by Margaret Failoni

I was sent to Roberts Field, Liberia to work as a Station Manager and was living in a special barracks assigned to airline operations and maintenance personnel. The barracks were on stilts, each with two apartments back to back. Joseph was my houseboy who, in spite of my mongoose—kept as a snake deterrent—managed to keep my living quarters in some kind of order and occasionally satisfied my craze for spicy African food by preparing succulent dishes. The national dish consists of chicken or fish cooked with palm oil, onions, garlic, and lots of chili; when almost cooked he would stir in potato greens or spinach and serve with a hard-boiled egg over steamed rice. I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, it really was delicious.

The Roberts Field airbase was not only home for several airlines, but was also the closest thing to a western-style civilization for the nearby Goodyear Plantation. Several Americans and Europeans—lower-management men—lived on the plantation in charming cottages built on stilts to ward off unwanted animal invasion. They had to quickly learn to live with the nauseating stench that came from processing the latex gathered from the trees. Theirs was a lively scene with attractive flight attendants coming and going from the base. Occasionally, I would drive over to Monrovia for a change of scenery and perhaps for a half-decent meal at the one and only European-style restaurant run by a pair of dicey Foreign Legion deserters.

One evening, while sharing a beer with Scimia ("Monkey"), my neighbor and fellow Italian, I heard angry shouting from the direction of the base. Minutes later came running footsteps, what sounded like gunshots, more running footsteps, more shouting farther and farther away, and then silence. What was that about?

Early the next morning, I was awakened by a loud pounding at the door. Cooper, the African Director for Operations, pushed me aside and started running through the house. He was shouting for Joseph to come out. A small group gathered around the house and, from what I could glean from the excited chatter, Joseph had been caught in a "compromising situation" with Cooper's wife. Cooper's living quarters were near the airbase and, although Cooper was on duty that night, he had slipped away between flight arrivals to change a sweaty shirt—only to discover his wife with Joseph. The few minutes Cooper spent rummaging for his pistol gave Joseph time to escape bare-assed into the night.

A week went by without Joseph. My house quickly degraded to a mess, and I was asking around the base for news of him as well as a possible temporary substitute. Cooper threatened to kill him if he ever dared show his face again on the airbase. Scimia's houseboy came from "Smell-no-Taste," the same village as Joseph, and assured me that Joseph would soon be back. I was not to worry; Joseph was being cared for and would soon return…

Sure enough, the following Monday I was awakened by the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Joseph was hanging fresh laundry on the clothesline, which was in full view of all passersby. Upon questioning the wisdom of his appearance so close to the base, Joseph assured me that only I could see him—"I and, of course, Cooper's wife," he said with a knowing smile. Laughing aloud he continued: "Yes-a, she can see me and she can feel me!"

Joseph had been to the medicine man in his village, who in turn sent him to see the "Leopard Man." I had heard of the existence of this creature of the underworld but was sure it was just a myth. Joseph, however, assured me that the half-man-half-leopard really existed. He had been anointed with special oils and then blessed by the Leopard Man. He had no doubt whatsoever that he would be invisible to all.

A week went by with Joseph coming to work every day, cleaning the house, cleaning up after the mongoose, hanging out the laundry to dry, preparing meals—all in plain view of Scimia and anyone else who happened around—and sure enough, no one noticed him. One Saturday afternoon after lunch, while sitting on the porch with Scimia, Cooper showed up asking for news of Joseph. Before stepping off the porch to head back to the base, Joseph poked his head out the door and brought me another cold beer. To my astonishment, Cooper had not seen Joseph nor the beer offered to me. For the remaining year, before returning to Italy, my house was beautifully attended to by Joseph who, upon my departure, adopted the mongoose and undoubtedly kept Mrs. Cooper a very happy lady.

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Margaret Failoni was born in New York City, studied at the School of Industrial Art, one year at the Fashion Institute of Technology, and received a degree in Art History from Hunter College. She flew with PanAm as a flight attendant so as to visit the world's museums and archaeological sites. After a year in Portugal, she quit the airlines and moved to Italy where she worked with art galleries and print publishing companies before opening her own gallery and print publishing company in 1981. Her published prints have been exhibited in the Metropolitan Museum of Art prints department.

Marge started with the US Information Agency, curating shows throughout Italy for several years. Once arriving in Mexico in 1993, she curated shows for several provincial museums and is presently the curator for the Interseccion Gallery at the Fabrica Aurora.

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