We Arrive

In 1963, the Holtam family (Jordan, Beth, with Merrill, Elizabeth, and Raleigh) arrived to join the staff of “seculars”, consisting of expatriate teachers and principals, lab technicians, radio operators, and the agriculture team called the Rural Development Center, to work at myriad jobs helping the Fathers and the Sisters with the many projects of the mission.

The Elders

Among the many older men, we met at Bolahun was William Morlu, whose current job at the Mission was to hire and supervise the women who brought water to pour into the large tanks at each staff house by way of bucket or dishpan loads on their heads. Once I politely asked William if he knew how old he was. He laughed and explained that he was the “first-first boy fo’ de mission”. He remembered “the year of The Big Breeze” when a terrible sickness came and “flew” from village to village, killing many, when he was a little boy. We figured that may have been the “flu” epidemic of 1918. So, he was among the first boys who came to school in the 1920’s. 

There were quite a few elders still living at Bolahun who, like William, had been taught in English by the missionaries and served as teachers through the years. English had been decreed the national language by the government. One of these elderly men was Teacher Kingsley, who had died, and all of us seculars were invited to attend his funeral feast.

First the Feast

It was customary at this time for each family who lost a distinguished loved one to provide a feast in honor of the deceased, so attendees were obliged, in turn, to help the family financially to do this. The Fathers and the Sisters always contributed a sum, and the staff followed their lead. I recall that the event was held in a long open building, with school tables and benches. The rice and the sauce of greens, hotly peppered, were ladled from huge enamel dishpans onto tin plates, and as we sat eating, children of all sizes stood around the edges of the building, looking hungry, waiting for a plate with some food left on it (on purpose.)

Speeches and Giggles

Then the speeches began. I believe every elder who was still able to be there had a turn making a speech to honor the dead. Although the crowd gathered usually spoke in several dialects, we were surprised to discover that each elder spoke in English, and each said basically the same words: 

“We want to thank all those who have made this feast possible, including Teacher Kingsley.” 

We smiled after each presentation and encouraged the next speaker. Every single one said almost exactly the same words that the last speaker had said. Well, not meaning to be rude, we seculars began to feel some giggles coming on. [It was funny to be thanking a dead man!] We looked at Minita, the lab tech, who was a favorite among us; she was definitely suppressing her laughter with difficulty. I don’t know how long the speeches were going to go on, but maybe our “coughing fits” which we employed to control our laughter hastened the end of the occasion.

It did not dawn on me for many years why the old gentlemen all said the same words. Could it have been that those were the only English words they knew to fit that situation? I think it was because we were their guests at a traditional Liberian funeral feast. Using English was their courteous way of including every one of us in their thanks. 

As a large group, we did not speak any of their dialects, although most of us used the Bandi and Kisi greetings and farewells often. Perhaps we redeemed ourselves by joining in the warm farewells when the event was over. Maaseho! See you later. Maaleenaho! See you tomorrow. Or, when we were leaving Bolahun for the last time: Maaleenaho: I’ll see you later, but I can’t tell when!