I still believe in Miracles

These Dry Bones (Progressives) Will Rise Again

Ask me about the thing that drives everything that I do or say and I will be frank with you that it is my faith in God through Jesus Christ. Having being through many ups and downs and survived including the barbaric Liberian civil war, it is the resolve that the same Jesus who worked wonders for me yesterday can do the same again and again. Maybe taking Him for granted sometimes, I bask in the realization that the same God who does not falter or forget can sail me through even tougher challenges. This has been my strength, my coping strategy, my survival technique and defense mechanism often exhaled in a song I learned in Sunday school years back:

This same Jesus who was in Galilee

This same Jesus who walked upon the sea

This same Jesus by faith had made me whole

This same Jesus will still see me through

This was the song on my lips when rebels took me from a town in the Firestone area and forced me to carry their loads on the frontline near the highway of the Robertsfield International Airport where they were “cutting the supply lines of the enemies.” To and from the rebel destination, I sang the song again and again and was persuaded that I was not going to perish in yet another difficult situation. I was assured that I was covered and therefore the devil and all his forces could not do me harm. The part that really wowed my own imagination was when a villager who lived near the Du River volunteered to put me across the river in a canoe for free. Canoeing across was the only means of transport and only rebels had the luxury of being transported for free. I contemplated on faking to be a rebel to scare the villagers for a free ride but my body language could tell that I was scary civilian returning from hell. Anyway Jesus saw me through and the villager perhaps thinking I was a rebel returning from the war front offered to transport me across at no charge.

It was those same lines on my lips when once or twice I found myself surrounded by armed robbers commonly known as bandits in Abidjan, La Cote d’Ivoire and stopped by vigilante groups in Ogun State, Nigeria. In all those instances, miracles happened and my life was spared. At times when there was nothing to eat (not kidding-absolutely nothing to munch on,) only miracles came to my rescue. It was this same Jesus.

Once upon a time, a group of Liberian intellectuals and political activists known as the progressives emerged. These young and energetic men and women became the voice of a down trodden population of mainly indigenous Liberians whom the so-called pioneers who became the ruling class have under classed and dispossessed of their own rights and privileges. Their efforts were ongoing and came to the peak in the late 1970’s. Building on what their forerunners like David D. Coleman, Didhwo Twe, Nete Sieh Brownell, Tuan Wreh… have started, activists like Togba Nah Tipoteh, Gabriel Baccus Matthews, H. Boima Fahnbulleh, Jr. and others have come to popularize the Progressive movement. Then a coup came which put an exclamation point to their fight, toppling a so-say-one, so-say-all government headed by Mr. Tolbert who was also a number two man in the Tubman oligarchy. Their efforts unmasked a century long tyranny and oppression by the minority ruling class. The support that greeted the bloody coup was overwhelming and the progressives having set the stage were the decorated heroes along with those non-commission soldiers who actually overthrew the government of Mr. Tolbert. When the one family domination came crumbling down, the nation sang in unison "our eyes are open."

But as anyone who expect, the honeymoon between the progressives and the coup leaders soon ended. One by one, they left or were forced out of the military government that we have all come to embrace as the people’s Redemption Council Government. They soon jumped back into familiar waters opposing the government with all their might and whim. Sooner or later, they have succeeded in exposing the ills of the Samuel Doe government even when it changed from military to be somehow democratic. The fact that Mr. Doe, the military leader turned politician stood in the elections and won (supposedly) made it even more suspicious and marred the first multiparty elections after 133 years of abuse as flawed and not good enough to work with. Little by little the tension built but the worst was yet to come.

As the enemy of my enemy is my friend, others whose intentions might have been under estimated if not devious joined forces with the progressives to work out a plan in “returning the country to democratic rule” that the progressives have long sought. Such plan took on many forms from the party headquarters and streets to rebel training camps. Coups – both real and schemed, invasions and murders came and went leaving behind the dead, wounded and exiled.

Then hell finally became to live with us on earth when over a decade long uncivil war which took the lives of an approximate quarter million of our own people including the sitting president began. The war was so brutal that people who once danced for the 1980 end of autocracy began to prefer the pre-Doe one party and one group dominance. As one pastor said, “because of the suffering, they preferred Egypt to the promises of the Promise Land.” The war did not only turn hearts against the activism of the progressives, like sheep without a shepherd, the progressives themselves all went scattered with a few actually taking up guns to kill, rape, and plunder as well. It was a messy situation that carrying guns or commentating atrocities like a soccer match became like fashion. Some of the progressives and their trainees were divided up among the war lords either as propagandists or foot soldiers on one side or the other. Few held to their guts to remain untainted but by then their names went stink in the noses of many who were tricked into believing that the progressives were responsible for all our troubles. the devil is truly the grand parent of all lies and deceit.

By the time the war ended, the morale of the progressives has waned if not dead. Their number dwindled as the political waves drove them from this side to that side trying to reclaim their identity. To make matter worse, the demography has changed but the progressives seemed not to realize that and saw no need for self re-introduction. The man Charles Taylor who emerged as the strongest warlord won a landslide victory in the rush-rush election that followed. Last minutes effort by the progressives to group themselves into an alliance against the largest rebel group proved useless as such alliance could not even hold in the face of the Taylor’s popularity and intimidation. The youths most of whom had been drugged to fight for Mr. Taylor and his NPFL knew no one except their lord Mr. Taylor whom they saw as their father and therefore referred to as “pahpay.” That was the beginning of more disintegration of the progressives.

The reign of Mr. Charles Terror Taylor pushed the country more and more towards the-strong-shall-survive society. Ruthlessness had paid off and Mr. Taylor was not letting go. He muzzled everyone and even bullied his neighbors. He pinned the remnant progressives to the ground and continued his war time campaign against them forcing still some of them into compliance. Bit by bit their number thinned.

The fragmentations continued through the 2005 elections resulting into multiple breakaways or carpet crossing to other parties and the formation of other neo-progressive movements. Neither the parties of their progressives nor their breakaway groups were significant factors in both 1987 and 2005 elections. They all lost miserably. With the first democratically elected female president well positioned to revive and recoup a war battered country, the Progressives seem to be without a message, vision and the strength to make any meaningful impact.

To make matter more complicated, the birth of Mr. George Weah on the political scene is driving them to the edge. Will Weah embrace the progressive and be infected with the same progressive diagnosis? Conversely, will the progressives join the Weah yo-yo train as a possible fourth quarter strategy? Or will these progressives whom have grown to oppose only the ruling class now begin fighting at two fronts? Will anyone listen to them?

Like the valley of dry bones that Ezekiel saw, these remnants of progressives are conspicuously scattered throughout the Liberian political landscape with no skin on them or juice left in them. As all hopes of a progressive comeback dissipate, the song "This same Jesus" which danced on my lips and ferried me across many hopeless and dangerous situations has returned.

This same Jesus who was in Galilee

This same Jesus who walked upon the sea

This same Jesus by faith had made me whole

This same Jesus will still see me through

I still believe in miracles even in this precarious situation when all hope is lost. With miracles, even this Progressive movement of Liberia which for now appears like scattered and forgotten dry bones will live again. And that is why I am not afraid to declare,

These same progressives battered and tossed about

These same progressives dry, scattered and almost forgotten

These same progressives once showed us the way

I know these same progressives will still thrive again

Liberian story retold by a film maker

The Road to Fendell: August 2, 1990

We have had devotion that night before going to bed. Daily devotions were not out of the ordinary for our household especially since the war has raged on leaving no doubt that the capital Monrovia was going to fall to rebels; it was just the matter of time. At first we were excited for a change but soon found out that this change through a rebel war was going to be bitter, costly and things were not going to go the way many of us have expected or wished. Three or more times, we had ventured into the Paynesville suburb which was now under the rebel control of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) in search of food. From our first encounter with the rebels, it was evident that their activities were nothing closed to what their leader, spokesman, and other loyalists have preached on radio. They were killing innocent people, looting everything, acted under the influence of drugs and had no leadership or direction whatsoever. They did not disguise their intention of killing all Krahns and Mandingos, current and former civil servants, any kind of military personnel, and just any one whom they perceived as unfamiliar and suspicious. As we met them, they screened us for our ethnic affiliation, any security or military training, level of education, relationship with any former or present government official, army personnel, or for any of those things which they were programmed to get rid of.

From experiencing their activities first hand and based on what others told us, we knew of their many atrocities but chose to make our way deep into their controlled areas anyway for fear of being caught in crossfire as they battle for president Doe’s fortified Executive Mansion or dying from starvation. The story that was propelling the movement was that areas far removed from the frontlines were safe and conditions there were normal. Their propaganda machine worked like crazy as many people chose such alternative for food and safety. Besides, they were urging all to flee into their areas. It was a journey of no return as no one ever came back to relay the horrors of crossing rebel checkpoints and the complete anarchy in the areas they held.

Evening and morning devotions became a norm in almost every household. With our hearts united, we sang and danced to the glory of God, defying the tranquility that was imposed by the curfew hours.

My Soul is on Fire
My bones’re set on fire
In my heart, there is a burning desire
I’m going to kick that devil around
I’m going to bring his kingdom down
My soul, my soul is on fire.

We literally kicked the air to demonstrate a brutal and victorious treatment of our adversary-the devil whom we blamed for the chaotic trend events in our country had turned.

With the devil being kicked around and his kingdom wrestled down to the ground, we set foot into what we came to experience as living hell on the morning of August 2, 1990. NPFL rebels were everywhere from the Monrovia Suburbs of Barnersville all the way to where only our minds could imagine. But as we will soon come to find out at the first rebel checkpoint, this devil was not going to be kicked around although his kingdom was right there in our midst on this back road leading to the University of Liberia Fendell Campus. Apparently, it was far better to die in your own home or neighborhood, than walking into the NPFL death chambers. But this was the journey of no return so we moved on with our hearts in our mouths and a 23rd Psalm customized for our purpose in our heads: As I walk through the valleys of the rebels, I am shaken to death but I know the Lord is with me.

There were several reasons why we should not be heading this way deep into rebel controlled areas. We have watched them shoot at point blank range innocent people in Barnersville and at Stephen Tolbert Estate who they believed were members of President Doe’s Krahn ethnic group, Mandingo or former government officials. What was then driving us knowing that we could be next to fall at their bullets for a list of endless crimes including “looking like you have been enjoying?” First, there were not many options: Our food has dried out completely, Monrovia was going to be a bloody battle ground and we had to leave. Going to Sierra Leone was not an option as it required big money maybe the price for two bags of parboiled rice for one person to travel on a mini bus or Peugeot to the Sierra Leonean border. We were twenty one persons including children and so this put a trip to Sierra Leone off the table. Staying put in Monrovia to die from hunger or being caught in the cross fire of the most intensive battle that was eminent was one option. The next option which we took only because we had resolved, under the leading of the Holy Spirit was to enter the belly of the rebel World. The assumption was that the farther we went into rebels controlled territory, the better conditions were as those areas were not affected by the carnage we were experiencing in the Monrovia area.

Barnersville was not a place to be. There was the breakaway NPFL faction headed by Prince Johnson on one side, the NPFL on the other side, and the national army which by this time we have named Doe’s army picking on everyone to still remain relevant. So, on August 2, 1990 we took the ultimate gamble with our lives and joined several others heading to rebel land. In our minds, there was a fifty-fifty chance that we would make it to safety. We said our final prayers and were convinced more than ever before that God was going with us and that we were going to pass through waters and flames unharmed. To close the brief devotion that morning, we sang about God's presence with us,

He is before me
And behind me
All around me, Alle-lu-ia

With God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit wrapped all round us, we turned our backs to our home into NPFL’s Liberia. The youngest person making the travel was my nephew Takah whom had just turned six years old. The oldest, my dad was about sixty something or seventy. Papah had come to spend the Christmas with us and get medical attention when rebels closed the highway leading to back to his home in Southeastern Liberia. Ever since we were kids, there had been ground breaking ceremonies and talks to construct this so-called Ganta-Harper Highway but to no avail so it was an easy thing for rebels to block such alley. Just stop the flow of traffic for a week or two and the bushes would gladly take over and do the rest. Now we were on the road again but this time it was on foot and precious lives were on the line.

Saye, a boy whom was a friend of my nephews in Yekepa was also making the trip with us. He lived in the Jallah Town area and attended the University of Liberia prior to the rebel war. When things got tense in Monrovia and reprisals were been taken against members of the Gio and Mano tribes, he sought refuge with us in Barnersville. He had known my sister in Yekepa for ever so long and a good friend of her sons. We had shielded him from the National army hunting young men from Nimba County and this was his time to return the favor and walk us through rebel lines.

The night before, we have devised a special language to use in rebel territory. First we had to speak our native tongue at a 100% level so that no one understood what we were saying. This was a very hard thing to do as normally we spoke a mix and match version especially with nouns but this was a life and death situation so we had to comply or be quiet. Our uncle also making the trip with us with us kept us in check. Any time we found ourselves conversing in English, he would caution “let’s go to Doodwicken,” meaning we should converse as if we were in our hometown. The names of the main actors were translated. Charles Taylor was translated literally as the one who sews; Prince Johnson was called “the king’s son.” Rebels did not like to be called as such so we had to disguise that too. The name rebel was translated as “those who operate in the jungles” or “heartmen operating from the bush,” and so on.

We hardly left Barnersville when we came upon the first rebel check point. Already, they might have gotten their first catch for the day. A man about 30 or 40 years old was stripped to his under pants and tied up like a goat being readied for slaughter. Hands tied behind his back with one elbow touching the other, he wailed in pains asking whoever he could recognize in the queue to plea for him. He stood in a pool formed by his blood and begged to be spared. His cries and plea of innocence were like music in the ears of the rebels. They walked along the long winded queue we have formed believing that they had some magical power that enabled them to identify Krahns, Mandingos, former government soldiers, government employees… to be killed. As they sniffed us for a prey, they took away our personal belongings and even things we had on. One of them just about my size unbuckled my belt and pulled it off my waist as if I was only a custodian of his property. You could tell that he had not had a bath for days if not weeks. He smelled like a fish that has been dead for days and left unnoticed along the roadside. Saye, the Mano boy who was leading us lifted up his eyes to me with a smile to assure me that it was only a belt and I had no cause to fear for my life. This was just a prelude to the way our rights would dissipate for the years ahead in the hands of rebels who have been programmed to kill, rob, and destroy.

From there onwards, each checkpoint presented new difficulties, risks, humiliation, and more sufferings. And there were so many of them. Saye was up to the task. Speaking his vernacular to his fellow tribesmen and women and pleading on our behalf. They had all the reasons in the World to kill us but Saye was unrelenting. At some checkpoints, he wept profusely begging that our lives be spare. My uncle who was traveling along with us was another major target of those flesh eating rebels. He had been working in the Liberian government since he graduated from high school some thirty years back. They were suspecting him as a former military officer for which they ruled that he had to die. That meant all of us needed to go along as killing one member of a family was not enough for rebels. Other family members that were left would possibly take revenge so killing Uncle Cheah meant killing all of us. Besides, harboring or not pointing out someone whom the rebel movement thinks had to be killed was as grievous as being a member of the rebel condemned tribes or groups.

Checkpoint after check point, the situation grew worse. Somewhere we were judged as Krahns, elsewhere as new army recruits on AWOL, or family members of those who had been “enjoying.” All these meant death and he rebels were eager to execute. When they said their gun has not eaten, they wanted to kill civilians so they made up every lie imaginable to feed their weapons.

It took us all day to see the oil palm plantation that borders the University of Liberia Fendell Campus where we first heard food distribution was going on and that once we got there, all our troubles were over. We could stay there as long as we wanted to allow the NPFL time to kill the president and finish the war. As soon as their leader took power, normalcy would return and we would return home walking on clouds. Well, if a rebel told you that the sun was up and the weather was fine, you needed an umbrella to protect yourself from the rain. Lie is a rebel’s middle name. Even their leaders use lies and deceit to keep them fighting and their support coming.

By the time we got to the Fendell Campus, we were exhausted, hungry and above all, we hated the rebels with all our senses. Those rebels and the people behind the killing spree we have come to know as the National Patriotic Front of Liberia were all bunches of heartless criminals driven by revenge and a thirst for power and wealth. But this was just the road to Fendell, day one in Liberian uncivil war 101.

Rev. Wesley Koon Goes Home at Age 106

One of the oldest men in the World Rev.Toe-Slohnonoh Koon aka Rev. Wesley Koon returned home to be with the Lord yesterday October 24, 2009 in Monrovia. Family sources say he was 106 years old. He died peacefully at home in the presence of some of his (biological and spiritual) children, grand and great grand children. He is survived by 8 children, 42 grand and 39 great grand children. Meanwhile, a memorial service to celebrate the home going of the fallen missionary will take place on November 14, 2009 in the beautiful city of Trenton in New Jersey at 7:59 pm precisely. The service will be held at the following address:

Freedom Christian Worship Center

202 Briton Avenue

Trenton, NJ 08618

A Life Sketch of a Griot

By Robert John Koon (Son)
November 29, 2006


As the mission resettled in Jeadepo, Sinoe County, Wesley Koon, in 1928, together with his cousins and several other women and men who traveled from Tienpo, River Gee County, were welcome by the Tribe of Jeadepo in an auspicious traditional ceremony which featured prominent Jeadeponians. Among those of prominence were Oldman Wieh Dweh, Oldman Sackor Tuh, Oldman Kai Wleh Tuh, Olman Jarbo,Oldman Swohwlee Swen, among others. He is the only surviving member of the Christians who made the missionary journey from Tienpo to Jeadepo (along with the White missionaries) and started the Jeadepo Mission in Jarpuken which up till today remains the pride of the people of Jeadepo and Sinoe County as a whole.

In 1937, Oldman Wesley T. Koon, along with four brothers, took part in one of the classic wedding ceremonies of their time when he took the beautiful hand of cute looking Queenonoh Wleh and Toe Saydeh's lovely daughters' hand named Emily T. Wleh Koon in holy matrimony as wife.


Oldman Koon and his wife suffered at Jarpuken to raise up more than four of their children who were all killed by some mad spirits until 1942. He and his wife were assigned as out-station pastor in Kulu, Sinoe County. The following year, Ma Emily Koon conceived and gave birth to her fifth child, a daughter who today became the first child to live from her conception with 7 more as their children before her death January 18, 1986. Rev. Wesley T. Koon Sr. pastored several churches and congregations in Liberia - even before his official ordination in Greenville, Sinoe County, Republic of Liberia during the Assembly of God Pentecostal General Annual Convention in December 1976. Some of the churches were located at Jeadepo Jarpuken Mission, Doodwicken Mission, Jeadea Jakaken and the UPC in Jaytoken, Tienpo.

Some children, grand, and great grand children

God has blessed Oldman Koon with a host of families, relatives and great congregations in Christ. He is a father of 8 children: Doris Q. Walker, Grace Emily Hansicker, Wesley T. Koon Jr., Robert J. Koon, Frances S. Koon Johnson Vorhor, Jerome D. Wesley Koon, Florence T. Koon and Felecia Davis. Thirty-nine grand children and 25 great grand children. His life affection goes to the Non-Koffa, Tarwoodweh, Sowencheepo, Jalakon, the Bobway, Doe, Gray, Tumo, Tarpeh, Na-Kun and Worto Families.

Piggy backing on Paul Jackson’s Worry

Mr. Paul Jackson (at elpaulay@yahoo.com) in a guest article on the Liberian Journal wonders if what he called President Sirleaf’s poor decision making and lack of insight are the result of dementia and other age related illnesses. In his concluding statements, he challenged the president to step aside just incase “her mental health is kind of shaky” because as he put it directly to the president, “you can’t continue to subject the Liberian people to your political miscues.”

I read Mr. Jackson’s article and saw his views in sync with skepticisms a few number of critics have stated and I could already predict what the president’s diehard fans would say in response. These are the people Mr. Jackson called the “president’s apologists” and “hangers-on” of her administration. An encounter with these so-called “hangers-on” is nothing new for me. Some of them have consistently dismissed every legitimate concern of the way Mrs. Sirleaf has handled the affairs of the state and labeled those fair minded critics as “haters” of the president. Believe it or not, some of them awkwardly believe that besides Mrs. Sirleaf there is no one else who is competent and able to be president of Liberia! So Mr. Jackson’s characterization of such people as “hangers-on” should be well thought of and precise.

“Political miscues, lack of insight, poor decision making…” I mused over Mr. Jackson’s words again and again. Backed by chronicle of events, they all seem to align perfectly with what the president has consistently demonstrated in the past three years of her presidency. I have thought about the president’s mental state a number of times. The Iron Lady, many Liberians have come to celebrate has shown no iron in the face of the insurmountable challenges that face her nation. Who else would be oblivious to the consequences of biting the finger that feeds them? Everyone, fans and foes alike, knows that the president sits on the shoulders of the “international community.” In fact, she does not have an army of her own and depends on good will gestures from the same people to run her government. They have been the energy source that keeps her presidential fire burning. With that in mind how can she sleep in their arm and at the same time slap them in the face by embracing those whom they condemned for crimes against Liberia? She keeps pressing her luck in a number of no go areas. Many hypotheses have floated concerning these changes and maneuvers of the president. Having enjoyed tremendous support from home and abroad, she may have become fluffy and feeling almighty to her own peril. Dr. Emmanuel Dolo, in a recent post on the Liberian Journal, wondered if she could be “testing our stomach for the political and social still meat” from past decadence. What ever her persuasion, she seems like a child who closes his/her eyes to creep and thinks no body is watching. Something seems out of line and I will piggy back on Mr. Jackson’s call for some form of evaluation.

Undoubtedly, “public office is public property” so they say and hence Liberians whom have already made a down payment on what they expect of their president need to speak out when such property is being abused, taken for granted or treated with careless hands and minds. Just within the span of one week, Messrs Rufus Berry, Emmanuel Dolo and Paul Jackson have energized all those individuals or groups that have consistently been at the core of holding the Sirleaf administration at a higher standard. This is good for Liberia as we muster efforts to stamp out the political sluggishness that has attended the Liberian presidency and the complacency of some Liberians groomed to swallow every pin pushed down their throats.

As Samuel Adams, a founding father of the United States once said “It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds.”

Proposing Collaboratives for Liberian Organizations

There are so many Liberian organizations here in the United States and that is a good thing. There are already many churches, many county organizations and their sub groups. There are even ethnic based organizations like the Mandingo, Klao, Sarpo, Bassa, etc. There are many schools or alumni organizations from grade school to colleges and universities. These are all good things and present many opportunities to help our country as it recovers from bloodshed and robbery.

But there is a fundamental problem that I see with these many organizations and that is fragmentation. I see that we are so fragmented and don’t seem connected at any point. While the intra-organization bounds may be strong and viable, there is no inter-organizational relationship whatsoever. Probably not on purpose, but we have not recognized the need to collaborate and collectively deal with problems and opportunities that are common to all of us. Although we all seem to have a common denominator – Liberia, the way we seek to help this common denominator is so fragmented, disjointed and individualistic that the impact on Liberia has been very minimal if not adverse.

A case in point is that we have not found a way to collectively deal with the problem of fights and breakups in many organizations although this is a common problem facing almost ALL these organizations including religious organizations. We may have forgotten all about the things we learned as kids growing up with our parents emphasized in expressions like “one tree cannot make a forest,” “one finger cannot pick a louse,” “it takes two fingers to get salt from a jar” and so forth. So unfortunate that we have been using one finger to pick our lice or get the salt from the jar and foolishly thinking that a single tree can make up an entire forest. This is not getting us any where and it is about time we realized that we have been going in cycles.

While I don’t have a magic solution, I propose that we find a way to link Liberian organizations of the same kind and do some work together. County organizations for example must strike good working relationships with other county organizations to benchmark, share success stories and learn from one another. We have to realize that as Liberians we are all conjoined at the hip and what affects one affects all. Grand Bassa County, for example, cannot be immune from an outburst of an epidemic in say Rivercess or Margibi. If the road from Sinoe to Grand Gedeh is not paved, there is no way buyers from Sinoe can travel to buy from a shopping mall in Tchien. Business in Gbarpolu is adversely affected by what goes on in Lofa. So it is naïve to think that we can just concentrate on our respective counties while remaining oblivious to the struggles of other counties or compete with them for scare resources. For instance, if there was a magic $10,000.00 available for hand pump project, we can all decide which county gets it while the other county go for the other magic $10000 available for a toilet project instead of slicing it in three to have 3 incomplete projects in three counties.

One way we can collectively address these problems and opportunities is to form collaboratives that will identify problems devise solutions to the surmountable problems we face as a nation. These collaboratives can comprise “experts” and laypersons from all county organizations that will work on specific subject areas. Besides solving common problems, we can identify appropriate projects that fit our specific needs. Take for instance, if Bomi County is working on a cable TV project, it can work with Cape Mount County which was contemplating on the same project. Cape Mount can therefore probably engage in a hydro project that will supply Bomi as well why Bomi’s cable TV station can benefit Cape Mount also. The two counties can exchange experts and other resources to work on those projects.

This can be the same deal with our alumni associations. There is actually no point pumping all the money and resources in our individual high schools in isolation if our effort is not in sync with the body responsible for schools-the Ministry of education. If for example, the Ministry of Education does not mean business; our support for our individual alma maters will be useless. Maybe if we come together as a group strong enough to help the ministry, the trickle down effect will prop-up the educational system which will be strong enough to help all schools including those ones that have no representation in the United States. Take for instance, instead of one alumni association struggling to build a library for its high school, we can all pull our little resources together to build one big public library or resources center that will benefit all schools and serve as a gold standard for what we will want to see.

Done in isolation, we are like various specialist treating specific parts on the same body without talking to each other. Often the result is unpleasant if not catastrophic and we don’t want that for our country still dragging to rise up from inertia.

Helping Liberia or Bursting Each Other Doo?

What is it that we want? Is it an overarching good for Liberia or the failure of those we don’t agree with? I have watched with sadness in my heart how “rival” Liberian organizations wish the worst for their “rivals” just to score political points. Recently, two events occurred over the weekend of September 26 and those at opposite ends of those events wished for failure if not the worst for the program of their dislike. Gad be dam! The two events I am talking about are the pro TRC demonstration in DC and the (other) ULAA General Assembly conference in Atlanta Georgia. Similar bad wishes were expressed for another ULAA inauguration held in Philadelphia some months ago. It was revealed that members of the “rival” ULAA faction went to the extent of planting their surrogates at the program to report on all the bad things they wished would occur at that (other) ULAA inaugural ball and if possible cause some “trouble” so as to derail the program. I am talking about Liberians versus Liberians in a foreign land!

This weekend, as the ULAA conference went on in Atlanta, surrogates from the other ULAA had all the worst things to say some to the point of wishing that the flood that took place in Georgia would swallow up the hall in which the program was being held or at least disrupt those planned activities. Ever since the program took place and the delegates returned to their respective states, those and others who don’t like that ULAA faction have been spreading all kinds of information about the program and calling all they can to give them the picture they hope for. With impatience and unease they anticipate pictures from the Atlanta Assembly to be circulated so as to confirm their beliefs or make-beliefs. At times, we believe whatever we want no matter what the story is and it is possible that those who wished for the failure of a given ULAA program will do their best to paint negative images out of actual digital images so as to confirm their bad wishes.

Around the same time, those who oppose the TRC demonstration in DC have gone amok giving their own negative impressions about the march and making mockery of the men and women who took off time and invested their precious resources to make their voices heard. Some said there were only eight persons in attendance while other dismissed them as jerks and using every other bad adjective in the books that their minds’ hands could get hold of. This is sad, to put it mildly.

If we all mean well for Liberia, I wonder how the country benefits when we wish ill for everyone who tries in the way they know how. I believe if we have even ten ULAA factions, what we should concern ourselves with is what each of these groups can do for Liberia, our poor country that has been consistently robbed and abused. If our common goal is to help our country which almost perished at the hands of criminals few years ago, it should not matter who does what or whether we agree with one another on ideological or whatever grounds. With a coast line of 350 miles, I would wish that each of such hypothetical ten factions build at least 35 miles of a four lane highway from Cape Mount to Cape Palmas. I wouldn’t wish for the failure of any one group but success so that by their success, LIBERIA will have success too and resurrect from its long sorrow state. Do we hate each other so much that one faction will not drive on the portion of the highway built by a “rival” faction? This is so ungodly that even the devil is upset by what I can only think of as simple-mindedness if not mere stupidity.

It is no secret that I too disagree with a lot a people. As a matter of fact, I disagree with the paths both ULAAs have taken but I don’t seek their downfall or failures so that by their misfortune or demise, I will thrive or be seen as the rock. If by the success of even my enemies, one life can be changed or one brick laid in Liberia, I will smile from one “jawbone teeth” to the other. After all it is Liberia that we all attempt to help (unless otherwise). Why don't these group compete to see who outdoes the other in changing Liberia instead competing on petty issues like attendance or destroying one another?

I wished 10,000 persons had attended the Mariah Seton’s ULAA inauguration in Philadelphia and a $10 million generated to build the first shopping mall and the only learning resource center in Liberia. I wish another 10,000 persons had attended the Anthony Kessely ULAA assembly in Atlanta and another $10 million generated to build the only modern city very much unlike the big town we know as Monrovia. I wish 10,000 persons attended the pro TRC march in DC to send a clear message to warmongers and would be warmongers that Liberians are not cool with those who murder, rape, maim and plunder for power and wealth.

I have a lot more to say on this subject but I am choked with anger, sadness, grief, disbelief and sorrow that my fingers are slipping from the keyboard and my vision blurred that I can no longer continue. Ouch, my stomach hurts and my palms sweaty. How have our focus shifted from helping our country that is currently on life support to bursting each other’s doo! Are we that aimless and confused or just think we are having fun with politics? It’s too hard to stomach….

Knock, knock! Nobody is Home

During the slave trade when European slave traders burst on the African continent, they took the strong and the skilled leaving behind the children, weak, aged and vulnerable. There was no one left home to do all the hard work: till the soil, craft all the tools needed and explore far beyond their scope. Historians and other thinkers agreed that that was one major way Europe underdeveloped Africa.

In Bible days, when the pastors (Levites) whose role it was to solely do God’s work could not be well compensated or compensated at all for their services, they abandoned their preaching jobs and went into other vocations and professions. Because they had left, there was no body home to do the work the Levites were trained and appointed to do.

For various reasons, it seems that this nobody’s home situation has emerged in Liberia ever since the war which destroyed the country ended. Many people have fled Liberia and are yet to return and contribute their expertise to the rebuilding of the bruised nation. The way many have referred to this phenomena is brain drain. In a documentary “Liberia: An Uncivil War” journalist and producer Zubin Cooper, when interviewed alluded to the “nobody’s home” situation which in his belief was one key reason why the country kept spiraling back into violence. With his gaze lowered to the ground, he lamented “the best and the brightest have gone.” He believed that had everyone remained in Liberia, the war makers would not have the wherewithal to kill everyone and would therefore stop fighting. I thought there was some truth to Mr. Cooper’s assertion because normally when no one is home, that is the time the bad guys can rob, plunder, ransack and do all the lunatic things.

With the war over, many of those best and brightest Mr. Cooper moaned about have returned although a sizable number has still remained in refugee camps, America and other places. But a new situation has surfaced. Many have left the areas they were trained or have experience and have transitioned to other places of work which seem attractive for the moment leaving behind the improvised, inexperienced, and sometimes unprepared. To many of the experienced involved in this mass movement, it is unsatisfying if not demeaning to still do what they once did in pre-war Liberia. As a consequence, many have made some wild moves. For example, pre-war ministers want to be president now, high school teachers want to teach universities now, football players want to be sport ministers or national coaches; “normal days” news reporters think they are too big to read news or write stories anymore. They would prefer to be professors of Mass Communication instead. Veteran teachers, doctors, journalists and pastors... have left their professions for political offices where the grass seems greener and as we say “when the qualified are unavailable, the available becomes qualified.”

I am not against people moving up higher in pursuit of their life goals or being retrained for better opportunities. I am all for vertical mobility, but when those movements do not go along with requisite trainings and experience, there is often a man/woman power gap that gets wider by the day. Regrettably, one can no longer find go-to persons so easily when the trained agriculturist, for instance is now a police officer, the only brain surgeon is now a senator, the novelist and playwright has just tossed away her pen and notebook to become a sidewalk evangelist and the one whose role it is to call for prayers is now a con artist on a BM (black money) spree just to make ends meet.

So now, when one tries to find those who know the stuff, competent and and well versed, no body is home. Many of the qualified and experienced are either in some other countries or in entirely different fields where they can get plenty of everything to replenish what the locusts have eaten. Too bad, there is nobody home.
Knock, knock... nobody's home.

Presidential Home Court Advantage

Reaction to President Sirleaf’s move to sue the New Broom Newspaper

I disagree with the way Mr. Charlie sometimes addresses the president and others he disagrees with but can the president be sued as well? [Aha, Charlie must be thanking God that he does not need any approval from me to air his opinions.] Thank goodness that none of us can brag of having a turn-key solution for the Liberian problem!

My concern here is that if Madam President is the only one to take people to court but can’t be taken to court then it is a lopsided game. As I understand, some of the 40,000 plus Liberians who fled the NPFL onslaught and crammed into the executive mansion that then CO Sirleaf ordered to be leveled may want to sue her as well.

The widow of the hit man she allegedly hired to execute the first coming of the NPFL in November 1985 may want to pursue legal means since she (the widow) has not gotten the apology she has been seeking from Mrs. Sirleaf all these years. All the many persons as some speculated she supposedly “double-crossed” to get to the top and be “great” want to take her to court too. But now and in the future, she is immune from all legal actions! I like that because it keeps our president focused on her mandate except that she too needs to keep her hands to herself. Not many will not hit back when they are hit except a few of us including my church sister Celia Brown whom by God’s grace will constantly show the other cheek when slapped on the other.

In Liberia, the president has the home court advantage just like my friend Cheah who used the biggest spoon in the community anytime he invited us for lunch. Not that Cheah really invited us for lunch per se, but since we found ourselves at his house when food was ready, he was compelled by manners to share his food with us. To derive the maximum satisfaction out of his meal, he always gave us teaspoons to eat with while he took the biggest (near cook spoon size) spoon which he called his “home advantage.” Now in America, “home advantage” is not so repulsive but as refugees where all you live for is to eat, free lunch becomes a life or death issue.
Either way you slice it, the president has nothing to lose by suing. You can’t counter sue and she can’t get nailed by losing such case. This is the only time when it is safe to be in a glass house and throw stones. She is like the rock that cracks you whether you fall on her or she falls on you. When she, oops, the government lost the treason case against Gen Charles Julu and co, she only spoke to them in Jesus’ language “go and sin no more” as if she has the same power to forgive and save sinners. You would think that the government that couldn’t prove its case actually sinned by “lying” on those gentlemen but that was not the case, the president of Liberia can make you apologize for violating your right. That is when you want your freedom or else the court can adjourn for an additional year and you are thrown back behind bars.

By tradition, the president is going to invite us to eat, but with the biggest spoon that can quadruple the size of all our spoons put together in her hand, can we really win? After all, that is the president’s house.
You can win, but can you win, win, win? Can you live a normal life after winning a case against the president? Can you have friends again or practice your profession after “making the president shame” by winning such a case? I wonder if folks really know what it means to be sued by the president of Liberia. When it comes to the president, the language is different. For example, “I don’t want to see you” is different when said by an ordinary Liberian but gets a different connotation when the president says so.

Mrs. Sirleaf has already admitted openly that her chief weakness is “not being able to easily forgive others.” Mr. Tom Woewiyu who earlier charged the President of being “vindictive” might have said “I told you so” when he heard the President confesses her weakness to the World. So I just feel sorry for anyone who falls into the hands of this President who does not let go so easily. And oh my God, she has so much power! And in such a competitive election pre-season, presidential home court advantage is everything.

Referenced story: Prez Sirleaf Sues Liberian Journalist Worwee; Claims US$5million Damages 09/13/09 - FrontPageAf rica

Looking Back