Games We Played

Mama: Children, children I call ya'll

Children: Mama, Mama we don't care!

Mama: I send my dog behind ya'll

Children: You send him we will kick him!

Mama: I send my switch behind ya'll!

Children: You send it we will break it!

Mama: I send myself behind ya'll!

After hearing enough 'back-talk', the child playing the role 'Mama' would then run after the rest of the children until someone is caught. The child that is caught would then play the role of 'Mama'.

The world sat stunned at the athletic abilities of the African teams at the World Cup 2002 games. We Africans weren't.

Visit any neighborhood in Africa; you are more than likely to see two young boys play "Butt" - that is when one child head butts the ball thrown at him by another. These are skills that professional footballers acquire to make a name for themselves.

Our early days of the trendy comradeship that we shared came about thinking up ways of creating memorable moments. I do not know the origin of these games. We learned them by watching our older siblings and were later included as we matured. We entered deals with each other by locking pinky fingers together, and one person karate-chopped the fingers loose. These deals were governed by strict confidentiality. Never tell your parents should you get hit or are dispossessed of your belongings because you got caught off guard.

Here are a few:

(I) free ke ke, you must remember to keep your rear end covered with a hand otherwise you get kicked - "free kick."

(2) bufet, ground hold it, when your belonging is knocked out of your hand and falls to the ground, you lose whatever it is to the other person that knocked it out of your hand and says, "bufet, ground hold it."

(3) fee-on, you must keep two fingers crossed at all times and show it when the person says to you, "fee-on," and

(4) green leaf, you must have in possession a green-colored object with you at all times, preferably, a green leaf. The main thing is, if you are caught off guard, you will be hit and/or lose your possessions, be it your dinner or a toy or your snack. No matter what the consequences were, you could never report it to your parent.

We also spoke in code, I-pay say-pay that-pay, to share secrets or gossip with our best friend(s). Those who did not understand the spoken code had no clue as to what was said. You said "pay" after each word. That wasn't so difficult.

Whether it was Salala, Careysburg, New Georgia, Sanniquelle, Plonkor or New Kru Town, every Liberian child valued his or her playtime in our friendly neighborhoods. We hopped, jumped, butted, ran, or climbed. One way or another, we had fun. Games we played were life lessons, and we did not even know that. Take for instance, "As I was passing by." It gives advice that, as an adult, I take seriously. It went like this:

As I was passing by,
My aunty called me in
And she said to me,
Oh [your name], take time in life,
[your name], take time in life,
[your name], take time in life,
[your name], take time in life,
You've got far way to go.

And we ended it by swinging our hips and carrying on:

Oh rock it, rock it,
shoo, shoo!
You rock it, I will shake it,
you shake it, I will rock it!

I don't know whether it is because of this game that I am cautious in doing things, but I am. It was ingrained in me early on.

What about, "Train, train, drop it"? We formed a circle holding hands, one person takes a handkerchief and runs around the outside of the circle, and drops the handkerchief at the foot of someone who is to chase them around the circle, until they reach the spot where he or she was standing. If s/he is not caught (the one who dropped the handkerchief), then the person at whose foot the handkerchief was dropped becomes it. We sang and clapped our hands:

Train, train drop it.
I wrote a letter to my darling,
On the way, he dropped it.
Little boy picked it up.
And put it in his pocket.

When I think about this song, I often ask myself, did the friend deliberately dropped that letter? Mmm . . . something to think about.

The notorious Na Foe! The game of all games! Don't be surprised by anyone's sole desire to get you on his or her side if are considered a 'master.' Some were even master cheaters. They were good at 'sticking foot.' Children would fight over you to be on their side. Our parents hated Na Foe because we beat our feet so often and so hard against the ground, our shoes did last.

Zeke Solo Ma was not as bad as Na Foe. The only problem was our footwear became dusty. To play Zeke Solo Ma, we hopped back and forth, clapped once and saluted with one hand. The other players tried to guess which hand would be used to salute with. If you guessed right, you become the leader. You remained in control until someone guessed correctly which hand you would use to salute with. For some reason, many children got enjoyment out of this game. I didn't.

I liked the songs we sang about Monrovia boys. Ahhh, those charming Monrovia boys. I guess they were being gentlemanly in helping the young woman reclaim her candy:

I bought my one-cent candy
My one-cent candy fell down
Monrovia boy picked it up
Ah! Ah! Ah! What is this?
Ah! Ah! It's your birthday!

Other games we played were Bend down to the bush, Y'aII leave my pepper bush and I declare war. Not every home had a television set, but if you had one at home, it was turned on at 6:00 PM and went off at midnight. There was no 'day-time' television. We preferred playing outdoors rather than sitting in front of a TV set anyway. Then again, who had time to watch TV when you had some serious studying to do?

Our teachers had their "license" to whip us when we failed a test or did not know our spelling words or 'times table' - the multiplication table. Play to your heart's content, but when the street lights came on, you had to be home with your books open. God forbid if you had to repeat a class or go to summer school. Your parents would remind you how poorly you did should they even hear you laugh. Tuition, books, and uniforms were costly. Parents did the worrying and we kids had not a care in the world. We were compelled to make good grades.

In our neighborhoods, children played with one another and parents watched each other's kids. It did not matter if your parents were home or not. You always behaved as if they were. Whenever an adult neighbor told your parents about something you did, they took their word for it. We had no need for babysitters because parents were protectively responsible for each other's children. Some even carried out extreme discipline, as in whipping. When that happened, you wouldn't tell your parents either, because you might get a second beating for the same thing. In our neighborhoods, we loved each other and life was beautiful!

Palm Wine in My Belly

An astonishing phenomenon arose when Africans were made slaves. Forty years before the Civil War would end slavery in the United States, on February 6, 1820, a 300-ton brig, the Elizabeth, sailed out of New York harbor bound for West Africa. On July 26, 1847, Liberia, Africa's first republic, was declared an independent state out of that journey.

You see, there is a certain pride that every citizen has about his or her country. This, my friend, is the pride that I treasure. Equally so, because of the tremendous suffering that our society has endured due to the civil war, that pride sits like palm wine in my belly—sweet— yet sour. It is as if we have lost hope and totally forgotten about prosperity. Nevertheless, I remain profoundly proud.

I am proud of our age-old custom of storytelling. It was fashionable. The storyteller would holler, "Once upon a time!" and listeners would respond, "Time!"

Yes, we sat attentively and listened to the voices in African folk tales that entertained, as well as enlightened us.

We celebrated the voices of romance, the ordinary, the extraordinary, the hero, and at times, the fool. There was always a lesson to be learned.

Animals often portrayed the characters in folk tales. Spider was the most popular character in Liberian folk tales. At one time or another, Spider has been portrayed with the mannerism of all the above personalities. My favorite tale of Spider is the reason for his tiny waist: greed.

I am proud of Liberia's Angie Brooks, the second woman from any nation, to be president of the United Nations General Assembly.

I am proud of Liberia's Edward B. Blyden, one of the first Pan Africanist nationalists, whose writings before the turn of the century expressed his belief that Africans should cultivate their own distinctive identity and values.

I am proud of Liberia's George Weah, the only player in history to be named European, African and FIFA Player of the year in the same year, 1995: The world's best soccer player.

I am proud of Liberia's Momolu Dualo Bukere, whose authorship in 1814 is attributed to the invention of a syllabic script of 160 symbols, one of only four indigenous African scripts in existence. Mr. Bukere was from the Vai tribe.

In the complex world of our civil war, I still find inspirations in our national seal; an ocean with a ship under sail, to remind us of the long odyssey of our ancestors, as well as our accessibility to the rest of the world; a rising sun above the horizon, which symbolizes the birth of a nation and pride in our African heritage; a plow and a shovel in the foreground on the shore, to remind us that Liberians' labor can turn our land's bounty to our sustenance; the palm tree, the source from which the palm oil has enriched us; the white dove, flying with an open scroll in its beak, indicating that knowledge can be spread with peace; and most importantly, our motto: The Love of Liberty Brought Us Here.

I am proud that Liberians have lived in a nation which has been independent and self-governed from the get-go. I hope that in time to come, every Liberian will be able to improve in every way made possible by God.

I believe that pride is there to be claimed by each of our children and us. The Republic of Liberia was founded by Blacks and governed by Blacks, for the well-being of Blacks.

There is no other country in the world quite like Liberia.

EXCERPTS from My Dear Liberia: RECOLLECTIONS, Poetic memoirs from my heart. Pine Lake: Village Tales Publishing, 2004. www.villagetales.com

Copyright © 2004 by Ophelia S. Lewis