Last night, on my way home from a meeting with the Barclayville beekeeping club, I stopped by the UNMIL base for a couple of reasons. First, I figured there would be people to visit with – and perhaps associated refreshments. And secondly, I needed to pick up my external battery, which I had left charging there earlier. Having had no electricity in my house for the past week (as opposed to the usual 4 hours of power 70% of the week) due to a broken generator across the street, I had brought my external battery to UNMIL to charge so that I could use it to charge small appliances (phones, Kindle, iPod, etc.) as needed at home.
I sat down with a few people and joined the conversation,
which predictably, as one might expect at a UN base, centered around
politics. And, more notably, the fact
that their generator had just broken, the first time in three years. Computers, air conditioning, microwaves, and refrigerators
had all been silent since noon that day.
A Ugandan, a Liberian, a Nepali, and me.
Soon two Pakistani majors from the military side of the base joined
us. One had just arrived in Barclayville
via helicopter several hours before, and had only been in Liberia for several
days. At some point he turned to me and
asked the usual set of questions about who I was and what I was doing in
Barclayville. As the only non-UN person
in the group and a female (a minority in all Liberian expat and development
circles), I am a bit of an anomaly, and I have found that many UN and other
development people are curious as to why I am in Liberia, why I don’t have a
car and driver, etc.
And then one of the majors asked “How can you live the way
you live? You don’t even have basic amenities
like electricity and running water.” (I
was asked the same question by his predecessors a few months ago including the
question “Do you really think you can do it for the whole six months?”) I laughed and replied that my neighbours didn’t
have those amenities either, and that, in fact, I sometimes have electricity at
night. They asked “But what do you do at
night, if you have no power?” I replied “I
have a solar light, I have candles, and at night I go to sleep.”
But the phrase the stuck in my head was “basic amenities”. Given that the men do not speak English
fluently, it wouldn’t be appropriate to overthink their choice of words, but “basic
amenities” is an interesting concept.
What “services” are basic or the lowest acceptable standards,
and what are luxuries?
The water pump near my house is just across the street. I have a very nice ceramic water filter (ensuring
that my drinking water is safe). Unlike
my neighbors, I have an indoor bathroom (that I carry water into). And, also unlike my neighbors, I do get
electricity most evenings. I have an
electric hot water boiler for evenings when I have electricity, so I boil water
at night and put it into a thermos for the following morning’s coffee (real
coffee, that I bring in from the capital).
I have a way to charge the various electronics I chose to bring
(including a phone with internet), even when the power is off. I have a computer and USB modem. And, just as important, a safe community
where I can put buckets out to collect rainwater or clothes to dry, and feel
confident that nothing will be stolen. In
addition, my house is large, clean, and has a zinc (not thatched) roof. And, while I do share the house with some
critters, some acceptable (spiders, a baby frog/toad that enjoys my bathroom,
lizards) and some not acceptable (cockroaches, ants), they don’t get in my way
(and indeed, inspire me to wash dishes quickly).
This isn’t to say that one day I’m not going to be seeking
out a nice front-loading EnergyStar washer/drier combo. And a Bose sound system. And, yes, a fancy wine refrigerator. But that doesn’t mean that I cannot adjust to
the reality of where I am now.
What I currently have is certainly comfortable. So what are basic amenities? And how important are they?
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