Farewell visits were made to various places around the country. I accompanied the President to Pujehun, Bo and Kenema, where we witnessed the encouraging sign of large numbers of the CDF handing in their weapons under the DDR programme.
Early on in my tour I had recognized the value to Sierra Leone of the wind-up radio and had written to the inventor, Trevor Baylis, to tell him so. By ordering from Argos, we had been able to keep the costs down so that every paramount chief had received one. I had also discovered a wind-up tape recorder, less sophisticated but in some ways even more useful, which we also distributed during these visits. When handing out the clockwork radios I had already established a set patter along the following lines:
‘It is to you, the chiefs, to whom the people turn for advice and information about what is going on in your country. It is therefore important that you are kept well informed, and one of the best ways to do this is through the radio. Therefore we are presenting to each chief a radio to help achieve this. But these are not ordinary radios. They do not need to be plugged into an electricity supply so that they can be used in the rural areas where there is no electricity. Nor do they need batteries, which are so expensive to buy.’
By now the chiefs and the rest of the audience would be in rapt attention as I pulled the radio out of the box. ‘They get their power from the sun through this solar panel here.’ There would be murmurs of approval from the assembled gathering, but also one or two nods of scepticism.
‘Now some of you may be saying to yourself, now that’s OK, but what about when the sun is not shining? When that’s the case, you simply wind up this handle here a few times, turn the radio around and start winding, and then you flick on this switch here.’ The strains of the local FM station, already carefully tuned in ahead of the demonstration, would come blasting out of the radio to howls of amazement and delight from the assembled gathering. It was a delight to see the reaction on the faces.
I followed a similar patter when handing out the wind-up tape recorders. This time the reaction was fused with the sensation of hearing the President’s voice coming out of the machine while he was sitting alongside me. With these tape recorders it meant that one could hike into the remotest villages and, for the people living there, it might be the first time that they had ever heard their president. All sorts of organizations could use the machines – ministries, NGOs, civil society groups – to disseminate their messages with pre-recorded tapes on health, education, sanitation, environmental protection and human rights, and in local languages. They would be particularly useful in spreading the word about the DDR programme and peace and reconciliation.
In the outside world people communicated by e-mail or gathered their information on the Internet, CNN or through newspapers and books, but such innovations were too advanced for a country like Sierra Leone at that time, where there was no national radio, TV or press and the illiteracy rate was ninety per cent. In Sierra Leone, in order to go forward one went ‘back to the future’. As in all societies, information was power and the dissemination of information a major challenge. But in Sierra Leone we did not use spin doctors. In their place we needed people to wind up the radios and tape recorders. Indeed, the role of the paramount chief’s ‘chief winder’ became a respected position in the community.
In Bo I attended the prize-giving and annual reunion of the Old Bo Boys’ Association (OBBA). Bo School was arguably Sierra Leone’s premier school. It had been founded nearly a hundred years previously by the colonial administration to educate the sons of the chiefs. Its doors were now opened to a wider group of pupils but it still retained a very high standard of education. Over half the Cabinet had gone there. All members of OBBA were required to wear their school caps during the Bo School Week and on other specific occasions. Several times during my tour in Sierra Leone I would attend official meetings and see seated around the table grown – often quite elderly – men sitting with their blue and gold school caps perched on their heads. Each boy who entered Bo School was given a number, like joining the army or prison, and this number stayed with him for the rest of his life. Therefore, throughout the ceremonies in Bo, people were introduced by their school number. Pride of place was given to one very old gentleman, number forty-two, signifying that he had been one of the earliest pupils at this famous school. Sama Banya, the Foreign Minister, was number seventy-two.
My final trip up-country was with Sam Hinga Norman to Moyamba, a strategically important town halfway between Freetown and Bo. Moyamba District was where the north, south and west came together. No one tribe dominated. For example, although it was a Kamajor stronghold, it was also the home of Siaka Stevens, the former northern president. Moyamba set the pulse of the country but because of its strategic importance it had suffered a great deal in all the upheavals. The local paramount chief, a feisty lady, Chief Ellie Kobala, had been the first female Member of Parliament. She was a close friend of Sam’s; they had been thrown into jail together in the 1970s.
Sam Hinga Norman was a very remarkable person. I had always felt that he was the opposite side of the same coin as Foday Sankoh. Both men had started from humble beginnings, both had become signals corporals in the army and both had felt grievances against the systems in place in their country. However, Sam Norman had taken pains to better his education and had developed a sense of decency and a strong commitment to democracy. He was also very tough. A few weeks prior to our trip to Moyamba, he was supposed to have been joining us at the residence for a dinner with one of our visitors from the UK. However, I learned the day before that he had had to go into hospital for an emergency hernia operation so I had not expected him to come. Lo and behold, the next evening he duly appeared at the residence looking remarkably fit and well. He had driven all the way from the hospital at Moyamba, where he had been operated on. It had taken me six weeks to get over my hernia operation. For Sam Norman it took six hours – a remarkable man and one on whom the future of Sierra Leone much depended.
It was a great pity that President Kabbah had never fully trusted Sam Norman. There were people around Kabbah who were envious of Norman’s standing in the country, especially within the Kamajors, and they would tell Kabbah that Norman was after power for himself. Undoubtedly during the time of Kabbah’s exile and return from Conakry, Norman, with the support of the CDF, was the most powerful man in the country and if he had wanted to seize power, he could have. This was a view shared by many, including David Richards. In his testimony before the Sierra Leone Special Court, in answer to a question about overthrowing the government, he said: ‘In my professional judgement both in 1999 and 2000, if that [i.e. the overthrow of the government] is what they wanted to do, they could very easily have done so.’
But Sam Norman didn’t. He was truly committed to the democratic process and thereby loyal to President Kabbah. During my time in Conakry several of Kabbah’s close supporters approached me with a plan to remove Kabbah because they felt that he was not doing enough to get back to Freetown. At no time did Sam Norman ever suggest such a course of action.
Although Sam was from Mongeri, a village close to Bo, he clearly had a special affection for Moyamba and so, out of my respect for him, I agreed to accompany him on the quick visit to Moyamba. He and I set off with Emmanuel and the close protection team in the Land Rovers. The usual way to get to Moyamba was via Masiaka and Mile 91. But this route was still subject to attack from the rebels, so we went the back way via Songo and the Mabang Bridge. This was the route that the Kamajors had fought their way along to open up the road to Bo and Kenema. The signs of the heavy fighting and destruction were in evidence all the way. The bridge itself over the Kandiga River was the second longest bridge in Sierra Leone. The rebels had destroyed it by setting fire to the wooden planking. However, the iron girder structure was still in place and the local people had chopped down whole trees and used them to replace the planking, thus permitting vehicles to cross. We all got out of our vehicles and walked across while the vehicles gingerly
drove over the tree trunks – not something to attempt in the dark. Sam gave a pep talk to the villagers living either side of the bridge telling them of the importance of keeping the bridge open until such time as it was properly repaired – something that a team of British Royal Engineers could have done in their sleep.
The journey to Moyamba took just under two hours and the people were out in force to greet us. Visits by dignitaries from Freetown were very rare. A large assembly was gathered in the community centre – chiefs, elders, religious leaders, schoolchildren, market women and Kamajors. As elsewhere the Kamajors were a force unto themselves. Throughout the proceedings, dressed in their colourful patchwork outfits with their dangling magic charms and mirrors, they would get up and start dancing and singing. No one told them to sit down and shut up. You didn’t quarrel with the Kamajors. After all, they were the ones who had kept the rebels at bay.
I told the assembled gathering that sadly there were only a few days remaining before I would leave Sierra Leone, but they had used two powerful pieces of magic to persuade me to visit Moyamba – Paramount Chief Ellie and Chief Norman. It was my respect for these two important people that had brought me, and I was glad that I had. I encouraged them in their pursuit of peace and democracy in the rebuilding of their country. I handed over some block-making machines and bags of cement and presented some exercise books to the local school. I performed a magic trick with the exercise books, which brought howls of astonishment from all those present.
Sam Norman gave an address, which included the remarks that he had made previously in Bo when I had been crowned Paramount Chief Ndiamu, and then at the end he said that the Kamajors had one more function to perform. I was asked to stand up. A white headband was tied around my head and then a charm wrapped up in white muslin was hung around my neck. To loud chants and dancing I was proclaimed ‘Grand Chief Kamajor’ – yet another totally unexpected honour. I later suggested to the close protection team that now that I was ‘bullet proof’, perhaps I no longer required their services.
Back in Freetown more honours were to come. Again I was carried in a hammock through the streets of Freetown and in a colourful ceremony in the Victoria Park all the paramount chiefs gathered to appoint me a ‘warrior chief’. I was presented with a replica of Bai Bureh’s sword, which had been used in his struggle against the colonial administration.
President Kabbah had written to Robin Cook seeking the British Government’s agreement to give me an award from the Sierra Leone government. Robin Cook had written back turning down the request, saying that it was not appropriate to give outgoing ambassadors or High Commissioners awards. (This was rather strange given that the British Government had often presented awards to outgoing diplomats in London. For example, Ray Seitz, the recent US Ambassador, had been given an honorary knighthood, and at the time that Robin Cook was writing to President Kabbah it was being announced that Chief Anyaoku, the outgoing Commonwealth Secretary General in London, was receiving a similar award.)
When the Freetown City Council announced that they intended to make me a Freeman of the City, I had expected the Foreign Office to similarly refuse their permission but to my surprise they said that they had no objection, although they pointed out that if I was given a medal, I could only wear it during the ceremony and at no other time in the future. In fact, I received a key. The ceremony took place on a Saturday morning. It was a very grand affair. The Chairman of the City Council, Mr Henry Nathaniel Ferguson, the equivalent of the mayor, presided over the ceremony in cocked hat and resplendent in his vivid red robes lined with ermine. The Town Clerk, bedecked in his wig and black robes, read out the citation proclaiming me an Honorary Freeman of Freetown to the large assembly, which included the Vice President, ministers, paramount chiefs and members of the diplomatic corps. To one side was the police band, with my old friend Sub-Inspector Mambu playing his cornet.
There were to be three more important visitors from the UK before our departure – Brigadier David Richards, Dr Garth Glentworth and Dr Lillian Wong. Each one of them in their different ways was a special friend to us and to Sierra Leone, and Celia and I were delighted that they would be our last houseguests at Runnymede. David Richards was coming out on a short visit to assess aspects of our proposed military training programme. He had not been back to Sierra Leone since the dramatic days of January and February of the previous year. Since then he had been heavily engaged in East Timor. Garth was paying something like his tenth visit on behalf of DFID. As Governance Institutions Adviser he was overseeing many of the key DFID projects such as the paramount chiefs, the public service, the law reform, the media and the forthcoming elections. I had known this softly-spoken, delightful Scot over several years. A man of immense experience in Africa, Garth could always be relied upon to bring out some food for the parrots, a fact which of course completely won over Celia. I had known Lillian for even longer, going back to my time in Ethiopia, but this was her first visit to Sierra Leone. Working in the Research Department she was the FCO’s memory on Africa. There was no one in the Foreign Office with more experience and knowledge of Africa and I had been trying to get her to visit Sierra Leone ever since I had arrived. All three visitors were able to share in some of the various farewells.
David Richard’s visit was to coincide with a sad event that was to cast a shadow over my final days and, more especially, to affect the dramatic events that were to follow our departure. The first person to host one of the several farewell receptions for us in Freetown was Kan Azad, the Honorary Consul for India. This quietly-spoken, charming, local businessman had become one of my closest friends. At the reception that he hosted at one of the local restaurants, word came through that General Khobe, the Chief of Defence Staff, had been taken ill and rushed to the Choithram Memorial Hospital, the private hospital that had been established thanks to the efforts of Kan Azad. Together with David Richards, Celia and I had returned from the reception to the residence and we had already prepared for bed when I was told by the close protection team member on duty that there were some Nigerian military officers at the gate wishing to see me urgently. By now it was nearly midnight and one was always somewhat cautious when people in uniform appeared at the gates so late. One of them was Commander Medani, Khobe’s ADC. I invited him and his fellow officer into my study, where I received them in my dressing gown. The other officer turned out to be the Nigerian military doctor attached to Ecomog. The doctor said that General Khobe was very ill; indeed, they thought he was dying. They had come straight from the hospital, where the President, Vice President, Ambassador Adeniji, General Jetley and the Nigerian High Commissioner were all gathered around Khobe’s bedside.
There were neither the drugs nor the facilities to deal with Khobe in Sierra Leone, so my assistance was sought to get him out of the country. The doctor thought that the best thing to do would be to fly him to Britain. With assistance from the FCO and MOD duty officers I contacted an air ambulance firm in the UK and started to make the arrangements for a plane to come in and pick up Khobe. I had to emphasize that the British Government could not be responsible for any of the costs involved but short of that I told Medani and the doctor that I would do everything in my power to help. Although we were not on intimate terms, I had much respect for Khobe and Sierra Leone could ill afford to be without the services of this brave officer, particularly at that time. They went back up to the hospital to pursue the arrangements that we had set in train.
David Richards witnessed these events. He found it surprising that with all the resources of the Sierra Leone government, the United Nations and the Nigerian government to hand, they had turned to us for help – a far cry from the frosty days of Anglo/Nigerian relations. Medani himself had been one of the officers in Defence Headquarters who had been giving so many problems to our UK team of advisers in the Ministry of Defence. They considered him to be anti-British. It was a further example of how relationships in Sierra Leone transcended national interests.
Khobe’s
condition continued to deteriorate and by morning we were told that he was too ill to travel. The UK air ambulance was stood down. Instead the Nigerian government sent in a plane with some medicines on board the following day. With these drugs his condition stabilized and he was able to be flown back to Nigeria. This was a more sensible solution than flying him to the UK.
Back in Nigeria, Khobe’s condition continued to stabilize but it was obvious that he was going to be out of commission for some time. This was very worrying. News of Khobe’s departure raised the tension in Freetown. To Sierra Leoneans Khobe was the only soldier capable of standing up to the rebels. President Kabbah appointed one of the senior Sierra Leone officers, Colonel Tommy Carew, to act as Chief of Defence Staff in Khobe’s absence. Carew was a nice man whom I had got to know in Conakry. He had been one of the first Sierra Leone officers to remain loyal to Kabbah when the AFRC had taken over. But he had little operational experience and hardly inspired confidence among the Sierra Leone public. In addition Carew had presided over the military courts martial that had tried the AFRC junta officers for treason. This was hardly likely to be well received by Sankoh and the rebels.
I telephoned the head of the African Department and made three suggestions to help calm the fears and ease the tension caused by Khobe’s removal and Carew’s temporary appointment. Firstly, that we move across Colonel Mike Dent into the Defence Headquarters from the Sierra Leone Ministry of Defence, where he was working on a UK-funded reorganization project. Secondly, we advance the arrival of Brigadier Hughes, the UK officer coming out to head the UK military assistance team and act as a ‘shadow’ to the CDS, and thirdly, we ask David Richards to stay on for a few days to help calm fears and give confidence and provide military advice to President Kabbah. David’s reputation was already high in Sierra Leone and he enjoyed the confidence of the President. The head of the African Department turned down all three suggestions on the spot without giving any of them any real thought. David reluctantly went on his way but fortunately the Ministry of Defence back in London told Mike Dent to move across to Defence HQ and arranged to advance Brigadier Hughes’ arrival.
Atrocities, Diamonds and Diplomacy Page 27