By Hassan Arouni
In the 1980s, West African politics was never dull. Drama was part of the daily menu. Sierra Leone had its crafty old fox, President Siaka “Pa Shaki” Stevens, a man whose wit was as sharp as his politics. Across the Mano River, Liberia had Samuel Kanyon Doe — young, fiery, quick to anger, and quicker to act.
It is worth remembering that Stevens’ relationship with Doe’s predecessor, William Tolbert, had been the very opposite of acrimonious. The two were African elder statesmen of similar age, intellect, and charm. They were great pals, and out of their friendship the Mano River Union (established in 1973) was born. Many later said the MRU provided a template for ECOWAS. The two leaders even staged their moves in tandem: when Tolbert hosted the OAU Summit in Monrovia in 1979 and became Chairman, Pa Shaki followed in 1980 with the same event in Freetown. Their neighbour Ahmed Sékou Touré of Guinea was expected to complete the brotherly trio by hosting the Summit in 1981, but withdrew when he realised the cost was prohibitive.
Tolbert had been due to hand over the OAU chairmanship in July 1980, but the coup that killed him in April scuppered that plan. Stevens never forgave Doe for that coup — he saw him as a “small boy” who had destroyed a brother and a friend.
So when, in the middle of the 1980s, a minor dispute flared between Sierra Leone and Liberia, Doe lashed out. In a fit of anger, he ordered Liberia’s borders with Sierra Leone locked tight. Goods stopped, rice stopped, families were cut off, and traders howled. People grew nervous.
“What will Pa Shaki do?” they asked.
But Stevens was never a man to be rattled. He had one great gift: his tongue. With words he could calm, tease, provoke, or reassure. And in this case, he turned a national crisis into a national joke. Asked about Doe’s action, Pa Shaki smiled and replied with one of the most memorable lines of his career:
“Na Doe lock Doh. When Doe is ready, Doe will open his door.”
It was pure Stevens. In Krio, “door” is pronounced doh, so the pun was obvious and immediate. We take a little licence here, since “dough” was also common slang for money at the time, but the layers of meaning were clear to everyone. Doe had closed the “door.” Doe had locked the “dough.” And only Doe could open it again.
The public roared with laughter. The tension dissolved. And sure enough, after a few days, Doe cooled down, apologised, and reopened the borders. The “door” swung back open, and life resumed.
The lesson was not lost on Sierra Leoneans. Stevens showed that leadership is not only about force, but also about restraint. He knew that wit could sometimes disarm better than weapons, and that patience often wins more than anger. He turned a standoff into a proverb, and in doing so, calmed his people while leaving his opponent looking foolish.
For today’s leaders, there is wisdom here. Every border locked, every crisis flared, is not the end of the world. Sometimes it is only a “door” — and doors open as surely as they close. Leadership is knowing when to fight, and when to laugh. Pa Shaki chose laughter, and Sierra Leone never forgot it.
Editor’s Note: Hassan Arouni is a former BBC Producer and Presenter. He is now a PR and Media Consultant.
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