Cheapo, Tipo, HB… What took you so long?
Dennis Jah
guest writer
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Longest Silence
Thursday, September 17, 2009
MY NAME IS ALPHA
(The Road to Fendell)
Note: most of the names of characters in this work have been changed or modified except that of Mr. Taylor to protect their identities.)
May 1990. We were determined to remain firm to the resolution that we will not leave our home to go “Behind the lines.” Our home was a colossal structure which my sister had built after the Liberia Swedish Mining Company, famously called LAMCO had laid her off after 25 years of service. We have watched those who not by the compulsion of their will, passed right next to this colossal structure as they headed behind the lines. They were forced to flee their homes as government troops and rebel forces battled for territories in their quests to conquer Monrovia then grab power or hold on to it. But for us our goal was to hold on to life by avoiding the perils that we have come to associate with rebeldom. Behind the lines, this was how the areas controlled by the two guerrilla factions that have mounted an all round assault to oust President Samuel Kanyon Doe from power, were referred to. The National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), this time headed by the former director general of the Government Services Agency, Mr. Charles McArthur Taylor, had come as close as the James Spring Payne’s Airport while Prince Johnson’s Independent National Patriotic Front of Liberia(INPFL) had occupied the Western suburbs of Monrovia. The Western suburbs of Monrovia are parts of the areas including Caldwell, Duala, and Logantown. We were told that the INPFL was firmly holding on them as captured territories or was at the verge of seizing them completely.
The first time the NPFL had attempted to violently change the sitting government was in November of 1985. This was when a former commanding general of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) led a contingent of violent men from the border area with Sierra Leone in an attempt to overthrow the government of President Samuel K. Doe. They failed miserably that time. Forces loyal to the government of Liberia dealt a fatal blow on the invading forces. So five years later the NPFL in its second coming vowed that they were not returning with the gospel of Christ in one hand and the grenade in the other. They were coming with the grenade and its related assortments in each hand. What they meant was they were coming to murder and maim at will in their quest for power. Many did not take them by their words. Or it was that the urgency of toppling the government of Samuel Kanyon Doe was so compelling that it trumped the enormous sacrifices that would come have along. Or maybe both are correct.
Monrovia and the nearby areas were bracing for the last showdown which some dubbed the “showdown of the elephants.” Mortars and rockets pounded in the eastern and the western ends of the city. Small arm fires crackled in distances. Scores of civilians were blown in pieces by shells from rockets. Every now and then a building goes up in debris with the strike of a rocket. Plumes of smoke steadily covered the skies. Smell of gun powder stuck in the static air. It was war of a magnitude that most of us only read about in books or watched in films.
A forth night ago a fellow Doodwite (a native of the town of Doodwicken in South Eastern Liberia) had told us that we should not venture to go ‘behind the lines.’ He said we were in very bad and chaotic times in that crossing the lines might have proven deadly. He squared crossing the lines into rebeldom against the Egyptian soldiers attempting to cross the parted sea in pursuit of the fleeing Israelites in biblical times. But most of us thought Solomon was comparing oranges and cherry. His reason was that the guerrillas were committing some of the worst atrocities in human history that the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) which Liberians have grown to love was not reporting. He said things were worse than the country had anticipated or than what we were told. We did not really bother to examine what we have heard. After all we have vowed to avoid behind the lines.
“I saw them behead a Kissi woman because they said she understood Mandingo. A man who had fled from Monrovia in search of peace behind the lines was beheaded and his blood drained into a container for ritualistic purpose. Those of another ethnic group called Greboes were being killed because the rebels said they shared county with the Krahns,” Solomon Williams said as he struggled to ration his breath before it ran out. He looked tired and unkempt yet he told us his ordeal. This was after he was abducted along with hundreds of other workers at Coca Cola factory. Coca cola is a company owned by the United States Trading Company. Solomon was the same fellow who told us that Adrian, a crocodile which belonged to the Biology Department at the College of Science and Technology was butchered and made out of soup for the rebels. But Solomon’s story had little to do with our resolve not to go ‘behind the lines.’ We were not going behind the lines because we believed that the war was soon to be over since the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) and the Independent National Patriotic Front of Liberia (INPFL) have reached the outskirts of Monrovia and were lurking at the citadel of national power. We were eagerly awaiting liberation from the clutches of the highly demonized Samuel Doe. Many have thought that the days of his government were numbered; his regime was soon to be of the past and we will have the NPFL steering the wheels of power. We presumed that the war was soon to end then sanity will be restored.
There are some memories that die hard. In April of 1980 the advent of a group of sixteen enlisted men of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) was greeted with ecstasy. The group staged a coup d’état. The reasons for the coup amongst other things were the government of the True Whig Party was corrupt to its marrows; it practices nepotism, and have kept the native majority of the country chronically poor and destitute. So at the end the sitting president, William Richard Tolbert was disemboweled. Two days later, thirteen of his cabinet ministers were straddled on poles and their skulls punctured with bullets. That was the price they paid for the iniquities of nearly two centuries. That was the popular outcry at that time. Ten years after the coup, the country was facing yet another bloodbath but of greater magnitude. The sons and daughters, grand, great grand and even great, great grand children of the ousted True Whig Party (TWP) as well as their wards have regrouped to fight for what they said was rightfully theirs. They gathered bunches of low wit men, women and even children from the rural environments, armed them and instructed them to murder their way to the seat of power. And they were surely on course; village after another, town after town, they led a trail of horror while their masters followed them steadily to reap from the spoils. Ten months after the start of the war, the fighters were lurking at the seat of power and their benefactors were waiting anxiously to grab power. So the war raged on with more ferocity. Rockets pounded from one end to the other landing with no discretion.
We waited and waited. The days seemed longer. But when nights came they seemed never to end. They were the most dreadful. Nobody knew who was to be picked at night by unknown persons and taken away never to be seen. We took to our knees all nights praying so hard for the Lord to take the hardship away and end the war. Every living room was quickly turned in prayer halls. Many sang and prayed asking the Lord to end the war and restore sanity. This time it appeared that the Lord was not ready to stop the bleeding. God was slow to answer. The war did not end. Bodies of the dead littered here and there. Waterways remained still as stockpiles of bodies formed hedges.
Gradually our food thinned despite austerity measures my sister have employed to stretch the sac. Her degree from the University of Liberia in Economics and Accounting could not do the tricks. We ran out of food and other supplies as the nation ran out of patience for the war. The water well in the yard was maliciously running out also. This well had served the entire neighborhood. It was stretched to breaking point and the result was to disastrously dry out.
Monday, June 30. A friend of ours was monitoring a radio broadcast supposedly from Harbel Hill in Margibi County. Harbel Hill was a strong hold of the NPFL. We learned this was where Taylor resided while his forces pounded the rest of the country with rockets. The radio broadcast stated that Agnes Taylor who was Taylor’s wife or mistress was spearheading the distribution of rice at Fendell. Besides, she was responsible for a special program which was giving shelters to the displaced. We were ecstatic about the news. At least for the first time in three weeks one would have a handful of cooked rice smear with palm butter to put into his mouth. As someone has said at some point in time ‘if wishes were free horses the despaired would ride them at will.’ It was a relentless wish to get to Fendell to start a normal existence and at the same time get an opportunity to have a direct encounter with the liberators.
We have heard nothing from the other end of the frontline which Prince Johnson was controlling except of his intense and sporadic rage which they said lent him going amok on a killing spree. We were told that the rebel leader was noted for shooting people amass after inviting them to listen to him sing or preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. A fellow who taught economics at the University of Liberia once described him as a psychopath. At first I did not know what the word meant. This was the second time that I have heard of this word being used. The first was when someone described the fellow who led the Germans in the war against the allies and the Jews. In fact when I was growing up I learned that the same man who led the Germans against the Allies and Jews also said that the skin of a person of color was good for the sole of the feet.
Two days following the radio broadcast on July 2nd, we were headed for Fendell. We have reneged on our vow to stay away from behind the lines. The reason was obvious: we rather sought food behind the lines than stay away and perish. The contingent of war weary travelers included five kids (2 nieces, 2 nephews, and a kid who his family had surrendered to our care), and an aging father. We began the trek on the muddy road through Johnsonville. The morning drizzle could not dampen our desire to go behind the lines. We tramped and tramped, crossing check points after another. For the first I could remember we were constantly asked about our ethnic groups, “you wher tribe? I say you, you wher tribe…? The more they asked the more we lied to them stating that we were of the Klao ethnic group. We were sure that the truth could not set us free. We reminded ourselves of what Solomon had told us about behind the lines.
We have travelled two days and one night. Finally we were looking at Fendell in a distance. As we drew close toward the Agriculture College campus at Fendell, sounds of machine guns were greeting us: Tooo, Tooo tooo! A fellow traveling in the opposite direction grinned then nodded: execution guns. I began to hobble more than before. But no one needed to be told that execution was a daily routine. Stench of rotten bodies hung strongly in the air. But you needed not cover your nose or spit in a natural response to the nauseous effects. The rebels and those who embellished their cause called it “nimba poorfeon” (corrupt version of perfume). And any attempt to refuse to inhale the aroma of ‘nimba porfeon’ was a slap in the face of the ‘revolution.’ The punishment was death prior to which one has to use his/her bare hands to depose of the carcass. So we inhaled the ‘poorfeon’ in order to cling to dear life.
We made it to Fendell after thirty-six grueling hours of trek and torture. This was one of the most traumatizing experiences in my life. A night before, it had rained cats and dogs. The rains soaked the earth and caused rivers and creeks to overflow their banks. Within their banks they carried piles of dead bodies, some with battered skulls. The waterways have turned murky and bloody red.
We housed ourselves at one of the units of the West African Agriculture Development Agency (WAADA). This Agency has been involved with the University of Liberia in ensuring that Liberia produces what she claims as her staple diet. The unit was flooded with displaced persons. Children with swollen limbs and distended bellies lay helplessly on the wet earth as their mothers are taken away to be sexually used or butchered with a dull knife. Such were the reality of the war which after half of a year after its inception had engulfed the entire country and had strangled life. The night wore away without sleep. I was restless on the wet floor. I ruminated throughout the night pondering whether we could survive the chaos at Fendell. Since our arrival there was no sign of the promised rice distribution. There was no sign of an Agnes Taylor housing the displaced. If she did maybe it was intended for a selected class of people of which none of us were member. The night was very long. I waited that it will end so that I can fan the rest of Fendell in search of the sites were rice was being distributed. The long span of darkness had finally worn away. We were delighted that dusk had receded. But daylight also carries turbulence of its own.
Some people in our unit slept amid the sounds of the execution guns which echoed throughout the night. Some of those executions might have involved people who shared the unit with us because throughout the night we were combed among and people picked at random then taken to the execution grounds. Those were areas toward the highway which led into the direction of Monrovia. The areas were among hedges of rubber plantation. I do not know why a member of our contingent was not picked during the night. Even over a decade after this, I still do not understand why. But what I understood clearly was at certain point of the night a fellow sometimes called general this or that would come into the unit escorted by a boy with a dangling weapon would point to some persons, “you, you and you, join me.” Those persons are taken away toward the area where the execution guns echoed. As I piece together these experiences, I am unable to recount whether any of those taken away from the unit ever returned.
We thought WAADA was not the right place to be. So we mustered some bravado to get to the main campus; that is the science college campus. Perhaps we could find Agnes Taylor and her team distributing food or resettling the displaced.
Little Alpha at Fendell
Two of my brothers were with me. We were heading toward the main campus to find out whether it was true that rice was being distributed. Our march remained a quiet one until we came near the forestry department. There stood a check point, a reed held over two large rocks laid across the road. Two large human skulls dangled at both ends of the reed. One could tell that those were fresh human skulls because tiny droplets of blood were still dripping from them. Two of the guards at the post asked us to identify ourselves. But before that they asked that we pay respect to the skulls by saluting them. We were asked to sing the national anthem as we paid respect to the human skulls.with all fairness none of us had the gift of singing. Maybe we could only make joyful noises. But in those circumstances, no one saw the need to make joyful noises. We obeyed. But another part of me was insisting that I change the wording of the anthem to begin with ‘all wail or all fail…’ instead of ‘all hail.’ I did not change the wording.
Following the paying of respect to the skulls, I took out my university of Liberia student ID card and presented it to one of the guards. He turned it upside down looking at the back. “So where is your picture?” he asked. He turned it around upon my instruction. But it was still turned upside down.
“Why you took your picture with your head down?” I was stunned by his question that I could not find the words with which to respond. He finally turned it upright. My brothers presented theirs.
“What kina cad is this?” he asked. “These are from the University of Liberia.” None f us were working so we have only our student’s I.D. cards.”
“That the people papay wan us to kay, the book people. They cosin all they trouble in this kontry.” We were immediately ordered into a hot container. They called it the ‘container of no return.’ There was uproar. An argument began instantaneously. One of the guards was opposed to us entering the ‘container of no return.’ The argument was intense that it attracted a score of onlookers. A group of ladies and children emerged from the other side of the building. It was at the same time that one of the commanders at Fendell also arrived at the scene. He sprang out of a commandeered jeep scribbled with graffiti.
“What the furk is happen here?” I say what the furk is goving on here?”
“No chef that dis man wan kay the civilians but I say no way.”
“That lye yah, this people that enemen.”
“So that furker civilian business your make foss about, enn, enn? Or if you was know that enemen why you not kay them evber since?” The commander asked.
“No yah…chief…”
“Shut lor, you furker…”the commander yelled, peeved. He rolled out his silver revolver and let out countless pellets.
Pah…pah…ppahh…. One of them began to cough blood. He rapidly swung on his feet then tumbled to the earth with a thud. Blood gushed out of the area of his thorax where his heart is located. The other went quietly down and fell first onto his knees then his foreface struck the earth. They were still. There was solemn silence. The shooter briskly jumped back into the jeep and ignited the engine. His vehicle sped off with a squeak sending waves of dust into the air. I was numb with fear. My brothers were also. The group of onlookers cruised toward the direction we were. They gathered near the place where the lifeless bodies of the guards were. Some of the onlookers were sobbing:
“Aaa yah God help us ooh!”
Suddenly someone from the crowd screamed: “David.” I was stunned. That was Jackie. Jackie had acted beyond smartness to have recognized me because I was thinner than usual. My hair has overgrown and unkempt. So I was taken aback that she has recognized me. Jackie was a resident of Day Break Mouth Open which is located near the road leading to the township of Barnersville in Monsterrado County. I once served as home school teacher for her son and two of her sister’s children.
“Jackie, I am happy that God has kept you alive to this point,” I said as I took Jackie’s arm into mine. Her palm was thin and cold.
“His mercy endures forever, David,” Jackie said. I then asked for her son, Alpha. She was surprised that I could still think of little Alpha. She invited me to go with her to where she stayed.
“I learned the confusion was about you guys and it led to the deaths.”
“Well you can say that but that is not the entire story,” I said.
“You ought to come with me to where I stay, be there until the tension cools down,” Jackie suggested. I did not decline. None of my sibling did as well. We followed Jackie to where she was spending her time at Fendell.
“This place is not safe at all. It is easier to get killed here than for an elephant to tread on a thread,” Jackie revealed after a brief silence.
“I am thrilled by your enviable prowess of hyperbole,” I said with a grin.
“No, I am not making a mountain out of a molehill,” she said. I sighed quietly.
Jackie handed us water to drink after we arrived at where she stayed.
“Where is Alpha?” I asked for the second time.
“Is that teacher?” I heard a thin voice from the other side. I reached over to the side were the voice came from. It was Alpha lying in bed. I reached over and touched his forehead. He was burning with fever. He held my hand then sat up with some hectic exuberance and smiled. I stood up then moved toward the door. I watched Alpha quietly as he gathered his thoughts. Tears covered my eyes. Suddenly Alpha flung his faded calico across his shoulder and sprang to his heels. He raced to me then hugged me. His mother was astounded by his strength. I could not hold the tears that covered my pupils as I watched the little boy clung to me. His legs have grown thinner.
“I am happy to see you, Alpha.” His mother sobbed quietly as she narrated how the boy had suffered diarrhea and malnutrition repeatedly. A day or two ago, she said, they had given up on him.
“Don’t listen to mommy, teacher, I am okay and I will be fine, the third grader assured me. He has not lost the memory of our encounter, when I used to help him and his nieces with their school work at Capitol Bypass His eyes glittered with hope yet his body did not seem to support the magnitude of his confidence. He was pale and visibly emaciated. He grabbed my palm in a firm grip then began to swing our fastened hands like a pendulum. His mother was sobbing the more. She admitted that she has not seen him so happy the way he did since their arrival at Fendell in mid May. I had no reason to disbelieve her story
Little Alpha later offered to take me where his aunts were housed. I told him that it was dangerous outside and at the same time he was not well. Alpha laughed away my suggestion then fastened his loose calico across his shoulder. He told me that he had seen it all since June 13 and was no longer a stranger. I did not press him about details of June 13.
“My name is Alpha, teacher and you know that. I have seen the worst. Let us go and I will tell you of it all.” I was stunned. Alpha could not let go of my hand. He insisted that he would go with me to see the other members of his family. I did not want to see him cry so I asked his mother to continue to pray as I do likewise. Those were days when prayers were everyone’s bastion. This was the period in the history of the nation once called the Grain Coast turned religious-everyone in the land was praying to a higher power. My brothers had decided that they could no longer continue the journey with me. I insisted that I would continue as far as the main campus since Alpha wanted us to go there at all cost.
We descended the stairs of the Engineering Building. As we descended into the chaos, I heard Alpha hummed a song by the Chandeliers:
I am the Alpha, I am the Omega says the Lord
My name is the beginning and the end
All eyes shall see me as I am
I am coming!
I am coming in my power
I am coming in my
strength
Yes, He’s coming!
He’s coming in the power
He’s coming in His
strength
He’s coming with His
power
He’s coming with His
strength.
Alpha sang the song over and over until both of us were immersed into it. I was with him until the noises of the crowds have swallowed our melodies.
There were hundreds if not thousands of people moving here and there. There were people lying under the stairs, others squatting to eat their meals, some roamed in endless fashions. There were deafening noises everywhere. Screams and cries filled the air. Scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Gun toting men and women scissor through the crowds claiming to be restoring order. But there was no order to restore. They yelled, screamed, moaned, and hurled out profanity.
I held Alpha’s hand firmly. We could lose each other to the crowds. We got to the main street toward the Science Building. He asked me to look on my right hand side. I did and there was a wheel barrel load of dead children being escorted to the graves. A group of ladies lined behind the wheel barrel wailing. Later the scene was behind us.
Suddenly he switched from my left hand side to the right. I was not sure why he did such. He began to giggle profoundly. When I asked him what was going on, he asked me to look at my far left. There was a creek where men and women sluiced their bodies in their Garden of Eden’s suits. It was at this creek that social boundaries which separated nude men and women from swimming together were broken. They called it the Adam and Eve’s Creek. A fat woman had just emerged from the creek and was shaking the droplets of water off her body. She was completely nude. Another bent forward, maybe fondling her toes with her rear part directed toward to the road. Both of them seemed oblivious of the surrounding. This was the sight of the scene Alpha was trying to avoid.
As we approached the Science Building, Alpha showed me where a science professor was shot at close range and his body allowed to rot for days before some people were made to remove it with their bare hands. As the story went the professor was murdered by a student who was not thrilled by a poor grade in the professor’s course. Another version of the story surrounding the professor’s death was that his killing was masterminded by a co-worker who wanted to claim his post after the carnage was over. At the time the verification of the stories surrounding the professor’s death was the least of the preoccupation. We were at Fendell to fine food and shelter.
“We were quiet for a while. Then alpha broke the silence.
“Why do they kill these many people? Why are these too many deaths, teacher?” There was deep distress in his voice. In his voice I recognized a vast capacity for compassion. I knew this third grader had many questions for which he was seeking answers.
“Revenge and power, Alpha!” I said. “People are trying to pay back for what happened in 1980. Perhaps you were not born at that time or you were just beginning to fondle your mother’s breasts,”
“What do you mean by fondling breasts?” Alpha interrupted. He seemed fascinated by the phrase.
“Forget about fondling. I meant you were still a baby.”
“But I like the word, fondling or to fondle…..”
“When you grow up one day you shall know and act upon your knowledge.”
“Okay, I rest my case, back to the story” Alpha conceded.
At the same time, they want to come back to power because it is their belief that they are the only ones worthy to run this country.” We were quiet again.
“Alpha, this is why you should never stop to seek understanding. The more understanding you have the less likely that you can be used to destroy yourself and your own.” Alpha nodded then lifted his eyes to me.
“Why are you sobbing?” he asked.
“You do not deserve this, Alpha. The children of this land do not deserve this.”
We kept moving. At the front of the Science Building, I spotted a man throwing raw peanuts into his mouth. I drew close to him, and then whispered: “Good morning, Honorable.” He grabbed my hand then whispered back to me, “There is no Honorable now.” We laughed together then as if he has being rehearsing it he said in a monotone, “we have all become dishonored.” The laughter heightened. For a while we seemed to forget the chaos that beset us all. Then in a low tone I said to him,
“What are you still doing here, Sir? Those guys are murdering even those who carry trash for government.” I told him that my family and I were planning to continue traveling; at least get to a place less chaotic. I told him that Fendell was too close to the frontline and those there were still exposed to more danger than those further ‘behind the lines.’ He acknowledged my fears but stated that “President Taylor” was aware of his presence at Fendell and had therefore offered to send a pickup truck for him and his family. He said Taylor alluded to his criticism of President Doe and had therefore offered to help him out.
“So you believe it is payback time, eh?” I said jokingly. The Senator affirmed that it was payback time.
“Good luck, senator” I whispered then Alpha and I resumed our journey.
We turned left then entered the Science Building where Alpha said some members of his family were. For the first time he had let go of my hand. He was leading the way to where his relatives where. We passed through scores of people engaged in various acts. A small stature woman fanned a small fire hearth with the back of a book. She was boiling a mixture of yam and cassava. A child sat haplessly next to the fireplace waiting for his mother to complete the task so that he might have something to put into his mouth. A little distance from where the lady was boiling the mixture, a woman was changing her baby’s diapers. Next to them an elderly man was eating brown rice with his back turned to a child who appeared famished. In a nearby classroom that has lost its doors, I saw a group of males and two females sat around a table holding a discussion. They were talking about the politics and ethics of the war. I recognized a few of them. Some were students of the University of Liberia. I became scary for their lives. I wondered if they were aware that it was held highly in the profiles of the rebels that the educated had caused the war. One of them was a medical student at the A.M. D College of Medicine. I continued to follow Alpha as he threaded his way through the building. He seemed to master the territory. We ascended a staircase. I was panting for breath but Little Alpha has mustered enough energy and maintained a steady pace. He no longer walked like a hungry, war weary kid. He made a right turn then went to room 303. He flung the door open.
“Alpha, what are you doing here?” one of the occupants quizzed with amazement.
“I brought my teacher to see you all.” Angee, one of Alpha’s aunt walked graciously from behind the silky curtains. She was startled but at the same time I recognized some lack of ease on her part. She fidgeted with the lapel of her neatly knitted blouse.
“Thank God that you all are alive. I have had little sleep over you especially after the killings at the Lutheran Church.,” I said nervously. Angee smiled with hectic brilliance. She was elegantly attired, a sharp contrast to the rest of Fendell that I have come to know since a night ago. From top to bottom she was clothed in Versace’s latest brand. Her lips were red like palm oil. Her eye brows were trimmed to thinness. Her sharply pointed nails were painted red, white, and blue. A strand of dark hair draped slightly over her egg shaped face. Angee’s beauty was unimaginable. To me the smiles and beauty seemed to betray the atmosphere at Fendell. She was more gorgeous than I have ever known her to be. Her breasts have grown larger thus their cleavage narrowed. For a moment the carnage was over me as fantasies took over my world.
“Annn….” I mumbled. She smiled piously, taking notice of my nervousness.
“God has being gracious to us.”Angee spoke quietly. Her gums were still dark and the dimples which have added to her Angelic looks became more elaborate.
“We got to start leaving before it gets dark and those folks set up more check points.” I said. Alpha disagreed and suggested that we stay a little longer.
“Meet my cousin,” Angee said shyly to a hugely built guy who had suddenly emerged from behind the curtains where Angee earlier came from. He stood with hands akimbo. We were covered in the thick smoke of his cigar. He wore a blue jean suit with a pair of black boots we used to call nimba kpehlay. He mounted two revolvers, one silver and the other black, around his waist
“You soljar?” he asked as he avoided my handshake.
“Yes and no, sir” I said solemnly. “Yes I am a soldier, a soldier of Christ…No, I am not a fighter.” I noticed that my response irritated him. He stopped grinding on the gum momentary. He removed the cigar from his mouth then laughed with scorn.
“You think that you alone know God, eh, you damn dog?”
“Co Konlunko, stop talking like that,” Angee interrupted.
“Shut lor, soljar talk for hisself.”Konlunko said, breathing heavily.
“You telling me to shut up, Konlunko?”
He dashed back behind the curtain. I heard the door slammed. “The next time I see him around here, I will zero him, p----y.” Tremors spun through my spine. I turned to Alpha and grabbed his hand.
“We got to go,” he did not suggest the contrary.
Angee offered to walk us down the stairway. We walked in silence down the stairways. Though we had many stories to tell, we avoided the war stories without the conscious desire to do so. I did not ask her about Konlunko. Actions sometimes are more lucid than words. We talked about God’s miracles and His redemptive power. Angee thought there was no genuine change unless it was crafted by God. I did not disagree. I wondered about what other force that was strong enough to override the power of love thus allowing people to harm their neighbors and others they claim to love. My partner, Alpha, had not let go of my hand since we left his aunts’. He watched me as he smiled piously.
Alpha, Angee, and I descended the stairs then threaded our way through the crowds. It was a tortuous one which led us at an exit other than the front one through which Alpha and I came. We turned left then walked few paces. There was a checkpoint in sight. Alpha whispered:” it was over there where they put gasoline on a man and a woman the other day and set them on fire. The man was crying and running amok as his skin dripped off his body until he collapsed and died. But for the woman she said nothing. She stood still even when she was torched. Even to the point that her body melted, she said nothing.”
“And how will you know all of this, Mr. Alpha? I asked, doubtful.
“I saw it with my two eye balls.” My eyes dilated. My heart was pounding the more. “Did you have to see all that?”
“I wish I had a choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“We were taken from our camps and made to watch it while we cheered. They said the man was working in the Doe’s government. His wife was Gio.” Alpha was quiet. “So it was like Gio killing Gio,” I said. Alpha laughed. There was a flare of sarcasm in his laughter.
“Mano killing Mano, countryman killing countryman!”
“That really suits the agenda of their exalted masters,” I said in my heart so Alpha did not have the chance to respond.
Angee confirmed Alpha’s story of the execution by fire and was about to tell me the story of the couple when we were suddenly told to stop.
“Advance to be recognized!” that was the instruction directed at us. We went toward the checkpoint.
“You, you going cook for the C.O. today,” one of the guards said to Angee. She swirled slightly.
“And you, you leaving right here,” the guard said as he pointed the nozzle of his gun to my forehead.
“You can ask the girl for her tribe first?” another stepped in.
“You girl you what tribe yah?” Angee was hesitant.
“That Congau girl,” I said thoughtlessly.
“Yeah, my name is Angee Dennis, I Conger….” I saw the guard arms slung in a moment. He was paralyzed.
“Eh you see now, that the Pappy sister,” the other said. Then it came my term:
“You, you what tribe?” the guard quizzed. “This is my sister.”
“I say, you what tribe, I not ask you for your sister.”
“I Cong…..” Wak….wak….there was a hail of punches descending on me. Jesus Christ! I screamed. “You black like this you say you Conger…, we will kill you, damn Krahn-Mandingo dog.” The guards did not allow me to end my statement. My intention was to say Congkru or CongoKru since being Grebo was an equivalent of being Krahn. But it was late. I was kicked and punched. One of them drew out his Ak-47, cracked it and instructed the others to stand aside so he could kill me. My partner Alpha was wailing with hysteria.
“Don’t kill him. He’s my father…please don’t kill him he’s my father….. Angee, inspired by her lineage mustered some bravado:
“If you want to kill him then you have to kill me also. That will leave Chuckie with no other choice but to kill you and your entire family.” I was stunned by Angee’s defiance and valor. Maybe you have forgotten what happened in Buchanna the other time.” Angee was referring to the story in which almost a battalion of the NPFL fighters were executed on the beach for killing a government official who was a Congau.
The guards were stunned. They were still like the stillness of a lake. Two of them came over to me, grabbed me at both shoulders then assisted me to my feet. They mopped my bloody nose and said that they were sorry.
One of them raced to a nearby warehouse and brought out a hundred pound sac of rice and three gallons of vegetable oil. He asked Angee to lead him where she was living so that he could take the items there. “You have to open this to give my brother some because we don’t live in the same place.” With solemn humility the guards undid the sac. I could hardly believe that those words from Angee could quickly turn a killing machine into somber servants. For the moment all the guards were serving us. The three of us shared the items into three equaled parts. Angee walked with us from the check point where I have escaped death for the second in a day’s running.
Before Angee could return to her abode she decided to tell me the story about the burnt couple Alpha had spoken about. Angee seemed concerned about the remarkable lesson of the story than the treacherous killing. She said the story went that the woman was a Gio who was married to this man of Krahn dissent. The couple was married long before the war. Both of them were working in the government of President Doe. Their love did not falter until tension began to develop between the Krahns and the Gios. It all started after a fight over a girl broke out between two friends. Somewhere down the line there was football in Tappita called the Mighty Flames. Two best friends were playing for the Flames. One of them was the goalie and the other was the captain of the team. He played the ten position. Grace was the head of the Flames cheer leading group. She was stunningly beautiful. The two coincidentally began to develop off the field affection for Grace. At the end it was apparent that the number 10 player got the upper hand. He was the team’s maestro thus his image soared like wild fire. So Grace was conquered. The goalie was not thrilled or the maestro felt that his team mate has grown envious of his accolades.
One day at the team’s practice pitch both were playing on the opposing sides. The goalie’s team was thrashing the maestro’s. tension began to mount which resulted into a fight between the team mates. What many have thought was an on field fight between two young men spread across Tappita. The fight took a disastrous turn when other saw it as an affront to their community. the . Then The called commanding general of the Armed Forces of Liberia was reassigned to the Executive Mansion to be one of the closest men to the President. The general did not like the idea. He said he wanted to remain as the commanding General of the Army. Though the commanding general was serving his country and helping to put food on his family table, his tribe took it as an affront to all of them. Tension grew between the neighboring tribes. The tension then crept into households.
was returned to where she stayed by one of the guards who promised that he would watch over Angee as long as he was based at Fendell.
Another guard offered to escort Alpha and I to our respective abodes. I was still not sure about the sudden kindness toward me.
The guard offered that we take the main route toward WAADA. By so doing we could avoid the many checkpoints which sprouted like mushrooms. As we merged onto the main street which linked Fendell to Monrovia, a large bus passed, heading in the direction of Kakata. A fellow standing under a booth said the bus was taking back Pappy and his people who have come to Fendell to encourage the boys. When he said the boys I thought he was referring to the fighters, Taylor’s foot soldiers. He stated some names which included a lady who later became a senator for Montserrado County and Liberia’s paradoxical Iron Lady. I did not have the time and the interest to verify his reports after all my utmost preoccupation was with the sac of rice that was pressing the guard’s left shoulder.
After we have walked few paces from the guy who had given the information, the guard asked me, “Do you know who was standing under there with the two body guards.” “No!” I said. He is the one we call ‘Bullet Patrol’. He kay for common.” We were silent for a while. “When he nat satisfy with you he kay you kpeke” the guard said making a gesture to his throat. We were quiet for a while.
“It will be good if you guys keep going. Fendell is not a good place; you can die anytime,” this was how the guard broke the silence. My heart pounded with heightened intensity. “How do we leave? I am told that there are many checkpoints along the highway and they said that is easier to be killed than scratching your hair,” I said. The guard laughed softly. For the second time I did not see his beastly nature. He was a human person. He dipped his hand into his pocket and took out a paper. “Fill this out with your family names then let one of the generals signs it.” I grabbed the sheet from his hand. It was a form for filling out names. At the bottom were two spots for signing and approving.
We returned Alpha to his mother with his share of the ‘gold dust.’ This was what rice has become. It might have even been fair if they have said ‘grains of diamond.’
The day wore away. Darkness fell. The night was long and seemed endless. ‘Time moves so slowly in worst times.’ A new day had dawned. But it seemed no different from the day before. In fact the days grew worse. A day at Fendell seemed like eternity. Conditions got worst by a minute. Death was having his will. Away from the rubber plantation, the execution guns crackled over and over dthey...dthey…dthey…kpak...kpak…kpaka…kpaka…The killing and pillaging did not stop.
There was euphoria at our abode upon my return. My family was celebrating my return but above all I brought some ‘gold dust.’ And before the guard left he informed those that were present that I was the Pappy’s brother thus nobody dare trouble me. So for a moment I basked in my connection to the Pappy at the WAADA center. I could not resist to be called boss man for a while.
We filled out the form in a hurry. I went to Alpha’s place to let him know that I was planning on leaving Fendell. The third grader was crestfallen. He burst up in a cry: “I want to go with you, I want to go with you teacher.” I told Alpha that his mother would be worried about him. At the same time I was not sure of my survival or my destination. “Mom, let me go with him. I want to go.” I looked at his mother quietly. She was sobbing. She wrapped her arms around her son and continued to sob the more. “Mom let me go with him,” Alpha was crying uncontrollably. I began to weep as well.
“Good bye, David, goodbye,” she said between sobs. I touched Alpha cheeks, told him that I love him, and then I thought of a poem that I wrote the night we arrived at Fendell. It was in the corner of my pocket. I raked it out.
“You should have this, Alpha.”
He grabbed it gingerly, said goodbye and walked away. As I walked away, I heard him cry the more. I left Alpha but my heart remained with him.
For the rest of the day, we searched for a general that could sign our pass. Prior to this there had been too many generals in the Taylor’s army. Now that we needed one, there was none at our disposal. It was a vain effort. The one we found wanted us to pay him a thousand dollars per person on the list. We were twenty some persons. We could not afford his fees not even one fifth of it so we offered to keep searching for a more considerate general. Finally I decided to forge the signatures of the generals. Our uncle who was traveling with us was terrified.
“If they find this out they will kill us all,” he said in a shaky voice.
“Unless we let them know that a general did not sign but one of us,” one of my brothers added. Finally I signed the pass. The first signature ended with Saye while the second, Wonpea.
The following day we started up on our journey deep into what was called Greater Liberia.
At the first checkpoint, our pass was overwhelmingly endorsed.
In the early part of September, we arrived in Yekepa where our eldest sister has lived since 1973 and served the school system, LIBTRACO, and LAMCO.
I later learned that what the senator had told me that Taylor was sending a pickup truck for him and his family was true. A pickup truck was sent. It was also true that Taylor had offered to help him. Yes he truly helped the Senator to die. As I learned he was dragged out of the truck and killed somewhere between Fendell and Caresburg. I also learned later that one of the university students who were discussing the politics and ethics of the war when Alpha was taking me to his aunts was murdered by one of the factions near 15 Gate.
For Alpha, for whom I shall commit a volume in time to come, I later learned that the Lord realized that the world was too chaotic and savage for him. He was a clean kid in a filthy world. So He took Him to be with Him. I am certain that I will one day see this unsung hero at the throne of Christ. May his soul rest in peace of perfection!
(The Road to Fendell)
Part I
-a story of valor; the will to live, and the determination to ruin, told through the lenses of a 10 year old.Note: most of the names of characters in this work have been changed or modified except that of Mr. Taylor to protect their identities.)
May 1990. We were determined to remain firm to the resolution that we will not leave our home to go “Behind the lines.” Our home was a colossal structure which my sister had built after the Liberia Swedish Mining Company, famously called LAMCO had laid her off after 25 years of service. We have watched those who not by the compulsion of their will, passed right next to this colossal structure as they headed behind the lines. They were forced to flee their homes as government troops and rebel forces battled for territories in their quests to conquer Monrovia then grab power or hold on to it. But for us our goal was to hold on to life by avoiding the perils that we have come to associate with rebeldom. Behind the lines, this was how the areas controlled by the two guerrilla factions that have mounted an all round assault to oust President Samuel Kanyon Doe from power, were referred to. The National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), this time headed by the former director general of the Government Services Agency, Mr. Charles McArthur Taylor, had come as close as the James Spring Payne’s Airport while Prince Johnson’s Independent National Patriotic Front of Liberia(INPFL) had occupied the Western suburbs of Monrovia. The Western suburbs of Monrovia are parts of the areas including Caldwell, Duala, and Logantown. We were told that the INPFL was firmly holding on them as captured territories or was at the verge of seizing them completely.
The first time the NPFL had attempted to violently change the sitting government was in November of 1985. This was when a former commanding general of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) led a contingent of violent men from the border area with Sierra Leone in an attempt to overthrow the government of President Samuel K. Doe. They failed miserably that time. Forces loyal to the government of Liberia dealt a fatal blow on the invading forces. So five years later the NPFL in its second coming vowed that they were not returning with the gospel of Christ in one hand and the grenade in the other. They were coming with the grenade and its related assortments in each hand. What they meant was they were coming to murder and maim at will in their quest for power. Many did not take them by their words. Or it was that the urgency of toppling the government of Samuel Kanyon Doe was so compelling that it trumped the enormous sacrifices that would come have along. Or maybe both are correct.
Monrovia and the nearby areas were bracing for the last showdown which some dubbed the “showdown of the elephants.” Mortars and rockets pounded in the eastern and the western ends of the city. Small arm fires crackled in distances. Scores of civilians were blown in pieces by shells from rockets. Every now and then a building goes up in debris with the strike of a rocket. Plumes of smoke steadily covered the skies. Smell of gun powder stuck in the static air. It was war of a magnitude that most of us only read about in books or watched in films.
A forth night ago a fellow Doodwite (a native of the town of Doodwicken in South Eastern Liberia) had told us that we should not venture to go ‘behind the lines.’ He said we were in very bad and chaotic times in that crossing the lines might have proven deadly. He squared crossing the lines into rebeldom against the Egyptian soldiers attempting to cross the parted sea in pursuit of the fleeing Israelites in biblical times. But most of us thought Solomon was comparing oranges and cherry. His reason was that the guerrillas were committing some of the worst atrocities in human history that the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) which Liberians have grown to love was not reporting. He said things were worse than the country had anticipated or than what we were told. We did not really bother to examine what we have heard. After all we have vowed to avoid behind the lines.
“I saw them behead a Kissi woman because they said she understood Mandingo. A man who had fled from Monrovia in search of peace behind the lines was beheaded and his blood drained into a container for ritualistic purpose. Those of another ethnic group called Greboes were being killed because the rebels said they shared county with the Krahns,” Solomon Williams said as he struggled to ration his breath before it ran out. He looked tired and unkempt yet he told us his ordeal. This was after he was abducted along with hundreds of other workers at Coca Cola factory. Coca cola is a company owned by the United States Trading Company. Solomon was the same fellow who told us that Adrian, a crocodile which belonged to the Biology Department at the College of Science and Technology was butchered and made out of soup for the rebels. But Solomon’s story had little to do with our resolve not to go ‘behind the lines.’ We were not going behind the lines because we believed that the war was soon to be over since the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) and the Independent National Patriotic Front of Liberia (INPFL) have reached the outskirts of Monrovia and were lurking at the citadel of national power. We were eagerly awaiting liberation from the clutches of the highly demonized Samuel Doe. Many have thought that the days of his government were numbered; his regime was soon to be of the past and we will have the NPFL steering the wheels of power. We presumed that the war was soon to end then sanity will be restored.
There are some memories that die hard. In April of 1980 the advent of a group of sixteen enlisted men of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) was greeted with ecstasy. The group staged a coup d’état. The reasons for the coup amongst other things were the government of the True Whig Party was corrupt to its marrows; it practices nepotism, and have kept the native majority of the country chronically poor and destitute. So at the end the sitting president, William Richard Tolbert was disemboweled. Two days later, thirteen of his cabinet ministers were straddled on poles and their skulls punctured with bullets. That was the price they paid for the iniquities of nearly two centuries. That was the popular outcry at that time. Ten years after the coup, the country was facing yet another bloodbath but of greater magnitude. The sons and daughters, grand, great grand and even great, great grand children of the ousted True Whig Party (TWP) as well as their wards have regrouped to fight for what they said was rightfully theirs. They gathered bunches of low wit men, women and even children from the rural environments, armed them and instructed them to murder their way to the seat of power. And they were surely on course; village after another, town after town, they led a trail of horror while their masters followed them steadily to reap from the spoils. Ten months after the start of the war, the fighters were lurking at the seat of power and their benefactors were waiting anxiously to grab power. So the war raged on with more ferocity. Rockets pounded from one end to the other landing with no discretion.
We waited and waited. The days seemed longer. But when nights came they seemed never to end. They were the most dreadful. Nobody knew who was to be picked at night by unknown persons and taken away never to be seen. We took to our knees all nights praying so hard for the Lord to take the hardship away and end the war. Every living room was quickly turned in prayer halls. Many sang and prayed asking the Lord to end the war and restore sanity. This time it appeared that the Lord was not ready to stop the bleeding. God was slow to answer. The war did not end. Bodies of the dead littered here and there. Waterways remained still as stockpiles of bodies formed hedges.
Gradually our food thinned despite austerity measures my sister have employed to stretch the sac. Her degree from the University of Liberia in Economics and Accounting could not do the tricks. We ran out of food and other supplies as the nation ran out of patience for the war. The water well in the yard was maliciously running out also. This well had served the entire neighborhood. It was stretched to breaking point and the result was to disastrously dry out.
Part II
We have heard nothing from the other end of the frontline which Prince Johnson was controlling except of his intense and sporadic rage which they said lent him going amok on a killing spree. We were told that the rebel leader was noted for shooting people amass after inviting them to listen to him sing or preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. A fellow who taught economics at the University of Liberia once described him as a psychopath. At first I did not know what the word meant. This was the second time that I have heard of this word being used. The first was when someone described the fellow who led the Germans in the war against the allies and the Jews. In fact when I was growing up I learned that the same man who led the Germans against the Allies and Jews also said that the skin of a person of color was good for the sole of the feet.
Two days following the radio broadcast on July 2nd, we were headed for Fendell. We have reneged on our vow to stay away from behind the lines. The reason was obvious: we rather sought food behind the lines than stay away and perish. The contingent of war weary travelers included five kids (2 nieces, 2 nephews, and a kid who his family had surrendered to our care), and an aging father. We began the trek on the muddy road through Johnsonville. The morning drizzle could not dampen our desire to go behind the lines. We tramped and tramped, crossing check points after another. For the first I could remember we were constantly asked about our ethnic groups, “you wher tribe? I say you, you wher tribe…? The more they asked the more we lied to them stating that we were of the Klao ethnic group. We were sure that the truth could not set us free. We reminded ourselves of what Solomon had told us about behind the lines.
We have travelled two days and one night. Finally we were looking at Fendell in a distance. As we drew close toward the Agriculture College campus at Fendell, sounds of machine guns were greeting us: Tooo, Tooo tooo! A fellow traveling in the opposite direction grinned then nodded: execution guns. I began to hobble more than before. But no one needed to be told that execution was a daily routine. Stench of rotten bodies hung strongly in the air. But you needed not cover your nose or spit in a natural response to the nauseous effects. The rebels and those who embellished their cause called it “nimba poorfeon” (corrupt version of perfume). And any attempt to refuse to inhale the aroma of ‘nimba porfeon’ was a slap in the face of the ‘revolution.’ The punishment was death prior to which one has to use his/her bare hands to depose of the carcass. So we inhaled the ‘poorfeon’ in order to cling to dear life.
We made it to Fendell after thirty-six grueling hours of trek and torture. This was one of the most traumatizing experiences in my life. A night before, it had rained cats and dogs. The rains soaked the earth and caused rivers and creeks to overflow their banks. Within their banks they carried piles of dead bodies, some with battered skulls. The waterways have turned murky and bloody red.
We housed ourselves at one of the units of the West African Agriculture Development Agency (WAADA). This Agency has been involved with the University of Liberia in ensuring that Liberia produces what she claims as her staple diet. The unit was flooded with displaced persons. Children with swollen limbs and distended bellies lay helplessly on the wet earth as their mothers are taken away to be sexually used or butchered with a dull knife. Such were the reality of the war which after half of a year after its inception had engulfed the entire country and had strangled life. The night wore away without sleep. I was restless on the wet floor. I ruminated throughout the night pondering whether we could survive the chaos at Fendell. Since our arrival there was no sign of the promised rice distribution. There was no sign of an Agnes Taylor housing the displaced. If she did maybe it was intended for a selected class of people of which none of us were member. The night was very long. I waited that it will end so that I can fan the rest of Fendell in search of the sites were rice was being distributed. The long span of darkness had finally worn away. We were delighted that dusk had receded. But daylight also carries turbulence of its own.
Some people in our unit slept amid the sounds of the execution guns which echoed throughout the night. Some of those executions might have involved people who shared the unit with us because throughout the night we were combed among and people picked at random then taken to the execution grounds. Those were areas toward the highway which led into the direction of Monrovia. The areas were among hedges of rubber plantation. I do not know why a member of our contingent was not picked during the night. Even over a decade after this, I still do not understand why. But what I understood clearly was at certain point of the night a fellow sometimes called general this or that would come into the unit escorted by a boy with a dangling weapon would point to some persons, “you, you and you, join me.” Those persons are taken away toward the area where the execution guns echoed. As I piece together these experiences, I am unable to recount whether any of those taken away from the unit ever returned.
We thought WAADA was not the right place to be. So we mustered some bravado to get to the main campus; that is the science college campus. Perhaps we could find Agnes Taylor and her team distributing food or resettling the displaced.
Little Alpha at Fendell
Two of my brothers were with me. We were heading toward the main campus to find out whether it was true that rice was being distributed. Our march remained a quiet one until we came near the forestry department. There stood a check point, a reed held over two large rocks laid across the road. Two large human skulls dangled at both ends of the reed. One could tell that those were fresh human skulls because tiny droplets of blood were still dripping from them. Two of the guards at the post asked us to identify ourselves. But before that they asked that we pay respect to the skulls by saluting them. We were asked to sing the national anthem as we paid respect to the human skulls.with all fairness none of us had the gift of singing. Maybe we could only make joyful noises. But in those circumstances, no one saw the need to make joyful noises. We obeyed. But another part of me was insisting that I change the wording of the anthem to begin with ‘all wail or all fail…’ instead of ‘all hail.’ I did not change the wording.
Following the paying of respect to the skulls, I took out my university of Liberia student ID card and presented it to one of the guards. He turned it upside down looking at the back. “So where is your picture?” he asked. He turned it around upon my instruction. But it was still turned upside down.
“Why you took your picture with your head down?” I was stunned by his question that I could not find the words with which to respond. He finally turned it upright. My brothers presented theirs.
“What kina cad is this?” he asked. “These are from the University of Liberia.” None f us were working so we have only our student’s I.D. cards.”
“That the people papay wan us to kay, the book people. They cosin all they trouble in this kontry.” We were immediately ordered into a hot container. They called it the ‘container of no return.’ There was uproar. An argument began instantaneously. One of the guards was opposed to us entering the ‘container of no return.’ The argument was intense that it attracted a score of onlookers. A group of ladies and children emerged from the other side of the building. It was at the same time that one of the commanders at Fendell also arrived at the scene. He sprang out of a commandeered jeep scribbled with graffiti.
“What the furk is happen here?” I say what the furk is goving on here?”
“No chef that dis man wan kay the civilians but I say no way.”
“That lye yah, this people that enemen.”
“So that furker civilian business your make foss about, enn, enn? Or if you was know that enemen why you not kay them evber since?” The commander asked.
“No yah…chief…”
“Shut lor, you furker…”the commander yelled, peeved. He rolled out his silver revolver and let out countless pellets.
Pah…pah…ppahh…. One of them began to cough blood. He rapidly swung on his feet then tumbled to the earth with a thud. Blood gushed out of the area of his thorax where his heart is located. The other went quietly down and fell first onto his knees then his foreface struck the earth. They were still. There was solemn silence. The shooter briskly jumped back into the jeep and ignited the engine. His vehicle sped off with a squeak sending waves of dust into the air. I was numb with fear. My brothers were also. The group of onlookers cruised toward the direction we were. They gathered near the place where the lifeless bodies of the guards were. Some of the onlookers were sobbing:
“Aaa yah God help us ooh!”
Suddenly someone from the crowd screamed: “David.” I was stunned. That was Jackie. Jackie had acted beyond smartness to have recognized me because I was thinner than usual. My hair has overgrown and unkempt. So I was taken aback that she has recognized me. Jackie was a resident of Day Break Mouth Open which is located near the road leading to the township of Barnersville in Monsterrado County. I once served as home school teacher for her son and two of her sister’s children.
“Jackie, I am happy that God has kept you alive to this point,” I said as I took Jackie’s arm into mine. Her palm was thin and cold.
“His mercy endures forever, David,” Jackie said. I then asked for her son, Alpha. She was surprised that I could still think of little Alpha. She invited me to go with her to where she stayed.
“I learned the confusion was about you guys and it led to the deaths.”
“Well you can say that but that is not the entire story,” I said.
“You ought to come with me to where I stay, be there until the tension cools down,” Jackie suggested. I did not decline. None of my sibling did as well. We followed Jackie to where she was spending her time at Fendell.
“This place is not safe at all. It is easier to get killed here than for an elephant to tread on a thread,” Jackie revealed after a brief silence.
“I am thrilled by your enviable prowess of hyperbole,” I said with a grin.
“No, I am not making a mountain out of a molehill,” she said. I sighed quietly.
Jackie handed us water to drink after we arrived at where she stayed.
“Where is Alpha?” I asked for the second time.
“Is that teacher?” I heard a thin voice from the other side. I reached over to the side were the voice came from. It was Alpha lying in bed. I reached over and touched his forehead. He was burning with fever. He held my hand then sat up with some hectic exuberance and smiled. I stood up then moved toward the door. I watched Alpha quietly as he gathered his thoughts. Tears covered my eyes. Suddenly Alpha flung his faded calico across his shoulder and sprang to his heels. He raced to me then hugged me. His mother was astounded by his strength. I could not hold the tears that covered my pupils as I watched the little boy clung to me. His legs have grown thinner.
“I am happy to see you, Alpha.” His mother sobbed quietly as she narrated how the boy had suffered diarrhea and malnutrition repeatedly. A day or two ago, she said, they had given up on him.
“Don’t listen to mommy, teacher, I am okay and I will be fine, the third grader assured me. He has not lost the memory of our encounter, when I used to help him and his nieces with their school work at Capitol Bypass His eyes glittered with hope yet his body did not seem to support the magnitude of his confidence. He was pale and visibly emaciated. He grabbed my palm in a firm grip then began to swing our fastened hands like a pendulum. His mother was sobbing the more. She admitted that she has not seen him so happy the way he did since their arrival at Fendell in mid May. I had no reason to disbelieve her story
Little Alpha later offered to take me where his aunts were housed. I told him that it was dangerous outside and at the same time he was not well. Alpha laughed away my suggestion then fastened his loose calico across his shoulder. He told me that he had seen it all since June 13 and was no longer a stranger. I did not press him about details of June 13.
“My name is Alpha, teacher and you know that. I have seen the worst. Let us go and I will tell you of it all.” I was stunned. Alpha could not let go of my hand. He insisted that he would go with me to see the other members of his family. I did not want to see him cry so I asked his mother to continue to pray as I do likewise. Those were days when prayers were everyone’s bastion. This was the period in the history of the nation once called the Grain Coast turned religious-everyone in the land was praying to a higher power. My brothers had decided that they could no longer continue the journey with me. I insisted that I would continue as far as the main campus since Alpha wanted us to go there at all cost.
We descended the stairs of the Engineering Building. As we descended into the chaos, I heard Alpha hummed a song by the Chandeliers:
I am the Alpha, I am the Omega says the Lord
My name is the beginning and the end
All eyes shall see me as I am
I am coming!
I am coming in my power
I am coming in my
strength
Yes, He’s coming!
He’s coming in the power
He’s coming in His
strength
He’s coming with His
power
He’s coming with His
strength.
Alpha sang the song over and over until both of us were immersed into it. I was with him until the noises of the crowds have swallowed our melodies.
There were hundreds if not thousands of people moving here and there. There were people lying under the stairs, others squatting to eat their meals, some roamed in endless fashions. There were deafening noises everywhere. Screams and cries filled the air. Scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Gun toting men and women scissor through the crowds claiming to be restoring order. But there was no order to restore. They yelled, screamed, moaned, and hurled out profanity.
I held Alpha’s hand firmly. We could lose each other to the crowds. We got to the main street toward the Science Building. He asked me to look on my right hand side. I did and there was a wheel barrel load of dead children being escorted to the graves. A group of ladies lined behind the wheel barrel wailing. Later the scene was behind us.
Suddenly he switched from my left hand side to the right. I was not sure why he did such. He began to giggle profoundly. When I asked him what was going on, he asked me to look at my far left. There was a creek where men and women sluiced their bodies in their Garden of Eden’s suits. It was at this creek that social boundaries which separated nude men and women from swimming together were broken. They called it the Adam and Eve’s Creek. A fat woman had just emerged from the creek and was shaking the droplets of water off her body. She was completely nude. Another bent forward, maybe fondling her toes with her rear part directed toward to the road. Both of them seemed oblivious of the surrounding. This was the sight of the scene Alpha was trying to avoid.
As we approached the Science Building, Alpha showed me where a science professor was shot at close range and his body allowed to rot for days before some people were made to remove it with their bare hands. As the story went the professor was murdered by a student who was not thrilled by a poor grade in the professor’s course. Another version of the story surrounding the professor’s death was that his killing was masterminded by a co-worker who wanted to claim his post after the carnage was over. At the time the verification of the stories surrounding the professor’s death was the least of the preoccupation. We were at Fendell to fine food and shelter.
“We were quiet for a while. Then alpha broke the silence.
“Why do they kill these many people? Why are these too many deaths, teacher?” There was deep distress in his voice. In his voice I recognized a vast capacity for compassion. I knew this third grader had many questions for which he was seeking answers.
“Revenge and power, Alpha!” I said. “People are trying to pay back for what happened in 1980. Perhaps you were not born at that time or you were just beginning to fondle your mother’s breasts,”
“What do you mean by fondling breasts?” Alpha interrupted. He seemed fascinated by the phrase.
“Forget about fondling. I meant you were still a baby.”
“But I like the word, fondling or to fondle…..”
“When you grow up one day you shall know and act upon your knowledge.”
“Okay, I rest my case, back to the story” Alpha conceded.
At the same time, they want to come back to power because it is their belief that they are the only ones worthy to run this country.” We were quiet again.
“Alpha, this is why you should never stop to seek understanding. The more understanding you have the less likely that you can be used to destroy yourself and your own.” Alpha nodded then lifted his eyes to me.
“Why are you sobbing?” he asked.
“You do not deserve this, Alpha. The children of this land do not deserve this.”
We kept moving. At the front of the Science Building, I spotted a man throwing raw peanuts into his mouth. I drew close to him, and then whispered: “Good morning, Honorable.” He grabbed my hand then whispered back to me, “There is no Honorable now.” We laughed together then as if he has being rehearsing it he said in a monotone, “we have all become dishonored.” The laughter heightened. For a while we seemed to forget the chaos that beset us all. Then in a low tone I said to him,
“What are you still doing here, Sir? Those guys are murdering even those who carry trash for government.” I told him that my family and I were planning to continue traveling; at least get to a place less chaotic. I told him that Fendell was too close to the frontline and those there were still exposed to more danger than those further ‘behind the lines.’ He acknowledged my fears but stated that “President Taylor” was aware of his presence at Fendell and had therefore offered to send a pickup truck for him and his family. He said Taylor alluded to his criticism of President Doe and had therefore offered to help him out.
“So you believe it is payback time, eh?” I said jokingly. The Senator affirmed that it was payback time.
“Good luck, senator” I whispered then Alpha and I resumed our journey.
We turned left then entered the Science Building where Alpha said some members of his family were. For the first time he had let go of my hand. He was leading the way to where his relatives where. We passed through scores of people engaged in various acts. A small stature woman fanned a small fire hearth with the back of a book. She was boiling a mixture of yam and cassava. A child sat haplessly next to the fireplace waiting for his mother to complete the task so that he might have something to put into his mouth. A little distance from where the lady was boiling the mixture, a woman was changing her baby’s diapers. Next to them an elderly man was eating brown rice with his back turned to a child who appeared famished. In a nearby classroom that has lost its doors, I saw a group of males and two females sat around a table holding a discussion. They were talking about the politics and ethics of the war. I recognized a few of them. Some were students of the University of Liberia. I became scary for their lives. I wondered if they were aware that it was held highly in the profiles of the rebels that the educated had caused the war. One of them was a medical student at the A.M. D College of Medicine. I continued to follow Alpha as he threaded his way through the building. He seemed to master the territory. We ascended a staircase. I was panting for breath but Little Alpha has mustered enough energy and maintained a steady pace. He no longer walked like a hungry, war weary kid. He made a right turn then went to room 303. He flung the door open.
“Alpha, what are you doing here?” one of the occupants quizzed with amazement.
“I brought my teacher to see you all.” Angee, one of Alpha’s aunt walked graciously from behind the silky curtains. She was startled but at the same time I recognized some lack of ease on her part. She fidgeted with the lapel of her neatly knitted blouse.
“Thank God that you all are alive. I have had little sleep over you especially after the killings at the Lutheran Church.,” I said nervously. Angee smiled with hectic brilliance. She was elegantly attired, a sharp contrast to the rest of Fendell that I have come to know since a night ago. From top to bottom she was clothed in Versace’s latest brand. Her lips were red like palm oil. Her eye brows were trimmed to thinness. Her sharply pointed nails were painted red, white, and blue. A strand of dark hair draped slightly over her egg shaped face. Angee’s beauty was unimaginable. To me the smiles and beauty seemed to betray the atmosphere at Fendell. She was more gorgeous than I have ever known her to be. Her breasts have grown larger thus their cleavage narrowed. For a moment the carnage was over me as fantasies took over my world.
“Annn….” I mumbled. She smiled piously, taking notice of my nervousness.
“God has being gracious to us.”Angee spoke quietly. Her gums were still dark and the dimples which have added to her Angelic looks became more elaborate.
“We got to start leaving before it gets dark and those folks set up more check points.” I said. Alpha disagreed and suggested that we stay a little longer.
“Meet my cousin,” Angee said shyly to a hugely built guy who had suddenly emerged from behind the curtains where Angee earlier came from. He stood with hands akimbo. We were covered in the thick smoke of his cigar. He wore a blue jean suit with a pair of black boots we used to call nimba kpehlay. He mounted two revolvers, one silver and the other black, around his waist
“You soljar?” he asked as he avoided my handshake.
“Yes and no, sir” I said solemnly. “Yes I am a soldier, a soldier of Christ…No, I am not a fighter.” I noticed that my response irritated him. He stopped grinding on the gum momentary. He removed the cigar from his mouth then laughed with scorn.
“You think that you alone know God, eh, you damn dog?”
“Co Konlunko, stop talking like that,” Angee interrupted.
“Shut lor, soljar talk for hisself.”Konlunko said, breathing heavily.
“You telling me to shut up, Konlunko?”
He dashed back behind the curtain. I heard the door slammed. “The next time I see him around here, I will zero him, p----y.” Tremors spun through my spine. I turned to Alpha and grabbed his hand.
“We got to go,” he did not suggest the contrary.
Angee offered to walk us down the stairway. We walked in silence down the stairways. Though we had many stories to tell, we avoided the war stories without the conscious desire to do so. I did not ask her about Konlunko. Actions sometimes are more lucid than words. We talked about God’s miracles and His redemptive power. Angee thought there was no genuine change unless it was crafted by God. I did not disagree. I wondered about what other force that was strong enough to override the power of love thus allowing people to harm their neighbors and others they claim to love. My partner, Alpha, had not let go of my hand since we left his aunts’. He watched me as he smiled piously.
Alpha, Angee, and I descended the stairs then threaded our way through the crowds. It was a tortuous one which led us at an exit other than the front one through which Alpha and I came. We turned left then walked few paces. There was a checkpoint in sight. Alpha whispered:” it was over there where they put gasoline on a man and a woman the other day and set them on fire. The man was crying and running amok as his skin dripped off his body until he collapsed and died. But for the woman she said nothing. She stood still even when she was torched. Even to the point that her body melted, she said nothing.”
“And how will you know all of this, Mr. Alpha? I asked, doubtful.
“I saw it with my two eye balls.” My eyes dilated. My heart was pounding the more. “Did you have to see all that?”
“I wish I had a choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“We were taken from our camps and made to watch it while we cheered. They said the man was working in the Doe’s government. His wife was Gio.” Alpha was quiet. “So it was like Gio killing Gio,” I said. Alpha laughed. There was a flare of sarcasm in his laughter.
“Mano killing Mano, countryman killing countryman!”
“That really suits the agenda of their exalted masters,” I said in my heart so Alpha did not have the chance to respond.
Angee confirmed Alpha’s story of the execution by fire and was about to tell me the story of the couple when we were suddenly told to stop.
“Advance to be recognized!” that was the instruction directed at us. We went toward the checkpoint.
“You, you going cook for the C.O. today,” one of the guards said to Angee. She swirled slightly.
“And you, you leaving right here,” the guard said as he pointed the nozzle of his gun to my forehead.
“You can ask the girl for her tribe first?” another stepped in.
“You girl you what tribe yah?” Angee was hesitant.
“That Congau girl,” I said thoughtlessly.
“Yeah, my name is Angee Dennis, I Conger….” I saw the guard arms slung in a moment. He was paralyzed.
“Eh you see now, that the Pappy sister,” the other said. Then it came my term:
“You, you what tribe?” the guard quizzed. “This is my sister.”
“I say, you what tribe, I not ask you for your sister.”
“I Cong…..” Wak….wak….there was a hail of punches descending on me. Jesus Christ! I screamed. “You black like this you say you Conger…, we will kill you, damn Krahn-Mandingo dog.” The guards did not allow me to end my statement. My intention was to say Congkru or CongoKru since being Grebo was an equivalent of being Krahn. But it was late. I was kicked and punched. One of them drew out his Ak-47, cracked it and instructed the others to stand aside so he could kill me. My partner Alpha was wailing with hysteria.
“Don’t kill him. He’s my father…please don’t kill him he’s my father….. Angee, inspired by her lineage mustered some bravado:
“If you want to kill him then you have to kill me also. That will leave Chuckie with no other choice but to kill you and your entire family.” I was stunned by Angee’s defiance and valor. Maybe you have forgotten what happened in Buchanna the other time.” Angee was referring to the story in which almost a battalion of the NPFL fighters were executed on the beach for killing a government official who was a Congau.
The guards were stunned. They were still like the stillness of a lake. Two of them came over to me, grabbed me at both shoulders then assisted me to my feet. They mopped my bloody nose and said that they were sorry.
One of them raced to a nearby warehouse and brought out a hundred pound sac of rice and three gallons of vegetable oil. He asked Angee to lead him where she was living so that he could take the items there. “You have to open this to give my brother some because we don’t live in the same place.” With solemn humility the guards undid the sac. I could hardly believe that those words from Angee could quickly turn a killing machine into somber servants. For the moment all the guards were serving us. The three of us shared the items into three equaled parts. Angee walked with us from the check point where I have escaped death for the second in a day’s running.
Before Angee could return to her abode she decided to tell me the story about the burnt couple Alpha had spoken about. Angee seemed concerned about the remarkable lesson of the story than the treacherous killing. She said the story went that the woman was a Gio who was married to this man of Krahn dissent. The couple was married long before the war. Both of them were working in the government of President Doe. Their love did not falter until tension began to develop between the Krahns and the Gios. It all started after a fight over a girl broke out between two friends. Somewhere down the line there was football in Tappita called the Mighty Flames. Two best friends were playing for the Flames. One of them was the goalie and the other was the captain of the team. He played the ten position. Grace was the head of the Flames cheer leading group. She was stunningly beautiful. The two coincidentally began to develop off the field affection for Grace. At the end it was apparent that the number 10 player got the upper hand. He was the team’s maestro thus his image soared like wild fire. So Grace was conquered. The goalie was not thrilled or the maestro felt that his team mate has grown envious of his accolades.
One day at the team’s practice pitch both were playing on the opposing sides. The goalie’s team was thrashing the maestro’s. tension began to mount which resulted into a fight between the team mates. What many have thought was an on field fight between two young men spread across Tappita. The fight took a disastrous turn when other saw it as an affront to their community. the . Then The called commanding general of the Armed Forces of Liberia was reassigned to the Executive Mansion to be one of the closest men to the President. The general did not like the idea. He said he wanted to remain as the commanding General of the Army. Though the commanding general was serving his country and helping to put food on his family table, his tribe took it as an affront to all of them. Tension grew between the neighboring tribes. The tension then crept into households.
was returned to where she stayed by one of the guards who promised that he would watch over Angee as long as he was based at Fendell.
Another guard offered to escort Alpha and I to our respective abodes. I was still not sure about the sudden kindness toward me.
The guard offered that we take the main route toward WAADA. By so doing we could avoid the many checkpoints which sprouted like mushrooms. As we merged onto the main street which linked Fendell to Monrovia, a large bus passed, heading in the direction of Kakata. A fellow standing under a booth said the bus was taking back Pappy and his people who have come to Fendell to encourage the boys. When he said the boys I thought he was referring to the fighters, Taylor’s foot soldiers. He stated some names which included a lady who later became a senator for Montserrado County and Liberia’s paradoxical Iron Lady. I did not have the time and the interest to verify his reports after all my utmost preoccupation was with the sac of rice that was pressing the guard’s left shoulder.
After we have walked few paces from the guy who had given the information, the guard asked me, “Do you know who was standing under there with the two body guards.” “No!” I said. He is the one we call ‘Bullet Patrol’. He kay for common.” We were silent for a while. “When he nat satisfy with you he kay you kpeke” the guard said making a gesture to his throat. We were quiet for a while.
“It will be good if you guys keep going. Fendell is not a good place; you can die anytime,” this was how the guard broke the silence. My heart pounded with heightened intensity. “How do we leave? I am told that there are many checkpoints along the highway and they said that is easier to be killed than scratching your hair,” I said. The guard laughed softly. For the second time I did not see his beastly nature. He was a human person. He dipped his hand into his pocket and took out a paper. “Fill this out with your family names then let one of the generals signs it.” I grabbed the sheet from his hand. It was a form for filling out names. At the bottom were two spots for signing and approving.
We returned Alpha to his mother with his share of the ‘gold dust.’ This was what rice has become. It might have even been fair if they have said ‘grains of diamond.’
The day wore away. Darkness fell. The night was long and seemed endless. ‘Time moves so slowly in worst times.’ A new day had dawned. But it seemed no different from the day before. In fact the days grew worse. A day at Fendell seemed like eternity. Conditions got worst by a minute. Death was having his will. Away from the rubber plantation, the execution guns crackled over and over dthey...dthey…dthey…kpak...kpak…kpaka…kpaka…The killing and pillaging did not stop.
Part III
We filled out the form in a hurry. I went to Alpha’s place to let him know that I was planning on leaving Fendell. The third grader was crestfallen. He burst up in a cry: “I want to go with you, I want to go with you teacher.” I told Alpha that his mother would be worried about him. At the same time I was not sure of my survival or my destination. “Mom, let me go with him. I want to go.” I looked at his mother quietly. She was sobbing. She wrapped her arms around her son and continued to sob the more. “Mom let me go with him,” Alpha was crying uncontrollably. I began to weep as well.
“Good bye, David, goodbye,” she said between sobs. I touched Alpha cheeks, told him that I love him, and then I thought of a poem that I wrote the night we arrived at Fendell. It was in the corner of my pocket. I raked it out.
“You should have this, Alpha.”
He grabbed it gingerly, said goodbye and walked away. As I walked away, I heard him cry the more. I left Alpha but my heart remained with him.
For the rest of the day, we searched for a general that could sign our pass. Prior to this there had been too many generals in the Taylor’s army. Now that we needed one, there was none at our disposal. It was a vain effort. The one we found wanted us to pay him a thousand dollars per person on the list. We were twenty some persons. We could not afford his fees not even one fifth of it so we offered to keep searching for a more considerate general. Finally I decided to forge the signatures of the generals. Our uncle who was traveling with us was terrified.
“If they find this out they will kill us all,” he said in a shaky voice.
“Unless we let them know that a general did not sign but one of us,” one of my brothers added. Finally I signed the pass. The first signature ended with Saye while the second, Wonpea.
The following day we started up on our journey deep into what was called Greater Liberia.
At the first checkpoint, our pass was overwhelmingly endorsed.
In the early part of September, we arrived in Yekepa where our eldest sister has lived since 1973 and served the school system, LIBTRACO, and LAMCO.
I later learned that what the senator had told me that Taylor was sending a pickup truck for him and his family was true. A pickup truck was sent. It was also true that Taylor had offered to help him. Yes he truly helped the Senator to die. As I learned he was dragged out of the truck and killed somewhere between Fendell and Caresburg. I also learned later that one of the university students who were discussing the politics and ethics of the war when Alpha was taking me to his aunts was murdered by one of the factions near 15 Gate.
For Alpha, for whom I shall commit a volume in time to come, I later learned that the Lord realized that the world was too chaotic and savage for him. He was a clean kid in a filthy world. So He took Him to be with Him. I am certain that I will one day see this unsung hero at the throne of Christ. May his soul rest in peace of perfection!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Teahjay and The Sinoe Legislators
The Noise to Nowhere: The Tragedy of Sinoe Politics
I have just learned that the people of Sinoe County are up in arms again. This time is about the appointment of Mr. Milton Teahjay as superintendent of the county. Or maybe it is fair to say that the legislators from Sinoe County are up in arms over the appointment since I have not heard that their constituencies are enraged about the Teahjay’s appointment. I am also not sure if the legislators have garnered some feedbacks from their constituents before going awry over the Teahjay’s appointment. In fact, the other day I was reading a piece from the Tarjuowon Association which applauded President Sirleaf about the preferment. So while the representatives of Sinoe County are enraged over Teahjay’s appointment another facet of the county is applauding the President over the same matter. So as I observe this entire episode as it unravels, I sit and ponder: really? And this is the ebb to which some us have descended our thoughts and energy? Do we have to bicker about nothing all the time? Do Sinoe people have to wrangle about everything? When will this county learn to move forward?
I still remembered maybe twenty years ago when Sinoe County was chosen to host the Birthday celebration of President Samuel Doe. A committee was constituted to plan the programs. Then the feud began over the chairmanship. The battle was raging between Oscar J. Quiah and the late Fred J. Blay. At last the President stepped in and canceled the entire thing. So Sinoe was finally left with nothing. There was no winner but inevitably bunches of losers.
The latest brouhaha like the Quiah-Blay fight is a fight over nothing again. It only demonstrates the shabbiness of Sinoe’s politics and the antagonism about nothing. It demonstrates a kind of ghetto mentality in which people who are denied the basics of life scramble for the crumbs that is dropped to them by humiliating themselves. It also portrays the conceited attitude of Sinoe politicians over the years: “when it is not me it will never be you; over my dead body.”
Another thing to draw from the Teahjay’s ruckus is that some people from Sinoe are right where Ellen Johnson wants them to be: the battle or celebration field. She wants to be seen as the goddess. She is aware that Sinoe people will have mixed reactions about Teahjay or anyone whose background they know, for better or for worse. They will launch a big fight. Finally she will step in as the peace maker, the lover all, and the blazer of the trail. She will then appoint her own and the dust will descend. So all of these reactions are ultimately playing in Ellen’s playbook, the divide and rule game mastered from the ‘pioneers’ playbook. And by the time we come to fathom the hard truth, it will be too late. We will by then destroy ourselves.
By the way was it not Senator Joseph Nagbae of Sinoe County who appealed the initial motion that rejected Willie Knuckles by the Liberian Senate as Presidential Affairs Minister? Why did he, Nagbae, think Knuckles was best suited for the job? Now it is Teahjay as superintendent, Nagbae is up in arms. Such is the tragedy of the common. And to put locally, such is the ‘crab mentality.’
The most polite thing that the Sinoe Legislators could have done was to remain neutral about the appointment and let Teahjay’s confirmation hearing proceed. After all they are not different from Teahjay. By them being the representatives of the county does not in any way make them more Sinoe than the rest of us. In the same way they need employment to survive the global hardship so does Milton Teahjay. He needs a job and he is offered one. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt to see what he can deliver for the people of Sinoe?
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