A Night on the Town

This is what a poor country looks like -- Liberia. Dusty, unpaved roads, treacherous for driving, especially without traffic lights or street lights, pedestrians appear out of the shadows, motorbikes speed along in darkness, riders without helmets. At the clubs where we looked for underage prostitutes on assignment, they could barely speak, as if they knew few words, staring blankly at our questions. Teecee went out after the men -- her boyfriend, Daniel, and our driver, Alvin -- failed. Clara, in orange African print, followed, returning with two girls. They were practically mute but insisted they did not sleep with men for money. Hordes of young boys engulfed us. Gradually we got some of the girls into the car, and it became a paid delivery service, with Teecee and Clara doling out 5 LD to a boy who could deliver a girl 17 or under. But it was a nearly silent procession. One girl, who said she was 17 but looked much younger, said her mother died in 2000, in the war. A baby-faced 16-year-old said, in response to whether the president had delivered on her promises of education and money, that she still had not returned to school, but would be in the 6th grade. And some of them would pile into the car for 5 LD and then not know how to get out, pawing helplessly at the window, while the crowds of boys drew closer, their hands pressed against the glass.