Flight to Grand Gedeh (jee-dah)

June 19, 2006

I left on a rainy morning for the UN airfield in Monrovia. Whether I was able to get on the UN helicopter flight to Zwedru would be determined later. I check in and throw my bag into an x-ray machine that doesn’t seem too sensitive because it missed my colleague's metal stove and my large pocket knife. I found out minutes later I was added onto the main flight list. Waiting in the lounge, it was nice to enjoy the Korea v. France replay already knowing the outcome would be 1-1. It's pathetic that I can derive this much extended pleasure over a tie.

We walked about 200m to the helicopter on a red earth field in knee high grass. About 50m and a barbed wire fence separated us and a woman doing her daily chores. I sit next to a Chinese peacekeeping engineer, an Eastern European UN worker, a few Liberians working for various INGOs, and… You get the idea. The cosmopolitan cabin looks more like an intersection at W. 4^th on the Lower East Side. I was slightly nervous but something within me thought, "Hey, you're a nice person. Nice people can fall 1000m out of the sky and be ok." I’m a child of the 80s and the passive recipient of “Red fear” messages so am I to blame for being concerned by reading spray-painted Cyrillic letters perhaps saying “DANGER” or “CAPITALIST PIG”? I jump at the chance to grab my colleague’s MP3 player with any kinds of tunes.

“Do you have any earplugs?” a Brit asked to the Ukrainian co-pilot.
“No, we don’t have them,” the young pilot remarked.
“You know, they’re mandatory for UN aircraft.”
“Ok, fine. I will check.”
Enter Liberian airport worker with neon UNMIL vest.
“Ok, we ran out.”

After 10 minutes of asking the question that nearly everyone already knew the answer to, off we went. The only “earplugs” to be found was a Liberian NGO worker shoving pieces of toilet paper in his ears and smiling at me, “This is Africa.” He must’ve misunderstood me because I thought his idea was brilliant.

There’s something soothing about a helicopter ride. Its rolling, A-train feel with metronomic rhythms certainly puts me more at ease than being on an airplane. I guess it was my lucky day. I got to listen to Usher, Maroon 5, and Aimee Mann while pondering the different roof styles one encounters going from northern to southern parts of Liberia. There’s not much variation though. It’s either some sort of palm thatch roof or zinc.

As expected, the foliage is a grand patchwork of green. It’s the type of dense vegetation that doesn’t allow anyone to even get a peek into what lies beneath the forest canopy. The pathetic red scars of earth called roads are no match for the seasonal over growth that looms over.

Unfortunately, the ride is the same for much of the 1.5 hour ride. I think of how many people this Ukrainian fighter MI-8 turned UN humanitarian chopper killed in its former days. Where had it served? Was this the vantage point US soldiers faced on their first tour of duty with VC shooting from what seemed like every tree and shrub? Eerie.

We slowly descend and the air is much hotter than the early morning wetness of Monrovia. There’s even some tasty dirt passing through the submarine windows into the cabin I can taste.

We drive about 5 minutes and we’re at the field office. I’m excited to be there and try to convey it. The focus group discussions with the staff go well. Despite the sweat falling from my forehead, I think the respondents can see I’m glad to hear their opinions. How does Tony Robbins stay so jazzed and freshened up all the time?

They’ve already selected potential sites for Tuesday thru Thursday. One person I’ll be partnering with has assured me that I’ll get to see “remote” Liberia. It should be fun.

I have dinner at a UN dining facility for only $3. The World Cup is blaring with Spain v. Tunisia coverage. We also encounter a UN worker who seems like she’s been there too long. She has her work cut out for her as she covers 7 of the 13 counties in Liberia for UNMIL program policy. Anyways, we have Jolla rice and chicken. I guess this is what they’ve served all month.

Now, I’m typing from the WFP guesthouse. It looks exactly like a guesthouse I stayed at in Punta Arenas, Chile. There are featherweight doors with wall-to-wall laminated carpeting of bamboos crossed with ugly roses. I feel like I should have some tea, an empanada, and brainstorm some questions about how the weather’s been in Patagonia. It’d be nice to see some glaciers but I’ve got more FGDs to do tomorrow.