At age 27, I was heading for my third post in West Africa. Colleagues at the Department of State would ask, “Where are you going now?” When I told them Enugu, Nigeria they would say “Enoogou,” with obvious pity and curiosity. I was to open a new information center, eventually a consulate, in that still colonial region of Nigeria.
For two months, I laid the groundwork in Lagos, Nigeria’s federal capital. Nigeria was two years away from full independence from British rule. Politically, the new nation of 75 million (now 170 million), was then administered as three regions. Enugu, being the capital of the Eastern Region, later to become known as Biafra.
Air travel from Lagos to Enugu was in the old DC-3 propeller-driven plane, then the work horse for short flight aviation throughout the world. The landing strip in Enugu was a rough dirt track which kicked up a cloud of dust upon landing. Initially, I was a regular passenger commuter.
While busy making detailed arrangements in Lagos, my new car arrived by ship. It was a German-made Opal “Capitan”, a General Motors product. I was later to have a Land Rover and film truck for the new post. Driving between Lagos and Enugu was always an adventure, about six hours or more. I would often stop for a night at a hotel in Benin, a city giving its name to the famous bronze casting figures dating back to the 14th and 15th centuries.
Approaching the Niger River, passing through Akure, the high forest was beautiful. But roads were poor and congested with passenger lorries and trucks. The slow-moving muddy Niger River spread twice as wide as the Connecticut River at Hadlyme, and forty-times that of the Rio Grande. It was crowded with sailing canoes and dilapidated riverboats. The ferry crossing was at Onitsha, a world-renowned market city. I have a vivid memory of the colorful chaotic crowded market of women washing clothes and children on the riverbank, and of 400-pound catfish being sold in fish stalls.
Past Onitsha, I would stop for a while at Akwa and often visit the incredible archeological sites of the famous Igbo Ukwu, bronze vases, bowls and ornaments dating to the 10th century. These were crafted by artisans of the Nri Kingdom, ancestors of the current Igbo (Ibo) people, soon to become my Nigerian compatriots. The drive in to Enugu, an hour away, was through many small villages and pretty countryside.
My first residence in Enugu was the official government rest house, rustic but comfortable. Long before the advent of hotels, these “rest houses” were the best places to stay throughout Nigeria. The first days involved calling on the British governor, Sir Robert Stapledon, Nnamdi Azikiwe, the Premier, and many community figures.
Letters home described the challenges of finding a house, setting up and finishing the consular office and information center, and meeting local leaders. I always wanted latest news of my three little sisters, Suey, Christina and Linda. I provided money to buy Christina’s horse, Blaze, and for his upkeep, and to help pay for Suey’s college tuition, worrying about her grades and plans. Linda was still in grade school. I was full of unsolicited advice, and (very annoying) about everything, especially family finances.
Early on the idea of a visit from my mother became a hot topic. Mother desperately wanted to come, not having travelled afar for many years. Frankie was not at all keen on her doing so. Much more about her “historic” visit later in these recollections.
The Department of State allowed me a relatively generous budget to open the new post assuming I would need to take care of many visitors from overseas, which was indeed the case. After much back and forth with the Department, I leased a building still under construction in downtown Enugu for the consulate and information center. It was my first experience dealing with British architects and what are called “quality surveyors”. The latter select materials and estimate costs in construction projects, (presumably to keep the architects in line!). The final product, especially the library and film centers, looked great.
I also recruited a staff of nine from scores of applicants. This was a difficult task because so many qualified “school leavers” were looking for work throughout Nigeria. These young people were quick to learn and eager to get ahead. (I can note here that Ibo’s were, and are, generally acknowledged to be the most ambitious and driven people in West Africa). My top aid was Gabriel Usuagwu who had a degree in Economics from London University.
Finding a new place to live was next. By chance a house being constructed by an Italian builder was available. It was a multi-colored façade and had great interior detail; a large kitchen, dining area and two bedrooms on ground floor; a huge living room and spacious bedroom upstairs. Three bathrooms, but no shower, just tubs. Upstairs a large balcony looked out on the green hills and scattered neighborhoods around Enugu. Downtown was two miles away.
I wrote home about the challenges of furnishing the place, about the fine marble floor, bright colors and tile work. My mother freighted me by sea lots of household items. I was startled when a live mouse scurried out of one box she sent, perhaps surviving the sea voyage. Before leaving for my post in Enugu I had visited several art galleries in NYC with my Uncle Jack Baur, my mother’s brother, who was Director of the Whitney Art Museum. I bought a large abstract painting, “Burning Bush”, by Daniel Newman and a small impressionist oil by Reginald Marsh. These were shipped to Lagos and predictably lost in a customs warehouse. Our Counsel General was very perturbed believing they were worth thousands of dollars. I finally retrieved them by searching the warehouse myself on a trip to Lagos. The Newman hung on my living room wall and behind it, throughout my stay, lived a scrappy gecko that kept peeking his head out to look about.
Inside the compound were two small houses for staff. I had arranged for Peter Kabou, his wife, and two small children to move from Accra, Ghana to Enugu to work for me as house “steward”. I’d known Peter in Accra. He worked there in the household of the Minister of Information, but was desperate to return to Nigeria with his family, being an ethnic Ijaw from the Niger delta region. The Ijaws were a minority group in Eastern Nigeria numbering about three million, and not always on friendly terms with the Igbos. Peter became a loyal figure in my household. A year later when my mother visited she practically adopted Peter and his boys and they adored her.
In the months, ahead Peter would be on call 24-7 to prepare food and drinks, usually late in the evening, for my African friends and visitors. He was not happy when I hired an Ibo cook named Isaac. Peter was convinced Isaac was poisoning me, pointing out specs or irregularities in my food. Either way, I survived.
Two other members were part of my household story. I hired Chimdi to help landscape the new house. My mother, an avid gardener, read that Enugu was the garden center of Nigeria. She mailed me a range of seeds; hibiscus, geranium, sedum, roses etc. which we planted. After several weeks, I was amazed to see my garden in full bloom: Chimdi finally admitted to lifting and transplanting (at night) from Governor Stapledon’s nursery. I listed plants in my garden, zinnias, bachelor buttons, cat’s whiskers, lilies, roses, morning glory—though to be honest I’ve never been much of a gardener.
On questionable advice from Nigerian friends I also hired a night watchman who “camped out” near my front door. He was very old and carried a bow and arrows which he claimed carried poison. One night coming home late we startled him sound asleep which led to an amusing furor.
Early on I began making a wide circle of Nigerian Friends. As the first and sole American government representative in Eastern Nigeria, I gained easy entry into the community, welcomed by Nigerians, somewhat suspect by the British colonials.
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Americans, black or white, enjoyed a “honeymoon” period in West Africa during this time. So many of the new political leaders, like Eastern Prime Minister Nnamdi Azikiwe, had studied in the U.S. and ties were strong. Years later as international companies rushed to exploit African resources and foreign governments vied for political influence, coupled with regime changes, corruption and civil strife, the “specialness” of Americans disappeared. In 1957, all seemed so simple and straightforward towards a smooth transition to independence, with a federal constitution and democratic structure in place. We were so naïve!
From the start, I began travelling throughout Eastern Nigeria. Roads were good by African standards. I had my new Open, a Land Rover, and a film unit truck and van.
An early visit to the British Cameroons involved filming a widely-publicized program at Man of War Bay on a beautiful cliff-lined coast. Cameroon. A former German colony, had been divided into two parts after World War I, administered by France and Britain. The western part, by Britain, was then considered part of Eastern Nigeria, thus a territory for which I was responsible.
The program we narrated and filmed was organized by “Outward Bound,” the worldwide adventure-based educational experience for youth. Eighty young Nigerians were selected to participate, representing every region of the country. The idea was to provide a shared variety of experiences and promote friendship among diverse ethnic groups prior to independence – a noble concept. Activities included rock climbing, boating, rescue at sea, obstacle courses, community service. Our film and narrative was later distributed widely by USAID and the BBC.
While in Cameroon we made another film of the active, erupting volcano on Mt. Cameron, highest peak by far in West Africa at nearly 14,000 feet. I was amazed to stand 100 yards in front of a massive high wall of red molten lava slowly inching down the slope. Nearby villages had been abandoned. No one knew for sure if a final explosion might devastate the countryside. By the way, I had no part in the actual filming of these events, this being the job of my Nigerian photographer, Ely Kosoko. At best, I could be called the movie “director and narrator”.
Among memories of Cameroon, apart from its mountainous beauty and coastline, were the string of stolid, comfortable “rest houses” built by the Germans during their colonial rule. Cameroon was unified and achieved independence in 1960, and soon had a world class soccer team.
Often, I was on the road. One weekend I was invited to the country home village of the Minister of Information, B.C. Okwu, with some journalist friends, among them was Douglas “Doogie” Ngube, who practically lived at my house for a year, and eventually fled to Ivory Coast during the Biafran War. We visited all twelve villages that made up his particular clan of Igbos. This area, about 50 miles from Enugu, is on a plateau of beautiful rolling country with streams that just pop out of hillsides from underground springs. Along one of these were a group of sacred monkeys. I wrote home “We feasted royally on goat soup and meat, yam foo-foo, and fresh palm wine.”
There were many such trips during my two years in Enugu, either with my film crew, with Nigerian friends, or alone. I occasionally slept on a bed roll in the Land Rover, but more often was offered a bed. I never once recall being uneasy or afraid wherever I stayed. Among my European friends was a French doctor Bihan-Faou and his wife. Their attractive daughter, Michelle, visited for two months and we had some good times together driving around in my Opel listening to music. (I met her again later while passing through Paris). Sadly, her parents were killed in a head-on car crash while driving into Togo, caused by failing to adjust from left side driving to right side. This was always a problem driving from British into French colonies.
I had been in Enugu about six months when the Consul General, John Emerson, and his wife paid an official visit to Eastern Nigeria from Lagos. A Consul General was the ranking American in Nigeria before independence, after which an ambassador was appointed.
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I laid out a busy schedule for them, which began with meeting them on a government launch on the west bank of the Niger River, opposite Onitsha; a tour of the city with the Obi “chief”, and meetings with the District and city council. We attended a bridge–opening ceremony at Ogaja. The bridge, donated by USAID was commonly called a “Bailey Bridge”, which can be swiftly stretched across a small river. We donated four of these while I was in Enugu, each opening ceremony drawing an enthusiastic cheering crowd. The Emerson’s visit ended with a courtesy call on the Premier, Nnamdi Azikiwe. More about my friend (Zik) later.
At home a new rage was the “hula hoop”. Mother sent me several and I mastered(somewhat) the technique. I began carrying them to the villages I visited. I’d demonstrate to a curious crowd, and then ask a chief or elder to give it a try. Of course, they would look silly and embarrassed, and the whole village would laugh and cheer loudly. It was all in good fun and a great entry to the community.
From time to time I was asked by the State Department to take on special assignments which interrupted my work in Eastern Nigeria. Once I was sent to Sierra Leone for a regional conference on what would be the best way to support Africa’s educational systems. Another assignment was to program a visit to Nigeria by five American Olympic track stars. I was “nanny” to Perry O’Brian, world record holder in the shot put; Don Bragg, pole vaulter; Bob Gardner, javelin and high jumper; John Culberth, hurdler and quarter miler, and Ira Davis, world class sprinter.
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Don Bragg’s ambition was to play Tarzan in films. He wanted to bring home a chimpanzee, would make jungle noises at meetings, and would swing on branches beating his chest while chewing on coconut meat –just the kind of nutty American to send on a good will tour to impress young Africans!!
Finally, in July 1958, arrangements for my mother’s visit were in place. I flew north to Kano, Nigeria to meet her BOAC flight from London. We spent one night at the Central Hotel in Kano, and flew back to Enugu the next day. Kano, like Timbuktu, was an ancient jumping off place for the trans-Saharan caravan routes. New visitors were fascinated to see mosques, herds of camels, and Muslims in white robes.
Many friends waited at the Enugu airport to greet us. Enugu’s newspaper, The Eastern Sentinel (later the “Nigerian Outlook”) headlined, “Monty’s mother arrives from the land of Uncle Tom” (local paper often attempted humorous miscues like this). My mother was overwhelmed by all the attention, and of course exercised her considerable charm in response.
Lots of parties and meetings in the following days, and she made many friends, both Nigerian and British. She became particularly close to my friend Dr. Nebua (Nebbie) Acquaye, who I will write much about later. In fact, before her visit she had ordered and shipped a list of surgical equipment Nebbie needed at Enugu General Hospital. Nebbie was part of a large Igbu family named Nwozo. While a medical student in the U.S., she had married Saka Acquaye, a Ghanaian, who later gained fame as a sculptor, musician and educator. They were separated and following divergent careers when I knew her in Enugu. At one point Nebbie took mother to her home village, introduced her to Igbo customs and dress. They were like fun-loving sisters.
Mother practically adopted Peter, my steward, and his little boys. She became friendly with Nnamdi Azikiwe, the Premier, and many other government officials, and helped entertain my friends at home, charming them all. For years that followed she corresponded with these friends and entertained them when they came to the U.S., and always sent presents to Peter’s boys.
Wanting to see more of West Africa, we said farewell to Enugu and drove to Lagos where we visited many friends there, especially Peggy and Bob Fleming who had just been named head of the Rockefeller Brothers, West Africa Program.
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More sightseeing, a quick visit to Lome, Togo, Accra and Ghana. Then as planned, I took my local leave time and we flew to France. We were met at the Nice airport by my dear French friend, Pierre Arnaud, accompanied by his “surprise” girlfriend, my sister Sue’s childhood friend from Madison, CT., Sarah Lincoln.
First thing we did was to take mother to a beauty salon where she had a French makeover and superior hair-do. No one remembered the last time she had one at home. We visited Pierre’s family home in Bargeme, Province, then completed the trip meeting French friends in Paris – mother home to Madison and me to Nigeria.
Mother may have been the most popular of my visitors, but many more were advised to “look me up” in Nigeria. As in the Gold Coast and in Liberia, all of Africa was gaining the attention of academics, politicians, investors, journalists and more. Guest rooms at my house were often occupied.
Establishing the new University of Nsukka, 40 miles north of Enugu brought academics from everywhere, especially the U.S. and U.K. It was the first “land grant” university in Africa based on the model of Michigan State University. Visiting faculty stayed with me including MSU President Dr. Johnn. I also met with Exeter University professors (U.K.). Premier Azikiwe was the motivating force in creating this great Nigerian institution, officially opened in 1960.
Another unexpected guest, who remained a friend 50 years later, was the photographer Ken Heyman. He arrived at my house crestfallen, having just been asked to leave the Lambarene Hospital Compound (French Equatorial Africa, now Gabon) by the great Dr. Albert Schweitzer. Naively he had started recording conversations as a guest at the hospital staff dinner. Dr. Schweitzer observed this and ordered him to leave the compound immediately.
Ken subsequently worked for years as photographer and travelling companion with the renowned anthropologist Margaret Mead in Asia and Africa. Among their books together is the photo-anthropology classic, “Family”. His townhouse on West 55th in NYC was always a place for me to stay in the city. He wrote a letter to President Kennedy urging him to appoint me first ambassador to Nigeria, but I was deemed too young in 1960.
Among others, I recall “putting up” were; Dr. Melville Herskovits, doyen of American anthropologists, writing on Africa and American Blacks; Paul Nitze, co-founder of John Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies (SAIS), where I’d obtained my Master’s degree; Dr. Carroll Wilson, Dean of MIT’s, Sloan School of Management (who later invited me to speak at the school); and several American missionaries working in Eastern Nigeria who would come to Enugu for supplies and always invite me to stay at their missions. One I remember kept wanting to bring me sides of hippo meat, which I always declined.
At one point a group of some 20 students from the Experiment in International Living (Putney, Vermont), were due to spend several days with host families in Enugu. Their local representatives had failed completely to make the necessary arrangements, even disappeared, so I had to deal with the fiasco on short notice. I contacted the Nigerian friends I could muster, mostly single, to do the hosting. It was a huge success. The EIL students deemed it the best “experiment” they had on their trip. Afterwards, we joked that the organization should be re-named, “Experiment in International Loving”.
I enjoyed travelling the region with Eliot Elisofon, Life magazine photographer, also artist and authority on African sculpture. His photographs of African culture and people are in demand by collectors today. He was a friend of my Uncle Jack Baur, Director of the Whitney Art Museum. I often scolded him for taking photos where signs read, “no photos allowed”, but he insisted anyway. I suppose that’s the earmark of a famous and successful photographer.
Most evenings at my house we played records, “old 78’s” or the newer “33’s”. No TV then. West Indies “calypso”, West African “high life” or American jazz was preferred. I was asked to host a weekly half-hour jazz program in the Nigerian Broadcasting studio, though I wasn’t much of an expert nor very good. I played mostly old Dixieland stuff: Wilbur de Paris, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Ahmad Jemal.
Chinua Achebe, who was to become Africa’s most famous novelist, at that time held a senior post in the Nigerian Broadcasting Corp, (NBC)in Enugu. I got to know and respect him immensely, at one point urging him to accept a grant to study at the New School in NYC. (He’d just been promoted to head the NBC operation).
One weekend Nebbie and I joined him and his girlfriend, Christie (later his wife) on a trip to Owerri and Onitsha where he’d gone to school early on. He had just finished an early draft of his classic novel, Things Fall Apart. Nebbie later assisted in the surgery when Christie had an appendectomy.
As I’ve mentioned, Nebbie was a surgeon at Enugu General Hospital, and later at Abakali Hospital. We stayed in close touch after I left Enugu. In a letter she wrote to mother she said, “I shall miss Monty very much when he leaves Nigeria. In a way knowing Monty has taught me great joy and satisfaction—as far as I’m concerned, he’s a complete Nigerian. It is very unusual to find a non-Nigerian so much at home and so very well-liked by all. I never remember that Monty is white and hardly think about it until I open my eyes and Love. You have a son with an unusual talent for adapting himself and getting along. I suppose that gene comes from you.” Mother saved most of her letters from African friends and I read them with sadness because Nebbie was killed according to unconfirmed reports during the Biafran War of Independence in 1966. I’ve tried for years to learn and confirm details without success.
The biggest invasion by prominent Americans near the end of my assignment was a CBS crew led by Edward R. Murrow, Howard K. Smith and Eric Sevareid doing a “See It Now” documentary. Eric Sevareid stayed at my house for a week and met all my Nigerian friends. He later wrote an article about me in his nationwide syndicated column and part of a chapter in his book This is Eric Sevareid. Friends that I thought had forgotten me wrote to say they’d read it with interest. He wrote:
“I suggest the [Kennedy] administration seek counsel, as far as Africa is concerned, from Ernest Montgomery. Ernest is a red-headed, easy going boy from Connecticut still in his twenties. On the grassroots, backwoods level he was the most effective representative of America I’ve run across in years.”
Until the government lost him – alas – to the Rockefeller outfit in Ghana, he was the only official American among the millions of Ibos in Eastern Nigeria. There he was America all by himself.
He never preached, he never tried overtly to improve the people. He never expected gratitude or even results. So, he often got both. I lived a week in his comfortable bachelor house in Enugu, and every night it was the gathering place for Ibo politicians, journalists, doctors or just friends who wanted to play his records, talk, or shuffle around in the “benue” or “high life” dance steps. He was the type who could drift around the countryside in a station wagon equipped with a sleeping bag and digest the native food. On one trip this lanky youngster took to demonstrating the hula-hoop in village squares, and created adoring pandemonium everywhere he went. He knew more about what was really happening in that big section of Nigeria than any foreigner there.”
It is always tempting to speculate “what if” in history. During the 1950’s many British and Nigerian leaders advocated the idea of creating three independent countries carved out of colonial Nigeria: the predominantly Muslim North, and the Christian/Secular East and West. Initially, the Emirs and Sultans of the North, empowered by the British policy of “indirect rule” espoused by Governor Lord Lugard, feared domination by the more educated peoples of Southern Nigeria, East and West. Eastern Nigeria was blessed with the most abundance of natural resources, important coal mines around Enugu and vast oil reserves in the Niger Delta. Western Nigeria had the most important city and port, Lagos, and the university at Ibadan. However, nationalist leaders, most importantly Nnamdi Azikiwe, dreamed of a unified nation based on a U.S. – style federal structure. If the three-nation formula had been adopted the disastrous ethnic strife and Biafran War, six years after independence, might have been avoided.
Shortly after the CBS visit I began to get “feelers” about taking a position as Assistant Director of the Rockefeller Brothers Fund West Africa Program. I had meet Nelson Rockefeller in Lagos and his brother David in Accra. A job offer came from Dr. Stacy May who had been Nelson’s economics professor at Dartmouth College. When Nelson graduated, he offered Stacy a job as economic advisor to the family foundations. (When does a college graduate offer his favorite professor a life time job?) Dr. May wrote a kind letter commending my references. In time, he became a valuable mentor and friend.
The program and job description appealed to me as it allowed me to keep working in West Africa in an field that interested me—economic development. Many urged me to remain in government service but I decided to move on. Leaving Enugu was very difficult. In retrospect, my two years there were among the happiest I can remember.
At year-end (1959), I returned to Washington to resign at the State Department (with some regret) and enjoyed my first Christmas home in three years. After the holidays, I spent three weeks in NYC at the Rockefeller Brothers Fund offices in Rockefeller Center, and stayed with photographer Ken Heyman at his attractive townhouse on East 55th Street. I was ready then to fly back to Lagos to begin my new job.