And more.........

Up-country Sierra Leone [or more specifically in Kenema in the Eastern Province of Sierra Leone] was less humid (minimally so) then what we first experienced when we arrived in-country in Freetown. On July 5, 1968 our 1st day in Sierra Leone when we were hustled to Fourah Bay College in an atmosphere of artificially created xenophobia. As noted in a previous post, we had landed at Lungi Airport outside Freetown, this despite our pilot being told that we were not given permission to land for what were unclear reasons. For 3 hours we sat in the plane, on the tarmac, waiting to disembark. Periodically, heavily armed soldiers would board the plane and walk down the isle with their rifles or machine guns in hand, and occasionally snooping through our belongings. We were all so new to West Africa. None of us were either anxious or worried about what was going on around us. I think I just assumed that this was the way things happened here and left it at that. There were negotiations. The director of Peace Corps - Sierra Leone, Joe Kennedy (no relation to JFK) was on board with us and I suspect that he and other officers on board negotiated safe transit to Fourah Bay. After this prolonged delay, we were hustled from Lungi to Fourah Bay - a distance of perhaps 20 miles. I remember the intense humidity....it was not overly hot since our transport was accomplished at night. I do remember getting our bed sheets as we were assigned quarters in a dormitory. Everything was moist - the sheets, the towels, our clothes. The next day we awoke to beautiful views of Freetown from our windows - but we were warned not to venture down there as the local newspapers (The Daily Mail and other papers) were reporting government fed news stories that Freetown had been invaded by "white mercenaries." I think we all realized what was going on and although we heeded the warnings not to stray to Freetown (at least for the immediate period) - we all knew of the recent series of coups that had burdened the country, and that this spread of mercenary rumors was most likely meant to try and unify folks and also to create a smokescreen that would distract folks from some of the actual politics that were going on. While we began our training up above Freetown at Fourah Bay - the noise below of Freetown intrigued most of us. It was clear that this mercenary business was no threat to us. Prominent Sierra Leoneans from the ministry of education came to welcome us and talk to us. The warm greetings alleviated any minimal worries that any of us had. July was at the height of the Rain Season - and Freetown could get 200 inches of rain during this May to October period. When the sun was out it got very hot. Even when it was not raining the humidity was high - and when rain came - often twice daily - it came in buckets. Up at Fourah Bay sitting in the mountains surrounding Freetown you felt at times as if you were right in some of the storms. We all purchased wonderfully colored umbrellas both for the almost incessant rains but also to block out the hot sun. And we got on with our training in language - taught to us by Fourah Bay College students (Francis Baryoh and Clifford Roberts come to mind as our language instructors in those days). They taught us the lingua franca of Sierra Leone - Krio, and they taught us well using the Rassias method of language instruction. The repetitive nature of this technique was ideal for me - and I caught on quickly to Krio. After our move down to Freetown families (a week after arrival) we had numerous chances both to practice what we were learning and to be taught additional Krio expressions. Our family in Freetown (at #77 Pademba Road) was the Nelson-Williams family. Lottie Nelson-Williams was our host (her husband Claude was taken political prisoner during the April coup and we never met him). Our quarters with the family were spartan. Our house was a typical Freetown wooden structure in a crowded and wonderful neighborhood. Our room was on the 2nd floor (on the first floor below us was a photo store). The steep stairway from the street led to our hallway at the first landing, and on the right as you faced the street was our room that opened up both to the rear and an overview of the open kitchen and back, and a front door to our room that opened up onto a porch that looked out on the street. Mrs. Nelson-Williams was a wonderful host. Our 1st meals - she cooked them for us - were much too European in that she saw to it that we had food that we were used to. Our introduction to African chop was slow - and of course the last thing we wanted was to pick up something that might make us ill. So we worried in those days about what we ate and watched out for the uncooked foods and water that was from the tap. It took several months to become accustomed to the hot pepper and the various typically Sierra Leone dishes - and we eased into the local cuisine slowly but steadily. However it was not long before I became a fan of the food (and the pepper) and we only ate African chop. Our stay with the Nelson-Williams family was a meaningful introduction to city life in Freetown. The wonderful neighborhoods were crowded, at times noisy, with wonderful charcoal smells from the many outdoor kitchen fires. Form our veranda we looked out (and above) all the bustling of the busy Pademba Road. Diagonally across from us was a church where on occasion we would watch wedding celebrations out in the street. To our far right as we looked out was the mysterious Pademba Rd prison where our host's husband (Claude Nelson-Williams) was incarcerated. Lottie rarely spoke of him. In fact she rarely spoke politics - although from time to time I remember her letting us know that the reason for his incarceration was political and that he was a political prisoner. Each morning - from our Pademba Road home we would catch public transport to the special summer school created in Freetown by the ministry of education for our teacher's training. Here we met and discussed education on Sierra Leone and taught school kids. Our instructors were teachers and administrators from Sierra Leone in addition to Peace Corps volunteers who had already been teachers in-country. The schools were well-organized and helpful. For 4 weeks we taught 5 days a week - our afternoons spent each day in Krio language training. We went our free time seeing the sites. An especially popular site was Lumley Beach where there was a beautiful tropical beach and where you could conveniently swim in the Atlantic. At then end of 4 weeks with our Freetown families we said our goodbyes and headed on to Njala - several hours to the east for more training (again in language and in agriculture).

memories cont'd....

perhaps there is someone out there who can give me the names of each person in these pictures - please help fill in the blanks

pictures can be enlarged by clicking on them

in the above photo taken at Pujehun - the Kenema TTC plays Pujehun (1969). In this Photo (in white uniforms) are Juliana Bio (with the ball) and Dolly Peters (on right). I am refereeing (in the background) -

found the above picture of the Kenema Teacher's Training College Netball Team - 1969. This was taken at Pujehun prior to a match there. I had not remembered that I had this picture -

can anyone help me with ALL the names of students in these pictures?

ceremony prior to netball match between HRSS-Kenema and HRSS-Pujehun at Pujehun (above)

taken at Pujehun - 1969 (above)

above: Elizabeth Sama, Cecilia Banya, Agnes Bundu, Josephine ?, Cecilia Ngegba, Mary Fortune, Jalahan Sesay, ?, Agnes ?

The cheer probably had its origin in a nursery rhyme that I had learned as a child - but of this I am not sure. But that "itsy-bitsy wotten..." cheer became our netball team's end of the game tradition - and the team members performed it after every match - win or lose. And with each performance there was a dancing component and lots of fun. I am not sure that they really liked doing the cheer - but what they did like was the beat and rhythm of it all - they just wanted something to make their effort stand out and this seemed to do the job. As netball coach - in those days I think I was the only netball coach in the Eastern Province of Sierra Leone - I would run twice weekly, after school practices in which I made sure that anyone who wanted to be on the team was a member. As I learned the rules I also became the referee for any matches that we had. A conflict of interest? I guess so. But although the players could be quite competitive on the pitch - they did not take this game with all that much seriousness - they had it in perspective. Often, I heard them do another cheer as they walked off the netball court - "we win them for nothing." This has been explained to me in a variety of ways - but win or lose - the students on our team seemed to be able to leave the game on the pitch and not be either upset or overly ecstatic about the outcome. Was I a good coach? Unlikely. But the importance as I saw it was team work, and cooperation, and activity designed to give our school a sense of identity - and at least at this the whole effort was successful. Our competition, primarily with the HRSS in Pujehun was fairly even. My TTC Team also played the Pujehun TTC - and surprising to me - the TTC team was very good, a bit more serious than my HRSS students, and very competitive. The TTC students were older (in their twenties) and many of them knew the game well. As with the HRSS students anyone who wanted to play was placed on the team. The TTC squad was very aggressive and primed to beat their Pujehun rivals. Some of the members that I remember included Juliana Bio, Josephine Jones, Cecilia Jah, Mary John, and others - I regret that I can not remember all the team members. I do have a picture which I will post, of them at play (in Pujehun). The HRSS-Kenema team had members such as Princess Bundu, Agnes Bundu, Cecilia Banya, Jalahan Sesay, and others. I do have a team picture of them that I will eventually post.

There were a number of funny experiences that I had as a non-Catholic , essentially secular teacher at HRSS. I remember one morning, just prior to the primary school singing their morning songs that a very young primary student approached me as I was heading to school. She was small, very cute, and clearly wanted to say something to me as we were passing. I stopped and she proceeded to look me in the eye, hands together as if in prayer, and she said, "good morning sister (or sistah)."

I have been unable to remember all the names of students pictured above. If there is someone out there who may be able to help in this regard I would appreciate it. Thanks

More Memories continued

I remember the school fees for a year in those days running as high as 150 Leones - which for many families was a good portion of a year's earnings. Students at HRSS - Kenema were like students anywhere. But one thing I remember is how very happy they seemed, troubled mainly by perhaps an occasional bout of malaria, but for the most part fun-loving, inquisitive, and enjoyable to teach. I taught general science using the syllabus from the Sierra Leone department of education, but found it stifling and too oriented to the United Kingdom. As a result I added additional parts of my own design, dealing with the local flora and fauna, and frequently laced with the names that they all knew. Our school garden which I initiated was made up of both local produce and this was harvested by some of the class. I remember one of the students, Sabina Tucker, was especially hard working in this regard. Sabina was a better than average student, and a wonderful person. Friendly, inquisitive, and with a wonderful smile and sense of humor, she wanted to know about us (Susan and I), and our families, what it was like where we lived, and was puzzled by what let us leave our homes to come teach so far from our families. Sabina was one of the most enthusiastic about the school garden. There were others as well.

I remember many of the names of our students from that time, but not all. Our time spent in a typical school day was about 5 hours - then the students would be dismissed to go back to their homes in Kenema where they either lived or were boarding. It was rare to see them in Town as most went home to do chores. The netball team did practice a few times a week after school hours. On weekends we would travel usually to Pujehun to play the HRSS-Pujehunteam. This was a several hour trip by school van to the Southern Province where my teams (both HRSS and the TTC) would play comparable Pujehun teams. I remember us being pretty successful in those years. And I remember the girls at our school on the netball team being competitive. Winning was important but losing was not a big deal. They seemed to have things in perspective. A trip to Pujehun might start at 8am - we'd arrive in Pujehun about mid-day, play the games and then return to Kenema by 6 pm. These were always friendly matches - and a cheer that I taught our team was always said at the end of the game. I do not remember where my cheer came from but the girl's seemed to love it and as they sung the cheer they would dance about - making the end both fun and festive. The cheer went: itsy - bitsy - wotten - dotten - bo bo - skiwotten dotten - bo bo skiwotten dotten - eh eh eh eh. They would go through this chant several times as they danced about on the netball pitch. It was such fun watching them take this cheer that I had somehow remembered from my youth, and put it together so beautifully. Anyway

Peace Corps in Up-country Sierra Leone

Here we were with university educations just under our belt, and off to a small West African country to do in-country training for two months and then begin two years of teaching.  I had had friends who had worked in Nigeria but no other connections to West Africa. And I knew very little about the country, Sierra Leone, where I was going. In the late 1960's there had been some political trouble with several coups upsetting the political balance. But the country, in those days, was at peace, and although from time to time, an undercurrent of trouble was apparent, for the most part, the minimal trouble that we witnessed was never directed at us (foreigners). The two major actors were the political parties SLPP and the APC. In the area of Kenema was a hotbed for the SLPP. When I listened to talk and poltics there was always grumbling about the APC (the party in power when we were there - a party led by Prime Minister Siaka Stevens). Our job was secondary school education and as an off-shoot of this teacher's training at the Kenema TTC which in those days stood on the same campus as HRSS-Kenema. We were assigned to the HRSS-Kenema as the Peace Corps saw to it that requests for teachers were matched. My assignment was to teach science and math (they called it maths), and the sister principal assigned me to also teach a sport I knew nothing about - a sport called netball. Luckily, in this regard, I had students from the schools (HRSS and the TTC) who knew the game. I read a sports book about the rules. I became head netball coach the day we arrived.

HRSS-Kenema was in those days a new Catholic Mission school for the education of young women. For the most part in those days the students came from either the Kenema Area or at least nearby Kenema. Some boarded in town although their homes might be several hours away by public transport. In those first years none of the HRSS students boarded at school, the only boarders being the last few classes of the TTC - a school that was being fazed out. I remember the first year having very small numbers of student - perhaps 35 or so. I taught general science, ran a small school garden, ran the physical education program and coached, and taught math. My students were great fun to teach. Hard workers, limited somewhat by language. When there were times that I used Krio or Mende (or even Temne expressions) they would laugh (the principal would frown). These students were 13 and 14 years old, well dressed in their maroon and gold uniforms, and although at times frustrated by the rigors of starting a new school, they enjoyed being at secondary school. School fees were severe for most - yet somehow these young women's families came up with the fees for both their education and their uniforms.

Momoh, Mansaray, and Senesi

Our Dama Rd neighborhood was made up of a mix of folks from nightwatchmen at Forest Industries (Pa Garlough), to laborers (Patrick Garlough), to the head of the area Bondo (Mama Hokey Kemoh), to schoolboys and also schoolgirls. Across from us lived Momoh and Mansaray Vandy and Senesi Edward Lahai - all were schoolboys at Holy Trinity Secondary School of Kenema. Momoh and Mansaray came from east of Kenema - I think the Kailahun area and boarded in Mama Hokey's house (#55 Dama Rd). Senesi was small - I think he had been ill as a child and was certainly smaller then his piers. He was very personable, funny, and did very well in school. He also enjoyed coming by our house to talk and from time to time he would accompany me on one of my hikes to local villages such as Foindu. Senesi's roommates were Mansaray and Momoh Vandy. Mansaray was the more serious of the brothers but both were fun loving and not averse to playing practical jokes - one which backfired on them. This involved their teaching me Mende "greetings" which when I tried them out on their host mother across the road (Mama Hokey) led to her going into her room, getting a soft stick, and then wacking the boys with it. She was immediately aware of what had transpired when I used these so called greetings on her. And the boys paid the price for their prank. What they had really taught me was some of the most vulgar of Mende expressions - and it was Mama Hokey who was horrified by their teaching me this. For me - after the initial silence following my 'greetings' - I realized what had happened. Of course the boys never imagined that I would remember, never mind use the 'greetings." Boys will be boys - no matter where you live.

One other event comes to my memory - when I told Mansaray that I could cut hair (and give him a haircut). I honestly thought I could, that is until I ended up butchering his hair in the process. He was not very happy with the result and to be honest, neither was I. As I went about cutting his hair, Momoh and Senesi looked on somewhat in horror. Oh well - at least there was no permanence to what I had done and Mansaray's hair eventually grew back and the patches that I had created filled in. In those days the boys were about 14 years of age - which if they are still alive makes them about 55 years old now. I wonder how these "boys" are now doing.

Thoughts about those years (1968-1970)

When I arrived in Sierra Leone I was 22 years and 2 months old. I was excited about the prospects of being in Sierra Leone, and of learning as much as I could about the country. I had done some reading about Sierra Leone before leaving the U.S. but this was limited and only partially helpful. My job was secondary school teacher and with my wife (who was also assigned to teach secondary school) I vividly remember when our assignment was announced and we headed off (from the end of our training at Njala University College (Agriculture) on an all-day lorry ride to Kenema. We arrived and found the then Eastern Province Peace Corps Director Jim Alrutz, who took us up to meet and check in at our new Kenema school. We were excited to be part of a new school just getting off the ground - we had about 35 students in our first form. The school in those days seemed well-equipped and in great condition - the Catholic Mission really kept the place looking pristine. And our quarters on the school compound were very livable and comfortable. We felt far away (from home) but the two months that we had already spent in-country helped to minimize this transition. Kenema seemed big, perhaps a bigger town that we had wanted to be stationed in, but we lived on its edge, and in a neighborhood that we called Dama Road - on the road headed to Dama Chiefdom, the next chiefdom to our south and about 10 or 12 miles. Our neighborhood was made of haphazardly arranged houses made mostly of either earth (mud) or of cement brick covered with a wall coating of cement. Many of the houses lined Dama Rd. or were irregularly spaced behind and down a gentle slope to the north of the road. The Kambuii Hills - about 2 miles to our north - dominating the northern sky. And to our west and north the town of Kenema could be seen from our house. It was from here - about one mile from our house that 5 times a day the call to prayer from the Kenema Mosque could be heard. And if you looked carefully you could see the smoke rising from Kenema kitchens. To get to Kenema was a pleasant walk from the plateau where we lived down to the flat that was Kenema, by a swamp filled with rice to our right and a pasture with Pa Maju's cows (he was the Fula section chief) to our left. Kenema was busy during the day with many of the Lebanese, Syrian, and Indian stores monopolizing the economy. The big Kenema market was beyond the post office and here we could get bags of rice, various vegetables for sauces, and variety of herbs, and at times beef. Many times we had beef delivered by Amadu Bah (Pa Maju's son) - they ran a beef business of sorts. Kenema had a thriving commerce in those days from the general stores where you could get fabric, shoes, and clothes - to the waundering Fula or Mandingo salesmen selling tye-died or wax prints. These could be made into shirts or dresses by very creative tailors. There were a few stores for "Europeans" that had imported food from Europe. Kenema had a few banks (Bank of Sierra Leone/Barclays), a movie theater that showed grade B Italian cowboy movies (such as Jango Strikes Back). About once a month we would walk the two miles or so to the movie theater to see these very limited movies.

Going Home

I hear from Sierra Leonean friends who have been living in the States now for almost 35 years that they are readying to retire and plan on returning to Sierra Leone now that things are peaceful there. They came to the states before the decade war and settled in Brooklyn. When schooling seemed necessary they had seen to it that with hard work and perseverance they got what they needed. They even became U.S. citizens and raised their children here - some who were born in Sierra Leone and others who were born in Brooklyn. Their life was not extravagant in Brooklyn. They became Americans yet remembered their roots. At home Mende was spoken and their children spoke their native Mende and spoke English like Americans. Their children thrived in high school and went on to get degrees in higher education. The parents have good jobs as do the children now. Each year or so the parents have been able to vacation back in Sierra Leone where they now have several homes and where they have sophisticated farms where they raise coffee among other crops. They have become used to the cold of a winter in New York - they now know snow, and ice something that in Sierra Leone they for the most part only read about. They enjoyed the things in America that can be enjoyed, and yet through all those many years - somewhere inside - was the respect for their roots and the hope to return at sometime. At their jobs they earned adequate salaries and saved considerably. There were times when some of this money was sent home to help out family members. In New York they joined others from Sierra Leone in clubs established by the Sierra Leone diaspora. These clubs became ways by which feelings and memories could be kept close and by which their best traditions could be to some degree a part of their American experience. At home they ate Mende chop and as noted proudly spoke their Mende language. Their children or grandchildren played baseball or football (American). And now, ready to retire they hope to return home to upcountry Sierra Leone, to the heat that is a part of life in West Africa, and to the latterite soil, the thick bush, and a life that they once lived and never forgot despite the years.

Peace Corps Years 1968-70

For anyone interested - I am showing about 40 of my pictures from my Peace Corps years at a show at the Norwich Public Library in Norwich, Vermont. The show will begin in January 2012. Come by and have a look.