Harper

My final trip to Harper was bittersweet. Little has changed in the two years I’ve been visiting the remote outpost. I spent a lot of time thinking about what draws me to this strange place, and how to best put that pull into words, and to edit these photos into a narrative. I’m still working on both parts of that and don’t think I’ll have reached something akin to a final edit for a bit of time (and hopefully with opinions from photographers, friends, and readers – if you’re reading this and have any thoughts, please do share them). Until I’ve got a final product, here are drafts of both.
There is no small or remote town in Africa that looks like Harper. Many peripheral outposts resemble each other – general store, cluster of homes, a couple of eateries, a school, a clinic, a football field. But Harper’s roads were paved with folly and excess. Former Liberian President William Tumban, at one point arguably the most powerful black man in the world, called Harper home. He built a mansion there to match his reputation, and ordered the roads tarmaced and the city planned, as if to fortify his intention. But the folly of empire is that money in the pocket doesn’t necessarily guarantee longevity, and Harper is a town of forgotten promises, false ideals, and abandoned grandeur. The freed American slaves who founded the modern state of Liberia, and made Harper what it once was, are also responsible for the ghost town it is now.