"I will Pump Your Tire"

This Morning in Monrovia, I went to put air in my  bike tires...

"Good Morning, Can you please pump my tire", I ask the three gentlemen I see gathered around the front right school bus tire of a school bus.  This would be the first morning in six months that I was brave enough to venture out onto Tubman Blvd with this bike.  After my first Saturday here and the car accident I witnessed which propelled a young girl's body from the road to the grassy "side area"? of the pedestrian area (the "sidewalk", a dusty dirt path alongside the cotah --read: paved road--  bleeds into grassland in this part of Congo Town), I decided I'd rather lend my bike out occasionally to the drivers I work with.  I took to riding occasionally in circles in my gated work compound. 

The old man whom I soon realized was the proprietor of this air, replies "Don't worry I will pump your tire!", all men start giggling and laughing. I stand blank faced.  Then, I thought to reply, "What did you say?", Old man repeats himself. "I will pump your tire you girl!". The three men giggle again. I ask "So what is that supposed to mean?" stern faced. They just smile. No one responds. I start thinking to myself. My older cousin used to threaten us with an exercise that meant holding your ears and squatting until she was satisfied. That's the only other euphemistic usage of the phrase I had encountered until today.  Old man approaches my bike ready to add air to my tires. "I coming pump your tire and play with your titty!", I didn't hear that last part clearly, as unexpected as it was, I ask him to repeat himself. One of the two other gentlemen with the yellow school bus replies, "Old man, you can't leave that one there, you not tired yet?"  The old man has supposedly put in his lifetime of the pumping he's implying, he should be tired...but his mouth is not. 

He finishes adding air to my tires and even replaces one of my hub caps when I ask him to. While he goes to get the hub cap, the gentleman that responded to the old man on my behalf is leaning on my bike.  "I really want your friendship", he says. I note that although their tire is pumped they are still here, he's invited himself to lean on my bike after all. "Sure we can be friends nice meeting you." I stare in the small distance at the old man grabbing the hub cap. I assess the traffic on Tubman Blvd and decide I'd rather ride against traffic but alas, crossing the road to the supermarket will be a hassle once I arrive.  The guy is still leaning on my bike.  " I really want be your friend ma", he says in what sounds like a Fulani accent. "Where are you from?", I reply. "Barnersville". I respond "Ah, OK".  I've circumvented his friendship offer long enough. That translates to "Can I get your number?" here. Finally he asks, "Please give me your number." I say, "I'll take yours." His name was SK. SK pleads with me to please call.

Old man returns with the hub cap and says "You my friend, yah!", I reply, "Yeah, OK". "Where you live?", he offers. I respond, "Somewhere around here". "My name is Musa yah, I live here, I sleep here everything, even Sunday, You my friend yah!" "OK Musa, thank you." I paid him the equivalent of about 20 US cents for this experience. I ride off towards traffic for the supermarket but not before standing there in disbelief. I had to capture this moment somehow so I posted a bit of the dialogue in a Facebook Status post and thought this will be my motivation for another blog post today. 

This too is Liberia.