As many of you know, I am writing my memoirs about my life in that slice of heaven called Sierra Leone. I have so much to say about it, as well as that of family members going all the way back to my grandfather, that it has become a labor of love. After many years, at last, the end is in sight (I can see my brothers and sister breathe a collective sigh of relieve!). I am going to be posting a few excerpts that I hope you will enjoy and also I pray will bring up for you nostalgic memories of the good old days we all had in SaLone. Although I provide some historical context and background, when and where appropriate, please remember that this is not a historical or scholarly work. Instead, for the most part, it is basically the recollection of a YOUNG BOY. So please do not put your scholarly cap on when reading these excerpts. Also, please remember that you’re reading here bits and pieces of a larger narration, so please hold any criticism until you have the chance to read the completed work (hopefully sooner than later!). Finally, you will probably notice that these excerpts are riddled with typos and loose and clumsy grammar that will have to be tightened when I do my final review, so please bear with me. Drum roll.....Here’s Excerpt # 1 (for American readers, football here refers to the real football, aka soccer): An Idyllic Schoolboy Day The school year ended on a good note, I came top of the class following the end of year examinations and was duly promoted to Class VII. The last few days of school (St. Philip’s Primary School) were carefree ones with no lessons, as the teachers were more focused on grading our examination papers in time for the end of the school year. One morning, on finding out that Mr. Koroma was not going to be coming in that day, a group of us made an on the spur of the moment decision to keke (play truant/play hooky/cut class) from school and go for an outing to Leicester, a small bucolic village up on the Sugar Loaf Mountain, not far from Fourah Bay College. We had been instructed by Mr. Koroma the previous day to clean the desks, chairs and windows and sweep the floor, but seeing that the girls in our class were doing a good job of it, we thought we could get away with not helping out. So, I made a quick dash home and took a few cans of sardines and bake beans from our little pantry, without telling my mother, before hurrying back to school to join the other boys. Although it was the rainy season, the day was beautiful and sunny, with hardly a cloud in the sky, when a number of us (about 5 or 6 boys) set out, around mid-morning, for our outing. We walked the short distance up Patton Street and Upper Patton Street to the foot of the Sugar Loaf Mountain, and then up the very steep incline to the summit of Mount Aureol, a part of the mountain range where Fourah Bay College is located. On our way up, we stopped to rest on a protruding rock on the side of the mountain, a rock so huge that it was visible from most of the eastern part of the city. The view from the rock was breath-taking – right underneath us, we could see numerous high rise apartment buildings intermingled with densely packed rickety homes that were so typical of the eastern areas of Freetown, and in the distance the harbor, one of the deepest in the world and the breathtaking and meandering Sierra Leone River, as it emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. The view was even more awesome from the summit. To the extreme left, for as far as the eye could see, was the undulating mountain range, with its thick rain forest vegetation. Because it was the rainy season, the side of the mountain looked like thick carpet, lush and full of life. Also, on the left, we could see as far as the furthermost western parts of the city – areas such as Wilberforce, Signal Hill, and Brookfield, where the national football stadium and a number of girls’ secondary schools were located in close proximity to each other. Central Freetown also was clearly visible. We could see the city center, King Jimmy Wharf, the majestic Cotton Tree, a historic symbol of Freetown estimated to be over 400 years old (the first settlers of the city were reputed to have sought shelter and offered thanksgiving prayers under the tree), State House, and the House of Parliament on Tower Hill. To the extreme right, we could see the neighborhoods of Cline Town and Up Gun and the beginning of Kissy, one of the large suburbs of the city. We crossed the narrow, steep and snaky road that led from Circular Road at the foot of the mountain all the way up to the university campus. We couldn’t help but stop to gape at the battered and weather-beaten taxis and poda podas, overloaded with passengers, mostly students rushing to make it on time for their classes or end of year examinations, huffing and puffing as they struggle up the incline. Would they make it to the summit? We often wondered. Amazingly, as the vehicles, moving at a snail’s pace drove past us, we could see the taxi drivers, often tightly squeezed against the door by the other front seat passengers, steering in a nonchalant and almost non-circumspect manner, with not a hint of concern for the safety of the vehicles or passengers. But to their credit, there were much less reports of accidents compared to what one would have expected given the state of the road or vehicles plying them, but unfortunately, every once in a while, there were headlines in the news of mechanical failures resulting in horrific loss of lives. We took a self-guided tour of the university campus before setting out for the few miles walk to the quaint and historic village of Leicester. We stopped on the outskirt of the village, in a meadow, a short distance from the main road, not far from a small brook that ran down the slope on the back side of the mountain. I took out from my school bag the provisions I brought along, together with a few loaves of Fula brade (bread) we had bought. Under the shade of a large mangro tik (mango tree), with branches so low, that we had to duck to avoid the beckoning mangoes, we shared our lunch, helped ourselves to the mangros, argued about football (which was the better football team – Blackpool, Lions or Republican?), continued with our incessant teasing of each other and boasted of our purported experiences with and conquest of girls (most of it tales and exaggerations, of course). We were relaxed and in blithe spirit, relieved that the school year was almost over. As I think back to those moments, I recall our youthful exuberance and carefree attitude. Life was simple and sweet. We did not have a lot, but we longed for nothing, which I came to realize years later, is the recipe for a happy and contented life. We left Leicester after a brief game of football on the wide expansive meadow by mid-afternoon heading west in search of some new adventure. We walked past the university and down the long winding road, called Berry Street, past the Muslim Brotherhood Secondary School, Albert Academy (which was to be my secondary school of choice in about a year) and Model Secondary School to Circular Road at the foot of the mountain. At that point, we all decided to head to the Parade Ground, just a stone throw away. As the name implied, Parade Ground was used by the colonial army, which was once based at the now defunct barracks at Tower Hill. It is a laterite field, with rusty-red hue soil, used mostly for football; however a portly and taciturn middle age gentleman by the name of Pa Lohbee had been using the field for years to rent bicycles and mopeds mostly to school boys looking for something fun to do during the afternoons after school. He was well known, and boys from all parts of the city could be found there renting his bikes. The rates were 1 cent for a ride around the field on one of his bikes, and 5 cents for a ride on one of his two mopeds. We spent the rest of the afternoon riding the bikes around the field doing our best to avoid crashing into the boys who were playing football and those standing on the sidelines either watching or making bets on the games. Because the field was in a rather secluded spot, away from the main road, there was a constant presence of raray boys (ruffians) partaking in all sorts of illegal activities – some smoking djamba (marijuana) and others gambling with dice or selling pilfered items. The key to not getting into trouble with these tough guys was to mind your business and not walk around with exposed jewelry or a pocket bulging with cash. Once we had exhausted the meager money in our pockets, we all headed to our respectively home, after a tiring but thoroughly enjoyable outing in the burning afternoon sun. As I reflect now on that day, I can confess that it is one of the many days in my childhood that I truly cherish the most. I often wonder why. Although nothing extraordinary happened that day, I think it was the camaraderie that bonded us that day that made it so special; we were together partaking in simple but fun activities, but above all there were no parents or relatives or teachers to infringe on what we were doing, no matter how right or wrong. The next day at school, we could hardly wait to tell the other boys who did not join us on the outing how enjoyable the trip had been. But then we realized something was amiss. The other were not envious and did not seem particularly interested in our adventures, rather they were snickering behind our backs. Unbeknownst to us at the time, they were snickering at what was in store for us! After morning assembly, the usually calm Mr. Koroma entered the classroom like a man possessed and ordered all of the boys who keked the day before to make their way to the front of the class. Apparently, he had returned to class unannounced while we were out the previous afternoon, only to find that some of the boys had disappeared leaving only the girls and a few of the other boys to clean the classroom as he had instructed us to do. Each one of us received six solid lashes and as further punishment, he ordered us to sweep all the corridors throughout the whole school. We knew we were guilty, so we took our punishment like true men. But we all agreed that the fun we had that day was definitely worth the pain we had to endure! In fact, no sooner had the sting in our buttocks dissipated that we were planning another outing for the last day of school, to end the school year on a high note! This time, we planned on trekking all the way to Blackhall Road in the Up Gun neighborhood of the city. There, just as the road bends sharply on it approach to the suburb of Kissy, is a small waterfall cascading down the side of the mountain. The falling water pools at the foot of the mountain, from where it winds its way underneath a bridge on the road into the bay about a mile away. We planned to spend the afternoon swimming and playing in the cool, clear water, in the midst of women from the locale doing their laundry and bathing their children. What a way to end the school year! Despite my exemplary performance in the end-of-year exams, the normally easy going and dispassionate Mr. Koroma had said good bye to me, or should I say, my derriere, in a way that I will never forget for the rest of my life! Thanks for being a great teacher, Mr. Koroma, and I wish you good health and long life! If you’re no longer with us, then I pray that you rest in peace; you will always linger in my memory!
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 02:17:30 +0000
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