In Postwar Liberia, Paradise Amid the Poverty

"It's completely insane. The whole city doesn't have electricity. There's not a water plant. And it has two sushi bars, air-conditioned sushi bars," Van De Velde said. "You wouldn't think you were in an African country."

The arrival of sushi may have been inevitable in Monrovia, which sprawls along spectacular Atlantic Ocean beaches. For generations, the surf has been worked by fishermen who sail their colorful wooden boats out each day, netting an appetizing variety of sea life: marlin, barracuda, tuna, red snapper, yellowtail.

Monrovia also has a substantial community of relatively affluent Liberians who developed new tastes during long stretches living in the United States and Europe, often while studying at universities. But judging by the clientele at the Barracuda Bar and the Living Room, Monrovia's sushi eaters skew Western, and white.

The same is true at several of Monrovia's hot spots. Les Griot Cafe features both U.S. and European Union flags draped on its wall. Every Saturday is designated "NGO Night." At the Garden Cafe, young, lightly clad Liberian women vie for the attentions of foreign men, as do the amputees gathered outside the gates, begging for spare change.

Many in Monrovia's business community embrace the uptick in economic energy, no matter what the source. This is a country that only a few years ago was best known for blood diamonds, gunrunning and the terrifying, if occasionally antic, nicknames of drugged-out young warriors such as Dog Eats Man and Dirty Water.

Anna M.M. Bsaides, who owns and runs Mamba Point Hotel with her husband, managed to keep the business open during the civil war. As the country gradually stabilized, the hotel added a casino, the Barracuda Bar and a sports center with a Jacuzzi, ocean-side pool, workout room and tennis court. The clientele is mostly U.N. and World Bank officials, embassy staffers and aid workers. Bsaides said they are making crucial investments in the well-being of Liberia's 3 million residents.

"That is all good," she said. "They need a bit of resources . . . and they need the professionals to come and do the projects."

Few Liberians say they want the influx of money or projects to stop. Yet the flow of foreigners has stirred up sensitive feelings in a city already bristling with complex social and ethnic divides.

Freed American slaves founded Liberia in 1822, and their descendants, called Americo-Liberians, long dominated politics and commerce in this tiny nation. But Lebanese immigrants took control of large portions of Monrovia's business community in recent decades.

The Americo-Liberians say they have been sidestepped as money flows in, then out to Lebanon, without settling for long in Liberia. They say the aid groups rarely hire Liberians to senior positions, instead offering them low-paying jobs as drivers, security guards and secretaries.

Many of the foreigners also arrive with a whiff of condescension that never entirely dissipates, the Americo-Liberians say. And however much they are glad that former president Charles Taylor, a fellow Americo-Liberian, is no longer here to foment war, they are eager for the day when Liberia again is run mainly by Liberians.

Businessman Joseph Zangar Bright, 36, a stocky Americo-Liberian who lived in Ottawa for nine years, is an avowed sushi lover. He also likes Heineken beer and imported whiskey. All these things are easier to find in Monrovia, he said, because of the glut of foreign money. But he also said many of the groups have "overstayed their usefulness."

"People do good work," Bright said, "but people really are enjoying themselves in this backward, postwar country."