Contemporary Sierra Leone and its march towards modernization in the age of twitter instant banking and other transactions.
The Sierra Leonean writer Syl Cheney-Coker reflects on his country’s past, present and future, as we seek to transform ourselves, and the direction of our development.
Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen:
On occasions like this one, it is customary for the speaker to use an arbitrary distinction in rank when addressing the assembled guests! Because some people hold high offices, or have achieved some esteem in their profession, they are considered ‘distinguished’. Others, mainly because of an inherited tradition, are referred to as lords and ladyships of a certain conclave. Then, there are those, thanks to an archaic but somewhat blatantly abused privilege, who are supposedly honourable. The rest, as though they straddle the bottom rung of the human ladder, are simply addressed as ‘ladies and gentlemen’.
I believe that when Homo sapiens took the first steps from our apelike ancestors towards an erect posture in Kenya or Tanzania, they were united in one purpose: to honour the dignity and indomitable spirit of the human race.
Consequently, I assume there was no distinction amongst them. Today, I wish to honour everyone other than the office of the President, with the same respect and courtesy, in the oneness of our humanity. Allow me, therefore, to dispense with all artificial divisions and to address you as esteemed Ladies and Gentlemen.
What I want to address is the relationship between the state of Sierra Leone and its people: what it has given to them; what they, in turn, have given to, or taken from the state, fifty years after we embarked on a journey of post-colonial development. We had a celebration, and I leave it to the historians to write about it. Now that the state is middle age, it is time to rethink our development strategy, as we move towards transforming ourselves from an underdeveloped nation to a developing one
As a writer, I have spent forty years writing about this country: its unique history, its sometimes unnecessary and painful explosions; but I have also tried to capture its hopes, dreams and potentials. Not a day has gone by when I have not thought about this country, no matter where I have been. So today, I speak to the collective: to Sierra Leone as a continuous entity; to the past that we have experienced; but, more essentially, to its future. I speak about the road not yet taken: especially its political, cultural and moral integrity, in memory of the nameless man, woman and child, whose blood, sweat and tears were the building blocks of our democracy. Without those qualities of morality and fairness, it is my belief that our development strategy will be hampered, and that we are likely to make some of the same mistakes in the future: mistakes that will be very, very costly.
Fifty years ago, our first Prime Minister, Dr. Milton Margai uttered these memorable words: ‘Independence means hard work’.
I remember those words as though they were said yesterday. In their ringing clamour, they were a challenge to all of us to take this country to great heights; it was an appeal to our nobility; the belief that we could, as a nation, swim in the same blood river together. We were one people; collectively, we could do good things. I was deeply moved by the idea of that oneness of being. It was a glorious time to dream, to hope, and to build.
But first, let us recall where we had come from, prior to that magical moment of being an independent nation. Long before British colonialists invaded these shores, other Europeans had been coming here. According to historians, Hanno the Carthaginian was said to have watered his ships, around AD500, in one of the bays surrounding Freetown.
Very little activity is recorded afterwards, until we come to the fifteenth century, when a certain Portuguese bandit named Pedro da Cinta arrived in 1462. Because he had drunk too much wine, or could not tell the difference between the pulsating Atlantic and a roaring lion, especially when he was looking at the beautiful women, he named this country Sierra Leona.
It is my belief, and I may be wrong, that it was from that date that the word Orporto entered our consciousness. Today, its many colourfull variants white person, black-white person, Europeanized African, etc., etc are now part of our vocabulary. In so many ways, because of the melting pot of our cultures, we are all Orportos; or, as the great Senegalese poet and president once described himself and others, cultural mulattoes.
During the first half century of its independence, Sierra Leone, like many other newly-minted nations, had to contend with numerous challenges. Some were natural outcomes of our response to the departing colonial class; others were of our own making, once we began to jockey for power amongst ourselves. Thus began the conflict between moral probity and political dispensations not always played out on ideological platforms. Using the most toxic human tools sectarianism, regionalism, ethnicity we allowed our ambitions to cloud our sense of judgment; eventually, the center did not hold: things fell apart; we had a senseless war with its horrific lessons. And we don’t have to remind ourselves about how terrible those lessons were for all of us.
In the past twelve years, it is quite obvious that we have made some significant progress towards transforming ourselves; building new identities. Yet, in some areas, the wounds are still there; and as though we have reverted to a deep sense of nihilism, it would appear that we have rejected all forms of order and discipline. Sadly, most of our energies are geared towards a single purpose these days: making money at all costs.
But let me remind you about what the great Spanish-born American philosopher, George Santana, once said:
‘Civilization is not measured by the tallness of our buildings or the size of our grain crops; it is about the quality of the men and women that a nation produces’.
It was not too long ago, when we used to bandy the phrase Athens of West Africa, that there was a group of men and women of whom this country could be very proud. Granted, some of them had anarchronistic ideas; others were scions of what could best be described as a pseudo-aristocracy not really prepared, by training or inclination, for the great sweep of African nationalism taking place across the continent. Some others, mainly because of how the post-independence governments had treated them, became disillusioned and disengaged from the society. But there is no doubt in my mind that they rose to the challenge of giving this nation their best, when called upon to do so.
I speak of men and women as heterogeneous but distinct as Raymond Sarif Easmon; Madam Honoria Bailor-Caulker, Aaron Cole, Sanisi Moustapha, Ali Ganda, Olayinka Burney-Nicol; Harry Sawyerr; Wadi Williams; Lettie Stuart, and, finally, John Joseph Akar. Born at the right time, endowed with basic principles, they lived in what might be called a golden age.
But time does not, and should not, cancel out the basic values that those fine Sierra Leoneans lived and died for: the values of decency, respect for others and oneself, and pride in what we can do. They expected most Sierra Leoneans to put the welfare of Sierra Leone above every other concern. If anything, i believe that as we begin to chart our transformative years, we should do so with some of those basic principles: things to do with how we treat ourselves, how we treat our environment, the values we pass on to our children, the emphasis we place on our health; and about reforming our educational and deeply unsatisfying legal institutions.
We can do these things whether we use Face book, twitter, texting, or, in my case, the now almost ancient emailing system; and not knives, machetes and stones.
Part of our inherited blessing is how, in spite of our multiple ethnicities, we have evolved a language common to all of us. Our common language is like our plasas; it is our wan pot; for better or for worse, we communicate in it.
Willy-nilly, in its many stylistic and structural forms, our common language of communication is Krio; and I make bold to say that it was a long time ago when any one group could claim it as its own. And that, esteemed ladies and gentlemen, is one of our pillars of strength; one of our enduring songs: we all nar wan; notto so?
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