by Anne Patrick
“How did all these building get damaged?” Celeste asked.
“Eighteen months ago, after the election, an armed campaign was launched by the RFAGC to overthrow the government. The Dewana army was able to push them back almost immediately, but many lives were lost in the process.”
“Is that how the war started?”
“No. The war began five years ago when RFAGC rebels, under the leadership of Akua Chidike, crossed the border from Liberia into the Southeastern part of the country, attacking and subsequently occupying the border towns, slowly gaining ground.”
“Some of the sources I’ve talked to say the initial invasion of Dewana was orchestrated by Chidike with the help of Liberia’s president, Jonathan Kanneh,” Gwen added.
“That’s right. Believed to be trained and funded by Liberia, the attack caught the national army unprepared and ill equipped. Within a few short months, the RFAGC controlled one fifth of the country in the Southeast region. Which by the way, is where some of the countries major resources are located, including diamond mines that has helped to fund the rebels throughout the civil war.”
“But isn’t Chidike in prison?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes,” Robbie said, “He was arrested last March on charges of arms trafficking during a visit to Nigeria, and now faces the death sentence for treason. In his absence, the leadership has been distributed to various ground commanders, which makes the situation even more dangerous. Peace talks between the government and some of those commanders are to begin next week.”
Gwen thought of her scheduled meeting with Michael’s source. If everything went according to plan, she would be interviewing one of those commanders in the days to come.
* * * * *
At the hospital, Gwen slipped on her backpack containing her equipment and then helped the others carry in boxes of toys and dental supplies. Unlike a lot of the buildings in the city, this one showed no signs of war—at least not on the outside.
In Afghanistan Gwen had seen firsthand, the scars of war. The mangled bodies ripped apart by shrapnel, bullet wounds the size of her fist. The victims here weren’t much different. The real toll of Dewana’s civil war didn’t hit her until they reached the children’s ward.
Angelic faces lit up as the group distributed the toys sent from back home, the stuffed animals and coloring books bringing a slice of happiness to victims with missing limbs and battered bodies.
Tears filled Gwen’s eyes as she filmed the sheer joy on the children’s faces as they received the toys and different colored toothbrushes and tubes of toothpaste. Most of the children had to be showed how to use the toothbrushes and it wasn’t long 'til Gwen was compelled to put the camera down and join in the fun.
As she sat on the bed of a little boy who looked to be about eight, she reached for the brush lying on his lap. “Like this, watch,” she said mimicking the ritual.
The little boy started to giggle, his dark brown eyes as large as nickels. He reached for the bright green toothbrush and gave it a try. The head of the brush ended up in his nose, causing him to giggle louder.
She took hold his tiny hand and went through the motions again.
“Gwen.”
She glanced up at Jack’s voice and found him filming her. She laughed and waved him away. Turning her attention back to the little boy, she found he had gotten the hang of it. “Good job,” she congratulated him and moved on to another little boy.
“You’re pretty good at this.” Tom, who disappeared shortly after playing Santa Claus, had returned and was now standing beside her.
“It’s amazing something as simple as a toothbrush could bring this much joy.”
“Yes it is. Hey, listen, the hospital staff has granted permission for you to interview a few of the children as long as you don’t upset them too much. What do you think?”
She glanced around the room. The little boy she had worked with a while ago had lost a foot to a rebel’s machete. This was why she had come to Dewana; to put faces with the stories that were coming out of the country.
“I’ll take over for you,” Jack offered, handing her the camera.
Gwen reluctantly took it and handed him the toothbrush she had been clutching in her hand. Tom led her to where one of the doctors was changing the bandages of a little girl. The doctor began talking to Tom in Mende, the dialect of many of the locals.
“This is Maika. She lost her hand last month when rebels came to her home in Sandea,” Tom translated. “She’s nine years old.”
Gwen sat on the bed next to the child and smiled at her. “Can you tell me what happened when the rebels came to your home?”
Clutching the ragdoll, they had given her she looked directly at the camera as Gwen began to film and Tom translated. “Two soldiers took me from my house and carried me outside into the street. One of them held me while the other one stretched my arm out over a tree trunk and chopped my hand off. I was crying so hard I couldn’t see what they were doing at first, but I felt it hurting and then I seen the blood rushing out of my arm. They left me lying on the ground and then went to the next house. Before they returned, my mother came out and took me inside our house and I never saw them again.”
The next child she was introduced to was named, Hakim. He was twelve. The camcorder shook in Gwen’s hands as she filmed the little boy’s testimony of what had taken place the day he lost his hand. “When we heard the rebels coming down the street my mother hid us under her bed. There was lots of gunfire and shouting and then banging. Then four men with guns came into our home. My sister began to cry and I put my hand over her mouth, but they heard her. One of them took my sister and two took me outside. I tried to fight them but they were too strong. After they chopped my hand off I went back to our house but my mother and sister were gone. I don’t know where they are now.”
Gwen interviewed three other children with similar stories before Tom announced it was time to leave. She gathered her things and quickly followed.
* * * * *
Before heading to the refugee camp, they stopped for a late lunch in a nearby outdoor market. Gwen, figuring it to be a good chance to get some pictures, grabbed her 35mm out of her backpack and, while the others were feasting on fresh fruit and vegetables, she began to take snapshots of the people bargaining with the vendors.
Long tables stretched along both sides of the street, piled upon them was everything from pots and pans to sacks of sugar and flour.
She had just gotten a shot of a woman dressed in a hijab toting a baby when Jack joined her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m fine.” Truth was she had no appetite.
Jack leaned against a weathered cement wall, watching as she worked. “No child should have to suffer the deliberate pain and suffering we witnessed in that hospital.”
Gwen didn’t comment. She had mixed emotions about the morning’s events. She had felt a deep sense of accomplishment in the joy she saw in the children’s faces, but her heart ached at hearing what they had been through. Stories much like the ones that had taken place in Kirabo.
Gwen took a picture of two boys batting a soccer ball back and forth between them. Bright smiles flashed across their face as they saw her so she snapped another shot.
“With all the assignments you’ve taken on in war-torn countries, I suspect you’re used to it.”
She lowered her camera and looked at him. “The day I stop letting a scene like today bother me, is the day I tear up my press credentials.”
“Good answer.” He smiled. “Honest, yet guarded.”
She smiled back. “Are you fishing to see if I’m as hard-boiled as your PI said I was?”
“I got my answer to that watching you back at the hospital.”
Gwen had been watching him too. Not only did he have a generous heart, he was great with kids. Why couldn’t she have met someone like him before Michael came into her life? At least she had finally wised up as to the type of man he was before making a really horrible mistake, like
marrying the guy.
“Okay, now it’s my turn.” She pressed her back against the wall next to him. “Why would a man with enough money to travel anywhere in the world choose to come here?”
“I first came to Dewana for the beaches.”
Gwen laughed.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“Not for a second.”
He folded his arms and looked out into the crowd. After a brief silence, he turned back, his smile fading. “Can I ask who you’re meeting with this afternoon?”
Though tempted to lie, she didn’t. “I’m meeting with another journalist. Michael set it up. He’s supposed to help arrange an interview with a member of the RFAGC?”
“Do you mind if I tag along? I’ll buy you dinner afterwards.”
Gwen mulled over his offer. Was the dinner invitation only an incentive to persuade her to let him tag along? She flirted with the idea there was more to his interest than just her safety. A girl could do a lot worse. “Sure, why not.”
* * * * *
Gwen had seen refugee camps before when in Sudan and Liberia, but this one was different. She had never seen so many children carrying the scars of war. Girls and boys ranging from two years and up with missing limbs, gouged out eyes, and missing ears were scattered throughout the camp of makeshift tents and shanties. What amazed her most were the smiles she saw on many of their faces. Contented in their situation, they were just happy to be alive.
After handing out the toys and supplies of food and medicine, Tom walked around the camp with her, serving as translator as he had done at the hospital. The stories Gwen heard from the children were heart wrenching.
“About a dozen rebels came into our village during the night,” one little boy shared, as he clung to a teddy bear. “There was a lot of shooting and screaming. My mother took me with my sister and we hid in the bush for many days. I don’t know where my father is now.”
Gwen gave his hand a gentle squeeze as a little girl, similar in age, sat next to Gwen and told her story.
“When the rebels came to my house they took my father and brother outside. My mother was screaming the whole time, but I was looking out the window. I saw them take their machetes and cut off their heads. There was a lot of blood. I never saw so much blood.”
Both children were no more than twelve years old and had already seen more pain and destruction than most people had in a lifetime. Gwen gave them both a hug and stood. Jack came forward, offering her a tissue she gladly accepted.
“Not exactly what you imagined is it?”
“No.” She looked around at all the displaced families, or what was left of them, and her sadness turned to anger. She was determined now, more than ever, to do whatever she could to get this story out to the world.
“We’ll be leaving shortly, just as soon as Celeste says her farewells.”
Gwen glanced over at her roommate and saw her hug her sister. Although similar in likeness, Candice was a few years older than Celeste. “She’s not coming back with us?”
“No.”
After hearing and seeing what the rebels were capable of, Gwen knew it took a woman much braver than herself to want to stay in Dewana. “Do we have enough time for a quick interview with her?”
Jack nodded his head and guided her over to where the sisters stood. “Candice, we would appreciate it if you could talk to Gwen about some of your experiences here.”
Candice smiled at Gwen. “So you’re the woman who sleeps through mortar attacks?”
“Guilty.” Gwen shook the hand she offered. “I admire what you’re doing here. The children really love you.”
“Not nearly as much as I love them.”
Gwen handed the camcorder to Jack, and for the next ten minutes, Candice told of her love for Dewana and its people. Her face literally glowed when she spoke of the children and how much they meant to her. Throughout the interview, never once did she express any fear of losing her own life. The only thing that mattered was using her skills as a nurse to help those who needed her. Gwen understood that passion better than most, she suspected. A burning desire deep inside, so powerful that you place it above your own safety.
“What can the people back home do to help you?” Gwen asked her final question.
“Most importantly, we need their prayers for an end to this civil war. Beyond that, we desperately need medical supplies, bottled water, and food. There are many organizations at work here, so if they're able I ask that they give where they can.”
Gwen motioned for Jack to turn off the camera, and then she hugged Candice. “Thank you for all that you’re doing here.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Chapter Five
By the time they left the refugee camp, Gwen was numb of emotion. Most of the stories she heard in Liberia had all been second hand. Actually hearing and seeing all the victims was having a sobering effect on her. The screams she heard while fleeing Kirabo now had faces.
“You okay?” Jack asked, taking the seat next to her in the van.
“I’m finding it difficult to remain neutral,” she admitted.
“That’s understandable.”
Maybe so, but as a journalist, she needed to stay unbiased in reporting the story, as hard as that may be. She reflected back on their earlier conversation, still curious for an answer. “Why did you really come here, Jack?”
“My parents are members of Tom & Evelyn’s church back home in Chicago. I first them when I was home for the holidays a few years back, and later they invited me to join them on a short-term mission trip to Dewana to see the orphanage they were funding. That trip literally changed my life.”
“How so?”
“My parents are very humble people, material things never really meant that much to them, but as a kid growing up in a predominately rich area, I always wanted what the other kids had. So when I went to college I basically had one goal, to get as much as I could in as little time as possible.”
“I assume you accomplished your goal?”
“My senior year a couple of buddies and I launched a software company that produces games for various systems. It turned out to be a goldmine. But no matter how much money I made or how many exotic places I visited, I was never really happy. Something seemed to be missing. It was when I came to Dewana it dawned on me that I didn’t need fame and money to be happy.”
Gwen smiled. She knew exactly what he meant. She had gone through the same transformation a year ago. The people she had met in Kirabo had nothing, yet they were happier and more content than she knew she would ever be. “As American’s we are very spoilt,” she finally said.
“Yes we are. That’s when I knew I had to make some changes. That it was time I started giving back.”
“Building another orphanage is a very good start. It’s heart wrenching to see so many children without parents.”
“Yeah it is.”
* * * * *
It was ten after four when Jack and Gwen arrived at the address Michael had given her.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” The taxi driver asked.
Gwen looked up at the burned out building, blackened by soot, and rechecked the address. To verify it, she showed it to Jack and he nodded.
The taxi driver shrugged his shoulder. “They used to publish a newspaper here but it hasn’t been operational for months.”
“This is it. Could you wait for us? I’ll give you double fare.” she promised, thankful that he spoke good English because neither she nor Jack knew Mende and very little Krio.
“I’ll wait if you pay me half now.”
Gwen reached for her billfold to pay him, but Jack beat her to it. “I’ve got it.”
She climbed out of the cab and scanned the dozen windows facing the street, searching for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she approached the metal door that hung askew.
“Gwen Jacobs?”
Startled, she jumped back and stepped on Jack’s foot in the process. “Sorry.�
� She moved to one side.
A man stepped from behind the door. He wore clothing similar to the women they had seen earlier in the day. Gwen guessed him to be in his early thirties and his skin was much darker than most of the locals she had met today.
“Mr. Rajah?”
With a nod, he turned his back to them and started up a staircase littered with debris. She started to follow, but Jack took hold of her hand. “Is it safe?”
The man glanced over his shoulder. “It’s safer than it is out there.”
“It’ll be alright,” Gwen said and ascended the stairs, still holding Jack’s hand.
Mr. Rajah led them to a room on the second floor that contained a wooden table and four metal chairs. “Sit,” he said and proceeded to take the closest chair. Only then did Jack turn loose of her hand.
“Are you Michael Garrison?”
“God, no,” Gwen quickly answered. “This is Jack. He’s a friend of mine.”
Jack pulled out a chair for her, waited for her to sit down, and then took the one next to her.
Jack’s actions drew a smirk from Mr. Rajah.
Gwen suspected he was Muslim, judging from his reaction and appearance. “Michael said you could get me an interview with a general in the RFAGC?”
“I can, but you must be very careful. A friend of mine will take you there alone so the police and military won’t find out.”
"I don’t think I like this, Gwen,” Jack said.
“She will be safe. I will see no harm comes to her. But if it is learned that you have met with the rebels you can be arrested.”
“Do you speak from experience?” She asked, glancing at their surroundings.
His expression hardened. “I was arrested by the local police because of an article I had written describing a raid they made on a local business suspected of being an illegal weapons depot. I was released the following day, but when I came back to my office, I found it had been burned. Later I was told my license was revoked for collaborating with the rebels.”