Читать книгу The Bulk Challenge Experience - I. Ezax Smith - Страница 11

The Freeport of Monrovia is the main commercial port facility in Liberia. It was constructed on Bushrod Island near Monrovia in 1948.

As early as 1850, ships began exporting palm oil from what might be called an irregular harbor, since regular harbors had not been constructed at Monrovia. Also, during World War II, the American military forces sought to export raw rubber from Liberia for wartime use. For that reason, the Americans improved the port facilities in Monrovia and built what was then a modern harbor breakwaters.In 1948, this new 750 acres (3.0 km2) bay opened. The national government took over the port from an American company in 1971 and created the National Port Authority to operate the facility. Today, it is referred to as “The Gateway to Liberia’s Economy.”⁷

The port facility consists of four piers and one main wharf with four berths; tanker facilities and a fishery pier. However, at the time of our trip in April 1996, due to the civil war which paralyzed government infrastructures, the port was operating at less than half capacity, and was under the control of the West African Peace Keeping Force, ECOMOG, who used it as one of their major bases—primarily for access to the seaway for bringing in their military hardware, personnel, food and other logistics. Operation of the port by ECOMOG was essential to its peace-keeping mission because entry into the country by air was almost nonexistent. Also, there was no other usable seaport.

The next morning, the entrance to the Freeport was packed with many persons seeking to enter. A long line extended up to a quarter of a mile from the front of the gate to the side of the main street. It was manned by ECOMOG soldiers who were searching individuals before they entered the port area. This process was necessary to ensure that no armed men slipped into the port to cause havoc. We joined the line and waited our turn. Hours passed before we reached the checking area. Our luggage, food and bodies were searched and cleared. We entered the port. Thousands of people had fled into the port area for safety and refuge. They were scattered all over the port. Almost every empty container was an apartment for a family or group of people.

On the pier was a small fishing boat called Bulk Challenge. Rumors had it that the charterer of the boat and the captain were planning to evacuate people to Ghana and/or Nigeria. It was a Nigerian vessel. In the early days of the war, in 1990, a Nigerian vessel – Zolotesa – evacuated thousands of Liberians to Nigeria and Ghana. So, we made inquiries and learned that the Bulk Challenge vessel was sailing to Nigeria but would first make a passenger drop stop in Ghana.

By the end of the day, nothing promising about our travel arrangement had been achieved. Nevertheless, we were not disappointed. At least we were in the port and were much safer. But then, there was nowhere to sleep. People were everywhere – in containers, offices and even in the open. Because we had many little children, we went back to Theresa’s house and retired for the day. The house was not far from the port, and the community seemed calm and not troubled by what was going on in the port. Perhaps, this apparent sense of security was because of the community’s proximity to the port and the security that the presence of the ECOMOG brought to the area.

The next day we went back to the port and repeated the check-in process. This time, it was just Cedrick and I. The rest of the family – women and children – remained home with strict instructions about what to do, just in case they observed strange movements or heard anything fishy. At the port, there was still uncertainty as to what would happen; there was no clear understanding about the ship or its departure. We began to meet several people we knew; they had now made the port their new home. These were people from our community up town, people from school, work and church. Even some distant family members were among them. I ran into some of my cousins who informed me that they had spoken to their brother who had promised to help them get out of the country if and when it was clear what the ship would do. We agreed to keep each other posted on news regarding the ship, departure and cost when the information became available. They took us to their spot, the area at the port where they now spent their days and nights. We continued to hang around an office within the port that was said to be used by the crew from Bulk Challenge. It was not a big enough ship for the crowd. If anything, it would have to be a first-come, first-serve basis, but under no circumstance could it take every one who wanted to get out. And then, we soon realized that not everyone at the port was there to get out. Some people just wanted to be in the safety reach of the peace keepers until things quieted down and they could go back to their homes, while others were there scouting for food and any other assistance they could get for their family.

One important function the Freeport served during the war years was, as market ground for food and other basic necessities. People assembled at the port each day to find food for their families. There was no telling what one might find on any given day. The goods on the market depended on contents of whatever warehouse was broken into. Sometimes there was food, which everyone needed; and sometimes such things as plates and glasses or paint, which nobody wanted. “Such was the time, such was the situation”—to quote Frank E. Tolbert, the brother of the late president, William R. Tolbert, Jr. Sadly, both had perished in the April 1980 military coup in the country. People came from nearby communities like Logan Town, New Kru Town, Clara Town and Battery Factory, to hustle for food for their families. People also came from far off places like Coca Cola Factory, Brewersville, and Central Monrovia. They left at the end of each day with whatever they could lay their hands on. Hence, it was understandable that not all the people in the port were there to leave the country. For us who had decided to leave, it was important that we kept our ears open for news of departure in order to be among the first to jump aboard. After a couple of days, we learned that the crew was considering a process to register potential passengers. I therefore managed to start a discussion and build relationship with some of the crew members. We had money to use to pay our way out of the country but did not know what it would cost for all of us. Once the word was out about the ship’s plans, my cousin – the Rev. Dr. Larry Konmla Bropleh – connected with me to include his siblings in whatever plan or arrangement I was making. Larry was the Director for African Affairs of the Baltimore-Washington Conference of the United Methodist Church. He had visited Liberia twice in 1994 and 1995, and was in regular contact with relatives and friends. We connected Larry to the shipping authorities so that he would negotiate with them on our behalf. It took a couple of days for arrangements to be finalized because it was difficult to reach Liberia by phone at the time. However, payment arrangement was discussed and concluded, and Larry instructed us to go and meet the captain pay the money we had, and he would pay the difference. The cost was $75 per person. We went and met the captain, and he confirmed the agreement, and we paid for our tickets. The Captain listed our names and gave tickets for all 14 of us, including my family of six.

We were among the first group of people to be issued tickets. So, we were indeed excited that at long last, we would finally be leaving the hostilities behind. The instruction was simple: when it was time to board, heads of households or families would be called first to stand at the entrance while members of the family would be called; in our case, the 13 others. As they entered the ship, with tickets in hand, the head of the family or group would confirm that each belonged to that group. And they would all enter. It sounded really simple but didn’t look so simple. Many people expressed fear that the growing number of people gathering to board the ship clearly exceeded the capacity of the ship. But the captain assured us repeatedly that we would be among the first to board.

There was sufficient funds — at least, enough money for the upkeep of my family for a couple of months. At the time, I worked as an Internal Auditor for the Liberia Bank for Development and Investment (LBDI). Thanks to the management who had arranged for its staff to get extra emergency money and food. By word-of-mouth, the message got around fast and we converged at the home office of a businessman at a certain location across the bridge. “Across the bridge”— the Freeport is situated on Bushrod Island, which is connected to central Monrovia by two bridges—the Waterside Bridge, referred to as the old bridge, and the Gabriel Tucker Bridge, referred to as the new bridge. Any location after the bridges is generally referred to as ‘across-the-bridge.’ At the home office, the General Manager and Comptroller paid staff and provided each of us a bag of rice. I got my pay and rice and was quite ready to get out of the country with some level of satisfaction. Although we had learned from experience how to hide money on ourselves, it was not reasonable to walk around with a whole lot of money, so I divided what I had received into two equal amounts and gave one half to my wife to hold and I held on to the other half.

The Liberia Bank for Development and Investment was one of the few surviving banks in the country and very much potent financially. Since its creation by an Act of the National Legislature in 1961, it has been one of the financial pillars of the country, perhaps because of its joint ownership by the Liberian government and major international financial institutions that purchased equity in the Bank. It is predominantly a privately owned institution under private management with a Board of Directors elected annually by its shareholders. The Bank commenced operations in 1965 as Liberian Bank for Industrial Development and Investment. Under an amendment in 1974, the name was changed to the Liberian Bank for Development and Investment (LBDI). A further amendment in 1988 allowed the Bank to engage in commercial banking activities, to complement its development objectives⁸. I was with the bank from 1993 to 1998.

With tickets in hand, and the assurances of the captain, we felt relaxed and satisfied that we would soon leave the horrors of the senseless war behind. To ensure we followed the development of the Bulk Challenge in regard to departure or any arrangement for leaving, we moved from Rebecca’s house to the port and secured an empty 40-foot container as our new home. When my wife suggested it, at first I was edgy about staying in a container, because I thought I could find one of the offices on the compound, but they were all filled. Later, I realized that we were not the only family staying in a container. Many others had been there – in the Port – since they moved from their homes a while before the resurgence of fighting that April. All through the day and sometimes in the night, we strolled around the dock waiting to hear news of the departure of the ship, but we heard nothing. Each day was embraced with optimism but ended with frustration and uncertainty. Days went by and the crew kept issuing tickets and accepting money from potential passengers.

Finally, the day arrived and an officer announced on a loud speaker that luggage would be loaded onto the ship. He directed those with tickets to move their luggage nearer to the pier, and emphasized that ticket holders needed to be available to verify their luggage and take receipt of individual recovery tickets which they would need for claiming their luggage when the ship arrived at the planned destination. We rearranged our belongings, including personal credentials such as diploma, degrees, and certificates, and other important personal and family documents. We got on line like all other passengers with their belongings. There were so many look-alike luggage items that it was easy to get things mixed up. Therefore, we put special markings to identify ours. In addition, we had to constantly keep watch on our luggage so that no one would steal them or remove things from within them. In this crowd, as would always be the case, there were people of all sorts: the good, the bad and the ugly. Some were there because they desperately wanted to travel; some were there just for the safety of the port; and there were those—the hustlers—who were there to take advantage of others. Such people can be found in every situation and under every circumstance. So we were watchful and monitored our only belongings. I say “only” because this was all we had. Whatever was left at home would be gone by the time we returned. It would be taken by the rebels, or by people in the community. That was the trend.

When people left their homes for fear of their lives, the rebels who entered the community would loot the abandoned homes. If the rebels didn’t do the looting, it would be returning neighbors who looted and then sold the looted things for little or nothing, just to get some money to buy food. When it came to hunger, most people just became mean to one another. I am reminded of the time we returned home in early 1990. The house was a total mess. Everything we left when we moved out was taken away by unknown individuals. Whatever few worthless items left behind were strewed all over the place. We had to start from scratch. The only household item we purchased was a sponge mattress that we put on the floor and slept on. No one wanted to buy expensive household items, since it was likely that running from place to place was imminent.

In those early 1990 days, when we had returned home, one day, I was strolling by the Antoinette Tubman Stadium (ATS). Soon, I spotted a book that looked like a book I used in graduate school. I didn’t want to believe it because where we lived on 9th Street was approximately many miles from the ATS. But as I walked closer and looked harder, I discovered that indeed it was my book. I opened it and I saw my name and personal stamp; “I. Ezax Smith Family Library.” Curiosity led me to open a few other books and certainly, the guy was selling my entire bookshelf. “Ain’t this something?” I thought to myself, considering the distance from my house to where this guy had his sidewalk book stand. I informed the vendor that the books he had were mine and showed him my ID. All he said was, “if you need any of these books, you will have to buy them. I am doing business, and I don’t know you.” Then he went on to tell the price I would have to pay if I needed any. I could not believe my ears. But I knew better than to argue or fuss over books that had practically no value at the time, to me. Moreover, I also knew what the consequence of trying to talk about getting them back could be. For one, I did not have money. Secondly, the stadium is across from the Barclay Training Center, a military barracks. That meant that this vendor could be an army personnel, a soldier or relative of a soldier. Any argument would be severely detrimental to me. I could get arrested, beaten or worst, killed. Finally, I concluded I really did not have need for any book. What would I be doing with books during this war time when I could possibly be running again? What would I be doing with books when I needed food for my children? I politely walked away thinking to myself how many persons like me could be finding their precious belongings with other people in the streets of Monrovia. Ironically, this sort of activity (selling stolen things) got so rampant that many areas around the city became known as the “Buy-Your-Own-Thing Market” - like a thrift yard sale.

A notable “Buy-Your-Own-Thing Market” of this sort was located on Johnson Street. Others were in places like Paynesville Red Light and Duala Market. At these sites, one could buy anything for cheap. This was where most people went to restart their lives and get basic things like pots, pans, spoons, cups, chairs and mattresses or bed sheets. Anything could be found here including one’s own things, but they had to be paid for, with no questions asked as to how the items got to the market. It was an interesting experience, but this too was the war and the effects of the war.