As if passing through Sierra Leone wasn’t interesting enough, getting out of it and getting into Liberia was where real adventure began…

Because Sierra Leone’s visa costs an outrageous almost hundred US dollars, I decided to save time, money and space in my passport and try and do it without. I managed to get into the country without problems but as I reached the bridge at the Liberian border it turned out they just wouldn’t let me leave without the visa, and the officials weren’t open to any talks or negotiations. As for me – backtracking along the bumpy dirt road all the way back to the capital and spending so much on that visa was just not an option. I had to find another solution, especially considering I didn’t have the Liberian visa either.
So I talked to some locals in the border village and they directed me to the village about five kilometers deep in the jungle, by the same river. There, as the whole village saw me arriving, nobody would take me across the river without authorization of the local chief. The chief showed more understanding than the officials and without many questions asked accepted 20 dollars and ordered some boys to take me across the river in a wobbly narrow wooden canoe and on the other side to escort me all the way to the first Liberian village. I was glad they didn’t just drop me there and didn’t take off – because there the narrow path led straight through the bush so thick that I doubt I could find my way, and so wet from the recent tropical rain that I got completely soaked and muddy. We had to cross some streams and wetlands but it didn’t bother me anymore, as I couldn’t get any wetter and dirtier.

Finally we reached a little Liberian settlement where again, first thing – I was brought to the village chief. The chief whose country just emerged from the years of civil war, used some slightly military language to inquire about the purpose of my visit.
“What is your mission here, madam?”
“My mission is to see and experience Africa.”
“So, you’re patrolling Liberia?”
“Well, I guess you could say I’m patrolling entire African continent.”
“Good. You’re most welcome, then.”
I was given a bucket of water to shower and was honored to receive a room in the mud hut of the chief himself. As I was sitting in the porch with the whole village gathered around me, one man told me:
“We only saw white people here once. They came in a UN vehicle, patrolled the area and left. We never saw no white people walking here on foot.”
And when the lightening lit the night sky in the distance, another man asked me:
“In Portland, do you also have the sun light up the sky before the rain?”
I told him before it was Poland, not Portland but it made no difference, just as it was impossible to explain it wasn’t the sun that lit the sky. Anyway, we had a nice talk until the storm arrived and I thought it would blow me away together with the shaky hut. The roof of my room leaked but the hut survived and the following morning welcomed me with sunshine.

One hour walk through the jungle brought me to the main road where… where a comfortable United Nations vehicle picked me up and drove swiftly through all the checkpoints without stopping. The day before wet and muddy, stumbling through the jungle, now I found myself checking my email in an air condition UN barrack, being fed French fries and cold drinks. Then within a couple of minutes I met guys from Romania, Pakistan, the Philippines, Russia, Nigeria and Namibia. The Romanian guy gave me the phone number of a Polish UN observer team leader stationed in Monrovia, so here’s where I am right now. Mirek happens to live in one house with the honorary consul of the Czech Republic who owns a Czech pub in town and says he can get me a free Liberian visa.

I’ll never cease to be amazed at the path of mysterious plot of coincidences along which the life leads me.