The Gossip

"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled 

was convincing the world that he didn't exist." 

- The Usual Suspects

I drove my mother to the president's house to pick something up or drop something off. She showed her face and the gate swung open. (Only in Liberia.) She climbed out of the car and into the arms of an official who asked her who I was.

- I'm her daughter.
- Daughter!?
- Yeah.
- How long have you been here!?
- A year.
- Why do we never see you??
- Umm...I keep a low profile.

The mouths of the nearby SSS guards fell open. "A low profile?" they mused.

Let me explain.

1. It is near impossible to go incognito in Monrovia.
2. I am the only person who wants to go incognito in Monrovia.

This is especially difficult given that I'm voluntarily on the outside of not one but two social groups -- Liberian "society" and the expatriate scene. Trying not to get wrapped up in the soap opera of one group necessarily means moving toward the soap opera of the other. It's like Pong. It's not that I hate people; people are fine. But the people here know each other. And there are no cinemas or concerts or cafes. So people just talk. A lot. About other people.

One day, over Ethiopian, a friend asked me why I didn't know (and couldn't supply her with) all the Liberian high society dirt that expats are generally not privy to. I didn't realize until then that I was failing at what, apparently, is my role as a go-between.

I hate having people I don't know sharing -- or inventing -- versions of stories from my personal life when their own lives get a little beige.  There are a million people in Monrovia, but you can get the grime on people you've yet to make eye contact with. It's like being a freshman at Amherst again. There's a cabbie here who used to casually dish out the late-night dirt, as simple as storytelling; a couple nearly broke up in his car. If I had a secret, I'd immediately export it to the States -- I couldn't even tell my favorite friend here. People can't help themselves: you've got to tell just one person, right? That one person can do serious damage here, though, when you're forced to live and party and work with the very same crew.

So I stay out of the whirlpool for weeks at a time and the words "I forget you're in Liberia..." have become music to my ears.