I'm Not a Bank

I’m acquiring a wealth of knowledge regarding kinship, gender roles, the educational system, and political structure of Liberia, but should I have to pay for it? It seems many Liberians assume I am wealthy; therefore the bill should always come to me. Yesterday I rebuked that trend and I asserted that I am not USAID, the World Bank, or anyone’s personal ATM. I am privileged and possess more social capital than most Liberians, but I am not financially wealthy, nor do I appreciate being made to carry the burden of paying when I am simply a volunteer.

Today is the day we return to Galai. Our motorbike taxi driver picks me up at 10:45 a.m. We drive to Plato’s place and he stands outside. He wants to grab a drink of hot chocolate at his neighbors, before we leave. A brown dog sits on the steps of their porch. She stands to inspect him and I glance at her hanging teats. “Another whelping dog,” I think. I see so many whelping dogs, but so few feral strays. People eat dogs. No need for Bob Barker to remind the audience to help control the pet population, by having your dog or cat fixed. Here people eat the unwanted animals. However, some are pets. This healthy dog seems like a pet and she greets me with her dog hug. Two feet on my trousers and she stretches her body forward so I can scratch her chin. I miss my dog at home, but do not want a pet in this country. There are very few veterinarians and the weather is miserable for most long- haired animals. I wait for him to finish and we drive off to Galai.

The red gravel roads create clouds of chalky dust as we pass. Our driver is cautious at every dip and ravine, so we don’t crash. The dry season turns streams into mini deserts. We arrive in Galai dusty and tired. Our informal Kpelle emissary welcomes us with a scrumptious feast of bush meat, pumpkin, country rice, and pineapple. We sit under a huge tree and I take a small amount of pumpkin. I notice something cooked inside the stewed pumpkin. “What kind of meat is this?” I ask. “Bush meat. Hedgehog.” He answers. My stomach turns and I look down at a dog that is sitting near my feet. Maybe this scrawny dog will get all my bush meat. I try a piece to be polite. It tastes like tender roast beef, but is light and lacks a gamey flavor. I like it. I have two small portions. The country rice is soft and sweet. The dog only receives bones and gristle. I thank our host and he sends for palm wine. I wonder if I have to pay him more than a thank you, so I ask Plato. “You are his guest and he welcomes you. Last week he visited you. This is his time to return the favor.” Plato says. I sit back and wait for the palm wine.

A small cluster of townspeople gathers under the tree. We are guests and everyone wants an introduction.  A very important man in the village, Papanyet, sits next to me. He is the bridge contractor. The World Bank builds bridges with Liberian labor and engineering. He tells me the World Bank allocates money and hires a team of Liberian monitors and evaluators to ensure every task is done. However he doesn’t know how much the World Bank’s budget is. He just knows his cost. As he explains his role in building bridges throughout northeastern Liberia, a middle- aged man enters the circle. He begs to sit on my left side. He introduces himself as Jackson R. Dolo. “Please, I need a bit of soap to wash my clothes.” He begs, but the group of men scoffs.  He turns to me. I have only questions. “Are you from Galai?” Jackson responds; “This is not my home. I am living with my sister. She married a man from Galai and I moved with her.” “Is that traditional for a brother to move with his sister,” I ask. Jackson says, “yes.” Papanyet a man nearly fifty with a broad chest, rough hands, and intelligent eyes raises his hand with authoritative power. Jackson sits silently. “Normally I would not say anything, unless it is untrue. I must rebuke what this man says.” Papanyet adds. He has domestic troubles and does not have a farm of his own. If he had taken care of his affairs while he was young, he would not be living with his sister.” Jackson meekly starts over. “I’m starving.” Papanyet raises his hand again. “No, you were handsome as a young man and never learned a trade or got an education. Your time has passed! Now is not the time to beg from this woman. It does not work like that!” Jackson mumbles, “I’m not lazy.” Papanyet turns to me and says, “It is a bad thing for a brother to live with his sister. If the sister would have problems with her husband, he could not act as the father. Jackson is bound to her in-laws.”

In accordance with patrilineal lines of kinship, the male son acts as the father and can negotiate on his sister’s behalf. If a woman does not have a brother, her paternal uncle’s son performs the same function. The maternal uncle’s son is important, but not doesn’t perform the same function or have the same prestige as the father’s son. If the “mother’s son” visits his newly married cousin, and he brings a chicken, the father’s son must bring a goat. The father’s son’s presence brings more commotion and excites the husband more than the mother’s son. Since the daughter is dowried, a breach in the marriage contract could result in return or forfeiture of the dowry or the bride. The father’s son or the father can negotiate such transactions. A woman brings a certain amount of wealth or goods into the marriage when she leaves her father’s home. This money is to ensure that she is properly taken care of. Now that Jackson lives with his sister’s in- laws, he is a disgrace to the other men in the village. He attempts to credit his disgrace to the civil war, but the whole crowd rebukes him. Everyone has lost something or someone in the war. “I have lost my brother, but I had to work with my bare hands to get what I have now.” Papanyet says.  “My brother is dead and I had to marry his wife. It is my responsibility to my brother’s children to care for them. I have had to make may sacrifices for my family.” A levirate marriage is a custom by which a man may be obliged to marry his brother's widow. It was very common in ancient Hebrew culture hence the name and exists in many modern patrilineal societies. Anthropology 436- Social Structure is coming to life for the first time. I am diagramming the social structure in my head as he speaks. I want to contact Dr. Murphy, former professor, and tell him I finally understand why we had to map out those tedious charts on tests. This information is priceless, but I do not offer him any money for his story. He is the big man in the village and my offering of $1 would probably be insulting. I decide if I want to record his story, I’ll offer him a sitting fee. The sun is moving across the sky and our shade is retreating. We begin to disperse. I thank him and look over my shoulder to see Jackson hovering around a group of working men. A busy chainsaw makes a menacing sound. A tree needs to be felled and the men prepare their tools to go into the bush. Jackson stoops over with his hands on his knees. He doesn’t offer a hand or say very much. He will be left to beg for soap in the village, as the men work in the bush. I give him nothing, but a passing glance.

I walk through the village looking for art and furniture to purchase. I would like to replace my old wobbly dining chairs with sturdy wicker ones. There is a talented weaver and I pay him a visit. He offers me two chairs for 400 LD. They will be ready in one week. I hope they are large enough and durable. I will only pay if they are. I am realizing it is better to offer work than money.