We’ve been staying at a hotel in Gbarnga, a town a few miles down the road from Cuttington, while we wait for the renovation of the EHELD guesthouse on campus to be complete. Gbarnga, during the war and while Charles Taylor was in power, was a Taylor stronghold. During the war Cuttington University was taken over by the rebels and used as a training camp. Everyday on the way to and from our hotel we pass a large piece of land just to the east of the road with an eerie abandoned building perched on top of a hill in the distance. This dark grey concrete skeleton, looming above the lush green landscape of palm trees, wildflowers, and thick brush is the unfinished mansion of Charles Taylor, Liberia’s infamous former dictator-president.
Jose, an avid cyclist, arranged for us to bring mountain bikes with us to Liberia. This gives us the luxury of being able to spend our weekends exploring the surrounding areas on bike and pursuing trails and small roads otherwise only accessible by foot or motorbike. On Sunday we decided to venture to the abandoned mansion via bike and get a closer look at the unfinished imagined splendor (never-to-be) by Taylor himself.
There are a couple of roads that circle behind the mansion and we ended up taking a scenic route to get to the mansion. About half way to the house from the main road, the road that we were following transformed from a well-cleared path to an overgrown corridor with grass and weeds taller than me. Jose forged ahead and I followed close behind as we cut a new trail through the thick grass, all the while trying to steer as it swatted us in the face as we pushed through. The whole time, I was clutching my handlebars a bit too tightly, holding my feet as far from the ground as possible, and trying to hide the fear in my voice. Just the other day, we heard stories and saw photos taken by other expats staying at our hotel of giant snakes they had come across while clearing through the bush. In my mind, behind every bush and in every ditch lay an angry snake, unhappy to be intruded on by our reckless tires, ready to strike my plump calf in revenge.
Even without my fear of snakes, I felt an underlying tension about going to check out the mansion that belonged to Charles Taylor. For those who don’t know much about him, Charles Taylor was a rebel leader that overthrew Samuel Doe in a coup in the Liberia’s first civil war. He gained control of much of Liberia and eventually became president in 1997. He won by a landslide, largely due to a fearful population that understood that if they did not elect him he would plunge the country back into civil war. The campaign slogan he is most remembered for is: “He killed my ma, he killed my pa, but I will vote for him.” His oppressive, brutal, and corrupt regime resulted in a second civil war erupting in 1999. Taylor finally resigned from the presidency in 2003. He is currently being held at The Hague and being tried for crimes against humanity and war crimes for his involvement in the conflict in neighboring Sierra Leone.
When we finally made it to the mansion, there was an ominous black cloud looming above. Juju-believers would have read the message loud and clear and turned around. I hesitated when Jose asked me if I wanted to go inside and check it out. Morbid thoughts immediately flashed through my mind - thoughts that automatically come to mind when thinking about Charles Taylor and his legacy. Not wanting to be a wimp though, I consented.
Inside the house, the excessively large home was nothing more than a skeleton of concrete. The rooms were empty and bare, with bright green moss and fungus growing on the floors and walls; weeds popped out of every corner, and a few flowers had sprouted between cracks. A couple pieces of trash, wrappers and playing cards, were scattered near the entrance, presumably leftover from squatters. We took a few pictures and videos and left. I was still feeling creeped out – these ruins were fresh - not relics of generations past, but newly abandoned less than a decade ago.
Coming home we got caught in a heavy rainstorm, took a couple of wrong turns trying to get back to the main road, but eventually made it safely back to Cuttington’s campus. I speculated a bit about what might happen to the mansion and surrounding land in years to come – maybe it will be turned into a memorial dedicated to those who suffered during the war, or perhaps it will be sold and developed. For now, I think it will remain untouched until wounds heal and an unlikely destination for adventurous mountain bikers.
- Lauren
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