Leaving Enugu had indeed been difficult but I would return there often in my new position with RBF. I was always glad to see old friends there, especially Nebbie and Peter and his family. Peter had been hired to work by my successor who also moved into my old house.
I began my new job as Assistant Director of the Rockefeller Brothers Fund West Africa Program (RBF) in February 1960, the year Nigeria would gain independence. Bob Fleming (resident director of RBF), his wife Peggy and their son Michael met me at the Lagos airport and put me up for several weeks at their big home in Ikoyi, an affluent neighborhood of Lagos. For the next three years, I had a good working relationship with Fleming. He was what they called in West Africa a “big man”, both literally and figuratively. He’d worked for Mobil Oil and established many contacts with African businessmen and politicians.
The Rockefeller Brothers Fund was created by the five brothers (Nelson, John D.3rd, Lawrence, David and Winthrop) to disburse part of their inheritance from their grandfather, the legendary, controversial oil titan, John D. Rockefeller, founder of Standard Oil. Nelson and David had visited Africa in 1959 and conceived a program whose mission would be to promote and facilitate investment in post-colonial Africa. For decades, African economies had been shaped by European domination of trade whereby Africa’s natural resources (minerals-copper, gold, forest products-and agriculture-cocoa, palm oil, cotton, etc.) were exchanged for manufactured goods and services produced elsewhere. This relationship certainly favored the colonial powers-England, France, Belgium and Portugal-and amounted to exploitation of African resources.
Africa’s new leaders were determined to redress this profiteering by developing local manufacturing and processing industries. But which ones? Where could expertise, financing and management be found to get them up and running? It was the program’s mission to identify projects, then use its modest budget to bring “experts” and prospective investors to West Africa to determine their feasibility, sustainability and prepare supporting studies.
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Over the next three years, Fleming and I worked on 27 projects, bringing economic teams from Stanford Research Institute, Checchi & Co. Arthur D. Little as well as U.S. and European companies hoping to “set up shop” in West Africa. It seemed a fine idea at this moment of African independence and was later duplicated by USAID and UN programs. Unfortunately, the outcomes were disappointing. Political and economic realities, which I’ll address later, hindered the process. There is little that is “sustainable” about feasibility studies sitting on a shelf gathering dust. Just ask my daughter, Sarah, who 50 years later recognized that sustainable development starts from the ground up (literally), rather than the desktop down.
We had very nice offices in downtown Lagos and Accra. Each one joined comfortable apartments and these became my home in both cities. Although Fleming and I shared program responsibility I was more often working in Accra. In March 1960, my former boss in Accra, Gene Sawyer, stayed with me for a week on way to his new post in Yaounde, Cameroon. On home leave, he stayed a few days in Hadlyme with my family. He praised my grandmother, “granny” as “grand white lady of New England”.
A week later I flew in a Piper Apache with a World Bank economist to Bornu Province, Northern Nigeria where a new railroad line had just been completed. The bank was considering infrastructure loans to both Ghana and Nigeria. More and more development agencies and foreign governments showed interest in Africa. The “cold war” was on and suddenly Africa was “in play’. The Soviet Union, China and especially Israel sent missions to offer technical assistance. I remember a Russian diplomat joking with me about western airlines saying Pan American Airlines should really be called “Patiently Await Arrival”, and British Overseas Air Corp “Better On A Camel.” Barbs like this were commonplace.
I spent the last two weeks of April 1960 in Togo as a personal guest of the Olympio family for the independence celebrations of that country. President Olympio’s son, Bonito, was a good friend from my 1957 days in the Gold Coast. His two lovely sisters who were students at the Sorbonne in Paris, flew home to Lome. We partied and danced every night. Attorney General William Rogers, head of the U.S. delegation and his wife joined us one evening, and I enjoyed meeting Dr. Frank Snowden, president of Howard University, whose daughter was a good school friend of my sister Sue.
During the first nine months of 1960 we studied a dozen or more new industry ideas. Sometimes government ministries requested these studies. More often ideas came from African entrepreneurs, foreign investors, or our own judgment of what was needed and might succeed. We’d bounce ideas off Stacy May at the RBC office in NYC.
Among the better studies was the agricultural development and processing of kenaf, a jute-like fiber from which rough bags can be made to ship cocoa beans, coffee, groundnuts (peanuts), etc. I’ve read that 50 years later, it’s finally becoming a successful industry in Nigeria. A glass plant was proposed for location in Eastern Nigeria. I took a team from Arthur D. Little (consultants) to Enugu and helped orient their research. It was great to see old friends especially Nebbie who was now Director of the government hospital in Abakaliki. She had just received a letter from my mother. Never could I have imagined that she’d disappear six years later during the Biafran War.
In September 1960, shortly before Nigerian independence, I gave up smoking cigarettes in favor of fine Cuban cigars. We bought a three-man team to Western Nigeria to study the possibility of making a quality cigar from the local tobacco leaf. (Cuban cigar imports had been strictly banned into the U.S. because of Castro). The team consisted of a Cuban refugee planter, a former importer from Brooklyn, and Jose Melendez from Tampa, Fla. who manufactured a well-known American cigar. They brought with them several thousand “samples” which we distributed and smoked ourselves. I spent a week with them in Ibadan scouting the countryside for favorable soil, testing the locally grown varieties, watching them teach local growers the art of curing, blending and “rolling” a better cheroot. I learned how local tobacco farmers depended on a single British company setting prices to buy their crop.
As Nigeria prepared for a peaceful transition to independence on Oct. 1, 1960, it was a different story in the Belgian Congo where an election earlier that year had resulted in the presidency of Patrice Lumumba.
I wrote home to decry U.S policy at the time for overtly (and covertly it turned out), undermining the new left-leaning government, scheming with the old colonial powers, especially Belgium, to create an opposition government in the mineral rich province of Katanga. In a coup, Lumumba was removed from office, confined in Katanga, tortured and eventually shot by a firing squad. Reliable sources implicated the CIA in this meddling into Africa’s road to independence. In Nigeria, as in Ghana, the path to independence proceeded smoothly on track.
As usual my letters home in the spring and summer of 1960 were filled with questions about my sisters. Suey (she now preferred Sue), was graduating from college in June and we began the plan for her to visit Nigeria for the independence celebrations. Christina had been accepted at the Woodstock Boarding School in Vermont and we wondered if her horse, Blaze, should go as well. (They were inseparable). I worried about Linda’s asthma but she was always a happy trooper, with the most infectious laugh in the family by far. At one point mother wrote she was considering giving up cocktails and cigarettes to save money. I advised her to give up only the later which she did eventually. To the very end, she enjoyed her “proper drink”, a Seagram’s 7 and water every evening at cocktail hour.
During this time, I was seeing a lot of an attractive feisty Nigerian artist, Afi Ekong. Afi came from Calabar, a coastal town in southeastern Nigeria known for its handsome women. Already a recognized talent, I helped Afi find backing to establish her own studio, the Lebac Gallery (later called the Bronze Gallery). She held strong opinions about most everything, especially disliking Igbos and this was a bone of contention between us. I remember several years later while I was recovering from malaria in Yale Hospital she phoned from Nigeria to wish me well and predicted the forthcoming Biafran war.
The week leading up to Nigerian independence (Oct 1, 1960) was memorable. I attended a huge reception at the new magnificent Federal Palace Hotel, given by Nnamdi Azikiwe for Princess Alexandra, representing Great Britain. Zik had been named the new Governor General of Nigeria. Many old friends from Enugu were there including B.C. Okwu, Dr. Okpara and his wife. They all asked, “where is your mum?” and I replied, “she’s sending my sister Sue as her representative”. This was true. Suey and her college friend Judy Law, just graduated from college, arrived Sept. 28.
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The same day as Nelson Rockefeller and all the U.S. delegation. I met them at a crowded Lagos airport. During their entire visit, Afi put them up in her small apartment in Lagos.
The streets of Lagos were throbbing. A mile-long line of people, mainly women and children, in traditional dress waited to visit the new National Museum. More strolled along the boulevard to Victoria Beach, passing exhibits and the racecourse where temporary stands seating 50,000 were erected for the official celebration ceremony. The entire city of Lagos was illuminated with artificial lights and the newly designed Nigerian flag—green representing forests and white representing peace (six years before the Biafran war!).
With Nigerian friends Sue, Judy and I had choice seats at the racecourse where the ceremonies began the evening of Sept. 30. At dusk army and police units paraded into the oval; then horsemen from the north in white flowing robes, superb riders, galloped around the track. Drummers and bands from all regions of Nigeria played on towards midnight ending in a military tattoo, British style. Then just at midnight the bands played “God Save the Queen” and the Union Jack was lowered down the flagpole, all lights were extinguished for 60 seconds; then the green and white Nigerian flag was raised as bands played the new Nigerian anthem.
For the next two weeks Sue and Judy enjoyed the post-independence social events in Lagos with my friends and visitors from abroad. The Flemings hosted a big reception for Jomo Kenyatta, Kikuyu leader and first president of Kenya (1963). Kenyatta was one of the best known and regarded leaders in Kenya, where a permanent white settler minority made independence negotiations far more difficult than in West Africa
Sister Sue reminded me of an amusing incident one day when Governor Nelson Rockefeller with his entourage visited Afi’s Gallery, Lebac. He seemed very impressed and on the spot bought one of her oil paintings. He held it up over his head for the photographers to take a picture, with Afi beaming beside him.
Afi and I took Sue and Judy with more friends to a soccer match between teams from Nigeria and Ghana. I didn’t notice at first, but Afi and some Ghanaian supporters seated behind us began exchanging words. Suddenly Afi removed her heeled shoe and hit one of the Ghanaian fellows, leading to a big scuffle. We were all escorted out of the stadium by security guards. This was Afi, and the incident ended up in a “New Yorker” magazine story. I should mention here that Afi Ekong passed away recently at age 78, highly regarded as a pioneer female African artist, and bearing the name Chief Lady Constance Afiong Ekong! (Paramount Chief of Calabar).
One prominent visitor we hosted was the writer Emily Hahn. Emily wrote articles and short stories for the “New Yorker” for over 40 years as well as many books about her travel adventures and love life around the world. She took a liking to Sue and Judy and proposed a car tour to all regions of Nigeria. Afi offered to be their guide and I loaned them my four-wheel car for the trip. Off they went, Emily Hahn, Sue, Judy with Afi ostensibly in charge on a 600-mile journey to the north and east.
Months later Emily wrote a long article for the “New Yorker”, and then a chapter in her book Africa to Me (Chapter 4, “Journey to Jos”), about adventures encountered on the trip. She described the terrible roads, car breakdowns, visits to emirs in the North, especially the Emir of Bauchi. Afi’s uncle was a prominent businessman in the northeast who put them up for several days and escorted them around Jos and Bauchi. Afi kept mentioning his importance, which irritated Emily. One day Afi was the designated driver through some small villages where roads were crowded with market women, children and various animals. She became impatient and gunned the car scattering the crowd ahead and complaining that most of them were Igbo immigrants who were monopolizing good jobs in the region. This and other incidents caused Emily to portray an unflattering picture of Afi in her stories of the trip. In her recounting Afi was “Modupe”, Sue was “Mary” and I was “John”. Later Afi became aware of the articles. She told me she’d complain to the foreign minister and make sure Emily never visited the country again.
Afi’s attitude was symptomatic of the ethnic and regional prejudices that beset Nigeria and all of Africa. In 1967/68 that hostility led to mass killings of Igbos (and Efiks) living in northern Nigeria, leading to the Biafran war. These minorities, mostly Christian, were achievers and in time became the object of resentment and hatred. (Note the Congo, Sudan, Mali, Sierra Leone and elsewhere). Still today, the Igbo communities in Northern Nigeria are the victims of attacks by Moslem extremists, and now we see the same area more widely terrorized by Boku Haram.
Back to Sue’s visit after the Nigeria tour. I drove Sue and Emily to Ghana, a trip I often made. We stopped in Lome, Togo and stayed with the Olympio family. Lome was a sleepy quiet town with a lovely beachfront and picturesque fishing canoes coming and going. I always enjoyed buying a meal there because the European cuisine was more French than British. I remarked that flies were far more numerous too. The drive took us through a narrow strip of Dahomey (now called Benin).
Returning to Lagos Emily invited Sue to accompany her on a trip she planned to the Near East, a great experience for a new college graduate. In Jordan, they had an audience with King Hussein (Emily had contacts everywhere). Sue stayed with a friend of mine in Beirut, Lebanon then rejoined Emily in Israel before returning home via Istanbul, Turkey.
With the excitement of independence and Sue’s visit over, work in Lagos was much the same as before. However, in Ghana President Nkrumah’s regime became increasingly critical of the West and the U.S. The imprisonment and murder of Patrice Lumumba caused public outrage. Colonies in east and central Africa were still struggling for independence with permanent European minority settlers blocking the way. Soviet and Chinese missions were wooing Ghana officials. Nkrumah himself was proposing to establish a “socialist’ state economic model, based on vague African concepts. In the end this turned out to be a corrupt government-controlled system benefiting the elite few in power and later to decades of military coups, and soon the forced exile of Nkrumah. This situation was not conducive to private foreign investment and the success of our mission was compromised. Consequently, our work became more focused on Nigeria.
Working in our Accra office I had some stimulating conversations with new friends, the prominent writer, economist Barbara Ward and her husband, Sir Robert Jackson, economic advisor to President Nkrumah. He confirmed that Nkrumah was completely disillusioned and believed “capitalists” were conniving to keep Africa dependent on the West. Russia began making low-interest loans for government enterprises and sold Ghana a fleet of Soviet Illusion planes. (Russian and especially Chinese technicians isolated themselves from the local community far more than Americans or Israelis, who were also on the scene). Barbara Ward made me rethink the premise of our own (RBF) mission, to promote industrial development and what today is called “globalization” of African economies. She was a pioneer of “sustainable development” theories which accounted for environmental issues. Her last book, written in 1986, Progress for a Small Planet, highlighted her concern about unfettered industrial development that would hurt the environment and undermine the worthwhile values of those living in traditional societies or in growing urban poverty. She influenced my thinking a lot.
Early 1961 saw riots in both Accra and Lagos protesting the “Lumumba affair”. In Lagos, a large crowd carrying a mock-coffin, marched to the Belgian embassy then to the U.K. High Commission, which was ringed by a cordon of police. A British police inspector panicked and shot into the protestors wounding several, not good for the British image.
My group of friends at the time was an international lot. Some were younger members of the Leventis family. Their grandfather, A.G. Leventis, a Greek Cypriot, had established the largest merchandising business in Nigeria and Ghana. A nephew, George David, was a special friend. And I was very fond of a charming niece, Iro (Irula) Myrianthousis, who several years later became the second wife of Sir David Hunt, British High Commissioner to Nigeria and UK ambassador to Brazil, where I learned they were a very popular diplomatic couple.
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We spent many weekends at the Leventis beach house on Tarkwa Bay, swimming, surfing, playing scrabble and poker. Smaller business enterprise throughout West Africa was dominated by Syrian/Lebanese/Greeks/East Indians selling dry goods, and about everything else. Typically, African women would sell in open markets and the immigrants in small shops.
Another close friend in our lively group was Ulrick Haynes Jr., exactly my age. Rick was a good-looking Barbadian-American, graduate of Amherst College and Yale Law School, and my counterpart as Director of the Ford Foundation programs in Nigeria. He was a protégé of Averell Harriman, Governor of New York, and went on to become Ambassador to Algeria (I attended his investiture at the State Department in the mid-sixties), member of the Council of Foreign Affairs and university professor. He and I took a week of local leave in the winter of 1961 to go skiing in Megeve, France. We both had pretty dates there, mine the daughter of the family I boarded with while studying in Geneva six years before. (I know my children, and hope my grandchildren will be better skiers than I was!). I remember attending a horse race in Lagos and being amazed to see Rick riding as a volunteer jockey. I never imagined he’d been on a horse before.
One unexpected pleasure resulting from writing these recollections has been the chance renewal of contacts with dear old friends from those years. Through the internet, social media, email, and long telephone conversations I’ve “caught up” with Rick who is living an active retirement life near Orlando, Florida, still espousing causes we believed might lead to a better world. From him I learned our friend Aduke Moore is still living in Lagos, age 94; that Lady Iro Hunt, widowed, resides in the UK near London; and that George David is the Coca-Cola bottling tycoon of West Africa, Greece and elsewhere. With respect to news of Nebbie, he noted that the Nigerian government has “stonewalled” information and records about casualties of the Biafran war. In time left I hope to follow up on more of these leads to past friendships.
Yet another wonderful friendship just now renewed is with Lady Iro Hunt, mentioned above, and her Cypriot cousins. As I mentioned, George is now the biggest Coca-Cola distributor in all Europe and their grandfather, A.G. Leventis, created a world-renowned foundation to support educational, cultural and philanthropic causes in Cyprus, Greece and elsewhere. Iro is busy writing her memoirs “Lady Hunt, A life Remembered” for a major publishing house (unlike these modest recollections for family consumption). Now we are corresponding to recall for each other the “Lagos days” and catch up on her fascinating life with Sir David. In November, she is organizing a concert in London at St. George’s Church with Brian Stanborough conducting in honor of her late husband’s 100th birthday.
I was struck by an observation Iro made in a recent email: “David was more the intellectual side of the marriage but he never made me feel stupid. I was the link between him and the rest of humanity”—a poignant remark given her social work with the impoverished in Brazil while “Lady Ambassador”, and wherever they worked and lived together.
Meanwhile, news from home was always exciting but especially now. Sue had been accepted as a graduate student at Columbia University Teachers College and I thought living in NYC would be a good experience for her. I learned that my first cousin, Susan Baur, an undergraduate at Vassar College, was engaged to marry a fellow about my age. I wrote the Baurs that as the oldest of all the cousins I should be first in line, but if the fellow could catch a pretty young girl like Susan I might still have a chance.
A Nigerian friend, Aduke Moore, businesswoman and academic, gave a series of lectures at Vassar and visited mother in Madison. For some reason, I remember Aduke’s favorite drink was brandy with soda water which I still enjoy occasionally. (Again, I am now back in touch with Aduke, age 94, living in Lagos and London).
In April 1961, I attended a small dinner in Accra for President Kennedy’s brother-in-law’ Sargeant Schriver, newly appointed head of the Peace Corp. We discussed the kind of program best suited to West Africa and I remember saying how important the selection process of volunteers would be—that they be able to adapt to entirely new living conditions, have patience (a trait I was trying to learn myself), and possess some practical skill—to teach, problem solve, dig a straight trench or whatever.
I thought primary education, farming and health would offer the best areas for their work. And I stressed that the program not appear to have some political agenda (no whiff of a CIA connection!). I was asked to serve on an advisory committee to identify assignments for the first group of volunteers in Ghana. I remember much later meeting a Peace Corps volunteer in a remote part of Ghana and asking him his top priority at work and his reply “to survive!”
I believe the Peace Corps has survived well and continues to build practical effectiveness on those early idealistic years. Its basic premise, that every individual can make a difference in the world, is an invaluable concept for all young people to embrace. My daughter Sarah’s favorite quote— “Be the change you want to see in the world” (Gandhi.)
At work we scheduled meetings and research possibilities for a nine-person study team that would spend six months in 1961 determining the feasibility of an iron and steel industry for Nigeria or Ghana. They were executives from Westinghouse, Koppers and the Chase Manhattan Bank. Both countries believed a steel industry would bring prestige and economic power, not unlike nations today wanting to have nuclear capability. Nothing came of these visits.
Fifty years later, despite loans totaling millions from the World Bank and others, no steel industry exists in West Africa. Other studies involved flights around Nigeria and Ghana in small planes, one to Kaduna to present a report on a cement plant to the local council. We began contracting with a well-regarded economic consulting firm, Checchi & Co., based in Washington, D.C. Two principals of the firm, Vince Checchi and Sol Chafkin became good friends. In the years ahead I would work for Checchi in Washington heading up their African assignments and occasionally, contracts in Europe and the U.S.
Another U.S. company expressing interest in Nigeria was Ball Brothers of Muncie, Indiana, known for making the glass mason jar. I flew to Enugu with George Ball and his wife to meet officials in the Ministry of Economic Development. I took them to a soccer game between Enugu and Onitsha teams and they were amused when at half-time with Enugu leading 3-1, about 2000 Onitsha fans raced onto the field to offer advice to their team. Game ended in 3-3 tie. We also had a pleasant evening at the Enugu Recreation Club. The Balls were on their way home from a plush safari trip to East Africa where they were struck by the racial tensions in Kenya and Tanganyka. They remarked how different it seemed at the club with Nigerians and Europeans dining and dancing together, mixing so well. By the way, this was true at the Ikoye Club in Lagos where we spent many a fine Saturday afternoon or night.
Lagos, Accra, Lome and Monrovia all face the Atlantic Ocean but only Lagos has a natural harbor and many lagoons and inland waterways for good safe boating. The beaches of Accra and especially Monrovia are dangerous with heavy surf and a narrow continental shelf. I remember two Pan American stewardesses drowned while swimming near Monrovia.
I decided to buy a boat in Lagos and ordered one from Holland. She had a diesel indoor engine, small cabin and nice cockpit well suited for fishing on the inland waterways along the coast and in Tarkwa Bay. I named her “Obioma,” which in Igbo means “happiness”. We had great times fishing along miles of inland waterways and spending Saturday nights on the stretch of sandbar under coconut trees facing the open sea. Our prize catch were barracuda, delicious eating and always an adventure when hauled into the cockpit, with wicked-looking teeth snapping away. Dr. Stacy May on his regular visit from RBF headquarters especially enjoyed the fishing. When I finally left Nigeria, I was lucky to find a buyer for Obioma. The manager of Shell Oil bought her for $2,700, just what I paid for her two years earlier.
During summer months in Africa I always missed the family gathering in Hadlyme (my grandmother’s “compound” on the Connecticut River) and would beg for letters about goings-on there. Mother invited Sir Mobolaji Bank-Anthony and his wife there while they visited the U.S., and they had a grand time. (Sir Mobolaji was knighted by Queen Elizabeth for his business and philanthropic activities. I visited often his home in Lagos called “Fountain Pen House”). Mother and Frankie, “Poppy” were in the market to buy a new station wagon. I advised they purchase a Peugeot 404. They did for $2,500 and it lasted for many years.
In late 1961 I was asked to return to NYC to review our program and take a long-delayed home leave. I welcomed the opportunity to share my changing views about development priorities and the real obstacles to our “western-style” approach, especially with Stacy May who had been my favorite mentor. I decided on a leisurely journey home, flying from Lagos to Rome, then to Geneva to visit old friends, then to Paris where I met my best French friend, Pierre Arnaud, sociology professor at the Sorbonne. I sailed home on the French liner, Le Flandre. My dad met the ship in NYC, and we drove to Northford, Ct. where he lived and then on to Madison.
It was great to see Linda, age 12, Christina, age 17 and Sue who was just finishing her MA degree at Columbia Teachers College. (She eventually decided teaching was not her thing and took a job with the African-American Institute in NYC. The Institute handled all government and private exchange programs placing African students and visitors in colleges and universities throughout the US.). After a week home, I returned for meetings at the RBF offices (55th floor Rockefeller Center), staying as always at the mid-Manhattan townhouse of my friend the photographer, Ken Heyman.
Our program in West Africa had been funded for three years by RBF with mixed results. We noted that USAID had adopted many aspects of our work and was providing economic development assistance to more and more new African countries—studies and advisory teams as requested by ministries of industry and economic affairs. I agreed with Stacy May that it was the right moment to let other international agencies like USAID, the World Bank and the UN carry forward their own strategies to promote public and private investment in Africa. I also sensed it was nearing time for me to return home for a longer period and consider my own future and the next stage of my professional life, with the determination it should involve some continued work in Africa. The Fund assured me there would be a job waiting for me in New York and with my many African connections, I had pending job proposals from the State Department and from private corporations.
Returning to Nigeria in early 1962, with a different emphasis, our program began to show some encouraging results. Over the next nine months we helped strengthen the operations of a Nigerian fish processing company with advisors brought from the StarKist Company in California. I prepared marketing studies for a local ceramics operation, a flour mill and a water storage facility for a small farming community between Lagos and Ibadan. This new approach, helping existing entrepreneurs rather than introducing outside foreign investors, made good sense. A huge inflow of capital investment had begun for oil exploration and development in the Niger delta. Doors opened for Nigerian politicians to skim off capital inflows, and for years to come corruption was rampant. Better to help the struggling farmer or local enterprise to get ahead.
I counseled two employees of the Nestle Company (Switzerland) who contacted us with an interest in sources of robusta coffee for their new instant coffee, Nescafe. We travelled by Land Rover (just brought to Lagos from our office in Accra) to one of my favorite remote areas of Nigeria, the Mambilla plateau, north and east of Enugu along the Cameroon border. Coffee had been grown there on very small farms for many years. Most farms were less than one hectare in size, the coffee trees were old and the farmers obviously needed lots of help growing, processing and marketing their coffee cherries. Our discussions with a local cooperative led to a promise, later fulfilled by Nestle, to facilitate the purchase of production in Mambilla, along with a follow up visit to provide technical help to members of the cooperative.
Continuing to meet and introduce visitors to Nigeria, Ghana and Togo throughout 1962 kept me busy. At one point I “put up” Elpedio Olympio, youngest son of President Olympio, at my apartment for two weeks. He was on his way to Cambridge University to study engineering. Sadly, shortly after his visit his father was murdered in Togo. Another visitor, Dr. Howard Bratton, Michigan professor, stayed with me. He later wrote me a note that when asked by the Democratic governor of Michigan to recommend the next ambassador to Nigeria, he named me “high on his list”. I never heard more about that!
The Flemings returned to Lagos in the fall of 1962 and after their long home leave, we began the process of winding down our programs. I had very mixed feelings about leaving all my friends in Nigeria, Ghana and Togo. The years living there were certainly among the happiest and most memorable of my life. Nevertheless, I was ready to move on and “see” what was going on at home. For some time, I had planned a long exploratory trip visiting the Middle East and Southeast Asia with my dear friend from France, Pierre Arnaud. Stacy May had encouraged this and assured me again of a job with RBF in New York, possibly on the staff of Nelson Rockefeller, who was a rising star in the liberal wing of the Republican party. When I asked him whether I might have some political future myself I remember him saying, “probably not, you’re too easy-going!”
The trip never materialized and I still regret never having visited that part of the world, especially Turkey, where both my great grandparents worked long years and are buried. What intervened was an urgent request and job offer from Vince Checchi, to head Checchi and Company’s fast-growing consulting business in Africa and later in Europe. Vince was a very persuasive, brilliant development economist and I had huge respect for him and his number two man, Sol Chafkin, who I would be working with on West African studies. Also, I would be living in Washington, DC which was kind of a second home, though I never much liked the atmosphere there—so much influence peddling and wire-pulling. My grandmother, an old New Englander, maintained it was not a “respectable” town. (reminds me of what my mother would say when offered wine at cocktail parties, “I’d prefer a proper drink if possible”), meaning Canadian whisky or the like.