Several hundred miles into southeastern Liberia, stands the town of Tuzon, the birthplace of late President Samuel K. Doe who seized power in a military coup in 1980 to engrave Tuzon in the pages of Liberian history.

A hot spot in the 1980s, this town had its flourishing moments, with air crafts landing nearing every half hour as one local puts it, an exaggeration, of course.

Its image, falling from the historic 1980s, made this little village by many standards larger than imagined. Its beauty and splendor were only perceptions. Now, it lays in ruins, the progress it found itself wrapped because the nation's top political leaders [aid their homage here all a thing of the past.

Trekking into this town from Zwedru was out of curiosity of seeing it now and experiencing the unknown. On a motorbike, it took 45 minutes on a rugged road to reach it. But even now, there were warnings from friends of meeting the unexpected. "My man! They will say the people have come again", the people meaning the violent who rendered this little village sunk in the evergreen bush to its present derelict state.

I moved into what could be the town center with anxiety. It was in during evening hours. I spotted many villagers were just returning from their farms. I thought to myself. "At least this is the right time for an opportunity to speak to some of them, hear their experiences, which I imagined would not be pleasant.

Some elders roamed around, as if in search of something. They seemed in their late 60s and earlier 70, but with the harsh condition in which they live, this could be incorrect. I greeted them in the local Krahn language, N a r o t a o u..." giving me the confidence of gaining their immediate trust. After all, language nit people together, enhancing trust even where there should be none. As expected, they responded with laughter and broad smiles, with clear questions about my pronunciation.

My escort, who is a local journalist based in Zwedru, told them about my mission - talking about life and problems in their town. They all consented.

"Life is becoming normal, but we are still suffering," said Mr. Alfred Wright, who introduced himself as cousin of late President Samuel Doe, the best-known native of this town.

Mr. Wright, along with his seven children, lives in the late president's compound here in Tuzon, along with his wife.

The late president's residence was the town's landmark, rising above its little huts like an object from the gods. It looks out of place, strange, in another environment.

It has lost the glamour of its past, standing in ruins and completely dilapidated. The towering savanna grass has invaded it.

Mr. Wright had volunteered to provide an insight of what life is here. Like other parts of the country I have traveled, the problems are the same and the needs, infinite, alike.

"There is no better road; you yourself can see the town condition. So we are trying to be here but it is not just easy my brother," he said, outlining the town's essential needs.

"Our first priority is the bridge. Without the bridge, there will be no business. We are asking NGO to come and assist. We only have one pump in the town; we want medicine for our clinic."

If you visited Tuzon prior to the civil war and now listen to Mr. Wright's tearful appeals, you would know how this town's fortunes have changed. Tuzon is now ground zero.

"Life now in Tuzon can not be the same because when we lost Samuel Doe (President), everything came down," Mr. Wright lamented.

Nearly everyone here still relish those glorious moments when they lived in a mini paradise with a President. The story here is lengthy but the same.

Old man Willie Bruce is one of the respected elders in this town, born here in 1931. With a grim face, he recounted the town's history, which he said was established in the 1920s. He recalled the ecstatic joy and elation when their son, Master Sergeant Samuel K. Doe, announced being the country's president.

"When Doe took over, the whole town was happy. We bought our zinc; we built our houses. When the war came, we ran away; when we came back, rebels spoil all "

He remembered how zinc houses dominated the town, heralding its new status of affluence, as opposed to the scattered thatched huts. Before the town was ravaged, he said he owned two beautiful modern buildings, but now lives in a makeshift thatched hut, something he cannot easily endure.

"I was having two big houses, but they spoiled all," he said, pointing out other things that are missing from the town.

"We cannot get teachers; the teachers here are not good. We have a clinic, but it is not correct; no town hall, no good condition," he said, adding that the high price of rice has reduced them to eating wheat.

"When you want [to] eat rice, you [have to] pay your way to go to Zwedru to buy one cup for $25; we are not able to do that, so we eat our wheat "

This town has an estimated 4,0000 inhabitants, I was told. Whatever the situation might be, the actual reality here is that the town is dying and the people are struggling with life. They need help from every dimension to start life following the civil war, which sent them in exile as refugee and had their homes destroyed.

I toured the town, I saw abject poverty all over, hardly a place of a former President of the republic. Once a lively town, now a hamlet replete with red and brown mud huts.

But Tuzon is yet another example of how history so quickly fades once the looming personality is off the scene. One wonders what this place would be like had history remained static, something inconceivable.