Monrovia Quotes

“A robust Liberian middle-class fosters the advancement of social wealth and a well-educated Liberian society.”
― Henry Johnson Jr, Liberian Son

“Because he was leaving Liberia, Chris had tried selling his Italian made, Vespa motor-scooter. It had seen a lot of use and I know that he didn’t buy it new, but it ran and was transportation for him. ‘I’ll give you fifty for it.” I said. “The hell you will,” was his curt reply, “One hundred and fifty makes it yours.” “Don't make me laugh; it's not worth the fifty I'm offering.” I could see his face turn beet-red knowing that I had him over a barrel. “Tell you what Chris, let's cut it in half and depart friends.” I offered. I don’t think he could believe his good luck, as he was quick to accept. “Done,” he said “but you pay the taxes and license!” Of course I knew that these charges were mine but I pretended to groan anyway. With the deal done I was now the proud owner of the motor scooter. Right after the license was transferred, I rode it into a backyard body shop and had it cleaned up and painted bright red. No longer would I have to depend on a taxi or others for transportation. I was free to zip here and there at will. From now on it was the first thing off and the last thing onto the ship. I had Bo-Bo Ben, the ship’s carpenter, make a cradle to secure it and had brackets welded to the main deck behind the house, to lash it down. It still left enough elbow-room for the crew to fish off the stern.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."

“During the early hours of April 12, 1980, which for all practical purposes looked no different than any other hot and humid morning in Monrovia. Select members of Liberia’s National Defense Force awoke early and quietly made their way to the small garden in the back of the Presidential Palace on Ashmond Street. Within minutes President Tolbert and twenty-six of his staff were murdered by the rebels called the “People's Redemption Council,”
There are differing stories as to the time and manner of the President’s death; however it is believed that he was disemboweled by Samuel Doe, a member of the Krahn tribe, while asleep in the Executive Mansion. Another report stated that Tolbert was shot and stabbed by an American CIA operative. The First Lady, Tolbert's wife Victoria, wrote in her autobiography that she saw a masked man with a white hand, stabbing her late husband. Because of this evidence it was speculated by many that “white" mercenaries working for the CIA had been behind Doe’s actions. However, Boima Fahnbulleh, a minisiter of Doe’s cabinet, later testified that “the Americans did not support the coup d'état led by Mr. Doe.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

“There was no mistaking it, throughout the 1950’s, Liberia proudly brandished its American roots by flaunting the palatial homes overlooking the Atlantic Ocean near Monrovia or the antebellum style mansions dominating rubber plantations owned by wealth Americo Liberians who considered themselves privileged. Their homes were closely modeled after the affluent homes of the pre-civil war era in the Confederacy. These beautiful homes stood out when compared to the dirt floor, thatch roofed village homes most Liberians lived in. The best visual description of Liberian architecture,would be in film clips taken from the movie Gone With The Wind.. In the 1950's, Liberia had all the trappings of an American colony stuck in the past.
To a great extent it was this great social divide between the indigenous natives and the Americo-Liberians that brought on the two civil wars in Liberia. This aspect of life in Liberia is highlighted in Seawater Two and will be covered in my upcoming book about the history of West Africa. Many of the Americo Liberians including President Talbert, have been killed of displaced. Because of the fierce civil wars in Liberia the coastal ships of the Farrell Lines fleet were sunk in “The Port of Monrovia” and much of Liberia’s antebellum architecture has been destroyed .”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."

“In pre-air conditioning days, even a little cooling breeze felt good. On this particular evening the dining room was filled to capacity, as the French Hotel was still one of the best places to eat in Monrovia. The overflow extended out under the cover of the verandah and was also filled with people. With so few places to dine in Monrovia, eating here under the corrugated fiberglass roof was a treat for the expats. I had already eaten aboard ship and was hoping that some of my friends would come around and join me for a few drinks but that evening it didn't happen and I didn’t recognize many people. It did however give me the opportunity to talk to Monique.

After some two hours of talking to her between drinks I learned that she came from the Left Bank of Paris. Her parents lived above an antique shop on the Rue de las Halles and were adamantly against her coming to Africa. Because of an argument she had left her boyfriend behind, and now I think was sorry for that, although she wouldn’t admit it. It was obvious that she was homesick and I believe that she thinking about him. Monique couldn’t believe what she got herself into, and now was stuck with a two year contract in this hell hole. She mentioned that although the constant advances from the men was flattering, it was beginning to become wearing. She said that some of the people in Monrovia scared her and I understood exactly what she meant. Just being in Liberia was a challenge…. Was it my imagination, or was I making headway with this dark-haired, French beauty? With each drink I became more convinced of this, and at the same time was feeling less pain. The night was still young and I was in no rush to leave. Surely there was some hope and I was trying my best….

Then, suddenly without warning Monique told me that she had to go. “Je dois y aller maintenant.” What… She’s leaving? I’ve been told that it’s a thing the French do… but leaving me at the bar for no apparent reason? Monique however assured me that her partner, Claudine, would continue serving me and perhaps, “Who knows?” Monique said with a twinkle in her eyes... I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew what it was that I was angling for. Hell, I thought that I was one of the good guys, besides whom was she sleeping with? A white girl in Liberia would never go it alone…. there had to be someone! What happened that Monique suddenly had to leave? Poof and she was gone! In her stead now was Claudine who was rough around the edges and knew her way around. It never occurred to me that Monique’s shift would be over before the closing hour!”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine",

“Located at 6° 17′ 57″ N, 10° 47′ 41″ W, on the Atlantic coast near Cape Mesurado, The city and outlying districts are administered by the Monrovia City Corporation. Monrovia is Liberia’s capitol city and has a population of over a million people. According to the 2008 census Monrovia had a population of 1,010,970. A total of 29% of the total population of Liberia lives in Monrovia, making it the country's most populous city. In mid-1950, when President Tubman’s administration governed the country, it had 250,000 people or an estimated quarter of that number. At that earlier time the minority group of Afro-Americans controlled Liberia but the indigenous tribes having the he majority of the population had very little say in the running of the country. More recently, because of interracial marriages between ethnic Liberians and Lebanese nationals a significant mixed-race population has developed. Because most of these people are merchants they primarily lived in Monrovia. During the civil wars and the ensuing unrest, most American Liberians fled to the United States and other countries. After the restructuring of the Liberian government very few returned to Liberia creating an educational deficit or brain-drain. More recently some are returning to Liberia but not without problems. The primary fear is that they will bring back money earned overseas and will be in a position to recapture economic power and eventually the government.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine",

“When we passed Camp Johnson, the military compound, I couldn’t believe that I was seeing two bodies suspended from the high security fence near the gate. On Broad Street, which is the main drag in Monrovia, there were streetlights but to my horror they were being used as gallows. Some still had bodies hanging from them, which appeared bloated and badly decomposed. Other bodies were decomposing in the gutters, with runoff water swirling around them. The decaying process doesn’t take long in this tropical heat, and it was obvious from the sickenly smell that permeated the air that they had been dead for a while. The city appeared to be under Martial Law with soldiers assisting the police, directing traffic. Lacking traffic lights each intersection was congested with cars, horn blaring and nobody moving. It was a mess and heavily armed, rag-tag soldiers, were now, everywhere.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two"

“In 1821 the United States government sent Dr. Eli Ayres to the Pepper or Grain Coast of West Africa, to buy the land discovered by Samuel Bacon prior to his death the preceding year. Dr. Ayres sailed aboard the U.S. naval schooner the USS Alligator, commanded by Lieutenant Robert Stockton, to the proposed new colony near the Mesurado River. After several days of negotiations in November of 1821, this valuable land was purchased at gunpoint from the tribal chief King Peter.
Soon after this purchase, the colonists and their stores were landed on Providence Island and Bushrod Island, two small islands in the middle of the Mesurado River. Once the armed schooner sailed out of sight, the settlers were challenged by King Peter and his tribe. It took some doing, but on April 25, 1822, this group moved off the low-lying islands and took possession of the highlands behind Cape Mesurado, thereby founding present-day Monrovia, which was named after U.S. President James Monroe. It became the second permanent African American settlement in Africa, after Freetown, Sierra Leone.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, The History of Liberia & West Africa

“Asking him about how I was expected to do all of this, he told me that “Maine turns out good seaman and they needed another Harbor Pilot at the Liberian Port.” At first I didn’t understand his reasoning for this, however he explained that Farrell Lines, being one of three American companies that constituted the “Port of Monrovia Company,” had the responsibility to operate the marine part of it. Liam Janssens, the chief pilot, was leaving for Belgium and would be on leave for the next few months. He explained that the junior pilot was skilled and anything but junior. Captain Wethersfield came from England and had been involved in coordinating the difficult evacuation from Dunkirk. He would have taken over for Liam, but having been wounded hampered his ability to climb the ladder from the tug to the ship! He also let it be known that he felt that he had the promotion coming and told Captain Hickey as much. Hickey was caught between a rock and a hard place as he told me “You know the harbor as well as anyone, so the job is yours; that is if you want it.”
His purpose for doing it this way was first to avoid hiring Wethersfield who in effect, challenged Captain Hickey authority and secondly he had confidence that I could handle it. Besides “You know that everything pretty much runs itself and it would be a nice way to earn an extra few bucks!” He was saying that this would allow me to run the MV Cestos and still be able to fill in as a harbor pilot…. It was a job I wasn’t licensed for or had ever done. To me it was just another violation of the norms accepted in the rest of the world. Legally I would be covered with Liberian endorsements and besides, who would know the difference just as long as everything went smoothly during the weeks ahead?
Personally I didn’t think that he took into account the immense liability involved but this was West Africa where most things were fudged anyway, and besides, since this hadn’t been planned for, he didn’t have much choice! I couldn't help but wonder about international licensing laws, possible insurance consequences, not to mention his own rules.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."

“Monique was the most unlikely girl to be tending bar at a place like the French Hotel in Monrovia. She was the girl guys would ask, “What’s a sweet girl like you doing in a place like this?” I, like everyone else, liked Monique and always chatted her up. Monique loved the attention and had a heavy hand with the bottles. The later into the evening it got, the more she poured. In Liberia there were no laws holding a bartender responsible for the inebriated actions of their patrons and she was just being friendly. What’s more is that all the expats kept returning.
Monique was a dark haired beauty. Slight of stature, she had a pleasant demeanor and a cute French accent. Having some difficulty with English, she would listen intently and try to repeat what was said. Her mannerisms were a delight to watch as she tended bar. For the men, in this hot forsaken place, Monique was a breath of fresh air and an attentive young female to talk to. Her French perfume was a most pleasant contrast to the foul odors that normally filled the air in Monrovia.
I liked Monique, didn’t everyone? She was a hot French mademoiselle and looked the part with her cute slightly turned up nose, brown eyes and dark brown hair. In fact she looked very much like Leslie Caron. No one took photos like they do today, so just to give you an idea of how she looked, I was tempted to use a publicity photo of Leslie. However with copyright laws being what they are, I prudently resisted that idea. Although Monique always flirted with me, it was always in a cute or perhaps an innocent way. Without the little encouragement, which I hoped for, I was starting to think of her more like a sister. No, that wasn’t quite it. Although she was always flirtatious and cutesy, the truth was that she just wasn’t available to me and I didn’t know why.”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."

“Entering the city of Monrovia on Tubman Boulevard, the road suddenly became paved and a little smoother. Most of the other streets were made of sand and coated with used crankcase oil, making them extremely slick. I couldn’t believe the huge water-filled potholes everywhere; couldn’t they fill them in? A major problem was that there was no way of knowing how deep the holes were since they were full of water…. Jimmy had his hands full bouncing along in a car that didn’t seem to have shocks, and from the looks of the tires I don’t believe the front wheels had ever been aligned. Some of the streets went from being a rutted, muddy mess, to being exposed bed-rock with shale stone filling in the worst holes. Somehow Jimmy skillfully navigated these streets, at what I considered at the time, as being reckless speeds.
We passed simple dwellings pieced together from flotsam, debris, and recycled planks or pieces of plywood, including what appeared to be random soft drink signs and the likes. It reminded me of some of the Mexican border towns I had been to. There were mangy dogs picking through the piles of garbage, without much hope of finding anything edible. The raw garbage, scattered on the streets, had obviously been picked through already by people or other feral beasts trying to live off the land. If the dogs and cats left anything behind, I could only imagine the rats getting it!”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."

“ Once inside, I stood in the shadows where I knew that I was out of sight and carefully peered through the windows. What I saw made my heart skip a beat. It was Franz Knüppel, making his way between some of the huge bales of rubber towards the forward part of the ship. In the dark I fumbled for the signal pistol kept in a box on the bridge for emergencies and rammed a cartridge into its chamber.
Not wanting to lose sight of Knüppel, I quietly stepped out onto the wing of the bridge, all the time keeping my eye on him…. I don’t think that he knew that he had been seen, because by this time he had made his way to the bollard holding our bow lines. Still trying to stay out of sight, I quickly stepped forward and watched as he suddenly took a few steps to where he could leap across the open space between the dock and the ship. “What’s he up to?” I thought, as I saw him coming down the port side of the Farmington closing the distance between us. My heart was racing as I stepped out of the shadows and pointed the pistol at him from the bridge and said in my most convincing way, “Get off my ship or I’ll fry your ba11s with a flare!” I was so nervous that had I pulled the trigger it could well have happened.
“I’m just looking for Olaf,” he lied. Acting as judge and jury I proclaimed, “The hell you are, he’s dead, you killed him and now it’s your turn!”
I never saw anyone move as fast. Knüppel jumped to the dock and ran, ducking between the big bales of raw rubber. Suddenly all of the lights on the dock came on, illuminating everything within sight. The watchman having heard the commotion had thrown the master switch and now started blowing his English Bobbie’s whistle as he gave chase. I knew that the watchman was no match for Knüppel and hoped that he wouldn’t have to confront him.
By now the entire Port of Harbel was awake! I could see lights going on everywhere, but Franz Knüppel, the deserter from the French Foreign Legion, eluded the watchman and disappeared into the dark. I’m glad that I didn’t have to pull the trigger because I only had one shot handy and would have had to make it count. I don’t know where Knüppel went, but the night swallowed him up!”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."