Читать книгу The Bulk Challenge Experience - I. Ezax Smith - Страница 9

We headed away from the sounds of the bullets toward the ELWA intersection often referred to simply as the “Junction.” ELWA - Eternal Love Winning Africa - had long become a community, from which an interdenominational Christian group had established a strong media presence, airing news and religious teachings. The idea of running under bullets time after time was becoming increasingly frustrating. As we approached the “Junction” we observed a much larger crowd heading Northeast toward the Red Light area. It was apparent we could not go West toward the city, so we just kept going with the crowd. The mass movement was a result of fear—fear of being caught between warring forces; fear of becoming casualties, as it often was the fate of the civilian population when fighting erupted in an area.

Experiences showed that it was not wise to remain in any area when fighting forces met, except you were a military person and had weapons for self-protection. It was still not safe to have your family and little children in those situations, even if you were a military person. And so, at the sound of excessive shootouts—no ordinary shooting—it made good sense to get away before it was too late. The word on the street was that it was Government forces—the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) — advancing from town in an attempt to stop the rebel forces from reaching the city center. This news was confusing to many of us, more so because no one could understand who AFL were referring to as “rebels” when in fact, all of the factional rebel forces were represented in government and within the city. But as with any rebel war, there is no time for reasoning; whatever the AFL meant was good enough for us to get away from the center of any gunfight.

Two hours on the journey and after several miles of walking, we encountered a friend of ours— Cedrick Reeves—with his family. The Reeves had also vacated their home and were looking for safety. It was a joy to see Cedrick. It had been a while since we met. We had known one another since high school, in the early 1980s. Our acquaintance was strengthened when we found ourselves part of the same church. Both of us loved to sing and were members of the church’s Junior Choir. Cedrick was a lead vocalist and sang first tenor. As for me, I sang second tenor and later bass. We grew up as young adults in the church, learning and participating in numerous church and church-related activities. Over time, we related to each other more like brothers than mere friends. Cedrick’s wife Nora was also a member of the choir, just as my wife was. We were just one big family!

Occasionally during the war, we would meet and share our experiences and challenges. Interestingly, we kept jobs—whatever there was—and we were thankful that God continued to sustain us. Sometimes we filled each other’s needs, such as food, money and basic necessities. On this day of seeking a place of safety, we walked and talked about our disappointments and the disruptions and the constant uprooting that the war was causing families; the unbearable mental and physical strain and stress that it brought on us.

We reflected on how it was easier to get around by oneself, but how extremely difficult it was when one had to look out for the welfare and safety of others. So was the situation with family men like Cedrick and myself and many others like us. Within the war, we fought a different kind of fight. Ours was not the bullets and gun types, but the type that challenged us to fetch for food, ensure protection of family from heartless men and women, and secure a safe place when night finally came and the family could rest from hurdles of the day.

As we continued the journey that day, Nora, Cedrick’s wife, informed us that she had a sister or cousin who lived near the Freeport. However, she was not sure whether the person was home or had traveled. They would stop by anyway, once they got to the Freeport. Nora asked if we would like to join them. Of course, you know what my answer was: a resounding “YES.” I said it so fast, we all laughed about it; but the truth was, I wanted to be the first to say “yes” before someone walking behind or beside us answered – thinking he/she was being spoken to. Funny enough, no one else was traveling that close to us. Anxiety has a way of creating needless suspicion. Anyway, hearing and feeling the eagerness in my voice, Nora couldn’t help laughing: “You are so crazy!” she said and we laughed the thought away.

Those who know me well, know that I can be very humorous sometimes. I make little jokes here and there regardless of the situation. It worked for me; it takes away some of the stress, ease the tension and keeps me going to the next mile. We started singing some choruses along the way; it seemed to have shortened the distance. A good song in trouble times can sure make a difference in how you receive and deal with the circumstance—particularly, when you internalize the message or words of the song in relation to your current situation. Think about such songs like “You are God/ You never change. / We bow to you, / We exalt your name”, or “Jesus Never Fail Me Yet”, or “God Has an Army Marching through the Land”, or “In Moments like These”, or “I Know the Lord Will Make a Way for Me.” As you can see, these songs bear so much promise and inspiration that just believing them as you sing can help strengthen your psyche. True gospel singing is preaching through music. It is a powerful way of reawakening your spirit and inspiring a zeal that increases your faith. And that was exactly what these choruses did to us. It calmed our fears and increased our faith in knowing that we would make it through and that God was walking with us.

For most of us who grew up in the church, and particularly in the choir, music has always been a source of comfort and relief in our down moments. When you feel all alone and weary; when you think your world is falling in on you; when friends, families and foes forsake you; and you have no one to turn to, just begin to sing and meditate on the words of a song—a gospel song or hymn. Soon, you will begin to see the problem from a whole different perspective. So, my family and Cedrick Reeves’ family walked and sang and laughed and talked, and looked out for the kids, as we journeyed on.

By the time of the April 6th outbreak of hostilities, it had been almost seven years since the war began and still there seemed to be no resolution in sight. Peace accords and attempts by the international community and other mediation groups to resolve the conflict had failed time after time. From the outset of the conflict, the African sub regional body, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), undertook several initiatives to bring about a peaceful settlement. Its efforts were supported by the United Nations. The efforts included establishing, in 1990, an ECOWAS observer force, the Economic Community Military Observer Group (ECOMOG). Ceasefires after ceasefires were broken over the years.

In 1992, a Special Representative was appointed by the Secretary General of the United Nations to assist in talks between ECOWAS and the warring factions. By 1996, about ten peace agreements or accords had been signed and broken by parties to the conflict: The Banjul III Agreement, October 24, 1990; the Bamako Ceasefire Agreement, November, 1990; the Banjul IV Agreement, December, 1990; the Lomé Agreement, February, 1991; the Yamoussoukro IV Peace Agreement, October, 1991; and the Geneva Agreement, April, 1992¹. The Cotonou Accord was brokered in 1993 by ECOWAS in Cotonou, Benin. Soon after, the United Nations Security Council established the United National Observer Mission in Liberia (UNIMIL), to support ECOMOG in implementing the Cotonou Peace Agreement, particularly, as regards compliance by all parties². UNIMIL was the first United Nations peacekeeping mission undertaken in cooperation with the West African peacekeeping initiative. And yet, by May 1994, renewed fighting broke out, rendering the Cotonuo Agreement another failure.

By this same time, the United Liberation Movement of Liberia for Democracy (ULIMO) had disintegrated into two militia groups: ULIMO-J, a Krahn faction led by Roosevelt Johnson and ULIMO-K, a Mandingo faction under Alhaji G.V. Kromah. With the emergence of new factions, the security situation in Liberia became more and more volatile.

There were now approximately seven factional groups including the Armed Forces of Liberia, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), the Independent National Patriotic Front of Liberia (INPFL), ULIMO-J, ULIMO-K, the Liberia Peace Council (LPC) and the Lofa Defense Force (LDF). Apparently, everybody was fighting everybody. This became the crux of the fear: everyone was perceived as an enemy by the numerous fighting forces. If you fled from fighting into an area, you were still not safe because you would seem strange to someone, and because of the self-evident fear and uncertainty, you could be killed without questions, on grounds that you were an enemy. No wonder Liberians evacuated into exile in mass numbers. Indeed, no one was safe anymore in a land once known as one of the safest, more peaceful and hospitable places in Africa. Liberia was now a “dog-eat-dog” land, where, as Liberians often say, “everybody for himself, and God for all.” To live and survive under these circumstances had to be by the protection of a higher being, and for some of us, that being was God. He shields his own and provides passage for them even in the midst of the most dangerous situations. It had to be God.

By September 1994, factional leaders agreed to another ceasefire in Ghana. That agreement became known as to the Akosombo Peace Accord³, which was intended obviously to stop the fighting and encourage the establishing of a democratically elected government. But that agreement yielded little effect. The warring factions continued to fight, demonstrating unwillingness to honor the agreement. There were occasional and sometimes extended shoot-outs among the various groups. Ceasefire was just a word not put into action. Pockets of shootings and fights continued until December 1994, when factions and parties signed what came to be known as the Akosombo Clarification. Notwithstanding the clarification, fighting continued.

There seemed to be a purpose far greater than the claim of factional leaders: to rescue the Liberian people. Each agreement seemed to have all the ingredients for peace, yet factional leaders reneged on every commitment to resolve the conflict. Each time, these factional leaders trumped up reasons, claiming that the agreements did not go far enough to ensure the interest and benefit of the Liberian people. However, critics began to see that the motives of these factional leaders were more personal and deeply rooted in greed for power and money. This glaring evidence of selfishness created skepticism in the minds of many as to whether there was any intention for peace on the part of any of the leaders. Unfortunately, in such matters of uncompromising greed of fighting forces, it is the common people who become the ultimate victims.

So, when on August 19, 1995 it was announced that the warlords had agreed to another accord called the Abuja Peace Accord⁴, the confidence of ordinary people in warring factions had worn thin. There was little hope that it would last, and justly so! Regardless of the Abuja Accord, fighting broke out again in April 1996. Once again, the fear of death was in the air, and here we were, in the streets—Cedrick, I, our families and untold number of other families—headed to nowhere.

Cedrick’s family and mine made several stops along the way, meanly because of the children who were tired, wanted to rest, drink or ease themselves. At one of our stops at the back of the Paynesville Town Hall, one of the children inquired about where we would spend the night. There was sporadic shooting everywhere and we couldn’t continue for a moment. Vehicles were zooming by in speeds as if in a race; they were avoiding the main roadway. The occupants of some of the vehicles, we observed, were relatives of officials of the government--particularly, from the NPFL group. There was no mistaking they themselves were trying to get away. This rush suggested the level of the seriousness of the situation. Because these relatives were close to those in power, it was assumed that they knew something that we did not know—perhaps, how serious this fight was getting, or how uncontrollable it could get.

With such scenes playing out, we, the ordinary “get-aways” became even more frightened. We had seen many people die before our very eyes, shot in front of us, or gutted out as we walked by—so much so that dying was not dreaded but expected any day. Such was our predicament, the frustration of constantly being in harm’s way, that at some point during the journey I decided we would head to the Freeport of Monrovia to check on the possibility of any passenger ship or boat that was preparing to evacuate residents out of the country. Cedrick had the same thought and so we planned to support one another during these times.

As a matter of fact, hundreds of people were headed to the Freeport. Apart from it being an outlet, it was perhaps one of the safest places in the city because it was the official base of ECOMOG contingents. People felt safer with the peacekeepers than with any of the warring factions. Experience had indeed taught Liberians a great and valuable lesson about trust, distrust and personal security—understandably so. Indeed, throughout the country, unarmed civilians—the ones for whom every faction claimed to have been fighting to liberate—remained ceaseless victims of heinous atrocities, at the hands of warring faction “liberators.” Notable among these atrocities was the massacre in the St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in Sinkor, Monrovia. That massacre occurred in July 1990 during the early days of the crisis. It is said to have been one of the most brutal of crimes against humanity, when soldiers of the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL) entered the church and murdered 600 innocent civilians, including women and children, who fled their homes and sought refuge in the church. Over 150 more were wounded. Most of the victims were of the Gio and Minor tribes.

I can still recall vividly the night of the massacre. I had just left my church—the S. Trowen Nagbe United Methodist Church which is situated almost directly opposite the Lutheran Church. My church, like many churches at the time, was housing internally displaced people. As a church staff person on the relief committee, I had slept two nights at the church, sorting out food and other items for distribution to the people. This night, I had retired to spend some time with my family, just four blocks from the Methodist Church. During the shooting that lasted most of the night and into the early morning, we thought the rebels had entered the city and were exchanging fire with the government soldiers. It was not until the next morning that we learned otherwise.

I was among the first group of people to visit the scene of the massacre. Bodies littered the yard, the main streets and alleys. There was a baby on the back of his mother; he was still alive and crying, but the mother was dead. We were forbidden by solders from getting the baby or to even enter the church yard. The child was later taken by a woman in the community to care for him as her own. The bodies in the churchyard and in the streets around the church were buried, but the hundreds within the church remained unburied for many months.

Today, there are two mass graves in the church compound. Many believed that this grotesque violence by the AFL was ostensibly meant as reprisal against the people of Nimba County who comprised a larger percentage of the rebel faction of the NPFL at the time, and from whose region the war was begun. Others believed it was meant to discourage recruitment to the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL).

Another massacre of equal magnitude and heinousness occurred on June 6, 1993. The NPFL, it was believed, hacked several hundred men, women and children to death. That massacre became known as the Carter Camp Massacre. Carter Camp is a settlement on the Firestone Rubber Plantation. Initially, it had been rumored that the Armed Forces of Liberia, under the command of the then Commander-in-Chief Dr. Amos C. Sawyer, president of the Interim Government of National Unity, was the culprit for the Carter Camp atrocities because goods looted from the dead were found dumped around AFL positions in the Firestone area⁵. Later, through unsolicited confessions of many NPFL fighters, the genuine truth emerged.

Truth may be hindered, but as sure as the sun that rises in the east, it will come out bright and hot. Although a United Nations investigation team concluded in a report that the AFL committed the act and the team cited substantial evidence supporting its findings, the Interim Government and the AFL disputed the U.N. team’s report, insisting on NPFL culpability. Survivors of the massacre named some key and well known AFL soldiers who, it was said, led their men to carry out this gruesome act. There are claims that the massacre was arranged by the NPFL in order to discredit the efforts of ECOMOG. The victims were buried in mass graves on the outskirts of the camp.

The Cow Field Massacre on Duport Road, a suburb of Paynesville, was another act of violence against innocent civilians. Another reason why people feared being in an area with any fighting group. About 48 people (all civilians) were massacred and burnt whilst they were asleep at their homes at Cow Field⁶. The perpetrators of this massacre remained unidentified, although survivors and residents of the area have pointed fingers at Taylor’s NPFL. The victims were buried in the Palm Grove Cemetery on Center Street, in central Monrovia. The massacre was reported by the News Newspaper on December 19, 1994. Nearly every region of the country had its share of atrocities—from Grand Kru to Grand Bassa, from Nimba to Lofa, from Sinoe to Bomi and Cape Mount! No wonder why people preferred to be within the area of the African regional peace keepers than in a community with any warring faction.

So, for my family and Cedrick’s, the plan was set: Freeport was the destination and leaving the country, our ultimate goal. By now, on this April day of 1996, it was dusk, and walking the streets after daylight was risky for anyone who was not an armed personnel. We were not willing to take this risk; not with our families.

Darkness was quietly settling upon us while we were yet a long way from the port. Our hearts sank as we realized that we would still be outside of the Freeport gate after sundown. Of course, it would be suicidal to walk the streets after dark. There were no street lights. But, as always, we remembered that the Lord provided our needs; and what we needed was a place to spend the night. We had now reached the area where Nora’s sister lived. Although Nora had neither seen nor heard from her in a while, we decided to give it a try and go to the house. One of two things was certain to happen: 1) if Nora’s sister was home, that would be wonderful; (2) if Nora’s sister was absent, some family member or someone would be there who knew Nora as the sister, and would let us in. This is one of the best things that came out of the war; relatives and friends were always welcoming of others, willing to host them for a night or two or for however long they could. Most people, particularly, civilians, wanted to be helpful because none could ever tell when things would turn around and reciprocal help could be sought—a clear evidence of the old saying, “one good turn deserves another.” Every act of kindness was a seed sown to be reaped in time to come. In some instances, though, precaution was taken not to let the wrong people into the home and fall into a serious problem. By wrong people, it could be members of an opposing faction fleeing and unsuspectingly coming to seek rescue. If such people were taken in and identified by another faction in the area, the receiving family could be entirely wiped out. It was therefore important that people knew whom they allowed into their homes.

We walked across the street on a single walking pathway to Nora’s sister’s place. The house was located about a quarter of a mile from the main street, in an area called Topo Village, which is a low land area usually flooded during the raining season. There were large puddles of water everywhere. Some neighbors peeped at us through their windows and doors to see who the new comers into their community were. This curiosity at the time was rooted in two factors. First: the fear that the new comers could be fighters of other factions, infiltrating on reconnaissance into the area and posing as civilians, only to bring in their forces to later carry out atrocities. These kinds of suspects were called “co-nnapers”—a local corruption of “connivers”—people conniving with rival factions. Second: the new comers could be people pursued by another armed group, thereby posing danger to the lives of other people living in the area. In a situation like that, it would be difficult to identify the ones being pursued from the people already living in the community; and anyone could become a culprit and be victimized. Such misadventures had happened before, and it was common in many communities. Strangers moved into an area; they were welcomed by residents, only to realize they were fighters awaiting signals to turn on the very people who had welcomed them. At other times, a fighting group would pursue a group of people and end up hurting other people within the communities to which the fleeing people had come. Such acts were perpetuated easily because it is difficult to differentiate one Liberian from another. We all basically look alike; there are no distinguishing marks that make one a ‘fighter,’ and the next even a ‘pastor.’ Any action against a group of people at any time invariably affected the good as well as the bad; in most instances, the innocent people suffered the most. Thus, the casualty of the civil war against civilians was so very high.

Whatever it was, the inquisitiveness of neighbors as we entered the community was understandable. We spoke politely as we passed by, and being friendly apparently eased their apprehension. In some spots, in the wet community, we had to walk on pieces of broken blocks to avoid stepping in the dirty water. We finally arrived at the house. Nora’s sister, Theresa, was clearing some things from her porch and preparing to go inside. Interestingly, Theresa and I had been classmates in high school, but I did not know she was related to Nora. In fact, I knew both of them at two different times and never during these later years of knowing Nora, did I get to encounter Theresa. Nonetheless, we were both delighted to see each other. It was about 7:05pm and it had been 9 hours since we began the journey. The children were all exhausted, needing shower and bed. They were sweaty and sticky from the long walk in the burning sun. Theresa was more than welcoming to us. To our advantage, some earlier guests in her home had left for the Freeport a couple of days earlier, and so there were rooms to host our little group. We were 11 in all: 5 from the Reeves and 6 from my family. We were settled in two rooms for the night. Our wives jumped straight into preparing something to eat. At last, it was worth the journey; we had a place to lay our heads and rest. We were thankful to God for protecting us up to the moment, and to our host for providing a place. After showering and having something to eat, we prayed and went to bed.