Some modes of transportation made the journey even longer.
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Travel in Liberia is such a different experience when you are in a vehicle with diplomatic plates. Of course, this was all a new experience for me. In the Peace Corps, I usually tried to hitch rides on supply transport trucks (as seen in the photo). I packed into the back of timber shipments, slept on top of bags of cement (or at least tried), shivered when it rained and collected red dust all over my face when it was dry on those dusty roads. All of these means of transportation were better than riding in a money bus, a pick-up truck with a covered frame that held three rows of passengers, a few chickens, and sometimes a goat or two. There was never room to move.
I have to admit, I hated riding in money buses. At six feet, I’m taller than most Liberians. Those extra inches meant I couldn’t sit up straight in the back of the truck. Usually, I hit my head on the roof each time we hit a bump. And, Liberia’s roads have so many bumps once you leave the paved road that stops around Ganta. To get to Zwedru, there was one hundred fifty miles of unpaved discomfort. I was always grateful when someone said, “The Peace Corps man will suffer too much in the back. He needs to sit up front.”
I never turned down that offer.
But, if you travel in a land rover with diplomatic plates, the experience is totally different. There are still bumps that can’t be avoided. However, the whole process is so much more bearable with a seat belt, headroom, legroom and air-conditioning!
As if that isn’t enough of a perk – and air-conditioning is a HUGE perk – I have to mention the numerous police checkpoints. I wasn’t always as groveling and submissive as I needed to be at checkpoints. Sometimes there could be as many as twenty police stops where I had to get out of the vehicle, show my identification, sometimes open my luggage for inspection and watch police force bribe money from the driver. It was maddening. But if I wasn’t groveling and submissive, that caused more problems and in the end I still had to apologize and then be groveling and submissive.
None of that happened with diplomatic plates. We were waved on without questions. The only other time I had such ease at checkpoints was after a motorcycle accident while in the Peace Corps. I had a gash on my elbow and blood everywhere. No police man wanted to be responsible for delaying a bleeding white man. It got to the clinic a lot faster than usual.
There was one exception to our treatment at check points when we crossed the Lofa County line. We had to wash our hands and get a temperature check as a continued defense against Ebola. No need to be groveling or submissive or maddeningly frustrated. I totally understood and agreed with the precautions.
Even with diplomatic plates, headroom, legroom and air-conditioning, it was a long ride on unpaved roads to Zwedru. The one hundred fifty mile journey lasted around seven hours. I don’t know how I ever managed it while in the Peace Corps in the back of public transportation vehicles or on top of transport trucks. Well, it was uncomfortable, painful, cold or hot depending on time of day or night, wet or dusty depending on the season and always, always very long.