It is odd, thinking that the last time I traveled, I climbed the hills of San Francisco and forced the heat in Phoenix. The contrast could not be more obvious, in the Liberian capital Monrovia. It is the city of the white expat 4WD monstrosities and the Liberians on motorcycles. There are many houses that used to be beautiful, but it is clear that the funds to keep them up has not been around for a very long time. It is hot and intense, maybe not as big as many other African capitals, but enough to overwhelm a girl from sparsely populated Scandinavia.
Shopping there is an experience in itself. And for Hanna and me, all the colorful fabrics from Nigeria and Côte d’Ivore and China made our heads spin. I bought far too much and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all that fabric.
In Sinkor, an area by the beach just east of downtown, all the houses are surrounded by high walls with barbed wire on top. This is where the expats live. The contrast between the roomy and air conditioned apartments and the bumpy mud road outside the gate is almost comical.
But only 45 minutes in crazy motorcycle traffic from downtown Monrovia, you have Silver Beach. The waves are too big for proper swimming, but the palm trees and the desertedness of it all still makes it feel like something taken from a travel magazine. And they serve delicious fish, maybe the best I’ve ever had. Barracuda fresh from the ocean to the fire onto the plate. Incredible.
Katja Malmborg 