Allieu B. Massaquoi

As noted before Susan and I left for Africa in July of 1968 and by September of 1968 we both were busy with teaching at the Holy Rosary Secondary School in Kenema. Although I became netball coach at the school (and at the Teacher's Training College) I had always been interested and Track & Field (they called it Athletics). It was after the Mexico City Olympics that I was made aware of a young Kenema runner named Allieu Massaquoi. I had been told that he had competed in Mexico City in the 10,000 meters and also in the marathon. He was young - and was a student at the Kenema Secondary School (KSS) - a public school on the other side of Kenema from where we lived. I suspect that for the most part in those days he was self-trained although he may have had a coach in Kenema. He was a local legend. I was told that he could run forever and that there was no one who could beat him locally. I also learned that he came from Kenema, that his father, B.S. Massaquoi was a modern, and well-to-do Minister of Parliament from our area. I think I was also made aware that he was a good student. I did see him run once in Kenema and soon contacted him. We met at his father's home on the other side of Kenema. It was a comfortable, cinder block home in a nice Kenema neighborhood. He was very interested when I mentioned to him that I had contacts in Boston at the University level. After our meeting, in which I also met his father, I wrote the Boston University track coach, Billy Smith and told him about Allieu. Coach Smith had been aware of Allieu from his Mexico City involvement and wrote back that he would contact Allieu. Allieu ended up applying to Boston University and getting accepted and by the Fall of 1969 was a member of the freshman class there. He also became a member of the track team where he ran the long distances and cross country. It was an article in the Boston Globe, in which I was mentioned as having made the contacts to get Allieu to BU that caught my mother's eye one day. My mother had never read the sports page much but it was this article featuring Allieu that somehow caught her eye. And when it mentioned me, she immediately went to the phone, contacted Allieu, and invited him to dinner. Soon Allieu and my mother became close friends as my mother oversaw that he was warmly dressed for the upcoming winter, that he was well-fed, and that he had "family" while living so far away. And of course she wrote to me expressing disappointment that I hadn't told her of his coming to Boston. From giving him winter clothes, to inviting him for suppers - my mother became Allieu's home away from home. Allieu, ever the gentleman, put up with my mother's questions about his country, about me, and about his life in the U.S. At school Allieu was a good student although I am not sure that his athletic performance was ever what it could have been. He did run well and with some success. But there were rough times in Boston as well. There was one time when I think he was training around Jamaica Pond when he was jumped and mugged in what was probably a racial event. Although he never came out and told me of his feelings after this, I always suspected that deep down this made him upset if not angry. However, Allieu held his cards close and was tough to read. We returned to the U.S. in 1972 and from time to time saw Allieu. By then he was used to the cold winters, and was perfroming with mixed results on the track. Coach Smith was a tough but excellent coach but did not fully understand Allieu. Allieu was proud, came from a well-to-do Kenema family (his father drove a Mercedes - something which Allieu had mentioned to Coach Smith but which Coach Smith had not believed until I confirmed it). Boston was a somewhat hostile city - the climate was harsh to a Sierra Leonean, and there was - in those days - no backup Sierra Leone community. I always wondered deep down if it had been a good decision for Allieu to come to America. Allieu did not have such overt thoughts. He was forever thankful for my making the contacts so that he could come to Boston. After a time we lost contact as I went off to school and he went to a variety of graduate schools (I believe he tried Podiatry School for a while). He did get very involved in support of refugee programs during the horrible 10 year war that overtook Sierra Leone. He did tell me of periodic trips both to Guinea to assist refugees and to Sierra Leone where he told me he traveled with video in hand taking pictures of atrocities and and war damage along the way. He became deeply involved and then became lost. I have lost any contact with him and do not know if he is still in the U.S. or if he is back home. I do know that he was married briefly but this did not work out. I hope he is well. I do know that his father, B.S. Massaquoi was killed during the war. I do know that in 1980 he wrote an EdD thesis entitled, "The Development and Evaluation of a Food and Nutrition Education Program for Community Health Workers in Eastern Sierra Leone." I am led to believe from this that Allieu became involved in Public Health issues as regards Sierra Leone - he may still be involved in this. If anyone can give me an update on Allieu I would appreciate it. Thanks. I do know that Allieu placed 45th in the Marathon in the 1968 Mexico City Olympics.

2-15-2009: email from returned Peace Corps Volunteer - Lou Gadani - "it is amazing and just pure luck that I came upon your blog and saw the info about Kenema, Sierra Leone and my former student, Allieu Brima Massaquoi. I was the Peace Corps teacher at Kenema secondary school from September - 1967 to July 1969 and coach of Allieu. I taught English and Geography and the 2,3,4, and 5 levels. I was also the track coach and saw a student with tremendous ability for running. We trained for many inter-school, police, and provincial events. We coordinated with the government to send Allieu to Mexico in 1968. They sent a political figure with him instead of coach. After many attempts to get Allieu into an American College, I asked my track coach from Canon-McMillan High School in Canonsburg, PA to see what he could do. Through tons of paperwork, he was finally accepted at Boston University for the fall semester of 1969 in the Allied Health profession. To his dismay, upon arriving, he was told he had to run in some early races to get in shape and during one of Boston's worst sleet and rainy periods. ....It has been 40 years since this all happened. I talked and visited with Allieu many times during his stay in Boston. I got a postcard from Paris, France and was told he would enter Case Western Reserve in Ohio for a Masters degree in Early Childhood Nutrition. Since then I have lost contact with him. Anything you can do to help me reach him would be appreciated.....I am so glad you were able to help him along the way. The Peace Corps was a tremendous experience for me....hope to hear from you. Your pictures are awesome. Great documentary. It is amazing that we both were in Kenema at the same time and never met." Lou Gadani - PCV '67 - '69 - Kenema, Sierra Leone

Mr. Salia Koroma and Mr. S.E. Rogers (Rogie)

Salia Koroma - Mende Troubador and Poet - taken near his home in Kenema

probably 1969

In the 1960's I knew of two Mende/Sierra Leonean singers - S.E. Rogers and Salia Koroma. S.E. Rogers wrote and sang less complicated songs - yet it was his simplicity that I liked, and his pleasant voice and guitar playing. His songs were often a mix of English, Krio, and Mende and of his many songs, my favorite was the well-known My Lovely Elizabeth. I have provided for a few of his recordings on the right. Salia Koroma was perhaps a more complex man or at least his music was. Well-known throughout Sierra Leone and perhaps beyond, Mr. Koroma lived near Kenema. His songs were entirely in Mende, his language complex and at times even hard to understand by those who spoke Mende fluently due to his deep-Mende that he often used. I always felt that the complexity of his songs was in their double meaning. For a very fine and ongoing review of Mr. Koroma and his work please see: http://nikiibu.blogspot.com/2008/11/first-among-equals.html#links

I was lucky enough to have met Mr. Koroma and to have talked with him a number of times. I do not remember who was my contact with him (it may have been a craftsman I knew named Su Gande - but of this I am not sure). Salia Koroma (photo above) had a whole entourage with him - mostly family - when I first met him at his house. By that time I had heard little of his music but I liked what I heard. His songs were rapid fire and he accompanied his songs with his accordion. He did sing a few songs for all of us on the day I met him. I had also heard that Mr. Koroma could make me a spirit that I was interested in called Falwi (?sp). I think on the day that I took his picture I also negotiated with him to make me Falwi - which indeed he agreed to do. I spent perhaps a half-hour talking with Mr. Koroma. I suspect that we talked in Krio (or perhaps English) - I was hardly conversant in Mende. I remember him being amused at my interest in Falwi, and in fact somewhat puzzled. Our meeting was very stiff and formal. By then he was in his 60's and was almost royalty in Mendeline. I believe that he died in the 1990's. If you care to listen to him just double-click on the link to the right. It is worth listening to. For those who know Mende well - this song (from Nikiibu blog) will make you smile - of this I am sure.

The Lorry Accident

above: Public Transport similar to the one in which we were involved in a crash

It was during the rain season when travel anywhere was hazardous. There were sections of Sierra Leone that received 200 inches of rain between May and October. In Kenema there was less rain but the rain came daily and when it came, it came in torrents. And since the roads were mostly latterite and clay, when the rains came the roads became a slippery quagmire of ruts, mud, and danger. Lorry drivers although for the most part capable, were willing to take risks and leave the rest to God. This might include racing for a one lane bridge with a driver coming in the opposite direction. On many a lorry was the saying, “E lef pan God,” or in translation everything was up to God and thus personal responsibility for road accidents did not exist – or at least most of the time it didn’t. Kenema was 240miles from the capital – Freetown. But during the rains this could take 24 hours. At times the roads were impassable. In those days Peace Corps volunteers were obliged to take “public transport.” We could not own vehicles due to the earlier Peace Corps experience in which too many accidents resulted from volunteers who had motor scooters. We could use bicycles but the roads were too hazardous for these. It was the end of our first year when after many safe trips we experienced our first accident. We were headed back to Kenema from Freetown. After passing the Town of Bo it started to drizzle and then rain. We were sitting in the back. As we headed on I began to notice that the lorry was slipping a lot yet traveling much too fast for the conditions. Yet on we went until, on a very treacherous stretch of road the driver lost control, and the lorry tipped over several times in going off the road. For some reason I remember landing outside the vehicle and on all fours. Susan was not so lucky. In the chaos that resulted I yelled out for her and heard nothing. In my search I found her, unconscious in the crowd of passengers now expelled from the back – and she was unconscious with blood coming from her scalp. I picked her up and carried her to a safer place – and thankfully she came to and except for the scalp gash was fine. I was one of the few that was unscathed although I remember to this day the sense of doom that I had as the car first started to go out of control. The lorry boy next to me and at the back of the vehicle had sustained a mortal internal injury which was all too obvious as I assessed the needs of other passengers. There were others badly injured as well. And there was no one on the road to help. Perhaps it was other lorries who came upon us who helped, or perhaps villagers from nearby. At some point we were returned to Bo and the government hospital there. I remember an Indian doctor sewing up Susan’s gash. We stayed that night in Bo at the Peace Corps hostile there. The next morning – on we went – to Kenema. We were lucky that in all our many travels in-country this was our only accident.

My Friend Siaka

Siaka David Kpaka just below summit of Bintimani

I was just below the summit of Bintimani and we were setting up our base camp which consisted of setting up my pole tent, and getting out the Primus stove to boil water and cook some food. Since I was cooking we did not eat elegantly. It must have been the late afternoon when out of the large open area where we were setting up two strangers appeared. They came over to see what we were up to and being curious they began a friendly conversation, introducing themselves as entomologists - I think they may have said that they were collecting insects - for Forest Industries. I knew that this company was headquartered in Kenema and as we talked further - the tall thin man informed me that he was from Kenema. His name was David Siaka Kpaka. The other man was Nigerian and employed also to collect bugs. After talking for a while they left and we made our meal, prepared our sleeping bags for night, and as the sun went down we went off to sleep. There were no mosquitos.  As noted in another posting, my two trips to hike in the Loma Mountains were physically demanding and very tiring. Eventually - we descended back through the villages that we had stayed in, and negotiated tranpsort from Kurobonla to Kabala, a distance of 75 miles over very marginal roads and bridges. As we traveled to Kabala we went from Kuronko country, through Yalunka country and on the stay one night at a Peace Corp volunteers house in Kabala. After a night of recovery there it was on the Makeni and Magburaka where another night was spent. The finally leg of the trip - from Makeni to Kenema took another day.  It was on this leg during our first year that I began not feeling well. I arrived in Kenema more exhausted then I expected and for two days was too tired to do anything but sit. And then my illness started. There was intense and high fever, severe chills, incessant nausea, and a constant pain somewhere in my abdomen. At one point after 5 days I was discouraged enough to think I was not going to make it. I presumed I had malaria (which was later confirmed), and wondered if I also had picked something up from the mountain food.  Whatever it was I had no interest in eating and became dehydrated. As word got out that I was sick neighbors came with local remedies. These native medicines might have worked but I was not brave enough to try them. For the malaria I took the recommended mega-dose of Aralen Phosphate. The fever and chills did resolve but I was still left with a nausea that wouldn't quit, and an ache somewhere inside me that was horrible. I lost 20 to 25 pounds but finally started to turn the corner and after two weeks was on the mend. In retrospect I probably had a hepatitis that I had picked up on the road. It was not a pleasant experience.  In Kenema - Siaka David Kpaka came to visit and we became friends. Siaka was a gregarious man - proud of his history and of his people. He had finished school at the Kenema Secondary School (KSS), and had a good job. He was unique in that he got along with everyone. Originally from Pujehun where his family lived. He had come to Kenema for school, had married his wife Catherine Caulker (?sp), and by the time we got to know each other they had one daughter named Jeneba. Siaka liked to meet new people and I enjoyed his wonderful observations and his sense of humor. The one thing that impressed me about him the most was his ambition to succeed and improve his life. He was proud of his Mende and Southern Province roots but was also a modern man. Siaka and I traveled the local roads seeking out Mende crafts such a cotton clothes (callled Country Cloth). He also visited us often and we visited he and his wife at the government quarters in Kenema where they lived. In July 1970 we said our goodbyes and Susan and I returned to teach briefly at the Putney School in Putney, Vermont. During our second year there, out of the blue oneday I received a phone call from a man with an obvious African-accented English. His words were,"Hello Chad - do you know who this is?" It was Siaka, and he was living in New York City where he was living in marginal quarters, was working at night as a nightwatchman, and during the day he was going to University. He had come to the U.S. with $400 in his pocket - yet he was making do and succeeding. There was one visit to see us in Putney but after that we lost touch as I went on to medical school and training and he became an engineer in the City, Catherine came to live, and they became U.S. citizens. That is not to say that they have not maintained their Sierra Leonean roots - for they have. Yet they have succeeded in a climate that was harsh for them at first, in a city which is not easy even on its own, and they have raised a large family. Jeneba is a CPA; another son is a minister. They have been able to return regularly to Sierra Leone and Siaka has dreams of starting an agricultural business there. Most recently I have re-established contact with the Kpakas. We are both older than those days when we were running about in the mountains or around Kenema. We are perhaps a bit less limber.  But David - as is his English name - still has the same sense of humor, the same keen observations, and still gets along well and is well-liked by everyone. He is a success in my book. 

TROUBLE IN KENEMA

Although for the most part Sierra Leone was a peaceful country while we lived there, there was a time, late in our first year, that some political fighting took place. My sense was that our area of the Eastern Province was loyal to the political party known as the Sierra Leone Peoples Party (SLPP).  In the April prior to our arrival in-country there has been a series of coups and eventually a leader named Siaka Stevens and his All People's Party (APC) took over. Although the allegiances were somewhat vague and indistinct as I saw them, the SLPP seemed to have its support amongst the Mende predominantly, and the APC was predominantly supported by the northern Temne. Again this was not cut and dry - but from an outsider's point of view this was how it seemed. And as we listened to local people talk politics (this was done with considerable care - mind you) there always seemed an undercurrent of grumbling and displeasure expressed by the SLPP loyalists in our area. This all culminated in a week of hostility.  I remember it so well. I had gone downtown to the post office to mail some letters home. That day the post master pulled me aside and into his office expressing his need to talk to me immediately. This was unusual and had never happened before. I knew the postmaster - he was an older man who had been a long time civil servant (his names escapes me).  He closed the door behind him and then with horror on his face said to me that I had to leave town immediately and go back to my house. When I questioned him as to what was going on he said he could not tell me and again emphasized that I had to leave Kenema immediately.  I headed home after posting my letters -  a distance of about 3 miles.  Very soon thereafter it became very clear why the postmaster had been so very concerned - it was for my safety.  Within one hour of my leaving town - fighting broke out, cars were tipped over and burned, houses were ransacked and burned, bands of men (it was unclear of what loyalties) were rumored to be roaming the streets, and people were rushing by our house with whatever belongings they could carry, heading for the bush to escape any harm. From our house which sat above town I could see a number of fires, and could hear noise of fighting. At one point early on Jim Alrutz, the Peace Corps Eastern Province director came by to see if we were ok and warn us to stay inside while the trouble was going on. For the most part our area was abandoned as those who could fled to the bush, and others just stayed inside their homes. When night came, the  local Men's Society (called the Poro Society) came out or so it was rumored. As they marched by our house and through our Dama Rd neighborhood they made strange sounds and threw stones on the metal roofs - their sound was frightening.  I did go out and hide in the bushes near our house to try and get a better view of what was going on - but it was pitch black out and I could only hear the whoosh as a multitude of Poro members passed heading to Town. All week rumors flew as to what was going on. Schools closed. Our school TTC boarders hunkered down fearful for their families. However Susan and I were never threatened. This was a local SLPP vs. APC issue - and we - as outsiders were for the most part ignored. After a week of daily trouble things quieted down as fast as they began. Rumors continued to fly. Schools re-opened, and downtown, everything went back to normal. A few houses were now burnt out shells. There were more soldiers about town. But things rapidly otherwise returned to normal.  I went back to the postmaster to thank him for his concern. 

FODAY SIAKA

FODAY was a laborer on the HRSS school compound. He came from a small village on the other side of the River Moa from us but lived with his wife and family in Kenema. His job was to keep the grass on the compound cut. He did this with back-breaking consistency, daily bending over with a periodically sharpened bed spring, cutting the acres of grass. For this he was paid about 75 cents a day.  It was probably midway through our first year that Foday and I became friends. He was a gentle man. He had a primary school education.  He became aware of my interest in the local poisonous snakes. At HRSS I taught the class about the local poisonous snakes. Quite rightly so - everyone in Sierra Leone was fearful of all snakes. My classes would listen to what I had to say about snakes but many of the local understandings about this subject made my teachings somewhat suspect in their eyes. However - when it became known that I had an interest in snakes - I became the local depository for every mashed or run over snake that could be found. If a snake was run over on Dama Rd - it was brought to me to do something with. At one point it was rumored that I either made "medicine" from these snakes to protect myself, or that I had "medicine" to keep me safe.  And one day - midday at school - when a commotion broke out at school because a snake was seen near our classroom - I was called to help out. Although in retrospect I should have acted differently, I saw that this snake was a common and harmless green snake (grass snake) and picked it up to bring it to our science class. Foday came with me to watch me in action and when he saw the snake abrade my index finger with its jagged teeth (it did not have poisonous fangs but Foday wisely considered every snake poisonous), he became very concerned for my health. Despite my foolish efforts to explain to Foday that this snake was not poisonous Foday became more concerned. However when he saw that I was ok, he eventually asked me if I had "medicine" [i.e. protection] for snake bites. I of course responded "no," but he again asked me if I had medicine as he continued to be concerned for my ultimate demise. When it became evident to him that somehow I had survived, Foday said "You have medicine," and walked away to continue his chores on the compound. It was soon after this event that word spread about the neighborhood about my prowess. And as a result maimed snakes of all types started showing up at my doorstep with increasing frequency, with people requesting that I find them protection as well. Despite my protestations in this regard I became the only site for snake collections probably in the country - and there was nothing that I could muster up to stop this. The samples that I collected and pickled included Gaboon Vipers, Mambas, Spitting cobras, innocent green snakes, and others. Our science room became a snake collection center. And although Foday and I remained respectful of each other, Foday would repeatedly ask me to get him snake protection medicine, and did not ever believe me when I told him I had none. 

Bernadette Conteh - Secondary School Student at HRSS Kenema

As I have previously noted I enjoyed all our students as they had wonderful senses of humor and were fun to teach although only a few had academic traditions. My memory of BERNADETTE MAMIE CONTEH is perhaps most keen. Bernadette was of the Temne ethnic group and had a younger sister named Jeneba who was also in our school in the second year. Bernadette was smaller then the other students due to sickle-cell disease which intermittently plagued her. From time to time she would have crises which would nearly incapacitate her with severe headaches, fevers,  and joint pains. However - despite these periodic crises she would never miss a day of school but when ill would often cry in pain or doze at her desk on her bad days. There were a few days when the illness would overwhelm her and she would sleep at her desk, all wrapped up, head in her hands.  But Bernadette was so very smart. Her English was superb and her understanding of this and other subjects made her tops in my classes.  She was also bold, and would stand up for what she believed. She also had a wonderful ability to understand the subtleties of English, and easily was able to converse and joke, when others in her class were lost. Bernadette was short, and frighteningly thin. She appeared quite frail. Yet she worked hard, played hard when she was able to, and had a wonderful, feisty spirit that I loved.  To this day I remember the wonderful smile on her face when she felt well and we could joke with each other. I remember that when questioned in class she was always the first with an answer, and it was usually correct. At some point during the early portion of our second year - Bernadette suffered a final crisis from which she did not survive. It is surprising, that after more than forty years her life has touched me so and I remember her so well. 

Continuing to copy photos

I am continuing to add photos daily with the idea that eventually there will be about 500 pictures. As previously noted these photos were taken from 1968 to 1970 when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in secondary education and teacher's training in Sierra Leone. For those who may not know Sierra Leone is a small country in area about the size of West Virginia. Within its borders are many ethnic groups including Mende, Temne, Sharbro, Kono, Loko, Kissi, Susu, Mandingo, Fula (or Fulani), Susu, Limba, Yalunka, Kuranko, Krim, Vai, Gola, Bullon, and Krio. The country has a beautiful mountainous coast around Freetown, and an interior of rain forest in the East and South, and of grassland (savannah) in the north. There are parts of the country that get nearly 200 inches of rain between May and October. There is a dry season from November through March.

HOLY ROSARY SECONDARY SCHOOL - KENEMA: For two months (July 1968 to August 1968) we did in-country training at Freetown and also at the Agricultural University at Njala. This was the first in-country training program in the Peace Corps. It was late in the day on July 5, 1968 that we arrived in Freetown - and our greeting there was less than warm. As our plane skirted the West African coast Lungi Airport (the Freetown International Airport) refused us landing privileges. It seems that there had been a Coup and as a result the government of Sierra Leone was apprehensive about letting foreigners into the country. We were a group of about 150 volunteers - and the Sierra Leone Peace Corps program had been one of the first. It was in 1961, just after Sierra Leone won its independence from Great Britain, that Peace Corps came to the country. John Kennedy had issued the call and Sierra Leone had opened its doors. The Peace Corps had had some success there. However in April of 1968 Siaka Stevens and his APC party took control of the government. It was under this period of flux that our pilot had been refused landing rights. However, it turns out that our pilot had flown for the CIA, and we were in a World Airways plane - which had its roots somewhere in the interstices of this organization (we were only later to learn this). Without guidance, and with boldness, the pilot did not heed Sierra Leone orders and by mid-afternoon our plane lay motionless on the Lungi tarmac surrounded by soldiers directing their machine guns at our plane. And there we stayed for some 6 hours, in tropical downpour after tropical downpour, waiting to disembark. It was very humid. The pilot negotiated by radio with the soldiers. At one point the soldiers came on our plane, their machine guns drawn just to check us out. As naive Peace Corps volunteers none of us (perhaps except Sierra Leone Peace Corps Director Joe Kennedy - no relationship to the president) realized what was going on. It was somewhat of a party atmosphere on the plane - all of us assuming that this was how Africa worked and we had to be patient. It was well into the evening hours when we finally were allowed to get off the plane. It was steamy as we all got on transports and were driven (by 11:30 at night) up to Fourah Bay College. At Fourah Bay we were given sheets, a towel, and assigned to dorm rooms. Needless to say we were tired by the full day of travel, the excitement of finally arriving in-country, and the excitement at the airport. We were later to learn the next day that the local Freetown papers (Daily Mail, Unity, etc) were describing us as an invasion of white mercenaries - a label that lasted only briefly as the transient xenophobia following the recent coup dissolved. Up at Fourah Bay we awoke to a sunny but humid morning, early meetings in which we were greeted by officers of the Sierra Leone education department. I remember how they praised President John Kennedy, and also Robert Kennedy, and how they welcomed us to their country. This was very reassuring. At this time we also continued our Peace Corps orientation driven by the program administrators including Joe Kennedy (Peace Corps Director in Sierra Leone) and by the Peace Corps doctor who advised us on health issues. Some of his advice was embarrassing - I did not sense that he had a good appreciation of the country and this was borne out by my later experience. We also started 4 hrs of daily language training with Sierra Leone college students. Our teacher was Francis Baryoh - who despite our initial confusion made the language come easily and made it fun. Francis was from the far east - he was of the Kissi ethnic group - and for a while lived in Kenema. He was a Fourah Bay College student. I also remember a teacher named Clifford Roberts. There were others as well. They used the Rassias method of language teaching - and for me it worked. The program had also set up a special summer school for all of us to practice our teaching. For Susan - who had already obtained teaching certification while at Smith - this was easy. For me - it was challenging. I was assigned to teach math and science. Susan was assigned to teach English (and history). After one week at Fourah Bay we moved to homes and our in-country hosts in Freetown. Susan and I were hosted by Mrs. Lottie Nelson-Williams a Krio family living at 77 Pademba Rd in central Freetown. Our quarters were nice if not Spartan. Next door other Peace Corps volunteers lived. The house itself was probably built in the early 1900s, was wooden, was 3 floors, and had a nice porch attached to our room and from which we could look out on the busy street. Downstairs was a photo shop. Mrs. Nelson-Williams husband was at Pademba Road prison having been jailed as a political prisoner in the recent Coup. She never talked about him while we were there. There were about 9 children living in the house as well. Each morning - Monday through Saturday we headed to our schools by public transport to do our practice teaching. We slowly adjusted to the food which was laced with hot pepper, looked exotic at the time to us, and took some getting used to. There were the new and exotic smells of Freetown as well especially the smell of burning charcoal from the many kitchen fires. From time to time we went downtown to a Lebanese restaurant that had hamburgers. We traveled on our free-time to Lumley Beach to swim - this beach being on the edge of Freetown. It was a beautiful beach with warm water. At one end of the beach was a hotel that had been built for tourism promotion but by then had never been opened - the coups had taken its toll in this regard. In August we headed to Njala University College probably about 60 miles from Freetown to get training in Agriculture as well as to continue our daily language training. Here we stayed in dorms on this country campus. In mid to late August (1968) we received our assignment at the newly established Catholic Mission Secondary School called Holy Rosary [HRSS] in Kenema in the Eastern Province. After a 6 hour drive by Public Transport we arrived at Kenema Peace Corps headquarters (I think on Konbema Rd) and were greeted by Jim Alrutz the Peace Corps director in the Eastern Province. Jim was helpful, very positive, and a relaxed and wonderful leader. I remember him taking us to the school to meet the Principal - Sister Miriam Joseph. We were the only teachers in this new girl's school and there were to be about 30 students. The Holy Rosary Missionary Sisters were from Ireland. Many had previously been in Nigeria - but had been driven from there with the Biafran War. Other Sisters whom I remember include Sister Kathleen Tolland - a wonderful woman who had given her life to being in Africa and who really respected and admired their ways. There was a mother superior whose name escapes me. Sister Mary Ibar came to teach science in our second year. Susan and I were the only lay teachers at that time. I taught General Science and math (they called it maths). I also introduced a school garden and was assigned by Sr. Miriam Joseph to be netball coach. Both Susan and I also were assigned to teach in the Teacher's Training College - on the same campus. At the TTC we had wonderful soon-to- be teachers in a school that was being fazed out. Our two classes there were the last two years of the program. Many of our students at the TTC were our age or older - they had a wonderful sense of purpose - a wonderful sense of humor - and I am sure many are now leaders of the Sierra Leone community. Some (but not all) of the names that I remember from the TTC include: Dolly Peters, Josephine Jones, Cecilia Jah, Mary John, Juliana Bio, Esther Kajue, Catherine Macavoie, and Anna Clark. From the secondary school there was Sabina Tucker, Aminata Lahai, Princess Bundu, Agnes Bundu, Cecilia Banya, Jalahan Sesay, Mary Fortume, Wuya Coomber, Alawiah Mourtada, Josephine Murray, Kulla Kallon, Elizabeth Karimu, Jeneba Conteh, Cecilia Ngegba, Bernadette Conteh, and Baindu Lansana. Unfortunately there are many others whose names escape me after all these years - however to this day their faces remain familiar. Our first year of teaching was fun although I was not a very good teacher - Susan was. However I enjoyed the students. They were bright if not yet academic. They were fun to teach as their sense of humor made going to school each day that much more enjoyable. At HRSS most but not all of the students were from family's of moderate means. School fees were steep. Kids wore maroon (with yellow ribbon) school uniforms. There was a mix of ethnic groups as students came from other areas - this included predominance of Mendes, but also Temnes, Susus, and a few Lebanese. Classes were taught in English although from time to time I would slip in some Krio, or some Mende (and sometimes even a few expressions in Temne that I had learned). The students giggled when I did this - I think they enjoyed my efforts. I also - as noted - was the netball coach - a sport resembling basketball. I also directed a Track and Field program and ran a field day track meet. My students were very competitive and athletic although not very serious. One of their cheers: "We win them for nothing," I found somewhat amusing but with a basic truth deep down. I taught them a ridiculous cheer that I pulled somewhere from the depths of my past experience: "itsy-bitsy wooten-dotten bo-bo ski watten-dotten bo-bo ski-watten-dotten eh-eh-eh-eh." They loved this and shouted it out loudly - dancing about as they shouted it out after each match. What fun. Our netball teams met with some success - we traveled to Pujehun in the Southern Province to play the TTC college there and to play the HRSS-Pujehun. I think we split the two games there. Their success had little to do with me however since I knew little of the game (as Sister Miriam Joseph had given me a book of rules on that first day). Our house was in a corner of the school compound - and was a well-kept out cement blocked structure with a central room off of which there were 4 small rooms. One room became our store room, one our bedroom, one a guest room, and one - equipped with a bath tub we used for laundry. Outside was a nice kitchen although not modern, an outdoor shower (gravity fed), and a toilet. On our 3rd night there we were broken into and robbed. We had been away on that evening - invited by a Peace Corps couple, Margaret and Mark Davis to eat supper with them. I remember walking home (about a mile) in the pitch black to our house, and being awoken by hearing a noise and seeing a shadow of a man backing out of our room. I screamed and briefly the man fled, only to return and make threatening gestures at me with what looked like a knife. I grabbed his arms and pushed him into the door to our room - and he fled. However he had taken a tape recorder and a few other items. He had broken through our store room window to get in. I wondered if he had done this while we were away and had returned after we went to sleep. My cameras - which had been placed in plastic containers in order to reduce humidity exposure were left behind. As he fled I called out in the night for help and help came from our neighbors the Garloughs. We did not know them but it was Pa Garlough who came in his wrap to help us. The next day his daughter, Elizabeth and his wife, Sabina came and introduced themselves to us. They brought us food, "since we had lost everything." This family rapidly became our friends. Of the robbery - I was discouraged and for several nights Jim Alrutz (the Eastern Province Peace Corps director) put us up at his house. However this was not the only attempt to break in to our house. We were also not the only houses in our area that the night prowlers broke in to. For "protection," I obtained a starters pistol (for track and field) from the school store room and used it when I heard robbers outside our house. The noise of the pistol worked frightening away any of the unwanted visitors. This was to some degree something that we had to learn to live with, and certainly it was something that our neighbors had to put up with. For the most part these crimes were petty, however many times robbers were dealt with with "instant justice," which was not a pretty site.

WARREN VAN HOOSE was a Peace Corps Volunteer in the group preceding ours. Warren was a big bear of a guy. He came from Tennessee and was assigned to community development in Sierra Leone. He designed the Catholic Mission Hospital at Panguma (Eastern Province). This modern facility was unique in its use of local materials and ideas. Much of the uniqueness of this facility was due to Warren's creativity. There is a photo below of Warren (in the brown tie-dye shirt and big beard) standing with two other volunteers at the celebration of the opening of the hospital. I have learned that during the recent war the hospital was destroyed.

Below is an account of my travels to Kurobonla on the rough Kabala-Kurobonla Road to climb Bintimani in March 1969. This was my first of two trips I made into the Loma Mountain area in Kuranko country.

the road from Kabala to Kurobonla - March 1969

FROM KABALA TO KUROBONLA: This road was rough and from time to time we had to stand and hold on to the side of the lorry so as to not get banged around. Our public transport was a big truck in which fellow Peace Corps Skip Smith and I were two of about twenty or so people. I remember having to hold on for dear-life as we maneuvered huge road ruts and very marginal bridges. From Kabala to Kurobonla was only 75 miles but from time to time we had to stop as the driver and lorry boys got out to cut small trees down to place as spans across streams. Needless to say, Skip and I walked across these flimsy bridges. We left Kabala early in the morning, and by mid-day we had only traveled about 30 miles. In the back of the lorry - we all were hot (the air temperature hovered in the 90's and the road dust was barely tolerable), and as the road ruts increased, we all were bounced around the interior. I ended up getting large bruises from being bounced off the sides. It was March and near the end of the dry season as we skirted the northern Sierra Leone - Guinea border. The area seemed exotic as we passed through Yalunka Country into the land of the Kuranko. This was the savannah. We were not all that far from the edge of the Sahara I thought. And the road continued to get worse. At some point beyond Falaba and late in the day as the sun was about to go down, our driver stopped the vehicle (he had done so a number of times on this slow roller coaster of a ride across the top of Sierra Leone). In Krio he suggested to Skip and I that we get down and wait on the road while he turned to the North. Skip and I refused. After some negotiation we remained with the transport as the driver headed north on an even worse road. Both Skip and I knew that North meant Guinea, a country that in those days was verbotten for Peace Corps to go since their leader was a socialist (Sekou Turey) and we had no visas to enter. At the border the driver gave us one more chance - we again refused to get off. By this time it was pitch black and we were on the frontier. Pictures of Chariman Mao started to show up on veranda walls (the people thought he was handsome although they knew little of his politics). On we went, passing tiny villages. And then it started to rain. The latterite road - mostly red clay in consistency became muddy and very slippery, and when the lorry could not get traction on a steep incline, the driver got out, announced that the ride was over for the night (and that we were in Guinea), and that he would find us a place to sleep for the night. Then to our surprise, the floor of our truck was taken down, and contraband was removed from this false floor. Not only were we illegal now in Guinea, but we found us to be part of a smuggling ring bringing fine clothes from Paris to remote Guinea where legal imports were clothing from Bulgaria that upcountry folks just didn't like understandably. We had been duped. The driver did find us a place to stay as promised, in a mud hut in a tiny Guinean village whose name I can not retrieve. Our bed was made of sticks, the room was musty, and we slept poorly with our driver and his lorry-boys as roommates. In the foggy morning to follow I awoke and walked about a bit - took a few pictures of this remote frontier village in Guinea - and then we left. With luck there had been no official border crossing. There had been no one to check in with. We passed across the border back into Sierra Leone without a hitch, the lorry turning and continuing east as we headed on the marginal Kabala to Kurobonla road again. The driver had been honest with us (he promised he would get us to Kurobonla at some time) and by mid-day and some 28 hours after leaving Kabala, we arrived. Skip was in better shape than I was. I had huge welts on my back from being banged around the interior of the lorry. I had also not slept well and was exhausted, probably dehydrated, and just done in by this 28 hours of travel. In Kurobonla we found quarters in a poorly equipped health clinic at the edge of this small Kuranko town. It was here that we negotiated with the Paramount Chief (I think named Chief Kewulé Marrah) for permission to hike into the Loma Mountains and climb Bintimani. It was with him that we also obtained a guide. After an overnight in Kurobonla we headed into the high grass of this area and trekked on through intense heat and humidity to our next destination - the village of Sokurella.

I plan to add photos daily until most of my photos of Sierra Leone 1968-70 are copied. These photos are a mix from our Kenema area experience in Mendeland, to our travels in Sierra Leone including Freetown, travel to the north to Makeni, and my trek each March to the mountains (Bintimani) of the north - with stays in the village of Sokurella - the last village on this annual trek before hiking to the summit.