This is the story of how our entire journey was turned upside down in a single second. How we were thrown off course for a while. But also about why we can get back up and, most importantly, travel on.

It's true crime in Monrovia, the capital of the world with the most bag thefts.

But we start from the beginning.

Our first impression of Liberia is like arriving in Paradise.

When we have crossed the border from Sierra Leone, we take the first dirt road on the right and stroll along the red sandy soil to the end of the road. On the way we stop in the only small village that has a street kitchen. We get the usual; rice with a sauce made from the leaves of sweet potato, and a dried fish. While we eat, the village headman sits with a group of children and smiles kindly at us. When we are half finished with the portion, we put our plate down for a moment to wipe the red palm oil from our mouth with a napkin. Immediately one of the boys gets up and takes our plate to eat the rest himself. We barely have time to react, but are very touched to understand how little food there really is to eat here. The village headman is still smiling at us.

A nice arrival

At the end of the dirt road lies a small village on the bank of the river. Under a large mango tree is a wooden bench, where we find a couple of women relaxing in the shade. We tell them our desire to find a man with a canoe who can row us across the river to Robertsport. The women call for some children, who are sent out as messengers into the village. After a while in the shade of the mango tree, a man appears. He asks for 30usd for us and the bikes. We negotiate a little and end up with 25usd. He smiles broadly. The bikes are carried aboard, and we apply sunscreen, so we are ready for 2 hours of quiet sailing across the estuary.

As our small wooden canoe docks at the shore in Robertsport, we carry the bikes ashore and set off for Robertsport Surfclub Beach.

Paradise appeared before our eyes as we rolled down to the beach where the Surfclub is located between the palm trees, with a small cozy bar and restaurant, as well as 4 pavilions for tent accommodation. The manager Peter welcomed us warmly. Unfortunately, he had rented out the pavilions, but we had to set up the tent down on the beach itself. The sandals were kicked off, we took a dip in the refreshing sea and unbuttoned a cold beer. The shoulders dropped and the calm spread throughout the mind. There was an incredible atmosphere on this little gem.

We drank the cold beer in the company of Tony and Jad – father and son of Lebanese origin, who live and run a business in the capital Monrovia. We spent the afternoon and evening with them, talking about life in Liberia, seen from a new perspective. So far we have met expats and locals, but Jad and Tony are the first people we get to know who live in Africa, with a different origin. Lebanon, India and China in particular have large communities in Africa.

Jad and Tony's family have been here for three generations and they have lived through civil war, Ebola and corona and seen how it has changed the country. Yet they have an incredibly positive outlook on life and focus not so much on politics and crises, but on the joys of life. Good company, good food and good hospitality.

The next day we went exploring with them along the beach. A few kilometers from the surf club is a shipwreck that has washed up on the beach. That was the goal of our excursion. We walked in the baking sun and enjoyed one paradisiacal deserted beach after another. We took the time to collect seashells, swim, eat almonds from the trees, rest in the shade and take in the blue ocean deeply. Just be. It was healing without anything having to be healed. Pure paradise.

Without talking about deep things, this experience founded our friendship with Jad and Tony. It was interesting how a connection to strangers can unfold without words, but simply by sharing a nice experience.

More hospitality

After only two days in Robertsport, we packed our things and reluctantly left paradise to cycle to Monrovia. We had to apply for a visa to Ghana, so we were forced to also stop for a couple of days in the capital. We divided the 120km into two days, with an overnight stay halfway through. When evening fell, we stopped at a small side road and discussed whether there would be a place in the bush to camp. Meanwhile, an older man emerged from a house by the road. The man was small in stature, but we could see that he was strong from a hard working life. His eyes were sunken and red, but at the same time warm and calm. His whole radiance enveloped us in security, in the middle of the busy main road.

He asked us what we wanted, and we explained that we were looking for a place to sleep. “Come with me. You can sleep by my house,” he said. 5 minutes later, our tent was behind his house, perfectly sheltered from the noise of the road. Some of the curious children from the village had arrived. Marie took them by storm when she tried to run with their hoop. In reality, it was an old bicycle rim that they steer with a stick while running at full speed down the bumpy path. Neither Kenneth nor Marie succeeded very well at it. But we got points for trying.

Then the oldest boy got the idea to try Kenneth's bike. He seemed like a good kid with a bone in his nose, so even though he could only sit on the handlebars of the bike, he triumphantly took a ride around the house, between pots and women, chickens and goats. It went well, so his courage grew, and before we could look around, little brother was climbing onto the back of the bike. After a short hesitation, Kenneth surrendered to the boys' project and lifted little brother onto the saddle, and pushed them off. There was huge cheering and pride at steering the big, heavily packed bike down the path, with little brother balancing high in the air. And you can't exclude anyone, so the younger sisters should also have their turn.

Only when the oldest boy wanted to ride out onto the dark country road and into the village on his bike, “To see their faces,” was it time to put a damper on the mood, and the bike was driven back to the cabin.

As darkness fell, we enjoyed ourselves with the family. That evening we laid our heads on the pillow, grateful to once again be invited inside by hospitable people, while the rain beat down on the tent, for the first time in months. Perhaps as a sign of what was to come…

The next morning we got up and got ready.

While we were brushing our teeth, we talked to the man in the house. He showed us his land, he pointed to his cassava, his pineapples and the burnt land where he wants to grow more crops. It was clear that the family's primary survival comes from the things he grows here, which they can eat. There is not much real money here, however. This is how many people live in Liberia. If people don't grow their own food, it is incredibly difficult to make a living. In that way, the conditions are actually better here than for those who move to the city in search of happiness. Because in the cities, competition is fierce and people often come here without qualifications. This means that many people fight for very low-paid jobs and not everyone succeeds. That is why the greatest poverty and the greatest desperation are found in the larger cities, such as Monrovia.

We thanked our host and the children for shelter and good experiences. It was only 50km to Monrovia. We had run out of cash, so it was important to keep the chain tight so that we could get in before lunch, withdraw money, and find some food before Kenneth got hangry.

The big city shows its teeth

The access road to the big city was, as always, a bit challenging. To put it mildly. But we navigated familiarly between fast motorbikes, three-wheeled tuktuks, battered taxis and huge, expensive four-wheel drive vehicles.

Everything went well. We approached the center, and we soon found an ATM. We each withdrew 250usd and stopped at a supermarket and bought delicious fresh local yogurt for lunch. Then we drove back out onto the two-lane main road, towards Kaldi's coffee shop 800m down the road, where the rumor said good coffee and wifi.

This part of town was much quieter. We were near the embassy district and Sunday meant less traffic. Everything seemed safe, the parades were down and spirits were high. Until Marie suddenly let out a loud scream. A man on a motorcycle swung a wide arc around Kenneth, with Marie's bag in his arms. Kenneth shouted oaths and curses while we both revved up our bikes at top speed in a wild chase for the motorcycle. The thief was a true professional. He drove up close to Marie's side, let off the gas, ripped the bag from Marie, which she had slung over her shoulder, put his hand on the gas again, and sped away from the scene of the crime.

Even though we approached and had our eyes firmly fixed on the motorcycle, he slowly but surely disappeared as we realized what we had lost: Marie's passport, phone, camera, visas and about 10,000 kr in cash!

With renewed energy, Kenneth gave it another go, while Marie stopped at some traffic cops to get them to pursue the thief. A kilometer down the road we had to give up. The man was gone. And so were all of Marie's most valuable things.

We followed the police back to the local police station. Here we were let into a small office of a very taciturn officer in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and BBQ cap. He was supposed to write our report, but he was in no hurry. He honestly seemed equally incompetent and indifferent, but we knew that we had to wait to have documentation for the insurance. When he finally finished, we asked for a copy. It turned out to be a bit cumbersome, because the printer “didn’t work”. We hurried to take a picture of the report with Kenneth’s phone, as we could feel where it was all starting to go. The famous and infamous African system was closing its clammy claws around us. The system where bureaucratic processes take an infinite amount of time unless they are lubricated with a few dollar bills here and there. To start with, we agreed to have the report printed tomorrow, and paid nothing.

The trust is gone.

Exhausted and cursed, we cycled back towards the city. Suddenly we had completely different glasses on. Normally we smile at everyone. We are used to young men on motorbikes driving past us, with their heads turned out of joint, to study us. To be honest, it is probably Marie that they find interesting the most. We have gotten used to that. But now – Now everything was suddenly different. We glared suspiciously at everyone around us. People who looked at us were immediately assessed by our critical glances, in relation to the likelihood that they wanted to harm us. Or rather, with the assumption that they actually wanted to harm us, if they could get away with it. We radiated the blackest energy with a huge thundercloud hanging over our heads.

We checked into the Methodist Guesthouse just 500m from the crime scene. A couple of missionaries from the US were staying here. Or rather, Don is a linguist and works with two locals to “translate the Word of God into local tribal languages”. Robert is a retired psychologist who, through the Methodist Church, teaches locals how to deal with drug addicts.

The mood was low, and we explained to them why. There were comforting words and great empathy, which warmed us a little. But as soon as we found peace, reality set in, and we had to start making plans for the next few days of work with the police, embassies, banks, insurance companies, telecommunications companies, etc. etc.

Bottom record

Monrovia has a boring world record. It is the capital city in the world with the highest incidence of “petty theft”, i.e. bag snatching and the like. We didn’t know that when we cycled into the city. But everyone we spoke to afterwards told us: “It happens all the time”. We learned that the locals often carry their bags under their T-shirts and that they always have their bags facing the counter, never facing the road. The neighborhood we live in, which we thought was a safe embassy neighborhood with large real estate complexes for expats, turned out to be plagued by robberies at night, for the same reason. The relatively large and relatively rich white people who cluster together in ghettos attract young men who play Robin Hood and justify to themselves that it is okay to steal from those who have a lot. That is why we couldn’t walk or cycle at night. When we had to go out, it had to be by car.

We pull on our work clothes

Monday morning we were ready to tackle the many tasks that needed to be solved. The first stop was to cycle back to the local police station.

The bag hadn’t turned up, which didn’t surprise us. We had already mentally written it off. The police, however, took the task very seriously – in their own way. They still couldn’t give us a report, which we felt was all we needed. Instead, they wanted to take us out to the crime scene. Marie was quite adamant in her insistence that nothing sensible would come of seeing a two-lane road where we happened to be cycling when she was robbed. But according to the police, it was “necessary” to be able to write the report. So we had to jump on our bikes, the officer on a mototaxi, and drive out to the crime scene.

Here we stood, looking at the traffic for a while, scratching our heads and talking to a few random passers-by. Quite quickly, a very upset man came up to us. He had a wild look in his eyes and was waving an empty plastic can in his hand. He shouted a lot in Creole at Kenneth. Creole is almost English, so you can understand a little, but far from everything. The man was quite loud and aggressive. The situation escalated while we tried to stay calm. The officer who was with us had no intention of interfering, and the only thing he did was say to the man a few times: “Go to the police”. The man shouted louder and louder, while his red eyes flashed, his gaze fixed firmly on Kenneth. He looked like a desperate and homeless drug addict. We didn’t understand what he wanted or what he was saying, except that it suddenly came out of his mouth quite clearly: “I will fuck you up!”. Kenneth tried to calm him down as calmly as possible, but it didn't work. Suddenly he turned on his heel and ran away from us, as quickly as he had appeared. The officer said: “He is crazy”. Okay – we understand that, but thanks for the help, comrade police officer.

Now the officer on duty wanted to go down and see Kaldis Kaffebar instead, which we were on our way to before Marie was robbed and the day changed abruptly. THEN Marie got angry. She was told in an unusually clear manner that we didn't want to waste time on that, and that we had to go to the Danish consulate instead to get an emergency passport. It worked as intended, and the officer agreed to part ways for now. As a final twist, we just had to pay for his motorcycle taxi. THEN Kenneth got angry. With just as much clarity as Marie, he was presented with the paradox of having all his money stolen AND having to pay the police money to do their job. It wasn't a 100% fair interpretation, because it is actually customary that you pay for the police's transportation, since they don't have their own vehicles available. But by this time we were getting tired of being dragged around the ring by an incompetent officer who had his eyes set on extracting money from us to write a report we needed for insurance. So a line was drawn in the sand.

While we stood there talking in big letters, a number of locals had gathered around us, following the scene. Other motorcyclists, a few guards from a nearby hotel, and curious pedestrians. Once again, Liberia showed its beautiful side. A young man stepped out of the crowd. He had heard all the noise about our money being stolen and said: “I understand you. I’ll pay for the mototaxi. Don’t worry.” It may sound childish, but there was actually a stone that fell from our hearts, because the biggest loss we risked here was not the money, but the trust in other people on a foreign continent. And here was a man who once again reached out and showed empathy and humanity. So even though it was only a matter of a few dollars, he repaired a significant hole in our hearts.

Extreme poverty leads to extreme living conditions

The inequality in Liberia is enormous. About half of the population lives below the extreme poverty line. Various organizations are working to lift people out of poverty. But it is incredibly slow. The programs have been running for more than 10 years, but the numbers only change marginally, and it is still half of the population that lives in extreme poverty, which means they get by on less than 15kr a day.

More than half cannot read or write either. But that is not the biggest problem, because Liberia is very much a manufacturing country that needs strong hands. And here lies the real problem, because the low-wage jobs are unbelievably poorly paid. Even if you have a job, it is very difficult to support your family. Therefore, as mentioned earlier, people have to supplement their income by growing their own food.

Therefore, it is understandable that people go to the capital in the hope of finding jobs that can support them. But the traps are many, and Monrovia has a huge problem with drugs. Many young people start taking a drug called kush. It has a high mortality rate, but also a high addiction rate. But worst of all, it creates even greater desperation for money in the already stressed city.

At the same time, we see many large four-wheel drive vehicles with tinted windows driving around Monrovia. Many rich people driving to the expensive hotels to sit in the air conditioning and eat lunch and drink coffee at European prices. Outside, we see desperate people standing with their hands outstretched through the bars of the fence that is supposed to keep them away from the rich. In the parking lot in front of a cafe, we saw how security guards argued loudly with a group of men who thought they had the right to beg in front of the cafe. The security guards wanted them gone. People in the cafe looked the other way.

Visiting the consul

From the crime scene we cycled to the other end of town to visit the Danish consul. He is a businessman, and we found his company address. We were let in through the massive iron gate by friendly guards, parked our bikes in the shade and went into the air-conditioned office. We were shown to a couple of comfortable chairs in front of a nice desk. Here sat the consul's closest employee, who in a calm but regretful voice informed us that the consul had just left for a 3-week vacation yesterday! Another slap in the face!

The employee informed us that the emergency passports are locked in the consul's office, with no possibility for anyone else to issue them. We quickly did the math in our heads. Did we really have to stay in Liberia for 3 weeks to wait for the consul?

The employee called the consul, who luckily happened to be in Paris. Marie was allowed to speak to him. He was a really pleasant man. But his best bet was to contact the Danish embassy in Ghana to see if they could help.

Marie got hold of the ambassador in Ghana. Long story short, we were referred to the Swedish embassy in Monrovia, which may be able to issue a “Laissez-Passer”, a document that would allow Marie to leave the country, but only with the option of flying back to Denmark. Another stomach-churning experience. It would mean a huge break in our trip. And a not insignificant financial burden began to loom before us.

The Danish consul, however, had an ace up his sleeve. The ace is called Mamawah Sheriff and is a local woman who works for the consul. She is used to working with the police and making things happen. The consul asked us to contact her, and arrangements were made for us to cycle directly to the police headquarters, where she would meet us.

The consul's rambuk

Outside the police station, a small but mature African woman in a large, beautiful dress met us: Mamawah Sheriff. She is a powerwoman who speaks Creole in a cool mix of unambiguous commands and uplifting sermons. The perfect cocktail to kickstart the police effort. Marie went with us into the police headquarters, while Kenneth looked after the bicycles outside. The waiting time in front of the station was spent sending messages to the friends we have in Monrovia. Jad and Tony are key figures in the city's Lebanese community, and they sent out feelers and messages to their networks that the bag should be found and returned. So did Randy, a local architect whom we met at the border post a few days ago. Both reported back that there is a good chance of getting back the things that cannot be used or traded; passports and phones.

Inside the police station, Marie felt like she was in an American police series and received the same message: “We will get your bag back!” We had a hard time believing it, but we began to understand that the criminal community would be interested in selling the bag back. It was just a question of the price.

Mamawah Sheriff knew exactly who to bribe and how much. Bosses were involved, skilled officers were allocated and the report was written. Money was still needed, but this time it felt like the work was leading somewhere good.

At the same time, the local police officer from the other station called Kenneth again and again, telling us to come back so they could write more reports. We held them over and asked if they had found the bag.

We tried to bet on as many horses as possible and to make the thieves burn a little so they would get rid of the bag as quickly as possible.

Upset Christians

When we got back to our Methodist Guesthouse, Don and his local colleagues were sitting in the common room working on their translation of God’s Word. One colleague was unapproachable and radiating anger. We quickly discovered that his anger was about the bad reputation that Liberia gets from a situation like the one we experienced. We had a good chat and assured him that we have more good experiences in Liberia than bad, and that we are incredibly grateful for the support we have received. He loosened up a bit and told us that he had already written to the ministry and urged them to pay our loss of cash! We are sure that will not happen, but his concern for both us and the country’s reputation was touching.

Don is an incredibly nice man, with whom we later had many good conversations. But at this point we barely knew him. Yet he looked Marie in the eye with his kind gaze and said: “My congregation and I are praying for you, and for you to get your bag back.”

Who knows what helps the most in such a situation?

A new hope

We sat at the front of the roller coaster of emotions, racing at full speed between peaks and valleys, between hope and helplessness, anger and gratitude.

That same evening, Jad and Tony invited us to dinner at their beach house. On the terrace overlooking the sea and the sunset, and with a glass of cool wine in hand, we could gradually laugh at the grotesque situation and our shoulders dropped a little in good company. After all, it was only dead things in the bag, and we were grateful that nothing serious had happened, that no one was hurt. From here, there are just a lot of practical tasks to solve, and we got renewed energy to deal with the police, embassies, insurance companies, etc.

Jad drove us home to our Guesthouse through the dark capital. Out there somewhere there was probably a bunch of young men throwing a wild party, for our money.

Back at our guesthouse, Marie checked her email, on Kenneth’s phone: “Your phone has been located near Carey street”. The phone had been in airplane mode, but someone was clearly trying to open it now. Our pulse quickened and we rushed to take a screenshot and send it to Mamawah Sheriff, Jad and Randy. Maybe someone could find the phone and thus the thief tonight?

Our lives peak

The next morning we had arranged to meet Mamawah Sheriff at the police headquarters. In typical African style, she did not show up. She did not answer messages or pick up the phone when we called. Not even though we had confirmed the appointment an hour before. We stood close to the entrance and were absorbed in planning how we could get on from here. We could either wait for the consul to come back so we could get an emergency passport that could, possibly, get us to the Ivory Coast. Or we could cycle around Liberia together before Marie had to fly home on a “Laissez-Passer”. But since all the other visas in the passport also had to be reissued before Marie could continue on her journey, the best, but saddest, plan was probably for Marie to fly home immediately and get her credit cards, passport, visas, vaccination cards, etc., sorted out. In addition to the 10,000 kr in various currencies that were in the bag in cash, and 20,000 kr in valuables, tied up in a camera, phone, sunglasses, etc., we began to realize that the cost of all the valuables would run up to around 5-10,000 kr, plus plane tickets home and back. All in all, a loss of maybe 50,000 kr in round numbers. It hit us hard, but there was nothing we could do but roll up our sleeves and get started with the practicalities. The first step on the road was to get the police report, which was behind a “paywall” of bribes, handed over so that we could contact the insurance company!

While we were debating, a quirky man with headphones perched crookedly on top of his head walked past us and nodded. We nodded back. There was something strangely familiar about that man. Kenneth looked at him again, and made eye contact again. With a loud shout, Kenneth ran after the man and grabbed him hard by the shoulder. He was carrying Marie's bag!!!! It's super easy to recognize because of its red strap and unique design. Kenneth had a good grip on him and was about to shake him when the ten fell – the man was one of the officers working on the case. HE HAD FOUND THE BAG!!

It is impossible to describe how we jumped and jumped with joy as we followed him into the police station. Tears welled up in the corners of our eyes, but they were tears of joy. Relief washed over us, even though we could hardly believe what was happening.

Inside the officers' office, they took it a little cooler than we did. We were super excited when the officer opened the bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Marie immediately reached for her passport and kissed it. And then the phone, which she stroked against her cheek. Credit cards, vaccination cards were there, as well as other small items. Unbelievable!!! Simply unbelievable. Of course there was no cash. And the battery bank and sunglasses were also missing. They had even snatched the phone case. But imagine, getting a passport, phone and even our camera with tens of thousands of photos from the last six months left.

We wrote to Mamawah Sheriff again. And this time she replied immediately. “I’m on my way! Don’t do anything until I get there!”.

And then there were bilateral meetings and big politics involved. The bosses got involved. The bag was kept back and taken somewhere else. The officers held meetings outside in the hallway. Mamawah Sheriff took us aside and said we should pay “a little” to the officers. 100usd in total!

We were taken into the chief's office. A friendly man who wanted to make sure that everything was okay and that we had a good impression of the police. But that wasn't enough, because immediately afterwards he took us to an empty office. Us, Mamawah Sheriff and the officers, as well as their bosses, lined up in front of the large desk in the empty office. "He's coming in through that door" was whispered. People moved and made room. We thought "What's going on here???". The door opened and a large man in a white police uniform walked silently through the room and sat behind the desk. He moved some papers aside before he said in an authoritative voice, without looking at anyone: "Yes?". One of the bosses stepped forward and began to explain: "Two days ago..., thanks to the great efforts of the officers..., we can proudly say that we have located the bag and returned it to its owner...". A very formal explanation of the case with a focus on praising the police work.

The Chief of Police took over and spoke to us, as well as the officers. He used the opportunity to tell us how the police are working intensely and consciously to raise the level of investigations, and that he was happy to see this work pay off in this specific case. Marie concluded with a speech about how grateful she was, how skilled she thinks the officers are, and what a good impression we have of Liberia in general.

And then the boss said: “I know you’re documenting your trip, are you interested in taking a picture?”

Yes please!

All that was left was to sign the report and have it handed over. We enter a new office, where an officer is sitting watching an American police series on his computer. He looks up and exclaims: “I told you we would get it back!”.

The mood is high, and everyone smiles with relief. The report is signed and a copy is given to Marie. Mamawah Sheriff pulls us out into the hallway and asks for the 100usd, which she will distribute fairly between the officers. This is the first time we have paid corruption money in Africa. It breaks our hearts. There is no doubt that Mamawah Sheriff has pushed the investigation, and 100usd is a small price to pay to get the bag back. But no officer asked for the money at any time, and for our travel budget, it is a considerable sum.

A nice ending

The next day we go for a walk in the swamp area, on the outskirts of the city, among the houses where ordinary people live. The houses are built of tin around small dirt paths. Clotheslines crisscross. Chickens run in the streets. There is no electricity or sanitation here. Joseph stops us and asks what we are doing. We tell him that we want to experience how ordinary people live. Joseph is wearing a pair of old shoes and a torn T-shirt. Just like us. He tells us that he works for the government in the correctional service. He lives here in the slum, which is actually quite cozy. While we talk, people smile at us and say hello. We can feel the last negative feelings and distrustful looks at people leaving us, and we stand again with energy and faith in the best in people, as we return their warm smiles.

Joseph thanks us for the visit and ends by saying the phrase we have heard most from people in Liberia: “You are welcome!”