Courage of Their Conviction

By Jeremiah T. Kugmeh

This book presents a descriptive picture of a community of people (Tartweh, Drapoh and Jeadepo) who lived in abject poverty, worship other gods and are socio-politically isolated from the rest of the country, Liberia. Lillian, an American Christian Missionary from Washington State had a vision to embark on a mission to reduce illiteracy, mortality and promote Christianity in the region. The gods of the region, led by their chief, who is called Qui and his chief lieutenant name Capu, are mad and vowed to destroy the work of God. Lillian is determined and armed with the power of God. Standing resolutely alongside her are the poorest of the poor children going against the spirits of darkness. Lillian Swanson has passed on to glory almost two decades ago but spiritually empowered inhabitants are on the offensive in the region, the so-called gods are on the run. The sympathizers are calling on the spirits of their ancestors for help. The battle goes on as government and the civil society stand aloof. It is a book that will keep you awake all night long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491833117

Jeremiah T. Kugmeh

BORN ON MARCH 28, 1954 IN THE CITY OF GREENVILLE, LIBERIA, WEST AFRICA. MARRIED AND FATHER OF FOUR CHILDREN. AFTER COMPLETING HIGH SCHOOL, I STUDY CHILD PSYCHOLOGY AND BECAME A SCIENCE TEACHER FOR TEN YEARS. GOT A BACHELOR OF SCIENCE DEGREE IN ECONOMICS AND LATER EARNED A MASTER OF SCIENCE DEGREE IN HUMAN SERVICES AND ORGANIZATIONAL LEADERSHIP, SPRINGFIELD, MA, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. WORKED FOR THE SALVATION ARMY AS INTAKE COORDINATOR AND DRUG AND ALCOHOL COUNSELOR FOR NINE YEARS AND RETIRED. CURRENTLY WORKING FOR RECOVERY INNOVATIONS INTERNATIONAL AS PEER SUPPORT SPECIALIST IN THE STATE OF DELAWARE. I AM ALSO THE GENERAL SECRETARY TO THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF THE REBUILDERS APOSTOLIC MINISTRIES, DELAWARE. AS A FOUNDER AND DIRECTOR OF GLIMPSE OF HOPE INTERNATIONAL, THE ORGANIZATION IS WORKING TO REDUCE OPIOID DEATHS AMONG ADULTS AND YOUNG ADULTS THROUGH PEER SUPPORT, DETOXIFICATION, CAREER COUNSELING, JOB PLACEMENT, FOLLOWUP SERVICES AND HOUSING.

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COURAGE

of their

CONVICTION

JEREMIAH T. KUGMEH

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© 2013 Jeremiah T. Kugmeh. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/21/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3310-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3309-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3311-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013920278

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Background

Dedication

Chapter 1:   The Trigger

Chapter 2:   The Nightmares In Village School

Chapter 3:   The Perils In Liberia Prior To Lillian’s Arrival

Chapter 4:   The Witches

Chapter 5:   Days Of Our Youth

Chapter 6:   Drapoh’s Independent Day

Chapter 7:   Message Of The Drummer

Chapter 8:   The Gods Of Our Parents

Chapter 9:   Sacrifices And Belief System

Chapter 10:   The Path Of Our Ancestors

Chapter 11:   The Divine Rescue Mission

Chapter 12:   Intake Process To The Orphanage

Chapter 13:   Strategy And Sources To Sustain The Orphanage

Chapter 14:   A Visit Still Remembered

Chapter 15:   The Decision To Change

Chapter 16:   The Life Changing Journey

Chapter 17:   The Battle Of The Decade

Chapter 18:   Terror In The Boys’ Dorm

Chapter 19:   The Mission Work

Chapter 20:   Administrative Structure Of The Orphanage

Chapter 21:   The Orphanage Policy And Guidelines

Chapter 22:   Church Services

Chapter 23:   Tempest

Chapter 24:   Another Day Of Pentecost

Chapter 25:   Beginning And The End

Chapter 26:   Fear Of Being Out Of The Box

Author’s Note

INTRODUCTION

A s I peer into life’s retrospective looking glass, my heart is filled with gladness and appreciation to those who made the sacrifice to connect the lost souls in the Southeastern region of Liberia with Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Special thanks to those who lay the foundation upon which the seed of Salvation was planted. The victory over the gods of our fathers and destruction of the ungodly culture undoubtedly can be attributed to the collective courage and conviction of the American Christian Missionaries that settled in the region. The Americans sacrificed their lives, time, and fiscal resources to pull us out of some dire and debilitating circumstances offering us hope for a better future. For the sake of Christ, some of them risk the future of their children and their own lives to bring the Good News. The grace of Almighty God rendered these evangelists the strength and knowledge to partake in this holy mission with unwavering perseverance.

For the reader, you are about to learn how to appreciate the goodness of God and how he miraculously seeks those who are lost and have wandered away from him. His grace fully brings them back in the sheepfold where they receive all the fullness of his blessings, love, and protection. The package of his blessing which is embodied in his plan of salvation contains all the power that man’s mind can never imagine or fathom. Yes, in his salvation plan package, one can find the richness of joy, prosperity, divine protection, healing power and eternal life amongst other things. Thankfully, the blessing of God touches mankind without regard for culture, race, and belief system, color of the skin, nationality, and tribe. Like a spiritual super-hero, God exerted his omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresent supernatural powers to save the people of Drapoh and Jeadepo, in the southeastern Liberia from perishing. Although the tribesmen have names and know the Lord God of Abraham as their true father, a sinful flesh induced spiritual hypnosis causes them to inexplicably serve other gods. They are aware that Jesus is the son of God and the mediator between God and man, yet they sculpted other mediators to intercede for them. They believe in the Trinity and the existence of heaven, hell, and the requirements to make hell or heaven a permanent dwelling place. However, the deceitful man-made luxuries flooded the region and inflicted a mystically disobedient mind-set upon the masses blurring their vision and quest for eternity and salvation.

Not until Lillian Swanson, a Native American had a vision to embark on a complicated spiritual rescue mission for Christ. Her sights were set upon a missionary expedition in southeastern Liberia, West Africa. Her vision is to abolish the ungodly culture. Her goal was to win souls for Christ. Lillian’s strategy is to bring together orphaned children of diverse cultures, tribal backgrounds, and intricate rearing patterns in rural Liberia under one monotheistic belief. The main objective in this holy operative is to spiritually and biblically empower the orphaned youth and effectively over time clear the region of ungodliness, polytheism and establish Christ Jesus as Redeemer and King inviting all to get to know the God who is their true father. The indigenous tribal gods are infuriated by her scheme and they vowed to take action against her. Lillian is determined to bring down the idolatry and worship of synthetic gods in this land. The battle lines are clearly demarcated with Capu and his Chief lieutenant Qui, going against Jesus Christ, the anointed one of the Living God. The orphanage prepares for spiritual and earthly warfare in the midst of tribal hostility and proliferation of tribal gods. Nightmares, death threats, frustration and acute deprivation of every imaginable resource impinge. Yet the orphanage is hard pressed but not crushed because Jesus is the captain.

BACKGROUND

S tanding in front of the ill-fitted Roberts International Airport, in Liberia, I am ready to depart Liberia for the United States of America where the streets are fable to be paved with gold. We hear the gold is imported from South Africa. America is a country where a million dollars is set aside for every American born child. The land is free of illness. America has hospitals that are operated by foreigners who are hired to provide treatment for foreign nationals. Foreign nationals are treated because Americans don’t get sick. We hear there is no other religion except Christianity. My Sunday school teacher defines Christianity as those who are like Christ. If Christ Jesus is the perfect example of righteousness, then all Americans are perfect and know no sin. Knowing all this about America, my family is very much excited about my coming to the United States of America where I will work fewer hours and rake the money to Africa, particularly Liberia, land of the free.

Standing in front of the airport, I can see my siblings crying but inwardly they are very happy and their hearts are overflowing with gladness. As they weep hysterically, my mind is focused on my destiny, America, the great United States where my wife anxiously awaits my arrival. My immediate concern is not about what may befall my Liberian brethren, but instead on the actualization of my American dream. Long since I graduated from college, my next step was to come to America where the land flows with milk and honey. I am sick and tire of eating meals with minimal daily nutritional value. I was certain college was the solution to a happy and prosperous life but thus far it just hasn’t been the case. Now I desire to move to an environment where the cold weather changes the color of skin and where fair labor is practiced.

I stopped briefly to console my family from crying but it was to no avail. They sat on the sidewalks crying as if I had been falsely convicted of a crime, and sentenced to be crucified upside down. I anticipated seeing, touching, and even tasting the mythical American snow shrouding school-houses, cottages, and edifices of democracy. I am anxious also to see the home of the happiest people on the planet. This happiness is as real and evident as express on American faces whenever they walked the rough and coarse streets of Liberia. I can not wait to eat enormous amounts of French fries, chickens, pizza, and dried turkey necks until I resemble as a tic on the verge of internal combustion. Suddenly, I am distracted by airport cargo employees tussling over my baggage for tips. I thank God, I am going to a country where no one asks for, or anticipates tips from customers. Fortunately residents of America can leave their houses and cars doors open with the keys stuck in the lock and go to bed at ease without a worry or care. My inner voice whispers the false truths about this land of milk and honey. The peaceful voice utters reassurances that there is no armed robbery, vandalism, alcoholism nor promiscuity anywhere in the United States. I recalled a story told by a traveler from the United States.

He said, Married men exchange wives for about a week in America because there is no jealousy or envy.

My dominant thoughts are interrupted by the landing of another airplane dumping hundreds of white people onto the Liberian soil, mostly Christian Missionaries, all dressed in white attire depicting the purity of their hearts and conscience.

Finally, all the thinking, conversation and crying are interrupted by a voice emanating from the intercom ordering everybody to embark upon the European aircraft to depart Liberia, referring to my flight. Quickly, I climbed the stairs and boarded the plane and secured a window seat. Soon I ascended towards the heavens. I glanced at the vegetation of Liberia and my heart whispered,

I am coming back to the motherland no matter what. I will get higher education, work hard, save enough money and return home and build the largest hotel, resort and recreation center for all Liberians. After all, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I was not fed with baby bottle milk to remain in America and walk on gold paved highways the rest of my earthly existence.

This nine hour voyage over the Atlantic will be an enormous achievement and a dream come true. From the window seat I glimpse through the window and said my final good byes to Liberia, oh the sweet land of Liberty shall long be ours. I was also saying good bye to the war lords that wrecked the country, and good bye to armed robbers, rampant corruption, cities without electricity or running water, and the underserved marginalized population. If only Liberians could listen to the correct world news, read the right books, the population will be educated enough to bring down any corrupt government through peaceful means. It’s just that simple. Nationwide strike is the answer to the practice of good governance in Liberia. Soon the aircraft made a stop at the Abidjan International airport and then to Cape Verde. At Cape Verde we were searched extensively before being transferred to a larger air craft en route to my final destination, the United States of America. My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth as we flew over the ocean to find the great US of A.

This was an overwhelming and unforgettable experience to endure. Finally, the airplane made a peaceful landing in New York, a place called the Kennedy International Airport. The airport security thoroughly screened the passengers after we exited the plane. Finally I was deemed appropriate as human cargo to traverse the United States without supervision. Hmm, surprise number one, I noticed the streets at the Kennedy International Airport are not paved with gold. As we headed for the State of Delaware surprisingly we were able to travel across states line without being hindered or harassed at security check points.

Impossible, I thought, no one travels from one country to another in Africa without being molested by people calling themselves immigration security, customs officers, state security, and police. Africa has about 53 different countries, 53 different presidents, and 53 different immigration laws. These immigration laws are far from perfect and can cause even the well intentioned law abiding citizen grave discomforts. Riding through the State of New York and New Jerseys to Delaware without being security screened was in indeed amazing to me.

I was told by the passengers on the plane that old man winter and I arrived simultaneously to the northeast corridor of the United States. Now, I am eager to see snow.

There was no gold at John F Kennedy International Airport, I thought maybe the tales of pure white snow were merely fables, too.

The next day my wife announced,

Let’s go shopping!

I didn’t see her with money but we ventured into consumerism together anyway. At the Burlington Coat factory, she directed me to the Men’s Department of the huge department store center to choose some jackets that will protect me against the cold. My lips are dry and chapped already and the cold is finding me in places where I don’t allow people to see. My wife buys me a lipstick, or as they say in the States, a chap-stick, and I don’t know what to make of it until my lips become sore and weather beaten. That is when I embrace my chap-stick lip balm. I am in the country for barely four months and the entire ground and treetops are all covered with snow.

One night, while I was soundly asleep it miraculously happened. Whether, the snow came from the ground or fell from the sky I did not know. I was naive until my wife enlightened me about this chilly photo-synthetic phenomenon. I did not know how to locate the weather channel so we were not fore warned about the impending snow storm on the horizon. We were caught unapprised. We were snowed in with limited food and drinking water and fending around my wife found a turkey at the bottom of the refrigerator. She commenced to set the bird into the hot oven and started baking it. After a few hours of baking, she placed the turkey onto a huge plate and invited us to eat. Perhaps if it was cut into pieces, I would have eaten some if it wasn’t stirring at me like that. But as it was sitting there, whole and intact, I was reserved to drinking water until my belly was full. I don’t like eating turkey with all the wings and feet still intact. Chicken is my friend no matter how it is prepared. Africa is distant far I can’t walk back or simply take a cab to return and report to work with the Evangelicals of Liberia. It seems to me that I am stuck with no return ticket. I came to terms with the fact that I am now in America and more America is in me. Whether America gets me or I get America, time and condition will tell, but I did happen to delight in a meal complimented by turkey from time to time.

A very unfavorable event that occurred on an extremely cold and chilly winter morning in December 2007, in Newark Delaware, is what triggered me to write this book. I had only been in the United States of America for six months and still have not seen any streets that are paved with gold. Instead, I was seeing the other side of America. I was experiencing a more disturbing American reality of which I have not been given any prior knowledge. The news headlines were not encouraging at all especially on the belt way. It was reported that a guy driving a white van was shooting people at random. Truly, America is indeed a great country but the wonders of this great country are often overly exaggerated by some travelers. Over statement of the real America causes millions of Africans to sell all their belongings and obtain traveling visas in order to make America their permanent home. Comparatively, in my opinion, there is some aorta of truth in what is being said about the two continents. Some of what is reported by travelers includes the absence of panhandling, promiscuity, armed robbery, gun-fighting, hunger and unemployment. There are no drug addicts and alcoholics because it is a God fearing and perfect society. It is a society that will feature the majority of believers bound for heaven when Jesus Christ comes for the second time to bring an end to the world. On this particular day, I decide to join a few professional colleagues to offer some psycho-social services to a group of needy individuals in Newark, Delaware in the midst of the cold season, called winter. During this season, summer clothes are replaced with winter clothes in the wardrobes. After the winter season the winter clothes and footwear are taken from the wardrobe and dumped into the basement. Few cycles of these transfers leads the used clothes to be collected and donated to the needy.

Terrified by the cold, I am prodded up with four layers of donated clothes, a pair of sneakers and a winter hat. Strangely, the cold still finds me. On that day, a group of highly psychologically challenged individuals, experiencing a wide range of emotional issues gathered in one room to share their pains, frustration and despair in hope of receiving some form of therapeutic relief. The goal is to initiate a healthy conversation that will generate a pool of ideas intended to foster strength, encouragement and hope. During the group session, those who displayed counter- productive behavioral patterns of denial, rationalization and intellectualization were confronted by their peers in a constructive way.

At 6:00pm on that day it was already as dark as the midnight sky in West Africa. I sit unnoticeably with my hands flopping from my lap to chest, turning and twisting in my seat, patiently listening to prolonged accounts of painful memories of the participants.

Are these people, real Americans narrating stories about their mental monsters? Or is there another America that I haven’t reached? I silently questioned myself. Nonetheless, as I deem it emotionally inviting, I also sojourn with the group in my subconscious mind reflecting on my personal near death path that I and others trod inside the villages and on the orphanage in Southeastern Liberia, West Africa experienced. It appears that someone pains and testimony inside this Freudian circle could be the reminder of my own childhood nightmares. I succumb to an empathic emotional disposition. The optimum purpose in doing so is to capture factors and elements that contributed to their misguided or unguided past. Subsequently, identification and relation to one’s peers in the group germinates coping mechanisms indicating how others successfully emerge from despair to recovery, and in contrast others die before their death and are forced to live through this painful existence. I, quietly without notice evolve from facilitator into peer. I also share in some of their experiences, especially those that have irregular rearing patterns. In the process, I unconsciously unlocked the floodgates of my childhood memories that directly or indirectly shaped my past, and influence my present and future. Suddenly, in my bewilderment, I wind up again in my subconscious mind revisiting the wonderland of rural Liberia (the jungle in the middle of nowhere). Then, I believe that God must be up to something. Yes, God is always up to something…

DEDICATION

T his book is gratefully dedicated to the following American Christian missionaries: The late Lillian Swanson, founder of Doodwicken Orphanage Mission, the late Agnes Carlson Choir Director, late Hannah Knudson, the organist, the late Dorothy Eastburn nurse and school teacher, the late Leona Fields, school teacher who once said Josiah Carter, stop lying because I saw you spying with my own ears. To Rev Gary and wife Carol Hall, whose presence accelerated the quality of the school, spiritually electrified the pulpit for Christ and won the admiration of the tribal people. I will be ungracious not to delightfully include and also dedicate this book to Pastor Anthony G. Sarckor, an outstanding mission boy with a spirit of humanity. He is a former classmate, friend, pastor and a man of astounding spiritual qualities who assisted me with the photographs that form part of this book. I would be remiss not to bestow honor to Pastor Talleyrand C. Saydee, a mission boy indeed. He was a very conservative, mission driven pastor, who truly upholds the true of righteousness as a pillar to serve God. I should also mention the inspiration I received from Joseph K. Nagbe, a mission boy and a dear friend, commonly known as Lucky boy. I say thanks for the help given in times of need. To my Mission sons Junior Jarboe and Freddie Nyesuah, I say thanks for fetching bathing water when I could not make it. To my primary school teachers, Lois Toe James and Ms. Esther Walker Klay, I say thanks for the solid foundation. I also like to dedicate this book to my dear wife Pauline and my daughter Gban who watched from a distance as I pen down the toxic thoughts. To Michael Harris who step up at the last moment to set the language of this book in order. Finally, to all those who passed through the doors of Doodwicken Orphanage Mission, witnessed the fall of ungodly generation and experienced the unforgettable encounter with Christ Jesus, the reigning King, I say let the glory of the Lord be risen in you.

CHAPTER 1

The Trigger

I t was Monday, winter remains at its best for those who love snow and frigid climate, but worst for those who uncomfortably sit home unable to get out to buy something to eat for their family. Snow seems to be everywhere except in the bedroom. The weather reporter keeps giving updates not for the better, but continually predicts worsening weather patterns. I was sick to my stomach because my surroundings were painted with snowflakes. Can it be any worse? I wonder how everybody in the group session will get home when the therapy had ended. As everyone walked into the hall, wet coats, jackets and sweaters are thrown all over the floor leaving behind the flakes of snow that are soon to melt and cause hazard. It seemed the windows were not tightly closed allowing the cold to find its way back into the room where everyone sits. The general body language indicated that something needed to be done to warm up the counseling room. Therefore, by popular demand of the patients, thermostats were turned up to the last digit hoping to provide comfort and a suitable therapeutic learning and counseling environment.

Concentrating on the weather condition, I recalled my initial fall in America’s snow in February 2003, as a welcome treat. It wasn’t cute at all and absolutely nothing to laugh about. I went out to view the beauty and wonder of the Great United States of America and the people. Seeing snow for the first time, I stared from the window overlooking the banister. I also viewed the chain of houses and cars of all shapes and colors in array, quietly asleep and awaiting their owners to dig them out for use. The United States of America has cars that move. In my country, a person can sleep for an hour in the middle of the most popular highway before being awakened by the sound of an old car. Liberia is one of the fewest countries in the world where old wreckage cars are imported without encumbrance. Used parts are used to repair used cars. The cars in the country are dead asleep waiting old parts from other older parts to be repaired. It is called cycle of frustration and despair. They are very old vehicles imported from the European markets. Somebody’s century old car is considered brand new in Liberia. It is the same as an American buying a very old house and bragging about buying a new house. A Liberian businessman buys a $30.00 car and sells it for $1,500.00 to another Liberian. After three to four months of use it breaks down and there exist no parts to repair the automobile. The government is probably unaware that it is time to set standards. Let’s return to my first snow days in America.

Walking in crunchy sounding snow for the first time, I felt very proud and excited about being in the Great United States of America. Full of glee I wished to take a photograph to send back home to family and love ones. Suddenly, I got a bit distracted watching a neighbor struggling to dig out his car from under the snow. As he shoveled, more snow accumulated but he remained persistent. This is typical of some people who keep doing the same thing that fails to produce better results. I descended to the stairs quickly and rushed through the melting snow hoping it will crush underneath my 125 pounds of weight. It was too late to realize that no one other than Americans can walk at a rapid pace when the snow is in process of melting. I suddenly dashed into a robotic dance under watchful eyes of an unknown audience. The soles on my sneakers have insufficient grip and were no match to break through the ice to hold me steady on my feet. Instead, I started playing the early childhood game of sliding undesirably, and to my detriment. My left leg, God forbid slips