By Gboko Stewart
But why isn’t the government paying attention to rural Montserrado when it’s one of the lowest hanging fruits? On Friday, February 21, I set out on a road trip to explore rural Montserrado County—Virginia, Clay Ashland, Millsburg, Arthington and Harrisburg.
I’ve always wanted to see these areas, particularly Clay Ashland where my grandma, Sarah Stewart, a Croziervillian, was born. Clay Ashland is also the hometown of my Ricks cousins—Sam, Renee’ and Lerick.
And so, one could see how giddy and excited I was—I felt like a kid in the store of a confectioner. And if you knew me well, you’d know that I have an interest and appreciation of history, whether written or oral.
It was an early morning trip and me, not wanting to be late for the historic tour, skipped breakfast and arrived early for an opportunity to catch a glimpse of Liberia’s past and try to envision perhaps what the future would look like in my absence when my ashes shall have been scattered across the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean; and when white doves and balloons are released into the air to mark the gentility of my personality.
But let’s not be carried away by my musings about how I want to mark my exit from this troubled world.
Back to the trip.
Our first stop was at the Virginia Christian Academy where my host dazzled the students before briefly speaking to them, leaving the hall in a joyful uproar with his magnetic personality.
Our next journey in the Toyota Land Cruiser SUV began on the road to Viriginia when we veered off at Iron gate junction.
In the front seat of the vehicle sat my host. For this visit, we were being driven by his chief of office staff.
As we drove , I looked back to see the trail of dust from our vehicle in the sleepy township. It seemed almost like we were the harbingers of life—perhaps we were because as we rode in with our tinted glassed rolled up, we drew stares, sometimes icy ones.
This is rural Montserrado County. And tales of the past in these parts of cars with tinted glasses are usually associated with ritualistic purposes. Or Heartmen as they are notoriously known.
In a township that’s not accustomed to seeing many SUVs except when it’s the funeral of one of its natives from America or Monrovia, I guess the thought rummaging their minds was, whose funeral were we attending or were we “heartmen” on the prowl for the next victim?
But this was no funeral or a sacrificial occasion. It was a touristic foray into Monsterrado County on a sunny morning to mark the start of the weekend.
My stomach rumbled a bit, alerting me that it was yearning for food, solid food, despite I had tried to quell it with a bottle of Malta.
I wanted to let out a fart. But when I thought about the unintended consequences of such in an enclosed air-conditioned space with rolled up windows, I laughed in my head and chuckled outwardly at the devilish thought.
Virginia, as beautiful as its name sounds, seems more or less a village—or a virgin—on the verge of losing her virginity to development.
But this development, whatever it is or would be, seems like a mirage.
Primarily so because for whatever it’s worth, and despite its close proximity to the capital city, Virginia is STILL rural. There are few houses and they are situated like spatters of blood that have dripped from the knife of a killer on the loose.
It’s the dry season, and the roads, thanks to Rep. Bernard Blue Benson, have been graded.
The ride felt less bumpy.
In the blink of an eye, we were turning into the historic Clay-Ashland.
Clay-Ashland, named after Henry Clay, one of the founders of the American Colonization Society, is the birth place of the True Whig Party as well as William D. Coleman, a former Liberian President.
One would think that in spite of its historicity as the birthplace of a hegemony that lasted well over a century, the streets of Clay Ashland would be paved with gold, so to speak.
But this is not the case.
And when one further thinks of how long the True Whig Party stayed in power, one can’t help but to wonder how daft some of the leaders of the past were.
That they built a gargantuan structure on Ashmun Street with the inscription, “deeds, not words” and yet somehow did not think it necessary to pave the road to the birthplace of their trappings of power makes ones to wonder what were their deeds and words that they proudly proclaimed.
These are things that make you go hmmm.
Last year, the bridge that connects Clay Ashland to Virginia for a quick access to Duala Market cut off.
But thanks to Djblue Lib, in whose district Clay-Ashland falls under, he was quick to the rescue.
The Montserrado County district # 17 lawmaker, using his legislative influence, has personally built the bridge which cut off the historic city from the rest of the county.
I know the naysayers would be quick to point out that it doesn’t fall under the three cardinal responsibilities—oversight, lawmaking and representation—of a lawmaker.
But they mustn’t forget that politics in Africa, especially Liberia, vary from continent to continent. And it’s also very malleable.
That you are vociferous and make the loudest of noises aren’t what going to keep you in your seat. The people feel that they’ve been forgotten by the central government.
And hence, being their representation means you should not adapt the attitude of the central government—forgetting them.
And so when you seek to be their voice on Capitol Hill, the questions they ask is “what have you done?”
And the unasked question is, “what will you do?”
Prior to Rep. Benson’s election, the road to Clay Ashland was nothing more than a narrow footpath accessible only to motorcyclists.
The grass had overgrown, sometimes rendering that footpath invisible.
Rep. Benson has used and leveraged his legislative influence by grading the road from Clay-Ashland thru Millsburg. And it will continue to Arthington and Harrisburg.
The summed total length of the road is 27km. And so far it’s has cost about $30-37k to rent motorgraders, 966 plus man power to make the roads passable during this dry season.
For a freshman lawmaker, that’s way more than a lot. If only the Ministry of Public Works could build upon this or have these communities factored in their developmental agenda, lawmakers like Rep. Benson wouldn’t have to think about grading roads during the dry season.
As we drove deeper into Clay-Ashland, I revelled in its deep history. I saw a cemetery. I was eager to jump down to see the names of the deceased on the tombstones. However, time and tide…I couldn’t afford to keep everyone waiting on me.
We drove past vast acreage of lands that are owned by some of the prominent names of that area: Richards, Colemans, Ricks etc.
Soon we were near its city hall.
Clay Ashland basks in a very rich history. From the lodge of the Masonic Temple to the homes of the Colemans—yes, that Coleman in the ‘55 plot—the city is immersed in a glory that its mayor, i.e. if he/she is farsighted, can ensure the the city benefits immensely therefrom.
This is a town founded in 1846. And so, who wouldn’t want to spare a few dollars to see and learn from this rich history? Who wouldn’t want to spare a few change to go on a guided tour to see those rickety Americo-Liberian homes that were sometimes built on pillars?
Tourism requires packaging. Clay Ashland is already packaged. Like a diamond in the dust, it simply needs to be brushed and dusted off to regain its glow.
Architectures of the past are still standing strong and solid.
Those big names in Monrovia that proudly claim to hail therefrom but yet not one infrastructure to back their stentorian boasts ought to be ashamed of themselves. Who’s going to build Clay Ashland, if not you?
This city can—and has the potential—to be bustling if its leaders can get their acts right.
For now Rep. Bernard Blue Benson has taken the journey of a thousand miles with the first step by grading the road.
In my next edition I’ll take you on a trip to Millsburg, the township that was named after Samuel J. Mills.
