Liberia : after the war and an epidemic

by Chantelle Asante (Liberia)

Making a local connection Liberia

It is 2020 and Covid-19 is ravaging the world. In the Republic of Liberia on the West African coast, the tension is palpable. There is a confirmed case in neighboring Senegal. “It is getting closer home. May this not get to Liberia; we are still licking our wounds from Ebola,” cries Amadu, an Ebola survivor I meet in the bustling markets of Monrovia. Markets in Liberia are a beehive of activity. Chubby African women sit gracefully, calling out to customers, “my tomatoes fresh, come buy.” Young mothers with babies strapped to their backs sit behind baskets of fish, singing to their children as they attempt to make some sales. Young boys and girls carry trays of food items on their heads, swaying behind buyers, trying to sell off before sunset. Everyone is busy earning their keep. These are survivors - some made to kill their own kin; others stand as lone survivors of the deadly Ebola. “Chantelle, coronavirus must not enter this country. Liberia has had more than its fair share of troubles”. Amadu becomes a friend and my unofficial guide during my stay in Liberia. He was a child soldier, trained to shed the blood of his own kinsmen. “Tell me more about when you were a child soldier,” I ask eagerly. Amadu’s sunburnt face wrinkles in reminiscence. “There is nothing to tell. We were children and our innocence was abused.” He looks away pensive, lost in his thoughts. It is a telling silence - of a young boy taught to wield weapons and to drink blood, made to believe the best way to live was by killing another. “This land has seen too much blood. Just when we thought we were breathing in, Ebola hit. Ebola took so many people away. ” Amadu tells me his friend, Wangra, lost an entire household. Wangra belonged to a prestigious Muslim family with a religious leader who contracted Ebola. Although he was showing all the signs and symptoms, it was life as usual in the household: two-year-old Sheriff would still lay in his bed playing with him, Asana would bathe him with a wet towel, Agude would sit on his bed with him and feed him. Wangra had been in Guinea and came back to an empty household – ravaged and emptied by Ebola. More lives were lost when this leader died. Too many people touched his body and bathed him. Ebola was no friend to ignorance, entire families were wiped out. A bird flies by chirping as honking vehicles speed past us. I take in the sights of beautiful Monrovia. All the tragedy has not killed the life in these people. “We in Liberia believe your body is the only thing you come to the world with and you have got to treat it good.” And good they do treat themselves! Fashion is a big deal in Liberia. There are countless shops selling and making clothes out of vibrant African prints. You are bathed in a sea of colors as you make your way through the city. From the kaba and slit of Ghana, agbada of Nigeria, and flamboyant saris of India, it’s a world of bliss for the shopaholic fashionista. It is equally a home for funky hair. I have not seen so much hair with different colors and textures like I have in Liberia- from blue to blond, purple and burgundy - hair colors come in all forms and shapes. “And so, this is why you always see us happy and hearty. We are a people who understand the frailty and brevity of life. You only live once and you must make it matter,” Amadu gives me a lopsided grin and I am deep in my thoughts. As a people attempting to bounce back from the ravages of war and the deadly Ebola epidemic, there is more that binds Liberians together than separates them. It is a land of a people united in their fight for healing, survival and revival. A people ready to brave the odds to rebuild a better Liberia for themselves. They inspire me to be better than I have ever been.