This story represents my recollection of going through the checkpoints in August 1990-from Bardnersville, Dried Rice Market to Cuttington University Campus. I wrote, using a mix of Liberian English and actual English, intentionally. The emotions associated with these events flow seamlessly with this hybrid. Please request for translation, if necessary. My motive for publishing this story as International National Women's Day comes up is to highlight sexual violence and brutality at checkpoints and the residual impact of these actions on the Liberian society today. Rape is one of the most reported crimes, with limited access to justice for women and girls affected by this crisis. This journey connects the reality of sexual violence in the Liberia's civil war and how we lived for almost 15 years with teenagers and armed men (fitted in a violent system of war), controlling our bodies, choices and lives. My interest is to join other voices and call for the integration of history, healing and mental health into access to justice approaches. The story starts one morning in early August 1990.
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Aye mehn...I know the war stories
can be sad o but let me tell your about the rebel that kissed me-full on the
lips and saved my life. We had walked from Bardnersville to Fendell junction
with many stops along the way. First one I really remembered, and this is when
I came to my senses, was when we got to the first real checkpoint. My sister was the oldest-senior in the group.
I was junior in the convoy of scared people. Our ma was sick, paralyzed, so we
put her in the wheelbarrow and moved through Dry Rice Market on to Johnsonville
Road. My brothers, younger than us, kept repeating the story that we were told.
The rebels were going to see us, feel sorry and find a car. Oh, and they had
money so they would give us money and food.
Nyensua, take control! When we saw
the first group...fear curled in my body to the point that I must have lost
something. All I remember was, my lappa that I had put over my jeans dropped. All
my ground peas that I had packed in the lappa to eat, until the rebels got us
to safety or give us money, dropped right there in the Johnsonville sand. They
yelled at me, you scared? No o, I yelled back. First strike. We got to another
gate after moving for what seemed like ages. The rebels yelled above our
fears-everybally bring your national ID card here. Take it out quick. These
ones who were yelling were known as G2 people. Hmmm...you know na---card and
identity; life and ID card...you had to be damn careful. Then we heard the
second part of the order. If you don't have it, we will give you 25 lashes on your
bare back. I turned to my younger brother Karmu and said, you think we can take
the 25 lashes? We did not have id cards because my sister’s surname would
have warranted instant death to the entire family, as commanded by the rebels’
laws. Krahn and Mandingo people were the enemies. Any way, by the time we
reached upfront, they had beaten so many people, they forgot the order--talk
about attention deficit disorder. We moved and moved.
Then what I expected to be the most
fortunate situation happened. We heard sirens, and someone said Charles Taylor
was coming. Major Taylor, our leader! Commando, brave, strong intelligent, the
rebels yelled in every space they occupied at that checkpoint. Da wa na small chaos. People running---yelling--shooting. I think
my oldma blanked out. In my naïve and stupid mind, I assumed that there would
be some semblance of normality as he passed, and it would give us an
opportunity to walk across safely. I said to myself, leh Charles Taylor jes
come and see ha these people acting wicked. He will deal with them. He came, saw,
and drove through like Jesus going into Jerusalem. Damn, we were our own. We
moved and moved again. Someone asked if we needed help when they saw us with
our ma in the wheelbarrow. Before we could lay our burdens at his/her feet, a
woman standing near us said, say no. We said no automatically, not
understanding why she advised that. As we walked away, she let us know that if
we had answered otherwise, they would have shot our ma to help lessen our load.
Nyensua!
Then we got to this spot and were on
a line. It was a small house before the last checkpoint to Fendell. The
questions kept rolling but all within the frame of wha your tribe. Hmm, I
called my name and the female soldier said, but your own, I way na even ask you
for tribe. Ehn you Kpelle? I said yes. Speak Kpelle na. She said hello. I answered.
Wha your name? I answered. Then she went to the third level and thought I
seemed blank and did not know the answer. It was reason for her to kill me. You
say you Kpelle and you can't speak it. Your dey asses da wa sitting in Monrovia
acting kwi? I will kill you.
Hehn?! This could not be true.
I was almost at
Fendell---pseudo-safety. I could not afford die. Who would look after my brothers?
Oh, I did not want to die. The war was going to be a temporary thing and I
would reunite with my boyfriend. I did not want to die. I am standing in a damn
daze and out walks this young rebel, lanky, dirty, and moving with one thing on
his mind. He walked to me and kissed me on my lips and turned to the woman. This
fine geh lek this you coming kay her. You geh go yah. You can be somebally wef.
In hindsight, I felt zero violence, invasion of my person because my spirit had
left. I was standing there with the resignation of a person soon to be dead. I
remember taking in the surrounding. The color of the house. The flowers around
it. People presenting as blurred movement and, in some way, I consoled myself
with the thought that if she shot me, I would drop to the earth, but my spirit
would rise.
We got to Fendell and met what I
would call hell on earth. Fear was palpable and friends could become enemies in
seconds. Death was the most lenient form of punishment and in most cases, the
ammunition was too expensive to be used on enemies. Knives took the place of
guns. Imagine the tragic and brutal flow. The only comfort was the layers of
sugar cane trash that served as fodder between the tarmac and our fears. Hmmm...so
we walked into Fendell and realized that everyone had a territory-office space,
porch, whatever belonged to someone, some family. We had no territory, but we
were travelling with our paralyzed mother, so we grew up by at least 10 years
in a few days. Da wa na small thing. As we tried to find space, we saw one of
our friends from college, Toh A. Boker. He acted as a sort of dorm
counsellor/RA and taught us the ropes in minutes. We found a space for our ma
and two younger brothers to sleep. As far as I was concerned, I wasn't closing
my eyes any time soon. Fear da something o.
We were going to find a room when,
in the hallway, we saw one of our cousins from ma side. He pretended like he
never saw us or his cousin in the wheelbarrow. The man acted like we were
invisible. Second shock after the kiss. We fix the place for the oldma and told
our brothers to sit by her. We were going to look around and find food. Imagine.
But I do not have to even say imagine—many of you were on Fendell. As we walked
out of the room, someone came to us and said, da your Krahn friend, John
Brown, is here o. Da one could not be true. I will get to that one later but in
the meantime, we had to decide when we were getting out of this dangerous and
nasty hellhole. Fendell was the first place I saw feces of all colors. This
context put me in the situation of automatic constipation---add the damn
fear.
How could
we get out? My sister had a surname that easily aligned her to the Krahn tribe.
She was staying put until God himself came to take her out. My brother and
myself could move around but we also risked death if we were accused of being
on reconnaissance! When we settled, we heard that you needed a pass to get out.
Pure apartheid torture and tactics. Taylor and cohort were applying lessons
learned from the Libyan base to our lives.
Ah, to get pass da na anything hard,
they said. So, off we went. The first thing that made us do a 360 to run
when we opened the door was the wig on the CO head. He saw us running and
ordered the boys to bring us back. Wetin, you running for? Where your people? We
told him our ma was sick. Then, whereplay your pa, eh? Chay, da me coming tell
rebel ha my pa said your come to me tomorrow for your food and checked out of
town without even a goodbye? We don't know whereplay our pa eh o. He said bring
dey asses in. Your pa wor wekking with government. No o, our pa ain’t never wek
for government before o. He used to wek with African Fruit Company (some kinda
way we thought fruit would have sounded very safe). We knew the company's name
was changed to Sinoe Rubber Corporation, but we had learned to neutralize every
action to save one’s life. The rebel
yelled and brought us to the reality we now faced-but da wha I talking and your
lying lek hell. Da na government there?
Hmmm...we were getting into a tight spot,
and I knew not a soul was going to kiss me again. So, we tried a small tactic
of just looking around the room and seeing who was in more trouble than us. And
I say this in hindsight because there and then in that room, we were looking
for a way to just be right back in Bardnersville. The major point of attention
in the room was a British journalist who was tahbayed properly and sweating
bullets. You from the BBC? The journalist said yes. Oh, so da your been lying
that dey Doe soldiers winning dey war? Why your lying so? Dey man did not
understand a damn word. He was tied and in extreme pain. We were watching. Then
one rebel who used to live in Yekepa came in to question the man. So, what your
name? You can't guess. The white man still had cheek in his mouth. Oh, Mr. Can'tguess,
in Yekepa, my boss man wor from Bristol.
This was funny and sad at the same
time and with many stories of the war, I have a memory block on what happened
next. All I knew was God smiled on us and we got a pass and the CO with the
wig, Simeon, made friends with my pekin and myself. They lived at the teachers'
quarter on Fendell. I think it was in the Senwah's house. During normal days,
we used to go there to spend time with Prof. Hunder children so that area was
our terrain. Remember now, we had the
pass but had to be very careful how we went out of Fendell. We decided that we
would only leave on a vehicle and the priority would be given to our ma and two
younger brothers, Lemu and Winston. While we were waiting, we heard that the
Phebe Hospital truck was coming to take some people, including my ma. It was
the best day. We packed them and Boker pushed the faithful wheelbarrow to the
truck at the junction. They got in and left. We had no idea whether they got
there and what had happened on that road. We died many times during the
war-worry, pain, fear. hmmm. Anyway, our mission, me and my pekin was to get to
Cuttington campus-where my ma and brothers were.
The oldma them got on the truck-our
most three precious persons getting on a truck to Taylor's territory where by
now we knew murder, rape, death, and a cacophony of brutal and vulnerable,
painful sounds had formed a forced marriage all along the road. Before we could
wipe our tears and encourage our brothers (my ma had no idea what was happening
now) that all would be well (oh yes, lying was allowed), a rebel walked up to
us and pushed Boker in the bush and declared he was about to kill him-all in
one breath. No explanation, nothing-just that we were about to lose a friend and
brother. We just started screaming, and up to today, I still see the shock on
Boker's face, his hands in the air, pleading for his life, and I am sure
wanting to go back to our Black Sugar days---just dancing and trying to make a
damn life. What the hell was happening?
The rebel changed his mind and we
returned to Fendell. The truck-called Big Blue-left. To tell you the truth, at
that point, the only thing we were sure of, my sister was not leaving Fendell.
My brother had met some of his St. Patrick's friends and I miss woman was moving
around Fendell with a spoon in my back pocket, scraping food when it was
available. Then, I met a childhood friend. I will call him David since I know
he is reading. We used to sleep in the same space on Fendell. I must have been
9 or 10 when I knew the family. He took me under his wings on Fendell. Again, I
saw it as an opportunity to leave the main campus and go to the nearby village,
sit in a kitchen, and do small errands right in kitchen space, while David cooked. I
would eat and when my ma was there, he would keep a bowl of food for her.
Hmmm...I have said thank you up to 2014 but I will say it here again. At the
time, I was overwhelmed with greediness---today, it is gratitude.
Anyway, I
keep jumping but all this is necessary. I remember that exact moment when BBC
announced that Pres. Doe had been killed. We were lying on the floor in the
room-about 50-75 persons when someone with a transistor radio informed us that Pres.
Doe was killed by the rebels. Chay, the naked description of Prince Johnson's
office and actions, I remember to today. Drinking Budweiser and ordering that
Samuel Doe's ear was cut off; with a picture of Jesus overlooking the whole
scene-while he reached for his guitar to sing 'by the rivers of Babylon'. Oh,
in my mind, I knew we were in a very bad place. Budweiser and Boney M?
The plan was to leave and go closer
to my ma. My friend was leaving too so he told me to stay put. Don't go
anywhere. I will go to VOA-they say it is much better- and I will send someone
for you. I agreed o but my heart was so heavy. My sister and myself were a
team. We never thought there would be a day we had to part, or she would change
her surname to mine. My pa was damn wicked to her but that different day story.
I could not leave my sister. Not now.
Anyway, I
remained on Fendell, connected to a group of girls and we did our Adam and Eve
runs, came back in our room and voice out our dreams of returning to normal. On
the way to take bath, we would stop at CO Samson's house. By this time, he was
also a friend and he had introduced us to his wives. I have always been the
person to make friends so I would tell my friends-let's stop to CO Samson them,
I sure they gah food. :) On the days they did not have food, we would ask to
use the bathroom. When some people went in the bathroom, we who remained in the
living room, would steal small stuff, especially sugar cubes-good ole St.
Louis. When hunger really attacked, you could put it in water and drink it.
Fada have mercy!
One day we went there, and the
people had cooked! Real country cook. Meat fighting each other in the pan. Da
who wa going to take bath sef? We stood our ground and waited for the
invitation to eat. When we started to eat, we realized that the meat was in
huge portions. My mouth was sharp so I asked-da which meat here so? The rebel looked
at me and said, da human being. Hehn! No mehn, ehn you joking? Yes, I joking.
Your jes eat. We did and I na forgeh the soup, but it was so sweet. After
eating, we left and went to Prof. Hunder's house. Mission accomplished. Belly
full. We reached the yard and my friend/sister Yukhiko D'Lovette Amnon was
besides herself with grief. I still remember her that day. Korto, these people
wickay o! Hmm...do you know what the people in House 5 did today? We had just
left the house. This is where we buss the chew. Wetin again o, Khiko? They
killed Ms. Minerva’s German shepherd and ate it. If pin could drop!
So, we ate
the dog and so what-frankly that was my position then. Growing up in New Kru Town,
my first relationship to dog was linked to food and not food for the dog. We
kept going back and forth but never to CO Samson them again. They were brave
enough to feed us human being-I thought. I was waiting for my friend to send
for me to go to VOA. Then bam! One day, my brother (RIP Karmu) came running to
me. We knew a guy (rest in peace, Hilary Dennis) from Bardnesville, and he was
all overlooking for me. We tried to check out why and realized that it was time
to leave. I was going to VOA-closer to Gbarnga. Closer to my ma and my plan was
I would go and get my sister and brother at VOA-then we would go to Gbarnga.
Anyway, I left-hugs to my sister,
brother, Boker and our Krahn brother that Boker was keeping in safety.
Difficult day but I am a trooper (I will say so and get many confirmations). We
started the walk to VOA- Hilary and me. Hilary was quiet and reliable. You saw
him and knew you could depend on him. Every gate we reached, they
asked--whereplay your going? He would say, I am carrying the CO woman to him.
We passed. You see, Hilary looked Congau and spoke with some kinda authority and
knew back roads. We made it to VOA-the
main campus that night. Safe and not actually sound. A crack in my mental
stability was setting in slowly even though I did not recognize that until
years after. Just knowing that I left my sister and brother and walked through
those damn checkpoints and bush to get to VOA makes me believe that I died or
got raped and don't remember. I saw Hilary in 2012 for the first time after
that walk. I asked him if he remembered me-he had to look twice but he said he
remembered my smile. I was so happy-gave him my number, which he did not take. Wanted
to say thank you 50 times but he said...it is fine, and he walked away!
Selfless, kind.
So when we
gah to VOA, lights say leh me. The place was clean o. See cars. My whole hay
buss like looter. Chay. I asked Hilary, but where is David, na? He said you
will go there in the morning. They live up the hill and we can't go there
tonight. Hmmm...what was going on? Anyway, I was ready for anything. I needed
to get to Gbarnga to my ma. We went to this house-huge in size and occupancy.
He went to the woman who was 'controlling' the house and asked her for me to
sleep there. She said no! The house too pack and we don't want strange people
here. Plenty people hiding here. No, leh her go somewhere else. At that time,
it was too late so Hilary took me to this gray car. He said, you way sleep here
tonight. In the car???? Yes. He did something, opened the door and told me to
sit and rest. Then he went and got toothbrush and toothpaste. He told me he
would come back in the morning. Nyensua! Na batay mu o! I slept in the
car. When I saw morning, I remembered God and his mercy.
Hilary came and brought a cup of
water. I brushed my teeth and washed my face, and up the hill we went to meet
David. We were so happy to see. See--the place was jamming. They had washing machine
and air conditioner. Most of the staff who worked with VOA were in that
building. We were in heaven. I was there for a couple of days and sent a
message for my brother and sister to try to come. As far as I was concerned,
this is where we would stay until we returned to Monrovia.
My brother managed to come, with two
of his friends-Ghanaians. When they told me that someone was at the gate that
night and I saw him, I could have placed him on my back. Karmu was a trooper
like me, but he was the kinder version of me. He had to save some people, so he
brought his friends who we had sense were in danger or were going to be in deep
trouble with the growing anti-ECOMOG/West African countries sentiments. Bosco
man and Jasper. So, it was David, his pa (RIP, papa); Karmu, Bosco man, Jasper,
and me. We were closer to Gbarnga.
Oh, but my heart hurt. My sister
could not come. She looked Krahn, they said. So, we left her with the
consolation that she would cover ground in Monrovia while we went to the oldma
and our brothers. Then that night, as we got used to being together and feeling
safe, Isaac Musa attacked and took over the compound!
Oh geh! Geh waylapeah! By the
time we heard the shooting and knew what had happened, everything was upside
down. Whereplay we were going again? By morning we heard the order, everybody
geh out. Chay, nyensua! We gathered the little we had and were told we were
about to walk to Kakata. Truth is that my mouth was sharp but lazy was my
middle name. In any case, I could walk but my fear of checkpoints had na
registered deep in my soul. I could not survive another one, even if I was not
the one being killed or flayed or raped. I could not.
God answered my prayers. The next
order was that we were getting in the yellow school buses and riding to Kakata,
and they would give us a group pass. Someone in NPLF must have done a stint in
South Africa in Botha's days-I swear! We got in the bus. I say ‘in’
because we were like cargo! David's pa put me and my brother right beside him.
When they ask your any question, your say I your pa (oh how I am struggling to
write this part. RIP, papa). We sat near him. My own pa had run off and was on
the other side of Liberia. It did not take a lot of effort to get used to David
pa as mine.
Hmmm... The
bus started moving and we got to the first major checkpoint-still in the VOA
compound. The rebel entered the bus. Hello everybody. I think we said hello
right back. Fear covered us. He spoke. I want to make an announcement. We have
a special flight for our brothers and sisters from the sub-region. If you know
you from Ghana, Guinea, Sierra Leone, jes take yr things and get down. Damn, at
that moment I wished my ma had met a man from Ghana and had me, instead of my
Kpelle pa. Special things were rare during the war. A few people, not thinking
through anything, 'advanced to be recognized' and even presented their
passports and other documents. They took them behind the checkpoints, within
hearing distance and shot them. Done. finished.
The guy came back. So, any ollor
person? It was like a freaking restaurant---anyone cared for water or more
salt? Of course, no one said fwehn. They decided to check themselves since the
voluntary spirit had died-literally and figuratively. They went from seat to
seat. Remember na-my brother Karmu had brought his two Ghanaian friends and
they were on the bus! Fada, be merciful! What is yr name? They had reached
our first friend. My name is Boscoman. You would have thought we were in
Kumasi. Oh! Buh you never heard the announcement about the special flight. Oh
sir, I am not Ghanaian o. Ehnnnn? Yes o, I am not Ghanaian. Then why you
talking lek this? Please, we were the last group of Liberians who were
repatriated from Ghana. My people are from Grand Kru. The rebel looked at him
and smiled. You know what? I am an educated man. I go to LU so I will na kay you,
but I can assure you, you way die before you reach Kakata. Now what I want you
to do for me is to identify all the ollor people who were repatriated with you
that time.
He did not know if he should point
to his brother or just say I do not know. By this time, we knew the erratic
nature of the fighters. Don't be too quick to volunteer info and people.
He said,
no, sir. I do not see anyone. Hmmm... leh me go back smor. His brother Jasper
had facial markings and had begged David's pa, a medical practitioner, to make
an incision on the mark so that people would assume it was a fresh cut and not
part of his Ghanaian identity. Lawd have mercy. The papay said no. God will protect
you, my son. I cannot do that. So, after
more interrogations, they reached Jasper. He had a towel around his face. The
naked jerk they jerked it; we would have laughed under normal circumstances.
But wait now? You na make me damn vess. Why you hiding here and lying? Geh down
for the special flight. Chay! The boy said, no, I am not Ghanaian o. We were
the last group that they repatriated to Liberia. My people are from Grand Kru.
The rebel sucked his teeth (the long, loud type). I really ain’t feel lek
killing today. Your go in front. Da really you were repatriated.
Hmmm...we were free to go but only after they had killed close to 50-100 people
at that checkpoint. Our friends were safe but for how long. We left knowing
that our group/lives were threatened.
When we got
to Careysburg, right where Andy White's house is now, was where Isaac Musa had
his checkpoint. The arguments went back and forth about individual or group
passes. In the end we won. We got a group pass and that meant the luxury of not
getting down at the checkpoints but the torture of looking thru the windows
literally seeing people losing their lives, remained. We saw this at 15 gate
where this guy accused of being Krahn was 'being shaved'--his beard was being
plucked one by one-tweezer action. See the blood. I hear his screams to today. They
said he was making too much noise, so someone shot him...right in the middle of
the group. We drove on until we got to Kakata.
They took us to a school-I think St.
Christopher’s. Oh, for my brother and myself who read everything available and
were on top of things related to Hitler (da our pa’s name too-he was born in
1939 and his Bassa/Kpelle pa named him according to history in the making), by
the time we reached the school we could clearly see the Nazi/apartheid links. Who
knew we would be in this situation? We were still romanticizing this BS around
us. Anyway, we looked around and David, my friend was smart so he told us that
we should leave. Just walk out like you did not come on the bus. We all did so
and walked into Kakata street. Neebay! Guess where we carried our trouble
that night with no idea that we were getting into deeper trouble. I am not sure
who directed us to the 'empty houses'. We found one. Door ajar, windows open,
with dust settling on the floor as evidence of the flight of its residents a
few months back. We took the biggest room and spread our lappa, bedsheet and
slept. The house was in Mandingo quarters (did not know it was Mandingo
quarters) and with our Ghanaian brothers, we slept on the dusty floor like we were
in a Sheraton!
When we walked out of St. Christopher
compound that night, the space we left behind us was like a refugee camp and I
remember that buckets, water, and space were luxury. Silence too. People tried
not to speak in case someone identified them as non-Liberian. Truth is,
security did not seem so tight, but mayhem ruled the night.By morning,
David went to town to check and get food. Bongoman and Jasper were still in
shock. My pekin and myself-we were closer to Cuttington-to our ma. I think days
passed but the first major interaction we had with the outside world was when
we found out that we had something that 'Charles Taylor did not like' and when
we knew that we were living in Mandingo quarters and could be killed like
chickens by any fighter who assumed that we were Mandingo. I had gone to town
and was walking on one of Kakata's dusty roads-one which I am sure in normal
times held love secrets, gatherings, politics of the day---off the main
street-the public space. Someone called my name. I turned because at that time,
you never knew a thing. Enemies and friends made a big mixture of stuff you had
to deal with. I turned and it was a friend from Cuttington whose parents or
family lived in Kakata. I was cautious (somebody lor spell it corshurs). :). We
talked for a short time and made a valuable exchange. From him, I got to know
that we were in Mandingo quarters and should leave immediately. I also learned
that people from the West Africa sub-region was what the papay did not like and
did not want to see. These words had weight, my people. If the papay had passed
order that he did not want to see you-all units stood ready to eliminate
you-steal your life away...all based on the whims of one man--maybe more than
one.
So, the
plan was put in motion. We needed to leave and by moving, we needed to get our
friends out safely. David and Karmu found out that one of the boys has a
girlfriend (old one and that could be extremely tricky) who now fought with the
NPFL. Norh kpa nii wha! Did we engage and get her to help, or do we hide them
and wait out? David made the call, went to find the girl or a connection to
her. He was successful and our friends were taken out of Kakata to Danane. As
simple as scrambled eggs!
We were left in the struggle to move
out of Mandingo quarters and find a new place to stay. David knew a girl/a
family and in a few hours/days (your forgive my memory block), we had a place,
right on the main road of Kak City. The things we saw and heard. Young men
(today some of them in Pres, Sirleaf's government) going to Gbarnga to pledge
their support to Taylor. They also came bearing news of which comrade had died
and who remained in Monrovia. I had no idea of this marriage of student life
and politics. Our one attempt to be political on CUC was supporting Herman
Brown to run for the student government. Where did this breed of politicians
come from and within the context of war, guns and instability-again, all this
same as a great adventure that would end as soon as possible.
Oh, from them we also understood
that one of the worst gates was Salala checkpoint-controlled by Paul Vaye.
Women and girls were raped in continuous motion-a few were spared but the
predictability around sexual violence was almost 90%. David made a call. We
were not going until we found a car in which we would be protected or found one
that would leave at midnight --when they were asleep, spent (yes from raping)
or they did not have the power to check the car.
The rest of
the time was spent trying to find a car, a living and listening out. In one of
our conversations, we heard about a commandant at the NPFL base, Mabel. Little
did we know that the base was on Cuttington campus where our ma and brothers
had been dropped off.
We had two things on our hands-we needed to get to our ma,
and I needed to become 'invisible' at Paul Vaye's gate. As we heard, no
one had recognized why women and girls were being raped. We were all in a
united form of trauma as a country and did not stop to think and analyze why
all this public sex was taking place-sexual violence. Or was it an extension of
the normalization of sexual violence that occurred in private spaces pre-war?
Young boys, some below the age of 14, sat in groups at some checkpoints,
'reading' pornographic magazines. They would laugh and when they saw a woman or
girl who they said ‘made their hearts jump’ or provided an erection-or both. They would call her to come and 'read' with
them. Rape, murder, floggings, theft-all happened with no singular or
collective physical resistance.
So back to the story. David went to the road one day and saw
some of his friends-UL colleagues. They were linked to one of the big men in
NPFL. They had a truck and a mission. They had told David that they were going
to loot Firestone and would come back late at night to go to Gbarnga. This was
our ride! However, the erratic nature of the rebels pushed us to ask to go with
them to Firestone, and when we returned, we would pick up my brother (who had
all our bundles). We would then go through Paul Vaye's gate, with some veneer
of protection. They agreed after much convincing. David was from Nimba but like
me-he did not speak his language well and, in a way, was seen as an outsider.
We got on the truck and in my mind, and to today, I cannot
imagine which sort of bravery allowed me to get on that truck with soldiers and
guns, speeding into Harbel. David and I did not talk much but we made eye
contact a lot. We finally got to Firestone and the looting started. Everything!
Furniture, cassettes, clothes, everything. We found a chair and sat to watch.
This was a movie in the making. Disturbing as it was, we sort of connected to
things we were used to before the war-for example, the cassettes, music,
artists-and we started to just talk about this. The fighters had no idea what
David and I were saying but they got suspicious. O, these people want to steal
our things. Let's kill them. They don't lek good. We helping them then they
want loot from us.
Hmmm...God is good. David could not speak his ethnic language,
but he understood what they said and responded that no. We wanted a ride to
Gbarnga and only a ride we wanted. They calmed down and continued to loot. We
sat there quietly and when they moved from one house to the other, we moved
with them. After some hours, they were done and decided to go and say bye
to their girlfriends' in Dolo's Town, outside of Firestone. This may have been
like 9 p.m. I am not sure.
You see, love can be so sweet that when you are parting from
your lover, your mouth can say things da na necessary. They hugged. We coming
back soon. Your don't worry. Aye mehn, when na? We will miss your o.
Hmmm...everything going fine. Then bam! One of the girls said, your know when
your said the ceegaray was losting in the huss? dah dey boy who was helping
your to loot used to steal it. The pekin them who had worked all night were in ‘duckfowl
tabay’ before they could say aye! Then the brutality started. They beat them,
asking them to confess. The boys refused and said they were lied on. By this
time, I was not sure what we could do. We started calmly by saying, let's leave
it and go....Lie man sef lie...the fighter (brother of the big man) took out
his gun and put it in the boy’s mouth. whereplay the gross eh? Damn rogue! They
went on. Blood, beatings, screaming, guns....and they put them in the car and
drove towards Kakata. Jesus take the wheel (da time they had not made that song
but in my future that I saw that night, I was screaming it). The brutal
momentum did not end until a few minutes before Kakata or was it 15 gate
(memory block), they took the boys out and shot them...right behind the check
point. Hmmmm (may their souls rest in peace).
By the time we entered Kakata, we were in such a shock that
we almost forgot to ask them to stop for my brother. We did and we were on our
way to Gbarnga-through Salala gate. By morning light, we had reached Gbarnga
City-this was our home, where we grew up---walked the streets and talked about
basketball, boys, Michael Jackson-everything. The town was infested. Guns and
fighters. Fear. They took us to Gbarnga because we did not want anyone to know
where we were going, and David had family in Gbarnga. It was normal to want to
go to a familiar place, get some briefing, then find our way to our ma. Before
the truck dropped us, they took us up the hill where an Italian/Liberian family
lived before the war. See the yard. So looted stuff. Living room chairs sitting
in the rain...what the hell was happening?!
Anyway, we went to David's family. They were so happy to see
him but also concerned that he had come alone. Where were the other family
members? They also told us that we could not go to Cuttington. Only soldiers
and those who wanted to join the NPFL went to the base so we would have to live
with them and could not go to see your ma and brothers. I looked at my pekin,
my brother, with all the strength God gave me and said, we going to join today.
We cannot come here and not see Sister, Lemu and Winston. We did not tell
the family or David, but we went to town where the trucks were waiting for
those interested in joining the NPFL and told them we came to join. We were
ready to fight for our country. They told us to get in and we did. We were on
our way to the base in a few hours and there, we would join and be able to see
our ma!
We got on the truck headed for the
base. We were going to join the NPFL-this is what they knew. My brother knew
that also and today when I think about it-he trusted me. If I said we were
joining, he followed. On the truck, it was not easy. People were asking. Why
your ain’t come ever since mehn? Your were going to school? I told them that I
was in college. Da wor big talk. You were in college and you jes coming? If you
had come ever since then you big woman mehn. You think they way put yr in
company B or C? Oh, maybe D because the place pack o. All that talk happening,
I am planning how we would connect to my ma and brothers. For people who
know Cuttington campus, there is a town between Cuttington and Sinyea-Plato
town. My aunt and uncle had their home there. This is where my ma and brothers lived.
The people who worked with my aunt remained there with their family, but we did
not know all that. We also did not know that no living being in their right
mind would be walking around the military base if you were not a member. Aye
Charles Taylor. He put devil bisness in the military o-right in the university
setting. Da wor na smor mixture.
Anyway, my trump card was a story I
had heard-a name--when we were in Kakata. Some of the people going to Gbarnga
had mentioned the name of one of the commandants on the base-Mabel (may her
soul rest in peace-she passed this year or last year). My plan-and the truth
is, I was planning as the truck reached closer and closer to Cuttington. By the
time we jumped down at the gate and were asked to do single file, I had my damn
way out. Right on my tongue. I asked the person who seemed to have the most
authority or perhaps it was the assumption that he had the capacity to inflict
harm on my body for the lie I was about to bring to life-whatever, I was going
to see my ma.
I said, when we were coming to join,
the commandant saw us in Kakata, and she said when we get here, we should ask
for her immediately. He gah vess fwes. But wait na-da trouble you want put us
in? Dey commandant said you should ask for her then you gah in truck? Oh, we
never knew. By that time, I na pull my brother right beside me. He was
confused. (Aye Karmu-we went thru plenty). Dey asked only two questions. Wha
her name? Mabel. You know her house? Yes. Then your go and she way bring your
back to join.
Cuttington was our terrain. I
started spending time with my aunt when I was 10 years old. I lived there and
went to school in Gbarnga. We got down and before they could form their single
file to walk on campus, we were at our mother's room door. We never came out
again for three months and until Taylor disbanded the base. But going through, we
saw things. The halakha was the one I never forgot...complete Libyan set up
right on that Cuttington field. I think Karmu and myself were going to die if I
we had not found a lie to get out. In any case, we landed right where we wanted to be since
that day at Fendell Big Blue left- with our ma.
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