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Lazarus
on a September Saturday
(My
time at the NKAA Convention - 2006)
Wednesday,
September 20, 2006
By
K-Moses Nagbe
When the US Airways flight
touched down at BWI, the pleasant pain began. It was
the sorting out of the various emotions that drowned
me on the trip. The trip—it lasted technically a
day, when it should have been at least two. I’d been
slated to leave on a Friday afternoon, but could not.
Weather problem. Got my bags packed. About to hit the
door, I heard the telephone ring. The airline was
calling to cancel the flight from Baltimore, MD, to
Charlotte, NC, from where I’d have caught my
connecting flight to Atlanta. The next flight from BWI
would be 5:30am.—no 7am, the airline agent initially
said. The 7am schedule would get me to Atlanta,
Georgia, by 10am. I didn’t prefer that schedule,
since I was slated to participate in a panel at 9am in
Atlanta on Saturday. That was how the 5:30am schedule
came in.
So I
didn’t witness the fun of Friday night, the fun of
friends meeting friends, the fun of homeboys meeting
homegirls, the fun of professionals meeting
professionals. But it seemed all was not lost.
Saturday came. Whatever celebration not shared on the
night of welcoming delegates to the annual conference
would be shared on Saturday night, night of the
banquet.
Saturday.
I hit Atlanta at about 12pm. It turned out I had to
wait a little longer in Charlotte than I’d expected.
Anyway, after the stopover at Charlotte Airport I
left. Then I took a MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid
Transit Authority) ride to Chamblee, once I landed at
Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, such busy
airport in Atlanta! ‘It’s a hassle getting into
and getting out of Atlanta airport,’ one of the
conference planners, a buddy from undergrad days, had
written to say. ‘Get to the airport. Take MARTA -
Northbound for Doraville train station. It puts you at
Chamblee Station, then call me. In a few minutes, I
should be there to get you to the Quality Inn, the
conference headquarters.’
And
so it was.
Even at that
late arrival, I seemed not to have been late. For most
Liberians, time seems a cheap commodity. You cannot
blame them. Culture is life. Attitudes, standards and
values, held and practiced by a people over a
protracted period, do not easily go away.
Time—In
a slow society, what do you rush for? What do you burn
yourself out for? What do you miss if you arrive late
at a place? No hourly taxis to miss. No hourly buses
to miss. Someone once said of democracy: If democracy
is practiced only in public and not at home and at all
other levels of society, it will continue to exist as
a strange species frightening even the most charming
of souls in the home. So true. Values operating at
multiple levels do get ingrained effortlessly. A child
whose only consciousness about time is chiefly at
school simply tears off that coat when home comes into
sight. Don’t
expect otherwise. Do not. Most Liberians are
‘should-be-there’ and not ‘rush-to-be-there’
people. Of course, they are not alone. It is the story
of all natural rather than synthetic societies. For
most Liberians, presence is seemingly all there is to
an occasion. Rather than fashion a society in which
everything, every action, every activity or
everything, including time, remains quantifiable and
revenue-based, most
Liberians live in a society, which simply
celebrates the human essence. Most Liberians live in a
society, which simply celebrates human spontaneity in
all its varied shades.
Thus, ‘I should be seen at this occasion’
is better served than ‘I must arrive on time.’
In any case,
what met my eyes on arrival was heartwarming. People I
hadn’t seen for two or three decades were at the
convention. ‘If only death were like that, where you
miss people for years, and then suddenly they
appear.’ I said that to my buddy, who himself I
hadn’t seen in almost thirty years, since we
completed the University of Liberia. The evening
banquet would translate into reunions unbound.
But for the
moment, in the conference hall, it was serious time.
It was time to exchange ideas on where our ethnic
group, the Kląō, needed to help in improving
conditions in our war-torn country—the Republic of
Liberia. I was slated to discuss ‘The Mis-education
of the Liberian Children: How Can Krao in the Diaspora
Help?’ When my turn came—we were three—it
appeared time was not anyone’s best friend, a
situation which clipped off the usual Q & A often
strapped to forums like panel discussions. That Q
& A would have made me shed light on what some
concerned Kląō sons and daughters felt had to be
exposed: The quiet campaign of besmearing my name.
They wanted me to speak about how a scholarship
project I’d chaired went. Only a few seemed to know
the history and had nothing but a bad word for me. In
fact, one of them so carried the issue like a disease
in his heart, but never cultivated the guts to face up
to me, except to feast on my name in his gossip
sessions. Not even the challenge to authenticate his
claims would deter him.
These
few were knowledgeable about submitted reports but
chose to fashion what they chose to fashion. That is
the dark side of the human world in which at any given
time few among few possess information and manipulate
it to their own design. Of course, on the surface such
people often claim that there is nothing personal.
It
was time, the concerned Kląō felt that I spoke to
the issue. In fact, one offered to pose a question to
that effect. I gave him the green light.
Surely, the
Q & A was nipped off—in the name of time. In any
case, in my submission, I told my fellow ethnics that
unless they considered and acted upon three key
factors—the expertise factor, the value factor and
the communal benefits factor—they would not make the
desired impact on either education or any other
activity of national significance. For the expertise
factor, I told them that it seemed obvious that Kląō
ethnics populate every major profession—education,
medicine, law, business, etc.—but it was about time
the National Krao Association helped in documenting
the information in order to recognize the potential
they have to contribute to national development. Here,
I told them of trailblazers like Plenyeno Gbi Wolo (an
academician), Didwho Tweh (a political campaigner),
and several others. I told the group of about 50 in
the hall that Kląō ethnics had a huge wealth of
expertise that needed to be tapped into. ‘Sitting on
wealth and dying of poverty is a tragic irony, which
no group should hope for and endure,’ I added.
For the values
factor, I pointed out that Kląō ethnics needed
to respect one another, cultivating the patience of
handling issues between and amongst members. I also
told them that they needed to cultivate care and
concern for one another, taking interest in each
other’s welfare—be it in areas of education and
training, employment, health, etc. Such set of
attitudes would lead to the third factor, the communal
benefits factor. If people held significant
interest in one another, dealing with issues in a
mutually respectful way, they would enjoy a high
degree of cooperation and collaboration. They would
reduce, if not dissipate, needless friction or
tension. They would enhance dialogue and networking.
In the end, there would be significant progress in
whatever programs and projects they undertook. And in
the case of the Kląō ethnics in Liberia, there would
be an ethnocultural leverage, which no doubt every
ethnic group naturally seeks in a multi-ethnic society
like Liberia.
In sum, I
told them that in order to make a marked impact, they
had to increase the potential of visibility at
home—i.e. in Liberia. They needed to think up modest dreams and stick with them.
They needed to understand that people would like to
see them performing well in the little things done
without fail—be it in education, health, etc.
‘Contemplate
your value, compose yourself; chart a
meaningful course; commit yourself to it, and collect
the relevant community honor.’ With those words
said, I left the stage and the session came to an end.
Those to applaud applauded, some coming around for
handshakes and hugs. Among them were two officials of
the organization, who’d spoken contemptuously of me
a few years earlier, at a time when we hadn’t even
known each other. They inadvertently left their foul
speech in my voicemail. No, in the rush of things,
they didn’t click off. Of course, they never
apologized for that behavior. For them, who was I to
feel insulted? It is part of the arrogance which
suddenly saturates people who live in a place like
America. For such people anyone in a developing
country easily becomes their footstool. Nor did I ever
see them again until the 2006 conference. Now they
wanted seemingly to demonstrate that time had healed
the past. We
asked after each other’s health and thereafter faded
into corners of our own choosing.
How
long can any one human being who is aware of the
brevity of life, who also is aware of sudden changes
in life, carry the burden of anger, the burden of
hatred, the burden of spite? Even so, one who
strives to work with a clean heart and mind,
need not get charred
by negative energy.
The
break went on for several minutes, and then came the
election. Short election speeches, and then the
election of a president, a vice president, and a
treasurer. There was something touching here. The
defeated candidate in the presidential race accepted
to run for the vice presidential post, which he
eventually got. Some other person would have said,
‘Either the presidency or no other post.’
The fellow did accept in the spirit, I sensed,
of moving the organization forward.
It was really pleasing and uplifting that the
body eventually elected him this time as the vice.
After the election came announcements about what was
in store for Saturday evening and Sunday evening. The
Saturday evening session I would attend; Sunday
morning I’d be leaving—so many things to set in
motion for the start of the fall semester. Could a
college professor think otherwise?
While
awaiting the evening program, I realized I was really
exhausted. Ever since 2am, Saturday, I’d been up,
first driving to the airport, getting a parking space,
and then boarding an airport bus to make my flight.
Now nature was demanding its share of attention. After
a shower and some conversation with a fellow writer in
the Atlanta area, I dropped off to sleep. By ten or
thereabouts, I went to the banquet hall, which was
just a stone’s throw from my hotel room. There I saw
Liberia come alive. Like ants crawling from an
anthill, a steady stream of Liberians kept crowding
in. Faces feared gone were alive and well. It was an exhilarating time for me. It was chatting time. It
was laughing time. It was reflection time—reflection
on Liberia’s past. Mhm!—Sweet Liberia.
Sunday
morning came. I was still excited as I went to board a
taxi for Chamblee Station. But the door of the taxi
seemed to lie in ambush. It came flying for my right
thumb. The piercing pain blurred my sight momentarily.
Before I knew it, blood covered my entire thumb.
Kleenex. Cold water.
Nursing of the thumb began. For the rest of the
trip, the nursing of the
thumb seemed uppermost.
But
no.
The
convention. A new administration. A new direction for
the association. The panel. What would be done with
the information that the three speakers provided. It
was about time the National Krao Association stepped
up its pace of progress.
How much information did the association obtain
from the speakers? Some Q & A would have expanded
the speakers’ presentations. But it did not come. It
would not come. And the issue about the scholarship,
too. What
would the Q & A have looked like? Who knows?
Perhaps this:
‘Professor
Nagbe, you’ve talked about the need to understand
issues. What
is this thing about the Wisseh administration’s
scholarship program you chaired in Liberia? You’ve
been faulted by some people in high places.’
(Diplomacy can be a tedious business.)
I’d
imagine faces changing colors.
‘That
committee is being quietly criticized!
How interesting! Let me begin this way. The
story of the Wisseh administration’s scholarship
program is the story bringing three issues to the
table—the issue of procedure, the issue of trust,
and the issue of self-importance.
‘The
issue of procedure—for some reason, the
American-based oversight committee on scholarship
preferred to defer to the president only. Even with
the urging of the president, they’d prefer not to
deal with us. Although the Wisseh administration
reassured the Liberian-based committee that the
oversight committee would stay in touch, it did not do
so. The one or two times it attempted was simply to
raise some strange stories. More on that later.
‘The
issue of trust—there is an attitude of
condescension in which some people living in America
believe they are at all times better than those who
are in the home country. That was true in our case.
Irrespective of the fact that the committee comprised
people of a keen sense of responsibility, the
oversight committee seemed to have no
respect and trust, from the very beginning.
These are people the oversight committee had not seen
nor had any history of impropriety on.
‘The
issue of self-importance—looking back, it would
seem that the ‘original sin’ of the Wisseh
administration was to become decisive about appointing
a Liberian-based committee to implement a project,
which for a long time remained a mere dream. So once
she remained contemptible, those under her appointment
remained likely targets.’
Of
course, the forgoing would seem a snake thrown among a
group. Words would fly out:
‘Make
it short, people want to move on to other things.’
‘This
is mere speculation.’
‘Come
to the main point.’
I
look back and think that even the panel discussion
would have done little justice to the history of the
Wisseh administration’s Liberian-based committee.
People would have perhaps left more confused in the
process. A written text is better than an oral form.
For
brevity, I’d have said this: the NKAA sent
$1,500 to be applied only and only to the
students, whom the very oversight committee identified
from a list of thirty-six names whose raw interview
data was demanded
through President Wisseh and therefore sent to
America. The students, whom the oversight committee
identified, were ten. Two, for various reasons, opted
out. In fact, just about that time, one of the two was
invited by his
relatives in America to proceed to Ghana in
preparation for getting to America. So, eight students
remained on the scholarship for three semesters,
beginning from 200/2001 to 2002/2003, supported at the
average of $62.25 per student. Under the best of
circumstances prevailing at the time, the committee
did what it could. At the end of the committee’s
work, a final formal report was tendered to the Pojah
administration, with a check of $45.00 as the residue
of the funds.
On
the NKAA website to date, the scholarship students
displayed in photos are those who have benefited from
the Wisseh administration’s tenure.
Interestingly
though, the likes of Joe Nyankun (perhaps chief of the
contemptuous few) for reasons best known to
themselves, have peddled well-crafted vignettes to the
effect that I, K-Moses Nagbe, used the NKAA’s
scholarship funds (i.e. that single $1,500.00) to make
trips to America. They have said that I, K-Moses Nagbe,
included my nephew on the scholarship list. They have
said that I, K-Moses Nagbe, included the wife of Dr.
Thomas Koon on the scholarship list. The Doris Koon,
whom they themselves selected from the list, was now a
product of my action. They would not see the sense
that there can be a coincidence of names. Dr. Thomas
Koon and his wife (Mrs. Doris Koon) had left Liberia
in the 1990s and were residing in Ghana, long before
the Liberian-based committee was set up. The Doris
Koon on the list was the daughter of a Butaw old man,
long dead. The suspected Doris Koon became a Koon by
marriage. Besides,
she, I understand, had a Sasstown ancestry.
But
I must end. None of the peddled tales will get me
bitter. If some steady financial support I’ve
received from professional institutions and
professional groups, relatives, friends, and students,
sympathetic to my plight in the war, and if, in
addition, the steady royalties I’ve received from my
books and other professional work have not been
enough, and I’ve had to use this singular $1,500.00,
which the NKAA sent for needy students, so be it.
Let
me be clear, though, that no tales will keep me away,
from this day forward, from rendering services to the
NKAA, where and when I see fit. I will not be fended
off from the National Krao Association by any few
however apparently rooted like in-grown toenails. The
NKAA must not be seen as their turf. It must become an
association for all, I mean all, well-meaning Kląō
ethnics.
It’s
anyone guess, where the deliberation would have gone
from that point. Howbeit, the convention ended and the
issue not being formally brought up and dealt with,
the contemptuous few felt they’d have another
opportunity to continue peddling their tales
unchallenged.
But
my resolution to keep working for the Kląō people,
to keep working for all other Liberians will not
waver. It is the resolution I also reflected on as I
rode home from the BWI airport, at seven in the
evening, reflecting on all that had passed, and
believing that my encounter with the door of the taxi
was a reminder that whatever I’d encounter in the
name of my god-given ethnic and indeed my god-given
country, I needed to endure to the end.
K-Moses
Nagbe is a poet, attorney and former deputy minister
of Information, Republic of Liberia. He lives in
Lanham, Maryland.
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