Human Capital

Finishing the last round of Savannah Ciders, our small group of Peace Corps Volunteers and NGO workers retired from one of Buchanan’s only beach bars and headed home after an evening of welcome stories – this was my time in Buchanan, my first time in Grand Bassa County, and my first time meeting this cadre of aid workers. They were so helpful in getting me acclimated.

As we shuffled into down the bar’s creaky steps, one of the non-PCVs offered us a ride home (I’d be spending the night with the local PCVS). It would be much faster and much safer that way, everyone agreed . As our friendly driver opened his car door, he slipped a dollar bill to an older Liberian standing beside the car.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s a little something for him watching our car.” Our driver said.

“Would he get angry if you didn’t pay him?” I asked, assuming it was an empty job like the men who wash your car window when you are stopped at a red light – you didn’t really want him to do that but now that he did, here’s a dollar not to get angry.

“If he wasn’t there then we wouldn’t be a car,” responded one of the PCVs. “It would likely be stolen.”

I was shocked. Peace Corps warned us about crime in Liberia, but I didn’t expect that even a dive bar would have security around to prevent grand theft auto. Why kind of place was I about to jump into? Why was the crime so high?

A Red Cross Worker who once served a year in Liberia described the problem as a lack of Human Capital. After twenty years of civil war and dire poverty, peoples’ morality breaks down and stealing becomes rampant. “Don’t’ bring your DSLR.” She told me. It sounded like chaos.


It’s not chaos. I’ve been a week and a half at site now, and I love these people. My large family of next door neighbors looks out for me all the time. We cook for each other, we talk together, relax together, and trade some chores. My students are almost always around me and make sure I keep my backpack zipped, my money secured, and my doors bolted when I’m inside.

A taxi driver found a pair of expensive Smith sunglasses in his front seat soon after dropping me off. He returned to see if they were mine, but I wasn’t around. He needed to return to Buchanan, so he left them with his cousin, who returned them to me the next day. He so easily could have kept them, and I couldn’t have blamed him.

A student who washed my clothes for me found a wad of money in my back pocket. He returned it to me.

Clearly it’s a few bad apples that gives a population a bad reputation most of my neighbors have been nothing but nice and trusting. That’s not an excuse for laziness, however, so I am always guarded. During my introductory visit to the police station I asked the lieutenant if the community was safe and he responded, offended, with, “Yes, it is absolutely safe here. There are no problems.”

Just thirty seconds into the resulting awkward silence that followed, a second police officer marched to our desk while dragging a young teenager by the arm. The boy had clearly just been arrested. The offended lieutenant barked some Liberian English I couldn’t understand, then told him to remove any razor blades or knives he might be carrying. Well, I guess no place is 100% safe.