Liberian Literary Magazine January Issue 0115
bucolic air of Cooper ’ s sheltered world . Her mother would try in vain to exorcise the odor — and the memories — the rebel intruders inscribed on her body and mind after they gang-raped her . Mommee sacrificed herself to protect the innocence of Helene and her other daughters , Marlene and Eunice , locking them in an upstairs room before the soldiers forced her down into the basement .
Photo CreditPhotograph by Joe Gaffney ; Illustration by Julia Hoffmann
Cooper soon went into exile , joining thousands of other members of the Liberian elite who managed to escape the rebels ’ murderous pillaging . Mommee and Marlene were also among them . Eunice was not . The daughter of a poor upcountry mother , she had been taken into the household at Sugar Beach when Helene was a lonely 8-year-old in need of companionship . She quickly became “ Mrs . Cooper ’ s daughter ” and was treated as one of Mommee ’ s own . Yet over the years there were subtle reminders of Eunice ’ s different status . And when it was time to flee , painful choices were made . Eunice was not a blood relation , and so she was left behind .
While Cooper ’ s memoir is mesmerizing in its portrayal of a Liberia rarely witnessed , its description of the psychological devastation — and coping mechanisms — brought on by profound loss is equally captivating . The second half of the book tells the story of Helene ’ s reinvention . Her aristocratic Liberian pedigree meant nothing in the hallways of her new school . She became the suspicious immigrant , spending lunchtime hiding in bathroom stalls and the recesses of the library rather than face the scrutiny and ridicule of her American classmates .
Cooper ’ s perseverance and immense talent with language eventually catapulted her into a career as a journalist . Her success at The Wall Street Journal and later The New York Times is nearly as noteworthy as her ability to compartmentalize — or , some might say , dissociate . This mental sleight of hand is what affords
her the psychological space to create a new life and cultivate her writer ’ s craft . It would be a mistake to see her ruminations over race and class in America as the hypocritical ranting of a once-privileged African . They are , instead , a reflection of her internalized journey , part of the process of becoming whole .
The walls holding back the guilt of her early entitlement , the destruction of her childhood , the murder of family and friends , and the abandonment of her foster sister would finally come crushing down under the literal weight of an American tank in Iraq . When the tank destroyed the Humvee in which she was riding , Cooper narrowly escaped death . But once she was extricated from the wreck , her mind traveled to a different war . “ At that moment ,” she writes , “ as I lay in the sand in the desert , my chemsuit soaked with what turned out to be oil , not blood , I thought of Liberia .”
For the first time in over 20 years , she soon returned to her former homeland . There , in the ravaged streets , in the overgrown jungles of yesteryear ’ s plantations , she confronted the ghosts of the dead — and encountered the living survivors . With much suffering and loss , Eunice had miraculously endured the hell of the Doe era , as well as the civil wars and deep poverty that accompanied the ascent of Charles Taylor to Liberia ’ s presidency . Eventually , the two sisters were reunited and returned to the house at Sugar Beach . In the defiled shadow of onetime grandeur , Cooper embraced the enormity of her past , and finally came of age .
Caroline Elkins is an associate professor of history at Harvard and the author of “ Imperial Reckoning : The Untold Story of Britain ’ s Gulag in Kenya ,” which won the Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction in 2006 .
A version of this review appears in print on , on page BR1 of the Sunday Book Review with the headline : African Idyll .
30