Tri Repetae

Dogon Villages are easily identified by their distinctive square graineries. Most house compounds will have at least two, this one being a "men's grainery", with three doors, used for storing the millet meal that is their staple.

The Dogon are famous for their lavishly carved doors, mostly on their graineries, but occassionally on the houses as well. The faces on either side of the door are representations of the town Spiritual Leader and the Spiritual Leader's wife.

The Dogon region runs along a magnificent escarpment, and much of the earlier villages were built along the face of the cave. It is only recently, with more security, that the people have left the old houses and moved onto new villages on the floor. The last people left the cliff houses about fourty years ago. The structures are entirely mud-brick, and some of them border on being nearly a thousand years old.

This is typical architecture for the town Spiritual Leader's house. The rergular pockmarks provide small ledges on which small icons and dolls are placed.

The cliff villages were built in an intricate three dimensional layers, with the streets and paths frequently running directly above houses or below the graineries. Suspending the graineries in the air has the strong benefit of preventing rats and rodents from being able to burrow into the food supplies.

The towns at the top of the cliff have slightly different architecture, with most structures made of stone instead of mud. On the left is one of the town's meeting places. The super thick roof of thatch keeps it quite cool, even in 105 degree weather. They are built low, with an interior height of around three feet. It is where all the men will gather to lounge, but also to settle disputes. The roof is kept purposely low, my guide claimed, to keep people from arguing. If you get angry, you hit your head.

A view from the top of the cliff. We hiked up there and spend a night in a village at the top, sleeping on the roof of the houses. Most villages are actually a cluster of several smaller settlements, grouped closely together. Most are divided into seperate Animist, Islamic and Catholic communities. This is the height of dry season, with the rains expected to come in the weeks following my visit. The entirty of this view is actually farmland, although the soil currently has the consistency of dust. You can see in a few palaces in this photo that it has actually been plowed, but otherwise there are no telltale signs that it is able to support life. Come back in December, and the area is solid green.

The house of the Spiritual Leader in another town:

The town hunter.

And his house:

I just got back to Monrovia from my trip to Mali. After flying into Bamako, I took a 12 hour, overnight bus ride to Mopti. Mopti is primarily a salt trading port located at the joining of the Niger and Bani Rivers. The salt is brought down from the Sahara in caravans to Timbuktu, and then loaded on small boats for transportation to Mopti, where is is exchanged for grain to be brought back up.

The construction in the entire region of East Mali is entirely mud brick, with the walls recovered with a fresh layer of mud every year after the rainy season. The mosque in Mopti is a classic (although relatively new at 80 years old), of the architecture of the region.

The boats are made in Mopti. Local blacksmiths will melt down scrap metal, usually from old cars, for the nails and other running gear for the boats.

The wooden hulls are fitted together by hand by local artisans.

Some photos from a trip up and down the Niger and Bani rivers.

A recent report highlights a major problem of the UN in Liberia--the exploitation of local women by people in positions of power. The problem is something that I, and many others I'?ve talked to here, have seen first hand

The problem encompasses not just locally hired civilian workers, but many members of the military contingents to the UN. The UN provides upper-middle class Western pay standards to workers and soldiers that frequently come from countries with much lower standards of living. The result is that the supervisors and Commanders will overlook quiet indiscretions in fear that an investigation will reflect on themselves? something that few are willing to risk.

The recent report by Save the Children- UK, concentrates on the exploitation of Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) and refugees in the many camps in the area. The perpetrators in these cases tend to be Liberians hired by WFP and other UN agencies to administer their programs in the country. This is a story that I have heard many times in the two IDP camps in my Area of Responsibility. The report also highlights the practice by other authority figures throughout the country, most disturbingly, local teachers who engage in various forms of bribery in lieu of tuition (which is frequently on the order of $20US per semester), or in exchange for passing grades.

The problem isn?'t just the local hires, though, but to foreign UN workers and soldiers. It is a practice that I had noticed by at least one former member of my team, and is apparently widespread among the peacekeepers and military observers. Most will rationalize having a girlfriend by asserting that no cash is changing hands, but will pay with large amounts of food for the families of the girls, vehicle rides, or implicit promises of visas.

For many UN workers, both Liberian and foreign, the jobs are extremely well paying, and a one year mission as a military observer can provide for a full retirement for a soldier when he returns home. The result is an extreme risk-avoidance, which shows up not only in normal duties, but also in the discipline of fellow workers. Priority is given to avoiding controversy, and not to accomplishing the mission.

In one recent incident, a military observer on another team reported the inappropriate sexual relationships of two fellow team members, and simultaneously requested a transfer to another team, to avoid retribution. This member's chain of command ensured that the investigation was squelched before it even began, and even denied the transfer request, putting him at risk, at the mercy of his teammates. The commander and team leader didn't want the situation to reflect poorly on them.

In a recent article, Claudia Rosen points out the ?fundamental problem "[is] that senior U.N. officials enjoy the privileges of sovereign immunity, but because the U.N. is not a sovereign state, they are spared the accountability that tends to come." But this problem extends not just to U.N. diplomats, but even to low level UN employees working in failed states. There is no functioning local law enforcement system, and few perpetrators are held accountable by their home governments once they've been repatriated.

The only system of punishment that the UN has is repatriation or being fired, and the loss of salary that comes with it. There is no viable system available to hold people responsible for their actions in failed states like Liberia. The result is that the actions of the UN is damaging thousands of young girls, and reinforcing the system of corruption that got Liberia to this state in the first place.

A photo of the border with Guinea, Liberia is on the far side of the creek, and a Liberian customs agent we took with us in the foreground, in Guinea.

A few kids currently living in the Maimu IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) Camp.

A young mother with her child in the town of Beletanla.

Last week I found yet another gold mine, buried deep in the bush, except this time it was much larger than normal. It was a nice, hard hour plus walk through the bush, and down a rarely used path until we came upon a picturesque creek winding through the forest.

We scrambled along the creed for a ways, over quite rugged rocks and miniature waterfalls until we came to a narrow diversion canal directing water to the side. Following that for a hundred meters, and we stumbled across the first of seven claims. There were a good thirty workers there, and they claimed to produce about 18 grams a day, working entirely by hand.

The miners reported that the mine was over "10 shovels" deep, so considering a standard shovel is about four feet long, that's pretty deep. The workers had dug down about ten feet to the bedrock, and were digging the rock with nothing but hand tools.

The workers are powered by palm wine, provided by the local brewer. Trust me, its sweet, but otherwise tastes like standard moonshine. Our guide, expecting to get some small, small, endulged in a good sized glass of palm wine himself. He was just about stone drunk on the way back, and couldn't stay on the path. We teased him about being drunk, which he denies, and confiscated his kitchen knife, returning it to the town chief when we made it back to Gbaomu.

It is hard to pick out on the photo, but check out the dozen or so gold flakes on the top half of this rock.

Whenever I’m depressed and frustrated with the ineptitude of the UN, I am always brought back by some of the locals-- there is a strong and flourishing spirit here. They have a wonderful flair, mixing humor, religion and pride into their local color. You can see it in some of the town names; small groupings of mud houses with dirt floors go by the name of Money Sweet-ta, Poor Boy Town, Say Where, Bigboy Town, Smell No Taste, Underwear, Monkey Tail, the list goes on. Some of the more unimaginative simply name their town for themselves, the town chief. And here, there is no shortage of examples: Francis-ta, Thompson town, Sarah-ta, and on. Others are just a little overly descriptive of their sole notable feature, such as Waterfall, Youth Mission, Public Work Garage, the slightly optimistic White House, not to mention Tobacco Farm, New Building, Tomato Camp, or One House Town. Surprisingly enough, there are six houses in One House Town. The creatively named A_99 stands in a league of its own. There’s also a town called Camp II. I’m not sure where Camp I is, but I can point you to Camp II. And people will get fiercely defensive of their names. At one point on our map, there are two closely adjacent towns, Pelepolu I and Pelepolu II. Now, all the locals know the surrounding area pretty intimately. But when you stop in Pelepolu and ask the town name they’ll tell you Pelepolu. They’ll give you directions to a town fifty kilometers away, through the bush, and over three broken bridges; but can’t tell you the name of the town two hundred meters down the road. When you ask the name of the other village, they just shrug their shoulders and look away.

A friend of mine clued me to start asking people’s middle names. A Liberian will tell you that their middle name is Little Boy or Smooth, or something even further out there. A kid who is not yet eighteen years old will look you in the eye and insist that “Old Man” is written on his birth certificate. As for first names, it is quite common to find someone named Prince. But the first names around here are more commonly reflective of their deep seated religious beliefs. Seemingly half of the male population will have Old Testament biblical names, Abraham, Issac, Joseph (never Joe, mind you), David or Josiah. We have two guys named Moses who work as security guards at our accommodation. And when I ask a Liberian how they are doing (“How the body?”), it is not uncommon to get an “Ohh, God is good,” or a “Thank the Lord.”

For Liberians, most own nothing, and so to be able to buy anything of substance is a tremendous achievement. Nowhere is this more evident than on their cars. Many of the taxi drivers that I've talked to worked for NGOs for several years to afford the vehicle they are driving. It represents tremendous achievement and an ability to save and work hard for a reward. As a result, you'll pass vehicles with "Successful Prayers" written on the rear bumper of a car or taxi. Although, the one labeled "My Year of Divine Speed" is perhaps the most appropriate. So Liberia follows the common developing world custom of writing slogans or encouragement on their cars: “No food for lazy man”, is the African classic, but I’ve also seen "Don’t envy, pray for me", "Jesus Loves You Mr. Brown", "Tired Man" or "What God Bless is Blessed." Oddly enough, the bad grammar is frequently repeated with infallible consistency.

But the result is that their cars offer an interesting insight into the local's thoughts. Well, taxi and truck driver demographic, at least. Although "Things Will Never Be the Same Again", is seen on multiple vehicles, it is quite rare to find something that acknowledges the war directly. "No Peace, No Love" is much less common than "Jesus Never Fail", or some similar formation. In general, the spirit is not quite optimism, not quite resignation: "To be a man is not easy", "God Judgment, No Appeal" and "Why Dream?" are only occasionally peppered with a taxi proclaiming "Better Day Ahead". The social stature of owning a car is often directly confronted with a reflection of the recent national trauma, best epitomized by one truck's cab asking "Why Envy Me? WHY?" The sayings tend to reflect a feeling of lack of control, and a willingness to put their lives and their future in the hands of the Lord.

While the painted sayings are limited only by the driver's creativity and wry humor, the country is severely lacking in a diversity of stickers to put on their cars. This is surprising considering the universal habit of covering the entire rear window with faded pieces of bizarre social expression. Giant “City Boy” and “Challenger” stickers adorn the back windshields of most taxis. There are about three different Jesus stickers, one of just his bust, one full length in white robes. There’s also the classic with a cute baby in diapers looking up and straight at you with the note “Jesus, please forgive me.” But at first glance, Liberia seems to have a fascination with the early eighties, as nine taxis and minibuses out of ten will be decorated either with two stickers of a young Madonna (the Pop Princess, not the real one), or is a large decal of Sylvester Stallone in the Cobra movie logo.

But the Cobra stickers aren’t just an out of date pop culture reference. The recent war means that almost all these cars were purchased in the past three years, and what stickers to display a recent decision. As the preponderance of 50 Cent T-shirts display, the locals can be moderately up on western culture. These decals and logos mostly have meanings, even if non-obvious. A “City Boy” is a taxi that won’t take you into the bush, but only within and in between large towns. “Challenger” is a means of putting those who read it on notice, that if you work hard and save your money, you too can own a car. In all fairness, I have yet to figure out a deep meaning to Madonna, but others can be more ominous. During the latest phase of the civil war, the rebel group LURD was initially divided into three battalions, the University of Bullet, the Voltage Movement, and from Bopolu County, the Cobra Movement. The Deputy Chief of Staff of the LURD, Seeya Sheriff, was popularly known as General Cobra. Considering that the LURD was heavily known for its widespread atrocities, a taxi driver doesn’t just go and put a picture of Sly Stallone in front of a Cobra logo on the back of his cab lightly. It is there to send a message.

Fourteen years of war, and barely two years on, the entire country is still trying to catch its breath. Forget picking itself up and moving on, it is still at the dazed stage of trying to figure out where everyone is and what to do next. People are just returning home, and picking through the mess that lies around them. None of the farmers are working the large fields they used to, but trying to eek out some a subsistence crop. A patch of a dozen rice paddies, each a half acre square, is mostly overrun with weeds, and one sole paddy hosts a small cluster of corn and rice. Houses were destroyed, or neglected, and public facilities like roads have been torn apart and have disappeared into the bush. There are largely no seeds to be had, not to mention money to buy them, so people wait on a handful of NGOs to pass some out. There is no economy, no regular source of gasoline or rice or batteries.

So over this lies an unspoken tension. Despite the Taylor business, it wasn’t one man alone who tore this place apart. Bong County, along with Lofa just north of us, was Taylor central. There is a lot of sympathy for the man here. Those that speak out say that they feel sorry for the man. Or, refusing to believe what happened on the other side of the country, they look at the buildings that were only burned by the LURD and ask why Taylor is the only one on trial. But mostly, the old men in the village will lament, “it doesn’t change my troubles” to have him put in jail.

Ex-combatants get favorable status from NGOs and the government in employment. So, of the 5% of the population that does have a job, 90% go out to ex-combatants. The war was one that we in the west aren’t used to. There was no politics involved, just control. So, warlords (from all sides) get elected in the new government. I’ve had a couple people remark that, in retrospect, they wish they had become combatants. Then they’d get training and food and work.

This leaves the interesting current to the Christian faith that I see here. It does not reflect what I’d label optimism, or even hope. Tired old men have seen the worst in life; don't trust their neighbors, but beam with pride at the sight of an American officer. It’s easy to get cynical when people tell you that ex-combatants from both sides have just forgiven each other, and now work and play side by side. Over what petty jealousies have I held a grudge back home? But mostly, they never hated each other to begin with, but just got caught up in this desperate grab for anything more than what they had. We’ve forgiven each other. But does forgiveness necessitate forgetting?

So the colorful names have changed, but the color remains. Black Diamond, Nasty Duke and Dragon Master have receded. General Cobra and General Peanut Butter have been elected to congress. Ex-combatants linger, and people’s faith changes. So you see a man on the side of the road, without a shirt on his back, and covered in sweat, hauling a hundred pound sack of grain for fifty cents profit. Ask him how he is, and he’ll reply, “Thank the Lord.”

The joys of being a Chief Elder:

Here is some older painting on a house that has survived. Note the graffitti from during the war:

The kids with their new soccer ball:

The worst part of the corruption in the UN isn't that it just wastes money on spectacularly expensive projects. It is that the corruption exists in every department, at every level and in every sector of the UN, at least here in UNMIL. It exists in headquarters, in almost every military unit, and it exists on my team.

Just over one month ago, I was in Monrovia, and walked from UNHQ to our apartment. Less than two blocks from the headquarters, on Tubman Boulevard, the primary road through town, I noticed several Nigerian soldiers on the sidewalk receiving money from a local businessman. The back of the UN truck was filled with a stack of over a hundred loaves of bread from the UN bakery. These soldiers were openly selling the food, and did not even take note as an American officer, in uniform, walked by, gawking.

The sale of United Nations food here is commonplace. Most of the street side stands are, coincidently enough, stocked with the exact same brand names of food as we're served in the mess. The fact that it is sold to the locals is widely rumored, although the bread incident is the only one I have personally observed. To my local contingent, the UN provides weekly shipments of fresh fruit. But in three months, I have been served exactly one apple, and only see grapes when some General is visiting town.

Amazing enough, you can see these fruits on sale at the local markets, despite the fact that they aren’t grown in Liberia. Many other contingents are worse, with troops seeing very little of the food that is provided by the UN.

I have personally seen local taxis fueling at the UN only gas station, and there is widespread reselling of UN gasoline at roadside stands. In the logistics section, HQ briefly launched an investigation into the amazing amount of lost diesel fuel, only to have the investigation quietly die after a week or so. One of the other American military observers tells me that he has personally seen soldiers at routine checkpoints taking cash from local drivers.

In my own team, one month before I arrived, there was a vehicle accident from drunk driving that was unreported. DUI is common, and in the recent weeks several locals were injured from a serious hit and run incident in Monrovia.

The UN has no real threat of enforcement of its own ranks except repatriation. Even that is no real threat, as most commanders, nervous to protect their own UN paychecks, sweep most incidents under the rug, not wanting to bring attention to themselves or their units. The incidents that to get investigated take months to complete, by which time the offending member has collected thousands of more dollars, and is probably already on his way home. Outside of the human rights abuse cases (which I'll go over in a future post), there are no IG channels to report incidents to except your own commanders. No performance reports from the UN will follow a person home, and very few countries will prosecute crimes that their soldiers and citizens commit while on a mission. There is simply no means for enforcement, and this fact is well known to everyone here.