As soon as we stepped off the plane at Roberts International Airport, it was clear we had landed in a country still reeling from the aftermath of Ebola. We were not permitted to enter the airport until we had rinsed our hands (no soap!) with jugs of water positioned outside the entrance, and had our temperatures taken. The process was surprisingly smooth, and we were welcomed warmly by everyone we encountered.
I can’t describe the glee we felt when we discovered our camera on the luggage carousel. My cameraman, George Reeves, spotted it immediately and whirled around to tell me, “The camera is here! The camera is here!” Neither of us could believe it. We knew we could not do what we had come here to do without that camera, but our elation slowly dissolved as we realized that while our equipment had made it, my luggage had not. It is frustrating and disappointing, but not impossible to carry on without.
The next day our fixer, Kaipee, took us to Monrovia’s market to search for clothing (he is a local journalist we have hired to help us get around). The market is impossibly busy, very loud and stifling hot. It is crammed with vehicles seemingly navigating without any rules of the road, constantly blowing horns, and people yelling and selling everything from jugs of water to wallets and belts, even exchanging American dollars for Liberian dollars. Ten USD is equivalent to 900 Liberian dollars, and the bills don’t come in large denominations, so there are large stacks of bills just sitting on boxes used as makeshift tables on the side of the street.
We paid one man to take our pictures for what will be permits allowing us to work as journalists, basically international press passes. Imagine getting a passport photo, but right in the middle of the market with a curtain tacked behind you! We cannot start shooting without these permits, and we can’t get them until government offices open “first thing” Monday morning. What time is that? 10 a.m., of course. African time!
As we make our way through Monrovia’s main streets, with people jetting this way and that, our fixer tells us petty crime is rampant. He explains that criminals will steal phones right out of our hands if we’re not careful, and not only will they take things from our backpacks, but they’ll slice open bags and take everything inside without our knowledge. Our driver explains that most of them are ex-combatants from the brutal civil war that ravaged Liberia between 1989-1996 and 1999-2003.
We are pleased with our fixer and our driver so far. Kaipee is a radio journalist and seems excited to work with a television crew. He asks us how long we’ve been in the industry. When he learns it’s been 27 years for George, he tells him he is going to “drink all of his wisdom.” When I ask whether he has travelled much, he says that he has not because he’s “too happy here.” It’s clear he’s very proud of his homeland. “Liberia is the land of liberty,” he declares. “You will love it here, and when you leave you will want to come back.”
I have no doubt.
