Anonymous Country

Anonymous Country is now Expat Backup

2011-05-26T20:16:00.000Z

I'm writing over at Expat Backup now, so come and join us!

Outgrowing Anonymous Country

2011-05-01T22:28:00.001Z

Two things are clear as I look over my last posts on Anonymous Country:

1. Writing about getting my heart broken while being of service to the world resonated with a lot of people. There are a lot of us living abroad, leading people and managing projects that we believe and hope are making our world a better place. Many of us feel the magnitude of what each of us, individually, is trying to shift. Sometimes we feel it so much that it hurts.

2. I have outgrown this blog. I used it as a postcard of Liberian stories for my family, friends and colleagues. It’s time to follow my gut and move on to a more purposeful project.

One of my friends, who’s living his first year abroad, asked me if my last post was cathartic. The word implies a triggering of negatives to bring about a positive, a detoxification. The answer is no. I shared my fears not because I expect them to diminish, but because when I name them, they lose their ability to control me. By sharing them, I also saw from the resounding feedback that many of you feel the same way. I’m talking about the deep fear that our hearts will one day break too much to heal, and that we will come away from the service work we do in the world broken and bitter. We all know plenty of people who have.

I’ll paraphrase the only negative feedback I got: “Elie, we know you’re sad about stuff, but get over it and post your grief in a less public place. I’ve had worse things happen, but you don’t see me blogging about it on the Internet.” I'll continue to update about my beloved Liberia-based community projects here.

But if you ask me to be quiet about the toll the work I do takes, about how I stay focused on creating and inhabiting the kind of change I want to see in the world, and the answer is no.

I won’t.

Instead, I’m archiving this blog and starting a new one at Expat Backup, where I’m exploring how to design an expatriate lifestyle that is healthy, happy, and of service to the local and global community—because aid workers need humanitarian assistance too.

I’m a lifelong expatriate and I’ve seen and experienced the toll our choices to pursue service-focused careers far from home can take on families, friendships, and personal health and happiness.

It shouldn’t be that way, and I’m going to explore what we can do about it.

No matter who you are or what kind of work you do, if you’re living in a foreign country, you face specific challenges. Whether you’re an entrepreneur, an aid worker, a diplomat, a teacher, a volunteer, or any of a long list of professions that seek to create positive change, wanting your work to be of service sets you up for a unique set of expectations and difficulties.

At Expat Backup, I’m going to explore those challenges and see how we can meet them. I’ll be interviewing leaders who are living exceptional lives while being of sustainable service, and I’ll be sharing my own experience about how to design an expatriate lifestyle for maximum happiness, prosperity and positive impact.

My new work is not for everyone. I’m writing for expatriates who want to be of service, smart and intuitive professionals who believe that it’s possible to avoid the burnout and cynicism so common in our fields. I’m writing for those of us who want to innovate and improve on what’s been done before--and what we’ve done the day before. I’m writing because the work we do matters immensely and because it’s up to us to make sure we’re in good enough shape to keep doing it.

I know we can be.

I hope you’ll join me.

Feeling the fear

2011-04-22T15:02:00.001Z

One of the writers I follow challenged me to write about what I’m most afraid of. I read his challenge, packed a backpack and left my island retreat for a mountain village in Bosnia for a few days. I needed to think it over.

My first evening there, I recognized one of my best friends--an elderly Catholic priest from New York who I’ve known since I was 18. I didn’t know he’d be there. He didn’t know I was coming. For the next week, I enjoyed the companionship of someone totally present, an expert at holding space and deeply listening. I am grateful.

I read him my list of what I’m most afraid of. I told him I was afraid to return to Liberia because of the threats I continue to receive from an ex-partner. I shared my fear of being raped and tortured, or that I’d get in a car accident in a country--like Liberia--where there’s no adequate emergency room, no decent hospital.

Then I opened my heart a little more, and told my friend that I was afraid that I could never do enough to fix the problems around me. How no matter what I did for the Co-op, I couldn’t protect them from everything I wanted to or guarantee their future. How it felt like, with all my ideas, I wasn't doing enough. How I mourned the loss of a project whose failure is beyond my control.

“It’s not your job to fix things,” he pointed out, “it’s your job to show up with love.”

Sure, I’m afraid of the list I just wrote out, the list that terrifies me and keeps me awake some nights, feeling exposed and vulnerable for choosing to live in West Africa, for choosing the work that I do.

But what I’m really afraid of is getting my heart broken.

By “heartbroken,” I mean really rock-bottom broken--the kind of heartbreak where you sob without sound, where you don’t notice time passing as you stare at the ceiling or out a window, where you’re inconsolable until you take time out to rest, retreat and revision--like what I’m doing now.

We’ve all had our hearts broken by people, but what about when our hearts are cracked open because of how we choose to experience life? Because we live close to the edge, and risked it, and it didn’t work? Because we saw poverty or loneliness and tried to soothe it with our hands and our heart, but maybe it didn’t like us or didn’t want to talk to us, or what we did seemed to make no difference?

That kind of heartbreak scares the shit out of me.

Every time it happens, I feel like I have to make this the last time, like there’s no way I can go back to that edge and risk my dreams becoming real again--not if this heartbreak is where they sometimes lead. I feel like I can’t possibly embody this kind of grief at the disparities and injustices I see.

For those of us who work in “aid,” or “development” or whatever you want to call it, we’re used to navigating this kind of heartbreak. Mothers in our projects die because they didn’t get to the doctor in time when a complication comes up and they're giving birth. Girls drop out of school and turn to commercial sex work to help their family put food on the table. You offer an opportunity, a chance for change, to someone and they never show up again.

Sure, it’s easier to roll up the car window and turn on the air conditioning. You can try not to look outside. But our hearts tell us to look anyway.

Our hearts tell us they can bear being broken.

Liberia guides for the newbies

2011-04-06T16:29:00.001Z

I've just gotten my hands on two guides to Liberia written by the Liberian Professional Network and part of the intriguingly-named "Demystify Liberia Project":

1.Traveling to Monrovia

2. And just in case you need to get your household goods out of the port and have no idea how: Import and Clearance Procedures for Freeport, Monrovia

Sharing is caring!

*At the moment, these links seem to not be working. Hopefully they'll be fixed and live soon...*

Retreat

2011-04-01T09:39:00.001Z

Sometimes, to heal, you have to step away. I'm willing to bet you know the feelings: heartbreak, anger, stress. You start having the kind of days where it feels like everything is wrong and you're not quite sure how to fix it.

I've got the answer for you: Do nothing. Step away.

Distance and solitude. Relaxation and sunshine. Simple living with the bare essentials. Identify what it is that you need and give it to yourself.

I don't mean to suggest doing anything drastic, like joining a monastery or circumnavigating the globe with nothing but a backpack, although you're welcome to. Mostly, what we need in this face-paced world of ours is good old-fashioned rest. But we wait for people to tell us it's okay. We're not sure they'll be fine without us. We wait for someone to give us permission to give ourselves what we need. Here: I'm giving you permission.

As for me, I'm spending six weeks at a dear friend's house on the sea. I'm halfway through my time and will return to Monrovia in a few weeks. Each day, I can feel myself letting go of the stress and sadness I've been carrying for months. It's a blessed alchemy, the healing that happens when we just let ourselves be.

Sure, it's scary. But every time I check, my world is just where I left it, doing fine without me. I'm betting it will be there when I'm ready to come back.

Maybe you're not able to step away and spend all your hard-earned vacation days walking in the mountains. That's okay. Take half an hour instead. Then do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and again the day after that. Carve out this time for yourself like it's the most important thing on the planet, because you are. And watch what happens to your heart, your mind, and all that tension.

So many of us are working in jobs that care for others, determined to make a positive difference in this world of ours. We have noble professions and feel like our time is better spent saving, helping, and rescuing than sitting in a hammock somewhere and taking a nap. Those of us working in humanitarian emergencies like the one happening now in Cote d'Ivoire know what I mean. But no matter how good you are at your job, or how much you love it, you can't take care of others until you're taking good care of yourself.

So be brave and figure out what that self-care means to you. Start small. Maybe it's sharing a cup of tea with a friend, or making a meal just for yourself, or finishing that book you've kept by your bed for months. Whatever it is, good for you. You deserve it.

If you enjoyed reading this, please share it with someone who could benefit. Thank you!

Open call to African romantic fiction writers!

2011-03-24T12:08:00.000Z

Thanks to Jeremy at Naijablog for allowing me to repost this content. All you Liberian authors, get to work and represent! I can't wait to see the book covers for the series. -Elie

"Ankara Press is a fresh new voice publishing romantic fiction for the African market. We believe that today’s African woman deserves a romance that reflects the full richness her life. We want to showcase the modern African woman in all her strength and complexity while giving her the tools to shape her own destiny. In our stories, independent, capable women meet handsome, charming men who will respect their choices.

We are seeking strong, original voices who can tell fast-paced and engaging stories. We want scenarios that discard dangerous notions of male dominance, control and manipulation. Above all, we want writers will allow African women to see the best version of themselves in print.

If you think you are just such a writer, contact Chinelo Onwualu at: AnkaraSubmissions@gmail.com for submission guidelines."

MovedtoMonrovia on the city's architecture (Part III of III)

2011-03-22T19:04:00.001Z

We welcome guest blogger Matt Jones of MovedtoMonrovia fame for the third installment of his interview, inspired by the must-see Architectural Tour of Monrovia. Thanks, Matt!

All images courtesy of Matt Jones.

AC: What are some of the risks and challenges historic architecture faces in Monrovia?

Coleman or Cooper House, Front Street. Original construction date unknown. Photo November 2008.

Matt: Right now, there is basically no value to any historic architecture in Monrovia, from any era. The city's oldest buildings are its most dilapidated, and would even in a much wealthier city take significant resources (and probably regulatory mandate) to see preserved. I've mentioned several times the loss of the Cooper House on Front Street on Coleman Hill downtown. One day it was just gone, and I asked someone about it and they said, well, maybe a better thing will go there. This is not unique to Monrovia by any means, and there is on-going debate everywhere about the merits of preservation and the incursion of the state into property ownership. Personally I think its a shame, and reflects badly on a society.

The rubble of the demolished Coleman House. Photo January 2010.

Overlaid with this lack of appreciation, which I want to stress is prevalent worldwide, is the weight of this history. This is something I can't fully speak to in the situation of Monrovia, especially as a non-Liberian. Do certain groups see settler houses as a sign of oppression, a bitter reminder of a stratified society? Do they see the huge structures of the state-- the Executive Mansion and so forth--in a similar negative way? As a symbol of state largesse? Do they think of these issues at all? Is there pride, or potential pride in the city's heritage, from all eras? I'm optimistic that the potential for a positive appreciation for this heritage exists. Many non-African societies have adopted an academic or ironic approach to architecture from unpleasant eras--the French honor the monarchical past, younger generations in Eastern Europe often adopt Iron Curtain buildings as their own. I don't think these kinds of conversations take place in a milieu like Monrovia, where decisions are based on essential needs and opportunities. I don't think it rises to a level of aesthetic discourse, I think the cultural defense is a challenging one; I think the economic argument, regretfully, is rather weak.

AC: What can citizens can do to support the preservation of historic Monrovia?

Executive Mansion soon after its completion c.1960-65.

For those Liberians who want to make Liberia a better place, I would encourage them strongly to consider the merits of preservation. First of all, it is everyone's heritage, and not just of one strata of society--it is part of the national heritage of Liberia as a whole. Secondly, I think I could defend a decent economic argument that if Liberia's historic architecture is lost, it will have a negative impact on the country's development. I am completely serious when I assert that Monrovia has the latent potential to be a sort of French Quarter of West Africa-- the place a Lagosian or Accran or Dakarian couple goes for a long weekend, in future years and decades when there is a leisure class of urban Africans. If, in the meantime, Monrovia replaces those settler homes and even, I would argue, its mid-century modernist heritage, the city would be undercutting its most distinguishing built assets.

Postcard showing Broad Street dominated by the brand new Ducor Hotel, c. 1960-65

For the time being, although market forces are surely now and will for some time be against them, there is nothing stopping concerned Monrovians from approaching the government for establishing preservative action. This can take the form of citizen action committees, to raise awareness of the issue and get the conversation going. Eventually, it usually takes real money to be able to wrest control of individual properties from those who don't value them, but I think a public discussion about appreciating Monrovia's buildings would actually do a lot to heal old wounds. Sometimes I wonder if Liberians of settler heritage are cautious about honoring that past too much.

AC: What would you like for Liberians to know about their capital's architecture?

Monrovia from the harbor, around World War I.

Matt: What I hope for, is that Liberians see Monrovia as a beautiful city. It might seem silly to talk about it that way, with its potholes and puddles, noisy generators, barbed-wire walls, overflowing squatter communities, and open trash heaps, its clusters of mud-huts, its ruins. But to me there is no question that Monrovia is laid out on a rather dramatic natural situation, bounded by the ocean and the marsh, interrupted with fierce outcroppings of rock. I think in a number of ways, the manner in which Monrovia has been built over the centuries also make it a nice city. And today, although it is far too crowded for its infrastructure, it is still a great little city.

A German postcard showing Broad Street around the turn of the 20th century.

In terms of its architectural heritage and current additions, aside from what I've said already about preservation, it to decide to make the city beautiful when building, and deciding to build (which means, considering saving the structure that exists). This was the attitude that, by many individually and collectively in previous eras, gave us the tiny but handsome settler capital along Broad Street, and the imposing, futuristic campus of Capital Hill, the serene retreat of the Ducor Hotel, and the sleek playfulness of the LBDI Bank in Sinkor. People designed their surroundings to be pleasant, and something to be proud of. I would hope Monrovians can be proud of their city, and its architecture. That's how you take the best of what you have, and make it better.

MovedtoMonrovia on the city's architecture (Part II of III)

2011-03-18T09:36:00.001Z

This is Part II of a three-part series where I interview MovedtoMonrovia's Matt Jones about the city's architecture, inspired by his Architectural Tour of Monrovia. Thanks to Matt for being such a good sport!

All images courtesy of Matt Jones.

AC: What do you think are some of the most interesting buildings in Monrovia?

Ducor Hotel in its heyday, c. 1960s.

Matt: They say that cities like Berlin and Rome suffer from too much history, and if Africa had such an example of this, I think it might be Monrovia. Monrovia is a small city, heavy with history, which as part of two centuries worth of "layering" that I spoke of above, has produced some remarkable buildings.

The Ducor is obvious, and might not be my absolute favorite, but it is classic. A rather talented international architect, Neil Prince, who specialized in deluxe hotels, designed the Ducor, and I think he did an incredible job of delicately overlaying the complex upon an absolutely tremendous natural setting on the crown of Snapper Hill, with the pool and tennis court on their own terraces. The whole setting--the panoramas of the ocean and city, down to the winding approach, recalls Telegraph Hill in San Francisco. I wonder if its popularity as an expat pilgrimage is not the post-failed state irony of an abandoned luxury hotel, but the intricacy of the spaces themselves. I hope the hotel's imminent reconstruction preserves this harmony with the location.

Ducor Hall at Snapper Hill end of Ashmun Street. Photo January 2009.

For the best of Old Monrovia, I really love the Snapper Hill end of Ashmun Street, the block right around Ducor Hall, which is a delightful little mansion and still has a few stained glass windows. Its a wonderful little corner of the city, overlooking the harbor like some New England whaling town's procession of captain's homes.

Laundry drying on rocks behind the Star Radio Building, Snapper Hill. The Masonic Temple is at right background. Photo July 2009.

I totally love the abandoned French Embassy on Mamba Point, which is a magnificent example of tropical modernism, and has a very accomplished interaction with the huge basalt rocks on the site. They must have had some sweet poolside diplomatic receptions back in the day. Its gorgeous, I hope it is refurbished one day. It would make an awesome house or small hotel. This might be the handsomest building in the city.

Abandoned French Embassy, UN Drive at Benson Street. The two wings of the modernist residence envelop the pool. Photo May 2009.

If Monrovia is post-colonialism's Rome, then surely the Ministry of Defense in Congo Town must be its Colosseum. Repeating my observations from the Moved2Monrovia architectural tour, I find the duck-billed porte-cochere a fantastically idiosyncratic gesture, especially for a military complex. The courtyard of the structure is an amazing space. There is a sort of meeting area on the top floor which is thoughtfully done. I'm not completely comfortable with the original intentions of the building, and I don't want to be seen as celebrating its vacancy in a detached way, but its a very interesting spot to visit.

The never-occupied Ministry of Defense in Congo Town, with its duck-billed port-cochere. Photo August 2009.

The National Bank Tower opposite the EJ Roye strikes me as a very handsome monolith of raw concrete. It would make a great occupied building--especially if converted into apartments. I hope its deemed structurally sound and someone develops it. I think it would say a lot about Liberia's progress if its tallest buildings ceased to be skeletons.

A courtroom of the Temple of Justice under refurbishment, March 2010. Originally built by an Italian contractor in the 1960s.

I could go on. The Ministry of Justice, which I believe was designed by Italians, is a very oddly shaped building, but has some truly stunning, modernist courtrooms, which totally changed my opinion about the place--I was lucky to have a tour from a friend last year who was in charge of refurbishing this wing, which I did a post about. The Ministry of Education on Broad Street is sort of an overbearing structure in a sorry state, but I love the open, high, colonnaded gallery shielding the sidewalk, where the daily newspaper and book vendors are. That is a very successful urban space.

Ministry of Educationon Broad Street, with its large, sheltered sidewalk gallery.

AC: What is your favorite African city, from an architectural perspective?

Dakar, Senegal. Photo July 2009.

Matt: That's another tough one to answer, but I think for all the reasons above I would say Monrovia for sure. First of all, I have only been to a handful of African cities--Nairobi, Accra, and Dakar--which are each very different. Dakar is a very romantic city; Accra is like a miniature L.A. in Africa-- I love spending time there, but its very different from Monrovia.

Many of the African cities that I am most curious about, I haven't been to. High on my list is Lagos--a world unto itself, one that has been written about a lot by sociologists and architects like Rem Koolhaas in the last decade, and one that will be, in whatever form, one of the 21st centuries largest concentrations of humanity. Kinshasa, for the same reasons. Conakry and Freetown are supposed to have dramatic natural settings. I would also like to see cities like Kampala and Yaoundé, laid out over hills. I have seen a lot of video footage of Maputo which puts it high on my list. The planned capitals of Abuja and Yammassoukro would be interesting.

It's a great question because there aren't a whole lot of people who embellish an appreciation for African cities, which are most often the results of mercantile trading, colonial administration, and post-colonial politics, and often manifest the dysfunction and inequality of the state and economy, so their tough to love aren't really set out to be pleasing--but I find them fascinating.

MovedtoMonrovia on the city's architecture (Part I of III)

2011-03-15T11:55:00.002Z

A few weeks ago, I came across MovedtoMonrovia, a site developed and written by friend and fellow entrepreneur Matt Jones. His Learn 2 Speak Liberian English entertained me for a solid morning and his blog was full of great content, but it was the Architectural Tour of Monrovia that encouraged me to invite him to share more with us. Introducing Anonymous Country's first ever guest blogger! Thanks again to Matt for being so amenable to all my questions, and for the great images.

All images courtesy of Matt Jones.

AC: How would you summarize Monrovia's architecture?

Matt: Generally speaking, I would separate Monrovia into four categories, that don't necessarily account for all of its built environment, but that encompass the most interesting and important layers of the city, which exist side by side.

National Museum (former legislature) Broad Street. Photo October 2009.

The first is the 19th-century settler architecture, the oldest buildings in the city. The majority are residential; about the only remaining non-residential structure is the National Museum on Broad Street, which had been the Legislature in previous eras. The Masonic Lodge might be a part of this, but its at a totally different style and scale than any other example of settler architecture, and I don't even know when it was first built. This is a heritage very unique to Liberia and one of the city's most singular assets, and something I talk a good deal about on Moved2Monrovia.

Postcard from Monrovia, c. 1970s. On the top left is the Executive Mansion, bottom left shows the EJ Roye Building dominating the vista of the harbor.

Secondly, there is the mid-20th century architecture, first emerging in the boom-time "Open Door" glory days of the Tubman Administration, from 1950s, with occasional additions up to the Doe years. These remain the city's largest buildings, originally built by international design and construction firms to house a greatly expanded state apparatus: the Capitol Hill complex remains the single biggest intervention the country's built appearance; this joined other ministerial buildings on Broad Street, as well as others like City Hall, and JFK Hospital, and especially that surreal manifestation of a one-party state: The E.G. Roye tower, the True Whig Party's foray into real estate speculation, which I understand used to have a lovely auditorium, but I've never seen it.

Episcopal Church Plaza at Ashmun and Randall Streets, formerly a branch of the Chase Manhattan Bank of New York, built in the 1960s. Photo May 2009.

Relatedly, the international-standard commercial edifices of that period, chief examples being the Ducor Hotel, and several office developments in the center of town, such as the former Chase Manhattan Plaza at Randall and Ashmun Streets.

Postcard of Ducor Hotel atop Snapper Hil, with President JJ Roberts Monument at left. c. 1960s

I own copies of, or have seen, a great number of the photographs that survived from this era, and I have also talked to a number of older Liberians about this, and of course read whatever history I can find. Monrovia was something quite unlike anywhere else in West Africa during in these decades: it was the most orderly, most impressive, most modern city in the region, and a proud symbol of Africans successfully governing themselves just as colonialism was ending.

The EJ Roye Building, a vacant shell, and on the right the never-completed National Bank Tower. Photo November 2009.

By global, not just regional standards, Monrovia was a remarkably wealthy city, with a 5-star hotel and a Pan Am hub launching daily jets to New York, a local branch of Chase Manhattan Bank of New York, an Embassy Row on Mamba Point with representatives of all the world's great powers. Its hard nowadays to even imagine that era, when Accrans and Conakrians would come to marvel at Monrovia, but those buildings are almost entirely still with us. An adjunct to this category might be that only-in-Liberia class of never-occupied buildings from the later Doe era: the National Bank Tower and the Ministry of Defense, among others.


The never-occupied National Bank Building, the tallest building in the country. Ashmun Street near Johnson Street. Photo November 2008.

Not very much was built between then and the present, the post-Taylor period, what might be called the "Ellen-boom" which only really got underway in about 2008--the new hotels and supermarkets, the massive new Chinese Embassy, the National Election Commission and other new state construction, and the enormous Nigerian megachurches. Most of this is totally forgettable, but there are a few commendable attempts to enhance the city. I like the LBDI Bank at Sinkor, designed by my friend Sylvanus O'Connor of AEP. He's very creative. Its very uplifting to see new construction around Monrovia, but most of it I just don't find very compelling--and most of it is not designed with any sort of aesthetic respect for itself or its surroundings. These have appeared mainly to answer the service and consumption needs of NGOs, the UN, and ex-pats, and most of time the only intention is to create guarded, air-conditioned office and residential space.

New Office Building, corner of Newport St and Sekou Toure Avenue, Mamba Point. Photo March 2010.

LBDI Bank, Sinkor at Tubman Blvd and 9th Street. Designed and built by AEP Consultants of Monrovia. Photo March 2010.

Lastly, what might be called the informal layer, created mostly in the late 20th century, is critical to recognize, and to achieve an understanding of Monrovia. This is what is often called 'architecture without architects.' This is West Point, which is similar to, if more crowded than, it was half a century ago, but also the areas that were mostly uninhabited before the war, both large and small: Fiamah, Wroto Town, Behind JFK, Jallah Town, Plumkor, Jorkpentown, Gaye Town, Chugbor, Slipway, and so on in a great arc around the entire city, from Chocolate Factory, north of Somalia Drive, to Thinker's Village on the eastern fringe of Paynesville's sprawl--quite aside from the tiny infills of squatters all across the city, from Mamba Point to Sinkor. Even before I came to Monrovia for the first time, I would fly over these territories on Google Earth, trying to make sense of them. I've been lucky to spend a lot of time in them since then-- some very dear friends of mine live in Gaye Town, another family in Fiamah.

Gaye Town section of Old Road Sinkor. Photo November 2009.

This is where at least one quarter of Liberia, and the majority of the city, reside: living in mat huts or handmade concrete houses across the metropolitan area. This isn't talked about very much, although I know many Liberians both in public service and private enterprise who are very aware of this situation and wish to address it. These small, marginal enclaves are microscopic compared to the scale of slums in other African cities, but it is hugely important to recognize that Monrovia is a city for 200,000 people with a population of at least 1,000,000. This is where the challenge is for Liberia, and for designers of all types trying to improve lives of African's urban dwellers.

The top of Redemption Road, looking west over Barclay Training Center and Mamba Point. Photo Jan 2010.

What is wrong with this picture?

2011-03-11T22:31:00.001Z

Tell me why our power went out...

Apologies to the squeamish!

Mama Liberia sends 2,000 bags to a Milan conference!

2011-03-10T13:26:00.001Z

The Mama Liberia Sewing Co-op just exported its third bulk order of conference bags, this time to Milan.

The order was their biggest yet--2,000 bags! They've been sewing since October to meet the order, and I'm proud to say that their quality control has improved considerably. This used to be one of our biggest hurdles, and out of 2,000 bags, we only found 13 that needed to be returned to the Co-op!

After almost two years of my leadership, I've been slowly pulling away from the day-to-day management of the group, encouraging them to meet and make group decisions without me. I'm happy that they like to have me around, but they don't need me anymore to do their work. They do still need me to manage their sales, though--which I'm grateful for, as I'm not quite ready to let them go. I'll be running the new website, marketing and advertising, and coordinating orders with them for--I anticipate--the next couple of years, as they learn the computer skills and business know-how to do this on their own.

In the meantime, the Co-op is introducing a new item to its repertoire: hand-sewn duvet/comforter covers--a step up from traditional quilts that our market research indicates will sell better than their more traditional counterpart. We'll also be launching our website any day now, so stay tuned if you want to order a duvet cover!

On computer viruses

2011-02-24T15:16:00.000Z

I was up-country in a rural Liberian computer lab last week, assisting Nate while he trained a classroom of secondary students and their teachers on how to use the online platform for our program. These schools usually have donated desktop computers but no regular power, so it's not unusual to hear about students taking up a small collection to buy fuel so they can use their school's computer lab. To them, learning to use computers is worth the investment and it's way cheaper than an Internet cafe, assuming there's one in town.

We make a preliminary assessment of each participating school's computer lab before we arrive, taking time to ascertain how many of their Ministry of Education-donated computers are functional. Usually, it's just a fraction of the total.

At the beginning of our trainings, when the team is busy connecting the working computers to the Internet, I notice as the virus-riddled machines sit there in silence. They may as well be rocks, for all the use are to their students.

Last week, one school we trained had such a myriad of malicious code that it took us 45 minutes to do what normally takes five. The modems picked up viruses and their connections got flaky, the computers had to be restarted every few minutes, and even the digital camera managed to crash a few times.

Still, nothing could daunt the excited of students being connected to the Internet for a first time. One group stayed past 5:00, until their computer teacher sent them home, threatening that the generator was going to run out of fuel.

I wonder if the hackers who write computer viruses know that this is where their code ends up, in a simple African classroom, keeping children whose families live on a dollar a day off the World Wide Web.

Goodbye, Tides: The gratitude list

2011-02-18T00:23:00.000Z

When things go sour, as they did with Tides, it helps to keep perspective. It helps to not feed the anger, betrayal and disappointment. It helps to remind myself why my fiance and I invested in a business in Liberia in the first place. It helps to remember what we did.

So, for all of you who have sent me lovely notes full of gratitude for the spot we created together, here is my own gratitude list for Tides.

1. We created and managed a successful business.

For all the fun I had, this has to top the list. Nate and I aren't business people by background or academic training, but we do have a lot of common sense, value fairness and try our best to treat people well. Tides was successful, and we worked hard to make it that way. I'm really proud of that.

2. We made good food with local ingredients.

I cannot tell you how many times businessmen would approach Nate or me in the lead-up to opening, offering to bring us this or that on their airline or shipping container. "What about frozen french fries?" one would suggest. "Thank you," we'd reply politely, shaking our heads, "but we want to promote all the great local produce Liberia has to offer." From sauteed potato greens with ginger and roasted pumpkin seeds to barracuda ceviche, we did it. And it tasted good.

4. We created some tasty cocktails.

This is one of the things I miss the most, as there are few places in Monrovia that make the effort to serve fresh juice, let alone add fresh juice or infusions to their cocktails. It's not even that hard, and it's far cheaper--and tastier, not to mention healthier--than buying imported boxed or bottled juices. The infused vodkas were great fun to play with. Enough said.

5. We brought people together.

From late-nights with a handful of friends inventing cocktails at the bar to our 100+ person Thanksgiving pot-luck, Tides brought people together. You could chill with your date on the balcony and watch the stars, you could bring your boss for after-work drinks, or you could just rock up on your own and see who you'd meet. Monrovia, with all it's short-termers and turnover, needed a place like that.

6. We contributed to making Liberia a cool place.

It has been a privilege and an honor to start and run a business in Liberia. I'm writing lots more about all the fun stuff, so stay tuned to see what comes of that.

7. We had fun.

Period.

Goodbye to Tides

2011-02-03T23:30:00.000Z

We want to inform our friends and customers that we are no longer involved in Tides in any way. After appropriating our ideas, our management practices and our investment capital, our partner expelled us from our home and the business.

We greatly enjoyed hosting you and getting to know you at Tides and we appreciated your business and friendship alike. We are surprised and disappointed at what has happened, but are deeply appreciative of the friends (and customers) who have helped us through this transition.

We look forward to seeing you at other bars and restaurants and perhaps at a new establishment of our own soon ; )

It was fun while it lasted!

-The Tides team

Overheard in Monrovia

2011-01-25T17:51:00.000Z

"Do we need to buy more ramen for the mice? I don't want them branching out and eating other stuff."

-- Nate, at our old flat

Me (in Uganda, to our friend's driver): Are we north or south of the Equator?
Driver (c.k.a. Mugabe): We are east.

To be continued...I've had a crazy week.

Adventures in Tropical Medicine: Giardia

2011-01-17T11:29:00.001Z

Those of you who have been following the saga of our health here in Liberia will know that I've been diagnosed with malaria seven times and with typhoid four times in the last 20 months. This high incidence of deadly tropical disease seems exaggerated, even to me. Symptomatically, I've felt achy, tired, apathetic and, well...not very happy. But I haven't been ravaged by tropical fevers, left shattered and shaking in my bed by alternating feelings of hot and cold, and truth be told, when I get sick I actually gain weight despite eating almost nothing--figure that one out. Suffice to say that at the beginning of my holiday, the only thing I wanted was medical certainty. What the hell was going on?

In times like these, I fall back on my East African heritage and think of one word: Saio.

Saio is a doctor at Nairobi Hospital, where he's been practicing tropical medicine for decades. He has his own dedicated lab, understands if you only have a few hours to spend in his office, and will make it his mission to figure out what's bothering you without wasting your time. The first thing I did when I knew we were passing through Nairobi was make an appointment.

Now, because Saio is an internationally-respected tropical medicine specialist and people come to see him from across Africa, I'm just going to write what he said. If you live in Liberia, or were just wondering what the hell was going on with all the "malaria," here's what's up:

• If you are taking malarone, it is virtually impossible to get malaria.

• The labs in Liberia, at least the ones we've been going to, breezily hand out false positive diagnoses because a) on the off chance that you do have malaria and they can't see it, they don't want to kill an expat and b) they may not know exactly what they're doing.

That was all very reassuring, as were the absence of malaria or salmonella (the genus that includes typhoid) antibodies in our systems. This means that neither of us has had either tropical fever for the last four months or so, and maybe even longer. Since I've never been full-blown symptomatic for malaria and was just getting tested because I had a little fever or felt like crap, I'm not sure I've ever had it. But anyway, it gets better.

What we did have, Saio told us, was giardia. Lots of lots of the little buggers, one of which you can see above. Doesn't it look like it's smiling? Those aren't eyes, those are suction cups. Giaridia bacteria live in the first meter of your intestinal tract, which is where you absorb most of your essential nutrients. No wonder we've been feeling so tired.

It gets more interesting: giardia is easy to find in stool tests if it's in it's active, just-infected stage, but once it goes chronic after a week or so, only the old and dead bacteria are excreted. After passing through the full length of the intestines, there's not much left for a test to find, so while my active giardia was easily picked up in a lab test, Nate's chronic giardia came up test negative. What to do? Well, if you're Saio, you invent your own test--a giardia DNA probe that tests blood, for which Nate scored a resounding positive. After 18 months of exhaustion, random fevers and general physical malaise, problem solved--all symptoms of chronic giardia, which doesn't even have to give you the shits.

Saio also pioneered a new treatment, as present-day giardia is resistant to flagyl. For two days, at 6 pm, you take two 400 mg tablets of Zentel, which prompts the bacteria's suction cups to loose their adhesive powers. Then, before you go to sleep, you kill the fuckers with four 500 mg tablets of Fasigyn. Two nights of this, when you absolutely must not drink alcohol, and you're all clear--until you get re-infected.

Giardia is one of the most common intestinal populations you can have and it's everywhere, but particularly in areas where there is poor--try non-existent--sanitation. According to Saio's lecture, which came complete with photocopied handouts and articles to read up on, giardia can live for weeks and even months in open pit latrines or anywhere there's shit on the ground. All it takes is for a fly to land on that shit and then on your food, and you're infected. Of course, the common transmission routes of poorly-washed hands is also a major culprit.

Suffice to say, we're pretty sure we'll need to take this treatment every so often. But at least it's not malaria.

Adventures in African Cooking: Pandora's Palm Butter

2011-01-11T16:45:00.000Z

I am blessed with a wide and varied circle of wonderful friends, many of whom "happen" to be magical in the kitchen. Pandora is one of those people, and one Saturday morning, I invited her to the Tides kitchen to come and cook a Liberian specialty: palm butter.

You should know two things about Pandora. One, she is a powerhouse of positive energy. Two, the woman can cook. Her palm butter soup with fufu is Liberian comfort food at its best. She has her own Monrovia-based catering business, Pandora's Basket, and I highly recommend checking it out.

Most recipes for palm butter soup assume you're cooking in the west and can buy canned palm butter at an African foods specialty store. Here's how to make it...

How to Make Liberian Palm Butter

1. Buy bright, sunburst-colored palm nuts fresh from the market. They should be colorful and firm, without bruised or blemished skin. You'll want at least 4 cups to make approximately the same volume of palm butter for soup.

2. Rinse the palm nuts, cover them with plenty of water and set them on a low simmer uncovered. Boil them gently for about 20 to 30 minutes, or until the flesh around the kernel is very soft when you stick a fork in it.

3. Drain the water and let them cool just a little.

4. Buy, borrow or make yourself an extremely large mortar and pestle. The ones here in West Africa can hold about four liters and the pestle is a long wooden pole large enough to look like you could use if for scaffolding. If you don't have your own massive one, you can easily make do with a large plastic bucket or bowl and the bottom of a wine bottle. At Tides, we have our own but it still needs to be "cured" by placing it in a dying fire to seal up the wood, or so I'm told. We usually go downstairs to Johennsen Street and ask one of our neighbors to borrow one, then make sure to return it the next day.

5. Place your mortar and pestle in a clean spot on the floor, placing it on a towel so that it doesn't slip or skid. Then add some of the boiled palm kernels, by this time slightly cooled, and start mashing in regular, rhythmic motion. Your goal is to separate the fruit around the palm nut from the harder palm kernel--what palm oil is made from. Do this in batches until you've

6. Palm butter is made from the soaked liquid of the nut's fruit, so the next step is to soak the mashed up palm nuts in hot water to help extract the butter. We're going to strain this mixture, but first we want to get all the goodness out. Put all your mashed palm kernels in a large metal bowl (or several, if you're working in bulk). Pour enough hot water over it to cover generously, and stir gently to encourage the palm nuts to give up all their juice. Once the water is tepid enough to put your hands in, work the palm kernel fibers between your fingers, rubbing gently. Once you're coaxed all the nectar from your palm kernels, strain the mixture and send the palm fibers to the compost heap.

7. Congratulations! The thick amber liquid you're left with is palm butter and perfect for that palm butter soup recipe you've been wanting to try... Enjoy!

The Mama Liberia photo shoot

2011-01-03T10:47:00.000Z

Thanks to the generosity of the U.S. Ambassador's Self-Help Fund, the Women's Sewing Co-op has funding for a website which we plan to launch in early 2011. As part of the marketing effort, we enlisted the help of a brilliantly talented photographer friend. The Co-op photos she took last year helped launch the group's international sales, and I'm thrilled she was able to work with us again.

Here are some teasers from the shoot. As you can see, the women enjoyed themselves.

The African T-Shirt Company goes local

2010-12-28T19:41:00.000Z

When Nate and I first started The African T-Shirt Company to raise funds for our Robertsport-based community NGO, we did things quick and simple. Website? Try Google Sites. Photos? Bring out the digital camera and let's talk some against the wall when the sun is out. Modeling? No one's around--let me go wash my hair.

A year and a half later, and we have a staff of plenty at Tides and a gorgeous rooftop balcony with a view of West Point and the Atlantic. So, we reshot our classic designs and added a few new ones.

Here's Alfred Lomax, in a photo picked up by B-spirit!, the Brussels Airline in-flight magazine. They give it out free at their office in Monrovia, so it has a large local readership.

A new design from Old Star Radio, here's the Ministry of Fun and Drink...

And because Maryedeh of the Tides kitchen enjoyed having her photo taken so much...

You can see the rest--and buy shirts--here.

Back to Tides

2010-12-20T17:53:00.000Z

Over the last few months, under different management, Nate and I were able to have the break from Tides we so desperately needed. Start-up is hard work and the ability to hand it to a friend and step back for a bit was a total blessing. We're grateful to our manager friend who took it over as soon as we asked (ahem, begged) him to, and handed it back the moment we said we missed it and wanted back in. Thank you!

So, here we are. We have a wonderful friend who's also invested in the business and is handling all the day-to-day management. At the moment we're creating long-term systems for tracking everything from knives and forks to the prices of our toilet paper, trying to get the business viable and accountable without constant oversight.

It's hard work, mostly because I'm a just-do-it kind of girl who enjoys the feeling of pulling everything together at the last minute with a smile on my face. Not for me, endless spreadsheets and temperature logs for the fridge and freezer. Only, those things are important...so I hired a kitchen manager. We've prioritized food hygiene and safety, timeliness of orders and quality control, plus I'm totally redoing the menu in January, when our corn masa order should come in and make Mexican food again a Monrovian reality.

It feels good to be back--and this time, in the shadows, letting our team do the hard stuff.

Thinking it over

2010-12-14T17:20:00.000Z

So, a lot has been going on in the last six week that I've not been blogging. I hit a bit of a wall in terms of self-care, and am slowly starting to take the time that I need to care for myself the way that I need to.

I suppose this is always a bit of a back-and-forth, and it's sometimes difficult to make space for yoga, meditation, art or reading when there are so many projects and people that can absorb my attention. Working non-traditionally, outside of an office routine, can also make setting a regular self-care routine difficult. "I can always practice later," I tell myself as I settle in front of my laptop in the morning, only to find that once it turns 6:00 I'd rather check on Tides or figure out what to cook for dinner.

Putting myself first can seem really selfish, but it's important--I think essential--if I'm going to do the things I want to do. So often, when I'm not in a good place, starting from a foundation of peace, equanimity and serenity, nothing else seems to work well. I find myself short-tempered and focused on people's short-comings, which isn't productive, especially in such a challenging environment. When I do take time for myself--time that seems self-indulgent and lavish, at times--I have compassion and patience, two qualities I think are necessary for good work.

I'll be practicing and would gratefully appreciate suggestions and comments about how you manage self-care in challenging, work-driven settings. How do you do it?

Living on the ocean

2010-11-09T21:57:00.000Z

Most mornings, I hear the sound of men fishing outside my window.

A simple dugout canoe is launched off the beach at West Point and drops hand-mended nets in a semicircle until it reaches our part of the beach. Young men wade in, pick up the end of the net--the start is anchored on the West Point beach with a similar crew--and start pulling the rope in with their hands. Meanwhile, the man in the boat beats the side of his wood vessel with a wooden oar or slaps the water. The sound takes a moment to travel and you hear the knock a split-second after you see him splash.

Early, I like to peek out the window and watch them.

Party at the Mama Liberia Sewing Co-op!

2010-11-09T17:21:00.000Z

The Mama Liberia Sewing Co-op just had it's first party. I'm not sure why it took us so long, except that gathering all the women together seemed like a volatile event and I shied away from it for a few months. I think, despite a few hiccups, that it went well and they all had a great time. Parties like this are important for building their group identity and increasing their social capital. That, and they deserved it.
Here is Miriama, showing off the chicken stew they served with check rice, followed by pepper soup and fufu. I brought the chickens and soda, and the Co-op members all pitched in for the rest of the food. They had big pots with massive, rake-like spoons. Next time, I'll get to the party earlier so I can watch the cooking.
By the time I made it into the kitchen, the dancing had begun.
This is Joe, celebrating the Co-op by dancing happily in front of the Nana's bar. Thanks to Nana's Lodge for hosting our party!
This is my favorite photo, of the women looking at a slide-show of the photos we're going to use for their Mama Liberia website. As you can see, they like them quite a lot.
Here are Tina, Ma Bendu and Matilda (left to right), the three Team Leaders of the Co-op. They're each responsible for four tenured members and a wider team that is mobilized during big orders. These three wome have been with the Co-op since the beginning!
This is Jebbeh, who is using her sewing money to build her own house.
This is Miriama dancing with her daughter, little Bendu, named after Co-op Team Leader Ma Bendu. Miriama uses her sewing money to invest in her own transport business.
This is Josephine, who opened a bank account to save her sewing money. Josephine is trained as a nurse but hasn't found work in the local health centers. I'm not sure why and this puzzles me, as Liberian is in dire need of rural health workers. I intend to talk to her more about this in the future and see if she can't find a job in the area.
Tina, who organized most of the party cooking and serving, gets ready to serve the food. That's Jenneh next to her. Tina started a crab-selling business with her sewing money and Jenneh is building her own house.
I'm posting this portrait of rather happy looking Ma Bendu wearing lovely surfer boardshorts commissioned by some friends. They look good, right? She never managed to deliver them, probably because she likes them so much herself. You two know who you are, and if you want me to organize a duplicate pair, let me know.
Of course, someone has to do the washing up. Small Bendu and Jenneh volunteered, but didn't want to be left out of the photo taking.
And last but not least, the obligatory children's shot of little Bendu and friends.

To buy Co-op products, visit The African T-Shirt Company. Thanks to all for your support!

Pics from the 2nd Annual Surf Liberia Contest

2010-11-04T21:07:00.000Z

On October 24, a group of local and expatriate surfers gathered under the cotton tree at the Robertsport Community Campsite to convene the 2nd Annual Surf Liberia Contest. T-shirts were passed out and surfers registered, but where were the waves?

We waited until low tide then made the call for Shipwrecks, carried over chairs from Nana's Lodge and set up under an almond tree. We had 12 local surfers and 7 expats, including a few beginners and very new local beginners. You know you've succeeded in targeting youth when one of the contestants signs his name, "Baby Boy."

The contest lasted a little over three hours, with judging done by local and expat surfers as well as the visiting Surf Resource Network crew. We had over a hundred spectators, including Robertsport locals and weekenders, some UNMIL visitors, and even half of the Mama Liberia Sewing Co-op! The waves were a bit onshore, shoulder to head-high with some overhead sets on the drop quickly turning to mushy faces.

Of course, when it came time for the women's heat right before the finals, the swell surged to overhead plus and I got smoked--along with the relative and extremely brave newbie I'd cajoled into surfing with me. Better luck for the women's division next year!

Thanks to Robertsport Community Works partners Soul Surfers Foundation, Seren Clothing and Surf Resource Network. Thanks to our Surf Liberia contest event sponsors Nana's Lodge, Liberia Travel and Life Magazine, and Miss Boss Lady Entertainment. We value your support!

Here are some photos, courtesy of Surf Resource Network's Sean Brody, of the contest:

Alfred Lomax finishes a heat. Alfred is currently on scholarship courtesy of the Ministry of Youth and Sports and attending high school in Monrovia.

Alfred does a cut-back at Shipwrecks.
Alfred wins the contest and is chaired to the beach by fellow surfers. This is my favorite contest shot.
Alfred, 1st place in this year's Surf Liberia Contest, with a wooden plaque hand-carved in Robertsport.

Peter Swen, a university student in Monrovia, pulls into a little barrel before giving Alfred a run for his money and winning 2nd place.
Armstrong shows some local style on his newly-donated board.
Philip has gotten a lot better this year, thanks in part to a surfboard of his own donated by the Soul Surfers Foundation. Thank you!
Sam Brown Jr. looks remarkably like his father, Sam Brown, a member of our Community Board and an invaluable member of Robertsport Community Works. His board was donated by Surf Resource Network. Thank you!
For a full budget overview of Surf Liberia and the surf contest, check out the monthly budget reports on our Robertsport Community Works blog.

See you in the water next year!

I love Tides.

2010-10-28T20:30:00.000Z

We're a strong team at Tides now, with two additional members of the management team. It means now, instead of all decisions being made by Nate and me, plus our investors when it mattered, we're now a handful. Each of us has something we like to do best and are looking forward to doing things together.

Speaking for myself, I'm quite looking forward to making crab and pork dumplings a la Chinatown in NYC. I want so desperately to write "soup dumplings" -- if we manage that, it will be quite the achievement.

It's a wonderful feeling to have assembled such a strong team and to be in a place where we're working together, managing our collective priorities and sharing our vision for Tides. As we work together to create long-term management systems, we're also hiring new staff. If anyone knows of a strong and experienced kitchen manager, preferably a woman as our kitchen is 100% women, let me know.

Here's a new waitress studying our drinks menu before opening time:

If you're in Monrovia, come to our Halloween costume party tomorrow! DJ Raed, a special live performance by MC Digga, and the scariest shots in Monrovia...

Adventures in African Cooking: Chutney

2010-10-22T17:43:00.000Z

Chutney is the ketchup of my childhood. We put it on sandwiches (especially cheese sandwiches), chips (or anything with potatoes, for that matter), chicken, roast beef...I drew the line at pizza. Chutney comes from the Indian subcontinent and traveled widely as a popular import as early as the 1600's. Of course, European versions were sweeter and less spicy than the Indian versions, as are African ones like Mrs. H.S. Balls, to the left.

Really, chutney can be made at home with whatever is in season, some spices and a saucepan. Mango is indubitably the most popular, but I'm recovering from malaria so let's save that for another post.

For now, here are some ideas about how to use bottled chutney. Of course, I prefer the South African brand to the left, which you can find even in Monrovia, but if you're lucky enough to have a friend who makes her own, good for you.

Salad dressing, especially on a cabbage-based salad: Mix a spoonful of chutney with olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.
Marinades for beef, lamb chops or chicken, especially for a barbeque/braii: Use it straight or mix it like the salad dressing, above, using less oil and less vinegar.
Cheese toast: My favorite. Toast bread in a toaster oven and add slices of cheese as it starts to brown. When the cheese bubbles and browns, smear on some chutney.

The savory-sweet combination might be a bit strange at first, but it's a unique and hard-to-pinpoint flavor combination that's worth experimenting with. I recommend it especially as a lift for cabbage salad, for those of us that are scared of the local lettuce and haven't yet gotten around to growing our own.

Full moon over Waterside

2010-10-18T23:14:00.000Z

This is one of the apartments above the Johennsen Street warehouses that border the ocean. I like the plants growing out of it. A family used to live here, but I think they got evicted. Now our security guards use it as a night post.

Surf Liberia Contest next weekend!

2010-10-13T19:02:00.000Z

I've been spending today getting all the details ready for next weekend's 2nd Annual Surf Liberia contest. Learn more here if you think you can make it. Email me if you plan to compete!

Here are the details:

The contest will run on the morning of Saturday, 23 October if the waves are good. If not, it will be postponed until the afternoon, or even Sunday morning or afternoon. Once we begin, the contest will take about three hours.

We have three partners supporting us this year: Soul Surfers Foundation, Seren Clothing and the Surf Resource Network. Soul Surfers sponsors our Surf Liberia mentoring program in the Uptown community, the Surf Resource Network is helping us run the contest and the boys at Seren Clothing (both of whom I went to school with in Cairo) did the t-shirt.

Solomon thinks its really cool. I agree. He's helping us have a first run-off of 60 made for next Saturday. We'll put them on The African T-Shirt Company, which will also see some new energy in the next few months...

We'll have live commentary, prizes for 1st to 4th place, and it's the best place to see all the local surfers side by side, representing Liberia. Nana's Lodge and Miss Boss Lady Entertainment are the lead Liberian sponsors, contributing to the Surf Liberia Mentoring Project and lending us a hand with the organizing.

Hope to see you at the contest!

Coolest egg carton ever

2010-10-12T20:47:00.000Z

You want monitoring and evaluation? Take this, from the Duke of Wellington.

2010-10-08T17:08:00.001Z

This is the Duke of Wellington on monitoring and evaluation, back in the day:

Whilst marching from Portugal to a position which commands the approach to Madrid and the French Forces, my officers have been diligently complying with your requests, which have been sent by H.M Ship from London to Lisbon and thence by dispatch rider to our headquarters.

We have enumerated our saddles, bridles, tents and tent poles, and all manner of sundry items for which His Majesty’s Government holds me accountable. I have dispatched reports on the character, wit, and spleen of every officer. Each item and every farthing has been accounted for with two regrettable exceptions for which I beg your indulgence.

Unfortunately the sum of one shilling and ninepence remains unaccounted for in one infantry battalion’s petty cash and there has been a hideous confusion as to the number of jars of raspberry jam issued to one cavalry regiment during a sandstorm in western Spain. This reprehensible carelessness may be related to the pressure of circumstances since we are at war with France, a fact which may come as a bit of a surprise to you gentlemen in Whitehall.

This brings me to my present purpose, which is to request elucidation of my instructions from His Majesty’s Government, so that I may better understand why I am dragging an army over these barren plains. I construe that it must be one of two alternative duties, as given below. I shall pursue either one with my best ability, but I cannot do both.

1. To train an army of uniformed British clerks in Spain for the benefit of the accountants and copy-boys in London, or perchance

2. To see to it that the forces of Napoleon are driven out of Spain.

Ha! It's from a recent paper by Former USAID Administrator Andrew Natsios called "The Clash of the Counter-bureaucracy and Development."

h/t to Alex Evans at Global Dashboard

Feel the fear and (try to) do it anyway.

2010-10-07T19:26:00.000Z

Photo courtesy of Alex Costa.

I've started writing this blog post at least 20 times, so let's cut to the chase. That is me. That is a smallish wave, about shoulder high. That is me not taking that wave.

On that particular wave, I didn't paddle quite hard enough. On the 10 before and after it, I likely did--and then pulled back at the last possible moment. In surfing speak, I didn't commit.

My yoga teacher is always saying that they way you do one thing is the way you do everything. I'll tell you that I don't have a fear of commitment--I just don't want to get hurt. I'll tell you I don't mind taking risks, but that I don't want to break my board or end up on the rocks--in other words, I don't want to suffer the consequences.

My fears are well-founded. I've gotten a black eye from surfing (just one). But when I moved to Liberia, I think had more confidence than I do now. Now I've got experience and what I call The Fear. I'd like to point out that The Fear is based on this experience.

Two weekends ago was my first time back in the water after almost two months of work-vacation-more work. The waves were short-period, which means you don't have a lot of time to catch your breath between duck-dives under the whitewater, but they weren't huge. Still, as I started to wade in, my breath got shorter and stayed in the top of my chest. My heart started beating faster and my stomach tightened. As I kept walking into the water, I noticed that I'd started to sob softly and then, full panic ten meters further, I started to cry.

"I hate this!" I yelled to Nate, who was doing his best to calm me down and keep me happy. "I can't do this! I hate it! I'm terrified and I just sit there! I don't even catch any waves!!!" And at that, I started crying again, so angry this seemingly irrational fear of large walls of water.

Thing is, it's not true: I do catch waves. I catch all of the ones I go for and I never, hardly ever, wipe out. Maybe I'll face-plant after a turn or something, but I rarely get the free-fall "oh my god that was bad" wipe-out. My wave selection is perfectly focused on the shoulder-high, little ramps that have my name on them. And because I haven't taken a wave in half an hour and my surfer buddies want to see me succeed, I never paddle battle for them.

But sometimes, a wave comes that has my name on it and it isn't shoulder-high or sloping. It's steep and big and by the time I register this I'm on top of it, about to drop. It's not that I think I won't make it. I think I might. But also, I might not--and that's the part I don't want. I want all the success without the underwater pummeling.

I know it doesn't work like that. I also know that surfing West African waves, without the Flying Doctors or a decent local hospital, I'm playing it safe. But I don't really think I'll end up bloodied and broken if I go outside my comfort zone. I just don't want to deal with not making it. I don't want to fail. Some part of me thinks it's not okay.

According to a friend who's been surfing for more than 30 years, what I need is confidence. I can do that. Confidence can be got. But I want to get it gently, gracefully, and I want to enjoy it. Stay tuned--and hopefully there will be more pictures.

Adventures in African Cooking: Nana's Lodge hot red pepper sauce

2010-10-04T11:30:00.000Z

I know the last cooking post was about pepper sauce, but the kitchen at Nana's Lodge in Robertsport just showed me how to make their version, which is my favorite. If you're up for it, this bright red blend of onions, tomato paste and red peppers that can act more like a sauce for rice than a condiment. Again, a warning.

Nana's Lodge Red Pepper Sauce

1/2 cup onions, thinly sliced
2 cups red hot peppers (the Liberian ones look like Scotch bonnets but aren't quite as hot--experiment at will)
a spoonful of seasoning salt (the kind without MSG), but just salt and pepper will do
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup tomato paste
1/2 cup water

Before you start cooking, open the windows and have tissues around to cough into. Cooking a pan full of hot peppers releases some noxious fumes, so maybe an escape route from the kitchen is also a good idea.

Wash the peppers and remove their stems. Then put them in a mortar and pestle and mash them until the skins start to break up. Add the sliced onions and keep mashing until everything is a mushy paste of skin, pepper flesh and seeds. Be ready with a big spoon to scrape it into the pan and under no circumstances let the peppers touch your skin.

Heat the vegetable oil in a saucepan over medium heat. It will start to shimmer and, before it gets too hot, add the tomato sauce and stir to incorporate. At this point, if there's leftover oil that doesn't want to blend with the tomato paste, you can spoon or pour some off. Keep in mind, though, that oil is the preservative in pepper sauce. The more oil that's in the sauce, the longer it will keep.

Next, spoon in the hot pepper and onion mixture. Mix until uniform and then add the water. Stir pretty constantly for about 5 minutes or until the peppers are cooked. Add seasoning salt to taste. Remove from the heat and cool before serving, ideally in a small bowl with a spoon, next to the rice. This will keep in the fridge for weeks and at room temperature for about a week.

Enjoy!

Overheard in Monrovia, 6

2010-09-30T11:20:00.000Z

"If you hold it like that, it will slap you."
-- Ma Bendu, advising me to hold the sea turtle we were releasing upside down until we put it in the water. She was right.

"Did you just put that you're working 881 days this year?"
"I think so."
-- Nate and I, correcting my math.

"It's so hot, it feels like the sun is branding the center of my brain."
"We don't have nearly as many ways of talking about heat as you do. In my culture, we just say, 'It's hot.'"
-- Nate and Solomon, on the way to Robertsport.

Have something to share? Email me and I'll post it in the next installment of 'Overhead in Monrovia'!

The 2nd Annual Surf Liberia Contest runs Oct 23-24

2010-09-28T13:13:00.001Z

Photo of Liberian surfer Armstrong (no pun intended) courtesy of Myles Estey.

Robertsport Community Works is pleased to announce the 2nd Annual Surf Liberia Contest, to be held on the weekend of 23-24 October on the surfing beach in Robertsport, wherever the waves look like they're breaking best.

Participants and volunteers will meet at the Robertsport Community Campsite cotton tree on Saturday 23 October at 9:00 am to decide which break is working best. We'll postpone to the afternoon/next morning/next afternoon if we expect conditions to markedly improve.

If you'd like to participate, send me an email. Registration for participants is $25 and you get a cool contest t-shirt inspired by a Liberian painter. Shirts will also be on sale at the contest site and though The African T-Shirt Company. All profits go directly to the RCW Surf Liberia Mentoring program. Local surfers compete for free.

We hope to organize a fun, relaxed event that showcases the local surfers' skills and sportsmanship, and to have a fun day at the beach!

The big picture

2010-09-27T11:04:00.000Z

It's been almost a month since Nate and I got back from our desperately-needed vacation. While we were relaxing, we didn't pick up the phone. We didn't open our laptops. I ate a lot of steamed callaloo and drank bananas blended with rum. We got to see Toots and the Maytails live under full moon. It was relaxing, revitalizing and, best of all, it gave us focus.

A lot of things sifted into place while we were away. First was that our life in Liberia had gotten too hectic. Way too hectic. We hadn't had time for writing, collage, or even surfing--all things that really matter. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cooked a meal just for the two of us.

While we were away, both of us clearly identified a need to step back and prioritize. We still loved that we live in Liberia and are leading on some cool and creative projects, but we missed our freedom, especially the ability to craft our own schedule for work and play. It seemed, at least as far as the major start-up was concerned, that it was time to hand over the baby.

We focused on Tides because, as the new project in our lives, it demanded the most attention. It's a bar-with-food, so of course it does. Anyone who's gotten close to one of those projects will tell you that--and this is probably the exact phrase they'll use--"It's a lot of work." It is, first because of the sheer number of things, people and processes to manage, and second because the schedule is unrelenting.

It doesn't matter if you're on a call for your real job all afternoon or that you're down with malaria. If you don't call the vegetable supplier before 2:00 pm, you're not going to get your delivery on time and your prep won't be ready by opening time, effectively delaying food service for the whole night because you needed some personal time. That kind of unrelenting schedule--where you sometimes have to put the job first and yourself second--wasn't such a good thing over the long term.

Looking at the way things worked out, just less than a month back, I couldn't be happier or more full of gratitude for how gracefully we've been able to move through this management transition. I love beginning things and then handing them to the right people. It keeps my energy in the right place: conceptualizing, creating, building, moving things from ideas into reality and making something new. Being able to turn Tides from an abandoned, dilapidated rooftop to a popular cocktail bar that showcases Liberian and West African produce and where people feel like they can let loose....I'm proud of us.

The changing Tides

2010-09-22T14:00:00.000Z

Officially as of my birthday today, my dear friend and fellow Funrovian Sachin will be managing Tides. Those of you who are our people know him as the chatty Indian guy who hadn't missed a night at the bar since he found us and who sent out our welcome back email four times to the expat list. I recommend getting to know him. He's a perfect host and all-around awesome.

This good news means Nate and I get to step back, enjoy the fruit of our hard work and drink coconut water as we sit on the deck and watch the fishing boats sail past. We're still involved as investors, but the start-up phase is officially over. We did it!

And I only halfheartedly apologize for the pun in the title. I can't help it: it's genetic.

Adventures in African Cooking: Liberian Pepper Sauce

2010-09-14T18:56:00.000Z

I am writing this in withdrawal. It's been 5 days since I've allowed myself to eat hot peppers, the small bit off the end of a roasted hot pepper dipped in Thai sweet vinegar sauce last night notwithstanding. My stomach is feeling much better, thank you. I still deny any causation from the correlation hot pepper equals terminal belly pain, but my behavior has changed.

So, in my longing, I give you multiple variations on pepper sauce--that Liberian elixir that, when everything else in your meal is going very wrong, you can slather on in abundance and find comfort in the fact that yes, it is passably good and now you can eat it.

Here in Liberia, the predominant fresh peppers are Scotch bonnets with bird's eye around if you search a bit. For 100 L.D. (about $1.40) you can get about 3 cups of mostly green ones with some red thrown in. I like to sort out the slightly sweeter red ones, blitz them in the food processor and add vinegar, salt and sugar for an Asian-style pepper sauce.

There are as many variations on pepper sauce as there are people who love it too much. For example, my ladies in Robertsport boil the peppers first, then mash them, then fry them. The way I've written up here is easier and probably slightly hotter because you don't boil and drain the peppers. Do with them what you will, but don't blame me if you start to experience intense distress over liking something that causes so much pain...

Liberian hot pepper sauce

1 cup hot peppers, washed and dried, then sliced finely
2 cups onions, sliced
salt or a seasoning cube, if you're up for the MSG (and who here isn't?)
vegetable oil, about 1/4 cup (don't skimp. this will help preserve the pepper sauce and aid its sauce-like consistency)

Mix all the ingredients in a saucepan or a frying pan, stirring over low to medium heat until everything is cooked and smelling nicely. You might want to open the windows, as the steam from the cooking peppers will make you and everyone in your kitchen and perhaps your building cough violently (don't forget that people have called anti-terrorism squads in response to fumes from brewing pepper sauce). When the acrid and inflammatory fumes disperse and start smelling sweet, the sauce is ready to taste to adjust the seasoning.

At this point, you can add a variety of ingredients: creamy peanut butter (a.k.a. ground pea butter), tomato paste (my favorite, creating a very spicy ketchup) or, if you're really brave, some mashed smoked fish.

Don't be shy to tell me what you think!

The RCW Sea Turtle Rescue Project

2010-09-10T16:48:00.001Z

Design courtesy of Tamar Losleben.

Last September, before our first beach cleanup, Alfred and I were surfing Inners and he noticed a massive pile of sand right under the big almond tree.

"Turtle!" he shouted, and started digging.

Rather naively, I asked what he was doing.

"Turtle eggs are too sweet," was his reply.

I paused for a minute, reluctant to be the white woman in Africa who pushes conservation just for the sake of it, going crazy with zeal for, say, saving turtles while the community around me was also in need. I waited, weighed my options--Alfred thinking I was insufferable versus being indirectly responsible for a hundred dead turtle eggs--and told him not to dig them up.

"But why, Elie? If I don't, someone else will." He had a point. Without a plan, and a good one at that, what was I doing trying to change the behavior of one person when clearly it wouldn't affect the outcome?

Still.

"Do it for me, okay Alfred?"

Alfred gave me a look like I was exactly the crazy white woman stereotype I was trying to avoid, then grabbed his board and we surfed a few little Inner Cottons stomach waves before starting the cleanup. We joked about the turtles for weeks.

We still joke about the turtles. Only now we've run a 3-month pilot Sea Turtle Rescue project modeled on the one in Ghana and we're a little further along from where we started. Just a little.

What we've learned from Project Leader Abraham (AB) Fanbulleh is that it's not easy for people to trust the project's motives. They think we're working with the police, who arrest people in possession of either sea turtles or their eggs and imprison them until they pay a hefty fine.

We also have teaching to do about the importance of sea turtles in maintaining species balance in the ocean ecosystem, although AB has been explaining slowly their connection to keeping jellyfish populations--that ruin fishing nets and spoil entire catches--at bay.

There's obviously more, but that the main stuff. We have a lot to work on in the future!

Excerpts from the Current Gratitude List

2010-09-02T17:47:00.000Z

#3 Two Chinese women give $30/hour massages at Glamour Salon beneath Tides. They have a strong massage table, use scented oils and it's a wonderfully relaxing experience. It's worth the effort to get an appointment. I highly recommend.

#7 I can get $7 pedicures at Glamour Salon beneath Tides and order grapefruit juice and soda--my new favorite at the bar. Service to the spa is a little slower than upstairs, but it's worth it. Way to feel pampered!

*
Glamour Salon and Spa, beneath Tides
077-093-236 / 06-413-197

On holiday

2010-08-30T22:09:00.000Z

Photo courtesy of Alex Costa.

At the moment, I'm on holiday. I'm sleeping close to the ocean, eating fruit and salads, walking on the beach and falling asleep in the sun. I'm taking the time I need to recharge, refresh and renew my commitment to my dreams and my projects.

These days, they're becoming the same thing.

Thanks for reading. I wish you a wonderful last few weeks of summer.

Overheard in Monrovia, 5

2010-08-23T18:07:00.000Z

The amodiaquine used me. I was like crazy."
-- Solomon.

"You are free. Free! Even the pupu is free."
-- Lab technician, explaining good results.

"You don't understand. The catch is natural to me."
-- Tides.

"Are you a model? You should be in commercials."
-- Tides.

"Welcome to Tides. Tides is the place to be. Signed: Solomon, sponsored by Tides."
-- Graffiti on the Tides bathroom chalkboard.

Tides is on holiday

2010-08-18T18:11:00.001Z

We're closing Tides for the 2nd half of August while the staff take annual leave and Nate and I go on holiday.

It will be a long-overdue and well-deserved break. We haven't had a holiday since getting involved in Tides construction back in January. We worked so hard to open the place, I can hardly believe it's been four months since we opened. We've come a long way.

It's time to step back for a moment, to reassess how we want to be running things and put systems in place to ensure that processes like stocking soda water and buying soy sauce go smoothly--or as smoothly as they can at a seafood bar in a country that says they don't go fishing in the rain.

We'll be open again on Friday, 3 September with DJ Raed spinning on Saturday, 4 September. If you're in Monrovia, I expect to see you there.

Trying not to be kali

2010-08-16T20:55:00.000Z

Deep exhale.

I have waited too long to go on holiday.

How do I know?

In Swahili, when you call someone kali it means they're cranky. Like, really cranky. It's after the Hindu goddess of destruction.

"That mama is kali," for example. Being kali is not a good thing.

It's my new FB status update. At least until I go on vacation. I won't let myself go this long without a break again.

Seriously.

Dollar dumplings

2010-08-12T17:41:00.000Z

After some experimentation, we figured out how to make the most delicious dumplings. Look what's on the Tides menu!

- Potato greens and oyster mushrooms
- Chili and basil chicken
- Shrimp wontons
- Pork and cabbage

This, along with green papaya salad and a spicy Thai chicken coconut soup that involves lots of lemongrass and is perfect for rainy season.

Come and enjoy!

Welcome, Peace Corps!

2010-08-06T17:41:00.000Z

Robertsport has Peace Corps volunteers. Two, to be precise, and very nice they are indeed. They'll be here, living in Uptown, for two years--three, if they want to. We are very, very lucky.

Welcome!

How the Sewing Co-op spends their money

2010-08-04T14:42:00.000Z

For their bulk order we're sending out from the Co-op next week, we decided to take a group photo. Three of our tenured members were missing, but here we are (the sun was bright: we normally look much better than this):

Top row (left to right): Bendu, Matilda, Tina, Jenneh, Matilda, Botoe, Josephine, Famatta, Rose and Ma Bendu

Bottom row (left to right): Musu, me, Jebbeh

If anyone is in Liberia and would like to take more professional photos of the Co-op for their new website, please let me know. We could use them.

I also asked the members of the Sewing Co-op how they're spending the money that they're earning through the project. Here are their answers...

“With my sewing money…

* I was able to invest in my own video club business.” –Miriama
* I was able to send my children to school.” –Matilda
* I built my house.” –Ma Bendu
* I was able to start my own fish business.” – Rose
* I was able to start selling scratch cards.” –Bendu
* I am doing a crab business” – Tina
* I am building my house.” –Jenneh
* I was able to open by own bank account.” –Josephine
* I am saving my money.” –Botoe
* I am going to built my own house.” –Jebbeh

Cool, eh?

Going to Robertspot

2010-07-31T17:05:00.000Z

It's Sunday morning and we're headed to Robertsport for half of our week, where we spend time camping, surfing and working out of the Robertsport Community Campsite. We've packed leftovers from the restaurant--chick peas, potato greens, roasted tomato and red pepper salsa--and are ready to start driving.

On Monday and Tuesday, we'll work on our laptops from hammocks, taking calls on the beach and surfing whenever it looks good. Miriama is cooking fish for lunch tomorrow and the Women's Sewing Co-op are meeting to show me their quilts and sell me bags.

It's going to be a good weekend.

What is Cellcom doing?

2010-07-22T18:43:00.000Z

Two weeks ago, after putting $5 on my Cellcom mobile, I immediately received the following text message. I had since repeated the experiment twice, and both times, the same:

"Looking for love? looking for discrete relationship? dont be alone pickup the phone, call now 077-999-444"

Has anyone called this number? Please report back.

The African T-Shirt Company

2010-07-19T17:39:00.000Z

I remember when I was turning nine and had just moved to Kenya with my family. I was in 4th grade and planned a birthday party in September, my first month in a new school.

It was 2:00 and no one had come. I stood in the driveway with my mum and Beatrice, our ayah/nanny/housekeeper and looked forlornly at the closed black gate. "No one has come yet," I whined softly to my mum.

Beatrice was having none of it.

"Don't worry," she said, wiping her hands on her apron and starting to go back to the house. My mum has baked these cupcakes in ice cream cones that she topped with frosting, and Beatrice wanted to check on them.

I nodded and swallowed hard--I can still exactly remember that feeling. But it didn't last long. By 2:35, two of my friends had been dropped off, my mum making friends with their mums on the veranda. By 4:30, the party was in full swing, and my soon-to-be best friend from Djibouti had arrived with her CD plates.

"See?" Beatrice said later as I was going upstairs to bed. "Africa time."

Twenty years later, and I run a t-shirt company with my partner that employs, when we're busy, almost ten people. We've given them so much business selling shirts online that they got investment to open a shop on Newport Street. Although we have yet to visit, they assure us there is a conspicuous sign: "Graphics Palace International." I recommend their business and they hand-silkscreen all our shirts and bags.

We started silk-screening shirts with them over a year ago, playing around with design ideas we made up (usually at bars) in New York. The first 'Mogadisco' shirt was inked in Sharpie on one of my H&M tank tops I used to wear to teach yoga. Our red ones now are a bit better and since then, thanks to some shout-outs and Facebook, it's grown into a nice little business.

And I can't do it anymore. The time it takes me to fill online orders--in between consulting for CODE, managing the Tides kitchen, and running programs with Robertsport Community Works--has stretched from a reasonable seven to 10 days to...let's just say weeks. If you're reading this and ordered something from us anytime stretching back to April, your order is in the mail. But now when people email me asking how long orders will take, I remind them that it's rainy season and invoke the sacred notion of..."African time."

I'm sorry. I should do better. As a personal practice, the endless patience I have with deprioritizing one of my own start-up businesses is amusing. After all, as I am continually telling myself, it's just t-shirts. No one minds if their beach bag or 'Failed State' arrive a week or two late. What's late anyway, when you use the Liberian Postal Service?

You see what's happened. It's time to pass the business on and delegate. We shouldn't be managing it. We're recruiting for a Project Assistant right now: someone who would source quality shirts, update the website and manage online orders. Email me if you know someone. And if you're interested in bulk orders and helping to market the business outside Liberia, I promise African time is a thing of the past.

Also, we hope to have a *very* cool shirt online soon...

Surf Liberia becomes a mentorship program

2010-07-18T18:48:00.000Z

When we started our Surf Liberia Scholarship program over a year ago, our idea was to offer an alternative vehicle for sponsoring surfers that didn't involve throwing them cash and encouraging a consumer-based lifestyle.

We wanted surfing to be a positive force for change for themselves and their community--to grow leaders through surfing. So we paid their school fees instead.

Fast-forward one year. Nevermind we may not be the *only* people paying their school fees (gasp!). When we asked two surfers what they wanted to do with their sponsorship money, they said they wanted to buy clothes. They thought about it and that's what they came up with. I'm not saying they shouldn't buy clothes, but not with Surf Liberia money. So what good is this money doing?

Nate works professionally at a variety of educational initiatives and projects involving young people and we know we want to impact the local surfers in a way that helps them realize personal and professional goals, whatever they might be. So we're revisioning our Surf Liberia project--which has raised almost $500 in t-shirt sales to date--to be more mentoring oriented and less about just giving young surfers money and equipment. We'll still do that, but we'll have better boundaries and parameters about what we will and will not support.

For example, seed money to start a business, cool. Money to go clothes shopping in Monrovia, probably not. Thanks to Soul Surfers Foundation for their support for Robertsport Community Works and this project: Alfonzo and Phillip are holding donated surfboards above (this photo, btw, was taken in May). They're the ones who aren't getting the clothes, but they have new surfboards. I think they'll get over it.

Fairness and incentives in the Women's Sewing Co-op

2010-07-15T14:14:00.000Z

When I started the Women's Sewing Co-op with Bendu, Tina and Vivian last June, we did everything equally. Each of them received identical sewing kits, which I made up during a visit to the tailors on Carey Street and included scissors, a tape measure, needles and different shades of thread. Each of them received the same yardage of lapa to make the first sets of bags from. Since then, the Co-op has followed this model.

Every meeting that I'm handing out lapa, I do so evenly between all 15 tenured members of the Co-op. Each team leader gets five sets of 6 yards of cloth--a measure of three lapas or one 'African suit'. The next meeting, some of them would've sewn the entire lot into beach bags. Others--and it was usually the same women--would have only sewn half, or wouldn't show up that week at all.

When we had our first bulk order for 500 bags this Spring, it didn't occur to us that the management model should change. Each team sewed the 500 bags on short notice in less than a month--an average of one bag per Co-op member per day. Sure, some women--the same women--came over two hours late to our meetings, but the bags were good quality and we sent the order on time.

Now, things have changed. We're getting what could be a repeat order from a large client and the Co-op needed to make 1,000 bags in two short months. The first meeting we had to buy bags, Matilda's group had made 119 in one week. Bendu's group had made...16. So when I gave out lapa, I gave Bendu's group the usual 5--one per person--and Matilda's group got 10.

That's when things fell apart--for Bendu's group. Matilda's team were happy with the challenge, Tina's group decided they would sew faster so that they could also get extra lapa, but Bendu's group--well, Bendu, to put it nicely, decided to fight. Nevermind that she was an hour late and the meeting was actually over, with all the other Co-op members having carried their new lapa away, along with $2,000 sewing money divided among them in crisp Benjamins tucked nicely into their clothing for safekeeping.

Bendu showed up late, with her bags in a bundle, her lips pursed. I recognized trouble. Before she even had a chance to put the bags on the sand, there it was:

"You gave Matilda more lapa than me! It's not fair!"

She had a point. It's not fair--in the 'everything should be the same for everybody' sense of the word. But now that we're working on a tight deadline and bringing in thousands for the Co-op, we need to put incentives in place that prioritize good work, done on time.

My version of fair, for the Co-op, is that you get paid for the work you do. If you sew 20 bags in a week, you should get paid for them--and have the resources you need to sew 20 more. If you just sew 6, fine. You're still in the Co-op, you'll still be paid for those 6 bags, and when you get your lapa for the week, the cloth you get will match your previous week's output. As a certain businessman friend of mine would say (i.e. is always telling me, which I find sometimes a bit annoying), "It's about business."

That was not really an answer Bendu wanted to hear, so I spared here the one-liners and brought out my Co-op notebook. "Look, Bendu," I said, showing her the numbers. "Last week Matilda's team made 119 bags and you," I turned the page, "made 19."

"No, Ellen. I did not. I have my bags here," she said, pointing at what were probably close to a hundred of the beach bags.

"But you're late."

"But I have a long way to walk."

"You're still late. You could've left your house earlier. I came from Monrovia this morning and I got here on time."

"But you have a car."

At this point, our conversation had degenerated into banter and I wanted to refocus Bendu on the bigger issue: her team was not producing enough to warrant being given more lapa, and she wasn't about to bully me into giving her more.

I re-explained things. Her team members tried to drag her away, but she came bag, arguing and pointing at me and saying I wasn't being fair. It was stressful. I repeated myself for about 15 minutes, then gave up.

"Bendu," I said, "you've been in this Co-op since the beginning. But you're shouting and you're not being helpful. I know that if you're treating me this way, you're treating your team this way. If you don't show me that you can be a good leader to your team and to the group, we'll need to talk about replacing you."

And that's the short of it. She didn't like what I had to say, but fair is fair: I'm not going to hold other women back because Bendu's team can't up their output. Both teams of women are making money, and if Bendu can't be a good sport about being out-performed--and learn from what that lesson has to teach her, then someone else will.

It's not easy, though.

Overheard in Monrovia, 4

2010-07-13T20:08:00.000Z

"Ghana is playing suburbia."
World Cup spectator referring to the Algeria-Serbia match.

"Dude, you're so bad at talking to women, you should write a book on Facebook about how not to talk to women."
--Anonymous

"Shall I pull their heads off while they're alive?"
"Yes."
Solomon, having misgivings about prepping shrimp that are trying to jump out of the bucket.

"If I ate that every day, for weeks and weeks, I would look like the Notorious B.I.G."
Mawuli, our Head Bartender, paying me a compliment upon eating my coconut lemongrass curry.

"I know the rawness of the African living."
Email to an NGO from a prospective volunteer.

"One man, one cup."
Taxi bumper in Duwala market, 'nough said

Adventures in African Cooking: Getting started

2010-07-12T13:54:00.000Z

I grew up eating good African food of the East African variety: a lot of maize meal, greens and coconut milk, from the Swahili influences of my Kenyan youth. I love Swahili food, but more about that later (or in Swahili Kitchen, which I published in 2005 with Javed Jafferji).

For over a year, I've been cooking, eating and shopping in Liberia. I've cooked for a film crew in Robertsport with only local ingredients, plundering a neighborhood lime tree so we could make bottles and bottles of fresh juice. I've wandered local markets, figured out how to use biterball and taken a liking to consuming handfuls of hot pepper at a time. I also now run and co-own a tapas and cocktails bar in Johennsen that uses only local seafood, fruits and vegetables. Every day I eat Liberian food. But I still feel like I'm just now learning how to cook it.

Enter 'Liberian Cookhouse Cooking', the Peace Corps cookbook that sells for close to $30 at the Abi Jaoudi supermarket. It has 169 recipes adapting Liberian food for American kitchens, along with colorful anecdotes and illustrations by former PCVs (that's Peace Corps Volunteers, for those of you slow on the acronyms). I've enjoyed the book, but haven't cooked from it yet. When I tried to look up a recipe for Liberian hot pepper sauce, there was none to be found. What? No pepper sauce? That's right. I had to call Tina and Miriama in Robertsport to talk me through the process, and you know what? I failed.

Lucky for you, loyal readers, I consider it a personal affront that I live in Liberia but cannot yet make, from memory, an excellent, rich red pepper sauce to put on my morning rice and give me early hiccups. I also want to be able to summon a deliciously thick groundpea soup with fish, chicken and shrimp--which incidentally, is what right now I am eating for breakfast. Add to the list potato greens, which I now saute at Tides and totally adore, cassava leaf, fever leaf, torbegee, bitterball and the Liberian way to cook pumpkin.

As you've heard me bemoan for over a year on this blog, I often find Liberian food too oily for my taste. When there's an inch of red oil covering my potato greens and I need to squish them against the bowl to get even some of the oil out, I am usually not that pleased with what I have eaten. But I've also been asking the people who cook for us--Miriama in Robertsport and Loretta in Monrovia--to scale the oil back, and have been really pleased with the results.

Also, there's Ro-zi's, where we eat brunch on the Sundays we're in Monrovia. Ro-zi's makes what she calls "creative Liberian fusion" and the food is good. I wish I had a bowl of her collard greens and fried rice right now.

So basically, I'm going to start learning how to cook Liberian food--not just Liberian dishes, but the strange and wonderful vegetables, tubers and fruits that find their way to the market and to my table. Welcome to my Adventures in African Cooking.

Tides: An Indian-inspired menu

2010-07-09T14:31:00.000Z

To remind myself what I'm up to, I'll be posting our changing menu at Tides from time to time. Last night, with the help of my vegetarian chef friend Ankur, it included this:

Small plates

Roasted coconut in chili and sea salt
Masala pumpkin seeds

Vegetable tapas

Mango avocado salad
Cucumber tahini salad
Potato greens with peanut and orange
Okra bhajia with coconut chutney
Sweet potato fries with roasted garlic mayo, mango salsa, and hot pepper sauce

Seafood tapas

Brandy and black pepper prawns
Barracuda with Caribbean salsa
Lobster roll
Crab melt

Sweet things

Starfruit sorbet
Nutella and banana crepes

Picking something to write about

2010-07-09T13:40:00.000Z

Over the year that I've enjoyed writing this blog, I've tried to confine myself to describing my life in Liberia and the interesting aspects of working and being here. I started writing for my friends and family, to have a basis for starting conversation. It's been great for that, and I'm grateful.

What I didn't suspect was that it would open a new way of writing about what interests me: things like cooking, reading, yoga. And that it would attract people who don't know me but still read what I write. Some of them are in Liberia and have come to say hello at Tides (hello!) and others just write to me, sometimes, and order t-shirts or bags.

Anyway, this is a long way of saying that both kinds of writing will continue. I like signposting, so you can expect to see in the coming days and weeks:

1) More about Tides, now that we're in full swing.

2) Adventures in African cooking.

I've been working for a few months on a memoir that became a cookbook and now is somewhere, hopelessly, in the middle. Adventures in African cooking, during which I will shadow Liberian cooks and make recipes from the Peace Corps cookbook, will help me work through that. Also, there are no online recipes for Liberian hot pepper sauce, and we need to change that.

3) Yoga.

I've been teaching a weekly class for a year, almost. I'll post some of my sequences and thoughts--briefly--online. Don't worry. This won't try to be a yoga class.

4) Et cetera.

Feel free to give me feedback and let me know if you'd like to see stuff. I'll try to take more photos and, by popular request, "Overheard in Monrovia" will most certainly continue.

My assistant's comment on my Facebook link

2010-07-07T12:51:00.000Z

This, from Facebook:

Solomon Gartor commented on your link:

"Job well Dont women of Robrtsport you are doing well i am proud of you people keep up you job well God will Reward you people And Elie we Love you Liberia Love you and Liberian are proud of you to come in this Land and change people Life. God Bless you and Nate i Love you Nate you are a hard working man God Love you. Solomon from Tides Bar and Resturant. all the Staff of Tides Love you and they say you are hard working woman Elie. is me Solomon specila to you all who will Love Robertsport Let go it is time Robertsport need your support Lets Go Robertsport 2010 for progress Liberia and all Liberians."

Solomon is fantastic.

Bags from plastic bags

2010-07-01T00:43:00.000Z

A project making hand bags from the plastic water bags ubiquitous in Liberia just came to my attention, and I'm sharing the contacts here in case

1) anyone has clean plastic bags to donate

or 2) anyone would like to make an order. She ships to the States!

The view from my bedroom window

2010-06-28T00:37:00.002Z

Sometimes the fishermen wake me up at night with their noise. I look through the curtains at them and don't mind it.

Not nearly as good as WD-40, believe me

2010-06-25T00:28:00.000Z

Country cloth meets the Liberian market

2010-06-23T00:19:00.001Z

These scarves/stoles are hand woven from natural fibers in the tradition of upcountry Liberia. I found them at the US Embassy Craft Fair, where I found all the artists in my recent 'Liberian Artists' posts. I liked the juxtaposition of football clubs and Jesus at this man's stall.

His name is Bah Mohamed and he has a shop opposite the US Embassy in Mamba Point. He's also at fulbehgowu@yahoo.com or +231-657-1602.

One year of lapas

2010-06-21T09:57:00.000Z

The Women's Sewing Co-op--a project I mentor through Robertsport Community Works--is coming up on its 1-year anniversary. The women want to have a party. Most especially, they want me to make the same vegan chocolate cake I made for Bendu's birthday--and they want my recipe. They also want me to help them buy identical lapas so that we can all have matching dresses. If/when this happens, I promise to document it.

While I go up to my Tides kitchen and bake for them, here are some of the coolest lapa prints the Co-op has sewn together in the last year:

Gorgeous lapas

Whitewater
Frog feet

Cat tails

Yellow lanterns

Pineapple (so far, the Co-op's all-time favorite)

Cowrie

Plenty fish

Snake eyes

Jungle

Ladybug

Taxi

Tree lapas

Yellow trees

Klimt trees (aka Klimt deforestation)

Leaves

Wildlife lapa
Big butterfly

Honeybees (a favorite)

Peacock

Snail

Blue goose

Free bird

Migration

Entertaining lapa
Camera

Pharmacy

Rooster

School

Tropical palm trees

Bunnies

Aquatic lapa

Big fish

Plenty fish

Oyster

Sting ray

Sea creatures

Fish pond

How to run a bar with a kitchen (in Liberia), 1

2010-06-18T23:52:00.001Z

1. You are going to need pens. A lot of pens. In fact, stop reading this and go out, buy 5 boxes of Bic black ballpoints, mail them to me, and then come back. Then make sure our waitresses don't "borrow" (I was going to write steal) them. Chase said waitresses, however, and they sweetly remind you that you left your last pen by the stove, where it is slowly melting.

2. Although, because you have a large team, you will not have to do any chopping, it will still take a long time. Jobs are hard to get here, everyone is eager and no one wants to fuck up. Expect this and do not try to rush it.

3. Bars are fun. Try not to take yourself too seriously. Seriously.

4. People like what you're doing, but they don't want to hear about your tamarind prawn marinade. (That's you, lucky reader, right?)

5. It is always okay to go to bed, as long as you've send all the staff home first, the gas is off and the kitchen is clean.

Liberian Artists: Amazing Grace, jewelry maker

2010-06-16T17:22:00.000Z

Grace--and my apologies for not knowing her first name--is indeed amazing. Since the end of the war, she's been recycling glass bottles and making them into beads, which she lovingly beads into bright and bulky necklaces and bracelets.

Order them direct by emailing her at amazinggracelib2009@yahoo.com or calling +231-77-063-061.

Coca Cola's 'Quest' commercial for the 2010 World Cup

2010-06-16T12:30:00.000Z

Image from YouTube.

I thought I'd transcibe Coca Cola's inane World Cup commercial 'Quest', animated to K'Naan's 'Waving Flag', to see if it makes any sense to anyone. I have seen it probably one hundred times, and the "he was rocked by strangers" part still weirds me out.

Narrated in a South African accent, I think:

"This is the story of a boy who didn't know how to celebrate, so he set off on a quest to find his own celebration. He flew like a plane. He fought against robots. He was rocked by strangers and crossed oceans. And then, after climbing mountains of celebration, tired and thirsty, the boy nearly gave up. [Cue a rock giant handing the boy a Coke bottle.] Until he realized that the only place he needed to explore was inside himself."

I like the animation, but WTF does that even mean? Watch the whole thing here.

Liberian Artists: Morris Kanneh, cobbler

2010-06-14T15:21:00.000Z

Morris Kanneh makes handmade leather sandals out of cowhide, snakeskin and crocodile. That's right. He designs his own 1970's era men's shoes, women's knee-length boots and classic sandals, but he replicates shoes from photos.

Morris is keen to increase his orders and is happy to ship internationally. His crocodile knee-length boots...well, let's just say I've got my eye on them.

Give him a call to place an order at +231-77-362-2956.

Liberian Artisits: John Gartau, coconut jewelry

2010-06-11T14:09:00.000Z

Liberian artist John Gartau handcrafts these lovely earrings and pendants out of coconut shells. Mature coconut shells make darker pieces, while younger coconuts are lighter.

John can be contacted at johngartau206@yahoo.com or +231-649-2853. He will happily ship his jewelry all over the world!

Tides: The art of the speakeasy

2010-06-09T23:47:00.001Z

The Prohibition-style speakeasies in New York were one of my favorite places to hang out. I confess that when we wanted to start Tides without being entirely ready, the idea was to have a secret drinking den deep in the heart of Monrovia. Actually, the easiest landmark to describe exactly where we are is the "yellow skips for the dirt." If you live here, you'll know what I mean.

Anyway, we did open Tides as a speakeasy. It's open for friends as we train our staff, figure out how to cook twelve orders on two burners of a broken stove, vie for fridge space and decide which coconut seller is the most reliable. When we open properly, Tides will be a bar-with-food, one of those places you come after work and dance after midnight. I know one or two places like that in New York, and I think Funrovia could benefit from the same.

So, this is my way of saying come on over if you don't mind that we haven't got enough furniture: we're making pretty good drinks. And by the sound of it, good food too. I'll be posting pictures and profiles of the place when we're ready to open.

Liberian Artist: Alfreda Ocar, dollmaker

2010-06-07T16:19:00.000Z

This is Alfreda, who is rather famous in Liberia for her handmade dolls. Alfreda can ship orders to the US using the Liberian Postal Service and can take orders at alfredaocar@yahoo.com or by phone at +231-656-7696 or +2310693-2296. Enjoy her work!

Pounding fufu:
Selling fish from a basket:
Carrying firewood:
On the river:

Carrying the sick:

Here are a few of her Christian-themed sets.

The flight to Egypt:

The African Arc:

Nativity:

Full Nativity:

Liberian Artists: Geneka Gibson, painter

2010-06-04T16:19:00.000Z

When speaking with and taking photos of Geneka Gibson's work at the U.S. Embassy Summer Craft Fair, I totally forgot to get a picture of him, I was so eager to capture 'The Rice Harvest,' below, on film. I could see it's colors all the way from where I was sitting with the Women's Sewing Co-op.

Geneka Gibson's artworks are available from him directly at +231-77-207-493 or geneka59@yahoo.com. He is happy to ship to the States and receive payment for his paintings via Western Union or something similar.

'The Rice Harvest'

'(Abstract) The Creek in Guokpo'

'Market Day'

'After the rainfall in Zordee'

'(Abstract) Colors of the Rainbow'

'From the Creek'

'Daily living in the village'

'Guokpo Village'

Women's empowerment and other intended side-effects of the Co-op project

2010-06-02T09:42:00.001Z

Last weekend, I was sitting with Bendu, Miriama, Musu and some of their friends on the campsite benches, discussing Tina's pregnancy (she had malaria, but is better now) and catching up on recent news.

Then, Miriama--who has become quite a spirited young woman--came along. "Ellen! Hassan is coming to talk to you, but I told him you would support me," she announced emphatically to me--and everyone else in the campsite.

When I met Miriama, she was quiet. I'm sure she's not normally quiet, but I'm just saying: when I met her. Her self-presentation was shy, even demure. No longer.

Now, she saunters with her wheelbarrow and cooking pots to make the free meal we give to Community Beach Cleanup volunteers (thanks to Nana's Lodge for paying for it!). She calls me to complain about her Co-op team leader if Bendu doesn't cut lapa soon enough after our meetings. And now, she fully expects me to side with her--broadcasting my allegiances before I've even heard the gossip--in her domestic affairs. She clearly thinks I've got her back.

Overheard in Monrovia, 3

2010-05-31T09:34:00.001Z

"I have learned of a vacancy for a position of bar observer...and I hereby apply to fill it."
--Letter of application to Tides

"Next time, you must give me stronger instructions."
Waiter in a Monrovia restaurant, apologizing for bringing the wrong thing. (Submitted by reader)

"Y'all really aren't giving Minnesota nightlife the credit it deserves."
-- Liberian girl, defending Minnesota, at our bar.

"I'll come tonight if I can find a girlfriend."
-- Our welder, making non-committal plans to come for a beer at the bar.

Dancers at the Craft Fair

2010-05-30T01:04:00.000Z

Anonymous Country turns 1

2010-05-29T18:05:00.000Z

Photo courtesy of Chelsea Flett.

Today, Anonymous Country is a year old. Hurray! And this dog will rob your bank.

(Joe, a young man from Robertsport, rubbed charcoal around his eyes as a joke and now everyone loves him.)

The Co-op at the US Embassy Summer Craft Fair

2010-05-28T16:11:00.000Z

Just a quick Friday afternoon post after coming back from the U.S. Embassy Craft fair, where the Women's Sewing Co-op had their own booth, as you can see. I was taking pictures and getting in the way, so I left them with their display and am picking them up to serve them fish sticks at 5:00.
I'm hoping either Matilda, who you see at the display above, or Jenneh, who is posing below, will want to start running more sales and marketing outreach for the Co-op. They're getting transport money, a Monrovia per diem and 10% of today's sales. They're very serious and keen!
Check out our stuff at The African T-Shirt Company if you can't stop by our new merchandise corner at Tides.

I'll be posting stories, contact details and lots of photos on the amazing Liberian artists over the next week or so. They've all agreed to ship using the Liberian Postal Service to the US and internationally for anyone who likes their stuff!

Rubber smells disgusting

2010-05-27T14:22:00.003Z

We were driving back to Robertsport, minding our own business, when we smelling something foul. So foul that the whole car recoiled in disgust and instantly went about guessing what it was that could smell that bad. I suggested a dead goat. A fellow surfer sitting the back seat suggested sewage. But as we drove, the smell didn't dissipate. We began to panic. It was a toxic, nausea-inducing smell, as if an entire village of sheep had decided to get dysentry and die in the sun.

Then, we saw the trucks. Truck after truck of what we learned was rubber--because we asked a group of checkpoint policemen why everything suddenly smelled like noxious death. As you can see below, the rubber does kind of look like jiggling meat. Eww, right?

We save sea turtles

2010-05-24T15:27:00.001Z

Last weekend, Nate and I were surfing Shipwrecks with a visiting Aussie when we saw a large fishing net drifting towards the rocks. We focused on it and a lone flipper waved. We waited a moment, and it waved again.

"Turtle!" announced the Aussie.

"Let's rescue it!" I said, starting to paddle towards the rocks and hoping that a giant set wasn't just beyond the horizon and about to smash me to pieces.

The sea turtle was impossibly tangled, and while the men slowly paddled against the current to get it to the beach, I ran back to the campsite to get our knife so that we could cut it free. A kilometer later, I was back and we got started.

The turtle was freaked out to be pulled out of the water, but the Aussie kept it calm by sitting next to it and rubbing its neck, humming softly to console it. Nate started cutting the net, which was chaffing tight around the turtle's neck and flippers, right to the muscle in some places. It must've been frighteningly uncomfortable, but the turtle didn't try to bite us like I expected. Instead, it stayed pretty calm as we cut it free.

It only took a second for the turtle, once released from the 20 kg net it had been lugging along, to lumber itself towards the water and disappear. I wanted to take more photos, but got kind of caught up in the moment.

"We saved a turtle! That's great karma. I feel fantastic," said the Aussie, ever enthusiastic.

I think we just started our turtle conservation project. More details on what it will look like when we talk to our new Project Leaders next week.

Women's Sewing Co-op is now on Etsy!

2010-05-22T14:37:00.000Z

Thanks to the support of the U.S. Ambassador's Self-Help Fund, the Women's Sewing Co-op has hand bags and beach bags now on Etsy! We've already gotten 22 views!

There will be a dedicated Co-op website coming soon...

OM Africa

2010-05-21T17:47:00.001Z

I love Africa.

I love yoga.

And this shirt--created by my sister and me--brings them both together.

Order yours here.

Local solutions for oiling the deck

2010-05-17T15:30:00.001Z

Saying Monrovia gets its fair share of rain and sun is an understatement. During dry season, it's scorchingly hot and humid. During rainy season, frequent downpours are interspersed with overcast humidity. I quite like it. But our deck doesn't.

Part of the Tides construction project was replacing the rotted beams of the large wooden deck that faces the ocean--only the boards weren't fully dried when they were nailed in. Now, we've got gaps on our deck and the wood has been splitting and cracking all dry season. What to do?

Where I grew up, you use linseed oil--with its unmistakable smell--to coat and seal the wood, but not before sanding away its top coat of dirt and dullness to reveal a smooth finish and visible grain. One thing: there's no linseed oil here. In fact, there's nothing like it. The only wood oil I could track down cost a breezy $35 a gallon--and we'd need 10 gallons for the job. And then, in two weeks, another 10. And next month, another, until the wood gets its fill of the oil, repels rain and doesn't mind the sun.

We were going to need another solution. A week ago, I thought of palm oil and tried it. "Why not?" I reasoned as I sanded and painted a coat of red oil on the deck, noticing a faint palm butter smell. The workmen around thought I was crazy, but it looked, as you can see below, a rich and wonderful color and in the places it has dried has left the wood noticeable soft.

Here: the dry, sanded wood, ready for palm oil.

Here is the difference the palm oil makes:
The finished product, once it soaks in a bit:
I showed the test job to to my South African friend, who agreed the local solution was taking nicely. I convinced Nate, who remains doubtful, that he should let me try a coat on the whole deck. As you can see, I was convincing. Notice the empty palm oil container--a reused water bottle.

Tides: Our first party

2010-05-12T15:36:00.001Z

Last Sunday, one of my good friends hosted her birthday party at Tides. We're not quite ready to open yet, but having 15 people come over for sundowners definitely showed us what we need to do to open: screen the kitchen, for one, and get another cutting board so we don't have to queue. You can see the giant chalkboard we made for the drinks menu above, and the smaller one I commandeered for our menu.
Here is Mawuli, the Togolese bartender we met in Ghana, diligently preparing fresh ingredients for the mixed drinks (not the tomatoes and hot pepper--those I was taking to the kitchen).
This is Elizabeth, making tortillas that will become tortilla chips. Note the apron, hand-sewn by the Women's Sewing Co-op! We'll all have matching ones, with headscarves too.

This is Muna, one of Solomon's friends, making us a lunch of dry rice, bitterball and fried fish as I kept distracting her with other kitchen tasks and then, feeling hungry, putting her back on lunch duty. Look how patient she is with me: I'm hiring her.
This is Edward, with the unenviable task of prying coconuts out of their shells so we can roast them with sea salt and chili.
We're ready to start our speakeasies tonight and open on either Saturday or Wednesday next week. Email me--if you haven't already--for an invite. We'll see you there!

Rainy season: The fear factor

2010-05-10T17:21:00.000Z

The rainy season is coming. This means big storms and big waves. Really big. As tall as your ceiling big. Sometimes bigger. Good thing I know how to duck dive.

Duck diving is the reason I shortboard. It's the reason I can surf double-overhead waves without actually catching them, riding up and over the swell before it breaks like a child on a slow-moving roller coaster. I learned how to duck dive on my first trip to Liberia, planned at the usually-perfect end of rainy season. I kind of had no choice.

That first rainy season, Nate and I don't talk about much. Whenever I refer to it, I qualify with something like, "After that, it's actually amazing we moved here." Imagine: camping in unceasing, two-week rain, sometimes a drizzle, sometimes loud enough to knock the tent down. It did knock the tent down, on a pre-dawn morning Nate and I now smile about. We had to take refuge at Nana's, slouching in plastic chairs and leaning our heads on their wooden tables three hours before breakfast started, defeated as tired students. That particular occasion, because the tent had not only collapsed but also flooded, we hung our clothes out to dry--in the rain (see actual photo of our clothes "drying" in the rain, September 2008).

So, add to unceasing rain a double-overhead swells that nothing but occasional onshores kept the surfers off of--at least the better ones. Nate was joined by his good friend Sean--who I went to school with in Cairo--and both of them can surf. Then, there were the brothers--two northern English boys with their dutiful wives. And by dutiful, imagine following your partner into the rain with a video camera, parking yourself (sometimes with a shade tent or rain shelter) as close to the break as you can, and then recording every minute of every wave they catch, every single two-week session. It made me feel like a bad girlfriend.

The waves were quadruple anything I'd ever gotten near, at least it felt that way. It was also my first time near a point break, and point break wave energy is way different than beach breaks. I was intimidated. Not intimidated enough not to paddle out--if I sat next to the wives, I looked almost evil by comparison--I would launch sometimes 400 m away from the peak and paddle against the current to the line-up. This meant I avoided any whitewater, except when I drifted inside and a set showed up.

When a set showed up, I would do what I do when I get really scared--scream for Nate. I scream "Nate!!!" so loud, with so much terror, that you could be forgiven for thinking he sent the waves to land on my head, or that he had supernatural powers to rescue me. Which would be nice, but instead, he taught me how to duck-dive. By the end of the trip, I could push my board under the set waves and pop right out the back, just like a pro. That little escape trick makes all the difference, trust me.

At the moment, my wave preference is shoulder to head-high, up from chest high last rainy season. Chest high waves are hard to find in rainy season, to be honest. To catch them, you have to wait for a set to pass, sneak to the inside, catch your wave and paddle back out to where the set waves are breaking before another set comes. Your timing on the sets has to be impeccable to avoid getting smashed by a ceiling-high wall of whitewater. You also have to be lucky.

My phone's contact list

2010-05-07T09:45:00.001Z

Largely because I'm hiring for Tides, I sometimes get 20 phone calls a day. Many of them are from strangers who have called me before about something I'm meant to follow up with them about, so I save them in my phone with names that remind me of who they are and why they're calling. Here are some examples of what I have saved in my contact list:

Annoying Tides
Club Joseph
Comfort Massage
Elizabeth Tailor
Frank Welder
Harassment
Inappropriate Tides
Loretta Clean
Miata Great Wall
Musa Sofas
Napolean Ministry
Peter Glamour
Son of Sam
Sumo 2nd Chance
and
Zigna Wants Job

I've also met a Specialean and a Sackoline. If anyone knows the etymology of these names, please send me an email or comment below. I'm interested!

Tides is almost open

2010-05-05T14:38:00.001Z

It's been a month or so since I've posted photos of Tides and since then, we've made tremendous progress on the place. So much progress, in fact, that we expect to start serving...well. Email us if you'd like to be on the list for one of the speakeasies we're opening with. (Better to open quietly, for friends, over a week or so than to have one crowded, overwhelming party where the staff go into meltdown, no?)

This is what you're looking at below: Mirrors line the entire area behind the bar, so you can still see the ocean when you're having drinks. See the bamboo bar stools? Anyaa Vohiri is doing all our bamboo furniture, including the bamboo work you see in the kitchen on the next shot. Notice the thatch work on the roof--and the tarpaulin that's covering us until next dry season.
The kitchen island, where we'll do most of our prep. The kitchen looks small in comparison to the bar, until I remember that this island is 13 feet long.
We started looking around for sinks, there weren't any suitable commercial kitchen ones around, so I had some made. I downloaded specs from the Internet and had a welder make them from sheets of steel. They look good, right?
I'd say there's about a week to go--maybe less. See you when we open!

Overheard in Monrovia, 2

2010-05-03T09:24:00.000Z

“Do you think he’ll take this money?”
-- Nate, taping up a torn 100 LD note for a second-hand clothes seller waiting outside.
“He’s forced to. It’s our country’s money. If he doesn’t take it, who will?”
-- Solomon, making a good point.

"I want to be a witchit."
--Waitress application for Tides.

"It is important to always be working high."
--Waitress notes from Tides training, who misheard "working hard."

"I am having an urgent movement."
--T-Boy, telling me he needs to be in Monrovia--urgently.

Cool tech stuff in Liberia

2010-04-29T16:31:00.001Z

Photo by Glenn Edwards.

There is some cool stuff happening on the tech front in Liberia. I intend to visit these projects and check them out!

On Liberia: Take Back the Tech, young Liberian girls learn how to use computer and are trained in IT by Stella Maris Polytechnic--a post-secondary school that offers technical certificates and night courses.

Then, we learn that Computer Aid International is developing solar powered Internet cafes for use around Liberia--especially rural areas. I would love to see one in Robertsport! All we're waiting for to start a Robertsport Connecting Classrooms project is an Internet cafe! I'm getting in touch.

What's wrong with 1 million t-shirts?

2010-04-28T15:11:00.006Z

If you've been following development blogs this week, you'll notice that the site 1 Million T-shirts for Africa has been getting a lot of (well-deserved, in my opinion) slack. Notice the brilliant comments from Aid Thoughts, which I tried to reproduce but can't manage to resize--go there and see. Then come back.

Well done. I'll now point you towards a number of bloggers I follow who have provided thoughtful commentary and analysis:

Blood and Milk has a great break-down of the site's video message, which tries to reply to all the criticism.
Texas in Africa has some good alternatives.
And Tales from the Hood about the un/civil debate on Twitter (which we've just now joined as #africantshirtco).

There are some obvious reasons for thinking this project is a bad idea, like, Africa already has shirts and clothes and stuff--including a thriving imported textile market that too often supplants the local one.

Now, for the shameless self-promotion: We make t-shirts. In Africa! And we send them to the States. Because people in America need our t-shirts. Dig? Check out The African T-Shirt Company for a way to get back at the stereotype that Africans can't make cool stuff. Our shirts are bought new or secondhand on the local market and handmade in Monrovia. And thanks to Made in Liberia, they'll soon be 100% Liberian made.

Two weeks ago, Yale professor and development blogger Chris Blattman called them "T-Shirts I Will Buy." Only please forgive all the photos of Nate and I: we're staging a photo shoot with our Liberian friends just as soon as we can make them drinks at Tides.

Sweat

2010-04-26T17:09:00.000Z

I grew up in a country where, over the summer, it could reach an easy 120 degrees. You walked slow, stayed in the shade, and scheduled your activities in the late evening and shops often closed in the midday sun.

Here, it is not so much hot as it is humid. It's nearing the end of the dry season in the second rainiest capital city in the world, and the air is accumulating precipitation nearing what feels like 99%. The sun is out in a searing, colorless heat at noon, but unlike the Arab world, no one stops.

Security guards frantically wash cars as they bead with sweat, trying to finish before you come out of the supermarket with boxes of shopping. Men pushing carts of water gallons or bundles of pipe sweat profusely, shrugging their shoulders to wipe the sting from their eyes because their hands are occupied. It is only the women who stay dry, and who I study, sitting on crates before bitterball and batteries, seeming not to care whether they're shaded or not, never seeming to soak their lapa dresses--like I do--in thick patches of perspiration.

I don't feel too bad. A 1.5 liter water bottle chilled, when left until room temperature will have accumulated almost three tablespoons of water. I've started to carry freshly-laundered washclothes around with me, wiping my face as I roll the window down to talk to a policeman or before I walk into the air-conditioned section of the bank. "Oh, you're doing what Liberians do," an expat friend visiting the new flat told me when he saw how, with the power out, I was coping. I bought my blue and green ones at an intersection for 20 LD and I think it's a smart solution.

At least until the rain comes.

Moving to the spot

2010-04-22T22:37:00.001Z

One of the deal makers at Tides is that we're moving in under the bar. The 2nd floor shares 4 1-bedroom apartments with Glamour Beauty Salon. We have the corner one, with two ocean-facing windows and a living room that looks up the cliff to the Ducor Hotel. We're moving in tomorrow and I'm really looking forward to the view.

Cool volcano stuff

2010-04-21T11:22:00.001Z

These two bits of geeky coolness culled from Duncan Green's blog From Poverty to Power:

That, and the volcano looks really cool from space! [h/t Global Dashboard]

Malaria makes me fat

2010-04-19T16:11:00.001Z

Last time I had malaria, I was co-infected with typhoid. I stayed at home. I watched three seasons of The Wire. I ate mostly watermelon and pineapple. I drank a lot of juice and sometimes made tea. Over the two-and-a-half months I considered myself very sick, I gained ten pounds.

Yes. Ten.

I'm lucky, because you couldn't really notice it. But when I realized I had gained this weight while suffering from two simultaneous tropical illnesses, I was confused. Actually, I was more like: W. T. F. ??!! Almost four months later, I've pretty much lost it. But I would be lying if I didn't say that this sickbed weight gain was a deciding factor for taking malaria prophylaxis--in my case, 100 mg of doxycycline with a morning or evening meal.

Both Nate and I are good about taking, but here's the thing about the malaria parasite. For every drug developed to prevent malaria, there is a strain of the parasite that is resistant to it. Current drugs prescribed are malarone, metholoquine (generic Larium) and doxycycline, but know three people in the last two months who take malarone and got malaria. And malarone is the expensive one at $5 a pop, usually only taken by people whose jobs pay for it.

Anyway, I've not minded being on doxy. My surfing injuries heal faster, I get food poisoning less and I don't mind remembering to take it daily. What I didn't know is that it also makes malaria--when you do get it, because living here, you will--run itself out at 20% of the usual symptoms.

This is marvelous. It means I only feel slightly weak and disoriented. I still have energy to do stuff, but my blood feels weird. We're taking it easy, but I'm reading, writing and planning the ice cream menu for Tides. It's almost--dare I say it?--fun. Like having the chicken pox without the spots.

As long as I don't gain 10 pounds.

Overheard in Monrovia: 1

2010-04-16T19:56:00.000Z

When I lived in New York, I spent a good deal of time (at work, as you do) obsessed with reading Overheard in New York. The past couple of weeks have had some funny and strange things said around me, so I thought I'd share.

I'm planning on making this a regular share, so you expats: if you feel like contributing, shoot me an email. Don't forget a clever but anonymous handle.

*
"I was lying in bed and my skin was over-plus. I became helpless."
--Solomon, describing his typhoid and malaria overnight.

"This boy is doing nothing! You need real assistance. I will help you."
--A 20-something amputee on crutches directing us out of our parking spot on Randall Street, trying to take the job from the grey-haired and uniformed security guard whose job it actually was.

The Mamba Point Salad Obsession

2010-04-14T17:33:00.001Z

I have to admit that, in the last month, the biggest strops I've had have been over lunch. More specifically, over being charged $14 for a small lettuce, tomato and cucumber salad. For some reason, this makes me very, very angry.

Maybe it's because I resent being overcharged for items I know cost less than $3--imported lettuce included. It's also because of the total lack of creativity. I'm happy to pay $14 for the well-dressed grilled calamari salad at Royal Hotel: it comes with sesame seeds and steamed broccoli. But a small bowl of lettuce with cucumbers and tomato? At two separate locations, I have refused to eat for a few minutes while I fumed at my unenthused vegetables, muttering into my napkin and probably embarrassing Nate, who at that moment seems strangely fine with everything. I get over it, but it has put me off going out for lunch.

Until today, when Nate and I arrived at Mamba Point hoping to order a quick pizza now that Mona Lisa closed down (fellow Funrovians--what's up with that?). Instead, we got sidetracked by the $15 salad buffet: a shared large bottle of water with fresh limes, cake, coffee or tea afterwards, and a spread--let me tell you. There was a shrimp salad, a chicken salad with papadams, a tuna salad that included celery, cut apples, cucumber, tomatoes, lettuce, roasted garlic and (canned) hummus and (canned) baba ghanoush--don't get me started about the canned stuff. There were bread rolls with single packs of butter. And it was good.

Really good. And I'm really happy about it. Like, borderline obsessed.

Looking for a Co-op Project Manager

2010-04-12T21:30:00.001Z

Photo courtesy of Fiorella Yanuzzi

Yes, dear and trusted readers, I'm tapping the network. Who knows a talented, entrepreneurial and dynamic Liberian woman who can lead the Co-op towards greater and greater success?

This is, surprisingly, only a part-time job--but it has the potential to pay very well. Full job description is below. Thanks for sending this around! I'll keep you updated on the search.

Robertsport Community Work
Job Description: Women’s Sewing Co-op Project Manager

Background
Robertsport Community Works is a Liberian NGO grounded on the principles of a community-based approach to environmentally sustainable development. We work to foster and support the entrepreneurial spirit within and around the local Robertsport community. The organization’s projects focus on enhancing economic opportunities related to tourism that positively impact the Robertsport community. In addition to the Women’s Sewing Cooperative, Robertsport Community Works manages a monthly beach cleanup, a scholarship program for surfers, community eco-tourism to the surrounding rainforest, kids yoga classes and the Robertsport Community Campsite. For more information, visit www.robertsportcommunityworks.org.

Currently, the Women’s Sewing Cooperative consists of 15 women led by Ma Bindu Davis. A small group of three advanced sewers, who serve as Team Leaders, have taught the others how to hand sew cloth products including beach bags, hand bags, yoga mat bags and aprons made from West African printed cloth called lapa. Women’s involvement is self-selecting – their interest in the project and willingness to learn are the only criteria for co-op membership. Members have regular meetings and cooperative decisions are made by majority vote.

Job details
Robertsport Community Works seeks a part-time Project Manager to lead the Women’s Sewing Co-op. The Project Manager will report directly to the Program Director of Robertsport Community Works and receive regular performance reviews. Although the Project Manager will receiving training, the expectation is that the Manager be increasingly self-sufficient and contribute to the local sustainability of the project. Regular travel to Robertsport is required. This is a part-time position.

Objectives
The Project Manager will be responsible for the following regular duties:
1. Promote and market the Co-op and its products locally in Liberia, regionally and the US and in other international markets, including print, online and other types of advertising.
2. Research, develop and maintain relationships with wholesale buyers, including boutique shops, conferences and trade fairs.
3. Create and disseminate regular communications about the Co-op and its products, using online, social networking, print and other media. Update the Co-op website, contribute to the Robertsport Community Works blog and regularly update product and Co-op photos.
4. Manage all Co-op finances transparently, including product and order tracking and statistics on Co-op productivity.
5. Select and purchase quality lapa in bulk for the Co-op, choosing African-made materials when possible and ensuring equitable distribution to Co-op Team Leaders.
6. Schedule and chair regular and participatory Co-op meetings, make decisions regarding Co-op governance under the supervision of the Program Director, and ensure Co-op needs are heard and meet.
7. Check and maintain a rigorous system of quality control that checks all aspects of Co-op products to ensure they meet the highest standards.
8. In response to Co-op needs as articulated by its members and identified by the Project Manager, organize workshops to increase members’ capacity both personally and professionally.
9. Respond to Co-op orders and communications promptly and ensure products are shipped in timely and professional manner.
10. Update the Women’s Sewing Co-op website to display patterns and products in stock, as well as promote the Co-op, its members and its products.

Applicant knowledge, education and experience
• Fluent, grammatical and professional written and spoken English, with the ability to communicate clearly and professionally over the phone.
• Proficient computer skills, including email and Microsoft Excel.
• The ability to visit Robertsport for Co-op meetings and workshops on a regular basis.
• Excellent interpersonal and conflict resolution skills, as well as the ability to manage on-site and remotely, and an entrepreneurial drive to see Liberian women succeed.

Salary and compensation
This position is paid on a commission basis, with the potential to earn a sizeable local income.

Application instructions
Interested applicants, please email a CV and cover letter to Elie Losleben at elie@robertsportcommunityworks.org. Before an interview is scheduled, two professional references will be required.

I am not a wine expert.

2010-04-08T09:44:00.001Z

As part of developing Tides' drinks list, Nate and I are haphazardly sampling any wine that we think looks interesting. We pick them from the local supermarkets based on origin, grape type and cost. We prefer South African vintners because they're African, but there are also some Argentinian, Chilean and French bottles thrown into the mix.

But here's the thing. I know what I like, but I don't really know that much about wine. I have friends who do, and am considering sending them a list of all the wines Liberia imports with a highlighter (you know who you are, so consider yourself warned). Until I do that, though, we're on a blind, random taste test of whatever we spontaneously buy.

And because I have no intention of presenting our wine list with any kind of authority, we write down phrases like the following after taking a dozen or so sips:

"Smooth, berries, accessible, light, subtle"

And then, a bit later:

"Cross-dressing red won't freak at your seafood,"

"Smells like wildflowers in the springtime if you poured red wine on them,"

and

"Smells like trouble and tastes like high school."

Expect a rather interesting menu. If you're in Monrovia and have favorites, please list them in the comments section and we'll do our best to stock them at a reasonable price...

NB: Liberia

2010-04-07T17:56:00.000Z

Because two major film crews have just come and gone, both blogging (Bourdain here, the ESPN guy here) about the challenges of their visits, I feel it's only fair to let friends, family and the wonderful complete strangers who read my blog know that it's not as hardcore here as they make it sound. Ever since the Vice Travel Guide to Liberia, quite a few bloggers who write about Liberia have been at pains to point out that things aren't as tough or hard as they sound (my favorite one is here). This is just me adding my own thoughts on what it looks like from the inside.

One of the scariest things, when I was thinking of moving here with Nate, was the post-conflict element. Wouldn't the whole nation be traumatized by war? What about the epidemic levels of sexual violence that continue to affect young women and girls? Nate visited first, just to make sure it was viable, and then we both came six months later. What we found during our reconnaissance was a sleepy little town with minimal violent crime, a vibrant if sometimes sensational local media and people who were vocal, open and extremely hardworking. And we moved last May.

I love living here, and I think the place is still growing on me. I love Robertsport, with its welcoming community full of enthusiasm for our own commitment to the place, always ready with a joke and a big hello. I love living by the ocean and going surfing whenever we can. I love that there are more foreign NGOs that businesses, and that starting anything entrepreneurial is met with enthusiasm and a list of staff recommendations. I love that start-ups are so accessible here, without the blocks to foreigners working that there are in other places in Africa. I even love that it rains a lot--as long as we have a good roof, which at Tides is another post entirely...

But the posts make me realize, also, that being here can be tougher for people than I sometimes realize. Sure, I try to take time daily for yoga and fun and writing, eat and rest well, plan fun explorations and adventures, but it's easy to burn-out--I see it a lot around me and I don't want to go there. It's also good to recognize that our visitors maybe having a much harder (and, from the sound of it, hotter) time than I am and that it's good to schedule pool days at Kendeja, even if they only serve one slice of meat on their club sandwiches...

Just a little shout-out to Liberians to say thanks for having me in your country. It's awesome and I'm loving every day.

Tides-under-construction

2010-04-05T12:18:00.001Z

We're making great progress on Tides, with multiple teams working on different aspects of construction. It's really coming along, so I wanted to share some photos and an update.

Below are Nate and a friend of ours entering from Johannesen way--the road loops around Mamba Point from UN Drive and turns into Waterside. The entrance will be painted in Tides colors and filled with large palms, vines and places to hang kerosene lanterns in the evenings (don't worry, we'll have real lights too). It will also provide a place for drivers to drop people who stay dry when it's raining before they park along the street nearby.Ah, the wonders of bamboo. Below is my bamboo kitchen. It's made entirely from local bamboo and--get this--put together with bamboo nails. Cool, eh? We'll wipe it down and disinfect it regularly so it stays dust-free and dry. To me, the open kitchen is a social, confident thing--people can stick their heads in and see what they're up to. Also, I'll easily be able to socialize and see what's happening at the bar. A better tour of the kitchen when it's finished.
To the right is Varney, with his assistant, Morris. They're Robertsport men, brought in by Nate and I to speed up construction. The other carpenter, as you'll see, is working on the roof.
Here's the carpenter, building a frame for water tanks on the roof. This way, the kitchen, bar and bathrooms will be supplied by gravity. He also built a nice step-ladder that we'll have to keep guests from using to get an even better view.
This is West Point, one of Monrovia's better-known slums and home to the fishing community we watch sail their boats and cast their nets during an evening of sun-downers. I tried to capture the children playing in the water--they're tiny, almost invisible specs, so it will have to wait for someone else's camera. The ocean gets rough here and I've rarely seen children swimming. These children all swim together in a laughing crowd and it's fun to watch them from our deck.
You can see how quickly it's coming along. More soon!

550 bags in a month: We did it!

2010-04-02T11:41:00.000Z

We did it! The Women's Sewing Co-op successfully sewed a bag a day for almost a month, producing 550 bags (plus an extra 10) going to a conference in San Francisco this April. I'm extremely pleased and very impressed with their commitment and dedication to the project. I'll post after our next meeting about how they're saving (and spending) their hard-earned cash.

Check out how cool the bags look with their conference logo! Jerry and Jallah, who are still deciding on a name for their new store, stayed up all weekend making sure the Robertsport Community Works tree and url, as well as the conference brand, were silk-screened perfectly. Carrying the bags between the shop and our apartment must have gotten them plenty of neighborhood attention.
Our main concern for the project was the usual: quality control. Our assistant Solomon and I have worked out a pretty good system that takes advantage of our respective strengths: Solomon painstakingly examines each seam and hem for signs of disaster, while I hold up a bag and can instantly tell whether the pattern is facing the right direction (fish swim sideways, birds fly up, etc.) and if it's the right size. It works well.
Here is Solomon, extremely pleased to be almost done I'm sure. To make deadline last Friday, we met the women in the afternoon, bought and sorted bags, and did quality control in the car--Solomon sitting in the back (his school wasn't having class that day) checking the hems and seams, and me in the front, slowly piling hundreds of beach bags on my lap. It got a bit hot, but we did it--Jerry and Jallah came to pick up the bags that night. They worked all through the weekend and we collected the bags, some of which still had paint drying, folded them into recycled boxes (Volvic, Jameson, anything the supermarkets give us) and drove them to FedEx.

Once again, FedEx was wonderful. The bags--we think because we used different lapa, which are woven thicker, but we're not sure--weighed 6 kg more than they were supposed to. Let's just say they hooked us up.
What's next? Well, the Co-op is on vacation for a week or two, I'm writing an article about the project for Business Liberia magazine and am actively recruiting for a Liberian project manager. Email me if you know if anyone. And thanks for all the support!

"They ate in America"

2010-04-01T17:32:00.001Z

If you're keeping up with Anthony Bourdain's television show, No Reservations, you'll know they just shot an episode in Liberia. They were in Monrovia, staying at Kendeja (where I spied him drinking at the bar and lounging in the pool), driving upcountry to Gbanga and spending the last days of their trip in Robertsport.

Their fixer had arranged with Alfred to have a community barbecue at the campsite and had asked me to help out. Only it became one of those things where I was trying to organize someone who didn't want help and didn't want to be organized. Fair enough, I had to tell myself (over and over again, feeling disappointed because it would've been cool--for me). Part of building capacity is letting people do their own thing when they want to. Because he hadn't really organized anything by the time the crew landed, though, they switched locations to Mrs. Peabody's place next door.

Mrs. Peabody is actually an older Americo-Liberian woman named Agnes who has fixed up her grandmother's house on the top of the hill and runs a bed and breakfast. She spends the dry season in Liberia and the rainy season back in the States. She's also cut down all but two of the trees on her land and fenced her part of the beach. But it's the only place in RP with air conditioning and half the crew was planning to stay up there, while the other half were staying at the campsite.

I had T-Boy on the phone the day after they were shooting, reminding me to please bring him a cutlass so he can open coconuts and kill snakes, so I asked him how the crew's stay went. "How was their meal?" I asked. "Oh yes," he said knowingly. "They ate in America."

I was a little confused. "They ate in America?" "Oh yes," he confirmed. Alright then. Where did they stay. "They didn't stay at the campsite," he said. "They stayed in America."

Now, I'm pretty sure the No Reservations crew didn't fly back to the States to film their Liberian barbecue scene, so I did some quick thinking. And then I got it. "You mean, they ate up on the hill?" I asked. "Yes, yes," T-Boy said. "They ate in America."

I find it hilarious that Mrs. Peabody, who is a Liberian citizen with long-standing roots in the country, gets to be called "America" while we, who actually are American, somehow are not. And now Nate and I have a great nickname for her bed and breakfast: America.

A few more weeks, I swear

2010-03-29T10:27:00.000Z

Since Joe first started telling me, "Elie, I'm going to give you a bar," back in late October, I've been telling people we'll open "in a few weeks." It's almost April, though, and I'm still saying it.

Still, it's only this week that Nate and I became partners with our investor. The new collaboration has inspired a lot of movement. And so--"soon." Here's the logo with our colors, evocative of sunset and bright ocean. Below are some photos of the deck taken by my friend Heidi, who just moved back with Nicholai to Ocean Beach. (We miss you!)

So here's the view from the deck--you can just see West Point and the Free Port in the distance. The banana tree was put in water to add some greenery and I am sorry, but did not survive the next day's heat. Please also forgive the lapa print of this particular set of chairs. It was a mistake.

Here is Nicholai enjoying a drink and looking out to the ocean, where Mamba Point would be breaking if there was massive rainy season swell. Note the blue-and-white lapa prints on these chairs, which are as intended.

Here's the view of the cliff side of Mamba Point and a bit of West Point as well. The smoke you see could be diesel fumes, but is likely burning plastic. Ah, Monrovia. But pretty, no?

More photos when I document ongoing work and construction this week. It's fun.

Kimchi, for reals

2010-03-27T17:18:00.000Z

I've loved kimchi since I was a child in Nairobi, where we bought jars of it from our local Korean restaurant and I'd sneak into it on the sly after school, dipping my fingers into the brine and finishing it straight from the fridge. There's something about probiotic food--maybe it's sourness, maybe a slight fizziness I detect on the top of my tongue--that I'm crazy about; it's the same with yoghurt and kombucha. Kimchi, with calcium-rich cabbage as its base, is a particular favorite.

As part of my recipe-testing extravaganza for Tides, I came across a recipe for it that didn't look hard, so I decided to try it. And although it's fermenting faster than it would in temperate climes (it's a cool 90 degrees with crazy levels of humidity), it's working. I'm so happy about it, I had to share. Next up, kombucha--if only someone will send me some culture...