The Dung Beetles of Liberia by Daniel V. Meier Jr

Author:Daniel V. Meier Jr [Meier, Daniel V. Jr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BQB Publishing
Published: 2019-06-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

SISTER ANGELINA

I had been in Liberia long enough to feel the novelty wearing off. When I first arrived, there was something new every day. My senses were overwhelmed by new smells and bright colors. I would buy strange fruit and fish from smiling people in colorful clothing. But one day I saw a little baby elephant in a cage; another day I saw monkey hands for sale. Then there was the heat, always the heat. I was beginning to long for just a whiff of cold air from New York State, just for one day. And the palaver. Absolutely nothing got done without palaver—always a small argument over price, over quality, over anything at all. To buy something, first of all, there was always a price for a European and a price for a local, and I accepted that, but there was always discussion, always some sort of palaver. It was beginning to wear me down. I had been stopped by a soldier on the street because my license tag was crooked. “Sorry, mon, here’s fifty cents,” I’d say. I’d been stopped because my front tire was low. “Sorry, mon, here’s twenty-five cents.”

None of this seemed to appreciably bother Deet or the others, but I was still not used to it.

And then there was the job. If you had to make a forced landing close to a village with an airfield, maybe you could get out. If you ended up anywhere else, you were probably dead. You have people cheating you all the time. I knew Mike cheated; Mr. de Ruiter cleared out what was left of the company, and I was sure Stumpy was up to no good. Even just going out for a drink could be difficult. When I went to town for a beer, there would usually be some belligerent drunk in the bar.

The worst thing was to get involved with a Big Man at the bar. They drank a lot and loved to gamble. They’d come up to the bar and invite me and whomever I was with to play dice with them. We’d say, “No, no!” And they’d say, “Oh ya mus come, Ya mus come!” and you say, “Ahhh . . . Okay.” Then they’d say you cheated. Pretty soon you are going to owe them money.

Everything wears you down one peck at a time. I did not think I could become accustomed to it. There were other people who were. The Lebanese did just fine. The Spanish did just fine. The Germans did okay; they seemed to be able to adapt to it even though they were older than me, all of them.

I was beginning to wonder if I had been in Liberia long enough. These people could be gentle with one another. They could be kind and considerate, yet there was a sharp-edged brutality here that seemed to cut through all aspects of life. And the expats—Colin, Deet, and the others that I had met in Africa—were they the way they

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