In Postwar Liberia, Paradise Amid the Poverty

from the Washington Post

Feelings Mixed as Aid Workers Live Well

By Craig Timberg

MONROVIA, Liberia -- The second sushi bar to open in ragged postwar Liberia did not settle for having its chefs wear simple T-shirts, or for serving $25 worth of sliced fish on plain white plates.

Instead, the Barracuda Bar -- the new favorite hangout of ambassadors, U.N. officials and legions of aid workers whose shiny white SUVs jam the parking lot most nights -- opted to dress its staff in Japanese-style robes and red bandannas. Bigger orders of salmon and yellowtail arrived not on flatware but on little wooden sushi boats. Lobsters languished sullenly in a tank near the door, waving their antennae as customers walked by.

As this impoverished country climbs its way back from 13 years of civil war with the tiniest of steps, a boom is underway in the industries that cater to the rarified tastes of thousands of mostly European and U.S. expatriates who have come to help since peace arrived in 2003. The increasingly visible splendors available to this relatively wealthy group have left some Liberians wondering whether the foreigners are here to serve the nation or themselves.

"They drive the best of car, go to the best of entertainment center," said Allen Weedor, 42, the Liberian manager of a modest bar in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of town. "You can't really see what they've done."

The offices for aid groups and U.N. agencies that line major thoroughfares evoke as much discontent as gratitude in Monrovia, the capital. Their signature white trucks offer vivid contrasts when most vehicles on the road are worn-out old coupes with broken windshields, torn upholstery and thoroughly battered bodies that bespeak the troubled times Liberia has endured.

A U.N.-maintained list from 2005, the most recent available, catalogued more than 600 nongovernmental organizations, donor groups and agencies of the world body working in Liberia. Their missions included tending to nearly every facet of national life: food, health, education, forestry, farming, religion and rebuilding the electrical grid, water systems and roads.

Yet whatever the accomplishments of these groups, Liberians say the benefits of this massive international investment are far more obvious in the parts of town inhabited by the foreigners themselves. The number of swimming pools is burgeoning. Casinos are opening. Beach-side bars are springing up and sprucing up.

At the Abi-Jaoudi supermarket, ground coffee can be bought from Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks and Seattle's Best. There are eight types of Chi-Chi's salsa and 90 types of cereal, including six varieties of Special K. Pop-Tart lovers have 16 options; if they can't decide between strawberry and blueberry, they can get a "Splitz" Pop-Tart, with both.

A bag of these expensive imports can easily exceed the monthly salary of a Liberian lucky enough to have a job. A dinner for two at either of the sushi bars is much more -- especially if the meal is augmented with a few $8 caipirinhas or mojitos, as is possible at the Living Room, Monrovia's original, and somewhat less fancy, sushi spot.

There is another side to aid work in Liberia. Eliane Van De Velde, 35, a Belgian public information officer for the U.N. mission here, now on maternity leave, said many Westerners leave behind their families to work in a place that often is dangerous and disorienting.

"There are a lot of people who are there because they love the work," Van De Velde said.

Yet over several years in Liberia, Van De Velde said, she witnessed the most urgent needs ease as the aid flow grew sharply. As the money poured in, so did the amenities geared toward Western tastes.

"It's completely insane. The whole city doesn't have electricity. There's not a water plant. And it has two sushi bars, air-conditioned sushi bars," Van De Velde said. "You wouldn't think you were in an African country."

The arrival of sushi may have been inevitable in Monrovia, which sprawls along spectacular Atlantic Ocean beaches. For generations, the surf has been worked by fishermen who sail their colorful wooden boats out each day, netting an appetizing variety of sea life: marlin, barracuda, tuna, red snapper, yellowtail.

Monrovia also has a substantial community of relatively affluent Liberians who developed new tastes during long stretches living in the United States and Europe, often while studying at universities. But judging by the clientele at the Barracuda Bar and the Living Room, Monrovia's sushi eaters skew Western, and white.

The same is true at several of Monrovia's hot spots. Les Griot Cafe features both U.S. and European Union flags draped on its wall. Every Saturday is designated "NGO Night." At the Garden Cafe, young, lightly clad Liberian women vie for the attentions of foreign men, as do the amputees gathered outside the gates, begging for spare change.

Many in Monrovia's business community embrace the uptick in economic energy, no matter what the source. This is a country that only a few years ago was best known for blood diamonds, gunrunning and the terrifying, if occasionally antic, nicknames of drugged-out young warriors such as Dog Eats Man and Dirty Water.

Anna M.M. Bsaides, who owns and runs Mamba Point Hotel with her husband, managed to keep the business open during the civil war. As the country gradually stabilized, the hotel added a casino, the Barracuda Bar and a sports center with a Jacuzzi, ocean-side pool, workout room and tennis court. The clientele is mostly U.N. and World Bank officials, embassy staffers and aid workers. Bsaides said they are making crucial investments in the well-being of Liberia's 3 million residents.

"That is all good," she said. "They need a bit of resources . . . and they need the professionals to come and do the projects."

Few Liberians say they want the influx of money or projects to stop. Yet the flow of foreigners has stirred up sensitive feelings in a city already bristling with complex social and ethnic divides.

Freed American slaves founded Liberia in 1822, and their descendants, called Americo-Liberians, long dominated politics and commerce in this tiny nation. But Lebanese immigrants took control of large portions of Monrovia's business community in recent decades.

The Americo-Liberians say they have been sidestepped as money flows in, then out to Lebanon, without settling for long in Liberia. They say the aid groups rarely hire Liberians to senior positions, instead offering them low-paying jobs as drivers, security guards and secretaries.

Many of the foreigners also arrive with a whiff of condescension that never entirely dissipates, the Americo-Liberians say. And however much they are glad that former president Charles Taylor, a fellow Americo-Liberian, is no longer here to foment war, they are eager for the day when Liberia again is run mainly by Liberians.