The Day Our Captain Died is an epic story-poem about the Kwa speaking people known as the Kru, the Klàô, of Sasstown, Liberia. Sasstownians know themselves as Jlàô, and call their home Jláô.

The Day Our Captain Died is composed of flashes derived from a series of oral stories the Jlàô have passed down about their sons and daughters, who in times of old defended the homeland.

In each strand of Sasstownian lore stands a universal truth about those whose feats of heroism or sainthood are remembered. Human history is strewn with lists of the brave and the bold, lists of hopes subdued by despair, and despair stirring aches in the hearts of men, women, and children bereft of their celebrated sons and daughters. In such moments of despair, the Jlàô often sigh: “À kpà ku, à ni mu ku bo.” Alas! The brave are interred, never more to return.

In the religious lore of the Jlàô,, there is God of the universe, Nyêswa, the Mighty Unseen. He has spiritual intermediaries, the greatest of whom is the oracle Kù Jløplê. The oracle has priests through whom he speaks. Like the Mighty Unseen, none sees the oracle. Yet, he seems closer through his priests. For the Sasstownians, the Mighty Unseen has a wife, Ngmàsnø.

When the Jlàô hit the coast of present-day Liberia in the 1800s, they were awed by a mass of rocks at the mouth of one of several rivers—the Drøye. As with all larger-than-life structures in nature, the huge mass of rocks came to be seen as a sacred spot. For the Sasstownians it was the hearth of Ngmàsnø, God’s wife—Ngmasno Klêgbê.

See pronounciation below.

The Day Our Captain Died

Part I

“What age does not engrave
Deeds might as well do,”
So our elders have always taught.
Thus, though he peaked
Some thirty-odd teasing years,
Fought, and has long left,
To this day neither singing
Nor dancing has ever left us:
Of Mighty Tò—Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò—
Our Achilles, our Samson, our Roland
We sing and dance.

Ah!—Wè Tò, that child,
That man of a child.
Ever heard of him?
Men have come, men have gone.
Deeds have sprung, deeds have sunk
This world, this wide world
So mysterious, so mesmerizing
Holds the tracks and trails
Of few men, the likes of Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò.

He rose from Jláô, the Jláô of the Klàô
The Klào of the Pàhn, the Pàhn that trekked trails
Trekked through times of African empires
Wended their way from Central Africa
Then to West Africa, through the Guinea Coast Forest
And lo, Bòbojlè came in sight—
The Putu Mountains—came in sight!

Here the Jláô met their Force of all forces—
Their Succor of all succors
Their Storm of all storms
The one who spoke and it was done
The one who spoke and pythons coiled as cushion seats.
Here appeared their Master Oracle—Kù Jlòplê:
The thunderclap-ears-dread.

With his guide, an elephant tusk.
The Pàhn Jláô made for the coast,
Zigzagging to Ngmasnø Klêgbê,
A towering rock mass,
None but the Maker of all
Could have planted—
The hearth of Ngmasnø, his wife.

Years are the yarn of time;
So many, so uncountable yards of the yarn
Soon looped them in with neighbors
With whom so long they’d battle
For land, for farms, for cattle.
Conquest beats in the human heart;
Survival taunts us all with its juicy taste.

At last the urge rose:
To Putu in the high forest of Bòbojle
The Jláô trooped, drumming, dancing, singing
Singing his name—the Thunder of all thunders.
Without a wink, all was settled, all done.
The kpàtwê, the Great Giver’s priests, passed it all:
A son they’d soon have to captain their cause.
But “soon” to the Unseen reads eons to the seen.

Part II

Returning home, they set to work
On bidding of the priests:
“Hold a feast for the womanfolk;
On a tiny shell a woman shall set her teeth.
So shall it come to pass
That she shall stand the favor of the Huge Giver.
She shall become the mother of your captain!”
But how long the waiting time?
Grating pain poisons patience.

Time teases; time taunts.
At last—
Could it be? Could it really be?—
An ageing Jlè Wlu Wannê
To carry a child for nine?
And what bone had old Jili Wè—
For the chemistry of the mystery?
Good grief, such couple ripen and worn-out!
Yet to them was born a lad
Stirring taunting chuckles and doubts:

“Has a baked bark any sap?
Can’t be the One to come.
Perhaps, the time is not yet come.”
Disbelief dots the story of humanity.
The One to be, the kpàtwê knew.
For what the Oracle ordained
So the priests passed on:
“The True One you shall know—
The One who unguided fetches
His war gear from the Sacred Hut.”

Part III

And the years crawled by;
Battles came, battles went.
And the years crawled by;
Jlè Wlu Wannê’s little boy grew
And the years crawled by;
Old Jili Wè’s little boy grew.
He mixed with peers
Fetching food and fuel items.
Oh, how he beat them at duels
And snatched their shares of finds!
Who’d dare raise a voice?
Doubters had better sit and brood!

And yonder, high in the Sacred Hut,
In silence hung the war gear
Awaiting the ripe hour and the ripe one.
Battles rose, battles fell.
And Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò grew.
Neither the young nor the old
Floored him at playgrounds.
Then one night he trounced old Gbisi—
The time-honored Mighty Gbisi.
He sent him crashing from his deck of rest
High above his obeisant guards.

The champion title grudgingly lost to
Jlè Wlu Wannê’s battling boy,
Queries squatted on a rump:
“Must he be the foretold, he?
Must he be the he?”
Polarity finds breath in disbelief.
Some folks simply watched on;
Some sat braying teeth in searing tension.
About town, women fetched water and sang;
Men mingled and tilled the earth.
Goats, sheep, and cattle grazed.

The cattle—one among them
Was the gem, the jewel, the prized cow.
Though in doubt, the Jláô found it fitting
To honor their tradition rewarding rare feats.
To Jlè Wlu Wannê, far beyond childbearing age,
But now the wet mother of a tender soul
A cow was given. Bli Wannê was she,
Growing huge and meaty.

Part IV

One cold dawn came. With it came
Men who carted off the lovable animal.
Who did this thing?
It was the Gbetaô, again!
The bold rarely balk.
The forbidden foes sought the jewel;
Away they darted with such belle of a beast—
To feast, to mock, to strut in style.

Now, he was in another world—
Wannê Tò was in another world,
The world he’d grudgingly leave
The world he’d leave on demand
Only when a red hot rod
Was drilled down each ear of his.
So there he lay, his snoring
A grating pain to a moaning mother.

And muttering, though mindful,
She said: “See how soundly, you sleep
While your town is aflame.
Won’t you dare to stir?
The cow is gone—Bli Wannê is no more!”
The words were not Tò’s
The screams were not that soul’s.
What to do, very clear to her.

And then it was done.
The man in early twenties
Stirred up to a somber day.
His muscles stretched, the veins bulged.
The cracking sound of flexing bones
Broke through the humble home.
Soon, the news stole into his head,
His body draped in sweat.

Part V

He rushed out to a nearby termite hill
He coated himself with red earth
He landed on a heap of palm kernels
He ground with his heels many a kernel.
Fury, flaming fury colored his eyes.
Mothers pulled back their weak ones
Thunder, thunder, thunder—
Day of days, how painful you crawl!
How alarming, when you finally dawn!

Jlè Wlu Wannê’s little boy bolted away
Jili Wè’s walking cane rushed off like a wild wind.
Swiftly, swiftly to the Sacred Hut unguided
He stormed.
One-by-one he took down the war gear
Silent and waiting all these years.
Each like metal bits flew toward the magnet.
Out came the war machete.
Out came the ankle bells.
Out came the war horn.

It was the nôgma, the war horn,
That set off the tocsin of war.
It was that tocsin of war
That left folks melting with anxiety.
None dared miss the message
Of the great coming that was to come:
Wannê-o, ni kun!
Wannê-o, ni kun!
Wannê-o, ni kun!
Wannê-o, ni kun!

“Oh, Wannê, I’m ripe!”
Echoed and re-echoed
Through the morning air.
No holding back; the moment was come.
Many rolled their eyes and nodded.
Men and women and children
Beheld the unfolding fame.
Straight on the trail of the foes Tò set;
The hunting dog needs all but guidance
Down a hunting trail.

Part VI

Leaping over streams, creeks and brooks,
Swimming rivers
Tearing through tropical forests
Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò kept on the chase,
His ankle bells resounding the threat:
Tò kpôn nyø diø ni-o
Tò kpôn nyø diø ni-o
Tò kpôn nyø diø ni-o
Tò kpôn nyø diø ni-o

“You who Tò snaps, he surely wolfs”—
It was no laughing matter.
Now came creeping dusk
And silhouettes of the foes came in sight.
Nearer he came and saw some squatting
Nearer he came and saw some sitting
Nearer he came and heard them chanting
Nearer he came and saw them butchering.
Nearer he came and saw them roasting
Nearing he came and saw them feasting.

But tease not the warrior with kindred blood;
His spilled anger brims with hot lava.
Tò raced towards them.
Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò leaped for the men,
Mocking their flying bullets and spears.
One-by-one, two-by-two, three-by-three
Their heads rolled, others bursting open,
Brains flying like thickened sap.
Homeward remnants of the fainting foes raced.
The precious cow!—All but the head
With its curved horns lay wasted.

But what best part to take away!
Deep in the lore of wit lay the word:
“A man is a man whose head is not sunk forever
In alien soil.”
So snatching Bli Wannê’s head in fury
And yet striding with satisfaction
The lion roared: “Go and tell them—
The One they sought is come.
For them he waits
To severe them limb from limb!”

He turned towards home.
The journey that seemed endless when begun
Lay strangely short and reassuring:
The uncharted is as distant as heaven,
The charted, as nearer as one’s shadow.
The head of the belle of a beast
Clutched by the unfathomable lad,
The town rose in unison:
This was the He that was to come;
This was the He of whom the kpàtwê foretold.

Part VII

Out in Gbetaôland, folks were badly shaken.
Never had they had such trip; never had they had such grip
Of which lucky ones spoke in mind-cringing superlatives.
Pains of fear raced down their spines and bent their backs.
Thus, once in a long time,
The Jlaô set on the path of relief.
For who though formidable,
Ever relishes war without end?

Part VIII

So it was that the doubt once held
Of how the Force of all forces
Fashions each nothing into something
Fell apart and honor truly fell
Where honor was due.
And as he went out and returned
The elders sat and mused:
There he comes—
The Coming of all comings has come.

Years came, years went.
The Jlàô went about farming and feasting.
So did Jlè Wlu Wannê Tò and his old ones.
But the quaint will always be the quaint:
Would you dare visit his very own farm?
Train your stomach to his delicacies—
Grasshoppers and crickets and worms
And centipedes and millipedes.

Or on some less balmy day
Face his wrath that’ll tell:
Visit the valley of the Mighty—
At your own peril.
Nyø ni ji biø søn je!—
“None dares idle by the Mighty’s planted plot.”
His farm, ah, the yearly farms he made,
Spanned acres and acres.
You stood at one end
And to another you seemed a speck.

Part IX

Men and women worked themselves weary
But the joy of work
The sense of security soothed their hearts—
Peace, O frothing gourds of palm wine!
In the midst of that tranquility
There came forth a guest—
One in the streaming line of the awed.
She lay prostrate for love:
He that is in awe quenches no taste of single visits.
Why when luck elects
Shouldn’t the visitor plant roots and adore
A spectacle of the universe?

Then human fate, so deafening, so blinding,
Jlè Wlu Wannê’s precious son
Saw in the guest a wife to tend the home,
To tend the fields, to share his bed.
Which guest, quietly arrived
And claimed to have no front
No behind?
Wè Tò’s “wife of alien roots”
Remained the strange, single epithet.

Part X

Fast when the nuptial night had faded,
In set a seed, the sinister seed
From man’s eternal brake:
“Thorny Tree-One-Does-Not-Lean-On—
What great strength, what countless victories!
Child of an elderly pair—
Happy are wombs that feed the world
With fruits of joy.
Even so, riddle breakers are gold.”

It’d all pass as a homey quip.
The years came, the years went.
And again, man’s eternal conjurer said:
“The Oracle’s Emissary
The Wonder Maker—
Upon which bark you feed?
Glad must those folks be
Who see through bowels of the earth!”

Jlè Wlu Wannê’s splendid star
Would simply shrug.
The years came, the years went
Gingerly, gingerly wearing off the will
To parry “innocent quips” of a curious wife.
Ah, one day the stubborn seed sprouted
Through its earth.
The old couple’s battling boy
Unraveled the covetous riddle:
“Seven special seeds, just seven—.”

Part XI

The years came, the years went.
Then one day, the one “innocent and sweet” sneaked away
Carrying in her bubbling breast the name of the fatal seed.
Her departure seemed just another incident
In a man-and-woman palaver—
A heart loves; a heart sheds love.
And the Jlàô kept sipping their frothing peace.
They went about farming and feasting:
Beware of still waters, beware!

The years crawled by.
But alas! War drums began to breathe
Their chilling echoes.
“Quiet so long—quiet so long!”
Folks intoned, neck veins strained to twangs.
Yet, their pride and hope with them,
To war they set to spring
Each to his potion, each to his mystical worth.
Perhaps this would be the final war.
And the Gbetaô would long remember it.

Before long, the men leaped forth.
Racing with fiendish speed.
The skies quivered with sounds of muskets.
Chase and counter chase.
Screams and counter screams
Griots, waving cow tails,
Drenched in sweat
Sang out the last syllable of praise.

Days went by, then weeks.
Alas! On this day, night was setting in.
The sun was shedding beguiling rays—
Those which dumb lads from fields afar saw
And thought a new sun was rising.
But it was an old sun, the one never to rise
Upon all faces alike.
A shot!—Out leaped a pall of smoke
Ferrying seven dark seeds.
Then there was silence
Grave, immutable silence.

PRONOUNCIATION GUIDE

Letter/Sound	English Sound/Letter Equivalent	Sample Source Word/Linguistic Family	Translation
Á/a	‘a’ in mat	wá (Kwa)	break
À	‘a’ in bad	jà (Kwa)	bring
A	‘a’ in ah	taji (Kwa)	leave me; and
É/e	‘a’ in pay	sélé (Kwa)	not
È	‘e’ in bet	gbè (Kwa)	load
Ê	‘e’ in earth	kpê (Kwa)	bones; strength
E	first ‘e’ in geese	ghe wl (Mande)	God
E	‘e’ in er	E ji (Kwa)	it’s coming
Í/i	‘e’ in keep	Ji (Kwa)	come
Ì	‘e’ in beneath	jì (Kwa)	leopard
Ó/o	‘o’ in book	kpó (Kwa)	knot
Ò	‘o’ in Dorine	bò (Kwa)	to
Ø	‘o’ in bought	klø (Kwa)	town
Ô	‘u’ in crush	kpô (Kwa)	on; dry land
Ú/u	‘u’ in suit	jú (Kwa)	child; front
Ù	‘u’ in dude	dlù (Kwa)	leak

Copyright © 2005 by K-Moses Nagbe