By Kettehkumuehn E. Murray, Ph. D.
I first heard the gong sound nearly three decades ago while visiting with Counselor Francis Garlawolu on his Garkorleh estate in Bong County. To this day, I still hear that poignant and piercing sound in my ear every time I visit rustic environs, especially in Bong County.
Over the holidays I sat down with two reps of the younger generation – Joe K. Williams and J. Liama Canmu – of Sinjay and Kayata (near Cuttington University) to fully understand the role of the inimitable Town-Crier in the Kpelleh-Mende ethos.
Expanding my research further, the results follow below]
BEFORE ELECTRICITY REACHED THE HINTERLAND,
before radio towers rose above the forest canopy,
before WhatsApp groups multiplied voices without faces,
the village already knew how to speak to itself.
That voice was the town-crier—
kpan-kpang man, gong-gong bearer,
the one who walked at dawn and dusk
so that no one could say, “I did not hear.”
In Liberia’s many cultures—Kpelleh, Bassa, Vai, Kru, Dahn-puç-men, Mahnmè, Lorma—the town-crier was not a casual announcer.
He was an extension of the chief’s stool,
a moving boundary between authority and the people.
The Gong Before the Word
In Liberian villages, the message never came before the sound.
First came the gong—sharp, deliberate, unmistakable.
Only then came the words.
This ordering matters philosophically (Sartre: “Existence precedes essence”).
The gong announced not information, but importance.
It said: Leave what you are doing; the village is about to speak.
As elders often say:
“When the gong sounds, the bush becomes quiet.”
This was not fear—it was discipline,
born of shared understanding that some words belong to everyone.
A Chosen Mouth, Not a Free Mouth
The town-crier was selected carefully.
Not the loudest man.
Not the cleverest man.
But the one known to keep his mouth clean.
In Liberian wisdom:
“The mouth that twists words spoils the town.”
He did not add pepper to the chief’s message.
He did not remove salt to please friends.
He delivered the word whole,
because partial truth was considered a form of lying.
Thus, the town-crier taught a deep civic ethic:
“To carry the people’s word is heavier than carrying a kinjah of rice.”
Communication as Social Order
Through the town-crier, the village learned:
- When there would be palava-hut meeting
- When farming must stop for communal labor
When death had entered the town
- When strangers must be welcomed—or watched.
His announcements did not merely inform;
they organized life.
Among the Kpelleh, one hears:
“A town without ear is already broken.”
The town-crier prevented that breakage.
He ensured that no household drifted into ignorance,
because ignorance was dangerous—
not only to the individual, but to the whole.
From Town-Crier to Telephone: What Changed
Modern digital communication has given every person a gong—
but without training, selection, or consequence.
Today in Liberia and beyond:
- Messages move faster than wisdom
- Rumors travel farther than truth
- Everyone speaks, but few listen
- Words wound without accountability.
In the old village, if the town-crier lied,
he would be removed, shamed, and remembered.
In the digital village, falsehood often gains followers.
An old saying warns:
“Too many drums spoil the dance.”
Our age has many drums—
but little rhythm.
What the Town-Crier Still Teaches the Digital Age
The town-crier reminds us that:
- Speech is communal property, not personal weaponry
- Authority must be audible and accountable
- Silence has its season, and not every moment requires a post
- Truth needs a custodian, not just a platform.
The town-crier stands as a rebuke to careless speech and reckless sharing.
Conclusion: Calling the Village Back to Itself
The town-crier no longer walks every village path,
but his philosophy still walks among us.
He asks a question our modern tools cannot answer on their own:
Who is speaking—and on whose behalf?
Until we recover the ethics of the gong—
clarity, restraint, responsibility—
our digital voices will continue to scatter the village, confuse the people.
And as our elders say:
“When the town forgets how to hear, trouble finds a place to sit.”
Asè.
May it be so;
And so shall it be.
The Ancestors are wise.
