Catch a wave and your sittin' on the beach in Liberia

Here I am looking back at a surfing trip, but looking at the future with anticipation of what is to come.

The location is Robertsport, Liberia; the adrenaline input is shooting high and the sun is baking us 8 minutes per side to a pig roast pink. Yep, its dry season and Robertsport is the place to catch some waves.

After strapping the boards to the land cruiser we cruised down the familiar track through town and out past Duallah market. Duallah is a place you drive through, but don’t stop, unless you are into being the subject of rogues lookin for some spare change. Ah yes, rogues. This is the Liberian term for thief. My roomie Stephen has an interesting story about a rogue coming into the house. I would let him tell it, but he is out. So here it is…

One night (his third night in Liberia) he was sleeping soundly. A warm ocean breeze streamed in through the window, and waves crashed just a stones throw away. Stephen slept well and deep enough that almost nothing could rouse him, almost nothing.

A man began chipping away at the door on the side of our house. He patiently carved away the door frame until he could push the door open. I suppose security was doing their job with excellent skill, just at a location other than our house. So, the rogue gladly entered our home. The rogue walked in through the house and stood at the kitchen table. Stephen who sleeps in the bunk bed in the living room was still dreaming of something quite interesting. He told me that nothing wakes him up at night short of a gunshot close to his ear. Strangely so, he rolled over and opened his eyes. In his dreamlike state he thought something was out of place. After a second he realized that there was a rogue in his house. He looked up at this man who was leaning over the kitchen table (where my laptop laid get some juice from the compound generator) and told him what anyone would in Liberia: “Ummm…it’s time for you to leave now.” The man promptly left and ran out of the door that he had spent a good deal of time chipping away at. Needless to say we put on extra locks on the doors and placed chairs next to the doors just to create a sound for the next time they attempt to waltz in.

Back to Robertsport…we arrived with surfboards intact and our necks “adjusted” sans chiropractor from the bumpy ride in. My mind was buzzing when I arrived. The town is everything you hope for in a pre-war surfer’s hotspot: nothing much. Robertsport is a quite fishing town with no amenities, very few people and even fewer animals. The population is mainly comprised of fishermen who head out to sea in canoes that I wouldn’t trust on a pond in a park, let alone the Atlantic Ocean. There are no stores in town and only a few houses. Many of the structures left standing are the remains of once quaint beach houses or colonial style hotels. We drive on to our destination, a strip of beach with beautiful sand, incredible waves and a group of shade trees to protect us from the equatorial sun.

We look to the waves. They are large and showing us a perfect curl. I feel the butterflies in my stomach when I see that they are bigger than my courage and fear put together. We head out just past a spit of rocks and swim to get out past the breakers. We get bashed by the waves; the harder we swim the more we get pushed back. The waves are just playing with us. After waiting for about 15 minutes we head back out; the waves have backed off for now, tempting us to come out and tempt fate. We gladly accept the offer and paddle out past the breakers.

We wait…the ocean is really playing with us at this point. We look behind us and what we saw almost made me wet my already wet shorts (almost). The waves were big and the ones behind the first few were even bigger. Yep, we were playing in the land of the 8 footers. Egads man! Or rather – Kawabunga! Or surf’s up! Instead it turned out to be “Wipe out!” We washed up on shore and fought our way to the beach. The current was so strong you were usually taken down 3-4 times before actually escaping the grasp of world’s largest body of water. As soon as we hit the shore we were half running, spitting salt water out of the mouths, banging the water out of our ears and rubbing it from our eyes….Oh yeah baby! Let’s do it again….and again and again.

Anyway, I had a happy moment when I actually stood on the wave for 2-3 seconds before bailing. This truly was a major moment in the history of my life. Surfing gives you a good thrill and I see why people become beach bums around the world. This usually happens after one figures out how to stand on the board for more than 5 consecutive seconds, but I got a small taste of it that day at Robertsport.

We packed it in after a hard day at the beach. Something happened on the way home that infuriated a lot of people. I was driving the Land Cruiser (vehicle of choice for NGOs…this is a discussion in itself) out of town. As we were leaving town we drove past a group of angry folks standing at the side of the road. I have seen this before when people are waiting for a taxi (usually a very long wait) and they are upset when a vehicle with space doesn’t stop to pick them up. This appeared to be more than the usual fanfare, but I drove on. Anna, who is a nurse, piped up from the back seat. “Hey wait there is a guy on the ground.” We slowed down. Sure enough there was a guy on the ground with a bloodied shirt around his head. The man had come down one of the steep hills in Robertsport with some bravado, no helmet and insufficient brakes. He hit the tree at the bottom and his motorbike kept continued on the journey for a small distance. Three or four people grabbed this man and ran towards our truck. “Hmmm…This could be bad for the guy’s back,” I thought to myself. He came into our vehicle kicking and moaning. He was hurting. I could see why after having just traveled that hill and being thankful for my brakes.

We drove as fast as a land cruiser could go to the UNMIL (UN Mission in Liberia) base at Robertsport. We stopped at the wooden pole across the entrance and honked the horn. The security guard was slow to getting off her chair. We told her that we had a man in the back who has a medical emergency. She blinked a few times and then said something to a fellow soldier. The man calmly walked off to seek medical help, at a leisurely pace. The women would not open the gate for us; she wished for us to sign the visitor’s form. I was beside myself. I jumped out and said: “I’m beggin you…this man is about to die and you want us to fill in a form! Aie chi Karumba!”

They finally opened it for us. This is when we reached level 2 of our frustrating experience. The building where their we had to bring the man was not built for handling medical emergencies. I jumped out of the land cruiser. My friend and I rushed past the men sitting on a sofa watching European football and we talked with the nurse. He handed us a stretcher and we carried the man out of our vehicle. Finally some people began moving. We carried him into the building. In order to shimmy him through four doorways, we had to hold him at a 45 degree angle. At one point he nearly fell off and we all let out a “Woooo…help, help…” It was like some team building experience, except that I was in Liberia and the guy had a deep gash in his scalp.

Needless to say, the guy will be alright. Heads bleed profusely. I was more alarmed at the response we received at the UNMIL base than the man’s injuries. Lesson learned: Robertsport is great…live life large…and always wear a helmet (except indoors).

Love ya guys…surf’s up~
Cel / Seb