Author’s note: The Legend of Seimavile Halingi is a true story from oral history that took place in Lofa County. The story shows that internecine conflicts are deeply rooted in our past; but only as we learn to love one another and give all we have, including our very lives, for the welfare of our native land, can we enjoy enduring peace and progress. We in Liberia will do well to delve into our cultural heritage to glean the wisdom of our fathers and mothers, if we will ever build that social order which is responsive to our needs and aspirations.

Once there lived in Gbandiland a great Chief and famous warrior called Fonigema. After he fought a great Chief of the Kissi called Fayah over farmland, Fonigema captured a Kissi town. In this town was a girl called Sia whose beauty surpassed that of all maidens of the Lofa River region. Chief Fonigema married Sia and made her his sala wife. He showered her with countless favors, not only for her striking beauty, but also because she was a devoted servant and faithful companion, and she bore him two lovely sons called Fala Wubo and Seimavile Halingi.

When Fonigema died, only the sons he had by his Gbandi wives were given inheritance. Fala and Seimavile could not stand the disgrace and injustice. Accomplished warriors, hunters, and farmers in their own right, they worked hard to become wealthy and distinguished in order to gain the respect of the land of their birth. They made large farms, killed scores of big animals such as elks, elephants, buffaloes, lions, leopards, and hippopotami; married many wives, and established a large clan of their own. Indeed, they became wealthier and more famous than Chief Fonigema’s Gbandi sons. Yet, their Fatherland considered them second-class citizens because their mother was a slave; they went to their Motherland to settle in it, but the Kissi said they were Gbandi since tradition considered a man’s offspring members of his tribe. And so they were also denied the right to citizenship in their Motherland.

Deciding to find a homeland of their own, they set off  early one morning in opposite directions to begin the search. Fala went north and Seimavile went south. Far in the wooded mountains of the north near the savannah region, Fala Wubo climbed to the peak of the tallest mountain he found and looked at the surrounding landscape as far as eyes could see. The land was beautiful and fertile with plains and rolling hills interspersed with palms and fresh rivers. Flocks of birds of all kinds and descriptions, singing a thousand lovely songs, hovered above the azure forest. Herds of monkeys barked in the treetops; deer, buffaloes, leopards, lions, and elephants grunted in the thick undergrowth. Coming down the mountain, Fala Wubo surveyed the area and found rivers and creeks teeming with swarms of trout, catfish, barracuda, and many other breeds of fresh water fishes. His heart skipped a beat. Sighing with joy and relief, he cried, “Kanikookoi!” The dense forest confirmed his happiness by rallying the cry all around. That cry became the name of the mountain on which he had stood to view the new land and also an exclamation of joy when one encounters good luck. “Yes, this is exactly the land we need,” Fala Wubo declared.  “It’s richer and lovelier than Bandiland. Here we’ll live in peace and prosperity; here we’ll enjoy the respect of people everywhere.”

But Fala also saw giants roaming about the land! Had it not been for his hunting charm, which made him invisible, they would have torn him to pieces! Well, he and his brother would fight the giants. It was a man’s courage, common sense, and “protection”—and not his size—that mattered in battle, and they were more than brave, wise, and well protected by the most powerful charms.  Returning home in high spirits, he reported his success to Halingi.

“The land I found is rich and vast!” he said, bobbing his head forcefully. “If we take it, we’ll become the richest men in the entire Lofa River region!”

Seimavile, who hadn’t been so lucky in his search, thanked Fala for his discovery and promised to do everything possible, including giving up his life if necessary, to capture the land from the uncouth giants. Of course, the brothers knew that it would be foolhardy to attack such dangerous foes in conventional battle. They therefore appealed to Vanii, a reputable diviner in Halipo, to destroy them with supernatural powers.

After reading a portion of the Koran and fingerprints he made in a pouch of medicine sand he spread on his porch, Vanii admitted that the inhabitants of the land were the mightiest warriors in the world. Opening his eyes wide in fear, he continued: “They use trees and boulders as weapons in warfare! Only love, the most powerful weapon in the world, can conquer them. Bring me two bales of the finest homespun available. I’ll take them to their Chief in your name and ask him for a sitting place for you people. I’m sure he’ll grant my request after receiving the gift.” The brothers approved Vanii’s suggestion but reproved him for his cowardice. They gave him two wide sheets of beautiful homespun with brilliant black and white stripes.

Convinced that his mission would succeed, though he had never been in that strange land nor met anyone from there, Vanii set off one sunny morning on his journey. His assurance to the brothers was based on the faith that the gift would mellow the savage monster, who knew nothing about clothes, to give Fala and Seimavile somewhere to settle. As he trudged into the unknown world, fear gripped his heart. The Chief of the giants might think that he was a traitor and therefore kill him! But the hope that the brothers would reward him with plenty of riches should his mission succeed cast all fears from Vanii’s heart. Wealth means great risks, he thought. Besides, he trusted “his protection,” the talisman in his pocket. Vanii thrust his hand into the depths of the breast pocket of his flowing, white gown and touched the charm, then tugged at the bundle of homespun on his shoulder. He felt reassured.

Braving the forbidding forest seething with the piercing cries of birds and animals, Vanii walked as fast as his legs could carry him. Because he had spent nearly all his days in his house in Halipo serving his many clients, he was not used to long walks. Soon his legs began to ache. Afraid he might not reach the nearest town before dusk, he redoubled his walking pace in spite of his pains. By midday he crossed Kanikookoi Mountain beyond which he ran into a group of horrifying giants feasting on human corpses in a spacious glade by a brook. Terribly frightened, Vanii made himself invisible with the aid of his talisman, though the giants were too busy chewing human flesh and bones with their long, yellow, sharp teeth to notice him. Indeed, he had never seen creatures looking so monstrous and acting so barbaric! Naked, except for rags roughly tied round their waists, the giants were huge like elephants and fierce like lions. Their heads were overgrown with bushy, wiry hair in which birds and bees nested. Their nostrils were wide like mortar, their garish eyes large like gourds, their ears wide like fanners, their knotty arms and legs large like beleh trunks. Their ghastly, wide mouths stretched from ear to ear.

Bypassing them, Vanii hastened to Bitiyema, their capital and only town.  All but deserted except for a few women and children wandering about, the large town was circled by rings of human skulls; the houses, painted with black and red clay, were so large that one of  them could make ten Gbandi houses. Vanii went straight to the Chief’s house, the largest in the town, which stood in the center of the square. To his utter surprise, the porch was well furnished with comfortable modern chairs and tables; doubtless, furniture the savage Chief had looted from many a victim whom he had killed and eaten, thought Vanii. Making himself visible, he sat in a chair and assumed the look of the bearer of important tidings. The Chief’s wife, a tall, husky woman dressed in colorful fanti, apparently coming from bathing, breezily entered the porch, an empty zinc bucket creaking in the crook of her arm. Taken by complete surprise on seeing Vanii on her porch, she cringed at the sight of him.

“Who are you? How—why—when—strangers don’t come here!”

Handing the homespun to the woman, Vanii told her in a friendly, confident tone, “I brought this gift and a message for the Chief.” Then snapping her hairy fingers, he said warmly, “A friend!  Very good friend from Bandiland! Where is the Chief?”

The woman hugged the beautiful homespun tenderly as if it were a baby and inhaled its sweet scent. Love for the stranger suddenly overwhelmed her. Smiling, she cast a knowing glance at Vanii and batted her eyes.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” she asked him.

“I am Vanii of Halipo. I simply walked through the high forest and came over. Once your intentions are good, you have no fear.”

Heaving a deep sigh, the woman took the clothes into the house,  returned to Vanii and sat in a chair opposite him, staring in his face with anxiety. “You’re lucky my husband isn’t here!” she whispered. “Had he been here, he would have eaten you up. He eats strangers! We Wono live on human flesh and blood. Look, he will soon come. Hide yourself in the pile of firewood by the house.” She pointed vaguely outside. “I will deliver your gifts to him. What is your message?”  Vanii told her the message and hid himself in the woodpile.

Soon the Wono Chief arrived from his safari, sniffing the musty air with suspicion and saying that he smelled a stranger. “Where is he?  Where is he?” he asked his wife gruffly, searching around with his fiery, red eyes. Before answering the query, the woman brought him the homespun and delivered Vanii’s message. “But the messenger has left,” she lied. “He says he will be back tomorrow morning for the answer.”

“You crazy woman!” the wild Chief of the Wono raged and ground his teeth. Smoke and fire issued from his enormous mouth and nostrils. “Why did you not detain him? The hunt was disappointing—and I am starving! He could have made a good dinner for me! Messengers ought to be eaten, for they are traitors. We have better clothes than these.” He threw the clothes at his wife after a cursory inspection, went into the house, and dropped into bed. “I’m waiting for him,” he informed her.

Getting the cue, Vanii made himself invisible, ran to Halipo, and reported his unfavorable reception by the Chief of the Wono to Fala Wubo and Seimavile Halingi. “The only course left open to us, then, is war!” cried Fala Wubo. Seimavile nodded approval, looking more disturbed than Fala Wubo and the diviner.

“The Wono Chief has violated one of the most sacred of tribal laws. Strangers are to be welcomed, respected, and accommodated in every town at all times. God and the Ancestors will not blame us for waging war on him.”

The brave brothers immediately assembled two armies, sacrificed a big black bull to the Mountain Oracle, prayed to God and the Ancestors for victory, and attacked Bitiyema. But they were driven back with uprooted trees and boulders. They renewed their attack again and again but experienced stiff resistance on a larger scale during each subsequent one. Indeed, the giants defended their capital with unspeakable courage. After four days of warfare, both sides suffering heavy casualties, Fala Wubo’s sons, Wolobala and Kozizilema, took over the fighting.

“You have done your best,” they told Fala and Halingi. “Now it’s our turn to fight the Wono monsters. We’ll teach them a lesson they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.”

Kozizilema, the older brother, deployed his men west of Bitiyema and chased the Wono from their stronghold, while Wolobala, the younger brother, who was too anxious for victory, took his army to Galama, south of Bitiyema, and attacked the fleeing giants. This battlefield was named Koiwolomai because of the heavy loss of life. The most distinguished Gbandi hero who fell in Koiwolomai was Valamuza, whose skull was enshrined at Sawonimai in Luloma Clan.

The war soon spread to all parts of Gbandi and Kissilands like wild fire, claiming the lives of half the two tribes and displacing all survivors into the dark reaches of the forests. The neighboring Loma and Kpelle tribes joined the fighting. But the Wono warriors struck them down by the thousands. It was now a war of genocide! Something had to be done quickly, or the population of the entire Lofa River region would be wiped out. The Land made many sacrifices and consulted all the Oracles on the matter with no positive result. Their only encouragement came from the Mountain Oracle, which recommended that they appeal to Fala Wubo and Seimavile Halingi for help.  Only they could win the war. But the Land reasoned that the recommendation was another way of saying that victory was impossible. How could help come from men they had denied citizenship?

Meanwhile, Fala and Seimavile were busy fighting a detachment of the Wono forces that was marching from the Guinea side of the border towards Daazu, looting, killing, and burning towns and villages. Quickly deploying their remaining battered forces, they launched a furious attack on Daazu. The Wono, who had not expected the enemy to attack them so close to Guinea, were taken by complete surprise. They crowded into a cave on Mt. Kanikookoi to make better plans for the offensive. The victorious armies of Fala and Seimavile lay in ambush at the mouth of the cave, waiting for them to come out, but they wouldn’t, and only reckless warriors would pursue an enemy in a cave.

Vanii dreamed of a solution to the problem one night. Rising early in the morning without washing his face or mouth, nor saying a word to anyone, he went to a shoal in Bitiyema Creek, collected a bag of sand, and scattered it at the mouth of the cave. The sand instantly turned into waves of driver ants that streamed into the cave, ate up many of the giants and sent the rest reeling out in pain only to be caught in the web of Fala and Seimavile’s forces. Not a single one was spared. In keeping with the instruction of the Mountain Oracle, the Land invited Fala Wubo and Seimavile Halingi to an emergency council meeting they convened at Halipo, but for weeks they failed to show up. The Land now tottered on the brink of defeat, for Wono warriors had taken over half of Gbandiland, and were pushing deep into Kissi, Loma, and Kpelle territories.  The people ran about the forest in complete disarray, living only on roots and leaves.  Many died of starvation and disease. To prevent total destruction, the leaders of Gbandilandhad no choice but to consult the Mountain Oracle one last time. Should it insist on its impossible condition for victory, they would surrender to the enemy. Without delay they sent a delegation to consult the Oracle.

Before the delegation left, the Land performed a purification rite and offered a sacrifice to God and the Ancestors to forgive whatever sin the tribe might have committed to warrant the genocide. The delegation then went to the Mountain Oracle for the consultation. After listening attentively to their prayers, the Chief Priest entered the sacred grove housing the Oracle, where he remained until sunset. On his return, he told them that the Oracle demanded a living sacrifice in order for the Land to defeat the enemy. No slave or foreigner qualified for the great sacrifice—the first of its kind the Oracle had ever required of the Land—but a free-born, native son. The sacrificial victim should be shot with seven arrows and buried alive with the arrows sticking on him.  Only such a sacrifice would bring victory to the tribe and restore peace and prosperity to the Land. Failure to obey the Oracle would mean the complete destruction of all tribes in the Lofa River region. After the war, the Gbandi should kill a full-grown black bull each year at the grave of the sacrificial victim, sprinkle its blood all over the grave, and whatever request they made of the Oracle would be granted.

The Land immediately had a message relayed from town to town for a free-born, native son who was willing to give up his life for victory to be won. For four weeks no one volunteered.  The Land decided at another meeting that the only sensible thing to do was surrender. But just before they could send the “white chicken” to the Wono, Fala and Seimavile arrived at the meeting and were told the dilemma of the tribe. Speaking on behalf of his brother and himself, Fala Wubo said that they would continue defending the land of their birth, for they loved their Fatherland despite their wounded pride. But no, neither they nor any of their men would make the sacrifice.

When Fala Wubo took his seat, Seimavile rose to speak. The Land watched him with gloomy faces, thinking that he would confirm what his brother had said. But when he began speaking, all eyes trained on him with wonder and relief. The words that came out of his mouth were unbelievable!

“I volunteer to die for my Fatherland,” he began on a firm note that brightened the faces of the Chiefs and the Elders but darkened the faces of his brother, his family, and relatives. “The Oracle of the Mountain has said that victory in this war rests with my brother and me. How else can we win this victory if the sacrifice it requires is not performed?  Had my brother and I been unqualified for the sacrifice, the Oracle would not have put this great responsibility on our shoulders. Neither God nor the Ancestors will be with us or receive us with open arms in the world beyond should we fail to save our Fatherland. My only request is that the Land distribute my properties among all members of my family and take care of them and their descendants until the end of the world.”

Fala Wubo interrupted his brother’s speech with loud and uncontrollable lamentation.  He loved his brother dearly and could not imagine life without him. Members of Seimavile’s family began wailing, too. Unable to endure the dismal and unusual ordeal, they walked out of the council. Only Seimavile’s nephews returned later to witness his burial, for nephews are compelled by tradition to witness all ceremonies involving the offspring of their uncles, including the last rites at their graves.

The Land did not only approve Seimavile’s request, they gowned him as honorary Chief of the Bandi. In an impressive ceremony with no precedent in the Land in honor of even a King, the Chiefs and the Elders bestowed the rights of full citizenship upon Seimavile Halingi and his brother, as well as on all members of their families, relatives, and descendants. They slaughtered a dozen head of cattle in his honor and offered him gifts of gowns and gold and cloths to dispose of as he pleased. Seimavile turned everything over to his nephews. All these events happened without any violent incident as if the Land were not at war.

Accompanied by the Representatives of God, the Land, and the Ancestors, Seimavile Halingi walked to the mouth of the tomb which had been dug for him at the foot of the sacred mountain. It was indeed an underground house, well furnished and supplied with everything the Land thought he might need in the world beyond: A beautiful wooden bed with a palm thatch mattress covered with sheets of colorful calico and a feather pillow stood in Seimavile’s bedroom, which was furnished with chairs, cooking and farming utensils, kenjas of rice, gourds of palm oil and wine, foods of all kinds, much clothing, money, and the like. A wooden table with a hurricane lantern sitting on it stood against the eastern wall.

Seimavile blessed the tribe and wished them victory in the war and success in all their undertakings. Then he again requested that they give full protection, respect, honor, and support to all members of his family, his relatives, and their descendants. The Land should not let any of them die of hunger or thirst. They should never let danger, harm, or mishap of any kind come their way. Seimavile paused for an answer. The Land nodded in agreement and chanted a prayer. Then he blessed the tribe again and said how proud and honored he was to die for his people; he would intercede for them in the world beyond once they kept their promise. At this moment the people wept, though crying was forbidden at the sacred ceremony.

Vanii cut one of his fingers and, with his blood, wrote the agreement on a piece of paper, wrapped it up, and placed it in a pouch to be preserved for the benefit of future generations of the Bandi, lest they forgot their promise to Seimavile. Then, taking off his gown and cap, remaining only in a pair of red short pants, Seimavile Halingi raised his arms to heaven. Looking with firm, unblinking eyes towards the eastern world, his head tipped far back, and murmuring a prayer, he was shot seven times with white, featherless arrows. Neither did he groan nor attempt to remove any of them from his body. He stood with dignity until all the arrows had landed on him. Before each one landed, the Land chanted a prayer. Two arrows landed on his chest, one under each arm, two on his back, and one on his stomach. The final rite and prayer said, the Owners of the Land lowered him with a rope into his tomb. Slowly he walked with firm steps into his bedroom, all seven arrows sticking to his body; then the tomb was sealed, and a brass bucket placed at its mouth. For seven days and nights, Seimavile Halingi reminded the Land to remember their promise. He died on the eve of the seventh day after his burial.

After Seimavile’s death, Fala Wubo recruited all able-bodied men in Bandiland, making his army the largest fighting force of the day. He attacked Bitiyema once again. This second campaign was better planned, the morale of the warriors extremely high. In no time they overran the outer defenses of the town. Having become nothing but toothless dragons, the Wono giants were no match for the brave invaders. The battle raged on for many days, and bodies were piled on top of bodies until blood flowed like creeks throughout Wonoland. The Wono were defeated and destroyed decisively. A few of them that managed to escape took refuge on top of a tall mountain, grieving for their slain tribe. This mountain was named Wologizi.

Thus, Fala Wubo took possession of Wonoland. The Clan he established was called Wubomai. For many years the lands of the Bandi, the Kissi, the Kpelle, and the Loma never again fought a bloody war because Chief Fala Wubo’s mighty army guaranteed their protection.

Seimavile’s descendants live in Halipo today, where the Gbandi who are faithful to their tradition take care of them. For a  long time after Seimavile’s death, the Gbandi sacrificed a black bull at his grave each year so that he would continue showering them with peace,  prosperity, and blessings.  But after missionaries took Christianity to Bandiland, the practice stopped, accounting for the endless turmoil and warfare now besieging the Land. However, the great sacrifice Seimavile Halingi made lives in the memory of the Gbandi and their neighboring tribes, a sacrifice that inspires them to love and defend their homeland.