The Thing About Rebels....

Ahoy ye scurvy sea dogs!
Things have sure changed since the last time we spoke, or we spoke to you. No comments again! Does anyone read this?

Departing from the lap of luxury outside Monrovia, Evan immediately falls victim to the unthinkable, the uncurable. Well, kind of curable. Okay, he's fine now. Malaria! This latest development stranded us in downtown Monrovia for a few days longer than expected.

Back on the road, comfort is at a premium and the price is going up, as we're crammed into the back seat with an elderly man for 8 hours. Arriving at the Liberia - Cote D'Ivoire border, comfort is indeed a distant memory, as evidenced by the UN fortress that separates the two countries. On the Ivoirian side we have our first encounter with rebels. Lots of them! From every angle! We gingerly walk across the frontier straight into a small hut filled with fatigue wearing, gun toting teens. And to be even more cliche, they want money - how original.

Now before we proceed, a little history, Cote D'Ivoire is still in the midst of a lengthy civil war. Recently, however, the Forces Nouvelles (rebel forces in the North) have begun working with the government army and in certain aspects of civil service.

So, back at the border post, we reluctantly hand over some money to the rebels, and continue on to the government passport hut. We pass the majority of the government border patrol playing a huge game of checkers, huge not for the stakes, but for its literally oversized novelty board. Immediately after entering the "office" we're asked for a second bribe of the same amount as the one paid to the rebels. Explaining that we just paid this amount and weren't keen to pay again the officer loses it. But not at us. He storms off down the hill yelling at the rebels. Apparently we're only supposed to pay one bribe per crossing, and it goes to him. An argument ensues, highlighting the absurdity of a conflict where both sides are highly corrupt, and exposing the thin veil of recent cooperation between these two sides. The conclusion of the argument was that the sheepish rebels, surprisingly, gave us our money back, which of course was promptly passed on to the other guy. No money, no stamp is the rule. A model for success and a happy democracy.

Stamps stamped, things grind to a halt. After already having traveled for 8 hours, little do we know it will take us 4 hours to travel the 25km, through rebel territory, to the nearest town. The short trip couldn't get underway until the car filled up. Only problem, no one else was crossing the border that day; or ever. Once underway, this time 5 of us in the back seat, a thunder, lightning, and rain storm in a leaky hunk of junk, ensured that we were soaked through. Gigantic potholes and incessant road blocks with requisite bribe demands (elongated by our polite refusals to pay)ensured that we arrived sore, hangry, frustrated, and well after dark. Party!

The thing about rebels is travelling in their zone gets awkward. Especially if you don't want to be a traveling ATM.