Introduction ^{Footnote 1}

Barthélémy Boganda, a nationalist politician from “Afrique Equatoriale Française” (AEF) in the 1950s, is poorly known in the English-language literature on Africa. In so far as he is mentioned, it is usually because of his Pan-Africanist ambitions (the building of a “United States of Latin Africa”). This project, however, quickly came to naught and, set against the trials and tribulations of Boganda’s life and work, is a minor aspect of his historical significance. To some extent, his relative obscurity is the consequence of the colonial-linguistic division that still obtains in African studies. Historical figures from Francophone countries tend to receive much less attention in the Anglophone literature and vice versa. Thus, there has been some biographical research on Boganda in French, but this has hardly impacted in terms of familiarity with Boganda as an historical personage. This has partly to do with the hagiographic character of these biographical contributions, especially those by Central Africans. ^{Footnote 2} But Boganda’s obscurity is still surprising since he himself was a prolific writer of speeches and articles – texts that have been assembled and analysed in the context of the study of ideas, ^{Footnote 3} rather than as building stones for genuinely biographical research. ^{Footnote 4}

These writings pertain for the most to the 1950s, when Boganda had become a public figure. There is a relative dearth of sources on the earlier stages of his life. However, there is a unique primary source, in this respect, in the general archives of the Spiritans or Holy Ghost Fathers (one of the more active missionary orders in French Equatorial Africa) that helps shed light on the earlier stages of Boganda’s life (the 1920s to 1940s). ^{Footnote 5} It can assist in mapping the development of his thinking and understanding the sheer historical depth of his political views, besides putting his later behavior and actions in better perspective. In fact, this article suggests that without reference to this source material, much of Boganda as an historical figure may elude us. An analysis of Barthélémy Boganda, the 1950s politician, also requires a focus on his earlier life, without necessarily arguing a linear process in the development of his thought and actions.

The source in question consists of two personal diaries kept by Boganda between the late 1920s and mid-1940s. They were misfiled in an archival series containing the correspondence between Michèle Jourdain, Boganda’s later wife and widow, and Father Frison, a Spiritan priest, during the 1980s. The series is described as holding two hundred of their letters, which are deemed to have “little bearing on B. Boganda.” ^{Footnote 6} While this is true, Jourdain must also have sent Frison the diaries, which she obviously inherited upon her husband’s death in 1959 and which would later end up in Frison’s archived papers, simply inserted in between Jourdain’s letters to her confidant. As far as I know, scholars have been unaware of their existence. ^{Footnote 7}

This article outlines the nature and contents of the two diaries and the significance they hold in the study of Boganda. The following sections sketch the broader historical setting of colonialism in French Equatorial Africa and the significance of Boganda as an historical figure. This is followed by an analysis of the nature and content of the diary entries and some concluding reflections on the importance of the diaries in the study of Boganda’s biography.

Historical Background

Barthélémy Boganda was one of the more extraordinary personages that marked the political ferment of Africa’s decolonization. The first African of the colony of Oubangui-Chari (after independence the Central African Republic) to be ordained a Catholic priest (1938), ^{Footnote 8} his life trajectory constituted a symbol of the brutality of colonial rule, the opportunities of self-emancipation afforded by missionary education, and the struggle for a political dispensation more just to African interests. Boganda was born around 1910 in the rainforest region of the Lobaye River, then part of the French colony “Moyen Congo” (Congo-Brazzaville) and torn apart by concessionary rule: the destruction of local polities had been followed by an understaffed duopoly of government and company administrators – the latter in the employ of what would become the “Compagnie Forestière de la Haute Sangha-Oubangui” (CFSO), which as other concession companies had an exclusive right to exploit the region’s natural resources. ^{Footnote 9} Faced by low population levels and poor infrastructure its men resorted to violence to control the local communities, forced them into portage and coerced them in furnishing produce (especially rubber) with which to pay for the administration and enrich the company books. The outrages by which these practices were marked led to the dispersal of villages and break-up of local societies, with populations fleeing before the encroaching Europeans and their African underlings. Precolonial commercial networks were dislocated, while changes in local ecologies brought disease. Tsetse soon ravaged whole regions, followed by the outbreak of smallpox, measles, dysentery, and, later, the Spanish flu. Famine struck, and in the forty years after 1880 populations in French Equatorial Africa were decimated. ^{Footnote 10} The extent to which society in the Lobaye region, in particular, disintegrated can be gauged from the numerous orphans that by the 1910s–1920s were roaming the forest. This phenomenon became so prevalent that the colonial administration felt forced to establish some infrastructure to shelter abandoned children. ^{Footnote 11}

Boganda’s Historical Significance

It was in the context of this humanitarian crisis, vividly described in the literary work of René Maran and André Gide, ^{Footnote 12} that Barthélémy Boganda arrived on the historical stage. His parents died before he had reached the age of ten. His father, a man called Swalakpé, was an affluent resident of the village of Bobangui, possessing several palm plantations and having numerous wives; Boganda’s mother was Swalakpé’s third spouse. ^{Footnote 13} The village of Bobangui is known to have suffered considerably under the brutalities of colonial rule, ^{Footnote 14} and it appears that Swalakpé became one of its victims, perishing in the course of a punitive campaign. This occurred early after the birth of Boganda, who is said not to have known his father. His mother died a little later (but before 1915). Most have asserted that she was murdered by a CFSO militia man for not having collected sufficient quantities of rubber. The young Boganda was then given a guardian, who, however, was recruited in the French colonial army and died at Verdun. ^{Footnote 15}

In 1920, while still in the care of his family, the boy was struck by a new calamity. He contracted smallpox, and somewhere in June that year his elder half-brother was ordered to bring him to one of his uncles. ^{Footnote 16} On their way they ran into a colonial patrol and the terrified brother fled into the forest – from bitter experience people had learnt to run whenever encountering Europeans. ^{Footnote 17} Covered by the markers of smallpox, the ten-year-old was left to confront the patrol on his own. ^{Footnote 18} In the men’s presence the young boy, of Ngbaka extraction, muttered the word “Gboganda.” There is some confusion as to its meaning, but most likely it meant something like “I am (from) elsewhere,” in the sense of my home is not here. ^{Footnote 19} Probably the boy just wanted to explain that he was lost, with the patrol thinking that he was mentioning his name – which, rendered in its simplified European form as “Boganda,” was to stick with him for the rest of his life. The patrol’s head, the “chef de circonscription” Lieutenant Mayer, ^{Footnote 20} had him brought to the orphanage in the nearby town of Mbaïki, which had been established in May 1917. ^{Footnote 21}

It was here that Boganda was met by Father Herriau, a Spiritan missionary who in October 1920 was touring the Lobaye region. As elsewhere, missionaries especially focused on children in their drive to evangelize the populace, as these were still less affected by the doctrines of precolonial religion and the metaphysics underlying local culture. The young were thus potentially more receptive to the Gospel. Herriau was struck by Boganda’s attentive look and decided to take him to the mission station of “Saint Jean Baptiste” in Bétou, a town further south on the Oubangui River. The mission, which included a school, had been founded ten years earlier, ^{Footnote 22} and it was here that Boganda’s education began. He learnt to read and write in Lingala – a process that some say only took a couple of months ^{Footnote 23} and which, if true, foreshadowed his rapid rise through the ranks of mission-run schools. In 1921, many of the Bétou orphans were returned to the Lobaye (tsetse ravaged the Bétou region), and in December the young Boganda was brought to the Spiritans’ main mission centre of “Saint Paul des Rapides” in Bangui, ^{Footnote 24} the capital of Oubangui-Chari. Here he received his baptism under the name Barthélémy in late 1922. Instruction at Saint Paul included, amongst other things, French and the catechism, besides agricultural work (together with the missionaries) necessary for the upkeep of the station. Already by mid-1924 the boy had completed his primary schooling, and, having made clear to Mgr. Calloc’h, the head of the colony’s Catholic Church, that he wished to study for the priesthood, he was sent in November to the Belgian Congo to attend the “petit séminaire” of the Jesuits in Lemfu, north of the border with Angola. ^{Footnote 25} Studies there included Latin, French, mathematics, history, and philosophy; all in all, it would take six years to complete. ^{Footnote 26} But it appears that Boganda (and others who were not from the Belgian Congo) felt uncomfortable with the instruction at Lemfu, so that by 1928–1929 he must have decided to continue his education elsewhere. ^{Footnote 27} First he attempted to gain admittance to a religious school in France with the help of the missionary who had baptized him. This failed for lack of funds, and he then continued his secondary schooling at the Spiritans’ “petit séminaire” in Brazzaville, concluding his final year in Bangui where he received tutoring from Calloc’h’s successor, Mgr. Grandin. He must have made a great impression as Grandin decided to enrol Boganda in the “grand séminaire” of Saint Laurent, Mvolyé, Yaoundé, in Cameroon (1931). He was the first African of Oubangui-Chari to enter this institution of higher education. ^{Footnote 28} Run by Benedictines, it taught the broad range of subjects necessary to enter the priesthood including history, Latin, philosophy, and the subject holding pride of place – theology. Saint Laurent provided first-rate, excellent education. ^{Footnote 29}

There are, of course, numerous examples of young Africans who were thus “saved” from the violence of early colonial rule, sheltered, and provided with the means for self-advancement and upward social mobility. Youths who managed to gain admittance to the world of European or American missionary ventures could radically improve their life prospects – irrespective of the colonial power ruling the territory. The life trajectories of such different historical figures as Kwame Nkrumah, Sol Plaatje, the missionary “Wunderkind” Harry Nkumbula of Zambia ^{Footnote 30} or (closer to the world of Boganda) André Matsoua and Fulbert Youlou from Moyen Congo, ^{Footnote 31} to name but a few, all bear remarkable similarities, whatever the religious denominations involved or the idiosyncracies in subsequent careers.

Yet, the case of Barthélémy Boganda is particularly striking for a number of reasons. The dramatic – if not traumatic – aspects of his childhood and entrance onto the historical stage, while not unique for the early colonial era nevertheless catch the historian’s eye, especially because of Boganda’s subsequent meteoric rise to political greatness. The year after he left the “grand séminaire” of Saint Laurent he entered the priesthood in a splendid ceremony at Bangui’s cathedral attended by members of the European community, the Catholic clergy and numerous Africans (1938). ^{Footnote 32} He then proceeded to teach at the new “petit séminaire” of “Saint Marcel” in Bangui and from 1941 to 1946 lived in the Grimari (Bambari) region, in the centre of Oubangui-Chari, to teach and evangelize among the local Banda people. While highly energetic in his work, Boganda’s comportment was also marked by toughness and severity – to seminary pupils and the local populace –, on occasion bordering on violence when angered by a refusal to break with cultural norms he deemed abhorrent (especially polygamy or the use of “fetishes”) or by resistance to his proselytizing and associated strategies (such as girls’ school enrolment). ^{Footnote 33} In addition, he felt frustrated by the means with which the Church expected him to accomplish this work – insufficient according to him –, ^{Footnote 34} and by the mid-1940s there were signs of anger about the racial condescension with which he was treated by Europeans – settlers, administrators, but also certain fellow missionaries. ^{Footnote 35} He also got involved in altercations with the local colonial administrator. ^{Footnote 36}

Thus, it has always seemed that, by this time, a turning-point occurred in Boganda’s life, as until then his tutors had dubbed him a diligent and obedient novice. ^{Footnote 37} In 1946 he was suddenly transferred to Bangassou, a mission station further south-east. The disagreements over his missionary work appeared to be at the root of this, but the trigger was the fact that Boganda had fathered a child in the Bakala region – a scandal (at any rate for his white colleagues if not most Africans) ^{Footnote 38} that was spreading and thus hushed up while conveniently used by his enemies. ^{Footnote 39} However, Mgr. Grandin still had confidence in his former pupil ^{Footnote 40} and decided to help Boganda stand for election to the French National Assembly in Paris (some Oubanguians had already made clear that they favored his candidature). In the shifting political context of the post-war era the missionaries wished to defend the interests of the Church and their schools, as well as limit the inroads made by their Protestant rivals. With the rising tide of anti-colonial agitation and the growing strength of leftist groups in the metropole and colonies alike, Grandin felt that Boganda, as the Spiritan-tutored priest, was precisely the man who could perform that task. ^{Footnote 41}

In the end he was to be proved right in this, though not without a consummation of a rupture between the two sides. On 10 November 1946 Boganda was elected ‘député’ (member of parliament) for Oubangui-Chari – a position he was to retain for the duration of his political career, twice getting re-elected (in 1951, in the face of administrative opposition, and in 1956). To this he would add, amongst other positions, a parliamentary seat for the Lobaye region in Oubangui’s Territorial Assembly (1952), the mayorship of Bangui (1956), the presidency of AEF’s “Grand Conseil” (1957), the vice-presidency of the “Ligue internationale contre le racisme et l’antisémitisme” (1951), and the prime ministership of the Central African Republic (in December 1958, when the country became an autonomous territory under French suzerainty). His electoral record remained unbroken until his untimely death in an air crash in March 1959, a year before independence.

All this provided Boganda with an aura of invincibility, something that was boosted further, in popular eyes, by his marriage to a white woman (Michèle Jourdain, his secretary at the French National Assembly); ^{Footnote 42} the repeated failures by his French enemies to lift his parliamentary immunity for what was seen as his misconduct; ^{Footnote 43} and his purposive efforts to express his political goals in (veiled) religious terms. He gave his political vehicle a seemingly spiritual name ^{Footnote 44} and alluded deliberately to Equatorial Africans’ supernatural beliefs when arguing a return to peasant life and the importance of “the earth” (séssé – the ultimate fountain of all force or power) ^{Footnote 45} or when playing with the rumored practising of anthropophagy by his forebears (likely to enhance the belief in his omnipotence). ^{Footnote 46} This last ploy was at least to some extent instrumental, since his missionary upbringing had inculcated hostility to anthropophagic ritual. Steeped as he was in the Classics, Boganda also littered his writings, even his public speeches, with Latin phrases and expressions, whose common incomprehensibility could only reinforce the local belief in his command of extraordinary forces. He developed into a tremendous orator, who, as shown further below, was not averse to showing off his education to whites less endowed than him (settlers and administrators alike). His cynicism vis-à-vis his opponents was virulent and biting – in this regard often exasperating the French. ^{Footnote 47}

It is, indeed, difficult to think of another African politician at the time who was vocally so formidable as Barthélémy Boganda. Other “fathers of independence” hardly ever dared to adopt such an openly confrontational or antagonistic posture, at least not in the semi-permanent manner as did Boganda. Men like Djibo Bakary of Niger, or even Sékou Touré of Guinea, were more cautious operators in the continually shifting minefield of 1950s politics ^{Footnote 48} – even if in the end they fell out completely with the French. Paradoxically, the fact that Boganda could behave rhetorically so brutal partly had to do with his determination that a decolonized Oubangui-Chari (besides other AEF territories) maintain its links with the French state, thereby preventing his enemies from dubbing him as anti-French and making himself vulnerable to attack. This makes Barthélémy Boganda, as compared with more well-known political figures such as Léopold Sédar Senghor of Senegal or Félix Houphouët-Boigny of Côte d’Ivoire, historically more complex and anomalous.

Grandin quickly regretted the political launch of his pupil. Having seen him as the representative of the missionary interest, he had thought that he could keep Boganda under control. He had advised the Spiritans in Paris to collect him upon arrival, house him, and put him in touch with Catholic politicians, so as to keep him away from left-wing circles. ^{Footnote 49} Yet, the Spiritans failed to lodge him, and Boganda later expressed resentment about his reception while soon becoming disappointed in the support of French MPs in his efforts to ameliorate the lot of his constituents. ^{Footnote 50} Within a couple of months his missionary superior in Bangui, embarrassed about the behavior of the sorcerer’s apprentice, went to the governor to talk about Boganda, lamenting that, “escaped from his cage (…) he [was] flying like an idiot.” ^{Footnote 51}

But Boganda’s vehemence had in large part to do with the unremitting repressiveness of colonial rule in Oubangui-Chari, in both political-racial and economic respects. For long, the shifts in metropolitan colonial policy, introduced after the Second World War, were ignored and resisted by local administrators, many of whom were of the old school and whose views were becoming fast untenable in the post-war context of Oubangui. ^{Footnote 52} Also, as an outgrowth of its concessionary origins, the colony had a community of white settlers (French, Greek, Portuguese), whose racism provided a grim aspect to the territory’s social climate. Well into the 1950s certain whites commonly called Africans disparaging names such as “macaques,” while the colony’s tranquility was still occasionally shattered by incidents of maltreatment – even murder – of blacks at the hands of white superiors; Boganda was to publicize these outrages and use them for political gain. As in other settler colonies, a color bar operated of which he himself, in spite of his celebrity status, became a victim more than once (in Bangui he was thrown out of a hotel in 1947 and, again, of a restaurant, one year later). ^{Footnote 53} Despite the formal abolition of forced labor in France’s colonies, the peasant population suffered continued exploitation. This manifested itself most notably by pressure to grow cotton, which French companies could buy up at fixed (low) prices and whose cultivation was responsible for many of the persistent outrages.

Boganda’s political outlook on all this was at least partly affected by his missionary upbringing. As in the case of other Africans with a missionary education, this had instilled a belief that colonialism could be reformed. Thus, he launched a co-operative project, which aimed to ameliorate peasant incomes. While his politics was marked by a firm rejection of colonialism and oriented towards decolonization, it was not cast in an anti-French mould. In fact, he paid lip service to the purported ideals of French society and, as noted above, had no qualms about continuation of a firm link with the French state. This set Boganda’s fierce political agitation apart amongst the leaders of Africa’s decolonization struggles, also because he articulated an uncompromising anti-communism. He would frequently castigate colonial administrators – some of whom were members of the French socialist party – as “worthy sons of Stalin,” accuse them of “anti-French” behavior and thus turn the tables on his enemies. In the Cold War context of the 1950s this added to his invulnerability. ^{Footnote 54}

However, his relations with the colony’s settlers were characterized by implacable hostility, especially during the first half of the 1950s, and his politicking struck at the heart of what colonialism was all about. Couching his views in a fundamental human rights perspective, he formulated the phrase zo kwe zo – “every human being is a person” –, a slogan that might seem self-evident but that had explosive force in a political system marked by racism, privilege and the memories of colonial terror: ^{Footnote 55} such was its resonance among the territory’s expanding electorate that it would end up in the Central African Republic’s coat of arms. It was this perspective on decolonization – far more than his Pan-Africanist objective, in the late 1950s, to preserve AEF’s federal structures – that constituted Boganda’s unique contribution to Equatorial Africa’s modern political era.

Nevertheless, Boganda became increasingly disillusioned despite his electoral successes. The colonial administration and private French interests ran his co-operative project into the ground, and some settler interests continued a virulent campaign against him marked by unremitting racist insult. ^{Footnote 56} While this explains some of his vehemence, he was also to become markedly distrustful if not dictatorial and intolerant towards rival African politicians. The Catholic Church nevertheless did not fare too badly with the political launch of “its son” (its role in Boganda’s rise underscores the important contribution of Christian missions in developing AEF’s modern political leadership – in marked contrast to the situation in French West Africa). Just as Fulbert Youlou in Congo-Brazzaville, Boganda left the priesthood (or as the Church said, was evicted upon his marriage), but he was to remain a devout Catholic and magnanimous towards the missionary interest. He was a complex man cut short by a premature passing.

The Diaries

As noted above, there is still a lack of proper biographical research on Boganda, especially with regard to his early life (the 1920s to 1940s), where we are faced with a dearth of primary sources. ^{Footnote 57} The diaries in the Spiritan archives, however, provide a more complete picture of this period. They also contain (incipient) signs of his political consciousness and awareness of racial issues, as well as of anger and – more tentatively – personal trauma. They show that Boganda’s frustration and penchant for protest went back further in the past and were not things that manifested themselves only by the late 1940s when he broke with his missionary patrons.

The diaries are different in form. The oldest is bound and some 20 cm in height and 10 cm in width, the other and larger one is an unbound notebook (of the sort used in schools), with the pages loose. The covers of the bound one carry, on one side, the inscription or dedication “The Christian, the Theologian and the Priest” and on the other “The Decent Man.” ^{Footnote 58} The bound diary contains 47 written pages, with pagination starting at 58 (so pages are missing), and the unbound notebook is unpaginated. Both diaries contain two forms of handwriting, one schoolish and characterized by rounded letters, the other italic. The bound diary is mostly in the rounded hand, although it also contains some italic writing and even something that appear to be stenographic notes. The unbound diary is mostly in italic hand although it also has pages in the rounded script. The rounded hand is usually older than the italic writing. Dating is not difficult as a few pages contain years of writing – sometimes together with months or specific dates. Thus, the bound diary is older, with the oldest dated entry going back to 1928, the youngest 1933 (although it contains one page dated 2–8 August 1937 that Boganda intended for the retreat before his impending diaconate but never used). The oldest dated entry of the unbound notebook is November 1932, the most recent 10 July 1944. ^{Footnote 59} This means that, for some time, both diaries were in use simultaneously and that Boganda actually traveled with them. The oldest entry may have been made in Lemfu at the “petit séminaire” of the Jesuits, although it is possible that he wrote it during a holiday in Bangui that year (1928) or when he subsequently entered the “petit séminaire” in Brazzaville. Other entries stem from his period at Saint Laurent in Cameroon and later – his difficult Grimari years. Identification that the rounded and italic handwriting are Boganda’s is easy. Occasionally, entries in either diary (although more frequently in the oldest bound one) are signed “B. Boganda,” “Boganda,” or just plainly with “B.B.” ^{Footnote 60}

Barthélémy Boganda was therefore unquestionably the owner-author of the two diaries concerned. Perhaps the term “diary” is not the most appropriate, as they do not contain daily entries but various exercises, reflections (theological but also political-historical ones), prayers, draft letters, and highly personal and philosophical thoughts on (his) life. But as some of these are dated approximately or even carry precise dates, they provide a fascinating insight in the development of Boganda’s personality and thoughts, even some of his most inner ones – making these diaries a unique source for comprehending this historical figure not just as a priest or embryonic political activist but as a person in the fullest sense of that term. In the older diary many of the entries consist of theological reflections or exercises, as well as prayers. Thus, one undated entry is entitled “To develop a worthy priest in me is to form another Christ” and amongst other things looks forward to the “grand day” of his ordination. Citing some of Jesus’ sayings to the Apostles, he prays to the Lord for light and love so that he can become, one day, “another Christ.” The comparison between himself as a future priest and the Lord is a strong one but not unusual – one entry made at a retreat, probably in Yaoundé, in October 1932 bears the title “Jesus Christ seen in the life of the seminarist future priest,” demonstrating Boganda’s awareness of the long road ahead in becoming a fully educated member of the Catholic clergy, with all its attendant responsibilities. ^{Footnote 61} Another (undated) entry, in which he promises that he will sacrifice his life for Christ, the Church, and the Fatherland, consists of a prayer to Jesus and points to the depth of his religious feelings. There are also more theological reflections on the nature of Christ’s life, ending in an explicit commitment to the evangelization of Oubangui; on obedience (of Jesus and, therefore, Boganda to his religious superiors and the commands of his priestly formation); on humility; on the patience of the Lord as a source of inspiration to Boganda himself; on the centrality of prayer and piety; and (painfully, perhaps, in view of what would transpire at a later stage of his life) on chastity, in which Boganda pledges to be extremely vigilant and guard his senses and, especially, his imagination – “a little pig that lies dormant.” ^{Footnote 62}

Thus, some of the theological entries provide insight in Boganda’s thoughts and inner feelings, while the entries in the two diaries taken together read as the evolution of his priestly education at its different stages: they refer to the wearing of the habit, the reception of the last minor orders and a retreat on the occasion of his subdiaconate. In addition, there are several entries, especially in the oldest diary, which betray very personal thoughts. This is clearly related to the nature of his formation. Part of the daily curriculum at seminaries was the personal investigation of one’s conscience (considered as a way to strive for holiness), ^{Footnote 63} and in Boganda’s case the results of this partly ended up in his diaries. Thus, Jesus is the most frequently cited source of his inspiration. This is, of course, unsurprising in view of his Christian beliefs, but it could be argued that the life of Christ, the symbolism of his suffering and the Resurrection had a particular appeal for Boganda ^{Footnote 64} – orphaned and forced to face the brutality of colonialism on his own but miraculously saved by missionary benevolence. Similarly, the oldest diary contains three prayers to the Holy Virgin – one even in rhyme, demonstrating Boganda’s literary capacities. If Catholic liturgy would make Mary a natural choice for pious contemplation (a safe for non-libidinous sublimation of femininity), ^{Footnote 65} it is also tempting to read something more personal in this, linked to Boganda’s own history. Exceptionally, these entries are all signed and dated (1929, 1932, and 1933), which possibly is an indication of the importance the author attributed to them. Amongst other things they plead the protection of his family and relatives and the Virgin’s help against his enemies, while one entry refers to Mary as “the most tender of mothers” and as Boganda’s “Sovereign.” In this “Consecration to Mary,” he pleads:

In this prayer, which he wrote in Yaoundé on 11 October 1932 – a special day: the entry notes that it is the day he was allowed to put on the priestly habit – Boganda puts his entire religious education under her protection. ^{Footnote 67}

Could it be that these prayers did not only represent a standard dedication to one of the holiest symbols of the Catholic faith, but that they also point to certain deeper feelings? Such as a longing for the mother figure? This may not be as speculative as it might seem. Thus, the old diary also contains an entry that is undated but written on the same page as a prayer of 1933 and composed in the form of a prayer to the Holy Agnes. “Agnes of Rome” was a virgin girl martyred under Emperor Diocletian for her Christian beliefs and chastity. Whether or not for this latter quality, Boganda must have felt some fascination for this Catholic saint, since much later he would name his first (legitimate) child after her. ^{Footnote 68} In the prayer he argues that “[l]ike me you have passed through that valley of tears, like me you have been the target of the fury of hell and the world.” ^{Footnote 69}

If he pleads her assistance in serving the Lord with a pure heart and a chaste body, the parallel in terms of worldly agony that he and Agnes lived through is made particularly explicit. Indeed, the diary’s entry is immediately followed by several pages of notes scribbled at the retreat for his subdiaconate – possibly four years later – in March 1937, where Boganda amongst other things defines the suffering in hell as “a little child wrested from the kisses, from the caresses of his mother.” ^{Footnote 70}

It is thus tempting to read some of these prayers as an echo of a childhood tormented by the colonial terror in the Lobaye forest. In fact, Boganda more often expressed himself in emotional terms. Anger was not unknown to him, as becomes clear from an undated entry on “meekness” in the older diary in which he confesses that he is occasionally troubled by those who wound his self-love or that anger is sometimes seething within him. ^{Footnote 71} Of course, this is natural for all human beings and hardly worthy of historical observation. Yet, just before penning the definition of “hell” in his diary Boganda explained in a letter to Father Fayet in Bangui (the priest who baptized him) that he had been suffering from “a serious depression” and that this had put all his correspondence on hold. ^{Footnote 72} Perhaps even this cannot be considered exceptional as it could have been an occasional melancholy or dejection, and one can certainly not argue a direct link with Boganda’s fiercer comportment as manifested from the time of his Grimari years (1941–1946). Collective and individual histories never follow linear paths, while the notion of the traumatic childhood is something of a reductionist trope in biography that overlooks the importance of later turning-points. But the point here is that the diaries clearly show that, as a young man, Boganda was at times troubled by memories of the past and that he suffered perhaps from occasional bouts of instability. Part of this may lie in an obsessive ambition for individual and collective betterment, as exemplified in some of the correspondence pertaining to his years at Saint Laurent. ^{Footnote 73}

Such insights in his emotional well-being aside, the older diary contains entries that depict the evolution of his personal philosophy. Two pages on “the complete man” consist of sixteen theses that betray an ambition to develop his personality; express an aspiration to self-control; rate intelligence as less important than character; and express a preference for the farmer over the insincere theologian – a harbinger of his later reverence for the Central African peasant world (and that Boganda would use as a ploy against some of the elite groups he hated). This is followed by four pages entitled “how to recognize a man:” ^{Footnote 74} sixty-five theses that are not just philosophical but also point to psychological insight, sometimes with astonishingly practical application. They extol such qualities as optimism, altruism, loyalty, and generosity; they encourage man to be service-oriented and reject prejudice; and they counsel calm, also in the face of angry interlocutors (an entry in the younger notebook urges the love of one’s enemies but also warns there are two kinds of them: those who praise and those who criticize – both of them equally dangerous). Finally, one of the sixty-five theses in the old diary urges a man to argue properly with his adversary, know to refuse with civility, and not let himself be intimidated – yet be able to yield. While by the time these reflections were penned down Boganda envisaged a career in the clergy for himself, with priestly self-sacrifice for the benefit of the community, ^{Footnote 75} such attributes would, if mastered, be of great use in the world of politics.

The unbound notebook contains in this respect indications of racial awareness and political interest. An entry of November 1932 discusses Germany’s demand for the return of its colonies including Cameroon. Although the entry reports the German arguments without comment, it shows that Boganda’s view on the world was expanding (he had, however, also a personal interest in the issue, as he was by then living in Cameroon, now a French-run League of Nations mandate). ^{Footnote 76} Similarly, the notebook has an entry (undated but certainly not younger than the 1930s) entitled “questions of color.” ^{Footnote 77} It cites the racist remarks about blacks in different historical epochs: a land owner in Congo explaining to his European employees that blacks are “big children;” ^{Footnote 78} a disciplinary code of the French Antilles mentioning that missionary education is the sole advantage that slaves – “that miserable species” – reap from their subjugation; the governor of Martinique writing in 1766 that, while religion demands that one provides education to the negroes, this is politically unsound: it would turn them into “reasoning creatures,” while the security of plantation owners demands that they be kept in “the most profound ignorance;” education is “a very dangerous instrument in the hands of priests” – one must “herd the negroes like animals.” ^{Footnote 79}

All this is mentioned without comment but with due reference to sources – a sign of a thorough education. The notes on the role of the clergy and that of education in social upliftment must have got to Boganda. While he may have realized how lucky he was, for such an intelligent student the observations in question must have been deeply painful. In her correspondence with Father Frison, Boganda’s widow would later reminisce about her late husband as that “poor negro humiliated for too long.” ^{Footnote 80} Yet, a draft letter written by Boganda to a friend in 1935 and part of the unbound notebook reveals much of the ambiguity that his missionary education imparted to a man in his position. He describes how Congo (i.e. Oubangui-Chari) is not changing much, harboring “the same savages” without good morals or knowledge – although no longer anthropophagists –, adding that “the example of bad Europeans” leaves no other option than to focus reform efforts on the blacks. ^{Footnote 81} His reference to the difference in mores between himself and other Oubanguians captures well the degree of alienation from his cultural origins brought on by seminary life. A missionary publication in 1938 reported on the discomfort Boganda felt when in the course of a holiday from his studies at Saint Laurent he stayed with family in the Mbaïki region but decided to return to Yaoundé precipitately. ^{Footnote 82}

The above entries already show the importance that Boganda attributed to education, something that, upon his ordination, became a key part of his efforts to evangelise the people (“l’Évangile pour l’école, l’Évangile par l’école”): he would criticize his superiors that they privileged evangelization over teaching. ^{Footnote 83} But while the draft of a letter in the notebook, which Boganda wrote to young seminarists in Bangui in 1935, points to the hope invested in them as the future elite of his people, ^{Footnote 84} he always saw education and religion as closely intertwined – a pointer to the fundamental moral crisis that violent colonization had brought to the Equatorial region and that had engendered a search for a new cosmology to make sense of reality. ^{Footnote 85} Boganda’s letter to his friend Paul, cited above, thus questions whether education without religious instruction makes sense; it considers civilizing Congo without recourse to religion a chimera. Boganda conceived civilization as Christian civilization, containing that vital moral component without which education would merely turn out “cripples” or “monsters.” ^{Footnote 86} The notebook in this respect also contains an undated entry (but probably from before the 1940s) on an incident involving a metropolitan judge, who suggested a link between rising crime in France and non-religious schools. Boganda observed that, regrettably, French anti-clericalism had also affected all those dispatched to the colonies, in so far as these had not opened their eyes to the Light.

Thus, it is clear that, by the late 1930s, Boganda had developed a critical view of Europeans – especially those outside the missionary world. It seems that his political outlook had by then not yet matured, but the notebook contains an entry showing that he was ready to take on Europeans with all the force at his disposal. As mentioned above, by the mid-1940s he became involved in altercations with a colonial officer. The background to this was administrative concern over the consequences of missionary interference in the customs of the Banda people – a community with a reputation for resistance to colonial rule and Christian proselytizing. The administrator in question, whose name ironically was “Dieu,” had sentenced a catechist who had constructed a chapel under Boganda’s responsibility to a three-month prison term. Boganda was outraged and in the mission logbook of Grimari promised himself to write to the official. ^{Footnote 87}

While Pénel, in his collection of documents, says that this letter was never found, ^{Footnote 88} the younger diary contains a draft (second?) letter to the administrator dated 10 July 1944. In it Boganda thanks him for the release of his catechist (Mr. Dieu may have acted on a first missive) but also reminds him of the content of the regulations on “bush chapels:” once a chapel had been established, the missionary involved must inform the local administration of its locality and the name of the catechist running it. This meant, Boganda pointed out, that there was no question of prior authorization (obviously, the administrator had acted under the “indigénat,” the abusive omnipotence provided under the system of administrative justice). ^{Footnote 89} In any case, Boganda pursued, the sentence had been “unjust and unjustifiable” since the catechist had not contravened any AEF laws and would not have been able to construct the chapel if the local chief had not allowed this, at least tacitly. ^{Footnote 90} He added that the chief’s legal position was, therefore, a case of volenti non fit iniuria, the Roman law doctrine of voluntary assumption of risk. ^{Footnote 91}

As if this were not enough Boganda continued that he wanted to know under what decree, then, the catechist had been sentenced; that he had himself built around twenty chapels in Bambari without ever informing the authorities; and that the interest that Dieu had always shown in the work of the mission could not have made him to expect such a reaction. He must have hated the official ^{Footnote 92} – the Second World War had led to intensified agricultural exploitation and locals had leveled accusations at Dieu, an old school “bush administrator” who did not shy away from brutal treatments. ^{Footnote 93} Thus, with all his argumentative power Boganda went on that sentencing a catechist for building a chapel, while “the fetishists” freely constructed for their “pagan divinities,” reminded him of the persecution of the days of the catacombs. It was tantamount to proscribing Catholicism, and Mr. Dieu had therefore better inform the general public so that people could leave the district. Since the local Catholics, according to the enraged priest, numbered 2,000 souls, it would leave the administrator’s offices, his carpentry shop, the smithy – “even [his] kitchen” – deserted. ^{Footnote 94}

It appears that Boganda was particularly angry because the administrator, in the disparaging manner of colonial Oubangui, had referred to him in derogatory terms. He took him to task for this in the same letter, challenging Mr. Dieu that he considered the reference to him as that “little Ngbaka from Bangui” ^{Footnote 95} as a compliment and adding that he took pride in having worked himself up from a lower position in society than that enjoyed by others. And in an implicit reference to the administrator’s attitudes, Boganda continued that one should not pride oneself on the nobility of race, for as Horace tells us, qui genus suum laudat, alienum laudat – he who vaunts his race, lauds what belongs to others. If this proverb actually stemmed from Seneca ^{Footnote 96} (the Stoic philosopher, the diaries show, that Boganda had also read), ^{Footnote 97} the point had been made. For good measure, Boganda added that the Church was neither Ngbaka nor French or German, but universal. His priestly calling had only led him to serve the Church and France, and – he added cleverly – he had always recognized Mr. Dieu as the latter’s representative, to whom he had never failed to show respect. The administrator, verbally obliterated, apologized. ^{Footnote 98}

Concluding Observations

Equatorial Africa’s mission world had given birth to a formidable public personality. But the diaries expose a character that was not free from the pain of humiliation and a mixture of frustration and conceit. Indeed, by the time of his years in Grimari Boganda did not always practise on moderation what he preached. What triggered this cannot be answered with certainty, but it may have been a combination of practical difficulties in his mission work (lack of funds, resistance from missionaries and administrators, limited progress in proselytizing along with the inroads made by the Protestant competition); a sense of frustration about racial condescension towards him; and, quite possibly, anxiety over the violation of his priestly celibacy. ^{Footnote 99} As the diaries suggest, however, some of the roots of this may lie in the more distant past, as shown by entries pointing to a certain (occasional) volatility, anger about the colonial world and problems with churchly regulations. Regrettably, in the mid-1940s the entries come to a halt, possibly because of the scandal surrounding his illegitimate child (mission logbooks preferred to leave this unmentioned as well), ^{Footnote 100} while thereafter Boganda became engulfed in political campaigning, leaving him little time for putting his most inner thoughts to paper. The diaries do therefore not contain any (embryonic) ideas on the consequences that the Second World War carried for the French empire (such as the 1944 Brazzaville conference and the rise of de Gaulle). ^{Footnote 101}

Still, besides the wealth of material that Boganda wrote from the time that his career as a public figure began, ^{Footnote 102} the diaries stand out for their special qualities. First, they hold data for the earlier part of his life about which there are fewer primary documents available. They also provide a clear idea of the range and depth of Boganda’s scholarly training and his literary influences. They are witness to his aptitude for Latin, with page after page filled with Latin phrases, mostly of a theological nature but also referring to the great Classic writers and philosophers – Horace and Seneca, but St. Augustine and Plato, too, find their place. The entries betray a thorough knowledge of the Bible, of course, with Boganda writing on its myths and stories. St. Luke is mentioned, as is St. John and the Book of Daniel with the last king of Babylon, Balthazar, threatened by Persia’s King Darius, and the writing of mane thecel phares (“your days are numbered”) foretelling the former’s fall. ^{Footnote 103} In addition, the diaries reveal some of the (Christian) authors by whom Boganda was influenced: Basil Maturin, an Irish Anglican turned Catholic, Joseph Schrijvers, a Belgian of the Redemptorist order, Germain Nouveau, a French symbolist poet, and René Bazin, a Catholic novelist. Moreover, as shown above, the diaries provide insight in the development of a personal philosophy, while also alluding to an incipient political and, especially, racial awareness.

Perhaps the most intriguing passages are those that hint at Boganda’s emotional well-being. The diaries, after all, were never intended for other people’s eyes and thus provide an unimpeded view into some of his most inner reflections. ^{Footnote 104} This makes them different from what can be found in the vast collection of documents produced by Boganda himself – documents that to greater or lesser extents were influenced by the tendencies of “self-fashioning” that characterize African life histories generally. ^{Footnote 105} The diaries, thus, demonstrate something of Boganda’s personal psychology, but we cannot take it further than that. In view of his childhood days it is tempting to read evidence of trauma in some of the entries. But several observations are in place here. First of all, biographical research does not enable us to “read into” the head of the persona. To say anything about someone’s mental state would demand the most explicit statements on the part of the individual concerned and even then require careful interpretation. Boganda’s trajectory was, furthermore, not unique for the colonial era. Seeing an uninterrupted line of personal development between the years of his priestly training and the turbulence of his agitation in the 1950s bears the risk of a teleological perspective that glances over the relevance of later turning-points. Nevertheless, the diary entries point to a similarity in the broader socio-political context in which Boganda found himself – not least through the refractory problem of racism – and to parallels in his responses and, thus, to the sheer depth of some of his attitudes. In Barthélémy Boganda one can read the longue durée of colonial terror, yet also how this was politicized, and instrumentalized, in the last decade of colonial rule.

Moreover, the diaries also point to the fundamental ambiguity of missionary influence, leading in Boganda to a syncretism of Christian modernity and the rejection of old beliefs, which are caricatured yet at certain stages venerated (such as the rural universe). This was, of course, not unique. Jan Vansina has described how during the early days of colonial rule the young, especially, strove for an alliance of the old and the new, evaluating the Equatorial tradition by the criteria of a foreign Christian one and at the same time holding on to much of the older cognitive world view – thus turning into what he deemed “cultural schizophrenics.” ^{Footnote 106}

The diaries also point to a contradiction in Boganda’s ideas and deportment. Missionary influence led him to retain faith that the colonial world could be reformed and metropolitan interests accommodated. Yet, as some of his correspondence shows, this was sometimes advanced with a ferocity that demanded total recognition of his view. This presaged some of his political vehemence during the 1950s (beyond the diaries’ span), when he responded to the failure of his co-operative project, the thwarting of reform proposals in the French National Assembly, and the slow change in behavior of administrators and settlers with hard-nosed audacity if not uncompromising intolerance. ^{Footnote 107}

As the diaries were never meant for public consumption and therefore not intended as a justification of his thought or action, they may help – together with other primary sources – ^{Footnote 108} to refine some of the hagiographic perspectives on his life. This, in turn, could assist in replacing the related nationalist narrative in the Central African Republic’s historiography with a more historicized analysis. ^{Footnote 109} The diaries provide insight in the broad range of facets of Boganda’s life and the historical antecedents of his ideas and comportment as a later nationalist politician. More generally, since they were, so far, unknown in the study of his historical role, it is intriguing to think whether there could be other diaries, or kindred sources, of mission-educated Africans that could throw new light on their life and times. The fact that self-examination was part of seminary life and priestly education makes this an interesting possibility.