Farming Never Left My Blood

A golden field of swamp rice in Duport Road, Monrovia 

I was born on a family farm in Grand Gedeh County, southeastern Liberia. Our farm was situated within a timber plantation—Prime Timber Product (PTP)—near Zwedru city. This is where my dad, Amadou Fofana, spent most of his days; cultivating a mixed farm consisting of up and lowland rice, veggies, corn, and cassava, and fishing in nearby narrow rivers---all done by hand. And as a baby, this is where I spent my first few days, following my arrival into this world. Though I didn’t live there along with my dad, whenever I had the chance to visit the farm along with my mom, I took it. Dad came home at the end of each month for at least a week or two. But mom visited him at least every weekend.

Growing up, my love for the farm was so strong. The sight of deep yellow or golden rice fields on a steep hill or mountain always cheered my heart. I was thrilled by the glows of dark purple and plummy eggplants; the hot reddish and greenish looks of peppers and tomatoes as they grew in the fields. 

Eventually, I started nurturing my own little backyard vegetable garden when I was around the age of 13 at our Quartiér Garman residence in Bloléquin, western Côte d’Ivoire, after my family moved there in the 1990's. I roamed the kitchen whenever my mom cooked eggplant stew, making sure that she squeezed the fresh tomatoes in a bowl and let me have the seeds. I also took the water in which she washed the diced eggplants, let it sit for a while, then, filter it to gather the seeds. I dried the seeds before dispersing them in the backyard. 

This followed the preparation of beds; ensuring that the soil was enriched and ready to plant. I prepared a mixture of both in-ground and raised garden beds to fit the shape of my garden plot. Nurturing my backyard vegetable garden to growth; watering it nearly every other evening [during the dry season] would then follow. The palava sauce, peppers, tomatoes, eggplants and bitter balls I grew in my garden enabled my family of roughly 25 to enjoy a wealth of fresh vegetables up to a month or two. It further made our meals more personal, interesting. 

But I developed a stronger love for agriculture when I met Annie and her siblings in the early 90's. They lived right next to our home in Bloléquin. The lives of these three young children revolved around subsistence farming, even at such tender ages—Annie, 15; Ouwah, 14 and Morry, 12. Their father owned a large plot of farmland, deeply buried within the thick rain forest bounding Bloléquin and Ziagolo, a nearby town, also in western Côte d'Ivoire.

The farm was at least 18 miles away from home and was only accessible by footpath. Annie and her siblings began their journey to their farm as early as 4:30a.m. and there, they spent the entire day doing all sorts of manual labor alongside their dad. They began heading back to town by 5p.m, heavily loaded with bundles of dry fire woods, freshly caught fish or bush meat hunted by their dad, bunches of seed rice, fresh veggies and some leafy greens. Once at home  by 7p.m., the seed rice was briefly patched, poured into a mortar and pounded until ready for evening meal preparation. The bundles of fire woods were sold to buy additional ingredients (cubes, salt, oil, etc) and other provisions (bath soap, dishwashing soap, candles, kerosene, etc).

Being so passionate about farming, needless to say I had it in my blood, I started following Annie and her siblings to their farm and engaging in all sorts of manual works, including planting, weeding, hoeing. I just couldn’t wait to get into the fields and start planting! I loved the flat or rolling treeless [and grassless] land and the priceless time I spent there with my friends! At some point, my mom could no longer take it. She couldn’t bear the thought that I was exposing myself to such energy-absorbing life. But, hey! I was extremely fond of the farm and nothing could stop me! 

And today…….I still feel a passion for agriculture; a deeper connection to the industry. I certainly won't hesitate going back to the soil and investing in it, because, as President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf puts it, “Though farming is hard work, when you work hard and you can see the results of your labor, it makes you feel proud of yourself.”

_________________________________________ 

Quartiér Garman became the new home of my family after being uprooted from its community of origin by Liberia’s decade-long civil war. We lived in the city of Zwedru, Grand Gedeh County, Liberia, for several years prior to the onset of the Liberian civil war, which began on December 24, 1989. In desperate search of safety and stability, my family spent nearly a year navigating its way across the sub-region before finally arriving and settling down in Bloléquin. That was in mid 1991. Our four-bedroom residence in Quartiér Garman was bounded by those of four families of diverse backgrounds: to our east were the Baoulés; to our west were some Gola refugees from Liberia; to our north were the Burkinabés and to our south were these Guinean Kpelles (Annie and her siblings).