Atrocities, Diamonds and Diplomacy

by Peter Penfold

  Other RUF members, like Fayia Musa and the Deen-Jallohs, who had been involved in the Abidjan negotiations and had been appointed by Sankoh as members of the CCP, became disillusioned with Sankoh’s attitude. In April they announced that they no longer accepted Sankoh as leader of the RUF. One of the young RUF commanders, Philip Palmer, was appointed acting leader in his place. Through Desmond Luke I met the group, who announced their intention of implementing the Abidjan Accord. I felt a degree of optimism.

  In the meantime, Sankoh had flown to Nigeria from Abidjan, where he had been living in comfortable exile, to conclude an arms deal. On arrival at Lagos airport he was arrested by a vigilant Nigerian customs officer for carrying a gun and ammunition. With the agreement of President Kabbah, the Nigerian authorities detained Sankoh, who was ensconced under guard in a luxury villa.

  With Sankoh out of the way, Palmer and some of his group went into the bush to meet the notorious RUF commander, Colonel Sam Bockarie, alias ‘Mosquito’, at the RUF camp near Kailahun on the Liberian border. The group were immediately taken hostage and reportedly tortured. Nothing more was ever heard of them. My optimism began to evaporate.

  As well as the set-backs with the RUF, President Kabbah’s government was facing increasing problems with the army and the Kamajors. The latter were traditional hunters in the Mende southern area whose role was to defend the villages from intruders, be they animal or human. Much mystique surrounded the Kamajors. Initiated with special rites and armed by magic charms, these fearsome looking warriors were reputedly immune from bullets, as long as they did not go with women or eat bananas. Fred Marafono and Executive Outcomes had organized a training programme for the Kamajors in collaboration with one of the local regent chiefs, Sam Hinga Norman. As a result, the Kamajors had often proved a match for the RUF rebels when the latter had attacked their villages.

  Several reports of clashes between the Sierra Leone army and the Kamajors were received. Part of the problem stemmed from the fact that President Kabbah had appointed Sam Norman as the minister responsible for the army. Norman was a suitable choice. As a retired captain in the army, he had received some training in the UK. However, the army claimed that Norman was favouring the Kamajors over the army in terms of the provision of military equipment and food supplies.

  Years of military rule under the NPRC government had led to a feather-bedded army. By relative standards to the civilian population, a soldier did very well. The military budget was crippling the economy. Kabbah inherited a situation whereby the military were taking sixty per cent of the entire government revenue. It was customary that the army, as well as being paid wages, received a rice ration. The officers received substantial amounts of rice, which they sold to supplement their wages. They, in effect, became rice traders. The ordinary soldiers did less well but they supplemented their income by using their guns to steal from the civil population. They were soldiers by day and rebels by night and thus became known as ‘sobels’.

  That there was corruption in the army was indisputable but the extent of the corruption began to be revealed as we attempted to introduce our military training programme. The plan was to train two full battalions, i.e. 1,200 men, in two phases. This was to be done with an American training team who had arrived in the country. The Americans would train the rank and file with basic training, while our two-man team, led by Lincoln Jopp, assisted by Sierra Leone instructors, would train the officers – on a ludicrously meagre budget of £140,000 from the Foreign Office.

  Despite the months of preparation, just days before the programme was to commence, the Chief of the Defence Staff (CDS), Brigadier Hassan Conteh, told Lincoln Jopp that he could not provide the necessary 600 men for the training. I went to see Conteh to ask why. He said it was because of the security situation in the country. According to my information the RUF were confined to three small areas in the country and although they were carrying out ambushes on vehicles and the occasional hit-and-runs on villages, they were not posing as significant a threat as they had in the past. I expressed surprise, therefore, that the situation was so bad to tie up an army of 15,000 strong, the number for which the military drew wages and rice rations every month. Leaning back in his swivel chair in his grand office at the Cockerill Defence Headquarters, surrounded by radios and telephones, Conteh admitted that the figure of 15,000 was not accurate, that in terms of fighting troops there were only 6,000 in the Sierra Leone army.

  I sought a meeting with Sam Norman and reported on my conversation with his CDS. The Deputy Minister of Defence exploded, saying that he had been trying for months to find out the true number of military forces. He reported to the President and I was asked to attend a meeting at State House, together with Norman, Vice-President Joe Demby, Conteh and the Chief of Army Staff, Colonel Max Kanga. Conteh changed his tune and said it was not a question of numbers but that his men would require new boots and uniforms to take part in the training programme. However, he promised he would find 300 men to start the training.

  As a result of the revelations about the army figures, Conteh was told that the rice ration for the army would have to be cut. Rice was the staple food of the people. A Sierra Leonean measured his lifestyle by the price and availability of rice. For the average Sierra Leonean rice was scarce and expensive. Under the corrupt army system, the more senior the officer, the more bags of rice he would receive. A colonel, for example, received thirty-three bags of rice per month, while an ordinary soldier received just one. However, Conteh determined that if there were going to be cuts, it would not be the senior officers who would suffer. He announced that the rice ration for the lower ranks would be reduced. This fuelled much resentment within the army.

  These were all worrying signs. The UN Special Envoy, Berhanu Dinka, the US Ambassador, John Hirsch, and I spent a Saturday morning on the veranda of President Kabbah’s private home on Juba Hill, impressing upon him the need to address the problems of the army, particularly its antagonism towards Hinga Norman. We passed on rumours that a coup was being planned. The President said that he was aware of the rumours. He would arrange meetings with the army, but there was no urgency.

  A week later, on Sunday, 25 May as the dawn broke over Freetown, we awoke to gunshots around the city.

  Chapter Two

  Coup and Evacuation

  The rainy season in Sierra Leone starts in May and lasts seven months. The hills surrounding Freetown trap the rain clouds, making Freetown the wettest city along the West African coast. However, Sunday, 25 May started with the sun shining – the start of ten very eventful days.

  Sunday, 25 May 1997

  I usually preferred not to sleep with the air-conditioner going and I awoke around seven o’clock to the distant sound of intermittent gunfire. Still in my dressing gown, I went out to the main gate to check what was going on. The guards at the gate said that they had been hearing the sound of AK47s and mortars firing since about six o’clock. It was not clear exactly from where it was coming.

  I went back into the house and telephoned Colin Glass. I spoke to his son, Andrew; his dad was still sleeping. Colin had not heard the shooting over the noise of his air-conditioning. At first he was inclined to think that our local guards were exaggerating and said, ‘I bet they’ve been drinking again on duty.’ I rang Hassan Kamara, our local information officer, who lived close to State House, downtown. He reported shooting in his vicinity but did not know what was going on. I then took a call from Zainab Bangura, who had also heard the shooting. She had spoken to the President, who was still in his house at Juba Hill. There were reports that the prison had been broken into and all the prisoners had been released. I rang Colin back and told him to meet me in the office.

  I drove down the hill to the office, going past the Wilberforce Barracks, headquarters of the 1st Battalion of the Sierra Leone army. They appeared deserted. A military Land Rover was skewed across the side of the road, abandoned. People were standing around looking apprehensive.

  In the office I tu
rned on the local radio and at five minutes to nine, a Corporal Gborie announced that there has been a coup. Barely capable of stringing more than two sentences together, he said that it was purely an internal affair and advised all foreign troops to stay out of it. He ordered all Sierra Leone troops to report to the Cockerill Defence Headquarters. The announcement sparked off another bout of shooting all around the city.

  I told Colin to bring all the staff and their families into the office. I telephoned the Resident Clerk in the Foreign Office in London to brief him and followed this up with a reporting telegram. I also spoke to Lincoln Jopp, who was staying at the Cape Sierra Hotel, and to Joe Docherty, the British Council representative, at his home.

  The heavy firing continued and we started to receive reports from members of the British and diplomatic communities of wide-scale looting by armed soldiers all around the town. Our friend Corporal Gborie came back on the radio to say that the President had left the country. He appealed to the Nigerians to release Foday Sankoh, to allow him to return and help form the new government. A similar appeal was made to SAJ Musa, a leading member of the former NPRC government, who was currently studying at Warwick University in the UK. All senior army officers were advised to report to State House, which Gborie claimed he and his fellow soldiers now controlled. So I telephoned State House, but there was no reply.

  In the first few hours of any coup it was always difficult to find out precisely what was going on, to sort out fact from rumour, but slowly a picture began to emerge of what had happened. A group of seventeen soldiers had broken into an ordinance depot in the early hours and stolen some weapons. They had also got hold of some red T-shirts, which became their unofficial uniform. They attacked the Pademba Road prison in the middle of town and released all the prisoners, including sixty-five fellow soldiers, among whom was a Major Johnny Paul Koroma, a 37-year-old army officer who had previously been convicted on treason charges but whose life had been spared by President Kabbah. From there a group went and shot at the Nigerian soldiers around State House and another group took over the Sierra Leone Broadcasting Service radio station. No officers were involved in the original group. One of the main motives appeared to be to express dissatisfaction with the senior officers over the proposed measures to cut the rice ration. Whether the soldiers thought that the President was actually living in State House was not clear but at the first sign of the shooting, the Nigerian troops guarding President Kabbah at his private home at Juba Hill decided to whisk him away by helicopter.

  Many argued subsequently that President Kabbah should have stayed, if not in Freetown, at least in the country. For example, he could have flown to Lungi Airport, under the control of the Nigerian troops, or to Bo or Kenema. But at around 8.00 am, the Nigerians flew him to Conakry, where he took refuge with President Conte. Before being bundled out of his house, Kabbah had made some vain attempts to contact Hassan Conteh, the Chief of the Defence Staff, and Max Kanga, the Chief of the Army Staff, but they had both gone to ground. He tried to record a message to the people, which he could leave with supporters to play over a radio station, assuring them that he was safe and well and that the situation would be brought under control, but he had no batteries for his tape recorder – WAWA.

  There was total mayhem. The shooting and looting continued all day, including at the homes of the Standard Chartered Bank manager, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) representative and the High Commission doctor. There were reports that at least two members of the large Lebanese community had been killed and the wife of the Sabena (the then national airline of Belgium) representative had been raped. Many buildings had been set on fire, including the Treasury Building. Several of the soldiers who had been released from the prison were on embezzlement charges. By burning down the Ministry of Finance they had thought that they would be destroying all the evidence against them. This ploy backfired when a few days later, the end of the month came around and there were no records to pay the army. The IMF representative’s house was looted several times because the army held the IMF responsible for advising the government to cut the wages bill and rice rations. After the sixth attack the poor chap walked away from his house, leading his traumatized family and clutching only the Koran in his hand.

  But it was not just the diplomatic corps or the rich expatriates among the Lebanese and Indian business communities who suffered from the looting. As more and more soldiers joined in, they went berserk, looting and terrorising everyone. Even the poorest of the Sierra Leoneans suffered at the hands of the looters. Nobody was spared. By late afternoon a Captain Thomas came on the radio. He declared a dusk to dawn curfew and announced that all land, sea and air borders were closed. He appealed to the international community to show restraint – the designated head of state would brief them in due course. Captain Thomas sounded more authoritative than Corporal Gborie. At least he could read a statement, but the continued shooting did nothing to ease our concerns.

  At 9.45 pm, Major Johnny Paul Koroma came on the radio. He introduced himself as the Head of State and Chairman of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council. The soldiers had used the acronym ‘AFRC’ out of respect for President Jerry Rawlings, who, after he had come to power in a military coup in Ghana, had established the AFRC government there. Rawlings was the first neighbouring head of state with whom the rebel soldiers tried to make contact. Speaking in a brisk military tone, Koroma outlined the reasons for overthrowing the government and called again for the release of Sankoh, who was designated AFRC Vice-Chairman. He concluded his broadcast with the message, ‘The struggle continues. I thank you all.’

  In the office we had been busy all day taking calls, receiving visitors and reporting to London. All members of the British community were advised to stay in their homes, keep their heads down and not to venture out. Some of the community did make their way to the office compound and we took them in, but we reluctantly turned away several Sierra Leoneans who also sought sanctuary. I feared that their presence on the compound might endanger the lives of those for whom we were responsible and I did not want to give the soldiers any excuse for breaking into the compound.

  As darkness fell we began to settle down for the long night ahead. I had instinctively drawn upon my experiences in dealing with the coups in Uganda in the mid 1980s. We made sure that all our vehicles were out of sight from the road. It was usually the sight of vehicles that first attracted the attention of would-be looters. Our local guards were at the gate but they were not armed and we could not expect them to risk their lives when confronted by armed unruly soldiers – although this was precisely what they bravely did on several occasions.

  In Uganda I had learned the importance of getting all the staff and their families under one roof, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Even though most of the staff lived in houses on the compound, I still insisted that everyone moved into the office as we could not be sure that under the cover of darkness looters might not try to climb over the fence and break into the houses. We had young children with us. There were Colin’s two children, Andrew and Rachel, and Ann Stephen had her 18-month-old son, Andrew. In all, we numbered around sixteen. Everyone bedded down in various offices. We had one shower in the building, normally used by the drivers and gardeners, and one small kitchen. But on that first night there was little thought of eating, washing or sleeping. We just wanted to survive.

  Monday

  The night passed quickly. There was some spasmodic shooting but a very heavy rainstorm dampened the enthusiasm of the soldiers for looting. I rang the resident clerk and tuned into the BBC World Service news. The coup in Sierra Leone was the lead item. Journalists telephoned from Britain and elsewhere. In an interview with Radio Scotland I emphasized the role of Colin, the Scottish Deputy High Commissioner, and in the interview with Radio Wales I did likewise with Dai Harries, the Welsh management officer. We truly were a British High Commission!

  Internationally, the coup had been widely condemned. African leaders meeting in Harare had
called for the immediate restoration of President Kabbah’s government and General Sani Abacha, the Nigerian Head of State, had ordered the Nigerian vessel carrying a battalion of Nigerian troops to return to Freetown. There was also talk of Nigerian troops being flown into Lungi Airport.

  Lincoln Jopp arrived at around 7.30 am. He had driven up from the Cape Sierra Hotel and was able to give a first-hand account of the scene on the streets. He reported a few people out and about but very few vehicles and no taxis. There were several dead bodies lying around. He had passed only one military road block but had no difficulty getting through in his uniform.

  I spoke to the Nigerian High Commissioner, who was also Dean of the Diplomatic Corps, the UN Special Envoy and the US Charge d’Affaires, Ann Wright – John Hirsch, the Ambassador, was out of the country. At my suggestion we agreed to invite the members of the AFRC to a meeting. My residence was agreed by all parties as a neutral venue. Lincoln and I drove up to the residence to await their arrival.

  First to arrive were Johnny Paul Koroma and other members of the AFRC, including Gborie and Squadron Leader Victor King. King was the pilot of the one and only helicopter gunship, control of which was vital to the AFRC. Also among them was Captain Albert Johnny Moore, who only a few days previously had been assisting Lincoln with our military training programme. They swept into the driveway in an assortment of vehicles, wearing a motley collection of uniforms and brandishing a wide range of weapons – AK47s, RPGs, machine guns. They were very full of themselves. I greeted them and while we were waiting for the others to arrive, Koroma revealed that he had attended a military training course at Sandhurst, the British military training academy, in 1988/89. I didn’t know whether to take this as good news or bad.