Robertsport is a two-hour drive from Monrovia, and we needed to hire a car to get us there. About two thirds is along a nicely paved road, the last third is dirt. Assuming he would know best, we asked Mamadee, who drives us to work every day and has been working for the Executive Mansion for 18 years. He said no problem and arranged for two cars to pick us up on Saturday morning.
As scheduled at 9am, two taxis arrived. I’ve been meaning to post on taxis in Monrovia. Let’s just say they are barely functional – more often than not there is one handle we pass around to roll the windows up and down. As a rule you don't take taxis outside of Monrovia, because you never know when they will break down or whether their breaks are functioning. This was definitely not the type of cars we we expected would take us to Robertsport.
We weren't the only ones who were confused. The drivers also had no idea we were going to Robertsport. But of course, they were happy to make $60 to take us there for the day and assured us that we could get there and back. While we waited for everyone to load up the car, our driver was under the hood, swapping out parts in the engine. Needless to say, not exactly a good omen to start our day.
There were three taxis caravanning up with nine interns total. After sitting in brutal traffic to get out of Monrovia, things seemed to be going smoothly as we flew down a nicely paved and nearly abandoned road. Then we got to our first checkpoint.
I had been told to bring a copy of my passport for this. I also brought along my intern badge. We sat in the car as our driver furiously argued with the police man in Liberian English that was too difficult to understand (more on Liberian English later). Someone picked up a 2x4 with nails sticking out of the top and placed it in front of the taxi.
I assumed it was time to pay another bribe. As usual the officers would find something wrong and the only way out would be to pay them off. We heard them say LD150 (about $2) for the white man. Hmm. We took turns getting out of the car trying to settle the situation. It turns out there was a legitimate reason for our delay: our driver had an expired license (he was by the way, Mamadee’s brother). Eventually we were let go, in no small part in thanks to my intern badge, which says “Office of the President” across the top.
We were stopped two more times along the way, each time the President’s Office association helped tremendously. Then we got to the dirt road.
For the most part it was great. We were able to drive 40mph on it. But there were a few muddy parts we passed through, praying we wouldn’t get stuck. Amazed we didn’t get stuck, actually.
And then, of course, we did.
This is it, I thought. Three hours into our journey, ¾ of the way to Robertsport, we are going to have to turn around and go home. Even if we were lucky enough to get the car out of the mud, it seemed impossible we could get through it to the other side. Not to mention it was the first car of three that was now buried below the front license plate in mud. Not to even think of how many other mud puddles lay ahead.
That’s when things got pretty hilarious.
The driver of the first car tied its bumper to our car with – a piece of twine. Needless to day the only thing that accomplished was immediately snapping the twine in two. Then he tried a piece of cloth, which of course was met with the same fate.
At that point we resorted to the inevitable -- rolling up our pants and attempting to lift and push the car out of the mud. Well the boys at least (I did roll up my pants but there are only so many bodies that can push in front of a taxi). After a well-documented 15 minutes (the rest of us stood armed with our cameras) the car was out of the mud, in front of the puddle.
Instead of turning around, we stood in the puddle, measuring its depth and directing the taxi towards the shallower parts. Success. The other two cars followed.
“There’s no way we are getting out of here,” I thought. But I wasn't ready to think about getting back. We were still trying to get there.
We drove the rest of the way to Robertsport without incident. But the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking to myself, “If it rains, we are screwed.”
But that was something to worry about in a few hours. We had arrived.
1 comment:
Loving the updates, Jenny! Cannot wait to hear if it rained (and judging by your other post about Monrovia being one of the wettest places on earth, I think there may be an excellent story ahead). Miss you!
Post a Comment