14 years of my life in Liberia occasionally leaving to seek refuge in neighboring countries due to the civil war. I ate Liberian food, spoke like Liberians and could check off any box that would make me Liberian. Nevertheless, Liberia was not home.
Following my migration to the United States, I was told I had to check a box to identify who I was for demography purposes. I had to assume the identity of African American/Black. I started to fit my way of life into those characteristics to blend into my new identity. After 15 years, I still have parts of Liberia in me that make me stick out to other Americans. I find myself talking about where I am from to strangers in grocery stores, bill collectors on my phone as well as classmates or colleagues. America again is not home.
Last year while living in Liberia, I was told I am not “really Liberian” because I failed in my attempts to speak in my best Koloqua*. I was told that my best sounded like “Ceerees”.* People would usually just laugh at my effort to fit into my Liberian identity and say “you geh, dah series too mehn -Slow down small yah”. It doesn’t matter how much I would intentionally not enunciate my words, parts of America still stuck with me.
When I was leaving Liberia to attend school this Fall, people reminded me that it was time to go home. I looked forward to getting back and handing my passport to the TSA agent at JFK airport and hearing “welcome home mam’. But, it doesn’t matter how many times I hear this, as soon as I left the airport I heard “where are you from” in the Uber on my way home. I can stay in America another decade and every agent in TSA can say welcome home and I will still be considered “other” just from my accent. The same applies to Liberia because I left during the war and somehow that means I forfeited my right to be “really Liberian”.
In my everyday conversations, I find myself calling both Liberia and America home. While in the states, I make reference to Liberia as “back home” and when I get to Liberia I crave Chick-fil-A and cant wait to get “back home” to have some. The frustration of not belonging has now evolved into questions and confusion about identity. If America is not home and I have been away too long to still call Liberia home, how do I answer questions about my identity?
Identity is never just a box that we check. It is more than just documents on a piece of paper that legitimizes your identity. How do we identify ourselves and what measures should we use? Is it language, food, people, traditions, documents, citizenship test? etc? I cannot answer that, but I do know who we should not depend on how we sound. Some of us have multiple layers that define us. The questions about accent reaffirm not belonging. It is not only wrong, but it forces identity into little boxes that are far less complicated than they actually are.
So the next time you meet someone who sounds different than what you think Americans should sound like, talk about something else. People have so much more to offer and identity goes deeper than the boxes we check. Also, when in doubt, talk about the weather!
Note:
*Koloqua =Liberian English
*Ceerees = Liberians way of referring to American accent
“you geh, dah ceerees too mehn -Slow down small yah” = You girl, the american accent to a bit too much, can you slow down a bit?
It took me a very long time to realize I have two best friends in my mother and sister. I had to go through several no good friendships that woke me up from my slumber of everyone is my best friend. Through the years, my mother and sister went from raising me to holding my hands and now laughing with me as I figure out life on my own. I love you, mama and Dr. K. Thank you for every step of the way
November 13th, in the Catholic Hospital in Monrovia a trouble maker came screaming into this world around 8pm. My mother was still married to my Sierra Leonian Dad and the Liberian war was a year away. The years ahead will consist of fleeing to neighboring countries for refuge, growing up in tropical weather, trading my rice for cookies and eventually settling into the United States. Somewhere between bullets and fleeing, I came to learn the philosophy of my life: No Condition is permanent. Whether we lost our house, cars or whatever other material things during the wars, we’d always come back to start over with what was important; family. I’ve learned to never attach too much value to things and always make people the most important part of my life. In the last 3 decades, I’ve come to learn about life mostly by learning about myself. I’ve had only the clothes on my backs and I’ve also had walk-in closets filled with more than I needed. I lived in refugee camps in Ivory Coast and I also live in overpriced Boston Apartments with a jacuzzi and a rooftop. In both of those places, I learn that the most important part of my experience was not what I had, but who I share my experiences with. My life is lucrative mostly because of those around me. And for this, I am grateful. This new age is the beginning of a new journey with new people in a new place. I am ready, but most importantly I am fearless. I do not know what’s ahead, but if the last 30 years is any indication of what I can expect, I anxiously await it. Here’s to one more year of learning to live with some of the very best hand I have been dealt with.
Photo from Cities Alliance website on Projects in Liberia
According to Aid Data, there are over 7,000 aid-related projects and NGOs operating in Liberia. The population of Liberia is a little over 4 million people. During Ellen Johnson’s Sirleaf leadership, she estimated that there were about 1 NGO per every 4000 Liberian citizens and in 2013, the country reported about $13.7 billion dollars in international funding. With such a huge amount in aid, Liberia still sits idly at number 4 on business insider’s poorest countries in the world. With Liberia’s GDP about 934 per capita, one would think $13 billion dollars in aid should go a long way. Instead, 5 years later with new leadership, Liberia continues to sink in deep economic challenges and continuously reaching out her hands in hopes for more aid. The question then becomes what are NGOs and other aid-related projects really doing to help Liberia move towards real sustainable development?
According to the Ministry of Labor, Liberians daily earnings are around 3.5USD for unskilled workers, 5.5USD for skilled workers and a little over 50USD monthly. Conversely, working for NGOs means higher income and in cases involving International NGOs, it can be comparable to working somewhere in the US or Europe. A friend of mine working for an International NGO (INGO) brings home about $900USD monthly as a county representative on an education project in rural Liberia. In comparison to my other friend who is a teacher in a private school, $900 remains a dream to her $150 monthly salary that gets delayed many months due to challenges facing schools. With income as a motivating factor, there is an influx of young Liberians hoping to score positions with INGOs even if it is not in their field. According to the Afrobarometer, a pan-African series of national public attitudes on democracy, more than half of Liberia’s population is unemployed and about 41% of Liberia’s population are considered youth or under the age of 14. Young Liberians only hope for stable income is working with NGOs even if it means gaining no professional development or ignoring personal aspirations.
Every corner of Liberia is plastered with the presence of NGOs. When I say every corner, I mean in the bushes of Fishtown, Rivergee County and on the red dirt roads leading to the rubber plantation in Pleebo, Maryland County. I have seen stickers, posters, cars, campaigns, etc of NGO in every county I have been ( I have been to 13 out of the 15 counties in Liberia!). So what exactly is going on with NGOs and where are the fruits of their labor? In 2014, Global Witness reported that Liberia might be tired of NOGS. The Liberian President, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf blamed NGOS for the economic problems facing the country. Whether these claims were valid or not, we know there were a lot more NGOs at the time and that number has increased yet, Liberia’s economy is arguably seeing the worst cases of inflation of all time. The World Bank reported, “GDP’s growth is projected to slow to .4% in 2019 and remain at about 1.5% over the medium term (2020-2021), well below the rate of population growth of 2.6%”. While the rise in the cost of living continues, NGOs all flying under the banner of development continue to operate in Liberia in hopes of something I have yet to identify.
West point, one of Liberia’s slums, has been the hot spot for so many NGOs. The population of West Point is approximately 75,000 people according to reports from NGOS working in the area. Name a documentary about poverty in Liberia and I will show a place in west point that was featured. Located on a peninsula of the Atlantic Ocean, West Point residents are some of the most impoverished citizens of Liberia despite Liberia’s NGOs directory reporting West point to have the highest amount of NGO compare to other communities. As the title of this piece indicates, NGOs come and go and yet there are no significant changes in places West point. So when will Liberia come to terms that NGOs are not really making any significant impact? Cities Alliance, another NGO operating in Liberia and featuring west point in their promo video described the community as being “displaced by the sea”. During the deadly Ebola breakout in Liberia, West point was again a hot spot for NGO and efforts to eradicate the virus. Shortly after that, the erosion by the seas coupled with the daily life in a slum challenges keeps NGO activities very high in that community. In all my 30 years of living, West Point has always been impoverished. With all the NGOs and specifically INGOs focusing on West point, why does this one small community continues to be the face of poverty for so many campaigns? Is the real goal not to alleviate poverty or when will change come?
The big joke here is Liberia started off as an NGO from the very beginning. When the American Colonization Society (a private organization) decided to assist the US in bringing back freed slaves from the Americas to Liberia, it was the beginning of NGOs operations in Liberia. From missionaries to present-day development “experts”, Liberia remains vulnerable to foreign aid. Local NGOs tailored their projects to fit the funding requirements. Everyone is chasing the money and new NGOs keep popping up, but the sad reality remains that there is no real improvement. This is no strange news that foreign aid is often associated with mismanagement. We all remember years back when the devastating earthquake hit Haiti. The Red Cross was caught in a firestorm with a case of huge donations and no real development years after the earthquake. ProPublica and NPR reported The Red Cross hired Program Manager for their aid work in Haiti after the storm for about $140,000 USD inclusive of a house, food, and other lucrative allowances. Yet, Haiti too, Like Liberia, remains in the shadows of poverty. According to the Center for Global Development, many international NGO operating in Haiti and other developing countries estimate about $200,000 each year in salary. Imagine what $200,000 could do for a Liberia or Haiti? This is not to say International Development work is not needed, but if the overall objective is to develop the countries or communities they operate in, something has got to change.
In Liberia, for example, we cannot continue to host foreigners with little to no knowledge about the culture, history or daily life (other than the copy and paste Africa development work) in charge of projects and hope for a miracle. INGOs operating in Liberia living in the nice parts of Monrovia and visiting their field sight in their air-conditioned Land-cruiser will never fully understand development challenges. Even if they walk around in African print hoping to blend in, the fact remains that race and social status makes them stick out in Liberia. Local Liberian NGOs struggling for funding will not collaborate with International NGOs especially since most collaborations are approached as if locals are not the experts. International NGOs fly in and out of poverty-stricken areas (West Point), take their photos, build a well/hand pump, write their reports and move on to the next project while local NGOs remain in the communities waiting for the next collaboration.
As NGOs continue to permeate every aspect of Liberian society, it is imperative that we set some guidelines for their operations. In the Liberian way, Liberia has become the “Go-Buy-Chop” destination for NGOs (which loosely translates to hand to mouth way of life). As NGOs come and go with new projects, new “experts” with new ways to solve Liberia’s problems, the lives of everyday Liberians remain the same. There has to be a better way to build more sustainable and ethical projects where we avoid using Liberia as bait for funding charitable projects and start providing tangible services that help Liberia. Maybe we can start with the crazy idea that requires all INGO to have 90% Liberians staff and mandatory partnership with Liberian NGO who has demonstrated success through length of service and tangible outcomes (No, building a well does not count!) Another crazy idea would be to actually required that all registered NGO operating in Liberia currently be asses rigorously through what I called the checklist for sustainable and ethical practices for developmental. What have you done in the last year that directly correlates to economic development for Liberia? How long have you operated in Liberia and what can you show for it? (No, wells and hand pumps do not count!) We have to close the “Go-buy-Chop” market until things start to change for the benefit of Liberia and her people.
A chubby cheeked brown boy smiling with food on the side of his mouth, wearing no shoes with a torn t-shirt barely covering his full belly. What a sight! For most westerners, the urge to pick this little boy up and show him to the world seems irresistible. As someone who was paraded around in Europe as a “poor African war child”, I can say this with confidence, please stop picking poor children up for photos.
In 1998, renowned opera singer Pavarotti along with some of his wealthy and famous friends hosted a concert to benefit countries affected by war (see photo below). At the time, I was a happy almost 10-year-old student in Liberia. My school offered numerous extracurricular activities and chorus was one them. I joined chorus and got the opportunity to travel to Europe to sing. After preparations for the trip, we finally arrived in Modena, Italy. There I saw white people obsessed with “poor African children” every stop we made during the days leading up to the concert. People came up to take photos with us, even picking us up and happily smiling while holding “poor African children.” Luckily for us, this was before hashtags so there might not be traces of these on social media platforms, but that experience stayed with me.
Today, nothing truly happens unless you post it, snap it or tweet about it. Social media make us want to show the world our “perfect” lives. We select, organize and present images and stories that we want others to see. In doing so, we sometimes expose other people and cultures in ways that can leave lasting consequences. We travel to places nowadays not because of our exploratory curiosity, but because we want to show the world that we are world travelers or inherently good people helping disadvantaged people. That is the narrative we want to tell with our photos. But imagine seeing a child walking in Walmart alone, Will you A. pick the child up B. Run away C. Look for the parents? Chances are you will look for that child’s parents. Now, after finding the parent, do you A: smile and walk away B. take a photo of their reunion C. hold the child and take a selfie ? I would guess you will politely smile and walk away. This same principle should apply when you travel. As much as poverty makes us reflect on our own life, poor people do not want to be poor. Sharing photos of poor people with the world (consciously or unconsciously) is wrong. What you will not do at home should not go abroad.
Another thing to think about is the danger of a one-sided story, as narrated by Chimamanda Ngozi the Nigerian writer. Ngozi warns that these types of stories are incomplete and make one side of the story seem like the only side. In the case of the lost child in Walmart, what if you posted it with the caption “Lost child in Walmart. Please help”. In the moments before you saw the parent of that child, they might have been lost. Right? The child needed help, but to tell the world (or your followers) that story will be only one side. What if the child ran ahead of the parent or this is their routine of hide- and -seek? We must learn what is unacceptable here at home is unacceptable in other places, even if they have red dirt roads and fit our notions of “poor people”.
Consider before picking a child up for a photo or taking random photos during your travel: these are real people with real lives. Would you want to be documented doing regular things too like drinking coffee or holding your cellphone? Although the people and culture might be new to you, this is an everyday experience for people. We must refrain from posting it and captioning it the way we want others to see it. When in doubt, always ask if it is okay to take a photo and when you do, do not share without their consent and or never makeup captions or try to tell stories of places with your own labels. Ex: “Poor people are happy people.” Is that so? Did you attend a poor people convention and learn that? We must be considerate and compassionate about our words online. To name is to claim power, even as Jamaica Kincaid observed in her work A Small Place; we should avoid trying to possess other’s histories.
If you find yourself abroad armed with good intentions ready to save the world, please try to remember even superheroes have restrictions. You do not need to travel across the world just to appreciate the privileged life you have. Experience with a poor person should not validate you. But, if you find yourself in Africa (Any of the many countries on the entire continent) and feel the need to pick up a baby or children, here are some other alternatives:
Eat Plantains! They are like the noble cousins of banana, but tastier
Eat exotic fruits. Did you know that Uganda (where most people go to pick up Orphans or go on a safari) is known as the Tropical basket of Africa? Pick up fruits and try them
Do you know there’s a place called Banana Island? Off the coast of Sierra Leone (I’ve never seen more gorgeous waters!)
Boulder Beach (Known as the Penguins colony!) you can see thousands of penguins and take their photos instead
If you are really into taking photos, what is more majestic than Mount Kilimanjaro? Come back and brag to your friends about seeing the highest free-standing mountain in the world!
I’m engaged to be married to a fellow Hokie, Liberian, forever student and professional fufu eaters. We’ve come a long way from the red dirt roads of rural Liberia to the college town of Blacksburg, VA. Our love for Liberia, the entire continent of Africa and education is the glue that hold us together. Here’s to occupying spaces our parents only dream about and paving the way for the next generation of Liberian Hokies fufu eaters!
There was a program from graduate students to ask Police Officers questions about their new environment (VTech)
I sat in the room of mostly international students. I listened as we heard about crimes and ways to stay safe.
Then came the questions of how do you call the police in your country. The question went around the room and people called out the numbers they used to contact the police in their home country.
When it was my turn, I said 911. I got a weird look from the police officer and some folks in the room.
Today we drove past the old U.S Embassy in Liberia. As we took a turn, I couldn’t help but notice a building with the sign GreyStone on it. If you went to Google Greystone in Liberia, the first photo that came up was this. Let me tell you something -This photo just like my memory brings back some parts of my childhood that were almost erase by bullets…
Greystones was one of those places people ran for shelter during the Liberian Civil war. I was almost 8 years old during the 96′ crises. I remembered the sounds of bullets, my family packing, my older sister having to dress “dress down” so she was not sexually appealing to the rebels- Whatever that look like. It seem just like yesterday when people were moving in opposite directions with mattresses on their heads. It was always an interesting sight to see. People never knew where they were fleeing to, but they always brought their mattresses. I guess knowing where you are sleeping was not as important as having something to sleep on.
My family and I were some of the few blessed to survive the civil wars and migrate to the Great United States for a chance of a better life. At 25 years old with a Masters degree, running my own not-for-profit organization and actively advocating for little changes in our big world, I was grateful for migration. Even in my gratitude, driving by that day, I couldn’t help, but think about those horrific things I saw waiting outside the gates of Greystones. It could have been me or a member of my family that I saw during the war laying on the side of the road lifeless. I saw a child bleeding in the arms of a crying mother as my mother held me closer while we awaited our chance to get into the shelters at Greystones. To this day, I still remember my very first sight of a dead body. I saw the body laying on his left side with a hole where his right ear used to be. I felt the need to hold my little ears at the time as we escape to safety.
Life at those moment had a whole different meaning. We try to survive each day only to get to another day of survival. Today, I like to think that life is much more appreciated. I have come to understand and appreciate migration in a way that most might not. I know the power of spaces that open their doors, borders and opportunities to me and my family. I am forever thankful for mothers and their survival instincts that kept us going. I do not take for granted any opportunity afforded to me to make a better life for myself and those around me. Why am I sharing all this? I just wanted someone out there to know it doesn’t matter where you come from as long as you can use that as a road map to get you to where you want to be. Thanks for the reminder Greystones. You and other images of Liberia will always be my motivation for bigger and brighter things. Peace & Love.
Zuleka 