Mint

A very old friend went to Jamaica once to meet his family. I asked him if he thought about living there. "Absolutely not," he said. "It's way too poor."

We were teenagers but I always thought that was a really cruel thing to say -- I've been looking at him sideways since. (To be fair, I'd have found some reason to give him the evil eye regardless. We'd dated for a week or two. It was all very Rated G.)

A few years later, in 2004, I came to Liberia for the first time since the beginning of the war. And did I think about living in Liberia then? Absolutely not. It was way too poor.

Thankfully, no one ever asked me that question so I only ever horrified myself with my response.

Imagine my shock when, a few years later, I find myself not only celebrating a year here but signing up for another nine months. I'm almost afraid to get into school. What happens when you leave Liberia for London? Mint.com starts to judge you again.

"You have spent $1,800 on clothes this month. This is $1,900 over your budget." 

"You have stopped contributing to your IRA. You will be working for the rest of your life."

"Your short-term goals do not include buying a ship. What is the matter with you. You embarrass me."

Once you've paid rent, fueled your car and stocked your fridge, it is bloody impossible to spend money in Liberia. You can't find a proper cocktail or a level pool table. There is no retail therapy.
There is almost no advertising. You want to stay home and cook dinner and read Vonnegut. You're happy.

Except now I've got DStv and the West (via Nigeria and South Africa) is telling me to spend $7,000 on a wedding dress, to lighten my hair, to fill my kids with frozen fries.

I've got no qualms about living in a poor country. It's the rich ones that scare me.