Atrocities, Diamonds and Diplomacy Page 13

  I was touched by his support, not least because the President had taken the time to write it just when he had received the tragic news that his wife, Patricia, had died of cancer in a London hospital. I felt very sorry for him. Within a matter of weeks, he had lost his two closest supporters. General Abacha had recently died unexpectedly, and now his wife. I immediately sent him a fax from home offering my sincere condolences. I hoped that my government was not so preoccupied with the ‘arms to Sierra Leone scandal’ not to send an official condolence message.

  On 16 May a rally was held in my support in Freetown. Twenty thousand people took to the streets in what one person described as the biggest demonstration ever to have taken place in recent times – schoolchildren, teachers, trade unionists, market women, church leaders. They chanted endlessly, ‘Peter Penfold - Bring Him Back’ and carried placards saying, ‘We support Peter Penfold’, ‘Don’t funny Peter Penfold’, ‘Penfold – Father of Democracy’ and ‘God bless Penfold Tenfold’. There were also placards supporting Tony Blair and the British Labour government, and some attacking Lord Avebury, who was seen as the arch villain. Although the government had given permission for it to take place, it was the ordinary (extraordinary) people who had arranged it, led by Zainab Bangura. The Minister of Education had specifically said that if children took part they should not do so in their school uniforms, but the kids ignored this instruction and turned out in their colourful uniforms waving the British and Sierra Leone flags. Similar, though smaller, demonstrations also took place in other towns in Sierra Leone.

  A couple of days later HM Customs and Excise dropped its investigation. In a statement issued to the press it said, ‘Even though offences may have been committed, the circumstances leading up to the supply affect the fairness to the extent that any prosecution could well fail and would certainly not be in the public interest.’ In some respects I, and I suspect Tim Spicer, were disappointed that we had not gone to court in order to fully clear our names, but at least I hoped that it was now all behind us. Not so.

  Legg Inquiry

  In response, Robin Cook was quick to announce the setting up of a public inquiry. Sir Thomas Legg QC, aged sixty-two and former Permanent Secretary at the Lord Chancellor’s Department, was appointed to head it, to be assisted by Sir Robin Ibbs, a former chairman of Lloyds TSB bank. They were asked to find out what government officials and ministers knew about breaches of the arms embargo and whether they gave such breaches any encouragement or approval. There were immediate accusations by Diane Abbott MP, among others, that Government was seeking to fix the outcome of the inquiry. In a speech during yet another Commons debate on Sierra Leone, she said, ‘I know that one way to fix an inquiry is through the terms of reference. How strange that after all the debates on UN sanctions ... this well trumpeted inquiry should be set up with nothing in the terms of reference about whether UN sanctions had been breached.’ I felt that she had a point.

  As part of my preparation for appearing before the Legg Inquiry, Stephen obtained permission to view the documents that had been made available to Sir Thomas Legg. This led to Stephen, Sophie and me going into the Foreign Office one afternoon to look at the papers. It was a very strange experience to go into a building that for so many years had been my place of work accompanied by a couple of lawyers. We were escorted to a room close to the African Department and left with a pile of documents. Again I was fascinated to see papers on Sierra Leone that I had never seen before. As many of the papers were classified we could not take copies away, but it was useful to read them nonetheless.

  With Stephen’s and Sophie’s help I finalized my written statement to the Legg Inquiry, which ran to sixteen pages and included twenty annexes. Although not strictly within their terms of reference, I went over in detail the history and developments of the sanctions orders starting from the Ecowas sanctions in June of 1997 leading to the UN sanctions resolution of 8 October. I listed the endless documents I had seen that referred to sanctions against only the junta, and I included a letter issued by the Assistant Secretary General for Legal Affairs of the United Nations that had concluded that the supply of arms to Ecomog was not in breach of the UN sanctions.

  On 8 June I went off for my appearance before the Legg Inquiry. They had been provided with comfortable offices in Queen Anne’s Gate overlooking St James’ Park. Stephen and Sophie came with me. Sir Thomas Legg was welcoming and friendly. Sir Robin Ibbs was more taciturn but I suspected that he had a sharper mind. They explained that they were not out to get anybody, they just wanted to establish the facts. They thanked me for my statement, which, they said, had helped put things into perspective. Both Sir Thomas and Sir Robin appeared to have some difficulties understanding the workings of the Foreign Office and its posts overseas. I went over in detail my meetings with President Kabbah and Tim Spicer. I explained that I had not encouraged either of them in their dealings; nor had I discouraged them, and therefore, by not positively discouraging them, I accepted that both of them could have felt that their contract had a measure of support. But all of us were firmly of the view that the supply of arms would not be in breach of the UN sanctions. When Sir Thomas asked me who else in the Foreign Office was of a similar mind, he seemed surprised to hear me say that as far as I was concerned, they all were. I cited various documentary evidence to support this. Three days previously the UN Security Council had passed a further resolution making it absolutely clear that the arms embargo did not apply to the Kabbah government or Ecomog. I was unaware of this at the time of my interview, and the Legg Inquiry didn’t mention it in any of its findings.

  My session with the inquiry lasted about three hours. They could not say for certain whether I would be required to appear again, but they had no objection to me returning to Sierra Leone to resume my duties as High Commissioner. I made a booking on the Sabena flight to Conakry for the coming Saturday, 13 June.

  Paramount Chief

  Conakry Airport was as chaotic as ever with the Guinean health official demanding to see everyone’s certificates against smallpox, yellow fever, cholera – as if Guinea was the healthiest country in the world! To reach the exit you had to run the gauntlet of dozens of customs officials, each one wanting to inspect every piece of baggage. WAWA. Alphonse was on hand to meet me and we drove the familiar route through the bustling streets of Conakry in the half-light of early evening to the Hotel Camayenne. Room 503 was not available, but I was given room 403, the room immediately below it, so everything seemed identical. I took a shower, phoned Celia and then watched the movie on the French channel before going to sleep.

  Alphonse came back to pick me up the next morning. He asked to borrow some money – another piece of his taxi had fallen off. We drove out to the airport where I was joined by Desmond Luke, who was now the Chief Justice, and Charles Margai, the Minister of Internal Affairs. They said that they had been delegated to accompany me back to Freetown. Instead of flying as normal to the international airport at Lungi, our charter plane flew directly to Hastings. As it landed and taxied round in front of the wooden huts that represented the terminal, I looked out through the window and could see a crowd gathered. I stepped off the plane and was immediately surrounded by cheering Sierra Leoneans. The drums were playing and there was lively singing from a group of women in their white and green dresses. I was escorted to the terminal building. A number of familiar faces were around – Colin, Solomon, Emmanuel and Zainab. I was introduced to King Naimbana II, the Temne tribal chief for the Western Area. He sat me in a chair and announced to everyone that I was to be made a paramount chief. He produced a traditional costume made out of bark cloth and proceeded to put it over my head. He placed a hat made of the same material on my head. A pair of trousers were also produced but we agreed that it would not be dignified for me to drop my pants in front of the assembled crowd so I handed them to Mal, head of the close protection team. The television cameras were on hand. The King made a little speech and handed me my staff of office – a wooden stav
e with a brass knob. I was now Pa Komrabai Penfold of the Western Area. I was led back outside and the singing and dancing went wild. I went up to the drummers and the singing women and started to dance with them. This brought more loud cheers. I was then led to my Land Rover and climbed inside.

  A line of cars both preceded and followed us into Freetown. Apparently the ceremonies were still not over. With horns blaring and people shouting and waving we entered the city limits. Bunches of schoolchildren lined the route and waved as we went past. As we came up to the PZ roundabout the crowds got thicker. The vehicles stopped and I got out of the car. I was led over to a hammock made of rope with a wooden awning perched over the top of it, painted in red, white and blue on the outside, and blue, white and green, the colours of the Sierra Leone national flag, on the inside. On the front of the awning was painted in bold white lettering, ‘Sierra Leone welcomes back HE Peter Penfold.’ The whole structure, which must have been considerably heavy, was supported on the heads of four strong Sierra Leoneans.

  I was lifted bodily into the hammock and we started to process along the street surrounded by hundreds of smiling and cheering Sierra Leoneans. Most of them were waving home-made Union Jacks and Sierra Leone flags. Being carried in a hammock is the traditional mode of travel for a paramount chief, but it was not easy. I had never been briefed on how one travels by hammock. Did I stretch my legs out or let them hang either side? I tried to sit up as we proceeded uphill so that I could look at what was going on. One woman followed alongside me, fanning me with something that looked like a large table mat made out of straw. Every now and then her hand slipped and I would receive a nasty whack on the back of my neck. Immediately behind came Paul, one of the close protection team. Quite what he would be able to do to protect me in such a crowd, I had no idea, nor, did I guess, did he. The route was lined with Sierra Leoneans of all ages cheering and waving. I waved back. We went along Siaka Stevens Street. What the late President, who had declared Sierra Leone a republic in 1971, would have made of all this, I did not know. Here was I, a white man, a representative of the former colonial power, being carried in a hammock through the streets of the capital of this African country nearly forty years after independence.

  The procession continued until we reached the Cotton Tree, the centre of Freetown, where in the olden days the freed slaves would gather. I was lifted out of the hammock and carried to the steps of the Law Courts building. The crowd was now a couple of thousand strong. Before mounting the steps I went back to the hammock to shake the hands of the four porters who were sweating profusely. I then went up the steps of the building and was seated in front of the cheering crowd. Behind me sat a number of VIPs on white plastic chairs.

  King Naimbana came to the microphone and announced that I had been made a paramount chief and that henceforth I was to be known as Chief Komrabai Penfold. Zainab Bangura made a rousing speech thanking Britain for coming to Sierra Leone’s help in its hour of need. ‘We thought that Britain had turned its back on us, but this battered nation found a friend in Komrabai Penfold, for which we will be ever grateful.’ Moslem and Christian prayers were said and then another of the women’s representatives led the crowd in singing a hymn of praise.

  I was invited to speak. I started by saying, ‘Am gladdie tbe bak een me oon hoos,’ the Krio for ‘I’m pleased to be back home.’ The crowd went wild. I said I was honoured to become a paramount chief, which I accepted on behalf of Her Majesty The Queen, the British Government and the British people. I noted the commitment of the Sierra Leone people to democracy and the sacrifices they had made to keep it. I promised them the continued support of the British Government and people. There were more loud cheers and singing. After another speech from the trade union congress leader, it was time to get back into the vehicles. Again I was surrounded by seething masses all wanting to shake my hand. We made it to the Land Rover and Emmanuel slowly drove away past the American Embassy and the Nigerian High Commission. We turned up the hill towards Runnymede. A number of those who had been involved in the earlier proceedings had come to the residence. We sat and drank and talked. It was good to be back among so many friends.

  The next day in the office I had to send a telegram reporting on my return. There were already too many people back in the UK who believed that I had gone native, so I tried to keep the report light-hearted. I sought instructions on what was the official mileage rate for travel by hammock and asked how many porters I was entitled to, pointing out that when Colin had to deputize for me, with his bulk he would require an additional allowance of porters. I also suggested that close protection teams would require training drills before they came out on how to escort a hammock-travelling High Commissioner.

  Although I had played down my appointment as a paramount chief to London, in Sierra Leone it was taken very seriously. The system of paramount chiefs went back several centuries. By the fifteenth century Sierra Leone was divided into numerous small kingdoms that were governed by extraordinary warriors, hunters or traders. Titled ‘owners of the land’, they exercised complete authority within their domains. In 1896 the British declared the interior of Sierra Leone a protectorate, while Freetown and the peninsular were declared a colony. They designated the rulers in the protectorate ‘paramount chiefs’ and presented each with an official symbol of office – a cane staff topped with a brass knob bearing the British coat of arms. Although the paramount chief was still the highest ranking personage of his domain, he had to share the powers of leadership with a British district commissioner who oversaw several chiefdoms. A paramount chief primarily kept law and order and collected taxes. He also recruited labour for projects such as building roads. The district commissioner retained responsibility for settling land disputes and judging criminal cases. This was the system of ‘indirect rule’ by which Britain exercised her colonial authority in Sierra Leone and in many other parts of the Empire.

  In 1898 the colonial administration imposed a new tax, the ‘hut tax’. In many ways it was a forerunner of the poll tax in Britain in the 1980s, and as in Britain, the people revolted. A Temne warrior chief, Bai Bureh, led the revolt. The British authorities eventually regained control and to break the power of the chiefs, they divided the kingdoms into smaller units. These were still called chiefdoms and were still headed by paramount chiefs. Some of the newly appointed rulers were paramount chiefs who had not taken part in the revolt. As long as the new paramount chiefs did not oppose the district commissioners, they governed for life. From the 1930s, with the introduction of local government administrations, the chief’s powers were shared with government officials and a group of councillors chosen by the elders, but they continued to exercise much control and influence.

  There were 149 paramount chiefs spread throughout Sierra Leone. Many of them could trace their lineage back to the original chiefs and rulers. Twelve chiefs, one from each national district, sat in the Parliament, like a mini House of Lords within the House of Commons. The chiefs were the real power and influence in the country. They were the persons to whom the people turned for any advice or guidance. They ruled their people but they were also answerable to them. If the people were not satisfied with the performance of their chief, he, or she (there were some lady paramount chiefs, but only in the south), would be removed. So although they represented an ancient traditional system of authority, they were also part of a modern democratic system of government. Because of the chiefs’ immense influence the rebels had killed several of them or had driven them from their homes. For example, in Kailahun District alone, eight out of the fourteen chiefs had been murdered by the RUF. Several chiefs were now living temporarily in Freetown or the other major towns.

  Since independence The Queen and Prince Philip had been the only non-Sierra Leoneans to be appointed paramount chiefs. As a paramount chief I was entitled to direct access to the President at all times. President Kabbah took to calling me ‘Chief’ instead of ‘Your Excellency’. The accepted form of greeting from one paramount chie
f to another was ‘My Good Friend’. (A few years later when Tony Blair was made a paramount chief of a small village in the north, I congratulated him in a letter addressed to ‘My Good Friend’.)

  Being made a paramount chief increased my stature in the country but also added to my workload. The number of people wanting to see me trebled and I received half a dozen letters a day seeking favours and requests such as for a job, or money, food or clothing, or asking me to intercede in a dispute. I was asked to become ‘Grand Chief Patron’ of all types of organizations or ‘Special Chief Guest’ at the opening of ceremonies or church services. As I did not have a designated chiefdom it was felt that all and sundry could approach me. Also, because I had been given the title ‘Komrabai’, which meant ‘elder of the chiefs’, many of the chiefs themselves would approach me for assistance.

  One aspect of the appointment sounded interesting. I was told that a paramount chief was entitled to ten wives. I passed this information on to Celia. As my number one wife it was her duty to help select the other nine for me. I’m still waiting!

  Colin went off on leave to be with Ruth and the children for the summer holidays, which left me alone in the office. It was like being in Conakry again. I had to open up the office, supervise the cleaners, then go off to see the President, come back and type up and send off my own telegrams – so much for being a paramount chief!