Monrovia – It is early Sunday, January 15, 2017 and Alexander Kpissay, 30, is assisting masons as they construct a three-bedroom house, one of the three houses he owns in the Pipeline community in Paynesville.
“Papa, your phone [is] ringing oh,” Kpissay’s two-year-old son informs him of an incoming call as he daughter and wife stand by.
He answers the call and it is his classmate Abraham, who requests an update of a geology group assignment.
He speaks with his classmate and tells him he is preparing to go to church after another week of work.
Kpissay is a “can boy”. He sells gasoline and diesel fuel in mayonnaise jars and in containers in Re Light, one of the busiest marketplaces in Liberia.
He has been a can boy since 2001 and now supplies other can boys in the Red Light area as well as in Nimba and Lofa Counties.
“The can boy business is the only business I know,” says Kpissay.
“My dream is becoming somebody in this country tomorrow that I can even import goods into this country.”
“That is why for now I am reading geology at the University of Liberia and am planning to do my master’s [degree] in petroleum geology.”
Should his dream come true, Kpissay will not be the only can boy-turned-petroleum-importer and certainly not the last.
The famed Musa Bility of Srimex Oil and Gas Company also started up as a can boy.
But the road has not been easy for Kpissay.
It has been a test of determination and resilience. In 2011 he lost 65 of 110 gallons of gasoline he had for sale to a Police raid.
Those were indeed difficult times for Kpissay, despite having started his business by selling for people and sharing the profits.
There are about 150 can boys in the Red Light area alone, according to the Can Boys’ Association, formed in 2015 to advocate for the rights of can boys and help individual members meet challenges.
Hundreds more are scattered in Monrovia and its environs, highways, and marketplaces across the country.
They see their trade as a means to escape the wrath of poverty in one of the poorest countries in the world.
But can boys face as many challenges as opportunities in plying their trade.
Some drivers see them as common criminals, petroleum dealers view them as illegal competitors, and the government sees them as a threat to public safety.
The law prohibits open sale of petroleum but government is practically left to make concession as the number of can boys seems to increase each year.
Several fire outbreaks and arsons in the past have been blamed on can boys.
Sam Collins, Deputy Police Commissioner for Press and Public Affairs, cites instances, including a 2016 incident in a community along the Roberts International Airport highway, where a mob set ablaze two vehicles and the residence of a man they alleged killed two boys for rituals.
But their loyal customers see them as friends, brothers in the struggle because they are readily available at any time of the day.
The Police and firefighters have raided can boys on several occasions. Some who were not as strong as Kpissay – when he lost 65 gallons of gasoline – never recovered.
But things have improved in the last three years. There have been no raids, thanks to a better relationship being forged between can boys and authorities.
‘From force to service’
The Liberia National Police (LNP) has reexamined its relationship with can boys. The approach now is moderate with a sense of mutual understanding of public safety and the quest to people to make ends meet.
“In the past, if can boys saw a Police officer, they will begin running away with their gas,” recalls Deputy Commissioner Collins.
“You have to take into consideration that law enforcement is now moving from force to service.”
“And if we are to get involved with service, it means that we have to do enough public relations, we have to do enough outreach, we have to do enough community policing,” Collins adds.
He said he believed that can boys would be in the position to abide by public safety rules and regulations if the Police built a better relationship with them, warning them on both the personal risk and the wrath of disobeying the law.
Obviously, there are fragile, loose ends to this promising can boy-Police collaboration.
The Police want to do its job, while can boys want to make a living. The Police do not put can boys in the same basket as thousands of street peddlers all across the country.
“While they have created jobs for themselves, we think that they need to be guided by principles, rules and regulations,” says Collins.
“If we feel that their activities are getting out of hand, the Police will have to put into place measures to curtail them.”
The Director of the Liberian National Fire Service, Warsuwah Barvoul, Sr., agrees.
“We are talking about lives here; we are talking about safety. You can sell your gasoline but the handling is what we are concerned about.”
Gasoline is one of the leading causes of fire outbreaks in Liberia, according to Barvoul.
The Can Boys’ Association denies that can boys should be blamed for these fire outbreaks.
“Sometimes when there is a fire outbreak, the Police and the Fire Service always believe that it is us can boys who caused the fire, and we say no,” says Joe Miller, an advisor to the Can Boys’ Association.
“Someone can even have problem with someone and go to the stations and buy the product there.
“We are struggling, getting goods from people to feed our families. We cannot be causing problem all over the place,” Miller argues.
In the meantime, can boys are heeding fire warnings. They now have fire extinguishers.
“They ordered us to get safety materials if we want to continue to sell gasoline,” says Lesley Free, a can boy at Parker Paint junction in Paynesville.
“I bought it from the Fire Service for US$40.”
‘Mayonnaise jar gas station’
In April 2016, NP Liberia opened a new filling station in Kakata, Margibi County.
While officials of government, representatives of local government and well-wishers were witnessing the dedication of the station, NP’s Managing Director Mohammed Kanu seized the opportunity to lament that the company was facing an illegal competition from can boys.
“Someone asked me once, ‘Who is your major competitor?’ And I told them ‘My major competitors are the mayonnaise jar gas station,’” Kanu said then.
“If I pay real estate taxes here, they (other filling stations) pay real estate taxes.
If I pay city council taxes here, they pay city council taxes; but the mayonnaise jar don’t know real estate tax, they don’t know city council tax, they don’t know two percent tax to LRA (Liberia Revenue Authority). They don’t know anything.”
Other filling stations reckon the same when it comes to can boys. Authorities are under pressure to act, as registered filling stations are furious about the can boy trade.
“What has made the market to be volatile is that the standards at every level have not been maintained,” says Emmanuel Togba, CEO of Aminata and Sons Inc.
“The government has not been able to hold people by the standards.
Why are they selling in Monrovia? Before I open a filling station I have to pay taxes to the government. The government is benefiting. I have to get permit from the City Hall [of Monrovia], I have to get permit from Public Works and I have to pay EPA. Everything costs money.
It is not free. Somebody gets up in the morning, gets LD$500 and goes and buys gasoline and he and I are selling the same products, and he is not even paying taxes.”
Win-win situation
The Ministry of Commerce and Industry promises to do something to address both the concern of registered petroleum dealers and the plight of can boys.
“It is a legitimate concern, and in all fairness the Ministry of Commerce and Industry has a plan and roadmap for those guys that are selling in the mayonnaise jar,” says Mohammed Turay, Assistant Minister for Industry, Ministry of Commerce and Industry.
“Right now as I speak to you the National Standard Laboratory and the Division of standard along with my office are developing technical regulations for those areas.
As part of the plan, Assistant Minister Turay discloses that can boys will not be allowed into the Monrovia or next to filling stations.
They will be restricted to remote towns and villages, and highways anywhere in the country. The plan, he says, will take effect after the first six months of this year.
“The situation should be a win-win situation. There are stages, phases. That is the informal sector but the can boy [trade] has a hazard dimension.”
“We know that we are coming from war and people have to make a living, but it is risky. “
“But we are negotiating with the can boys to give them timeline so they can move and we’ve developed a standard where they can leave for the outskirts of the town, where the regular pumps are not available,” Turay says.
“We care and they are an integral part of our citizenry, and besides that they are a growing informal sector that we have to help them from that level to the formal sector. That’s the responsibility of the Ministry of Commerce.”
The Can Boys’ Association says can boys sell up to 20,000 gallons of gasoline and diesel fuel daily in the Red Light area alone.
Togba of Aminata and Sons supports such plan, and says that can boys can be a real asset in some areas.
“There are communities across the country, in places like Grand Kru, in places like Sinoe, in remote areas where there are no infrastructures for filling stations.”
“It makes it impossible to say that people cannot have alternative means of access to fuel,” he says.
“In some areas where there are no markets to support their (filling stations) infrastructure and their cost of running a filling station, it is not economically feasible to put a filling stations in those areas when you will not even be able to break even.”
Highway or no highway, some do not consider can boys an issue. They just do not buy from them.
“As for me, I don’t think I will ever buy from a can boy,” exclaims John Logan, a chauffeur who lives in central Monrovia. Only those who don’t like their cars will buy from a can boy.”
“I used to buy from can boys but since I noticed that they put water in their gasoline I stopped buying from them,” adds Mohammed Jalloh, a motorcyclist on the Old Road.
‘Eye to eye’
Interestingly, the people who buy from can boys do not trust the filling stations.
“I like to buy from can boys, because I like to see the gas eye to eye. Sometimes the filling stations can put air in the tank,” says Ernest Duo, a motorcyclist, GSA Road in Paynesville.
Sedekie Dagbeh, car dealer and driver, shares Duo’s view. “They pump air into the tank but with the people selling it in the [jar] you can see the gasoline and you will know the measurement. Actually, seeing is believing.”
“Sometimes if you buy 10 gallons, it can be six, seven and eight gallons. It can’t reach the 10 gallons. So, we have gotten used to the can boys,” says James Wonba, a taxi driver who runs on the Roberts International Airport highway.
Those who patronize can boys may have a good reason to do so. In 2013 the Ministry of Commerce and Industry conducted an inspection of filling stations in and around Monrovia and the results were shocking: Only a few filling stations pumped the correct measurement. Since then, the Ministry has conducted a routine inspection of pumps. The Ministry encourages the consumer public to take complaints of such to its Consumers’ Complaint Unit.
“They (filling stations) used to cheat,” admits Assistant Minister Turay. “Some of them used to cheat.”
But the loyalty of the can boy brand surpasses the shortfalls of registered petroleum dealers as well as whether or not can boys stay in Monrovia or not. Their main customers are motorcyclists, who favor the variety of offers—including quarter gallon or “Musa”—that filling stations do not offer.
Some, like James Numeneh, a 22-year-old motorcyclist in Paynesville, prefer can boys simply because he can get gasoline on credit.
Others like David Mondolo, 31-year-old motorcyclist also of Paynesville prefers can boys because he identifies with them, even if they added L$5 or L$10 to the price of gasoline. Most can boys sell gasoline L$310, LD$15 more than the regular pump price of L$295.
“For me I can buy from any of them. Even though the fuel price gone up, I can still buy from can boys.
“The reason is most of them can be near the road and the gallon can be full. So it can be easy to fill my tank because most of the passengers can’t be patient,” says Stephen Bono, a bus driver.
Generally, can boys are readily available, even on the highways and in populous places such as Ganta, Nimba County. T
hey are accessed much easily than the registered filling stations. They are an asset to those who use generators to light their homes.
They are at your doorsteps. Even Police spokesman Collins does not deny that the Police purchase fuel from can boys “sometimes when we ourselves are on distant patrol and run out of fuel.”
Exchange rate
All said there is one challenge that poses the greatest threat to can boys: the exchange rate. Currently it stands at L$107 to US$1, the highest ever. In some places, it can be as high as LD$110.
Individual can boys do not have sufficient money to buy in from the Liberia Petroleum Refining Company or big petroleum dealers so they purchase from mini filling stations or from the registered filling stations.
With the exchange rate increasing daily and they sell in Liberian dollar and buy in United States dollar, they sell at a loss.
“I used to sell up to 180 gallons per day; but since the US rate went up, business is not really going like before,” explains David Elliot, a can boy at the GSA Road junction.
“The exchange rate is really embarrassing us. If you buy the goods in United States currency, you have to sell in the Liberian currency, buy the United States currency before going to buy new goods,” further explains William Gayflor, 31, a can boy in RedLight, who has been doing the business for 10 years.
“For instance, if I buy gas today with the rate at 108 the rate will be 109 the day after tomorrow.
“So, now to get my real concept in business I am not doing it. I am only doing it for living, to just eat. That’s all. After 10 to 15 years I will still be the same. I will never improve my life because the rate is not stable,” laments Gayflor.
He said he would have no option to “move from here and go back Lofa County to tap palm wine, and if I fall from there and die, then my children’s business will be finished.”
This story was produced by FrontPageAfrica. It was written as part of a media skills development programme run by the Thomson Reuters Foundation and New Narratives, and funded by Australian Aid. The funder had no influence on the story’s content