Traveling within Liberia involves hours, sometimes a full
day of hot sweaty driving over rough, unpaved roads in an indestructible Toyota
land cruiser. Driving up-country, into
the interior of the country, passes through a handful of towns and countless
villages with mud houses and grass thatch roofs. Stopping for lunch is well
calculated due to the lack of restaurant options along the route. A restaurant often means a set of plastic tables
and chairs, large pot of cooking meat stew and mounds of rice. The options are
limited to what is on the fire that day, goat stew, potato greens and chicken,
fish pepper soup or bush meat which we have been warned against eating since
the days of Ebola. Stopping to eat
lunch, during a long journey in Liberia, at a restaurant with unknown kitchen
hygiene, can promote a tinge of anxiety of what might happen after eating. This anxiety and fear of being in the middle
of nowhere with no facilities is probably the greatest fear that I have while traveling.
It’s the “kitchen hygiene” part that instills a sense of worry.
Once we depart the restaurant and are back on the road, a
rest stop, a gas station with amenities (restrooms) are non-existent. You are back in a car enduring a hot and
bumpy drive into the bush, surrounded by tall grass, forest and villages with
fields. When the tummy starts to gurgle
and spasm, the lunch contents deciding they don’t want to reside any longer inside,
the comforts of a local 7-11 convenience store is the most desired place to be. A debate of mind over matter swirls, do I need
to run into the bush and fend off army ants and snakes, or is this just a
passing pang that will miraculously go away.
Is there enough vegetation to hide behind?
By contrast, the American
highways have gas stations and McDonald’s dotting the landscape; a welcome respite to answer the sudden scream of nature.
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