A Time That Was…: A Peace Corps Volunteer’S Experience of Pre-Revolutionary Liberia, West Africa, 1962-1964

By Philip S. Salisbury

The author worked and vacationed in Liberia and West Africa from 1962-1964 and 1964 respectively. The author kept a diary for most of his stay. This book reveals the day-to-day life of a Peace Corps volunteer as well as the experiences of students and villagers. The experiences are both diverse and unexpected. Reading these diaries results in a fair perspective on the volunteers life and times. Furthermore, it provides many insights into Liberia, Americo-Liberian culture, life up-county, or life in the interior. This book carries the reader from experience to experience. Youll have a hard time setting it down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493196012

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Philip S. Salisbury.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014906410

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-9602-9

                 Softcover         978-1-4931-9603-6

                 eBook               978-1-4931-9601-2

Topographic map of Liberia by Oona Räisänen (Mysid). This file is licensed under the Creative Commons. Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported, 2.5 Generic, 2.0 Generic and 1.0 Generic license.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 07/02/2014

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface & Introduction

Deciding, Training, Departing, and Arriving

Going to Our Posts

The Setting in Liberia

Settling In

School Starts

Life Becomes Normalized

Life Continued

Tricks of the Trade

More Adventures

The Hike Across the Interior

Leading Up to the Unification Council

The Unification Council

After the Unification Council

Wet Season Assignment

Back in Sielo

Vacation Time

Farming

Post-Vacation Stories & Rumors

Kissi Culture and Practices

Going Home

Postscript

Appendicies

Appendix A—Cast of Characters

Appendix B—Liberian Languages

Appendix C—Mr. George Pawa’s Letter from the

States to Phil Salisbury in Sielo

Appendix D—Teacher Salary Schedule in Liberia 1963

Appendix E—The Names of Paramount and

Clan Chiefs of Kolahun District and Their Villages

Appendix F—Kissi Words

Appendix G—Kissi Girl and Boy Names

Appendix H—Elevations

First Edition: . . . . 2014

Other books by Mr. Salisbury

The Current Economic Crisis and the Great Depression

Xlibris

Economic Crisis: Causes and Policy Options

University Press of America

(in process)

I’m FED UP with the Tea Party!

Infinity Press

Dedicated to Liberians, Liberia’s students, their teachers, and

all past and present Peace Corps Staff and Volunteers

A special tribute to the pioneers of Liberia One

Acknowledgements

I acknowledge the Peace Corps volunteers, Peace Corps management, and trainers of Liberia One. This was something that had not been done before. There was no path to follow. There is always an excitement about first time adventures. This was no different.

A special thanks go to the two editors and critics of a second-draft that was in need of much editing… Reverend Emeritus John Glosser and Professor Emeritus Phillip M. Gregg.

As I remain the responsible party, all errors, omissions, and mistakes are mine alone.

Preface & Introduction

It was a time of promise and excitement. In the early 1960’s President Kennedy proposed a bold initiative termed the Peace Corps. It was a new concept in person-to-person on-the-ground diplomacy that appealed to the idealism and adventurism of persons of all ages. This book is a summary of experiences and adventures that reveal much about a Peace Corps volunteer and a culture that was. The nation that existed from 1962-1964 was peaceful and stable under the rule of Liberian President William V. Tubman.

The first Liberian Civil War (1989-1996) occurred during the post-presidential years of William V. Tubman and Samuel Doe. The stable life of an authoritarian government based on privilege came crashing down, but not before significant change had occurred. The overthrow of the Doe presidency occurred at the hands of the National Patriotic Front with Charles Taylor as its leader. After the Liberian Civil War in 1997 Charles Taylor forced his election to the Liberian presidency. His control extended over large parts of Liberia.

Fortunately, I did not have to deal with this war trauma, its incidence, its immediate consequences, or its aftermath. This book is written about a time that preceded this sorrowful history. The diary covers the period from July 1962 through July 1964. It was a stable period that remained so under President Tubman’s authoritarian control until his death in 1971.

For any of their faults and for all of their uniqueness, the people, the cultures, and the societies of Liberia did not deserve what was to come. This book is about a more peaceful time, about a nation and its peoples who were emerging from naiveté and struggling with modernité. The diversity of cultures ranged from the modern in Monrovia, to the mining camps in Bong Mountain, to the agrarian in rice farming regions, to the hunter-gatherers in the interior.

This book highlights events, which if taken and applied to a city in the United States (U.S.) of fifty to one hundred thousand people, would be par for the course. Look at your nightly news and view the reporting of unusual events. Events such as kidnappings, floods, crimes, and adventurers captured in the wilderness are frequent occurrences in the U.S. The use and abuse of power occur here as well. A recent news report indicated that the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had one hundred eighty incidents, including eighty murders, involving FBI agents. The FBI self-investigated and found that in all of the incidents the FBI was cleared. Of course the FBI investigated itself in all cases. Numerous other examples of police brutality, abuse of power, spying on Americans, and stop and frisks make the similarity in cultural context and day-to-day events eerily similar.

I and my housemates were close to the reality of everyday life. The human communication system replaced the need for electronic devices. One was curious about the ability of a village and its residents to know where you had just been. In the end it was all about relationships… for the Liberians as well as the Peace Corps volunteers.

In the pages that follow, I present a rewrite of my journal entries. Despite gaps in coverage, I made an effort to recall days that were not written about. My purpose is to communicate the experiences, thoughts, and feelings off a twenty-two year old who was encountering his first experience in an unknown culture as well as provide a sense of the services I rendered to the Peace Corps mission in Liberia.

Chapter 1

Deciding, Training, Departing,

and Arriving

I was an angry young man. The year was 1961 and college was a foreign environment for me. The relationship between what was being taught and the issues in the world was tenuous at best. The summer of my sophomore year I had spent working at an agricultural experimental station in Geneva, New York. There, a professor at the experimental station had been visiting Guatemala for an in-country-survey. He met with officials in Guatemala to determine whether the Peace Corps should send a contingent of volunteers there. He encouraged me to join. My junior year of attendance at college got in the way, although I must say it was appealing. I submitted an application to the Peace Corps to cover my bases.

The relevance of college life continued to be a struggle for me. The first semester passed slowly. The second semester continued at its usual pace until I received a phone call. The call was an invitation to Peace Corps training in the Cameroons. Going would have meant forfeiting over three-fifths of a semester of work at college. I worried that I might not receive an additional invitation to another country. After considering the options, I decided to forego the invitation to the Cameroons. The costs were too great. I remained disappointed.

Approximately three weeks before the end of the semester I received a second invitation to Peace Corps training for Liberia, West Africa. I consulted my parents. They thought it best that I complete college and then go. The Dean of Students thoroughly questioned me on my motives and thought it was important that I finish my degree. I decided to go to training at the University of Pittsburgh starting June 6, 1962.

It was a short time between returning home from college and departing for Pittsburgh. The training at the University of Pittsburgh was diverse. An expert of the tribal languages of Liberia demonstrated how three major West African language groups met in Liberia. One of them, Belle, seemed to have no relationship to the surrounding languages. Classes were given on the U.S. Constitution, teacher training, lesson planning, classroom teaching experiences, physical education, country studies, geography, and socio-metric tests. In addition to the classroom work, there was the anticipation that permeated advancing moments towards departure time. The group developed an esprit de corps and a camaraderie that was to last well beyond the in-country years.

The end of the U.S. based training program was welcomed by all. Individuals headed back to his or her home to pack for overseas. The travel allotment was one freight chest and one suitcase. The suitcase went with you while the freight chest was to follow later. Leaving home was difficult for me. I left a grandmother who had been a mentor and a steadying influence to me. She taught me basic math and mental quickness through games. Her space on the first floor of a large farmhouse was a safe-haven when things did not go well.

After crying all the way to the Rochester airport, I boarded the plane for New York City (NYC). All Liberia I volunteers gathered at the LaGuardia airport in NYC, where we boarded a DC-8 four engine propeller-driven airplane. The plane engines coughed into a fluid sound that would soon taxi us into take off position. I could not see the runway ahead. The engines revved up and the plane labored to gain speed. The runway apron passed with increasing speed by my window. The engine’s sound reached a steady roar followed by a high-pitched whine and seemed to remain there for a time that was too long. A number of hands gripped seat-arms, as if to assist in lifting the plane off the ground. A lift into the air was felt, and the end of the runway disappeared under the plane in a moment that was so instantaneous that it promoted an internal sigh.

I had a window-seat that allowed me to see the afternoon turn into dusk and then darkness. The window-seat gave me a bird’s-eye view of the engine’s exhaust spewing clear blue flames in the dark. Initially upset by this sight, I became accustomed to the blue flame by the time we reached the Azore Islands in the mid-Atlantic.

The descent and landing on the Azores’ airport was a welcome relief. Tired legs walked down stairs onto a tarmac with scattered lighting. The cool night air awoke those who had been napping and hoping for deep sleep. Some walked, some stretched, and all found enjoyment in the coolness of the moments they had until returning to the plane.

The flight continued towards the African coast. The flight plan called for arriving at the coast of West Africa and following it south to Liberia. By the time we had arrived at the African west coast the night had receded. The plane’s flight speed eastward made it a short night. Eager to see the flight’s end, people crowded to see land. Excitement increased as the outlines of the African west coast became visible.

The continuation of the trip south seemed interminable. We had reached the West African Coast. How long could it be until we arrived at Robert’s Field in Liberia? It seemed like ages. One was tempted to ask the age-old question, Are we there yet? The time came. The big bird’s tires screeched as they hit the runway. Taxiing from the end of the runway to the arrival gate, Peace Corps volunteers throughout the plane could be found freshening make-up, putting on suit coats, combing hair, and generally making themselves presentable. The departure door opened. Suddenly, the cabin air became a humid bath. For those stationed on coastal Liberia, it was a preview of their environment to be.

Exiting the plane, it became immediately obvious that there was a reception line. The line of volunteers moved slowly, but deliberately. Greeters included our in-country staff, many Liberian officials, embassy representatives, and Liberian Senate and House representatives. The plane-load of approximately 98 volunteers gradually made it though the reception line. Buses took volunteers with their luggage to the Booker T. Washington Institute in Kakata.

A full week of festivities followed. Volunteers were assigned to the homes of embassy staff and in-country personnel. There were presentations by Liberian officials and academics. The highlights of the week were meeting with President Tubman and a Presidential dance. President Tubman was a man of short, but imposing stature. As we were to learn he was a tight-fisted ruler, but was wise in that he was gradually guiding his country to a more modern day. The Presidential Welcoming Dance consisted of dancing to a live African high-life band. We were not trained in high-life dancing in Pittsburgh, but the sweat on many brows and the post-midnight hour of the party’s finish were evidence that we had adapted.

A general sentiment began to emerge. We volunteers were ready to go to our posts and start work. Any additional delay would be unnecessary and frivolous.

The day for assignments came and mysteries were both dispelled and heightened. We now knew where we would go, but there was still the mystery of what would meet us there. For those going up-country there would be the brand-newness of the trip, the arrival, and adapting to new people in a new environment. We were on our way to adventure.

Chapter 2

Going to Our Posts

The day came. Clyde Titus and I were assigned to the village of Sielo. It was the northwestern—most Peace Corps outpost. Sielo was located approximately fifteen miles from the Sierra Leone border (to the northwest) and fifteen miles to the west of Kolahun. The time for loading our assigned Jeep had arrived. Four suitcases and some food and provisions filled the available storage space behind the back seat. The process of loading began early in the morning. Two female volunteers (now Kaye Grahl and Dorrie Dodge) would ride as far as Kolahun. Kolahun was located on the main road that traced a path north from Monrovia, splitting off to the left (going north-northwest) at Gbarnga, going on to Voinjama, and turning west (left) to Kolahun, and Sielo. The map showed towns, cities, roads, and railroads (the spelling of names was only accurate by chance and pronunciations were likely subject to error). See the Map that follows.

Clyde drove. After we left Monrovia the roads quickly turned into the red-rusty clay. The red-rusty clay roads continued to our destination. The roads were domed with contoured side gutters for the country’s plentiful rain. As we were to find, the roads were graded occasionally to forestall or repair the development of rain damage and gullies. The scenery was ever-changing. Along the coast every building was made of galvanized tin sheet structures or masonry and tin-roof structures. The area near coastal land was dominated by grass and palm trees. The soil was too infertile to support good crops. Even up-country the soil was rotated into multiple off years of fallow. Swamps were the exception as they bore annual crops of rice.

There were large gaps between signs of residences and signs of human activity. Despite this, the road had either been designed to connect towns and centers of human activity, or humans had been attracted to the road. The drive continued to Kakata where we disembarked to have refreshments and sandwiches at a roadside restaurant owned and operated by an Americo-Liberian couple who had migrated from the U.S. in protest of the pervasive discrimination. Little did I know at the time that later the Stuarts were to become essential participants in a student project I was to mentor. The couple who ran the establishment was delighted to meet us. When we made trips to and from Monrovia in the future their restaurant and hospitality became a welcome and mandatory stop.

Map.jpg

Courtesy of Wikipedia, Map of Liberia

We continued on. Frequent palm trees and areas of brush randomly spotted the flat, but slowly elevating, landscape that was passing by. The novelty of the current scenery wore off. We eventually came to a fork in the road. The village of Gbargna was a demarcation of access to upcountry Liberia with Lofa County to the west and Bong County and the Bong Mountains to the east. Clyde steered the Jeep an eighth of a turn to the left and it seemed that an important portion of our trip had been completed. In fact, we were less than half-way to our posts.

The wooded roadsides consisted of randomly scattered brush and trees. About half-way to Voinjama the roadside changed into thick forest shading the road. The forest and its trees seemed to go on forever. All became weary of the bouncy ride. We stopped and got out to stretch our legs. Both we and our Jeep were dwarfed by the trees lining the graveled red clay road. Stretching was the practice of the moment. Soon we got back in and continued on the graveled red clay road.

Our next stop was the village (maybe town) of Voinjama. The road took a ninety-plus degree turn to the left (west). The town was a mixture of road-front; tin-roofed stores operated by Lebanese entrepreneurs, government buildings (a school, offices of a regional superintendent of education, and a large generator that supplied nighttime power). Away from the road, behind the merchant buildings were cone-peaked, palm-roofed, mud and stick structures. These were the homes of the families of children and young adults who were to be taught by Peace Corps volunteers.

Clyde drove through Voinjama as we peered at the roadside structures and their background. The town was a large area carved out of the bush. A large area of low-growth bush isolated the structures that made up the town from the taller forest. Passage through Voinjama created some excitement for us. There would be volunteers there. Were we seeing a preview of what would be our posts?

Moving forward, it was apparent that a large fringe of the forest around Voinjama had been cut down for farms. Much was fallow; a smaller part was being used for the current planting of rice. The road to come was a course of knolls, hills, and valleys with occasional stretches of level land. Later we would discover that there were a few villages well-off of the road, and hidden. The stretch to Kolahun would seem overly long. Finally, we arrived and obtained the key to Dorrie and Kaye’s house from the local school principal. The house had a front porch on it that overlooked a cleared valley and the District Commissioner’s office and house on the top of an opposing hill.

Clyde and I continued the fifteen-plus miles on to our post and house at Sielo. We passed Foya Kamala (known as the field). The Kissi Paramount Chief had the foresight to have created an airstrip out of the bush. It was large enough to comfortably land a DC-3. We were to find out later that he purchased a bulldozer and had it brought in from Sierra Leone. This accounted for the many roads in his Chiefdom. On Saturdays there was also a major market at the field. The field served as a center for several shops. All were proximate to a Swedish Pentecostal Mission with a clinic, church, an accompanying nurse, Pastor, and family.

On the road at Foya Kamala was a gate attended by a Liberian soldier. The purpose of this gate remained a mystery to Clyde and me for the duration of our stay. We do admit to being delayed there on several occasions. We speculated that it served as an important source of dashes (tips or bribes) for attending Liberian soldiers. This time, the gate opened promptly and we proceeded west-northwest for approximately one mile down a road lined by grasses of all heights and graded red dirt.

Seeing our house from the road, Clyde turned into the opening. We were impressed by the open style architecture. The main front room of the house was exposed to the outdoors separated by vertical two-by-fours that extended from a three-foot base to the roof of the house. The two-by-fours were covered by a screen that kept the bugs and animals out while providing a pleasant exposure to the outside. The house was locked. We were located close to town and drove in to get the key. The Chief’s compound was located at the top of a knoll along with a number of other buildings. Clyde and I approached Paramount Chief Tamba Taylor’s house. News of our arrival had preceded us. He came out from an interior door. My first impression of him was that he was very self-confident and low key. In physical stature, he was about five foot nine inches tall, solidly built, and on the rotund side. His manner was definitely low-key. The Chief was dressed in a colorful country cloth top and shorts. The cloth had a vertical, colorful pattern. The vertical pattern had multiple stripes of blue, interrupted by silver, and beige. The top came down to well over his waist. It hid the top and belt of his adequate and similarly colorful shorts. His stoutness and head shape showed that he was not malnourished.

Clyde noticed a United States AID (Agency for International Development) mark on a large crate in the Chief’s ante-room. We found that it was a rice-huller and that it remained there as the Chief had no one to put it together. Clyde promptly asked if the Chief would like him to put the huller together. Clyde said that he would make time the next few days to put it together.

Returning to our house, on the other side of the main road, we opened the front door to a room with several boxes. Two metal cargo trunks which we were later to find contained an amazing variety of books. A kerosene stove and refrigerator were already in a small room we designated as a kitchen. A card table with chairs was also provided with a complement of kitchen utensils and basic cookware. Three or four lawn chairs remained in the living room. Beds had been set up in two of the bedrooms with