One of my co-workers from the U.S. Embassy, Belvis, told me that I needed to purchase food in Monrovia. According to him, there was not much that I could buy in Zorzor. I was a little skeptical, but I washed my hands like everyone else in post-Ebola Liberia, and entered the grocery story. I stocked up on oat-meal, peanut butter, bread and a mysterious margarine substitute that didn't melt in the African heat. I, however, most certainly melted.
Zorzor was smaller than I remembered. I found bread, cold drinks and Butterfingers, but Belvis was right that it was wise to prepare. My peanut butter disappeared quickly. If you want to know more about beans torborgee and Liberian food in Zorzor, I have that information.
I really didn't spend that much time in Zorzor. The ZRTTI, the teacher training institute, was fifteen minutes away by motorcycle taxi. Fissebu was my base. But, I always enjoyed escaping to Zorzor. US Embassy folk and Peace Corps Volunteers were not allowed to take the motorcycle taxis. I understood the policy. But, it didn't include me and I escaped whenever I needed to.
Hands down, no competition, my best Zorzor memories centered around the people who welcomed me into their homes: Isaac, Yassah and Gayflor. These kinds of experiences are what make my travels worth while. Gayflor's father told me the word was out about me. I was a Peace Corps man who was approachable and loved Africa. The word was true.