Dead Weasel on the Side of the Road: 250 Liberty

Standing in front of a nearby supermarket you can usually find a guy selling pillows. He can hold up to 10 pillows at any one time—no easy feat. My apartment-mate does an excellent job of describing how he chases people down, trying to get people to purchase the pillows. It’s an amusing site—this guy who is surrounded by pillows speed-walking down the road. He looks like a tumorous marshmallow.

Last week I needed to buy a pillow. I approached the pillow man and asked how much one would cost.

“2 for 10,” he said, speaking through pillows that were draped over both shoulders.
“I only want one,” I replied, “Can we do 1 for 6?”

He told me I had to purchase them in pairs.

I started to walk away, figuring that the guy would fold. $6 for a pillow is a lot here. But he didn’t. Turns out you really have to buy the pillows in pairs.

I asked a Liberian friend about this the other day. Why do you have to buy pillows in pairs? By way of explanation, my friend asked, cynically but seriously, “Why would anyone only want one pillow? You need a pillow for your spouse as well.” Living alone is not the norm here.

Every once in a while I will notice something little that reminds me that people don’t live like I live. A few days before Christmas there were so many people selling pillows. Pillows were popular Christmas gifts. In Liberia, pillows are a luxury.

Quick story from the Kolahun trip two weeks ago:

During a part of the drive that was only moderately bumpy, I managed to fall asleep for an hour. When I woke up, the Jeep was stopped next to a small village. The guy I was traveling with and the driver were standing next to a post that had the name of the village.

A dead weasel hung from the post. One arm and one leg were tied to the post. The other arm and leg dangled freely. The weasel’s mouth hung open like it had gotten stuck yawning. The guy I was traveling with and the driver were negotiating a price for the weasel. They settled on 250 LD ($5), and asked me for some money.

Averting my eyes, and swallowing the urge to vomit, I filled out a receipt, labeling the item “Dead Weasel on the Side of the Road.”

The driver found a bungee cord from the trunk and tied the weasel to the roof.

I kept my window shut for the rest of the trip. I imagined the wind tearing apart the weasel, and weasel guts somehow flying through the window into my face.

On the ride home, the driver purchased a fish the length of a baseball bat, tying it to the roof in the same way.

I feel like a Born-Again Vegetarian.
Fun Liberian English phrase:
I reaching back = I’m going home