Monrovia, Liberia
March 9, 1934
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You know I have to laugh at myself here sometimes, I guess I'm not used to service. This morning I asked Wudoo, my steward, whether Frank, my cook, was back from the market and he said "Yes, Massa, he no come back." I tried to keep a straight face and explained to him that he should say "No, Massa! he no come back." It is funny but I suppose if my temperment were different it could be darned annoying.
Some of the Liberians speak fair English. English like the American negro but with an English or British accent; however, most of them speak "pidgin" English and of course the natives in the hinterland and even here in Monrovia speak only their tribal language.
Our clerks here in the bank are some of the best educated men in town and all of them are Deacons in their churches, except one who is their choir leader. They are all young and not much older then I.
We have a doorman, Liberpool, who is a scream! He is the most sleepy-eyed person I have ever seen and when you call for him he answers "Yah Sah!" with a start, no matter how many times a day you call him.
In the afternoon until four the sun is too intense to be out in. . .
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