I was later adopted from my village while selling bananas and other rural products
near the bridge where cars usually stopped. I was brought to the city by an orphanage home,
where l continued my education.
While at one of the refugee schools, l came across some American missionaries who had
come to distribute food and clothes to refugees. I asked one of my teachers why these
people’s skin color was so different, and they wore better clothes than us. My teacher replied
that these people were from America, “the white man’s land,” as we called it. She further
explained that their country is the greatest nation on earth with many opportunities. l later
asked my teacher, “So why are we all not there?” She smiled at my ignorance and replied:
“you must follow many processes and get on an airplane to go there.” That’s when my
imagination of the American dream all started. From that day, l told my mom and all my
friends in the village that l would one day go to America and help my mother and siblings
with fine clothes like the American missionaries. Every time we went to practice on the
soccer field in the village, my friends started to call me an American boy.
As I grew older, the dream became bigger. I wanted to have a Western education and dress
up like some of the managers we saw in most American movies that sit in their offices with
nice suits and ties. I have always dreamed of helping people, especially kids. I wanted to be
like those American missionaries who helped us in the refugee camps. Sometimes when l felt
reluctant to go to school, my mother would remind me of my American dream and what my
primary teacher said about having a good education so l could be like the manager in the
movie and the American missionaries that visited us. I started to read so many books and
took my education seriously.
While out of school in the city for a semester, l worked as a cleaner in a local barbershop
where l also learned how to cut hair, one of the skills that helped me support myself and my
mother back in the village. I worked in the barbershop to save money to return to school the
following semester. While working in the barbershop, l encountered a miracle that helped
change my life. Mr. John Horace was a residential security guard working for one of the
government officials in my country then. He came to the barbershop and left his wallet in
one of the guest chairs. He had just gotten paid and had all the cash in his wallet. I came
across the wallet while cleaning and reported it to my boss. My boss was so proud of me as
it was not too often to find someone to be that honest, especially given my struggling
situation.
Mr. Horace spent the entire day and night searching for his wallet. He reluctantly returned
to the barbershop the next day and asked, “My Pekin,” meaning my young man in our local
English,” Did you see a wallet around here?” I told him I had found the wallet and ran after
him, but I didn’t see him and kept it safe. He happily embraced me and asked why I was
cleaning in a barbershop when l should be in school like my peers. I explained that l had just
returned to the country after the civil war; my father was dead, and my mother was in the
village. Mr. Horace was a university student doing a gateman (security guard) job to help
with his schooling. With similar struggles, he could relate to my situation. He cried with me
and asked me to come over at night when he was on duty. With no hesitation, l often visited
Mr. Horace at his job site, where he would bring me some leftover food from his boss’ fence.
We became excellent friends, and later he became more than a big brother to me. Besides
giving me food from his workplace,
l enjoyed the company of Mr. Horace to the point that l would not want to go to bed, but he
would insist that l go to bed and get prepared for work in the morning. For me sleeping with
Mr. Horace on duty outside the gate was even better than where I lived, as we were about
five boys in a single room, and sometimes there was no sleeping. During our conversations,
he asked me about my next step after high school if l manage my studies completely. I told
him I wanted to go to the Booker Washington Institute (BWI), a vocational and technical high
school so that l could at least make some money after graduation or do the same security job
as him and go to college… He asked what l would do if I went to the BWI vocational school; l
said computer or electronics as we struggled to turn on an old computer and a DCD player
so we could watch movies at night. I told him that at least we would now be able to watch
movies with no problem because I would learn how to repair the computer and the DVD
player. We laughed as we continued to eat the balance of his boss’ food that the kid had just
brought outside the gate.
A few days later, Mr. Horace said, l think what you said about the vocational school makes
sense as it prepares people for the job market right after high school, but the big question is
how will you attend in the first place? That was another issue to think about. The next day,
my big brother found a solution; he asked me to write a letter to his boss asking for
assistance. The following day, l wrote the letter with my hand as it was the usual
communication method. I stood in front of the gate with the letter the next day, waiting for
the official government car to pull out. After an hour, the boss asked Mr. Horace, “Who is that
kid, and what is he doing around my gate?”. Mr. Horace explained that he had a letter for you,
sir. The boss asked me to hand over the letter to him. Opening a letter of assistance is difficult
for local government officials in Africa, as they receive many letters daily for help. But
thankfully for me, my letter was opened immediately, and the boss replied, “Wow. You have
splendid handwriting. How did you get such fine penmanship?” The boss wondered. Indeed,
l had one of the finest Penmanship in high school. The boss requested that l get in his car.
With no hesitation, l entered the vehicle and continued the conversation.
The following day, l moved into the yard of the government official, Dr. Richard V. Tolbert,
who became my adopted father. Before assuming his last name as a son, l started as a yard
boy, cleaning and washing all the cars in the yard. Guess who my supervisor was. Mr. Horace,
the security guard.
CONTRACT VS RELATIONSHIP
Money may have one of the most significant values, but the acquisition of it must be made
correctly to have a good usage of it. One of the greatest lessons our uneducated and single
mothers taught us was correctly developing the right attitude to situations. Our mother
herself is a true example of such an attitude. After a few days at my new job, I was curious to
know if my new boss, Dr. Tolbert, was a true humanitarian, a politician, or just a boss looking
for a trusted worker that was so hard to find in our society. Whatever his motives were, on
my part, l was looking for a lasting relationship that would offer a young kid like me the
parental guidance that I have been missing for years while on the streets. Weeks later, my
boss called me to thank me for the hard work of cleaning the yard and later offered me a
salary of $50.00 every month and asked me to stay in his yard and go to regular school in the
city, not the vocational school. I needed that extra money to help my mom as l would no
longer return to work in the barbershop. However, my quest for a lasting relationship
prevented me from accepting the contract before me. I told him, sir, providing me a place to
stay and paying my tuition is more than enough. I sincerely appreciate your compassion and
willingness to help me. This was a lesson I learned from my mother about money. During
my time in the village, my older sister, Oretha, was of the age of early marriage or becoming
a second wife to some of the Chiefs in the town who could help us. Still, my mother said my
sister would continue to help on the farm and sell in the village market despite the many offer that
came our way. With my mom, there was no room for fast money. Our mother always told us
to use our PAINS as Positive Attitude in Negative Situations; throughout my upbringing, l
learned that any negotiation or assistance involving the exchange of money is a contract that
can be broken momentarily. On the contrary, we as humans seem to remember the people
who helped us without any cash exchange more than the sales agent who sold you your latest
iPhone or a pair of shoes. My new boss was speechless and would go on and explain the story
to his top friends and family members. A few weeks later, I gradually moved from cleaning
the yard to cleaning inside his bedroom and making his tea every morning.
From a yard boy to a houseboy (Housekeeper)
While working as a housekeeper, l was now in charge of bringing out the balance of food that
Mr. Horace used to share with me outside the gate. At night I would invite Mr. Horace to my
room to watch uninterrupted movies on cable TV. He would tell me you’re now my boss, and
we would laugh about it. I started to experience some parental care again after leaving my
mother in the village at age 13 and being homeless on the street. My quest for Western
education and better life grew even stronger knowing that my new dad once attended some
of America’s best Ivy League schools. When my dad traveled, l often asked him to buy me a
book as my present whenever I was asked what I wanted. One of the quotes that won my
admiration from one of those books says, “As a man, you’re considered successful when you
surpass your father’s records in great achievements.” So, one day, I decided to carefully
evaluate the quotation thinking that if this quotation is motivationally accurate, having Dr.
Richard Tolbert as a father means l have a mountain to climb. From that day, l put in more
work with my education.
In high school, I joined the scholar and quizzing team through the academic competition and
the influence of one of my classmates, Adolphus King. Up to now, despite the distance,
Adolphus is one of the best friends I have. After graduating high school, a few months into
my first year of college, I joined the student politics and human rights advocacy group at the
United Methodist University. With the help of my newly heaven-sent father, l was attending
two different universities pursuing different degrees simultaneously. In 2012 one of my
student movement groups and the President of one of my universities, Hon. Latim Da-thong,
now one of the ministers of Education in Liberia, helped me represent my country at the 49th
AU Summit in Ghana and a few other African countries—the first time getting on a flight.
After my return to the country from the summit, Fedesco Tolbert became a household name
in Liberia regarding advocacy and academic excellence. A friend of mine who is now the vice
president of the Fedesco Charity Foundation, Mrs. Akai Awulety Glidden, was one of those
who conducted my first public interview on national television and radio when she was
working at Power TV in Liberia.
During one of my volunteer tutoring classes at the Starz College of Science and Technology,
now Starz University, the President of the college again, through the recommendation of the
dean of the college at the time, Mr. Telebee Kamara, offered me a scholarship and a teaching
job in the certification program at the university while l was a junior student. I taught
intermediate and advanced courses such as office basics and Advanced, A+ computer
Hardware and network fundamentals. I also helped train hundreds of government
employees in computer systems at their jobs. The more comfortable I felt in my new home,
the more I became hungry to make my dad proud as a payback for his humanitarian
assistance towards my mother and me. I was motivated daily when I drove my dad to the
supermarket and other places and saw my peers, including some of my friends, whom we
considered “Don Bosco boys,” now commonly known as “Zogos,” referring to disadvantaged
and homeless youths. The guys often told me they were happy for me and that l should stay
focused and hope not to see me back on the street. I would give them money as we do our
ritual handshake and slogans before leaving. On our way home, my dad sometimes asked,”
How do you know those boys?” l would smile and say, “They always follow you,” l guess
because of a tip. I never told my dad these details about myself out of fear of judgment,
shame, or maybe a great deal of respect. All he knew was the brilliant and determined
Fedesco.