Anguish of war yields to new opportunities

PAYNESVILLE, Liberia — On blue computer screens inside an air-conditioned Internet cafe, a message flashes - “The Liberian Dream.” Here there are no guarantees. Dark streets have become hunting grounds for young thieves searching for high-priced game - cell phones, laptops or a wad of dirty Liberian bills.

It is difficult to find investors willing to sink big money into a country only five years after the end of a ruinous civil war.

But entrepreneur Stephen Tamba said he is determined to help end a nightmare of guns, violence and destruction in this neighborhood of bushy, green, open space outside the traffic-clogged capital of Monrovia.

“We are about to change that dream. Their next dream will be one of hope. There is a future here,” he said.

Mr. Tamba, 35, and two former elementary-school classmates recently celebrated the one-year anniversary of their Internet cafe, named Sapata Inc.

Sapata got a chance because Mr. Tamba’s business partner Mike Sarkor, a Liberian engineer working in Canada, was able to secure private investors. It took about $120,000 to open the cafe. All the equipment, including 10 computers and a generator, had to be imported. The cafe gets its speedy wireless connection via a satellite company in Florida.

Thieves remain a threat. Red steel frames called “rogue bars” cover the windows and the air conditioner sits caged and bolted deep into the ground.

Robertsfield Highway, the main road stretching through Paynesville, is lined with dingy kiosks that charge cell-phones batteries for about 40 cents, and sell fizzy drinks to wash down fish roasted on sticks.

Mr. Tamba began selling kiosk owners some of the surplus power from his generator, hoping a future partnership can bring more light and safety to the area at night.

As people migrate to Paynesville, they must find a way to make a living.

Jobs in Monrovia are hard to find. Unemployment throughout the country is estimated at 85 percent; the literacy rate is about 20 percent.

For now, hundreds of Liberians are trying to pay their way by working on an expansive plot of land known as “Rock Hill.”

Deep within holes bored into the red dirt and along jagged cliffs lined by murky water, the “rock crushers,” as they are known, chip away at giant slabs of rock.

They sell the crushed gravel to construction companies - the result of grueling and dangerous work in which bits of gravel fly from crude hammers as if stray bullets. Even small children and pregnant women can be seen pounding away jagged pieces of stone in the heat of the day.

On a recent afternoon, Jerry Gbavah, 21, sat with pieces of rock secured between his feet. A burning tire smoldered on a rock slab behind him, generating heat that makes the rocks easier to chip apart.

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