LNP

This is my first entry about the joys of dealing with the Liberian National Police, most assuredly more will follow. As a white man, I fail to blend in to the crowd here in Liberia. When I am on my motorcycle I am even more visible. So today it was no surprise to me when I was flagged down by a few of the boys in blue.
A little cultural knowledge is necessary here. In Liberia, the police set up all kinds of check points along the major roads. This approach to crime fighting seems less for catching criminals and more for giving the average motorist a hard time. Outright bribery is circumvented in these situations through "friendship" and "cool water" which makes it seem not as bad. The average Liberian will complain up and down about LNP taking bribes and "hammocking" people but when they are faced with the "friendship" of an officer of the law they nearly always cave. If you ask them why they gave the police money they will just say "That's just the way it is done here." Never thinking that by refusing these sorts of bribes they would actually be doing the right thing. Back to my exchange today.
I approached the checkpoint and slowed down. A male officer jumped out into the road and told me to park off the road. I pulled onto the berm and a female officer approached me. I asked her if I had done something wrong. She smiled and said no. So I asked why I was being pulled over. She giggled and before she could answer the guy that pulled me over started in on me. "Why can't you slow down when you are coming to the check point?"
"I did slow down, Officer."
"This bike is too old for a white man. White man should be riding new motorbikes." He said as he flicked some rust off my handlebars.
"Where is your driver's license?"
I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to him.
"So you are a licensed driver Mr. Matthew Carmer."
"Actually it's pronounced Cramer."
"Ohh, Mr. Carmer."
"No really. It's Cramer."
He was getting bored with this play. Here comes the pitch. "So it's hot today. What do you have for the officer? I want to drink cool water."
"I don't have any cool water money for you today."
"Yes. But it's hot and we are friends. You can't find a small thing for the Officer? The sun is hot."
"I didn't tell you to set up a checkpoint in the middle of the day. Shouldn't you be looking for criminals?"
"We had to set up the checkpoint. There are wicked people in Liberia. Now try and find something for the officer. We are on the ground."
"My NGO has a contract with the government of Liberia that says we can't give out small things."
"NGOs are evil. You should find something from your own heart."
"I am not really a nice person, Officer, and I don't have anything for you today."
"Our friendship is cut." As he said this he made a fist but extended his pinky. I thought he wanted me to pinky swear with him so I did the same and grabbed at his pinky. He said "No, we are not friends anymore."
"But sir, I was really enjoying getting to know you."
"You won't help me so our friendship is over."
At this point I started the bike and he stormed away. This is not the way I would deal with the police at home. Here, though, it doesn't seem wrong.

Tile floors.

So let's fast forward to 2010. I am engaged to a beautifal Liberian girl that I love very much. She is actually the reason that I have started this blog. I want it to be a guide to Liberia and an insight into a Liberian relationship.
I recently rented my fiancee a house that I will move into when we get married in June. I am sure I will address a number of different issues that will arise in regards to this house but today I will address the tile floors. They are not the greatest floors but hey, it's a rental. My fiancee does not have this same attitude. She is constantly complaining that she is always scrubbing the floor and it won't shine. For a guest to come over and see tile that is not shining would be some kind of human rights violation. Her answer is to buy a very cheap linoleum substitute and cover the entire house with it. I completely disagree. This fake flooring is going to wear through in a few months and only makes the place look cheap. I bought a $100 rug to cover the living-room floor and she still wants to put the linoleum under that.
If you continue to read this blog I am sure you will see that I always lose and I am rarely right. So keep your eyes peeled for an update on the instilation of the linoleum floors.

Mercy Ships and arrival in Liberia.

I joined the ship in South Africa in September of 2009. This was not the life of leisure that I was shooting for but I still felt like God wanted me to join Mercy Ships. (At this point I was still participating in all types of debauchery but at least I was listening to what God had to say.) After six weeks in South Africa we set sail for Liberia. Believe me when I tell you I never wanted to come to Africa. This was God's adventure for me.
After nine days of smooth, clear seas we were set to approach Liberia. Before we could see land the water started to change from crystal clear blue to a murky, plastic bag strewn, mud puddle. Then came the smell of 2 million people's waste being washed out to sea. I wondered what I had gotten myself in to. A country that you can smell before you can see it! I was not the least bit prepared. We drifted closer until we could see Mamba point where the US embassy is. I was trying to make some sense of the skyline of bombed out buildings and smoke rising from the streets. Liberian guys in hand dug fishing canoes were paddling close to see this ship full of white people. I can't believe anyone would eat fish from these waters. We were boarded by the pilot that guided us into the port. There was a cargo ship turned on its side and half sunk at main berth in the port. We gently put into our dock, sandwiched by two other half submerged fishing boats. This was going to be a wild ride. Fear and excitement filled me as I wondered what was beyond the port. Little did I know at the time I would call Liberia home for years to come.

The begining.

This story really starts in the spring of 2005. I was just getting my head back together from what I call "The Wilderness Years." From the summer of 1998 until winter 2004, I had done my best to destroy my liver and not get anyone pregnant. The latter was easy because I barely had time in between drinks to talk to women. I did have a few girl friends though, they seemed to be as self involved as I was.
You are only young once and I was almost finished with that. My friends were graduating college, getting married, and getting real jobs. I was a teller at the slowest branch of a small bank. I provided outstanding customer service despite the fact that I hated my job. To escape I started fishing and listening to island music. I dreamt of the Carribean and a carefree lifstyle that involved little work and lots of play. Then I read a book called A Pirate Looks at Fifty by one James Buffet. This book changed my life. I realize that sounds absurd but it did. I was inspired to throw off the yolk of small time corporate life and live freely. (Now compare that statement to this.) I decided to work on an oil rig in the Carribean. The deal is I would work two weeks then take two weeks off on the mainland. Those two weeks would be fueled by bad behavior I am sure. So while at my teller station I went to a website that recruits for these types of jobs. The site said that if you had seafaring experience it would give you and edge in the employment process. So I clicked on a link that advertised free experience.