By Boakai Jaleiba (Vice chairman, National Oil Company of Liberia)
I walked into AMEU, wrote the entrance exam, Maths and English, finished quick, and left. Had to go teach at CTC and CTE in Fanima. Or Clara Town, depending who you ask.
The Vai elders would rather drink poison than call that place Clara Town. In Vai mythology, they established it and named it Fanima, a Vai phrase meaning “on the savanna plains.” So Fanima it is to them. Clara Town to everyone else.
But back to AMEU.
Weeks later, my boy Mike McCrownsey goes to check his result. Mike came out of Monrovia College. Quizzer!. Academically sharp. Also sharp with the fits; he loved wearing blue shoes, blue socks, cream pants, starched shirts. Dude took time to dress
He sees his name. Second place. Back then, results weren’t listed alphabetically.
Then he sees number one: Boakai Jaleiba.
Mike pauses. Who? Starts asking around. Someone tells him: That’s Ozone.
Ah. Ozone Layer. The name I carried through every academic corner. He knew me by that name.
Okay, Mike says. Ozone is smart. I can accept losing to a worthy competitor.
But here’s the problem: Mike had a phone. I didn’t. Nobody I knew in Clara Town did. So how does second place tell first place he passed? He couldn’t.
Took me over a week to find out. Dopoh, the distinguished Senator Saidy from River Gee found me one evening. Everyone looking for you, Ozone. Even Dopoh didn’t have a phone. News just traveled slow back then. It was Saidy who broke the news.
Fast forward. I’m on campus.
Admission letter in hand. Courses planned. Bill calculated. Then the math of poverty: MOE scholarship covered some. The rest? Ninety dollars stood between me and my future.
I wrote three letters. Three men. Asked each for thirty dollars. Measured ask and didn’t want to overreach.
Mr. Charles Collins at Deputy Minister at Finance (no relation to the now-famous guy), Sir Stephen Nyanti at LTC and Sir T. Negbalee Warner at CBL.
All three paid. All three asked the same thing: Why only thirty? Why not ask me for all ninety?
I told each one: I was confident in my request.
First semester, 4.0. Got on the JJ Roberts Scholarship, same one I’d benefited from years before. It came through again.
Three years later, student body elected me President. Wasn’t a surprise. I tutored everything Maths, Accounting, Economics, Biology, Physics. Broke it down so people could get it. Even some students not in my party voted for me. Only Robert Pyne refused. Very opinionated dude!
When I became President of the AMEU Student Union, my troubles began. It was tit for tat. I was loud nationally and on campus. I took up tough positions. On campus, I called for the abolition of pamphlet sales, a treasonable act in college at the time, an end to pay for play, and other reforms. Some students even scolded me for speaking up on their behalf because, they said, teachers would deliberately lecture and write or dictate notes for the full class hour out of spite after I criticised pamphlet sales.
In some tests, I would be the only person to pass and with 85% but the instructor would still give me a B. Even the ROTC course I failed to take in my freshman year, in my final semester, the instructor gave me a C because he believed I had failed the practical. I made it a point never to fail a single quiz or test. They would scale grades for others, but my raw score stayed on the record.
My average dropped from 3.920 to 3.6 something.
Graduation approached. Awards night came.
I didn’t go.
The dux came to me personally ( by 2005, I had a phone). You have to come. If you don’t, it looks bad on me. Like you’re trying to invalidate my achievement.
So I went. Sat there. Watched. Left.
No pictures. Made no arrangements. Never planned to be there. To this day, no photo of me in undergrad gown exists. That moment is just memory.
Years later, Georgetown University.
Different country. Different professors. No grudges carried from another continent. They just taught. I just learned.
Left with 4.0.
They thought I was better than AMEU thought I was.
So does being dux matter?
Depends who you ask. Ask the record book, maybe it does. Ask the award committee, sure.
Ask me?
I believe in my own abilities. Not titles. Never been about titles.
Society remembers people who leave scars. Not people who collect certificates.
Dux or not, the story finds its way.
… and the story will find you.
