I don’t know what it is about
Freetown. It is a small city, spread along a narrow strip of land between the
Atlantic to the north and a range of mountains to its south. And as far as
cities go, it is somewhat unprepossessing, and is not all that old, either,
compared to say, Jerusalem, Timbuktu, Rome or Benin: Its most recent founding
dates to not much more than a couple of centuries ago, although in some
contexts it has been known to describe itself, not without a touch of irony, as
“ancient and loyal”. Perhaps it is this sense of rootedness and loyalty that
ensnares the imagination of those who were born there and who grew up among its
narrow streets and lanes.
But
it is not just its own citizens, but outsiders too who, for good or ill are
drawn to it and who never seem able to divest themselves of its charms. Indeed,
some have written about what amounts to a love-hate relationship that arises
from the city’s irritating habit of seducing and repelling almost
simultaneously. Others are much less ambiguous and remain captivated till their
dying day. However, the telling of its story has not always been worthy of the
city and it was with much anticipation that I looked forward to Eldred Durosimi
Jones’ telling when I heard he was writing his memoir. I fully expected that he
was going to give an account in which the city was bound to be a prominent
participant.
I
have not been disappointed. Man and boy, Eldred Jones is the quintessential
Freetonian, with connections spanning the city from the Maroon Town
neighbourhood in the west where his mother's family originated to the village
atmosphere around Holy Trinity Church in the east where he grew up. His
description of his early school days at Holy Trinity Infant School is
especially evocative because this blogger also started school there and
remembers the formidable Teacher Carrie, who left her mark on her charges, if
you know what I mean. Perhaps some of us needed a firmer hand than others, but
the progression to the CMS Grammar School was more or less a natural trajectory
that Eldred Jones made with enviable ease.
That
school, now called the Sierra Leone Grammar School, is another institution that
has left a mark-all along the West African coast and even beyond-and is only a
few decades younger than the city itself. Jones’ descriptions of what went on
there are highly entertaining, and indeed provide some lessons as well. He
reminds us that the school was a creation of the Church Missionary Society,
which also founded the first institution of higher education in sub-Saharan
Africa, and which, in due course, Jones was to progress to as he dug his roots
deeper into the city. The fact that the college, Fourah Bay College, was
temporarily displaced by the exigencies of the Second World War to a place
outside Freetown only emphases its pathway towards becoming a national
institution. Now Fourah Bay College is part of the University of Sierra Leone
and the mark it has made in the development of higher education and in other
spheres not only in Sierra Leone, but in the whole of West Africa as well and
even farther, is almost legendary.
After
graduating from Fourah Bay, Eldred Jones went on, in the mid-fifties, to read
English at Oxford. Predictably, after that, he went right back to Freetown,
pulled by that bond in the title of the memoir. Apart from sabbaticals abroad,
necessary for recharging his batteries, he has stayed at Fourah Bay, deeply
entrenched in its academic life but also in the social life of the city as
well, weaving town and gown together into a single seamless garment. Besides,
the college was a vantage point from which he observed, participated in and
indeed occasionally become embroiled in in some of the tumultuous events that
engulfed the city, as the capital of a country, stumbling its way into
democratic governance.
As
Eldred Jones relates in modest and subdued tones, his academic achievements and
honours, combined with his commitment to duty mark him as one of the truly
great personalities of the city. This is even more remarkable because for the
best part of two decades he has been vision-impaired up to the point of
blindness. But by his own admission, a lot of what he achieved would not have
been possible without the help of his wife, Marjorie, who also co-authors “The
Freetown Bond” and who, in her own right, is a most remarkable Freetonian too.
The
question then is, is “The Freetown Bond: A Life under Two Flags” worth its
$45.00 price tag? Well, the answer to that depends. If you enjoy a western
income, it is worth every cent of its 174-page content. But for the earner of
Sierra Leone Leones, the price may very well be too steep. But wherever you
derive your income this is a book that you must try your best to get hold of.
Tell Fren Tru
