Roughly six people forwarded me this Washington Post article on aid and affluence in Liberia:
The second sushi bar to open in ragged postwar Liberia did not settle for having its chefs wear simple T-shirts, or for serving $25 worth of sliced fish on plain white plates.
Instead, the Barracuda Bar — the new favorite hangout of ambassadors, U.N. officials and legions of aid workers whose shiny white SUVs jam the parking lot most nights — opted to dress its staff in Japanese-style robes and red bandannas. Bigger orders of salmon and yellowtail arrived not on flatware but on little wooden sushi boats. Lobsters languished sullenly in a tank near the door, waving their antennae as customers walked by.
As this impoverished country climbs its way back from 13 years of civil war with the tiniest of steps, a boom is underway in the industries that cater to the rarified tastes of thousands of mostly European and U.S. expatriates who have come to help since peace arrived in 2003. The increasingly visible splendors available to this relatively wealthy group have left some Liberians wondering whether the foreigners are here to serve the nation or themselves.
I had the same stark impression of a dual economy during my last visit there. There is indeed something deeply unsettling about such plenty amidst poverty. Unfortunately, the Post reporter does not tell the other side of the story.
Very simply, I have not seen such a consistently strong and committed group of aid and emergency workers than I did in Liberia. The aid world is full of bumblers, cowboys, and entrenched bureaucrats. As far as I can tell, almost none of them are in Liberia–a thing to marvel.
Why so many competent people? Lots of reasons, not least among them: it’s a hard post. Not hard relative to what everyday Liberians experience, but uncomfortable relative to the average post, impossibly hard compared to the cushy U.N. jobs some could take, and positively draconian compared to our luxurious lifestyle here in D.C. or NY or wherever from you may be reading this post.
So I won’t begrudge them a few good restaurants.
The question should not be whether somebody finds this unsettling or immoral. We should be thinking about the impact on local economies. To the extent that fine restaurants offer ways to part rich expatriates from their money, it’s great that a little bit more of that technical assistance “aid” will actually stay in the local economy.
But to the extent that the most talented businesspeople in a city decide that the best profits are in serving aid workers, it seems like there is a crowding out of potentially growth-inducing economic activity. When everybody’s dream job is to work for an NGO, and the best business opportunities are in selling things to aid workers, then incomes may be on the rise but there’s no sustainable activity. This is the part I find unsettling.
Humbug.
Anywhere where aid workers or even large multinational organizations setup shop, there will inevitably be operations that will open up to cater to their needs. This is a good thing!
While humans have amazing abilities to adapt. It is very, very helpful to have “treats from home”. It makes working in a post a lot easier. Even bearable in some circumstances.
Also, what about the homes that diplomats and aid workers are often given? Relative to what locals have these homes are like castles — with maids and waitstaff to boot! Perhaps we should make aid workers and their families live in thatched huts and trenchtowns too.
The aid world full of bumblers, cowboys, and entrenched bureaucrats is marvellously described in Nenad Velickovic’s Sahib, written in form of letters of aid bureaucrat from Sarajevo to England. (My impressions from the book are unfortunately in Slovak language and I was unable to find full review in English, also here are excerpts on page of the author, probably in Serbian).