A decade or so ago, N’dorbor was savagely gunned down by the Prince Johnson thugs, the killer masqueraders that overran Monrovia in October 1990. His only crime was the ethnic mark (a scar) that he carried on his back. The drugged, bloodthirsty thugs aligned him with a rival rebel faction. They were dead wrong! The only mark (not a scar) N’dorbor wore was a revolutionary one, his courage to swing with the oppressed. Essentially, he was a victim of the reactionary storm that began in 1980 at dawn and was now whirling through the nineties.

May his soul rest in perfect peace.

Indeed, N’dorbor has left an indelible void in the ranks of advocates for Monrovia’s slum-dwellers; the destitute masses that have withstood the worst of imperialist machinations and perennial dictatorship in Liberia. He was an unsung hero of the Liberian people’s struggle for rights and rice. His progressive life is a tale of a young Liberian student who, during a vigorous conscientization process in the 1970s, risked his suburban Monrovia lifestyle and forged solidarity with the downtrodden masses. The consequences were formidable: disinheritance, abject poverty and humiliation.

By 1984, the military junta headed by Master Sergeant Samuel Doe had tightened its grip on the nation, driving the democratic forces into tactical retreat. Yet, like many other militants, N’dorbor remained relentless and at grave risk organized study groups at various secret locations in slums around Monrovia. I first met N’dorbor in May 1984 in the slum of West Point, where he was attending one of those meetings. A sturdy, ebony-black chap of medium height, he quietly entered the crowded living room and took a back seat in a corner. As he sat there attentively, absorbing every detail of the deliberations, you could sense his radical posture, critical consciousness and heightened self-affirmation. Yet he carried an aura of humility and simple dignity that bespoke a good upbringing. Heads turned when he was given the floor to comment on issues under discussion. His brilliant analytical skills and affability fired up a lively cross-fertilization of views. I subsequently made friends with him, and our friendship blossomed and transcended the common camaraderie found among the rank and file militants of the Liberian progressive movement. It also afforded me insights into his personal life.

N’dorbor was probably born in Kolahun District, Lofa County. His father, a Lorma, settled among the Gbandi people in the district and became a successful coffee planter. The young Boley was raised by his mother in Mano River along the minefields of the now defunct National Iron Ore Company (NIOC). He curiously watched toiling Liberian miners at work, strenuously digging out minerals for American profiteers. From a somewhat social distance, he saw the deplorable living conditions of the underpaid mineworkers. By the time N’dorbor completed junior high school, the once gorgeous mountains of the Mano River lay in ruins. No sooner had the American investors packed their bags than a devastating landslide erupted, killing hundreds of thousands of laid-off miners and their impoverished families.

Memories of the Mano River specters inadvertently helped to shape the critical consciousness of young Boley, subsequently driving his progressive resolutions for most of his short life. William V. S. Tubman High School became a fertile environment for his growing revolutionary consciousness when he enrolled there in 1975. Located in the heart of Monrovia, Tubman High School was the breeding ground for firebrand cadres of the then burgeoning Liberian progressive movement. Basking in the revolutionary fervor, N’dorbor became a founding member of the militant Student UHURU Movement, advocating for students’ rights. When N’dorbor matriculated into the University of Liberia, he had already assumed a radical posture on the Hegelian proposition that “true solidarity with the oppressed means fighting at their side to transform the objective reality which has made them ‘these beings for another.’” In doing so, he shed the trappings of his privileged class heritage and took to the Liberian people’s struggle for social justice and democracy. His sources of strength and courage were the Movement for Justice in Africa (MOJA) and the Liberian National Students Union (LINSU), both progressive organizations in which he ably served in several leadership capacities.

N’dorbor’s radical posture irritated his father, a devout Jehovah Witness, who unsuccessfully tried to dissuade him. His unwavering commitment to the struggle eventually earned him the wrath of the father. Not only did the once benevolent old man stop funding N’dorbor’s education, but he also disinherited him. Consequently, N’dorbor dropped out of science college at the University of Liberia. Almost homeless and destitute, N’dorbor sought refugee in the slum of West Point, where he remained engaged in dialogue, reflection and communication with the inhabitants. As he taught classes of cadres, he helped nurture hope for a Liberian society where respect for human rights and the well-being of all Liberians would reign supreme.

“His reflection on the abject poverty in his new environment may have been very deep,” says Gadiminar Flomo, a fellow former student activist who was with him moments before his murder, “because N’dorbor actually wrote a large body of poems that we regrettably did not find after his summary execution.” Flomo, who had slept in the same room for about two weeks with N'dorbor, tried to find the poems, but to no avail.

Until September 1988, Ndorbor and I remained inseparable, languishing in abject poverty in West Point. As we walked through the filthy alleys in the slum side by side, he daily talked about critical intervention which would incorporate the total participation of those trapped in poverty. I saw that he had an undaunted will to work with oppressed people and a knack for engaging them in a meaningful comradeship. Thanks to his presence, youth leaders in West Point became totally involved in spearheading several projects including study centers and cleanup campaigns. The last time I saw him was in a dilapidated building that we dubbed LINSU Headquarters on Camp Johnson Road. There he had been given a room to live. As newly appointed Chairman of LINSU's Scholarship Committee, he was engrossed in writing letters, and soliciting study grants for the upliftment of needy cadres.

For four years, N'dorbor remained my closest revolutionary companion. Even at the most turbulent of times when comrades tended to drift away, he was around to lean on. He demonstrated faith in progressive principles espoused by MOJA and LINSU. His devotion to the cause of our people was not superficial; nor was it for personal gain. On the contrary, it was more of a positive mental attitude, rather than a public-image technique that some self-styled Liberian progressives used for self-aggrandizement. Faithfulness was N'dorbor's benchmark, and it is primarily his faith in the oppressed masses that commands this tribute.

N'dorbor was a genuine advocate for social justice. He was neither an overbearing personality nor the loquacious type who exuded an aura of power and engaged in mimicry. He spoke less but minced no words in pointing out the mistakes of comrade leaders when it was necessary, but did so constructively. He would invariably confront comrades who used individual leadership failures as an alibi to form splinter groups. He believed in the unity of the progressive forces and open dialogue among them, as long as these were fostered on the basis of progressive principles.

N'dorbor abhorred oppression of any kind. He hated the Liberian political system and its perpetrators. He detested the chronic injustices in the Liberian society. For fifteen years, he relentlessly fought to draw attention to these pitfalls – a vocation that for him meant total solidarity with the destitute masses, the wretched of our nation.

Boley N'dorbor was murdered fifteen years ago, but I still deeply mourn his departure. He left behind a legacy of hope in struggle, which is the mark of a true revolutionary.