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 African Continent |
By looking at the billboards alone, it's tempting to believe that Liberia is the next economic miracle of Africa. From the airport all the way into the capital city of Monrovia , one billboard after the other proclaims this West African nation is on the march and urges citizens to play their role in the remaking of a prosperous future. The billboards may not exactly portray the reality, but the happy smile of the country's president, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf is everywhere, and her smile is contagious. |
 Looking up from the beach, Monrovia is the image of a grooving, tropical town melting in the afternoon sun. A low rise city that occupies a small peninsula between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mesurado River, the hilly streets are lined with the decaying buildings of Liberia's more prosperous past. The remnants of this old town, built by freed slaves from the United States, wilt in the heat and call back to a quieter time, before Monrovia's present-day beehive-like activity. Today, three and four story buildings stand in the simmering heat, their paint peeling and colors fading in the sun. Tropical, broad leaf plants somehow still manage to push up through the crumbling skeletons of the city's buildings and shantytowns. And the city women's make-up and hair somehow manage to stand up to the same sun that nearly fries every modern machine. |
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| The real Monrovia--that is, the one which the locals inhabit--is abuzz with a cacophony of commerce and characters, all going through the day with screetching music blasting through boomboxes propped up on wheelbarrels. Young guys jostle through the streets, selling any imaginable product and the latest Hollywood blockbuster on DVD from their carts, arms, or backpacks. Chic women, who look straight out of a Lauryn Hill video, walk down the street with packs of men magically opening a path up for them to strut through as if on a fashion show catwalk. And ex-combatants, with their horrible disabilities, keep a hand out for those getting in and out of cars. It's a cast of characters in a raw, honest play set to hot, sticky rhythms. |
| Though the city still struggles to provide reliable water and electricity to its residents, it shoves optimism and brazen attitude in your face. The images from the street are a bright rainbow of colors and the typical creativity of African businesses with their funky names and wares for sale. The Spike Lee Business Center stands next to the Snoop Doggy Dog Drinking Hole. Young Liberians, with their confidant walk, cruise by wearing donated t-shirts with slogans like "Don't Mess With Texas". In fact, you notice a thousand Tupac Shakur look-a-likes marching by, one out-doing the next. |
| Boom-box music stores ride on wheelbarrels along Monrovia's rocky streets. A car battery hidden inside the outlandishly painted boxes powers up-beat, up-tempo sounds. The wheelbarrels seem to create a street party wherever they go, attracting children and young adults to streets. A sort of dance-off spontaneously forms in the road and even passing cars and trucks stop to pay their respects to the talented dancers. |
| Still recovering from an especially brutal civil war--unfortunately, known for the creativity of its worst atrocities--Monrovia nevertheless still responds with a deep belly laugh. A hopeful, dynamic president has set the tone for Liberians to dream of overcoming the grinding effects of poverty. |
| One place where the money never stops flowing is at the city's bars and hang-out joints. It seems that every block hosts a sweaty bar, chock full of young Liberians dancing to local beats and wiping the perspiration running down the sides of glasses of local Club beer or King Juice (a homemade sugarcane-based alcohol). Nevermind that the chairs are plastic and speakers are pure 1970s technology, because the vibe is pure cool. The laid-back, sunglass-shaded crowd on the street makes it hard to believe that such brutality and drug-fueled craziness occurred on these same city streets. |
| At dusk when the temperature falls, groups of children set up make-shift football pitches in the pot-holed streets, kicking around half-flat foot balls with shoeless but skilled feet. Women fire up grills for fish and beef kebabs next to old TVs blaring football games. The bars and hang-outs fill to packed capacity. Monrovia's hips swish under skin-tight jeans, and perspiration runs down the sides of local beer bottles. The music sometimes screetches, the staticky speakers make it hard to follow some of the lyrics, and the lights flicker from the uneven electric current. Still, the crowd is singing with the song, and the African beats make for an upbeat night. |
Monrovia's Billboards and Signs Tell It All: |
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© 2010 ROMAR TRAVEL GUIDES |
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