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On the Road to Tapeta
by Mike Waite, FOL Webmaster
I stand under my umbrella in a pounding rain, on a pitch-dark evening, a
slippery laterite road beneath me in the middle of Liberia. Carboys and a
driver are trying to get a hopelessly stuck vehicle out of a ditch. There
is no traffic. No one to rescue us. Soaking wet passengers are condemning
the driver who got us in this situation. Now that I am dry and thousands
of miles away my perspective has greatly changed.
 Liberia
keeps calling me back. I practiced forestry there as a Peace Corps
Volunteer in 1974 and 75. In 1997 I returned to a damaged country as an
Election Observer. While there I met up with an old friend, Joe Kehper, in
my Peace Corps town of Tapeta. In 2002 I received a photograph of a frail
looking Joe and decided to try to make another trip to Liberia.
In August of 2004 I traveled to Liberia with the FOL LEAP teacher
trainers. I had met up with Joe and we decided to leave the town of Kakata
to go to his home in Tapeta. One morning after numerous delays Joe Kehper,
his daughter Yeelah, his son Gondorweh and I finally left the town of
Kakata.
We dodged potholes as we drove up the major paved road in Liberia. The
pavement ended at Ganta and so did our first ride. The consensus was that
in rainy season you needed to have a “Jungle Car” or four wheeled drive to
get to from Ganta to Tapeta. Yeelah, always ready to spare me spending
extra money thought a cheaper two-wheeled drive would work. I chose a
Jungle Car that looked a little better than some of the other beat up cars
in the area. After arguing over the payment we finally headed toward
Tapeta.
I had not looked closely at the Jungle Car. It was a big jeep and
certainly no rougher looking than the other cars at the taxi site. I got
in and noticed the windshield was loose from the frame. Then I noticed the
windshield frame was also swaying and I could see daylight through the
frame. As with every other upcountry taxi only the driver side windshield
wiper worked. A stick jammed between the window and the doorframe held up
my passenger side window. You raised and lowered the window by pulling the
stick out, moving the window and jamming the stick back in. Shocks bit the
dust long ago.
I paid for an extra seat so it was just the driver and I in front. Behind
me were two seats with four people apiece, the norm upcountry. The small
space between the last seat and window was taken by a carboy laying on his
side. Luggage was stacked several feet high on top of the vehicle. On top
of the luggage were two more carboys.
It was late afternoon when we left Ganta. Any optimism in my bones rapidly
dissipated after traveling the first 100 yards. I gave our odds of making
it to Tapeta at 1 to 3. After we stopped at the quarter mile mark to put
air in the tire I gave 5 to 1 odds I would not make it to Tapeta in this
car.
As we put mile after mile behind us I began to have a glimmer of hope. At
every major creek we pulled over and the carboys jumped off the roof to
put water in the radiator. They usually tightened the lug nuts on the
wheel at these stops. Then there were the food and rest stops. We stopped
in Saclepea where they were having market. I had an argument that started
getting out of hand with a young man over taking a photo at the market.
The picture was no big deal and it was of a person who did not mind me
taking their photo. It turned out the young man was an ex-combatant, who
as a passenger explained, “can’t let go of the war”.
 I
had a commanding position by the front passenger window. When it wasn’t
raining I let the window down to let air into the overheated vehicle. When
it rained the window went up instantly fogging all windows. During an
especially heavy rain I failed to jam the stick in hard enough and the
window dropped into the door. The wet passengers yelled for the driver to
stop and fix the window. We stopped, a carboy came around, and with no
tools lifted the inner doorframe off, put the window up, and got a new
stick to hold the window up.
As to be expected in all long trips there was a major stop where the taxi
driver disappeared. I assumed it was girlfriend business. Half an hour
later the driver showed up and we began again. The driving became
noticeable worse as we hit avoidable bumps in the road. The other
passengers accused the driver of being drunk. They were proven right when
he dodged a bump and ran into the ditch. His attempt to drive out only
made things worse.
It was dark, wet and there was no way the jungle car was driving out of
the ditch. Joe, Yeelah, Gondorweh and I got our gear and started walking
up the road. We came to a small village where Joe knew people. Joe and I
got the best bed in the village which was slightly softer than plywood.
The next morning villagers showed me the destruction rebel forces had
caused. School walls were missing. The birthing building was reduced to
poles with no roof. The village well was broken. Some homes did not even
have walls. All of it was pointless and nothing destroyed gave anyone a
military advantage
We got ready to leave. I didn’t ask nor care how the jungle car had gotten
out of the ditch. I just got in and finished the drive to Tapeta. I had
planned to take a picture of the Tapeta village sign. Unfortunately this
was by a UN checkpoint and the soldier in charge didn’t allow me to take a
photo. We then drove to Joe’s house and I saw a fine, fine house that had
been burned, and had bullet holes in it.
I only had two days scheduled for the trip which meant that now that I had
arrived it was time to turn around. Joe and I stood and waited in the
middle of town while Yeelah and Gondorweh negotiated our travel back. It
rained off and on as I walked around the center of Tapeta where thriving
Lebanese stores used to be. All the stores were destroyed as well as most
other buildings in Tapeta. Tapeta was just a shell with people living in
the homes with the least damage.
The trip back to Kakata was less eventful. We had a smaller two wheel
drive vehicle to take us back. The car had many of the same problems as
the jungle car I took to
 Tapeta.
We filled leaking radiators, had a major maintenance stop in Ganta and
made it back to Kakata at dark.
I didn’t get a picture of the Tapeta sign, see my Peace Corps house or
spend any quality time in Tapeta. The trip upcountry was difficult with no
discomfort spared. I did not have a good time and I can’t say that I
gained any wisdom or insights. My reward was to bring back ringworm and a
case of Giardia that I suffered through for three months. It’s tough
living and traveling in Liberia.
I weigh that against seeing Joe and his family, and knowing that I would
regret not making a trip to Tapeta. I paid for some tuitions, a new roof
for Joe’s house and donated most of my clothes. I worked with and watched
the LEAP program in action as it brought hope to rarely paid passionate
teachers. I spread cremated ashes from my former wife Mary Lynn. The woman
who was the love of my life is mixed in with soil of the battered country
she also loved.
Like boot camp or graduate school I have an experience I’m glad I did but
do not want to repeat. It’s a small payment to see an old man who values
his country ways and is still the kind, resourceful person he was before
the wars started.
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