Becoming Frankenstein in Liberia

What would have happened if Frankenstein’s inventor had morphed into the grotesque monster himself, if by some freak of nature happenstance, the creator had become his own experiment in a replica of the Dr. Jekyl/Mr. Hyde scenario? That’s what came to mind when one of my course mates at Oxford said astutely, “Robtel, you’ve become your own research,” after I told him I’d been chosen to work with Liberian president Ellen Johnson Sirleaf beginning in July.For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt like a 21st century Frankenstein trapped in someone else’s body politic, but lately I’ve been feeling a lot more like his creator, especially since realizing that I have become a living reflection of my master’s thesis topic, which traces the political, economic, and social implications of highly skilled, professional Diaspora Liberians who are resettling in the country during its post-conflict reconstruction era. The central question I kept asking throughout the writing phase of the thesis was 'why?' Why give up a comfortable life in the Diaspora to go back to a country whose infrastructure is shattered, whose citizenry is suffering from post-traumatic stress, whose judicial and legal systems are antiquated, essentially whose very existence has been inert since 1989? One possible hypothesis in migration studies is that the stronger the social and symbolic ties of migrants to persons and/or institutions in the country of origin, the higher the propensity to return, and the greater the chances for this return to affect social and economic change. It is with this notion that I based my thesis; it is with this realisation that I couldn’t stay away from Liberia, even after having lived away from the country for nearly 20 years.Just like the 35 returnees I interviewed in December 2006 and January 2007 when I was in Liberia for field research, I’ve always felt this metaphysical connection to the country, that even though I wasn’t in Liberia, Liberia has always been in me. Today, Liberia is a changing nation with shifting political, social, and economic concerns. Having elected Africa’s first female head of state, the country and its war-battered populace are on the road to recovery. With this realisation comes a responsibility to serve. That’s where the Scott Family Liberia Fellowship comes in, and the reason I applied. I was prodded by an Oxford buddy, veteran Ugandan journalist Bernard Tabaire, to apply for the Fellowship sponsored in part by the Center for Global Development, the government of Liberia, JSI, and the family of American billionaire Ed Scott. After vacillating for what appeared to be an eternity, I submitted an application reluctantly in early April (I never thought government work would fit my temperament), and was called almost two weeks later for a video conference interview. When I received a phone call from D.C. in early May informing me that not only had I been chosen for one of the six fellowships, but also that President Sirleaf wanted me to work along side her, I was simultaneously shocked, thrilled, terrified and humbled beyond measure. I had NO CLUE what I was getting myself into, and for a split second I questioned my own qualifications, but my father mitigated by fears by reassuring me that though it will mean long hours and rock-solid diplomacy, President Sirleaf wouldn't have chosen me if she didn't think I could handle it. Like the returnees I interviewed in Liberia, I’ve discovered that the challenges of moving back home are monumental. Issues such as (warranted) resentment from non-returnees, frustrations with post-conflict infrastructural deficiencies, the duality of social re-indoctrination, familial obligations and expectations, etc. are real and lived. Still, I know that my purpose is more critical than the sum of those challenges. Though recent migration research suggests that highly skilled migrants not only are more likely to return, but also more likely to act as “agents of change,” this notion is riddled with patronising rhetoric. If anything, being a “change agent” in Liberia has meant coming back infused with the knowledge that I have more to learn than to teach. Affecting change from within established structures is almost as important—if not more—than transforming things from the periphery, especially in the case of new dispensations such as Liberia’s. This, and only this, has kept me anchored. I have morphed into my own experiment, indeed, and it feels good to have created something so strangely familiar. We are all driven by urges, compulsions to create something of worth, to be recognised, to have an impact. Call me a utilitarian, but I think academics have an obligation to nurture research so that it has some residual effects, so that it does not become a monster of an experiment, but rather the personification of how we think the world should function. In many respects, our research is an extension of ourselves. Mine has been extended, stretched, and formatted so much that I am now the embodiment of it. I have plunged into this next chapter of life head-on, and discovered that becoming a more autonomous Frankenstein in Liberia ain’t half bad.