Monday, March 28, 2011

Jerry Davis's Peace Corps Journal

Jerry Davis told me that he too kept a journal while he was in Sierra Leone.  He is actually teaching himself to type so he can transcribe his journal for us and for his children and grandchildren, and will send sections periodically as he gets them worked up.  Below is the first installment.  It’s out of chronological order, but he remembered visiting Maureen, Marvin, and me in Pujehun, and forwarded that entry.  

As I did with Hap’s diary, I’ve created a special page for Jerry’s memoir.  You can access it by going to the top of the right side of the blog, under “Pages,” and clicking on “Jerry’s Journal.”  I’ll include a small portion here, and you can go to his page to see the conclusion.  Thanks for all the work, Jerry, and for sharing your memories!     - Tony
* * *
Journey to Pujehun    
 Yesterday, with English friends Jill Byrant and Ron Oliver, and Najar, a Lebanese friend, Bob Rawson--my Peace Corps housemate--and I went on a journey to Pujehun. Pujehun lies about 100 miles south of Bo. We were going to visit Marvin Hanson and Tony and Maureen Russell, fellow Peace Corps volunteers from our group.
One of the unique experiences of our trip was crossing the Sewa River.  There was no bridge; instead, vehicles had to cross on a hand-propelled ferry.  Ropes and pulleys extended across the river.  Ron Oliver drove his truck onto the flat boat, and African workers pulled the boat across the river by sliding a slotted wooden block with a long wooden handle onto the cable and then tugging against it. We arrived on the other side of the river without any problems. 


PC Jeep crossing the Sewa River; photo by Paul Chantrey













           It was the dry season, and the road to Pujehun seemed long and dusty.  The dust and thick green jungle seemed to envelop Ron’s truck.  I was struck with how different the environment was from the pine and spruce trees of Maine, and I suddenly longed to see them again.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Ursula's Memories, Part 2

     Below is another section of Ursula’s memories.  So good to have these--and some lovely writing.    - Tony
* * *
Speaking of maps, I virtually drove all the way from Freetown to Segbwema on the Google Earth map.  Quite a thrill.  But I was not able to find Njalahun, the Methodist Mission school Mary and I taught at.  I wonder if it still exists. The tiny cluster of huts a 100 yards or so down the road was called Walima.  I remember their Muslim first call to prayer around 5 am, barely perceptible from my bed, a deep, soft but penetrating beat, slow, like a sleepy heartbeat.
David Williams once brought Mary a mongoose which was the most rewarding pet I think I've ever had.  Of course we named him Riki Tiki Tavi, after Kipling's story.  He was a ventriloquist, capable of making an extraordinary variety of sounds, sweet bird chirps, loud fast clicking clacks, coos, and grunts in extremely rapid succession.  Once a man came by with a snake in a cage, and Riki was frantic to get at him.  He was free to roam and ruled our place, especially Mambu, our houseboy, who barely tolerated him because he was not really housebroken.  It broke my heart when some Walima residents turned up with his corpse one afternoon, having found him in one of their traps. They knew he was ours and apologized, but asked if they could eat him anyway. We said yes, sure....
And once on my way to visit Steve --- and I'm amazed I can't remember the town he was in, somewhere near Bo perhaps --- the man in the lorry next to me had a very young pangolin, a kind of scaly anteater. I was fascinated, asked him what he was going to do with it.  'Good chop' he grinned.  I asked if I could buy it, and he reluctantly sold it to me for 5 Leones. Steve and I coddled it like a baby, offered it ants galore, but it wouldn't eat. I think it was too young, perhaps still nursing. We finally let it go, but were pessimistic about its survival chances.  Steve taught agriculture and health science. He grew lots of crops with his boys. He would say: "Food you raise yourself, feeds you twice."
* * *
Paul Chantrey adds the following comments regarding the mongoose:  “I wondered where the mongoose went.  We had a dog and a cat too, and I can’t remember what became of them.  The dog would drag the cat around by its head; their antics were cheaper than TV.  We also had a scaly anteater, or pangolin, which I kept in a box in my bedroom.  At night he would crawl out of the house by going up into the attic and down the antenna pole in front of the house.  Early morning he would reverse his trip and would appear in the box.  He must have been caught after a month of night time feeding by a hungry Sierra Leonean.  Dave moved to another house the second year and took the mongoose with him.  It liked to lie upside down on your lap and have its belly rubbed; it also liked to nip the toes of strangers.
“It would hide under the china buffet and run out to grab treats dropped from the table.  He once got into a rice dish sitting on the stove and ate himself silly; he was so full that he looked like a small football with legs.  They can eat themselves to death.”

Our mongoose at Dave Williams' feet, 1963

Monday, March 14, 2011

Ursula's Memories

Ursula has sent several things in our correspondence that I thought other people would be interested in, and I asked her if I might include them in our blog.  Recently she sent the following: 
I really enjoyed Paul C's  contribution and the article on Rufus. 
You asked once if you could post some of what I'd written you. Sure. Here's what I've sent you before and below the result of having been jogged by Paul's contribution on thieves. The last thing really should be contributed by Mary, but I’ll do my best.
Dief Man

Paul Chantrey’s piece on "Night Thieves" jogged my memory, although I may be combining more than one incident.

Mary Reed and I acquired a puppy not long after we’d arrived. He was a cute rascal, quite easy to train, very obedient, and grew quickly into our hearts. At about six months, he became listless, refused to eat, and within a few days was dying. We felt incredibly helpless and knew the end was near. The morning we found him dead he’d managed to get up and lay curled on a living room armchair, something not allowed and he’d never done.
A few nights later Mary screamed:  “Thief, Ursula, thief!”  I awoke and grabbed my referee’s whistle (for the girls’ netball games and close to my bed for emergencies) and blew it with all my might.  I blew and blew.  The scoundrels departed before I could light the kerosene lamp.  Mary told me later that I had just sat on the bed reciting in a despairing tone: “Nobody came, nobody came, nobody came…” ever more mournfully.  
The elderly and fragile night watchman, who slept outside the girl’s compound across the road from our house, only woke when we rudely roused him.  He ordered me to go to the police immediately, four miles away in Segbwema.  I ran to the car, tripped over something that shouldn’t have been there, and fell hard.  In the dark I barely made out my Hermes typewriter.  We then decided to try to find out what had actually been taken.  The sewing machine was missing and a beautifully-frosted cake Mary had just made to celebrate Dave Williams’ visit the next day.  I again headed for the car, and a 100 meters down the road the sewing machine appeared in the headlights. Too heavy for a swift escape, we guessed. We gave up going to the police as we figured the cake would not be regarded as worthy.  Mambu our houseboy told us the thieves had surely poisoned our puppy.

And now some good memories: 
To begin with you should know that Mary Reed taught World History and West African History at our school. She had been so appalled at the Methodist text books she'd been given that she'd thrown them out and daily prepared an entire lesson plan for each class, using the history books she'd brought with her and the World Book we all had as resources.  This meant mimeographing her texts for the girls before class with the hand rolling machine and gentian violet ink. Mary was technically challenged and the ink stains on her hands were almost permanent. (To be fair, none of us came out clean from these efforts.) 
Among other things, Mary taught that there were more deaths from the conflicts between the various missionary groups than from the intertribal wars. While teaching the slave trade, she asked if it wasn't true that when the girls would misbehave, their mothers would tell them to watch out, because they would be sold off to the traders and taken away to be eaten by white men. The girls were aghast and asked how did she know!
Another time, at morning chapel, the principal, Miss Driscoll, an American Methodist missionary in SaLone for over 30 years and well-liked by the locals, was asking the girls who the most important man was in early times, who gave us the most important gift for our civilization, and to whom we should be forever grateful. One of Mary's outstanding students raised her hand. When called upon, she answered, “Hammurabi, because he showed us how to write!”
I think it was in our second year that three weary and perspiring Jehovah Witnesses, dressed in suits, hats, and ties in the sweltering humidity and having walked from god knows where to the school compound, knocked on that huge wooden gate. Miss Driscoll, our imposing principal, opened the heavy gates. When she realized they were Jehovah Witnesses, she raged at them to be off instantly. They had no right to try to be after the souls of her girls.  They were not even Christians!! and slammed the gates with considerable force.  
A little astonished at this 'Christian' welcome, but taking it in their stride, they wandered over to our small compound, where Mary and I greeted them and offered them a cool drink and to sit a while.  In time they of course got to their Watch Tower spiel, but in rather subdued terms.  At one point they mentioned what a shame it had been that Eve had eaten the apple and offered it to Adam.  Well, that pushed a button in Mary, and she began to bring historical arguments about the damage done by the Christian patriarchy in the way it used this tale to dominate women. 
I happened to have a lovely little book of poems by Archibald MacLeish called Songs for Eve, praising Eve for having eaten the apple and given us the ability to experience and reflect and be alive.  I took this out and read some to our guests. They were utterly polite and respectful, but eventually we all agreed to remain in our mindsets, and the Witnesses left with perhaps a different kind of astonishment.  Mary and I chuckled for weeks about our 'conversion' encounter in darkest Africa!

Special Sierra Leone Program and Reception in Washington

Maybe you can post this on our blog in case anyone is interested.  It is on the website for PC 50th events.                               - Judy Cline
In recognition of Peace Corps being established and the Independence of Sierra Leone occurring 50 years ago, we are delighted to announce Friends of Sierra Leone and the Sierra Leone Embassy are jointly sponsoring a special event that will take place in Washington, DC.  It will be held at Africare House on Friday, September 23rd from 3pm until 8pm.
We are planning to have briefings conducted by key staff from the U. S. State Department, the Sierra Leone Embassy and the Peace Corps.  Their presentations will get underway around 3pm.  They will include adequate time for a question and answer session.  The rest of the time will be given over to a reception that will include a variety of light food as well as beer, wine and soft drinks.  We also expect to have recorded music featuring artists from Salone and other African countries.
Additional details about the program will be provided in the future as we are able to confirm our guest speakers and special guests.
Please let us know if you are going to be in Washington at that time and whether you plan to attend the event.  Just send us an email at: info@fosalone.org

Monday, March 7, 2011

Spotlight on Mr. Rufus Stevenson

Char forwarded the following article to me.  It originally appeared in the bulletin of Rufus’s church in Washington, Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church.  Thanks, Char, and congratulations, Rufus!    - Tony

















                   Some have probably wondered about the fine African textiles, mud cloths and other artifacts  displayed around Metropolitan during Black History month.  Wonder no more. Rufus T. Stevenson is the one who has graced this church with such glorious décor.  Mr. Stevenson has presented his art works for the congregation’s enjoyment for  more than a decade.
What Mr. Stevenson shares with Metropolitan is only a minute portion of  his bountiful collection. The Tiefing (pronounced “chafing”) Collection, as it is called, is a result of his many tours to Africa over the years.  He has traveled to every country on that continent except three. His collections is a myriad of art work that could rival that of any museum.   There is a story behind each piece, and it is one he will generously share.
Each time the church is dressed in all its African finery,  seek out Mr. Stevenson and listen to a captivating story about Kente cloth, mud cloth and other artifacts.  It will be an African history lesson most grand.  Read more about Mr. Stevenson's Textile Ministry for Metropolitan AME Church.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Night Thieves

     Paul Chantrey sent this several weeks ago.  It's his recollection of a particular problem from his time in Sierra Leone.      - Tony


I don't know how many Peace Corps Volunteers had problems with night thieves while in Sierra Leone, but they were all too common in Bo.  I happened to live in the old Milton Margai house during the first school year in country, along with Al McIvor and Rex Jarrell from Sierra Leone I and Dave Williams from our group.  The house was quite large and we all had separate bedrooms.  I had a corner bedroom off the kitchen, and the rest of the bedrooms were off the large living room.
The first sign of thieves was their attempt to steal our shortwave radio, which we used to listen to the BBC and Voice of America news.  We had a tall bamboo pole on the front of the house that served as an antenna mount, with the antenna wire coming in through a window to the radio, which was sitting on a short round table.  
We started to notice that the radio would be by the window in the morning, and realized that thieves were pulling the radio off the table by the antenna wire and dragging it across the floor.  They had to be frustrated by the fact that the radio was an inch too big to fit between the window bars.  We never knew how long they would try to fit the radio between the bars.  However, they returned night after night, moving our radio to the window.  We didn’t know whether we were having different night visitors, or one persistent thief who thought the radio would magically shrink.
At the end of that first school year, Al and Rex left for home, and Dave and I were left at the house for the summer break.  One night, during the rain, I heard noise at my window.  The window was not completely open because of the possibility of rain blowing into the house.  There, outlined by the security light on the outside of the house, was a thief working at opening the window wider.  Slipping out of bed, I picked up a flashlight from the end table and tip-toed to the window.
The thief seemed not to notice me as I got just inside the window on which he was working.  I placed the flashlight under my chin and turned it on with a rebel yell.  The thief disappeared in a flash.  This woke Dave Williams up, and he was less than happy I had interrupted his beauty rest.
About a week later came the tops in night thieves visits.  Sleeping soundly in my bed but still concerned about the thieves, I was awakened by someone standing in the doorway to the kitchen from my bedroom.  Suddenly all rational thought stopped and a raging adrenalin hulk possessed my body as I hurled myself toward the intruder. The hulk grabbed the intruder by the throat and started to choke the life out of him.  
As our two bodies stumbled into the kitchen, the light from the outside security light shone on the noisy struggle.  Immediately rational thought returned, and the temporary insanity fled the inside of my head.  The “intruder” was Dave Williams, my house mate.  
Dave said, " I came to tell you that the thief is working on the front door.  Damn, didn't you feel me hit you twice as you choked me?"  I mumbled my apologies to Dave and said, "I swear that you didn’t touch me."  Two hours later, as my neck stiffened, I realized that Dave had indeed landed those punches.
Two lasting behaviors came from this for me.  One was that it made me a very light sleeper for the rest of my life.  The other was such a fear of losing rational control that I never dared to get drunk or try drugs.  I guess I was scared straight by my own adrenalin rush.
The commotion raised by our scuffle must have scared the thieves, as that was the last we were visited by thieves that summer.  I have thoughts that in some den of Bo thieves word must have gone around about two crazy devils living in the old Margai house, and one would be wise to avoid that part of town.
The new school year had me moving to a house past the Catholic Teacher's Training College and more remote than the Margai house. I had no visits from thieves for the remainder of my time in Sierra Leone.
Dave Williams moved in with an Irish missionary, Sean McFarren, who taught at our school.  I think Dave may have no longer trusted his former house mate and found safety in this new residence.  The house Dave and Sean lived in was located not far from the Bo Clock Tower, which placed it near the center of town.  Dave did not shake the thieves as I had.  One night someone fished a few of his belongings out through the window bars with a pole.  Dave seemed not to be concerned about the loss and fatalistically accepted it.  
However, the gang of thieves paid Dave another call.  This time they stripped the house of everything they could carry.  And this was done while Dave slept soundly.  Awakening in the morning, he found the only thing he had was the bed sheet that was under his body.  The bed covers went along with everything else.  Dave looked like a Roman in a toga.  
My houseboy explained that the thieves drug you with a dust they blow through a hollow tube.  However the feat was done, it prompted Dave and Sean to hire a night watchman.  For protection this gentleman carried a large beak from a sawfish that had sharp teeth sticking out along the edges.
To avoid thieves, you either lived at the edge of town as a crazy devil or hired a night watchman.