“Monique was the most unlikely girl to be tending bar at a place like the French Hotel in Monrovia. She was the girl guys would ask, “What’s a sweet girl like you doing in a place like this?” I, like everyone else, liked Monique and always chatted her up. Monique loved the attention and had a heavy hand with the bottles. The later into the evening it got, the more she poured. In Liberia there were no laws holding a bartender responsible for the inebriated actions of their patrons and she was just being friendly. What’s more is that all the expats kept returning. Monique was a dark haired beauty. Slight of stature, she had a pleasant demeanor and a cute French accent. Having some difficulty with English, she would listen intently and try to repeat what was said. Her mannerisms were a delight to watch as she tended bar. For the men, in this hot forsaken place, Monique was a breath of fresh air and an attentive young female to talk to. Her French perfume was a most pleasant contrast to the foul odors that normally filled the air in Monrovia. I liked Monique, didn’t everyone? She was a hot French mademoiselle and looked the part with her cute slightly turned up nose, brown eyes and dark brown hair. In fact she looked very much like Leslie Caron. No one took photos like they do today, so just to give you an idea of how she looked, I was tempted to use a publicity photo of Leslie. However with copyright laws being what they are, I prudently resisted that idea. Although Monique always flirted with me, it was always in a cute or perhaps an innocent way. Without the little encouragement, which I hoped for, I was starting to think of her more like a sister. No, that wasn’t quite it. Although she was always flirtatious and cutesy, the truth was that she just wasn’t available to me and I didn’t know why.” AfricaBeautiful GirlLiberiaMma Captain Hank BrackerMonrovia Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."
“Entering the city of Monrovia on Tubman Boulevard, the road suddenly became paved and a little smoother. Most of the other streets were made of sand and coated with used crankcase oil, making them extremely slick. I couldn’t believe the huge water-filled potholes everywhere; couldn’t they fill them in? A major problem was that there was no way of knowing how deep the holes were since they were full of water…. Jimmy had his hands full bouncing along in a car that didn’t seem to have shocks, and from the looks of the tires I don’t believe the front wheels had ever been aligned. Some of the streets went from being a rutted, muddy mess, to being exposed bed-rock with shale stone filling in the worst holes. Somehow Jimmy skillfully navigated these streets, at what I considered at the time, as being reckless speeds. We passed simple dwellings pieced together from flotsam, debris, and recycled planks or pieces of plywood, including what appeared to be random soft drink signs and the likes. It reminded me of some of the Mexican border towns I had been to. There were mangy dogs picking through the piles of garbage, without much hope of finding anything edible. The raw garbage, scattered on the streets, had obviously been picked through already by people or other feral beasts trying to live off the land. If the dogs and cats left anything behind, I could only imagine the rats getting it!” AfricaLiberiaMma Captain Hank BrackerMonrovia Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."
“Once inside, I stood in the shadows where I knew that I was out of sight and carefully peered through the windows. What I saw made my heart skip a beat. It was Franz Knüppel, making his way between some of the huge bales of rubber towards the forward part of the ship. In the dark I fumbled for the signal pistol kept in a box on the bridge for emergencies and rammed a cartridge into its chamber. Not wanting to lose sight of Knüppel, I quietly stepped out onto the wing of the bridge, all the time keeping my eye on him…. I don’t think that he knew that he had been seen, because by this time he had made his way to the bollard holding our bow lines. Still trying to stay out of sight, I quickly stepped forward and watched as he suddenly took a few steps to where he could leap across the open space between the dock and the ship. “What’s he up to?” I thought, as I saw him coming down the port side of the Farmington closing the distance between us. My heart was racing as I stepped out of the shadows and pointed the pistol at him from the bridge and said in my most convincing way, “Get off my ship or I’ll fry your ba11s with a flare!” I was so nervous that had I pulled the trigger it could well have happened. “I’m just looking for Olaf,” he lied. Acting as judge and jury I proclaimed, “The hell you are, he’s dead, you killed him and now it’s your turn!” I never saw anyone move as fast. Knüppel jumped to the dock and ran, ducking between the big bales of raw rubber. Suddenly all of the lights on the dock came on, illuminating everything within sight. The watchman having heard the commotion had thrown the master switch and now started blowing his English Bobbie’s whistle as he gave chase. I knew that the watchman was no match for Knüppel and hoped that he wouldn’t have to confront him. By now the entire Port of Harbel was awake! I could see lights going on everywhere, but Franz Knüppel, the deserter from the French Foreign Legion, eluded the watchman and disappeared into the dark. I’m glad that I didn’t have to pull the trigger because I only had one shot handy and would have had to make it count. I don’t know where Knüppel went, but the night swallowed him up!” ShipsSea StoriesWest AfricaMma Captain Hank BrackerMonrovia Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."
“Asking him about how I was expected to do all of this, he told me that “Maine turns out good seaman and they needed another Harbor Pilot at the Liberian Port.” At first I didn’t understand his reasoning for this, however he explained that Farrell Lines, being one of three American companies that constituted the “Port of Monrovia Company,” had the responsibility to operate the marine part of it. Liam Janssens, the chief pilot, was leaving for Belgium and would be on leave for the next few months. He explained that the junior pilot was skilled and anything but junior. Captain Wethersfield came from England and had been involved in coordinating the difficult evacuation from Dunkirk. He would have taken over for Liam, but having been wounded hampered his ability to climb the ladder from the tug to the ship! He also let it be known that he felt that he had the promotion coming and told Captain Hickey as much. Hickey was caught between a rock and a hard place as he told me “You know the harbor as well as anyone, so the job is yours; that is if you want it.” His purpose for doing it this way was first to avoid hiring Wethersfield who in effect, challenged Captain Hickey authority and secondly he had confidence that I could handle it. Besides “You know that everything pretty much runs itself and it would be a nice way to earn an extra few bucks!” He was saying that this would allow me to run the MV Cestos and still be able to fill in as a harbor pilot…. It was a job I wasn’t licensed for or had ever done. To me it was just another violation of the norms accepted in the rest of the world. Legally I would be covered with Liberian endorsements and besides, who would know the difference just as long as everything went smoothly during the weeks ahead? Personally I didn’t think that he took into account the immense liability involved but this was West Africa where most things were fudged anyway, and besides, since this hadn’t been planned for, he didn’t have much choice! I couldn't help but wonder about international licensing laws, possible insurance consequences, not to mention his own rules.” LawLiberiaMma Captain Hank BrackerMonroviaHarbor Pilot Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."
“Because he was leaving Liberia, Chris had tried selling his Italian made, Vespa motor-scooter. It had seen a lot of use and I know that he didn’t buy it new, but it ran and was transportation for him. ‘I’ll give you fifty for it.” I said. “The hell you will,” was his curt reply, “One hundred and fifty makes it yours.” “Don't make me laugh; it's not worth the fifty I'm offering.” I could see his face turn beet-red knowing that I had him over a barrel. “Tell you what Chris, let's cut it in half and depart friends.” I offered. I don’t think he could believe his good luck, as he was quick to accept. “Done,” he said “but you pay the taxes and license!” Of course I knew that these charges were mine but I pretended to groan anyway. With the deal done I was now the proud owner of the motor scooter. Right after the license was transferred, I rode it into a backyard body shop and had it cleaned up and painted bright red. No longer would I have to depend on a taxi or others for transportation. I was free to zip here and there at will. From now on it was the first thing off and the last thing onto the ship. I had Bo-Bo Ben, the ship’s carpenter, make a cradle to secure it and had brackets welded to the main deck behind the house, to lash it down. It still left enough elbow-room for the crew to fish off the stern.” ItalianSea StoriesLiberiaMonroviaMotor Scooters Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."
“There was no mistaking it, throughout the 1950’s, Liberia proudly brandished its American roots by flaunting the palatial homes overlooking the Atlantic Ocean near Monrovia or the antebellum style mansions dominating rubber plantations owned by wealth Americo Liberians who considered themselves privileged. Their homes were closely modeled after the affluent homes of the pre-civil war era in the Confederacy. These beautiful homes stood out when compared to the dirt floor, thatch roofed village homes most Liberians lived in. The best visual description of Liberian architecture,would be in film clips taken from the movie Gone With The Wind.. In the 1950's, Liberia had all the trappings of an American colony stuck in the past. To a great extent it was this great social divide between the indigenous natives and the Americo-Liberians that brought on the two civil wars in Liberia. This aspect of life in Liberia is highlighted in Seawater Two and will be covered in my upcoming book about the history of West Africa. Many of the Americo Liberians including President Talbert, have been killed of displaced. Because of the fierce civil wars in Liberia the coastal ships of the Farrell Lines fleet were sunk in “The Port of Monrovia” and much of Liberia’s antebellum architecture has been destroyed .” American CulturePlantationsHomesLiberian HistoryMonrovia Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater Two...."