Trial by Ordeal

(A short story)
By Omari Jackson
Story idea: Recent news reports on sassywood (Trial by Ordeal in Liberia)

Old man Zayzay Boakai knew he was now too old to argue with those claiming that sassywood was a crime against his people, but he could do nothing about it. In all his seventy three or four years in life, he had witnessed one problem after another. Moving painfully on the dirt road across from the little village of Klay’s Broad Street, in the northwestern part of Liberia, the old citizen grounded his teeth, or the remaining ones still serving him, and watched the rising sun with some interest.

In those days gone by, when he was still a young man, yes, those days were days that he could run across the small street, and still have some breath left for other things. But now, things had changed and with the coming of the war, he had never found life more distressing.

“Sassywood,” the old dude, said to himself. “Many, many years ago, that was the only medium that we the natives had to demand some justice when someone deliberately took what did not belong to him.” He huddled along the road, and once in a while, would stand to catch his breadth. The early morning sun rose from the other side of the town, and turning around, the sun’s rays shot through the old citizen’s eyes, trying to blind him. And just like in a cue, he responded, flailing his right hand, and brushing it over the few strands of hair, still remaining on his head.

A closer look at Boakai would indicate that he was a man who had commanded respect in his youth. Even at the ripe age of seventy three, or four, since he was not sure which of the dates suited the day he was born, his towering figure, which inclined to stooping, marked him out as a man who had seen both better and challenging times. His shoulders still had the broad stretch that was once the envy of women, and colleagues. But then, he knew that that was all he had left at the moment.

“There were two laws in this land at the time,” he said to a group of young men, gathered just across from him, and who were debating and discussion about the pros and cons of the traditional method of extracting the truth from an accuser. “The innocent is not harmed at all, and it is only the guilty who suffers in the exercise.”

“But pop, in this modern time, should we continue with such a practice?” The question had come from the shorter of the young men. The old dude regarded him with some interest, and still grounding his teeth, said, with a smile, “There is every reason to believe that you the young folks do not understand the truth in the exercise.” He hesitated, and the young man was about to throw in another question when the old dude said, “In all sincerity, the practice or system of sassywood has its merits and demerits. To condemn it outright because it does not conform to the modern scientific method of searching for the truth is like saying all our systems are wrong.”

The three young men’s attention had been drawn, and it was apparent that they were more interested in the discussion, now. Sensing their curiosity, the old citizen sauntered towards a nearby chair, dropped his lanky frame into it, gathered his gown around his feet, stretched his arms to release the tension and stiffness that had built there, and grimaced.

The young men responded, shaking their heads in acknowledgement. The old man planted his right elbow on his right knee, and in a swift second remained aloof of the others.

Then, just as he had relapsed into silence, Boakai swiftly turned to face his young friends, and a crooked smile danced on the corner of his mouth. His one-time muscular and olive-skinned, thin, sharp-featured face looked abused from the years of his personal suffering. But then, as he gazed at the distance, his silky, grey hair seemed blurred, and his eyes watched the young men, as if he was far removed from the present. In a moment his blood-shot eyes watered and his body appeared to go limb.

The young man, who had earlier thrown a question to Boakai, moved closer to him, and said, “Pop, are you suggesting that there is some truth in sassywood?”

The old dude deliberately held on to his peace, and with a scowl on the corner of his mouth, said, “These days may be different from my own, but I can tell you that the practice of sassywood, as you people call it now, Trial By Ordeal, does not showcase the meaning of any ordeal. It is a system that exposes the guilty and exonerates the innocent one.”

“Then it means that,” the tallest of the three young men, said, “instead of making rash decisions to condemn and stop the practice, it will serve the people better if the practice is studied and examined….”

“Now you got it,” the old dude interrupted him, “The modern system of justice is also fraught with uncertainty. After all, the system of justice in this country involves the expert opinions of lawyers, witnesses and others…all these people can make mistakes.


“I hear that in far away America, some DNA has helped free innocent people already condemned by the system from further detention, and many others also from death.

“It is only those Western-minded people, who claim that relying on a custom such as trial by ordeal, is not only harmful but deadly, and here in all the reports, they cannot cite any statistics to back up their claim,” the old man said at length.

“That’s true, pop,” the second young man said, “everything in this world demands care and examination. To condemn our practice because it is strange and different from what the modern jurisprudence has said is to me, not proper action.”

A smile moved across the old man’s face, and he was encouraged that there were still others who would reason, and examine the legacy of the Liberian traditional judicial system. Old man Boakai believed that the practice of sassywood was older than the current method of justice, and it would serve a useful purpose if care could be applied, and in that way the practice itself could be reformed to meet the demands of our time.

With that understanding, Boakai’s old bones regained some strength, as he moved away from the young men, to concentrate on the economic burden of the time. And to speak plainly, he was on his way to Ma Musue’s Restaurant or Cold Bowl Shop, several steps away, to provide his body’s demand for food.

The End