My Peace Corps friends and I reminisce on forgotten luxuries, like continuous electricity, running potable water, and well-stocked grocery stores. I often walk to the Phebe compound to visit them. They have a secret hidden joy. They know where the best ground pea (peanut) candy is. If I can’t have hot showers or electricity, I can at least eat delicately roasted peanuts suspended in a brittle caramelized sugary shell. I like to put chocolate frosting on the small ground pea candy disks and call it ground pea kwee. Kwee is the name for all things Western. I can only buy Duncan Hines frosting at the Stop & Shop in Monrovia. Out here I just eat the candy and dream about the frosting.
Lenny is a mocha-colored dream girl from New Orleans. We’re the same complexion, but she has light green eyes that mesmerize the dark-skinned Liberians. She’s stationed at Phebe Hospital. Lenny shows me the ground pea lady’s stand. It’s in a terrible location, near a trash heap and a broken latrine. It smells like sewage and chickens scamper through the trash. I ignore the smell and eat my small piece of heaven on the way back to their house.
“I met a man in Monrovia.” Lenny begins
I’m more interested in not dropping any of the brittle goodness and keep eating.
“Uh-ha” I murmur.
“He’s an ex-marine and works for the United Nations.”
“Umm, ok.”
“I hope he’s not interested in only booty calls.”
“Umm, I hope not too.”
Just then a large piece of candy falls from her mouth and lands in the dirt.
“Shit!” Lenny exclaims
“You know the ants won’t even appreciate the goodness they’re about to eat. They’ll just swarm and cart it off without ever realizing that was the best candy in Liberia.” I wax philosophical. “I may give you a piece of mine.”
We make it up the dirt hill and a female dog is wagging her tale like a flag. Lenny calls out her name. It’s a white dog with brown spots. Keke is the name of all mutts around here.
“Hey Keke! Where’s your boyfriend.” Keke scurries off into the bush. Dogs don’t trust people. They know they are food and rarely pets. I walk in their house clutching two pieces of candy close to my chest. Their house is similar to mine, but only larger. Their kitchen is cluttered with cobwebs and ants march around the countertops undisturbed. I gobble up a piece of candy just so the ants won’t have a chance to eat it. I should mention that I have a maid and they don’t. The other roommates make it home and they invite me to dinner of lentils and couscous. I share the last piece of candy with Reilly and Wally. They’ve had long days traveling from Monrovia, and I’m feeling generous.
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