Jackie Chan

We were twenty minutes into a ludicrously plotted Chinese Jackie Chan film that had been both dubbed and subtitled – though never with the same translation – when my eyes caught a poster of carnage hanging next to me.  Titled, Taylor Soldiers in Action, it was a collage of gruesome civil war photos.  I was puzzled, but didn’t say anything.  Was my principal making a statement about the war?  Why is it hanging in the family room? 

“That was a very bad time,” I heard suddenly, “a lot of people died.”  My principal, across the coffee table from me, gazed sullenly at the poster.  But only momentarily.  He quickly returned his eyes to the film and continued sipping his Big Mama.  It must just be there as a cautionary memorial, I mused, and I also returned to the film and sipped my Dark Horse.  That was the most solemn I had ever seen him, for usually he wore a full smile.

My principal was one of my first Liberian friends, and while my students were busy cooking me Liberian meals, he took it upon himself to introduce me one of his culture’s other important ingredients: alcohol.  Big Mama, Dark Horse, and Country Ginger were brands of too sweet and too strong liquors bottled from recycled beer bottles in Monrovia and slapped with cheap, crooked labels using cheap glue so that sometimes the labels fell off in your hand.  Army Bitter was too bitter and too strong.  Palm wine, brewed I believe like moonshine, was too yeasty and too strong.  Perhaps I’ll come around to these flavors, seeing as how each bottle goes for far less than USD $1 and there is no wine available in my town.  And I’ll sip almost anything to keep the conversation going.

He has a generator, as do many Liberians.  Without an electric grid, it’s the only way to watch Jackie Chan movies.  He loves his movies.  I can definitely foresee having those rough weeks when just any movie and any serving of alcohol could come as a relief, and I’m glad I have a friend who says I’m always invited.  I'll just ignore the gruesome war poster.