Ishmael Dyfan, aka Petit Mariano, and the great Brima Mazolla Kamara became Sierra Leone’s first professional footballers when they joined Africa Sport D’Abijan of Ivory Coast. Soon after, East End Lions, Mighty Black Pool, Real Republicans and other football clubs, scouted for players in Ghana, Guinea, Liberia and elsewhere. The expansion boosted quality and attendance for the national football league.
In athletics, a crop of remarkable teenage sprinters, headed by Horace Dove-Edwin aka Tipeps, Susan Blaudfaust, Umaru Kabia, Felix Sandy, Sanusie Turay, Josephus Thomas (twin), Paul Parkinson and others, ran the 100metres within promising times.
At St Helena school in Kissy, the now world-renowned athlete, Eunice Barber, created a mighty stir, obliterating national records she didn’t know existed. Barber later represented France to become world champion in the heptathlon.
Were you there? If not, well, all above and more, happened in the 1980s. At which a generation grew up in an artistic/ cultural Sierra Leone particularly Freetown, that threatened to go places. Until abruptly entered that war. Autonomy to not give a sentence more to the decade-long nightmare that followed is owned here, proudly. And without a single bad-eye at others, should they wish to be charitable to the shortsightedness that disrupted joy and life; wanton destruction of property and lives.
To avoid charges of convenient amnesiac, before that, Sierra Leone was by no means a steady boat. There were atrocious violations by government(s) of the day – financial, electoral, political and brutalities. But as if in defiance of executive decadence, Freetown’s youth showed a bit more than flashes of promise in sports and cultural life. Signs were in every sphere, a generation-in-waiting could meet the country’s potential and promise.
Artisans sculpted wood and created cultural artefacts – written and material – that ran close, or not impossibly far from most in the continent. Artists painted murals of cultural representations, and of pan-African figures that drew public appreciation.
Important to say, as it’s still the case, the arts had almost no life-changing rewards. But, a sense pervades that those involved enjoyed participating in what their instincts gravitated to. With optimism that a pay-day might just happen at the turn of a corner. Or at the very least, held faith that positive templates are being created, centralising creativity to national discourse – whether in arts, sports or education.
Crucially, spaces existed for the creation of culture. For example, there were community centres or similar in most areas of Freetown. The British Council Hall, Railway Union Hall, Kissy’s Boston Community Centre, Wellington Community Centre, the YSC on Wilkinson road etc. These places were not utopian models but reasonably designed for purpose, and accessibility. From their existence, we were introduced to character(s), individuality and the collective sense of being; of genres in culture and arts. Having gained the local or elementary experience, we were able to interact with the national without revealing ourselves as ‘munkus’ or woefully unacculturated.
At the national level, we had exhibitions, showcasing arts and agriculture from all over the country. The Cacao Show in Kenema, and another at Sewa Grounds in Freetown stood out. The most agile of masked dancers paraded too!
Those events were informedly patriotic and awe-inspiring. Providing a gauge if you like, for where cultural skills measured. Now, 2025, culture I’m told, has decayed so much in the administrative conscience, neither events are in coherent memory. Let alone thought of as worthy of reviving.
No idea what became of Kenema’s show field. But Freetown’s Sewa Grounds was years ago turned into a radically different public square: a market! As one of a number of direct consequences of such desecration, including the closing of City Hall, most creative arts and culture are either struggling for life or nearing extinction. Laying waste to generations of talent, including some who might have achieved the extraordinary. Just a visit to Freetown’s Big Market puts to stark reality the decline in artistic skills, with too great a proportion of artefacts sold not crafted in Sierra Leone.
As school kids, we were sometimes read literature written primarily for Sierra Leoneans, by Sierra Leoneans. Yéma Lucilda Hunter’s Road to Freedom creatively treated us to the selfless, proud leadership of Thomas Peters and the early formation of modern Freetown. One Joe A. D. Alie coaxed our comprehension skills with the Selective Entrance English and Verbal Aptitude text.
In the media, the legendary principal of the Methodist Boys High School, an accomplished broadcaster, Mr Willie O Pratt, hosted a quiz on TV, Brain of Sierra Leone. The contestants were bright school kids, expressing confidence and understanding on a range of questions. I cannot forget the pride of seeing my cousin, Abdul Wahab Jalloh (of Ahmadiyya Sch.) participating.
On social services, illuminated by streetlights, enough water ran on communal taps. Enabling the poorest of young cats an evening splash. If only just for that little whiff of confidence around teenage beauties. It was glorious. It was optimistic, at least in our young eyes, the 1980s.
The New City Hall had opened, giving culture a proper home and stage. Theatre companies sprouted – Taboulay, Goombay, Ronko, Sheigureh, kailondo, Bamboo, to name a few. All adapted or wrote plays that attracted huge audiences. Shefumi Garber, Julius Spencer, Kolosa John Kargbo, Akmid Bakarr Mansaray, Dele Charley, Thomas Humper and others, were star-writers and directors who showed great promise; delivered on various social themes – delinquencies, romance, comedy, etc.
The era also brought about promoters who hosted raw musicians on a variety of instruments, playing their own, or covering established artists. Jnr., a talented student wrote and performed the hit, Omolankay and later, possibly the first song of political satire, Too Many Big Grunpigs (go figure the meaning). And how dare anyone recalling that time, forget one of Freetown’s coolest cats and high priest of dub, the gigantic Hassan Bongay? The guy toasted and moved with such poetic eloquence you’d think he flew in!
Elsewhere, 16 years old Mustapha Barby Sesay, a GCSE candidate at the Albert Academy was visionary enough to relocate the legendary Dr Oloh and his Milo Jazz band. From the chaotic-beauty of playing at weddings, Barby staged Dr Oloh to a theatre audience, for two sold-out nights, at a newly opened Morta Tiata in Koidu Town, Kono. Historic!
Old forms blossomed too, localising commentary on cultural events from across the world. When Mike Tyson triumphed over Britain’s Frank Bruno in a heavy weight fight of 1989, the Fourah Bay community entered that year’s lantern parade with effigies reenacting 20 year old Tyson’s knocking out his rival. The artistic nuance was completed by a captivating song with lines like : ‘Tyson nor bin Wan Fet Bruno’……………….’Tyson, Bang Am Turnorbor’. Freetown ingenuity and adaptability at its best.
What ever happened to cinema as a cultural experience? There were movie theatres across Freetown – Byblos, The Globe, Odeon, Sarroulla, Roxy, Starco and the Strand. We used to flock to those places to feast on Hollywood narratives, Indian Drama and Chinese martial arts films. That social treat gave us vital exposure to trends outside Sierra Leone and a hugely significant cultural education. Now, 2025, and nothing! How things declined.
Abroad, in what some have now foolishly excluded to ‘diasporan’ category, the unparalleled Bunny Mack reached the British pop charts with My Sweetie. Shocker: no internet or social media. He then went on to releasing arguably the first and only true international pop song ever by a Sierra Leonean, I Really Love You. The rap in the song was done by one Arthur Palmer, aka King Masco. We were incredibly proud, hearing radio DJs like Pat Sheriff, Roland Malamah-Thomas and others broadcast, ‘that was Bunny Mack of Sierra Leone’.
Outstanding as all those things were, an epic culture exploded: The Discorama. Spearheaded firstly by a group named the Davalgee Brothers’ with an event they named, DavaBiganza at the British Council. Being of a new entertainment format, it was a moderate success. But sparse attendance didn’t disguise the Discorama’s potential. After the British Council show, the marquee social club of the time, The Senators, sought counsel from the Davalgee Brothers and took the genre to the next level. If you can dance or mime as a group or individual, you are welcome to attend an audition that qualified you for a spot at the Senators’ Discorama competition. The venue, a fully air conditioned City Hall, of course.
The Senators were enormously influential. Their events brought youthful-Freetown to a standstill. For the budding artist, an appearance at their show marks a pinnacle in performance. Equally, being a part of their audience is a badge of cultural pedigree.
No account of the era is a serious one without Senators. Through their success, other organisations came to existence. Cementing the Discorama not just as a forum for interpreting Western pop culture as we understood it, but the era-defining culture.
Solo mimers and dancers emerged from every corner of Freetown. Jane Johnson, Junior Siafa, Sparky Teddy, IZZO, John Wright, Edward Pratt, Femi Wright aka T-Pak, Freddie Harleston, Kandapa Bangura, Mary Koroma, Jonathan Bona, Prof Rabbieu and later , the peerless Mackiya Kamara, were superstars and possibly the best melange of performers the country has ever seen.
There were dance crews too: Generation Dancers, Geneneers, Zap Jammin Crew, Kowa Sisters, Solid Gold, Stylistics, Serenes, Slippery Whispers, Zoo Dancers, Double Jacks and more, competed against each other.
It is the view here that Sierra Leone is not the sort of country where people acknowledge those who influenced them, unfortunately. But it would be near impossible to unlink that era with where Sierra Leonean music and entertainment culture are today. Ernest Brewah, a performer from a later strand is still active as comedian and melodramatist. Not making a jingoistic claim here, but what are now huge global TV phenomenas, American Idol and its British counterpart, Britain’s Got Talent, happened in Sierra Leone in the 1980s, live, unscripted and without edits.
Like in every new culture, a group or individuals will always stand out. In the Discorama craze it was Davalgee Brothers. They were unique. Theirs was not just about dancing, but the conceptual. They stylised their choreography to integrate drama and comedy. So gifted, they played instruments and later worked on transitioning to a band. Even though that didn’t work due to the departure of their core for pastures outside Sierra Leone, their faith and commitment to the arts never diminished. For instance, one is now Professor Richmond Garrick, a recipient of various accolades including an NAACP Recognition for his paintings. David Bangura is a TV executive in the United States. Rogee Rogers, son of music icon, S. E. Rogers, is still in show business in America. Alan Smith, a sought-after MC/ DJ in London. No wilful erasure here, but other members, Derek and Mohamed, I’ve not heard of for quite a time. Perhaps one day, a book, or a documentary (over to you, Nick) could deal with The Davalgee Brothers, their impact and the era that produced them. Here however, I just wanted to pay homage to what I consider an exceptionally creative era that held so much promise and shaped so many of us.
By the way, this piece is not the product of research but childhood recollection, inspired by several conversations I had recently with a key cultural figure, Dwight D Short, a theatre director of the era and member of Davalgee Brothers. So if a reader senses any shortcomings, they are wholly mine and I would be grateful for corrective comments. As they say, everyday is a classroom.
But again any errors identified, are reason for the endeavour. Culture is still not taken seriously in Sierra Leone. Where it was, records would be readily available for visitation. Where culture is given its importance, Kama Dumbuya, Raka Rakson, Alusine Terry and others would take pride in national veneration they deserved; the accordion virtuoso Salia Koroma, and Sorie Kondi, would have had squares/ junctions named in their honour.
Respect to the 1980s and all who inspired us.
(C) THE RASTA RAMBLES
Ps:
For Nana Foffie, aka Manga Ougenè, aka the World’s best brother. He sadly passed away on 12th July this year. I credit his early absorption of current affairs for waking my interest on a range of
Be the first to comment