Little Monrovia

In the long term, neither Sayeh nor Marvin has plans to stay in the U.S.: "We're here because we must be," says Marvin. "I still have great hope for Liberia. Others say, 'It's easy for you to say--you'll come back as the leaders.' But I tell them: 'You can get a U.S. green card. But what does being American mean to you? There are black people, born here, who call themselves African Americans. That speaks to people's need for identity, belonging. I'm Liberian, and at the end of the day, it's that sense of belonging that propels me."

But for tonight, Sayeh and Marvin and other prominent Liberians are here, in a neighborhood bar in north Minneapolis. And it's a good night to celebrate, Marvin remarks quietly: "I've just received notice from Immigration: They recommend that my asylum be approved." His lawyer was amazed at the speedy response, he says, raising his Coke in a toast.

Then he falls quiet. Sayeh butts in with characteristic aplomb: His friend's wife and extended family are still in Monrovia, he explains. "See these?" He pulls two well-worn phone cards from his wallet. "This one--used up; this one--almost gone. From calling my wife. Because, my friend, you cannot have success--S-U-C-C-E-S-S--until someone is there to share it with you."