Michael¸ Michael . . . aristocratic, white-haired, blue and white suits, with sarcasm to fill in the whole city. Brave and careless. Attentive to women. Obviously attentive, watching women and rating them.
        "This is a fifty dollar woman; that is a twenty dollar woman; oh, that is already one hundred dollars."
        The gentleman with the French accent. And he had stories! Joan enjoyed listening to his stories, during their lunches at Salvatore’s. Michael was an expert in being attentive to her.
        “You are impossible!” This was a remark she would hear daily, on the phone, from him directly, she would find it written down on the cards accompanying his flowers, gifts, invitations. In fact, what he really loved in her was her intelligence. At least, that was what he always told her. That he had a lot to offer, but not to an impossible woman like her! To live middle-class like she did, work the whole day, serve Indian people! What kind of funny thing was that? He said Joan looked very much like an Israeli woman and he was always quoting a film he had seen years before, calling her Fiddler on the Roof. The most impossible woman he had ever encountered on earth!
        Salvatore’s was not the only place he would invite her to. He would send for her from the Lebanese restaurant, a very elegant place in town, where he would wait for her with flowers and a good lunch. She liked him, but had no trust in a man who had a life story like his. They were four brothers, all sons of a rich Lebanese family, in Beirut. When they were ready to start life, the father gave each of them money and sent them on a trip, into the world, to take a look around. Two of his brothers came back with a business opened in West Africa. The eldest brother made money from changing local currencies to dollars, and he, the next to the eldest one, came back with the money tenfold, from playing bridge at casinos, from Malta to Las Vegas. His accounts supported the businesses his brothers were running. Michael would come down to Monrovia, to visit them, then would go back to Paris, to Malta, when he felt that the casino at Hotel Africa had no more money to give him.
        He met Joan when she went to change money. She was in the office with his brother Albert, negotiating, and as he was sitting in the guest room reading, he couldn’t help listening to her witty conversation. Curious about "finding intelligence in this part of the world," he stepped into the office and stood there in amazement. A petite lady, wrapped in a brown silk dress, with long auburn hair, playful eyes, and a very sharp, but polite, tongue.
        “Who are you, daughter of Israel?” He was surprised to find out, after she joked with him, that she was no daughter of Israel. Since then, he had been trying his best to win her over. But she stopped at the stories, at his wit, at his intelligence, and flooding attentions. She was just impossible.
        He invited her to join him on a trip to the farm of one of his friends, a Lebanese man who had a farm on the Kakata Highway. She loved vegetation. The plants didn’t have names to her, they were so many, so varied, so many shapes, flowers, leaves. She asked him to stop the car to admire a traveler’s tree, with its huge leaves growing only on the two sides of the tree.
        “Michael, do you know that this plant originates in Madagascar?”
        “That’s the last thing I care for now, Joanita. Madagascar.”
        “Come out, let’s look at it, please.” He left the car and approached the tree under which Joan was standing.
        “Very beautiful. All I know is that I am hungry, very hot, I do not like the jungle, I am not twenty years old to fight somebody if at all they want you from me.” Joan laughed out loud. “You are so haggy, so haggy!”
        “Yes, but not impossible like you, Joanita.” He was sixty-two years of age, she was still twenty-five.
        After lunch, he took her to a house in Congo Town with an ocean view. “Come, Joanita, let me show you the house of a friend of mine who has just changed your stone age coins.” She would be late for work, so lots of no’s poured over Michael, but he only smiled and walked away. A houseboy met them in the yard, telling Michael that the boss had guests, some of his friends.
        Joan followed Michael into a wide sitting room. The center of the room was enclosed by glass panels, sheltering plants, and there were canaries inside, and a huge aquarium at its bottom, full of colorful fish. Men's voices were interrupting one another, speaking fast, coming from somewhere behind other thick glass panels. Joan couldn’t see the men.
        "Joanita, let me take you to a safer place from these guys, look, step into this study and wait for me, OK?”
        “Can’t I just go? I’ll be damn late for work. I have to go to the post office first.”
        “Please, stay here, let me come for you. I don’t want these guys to see you.”
        “Why?” He caressed her lips closed with two of his fingers and stepped out noiselessly from the room. She sat down at the desk, feeling impatient. Michael had the gift of maximizing a simple situation into something worthy of Hollywood. Now why would she waste her time here?
        The room was full of shelves, of books, abstract drawings on the walls, but something else trapped her eyes. There was a photo, of book size, lying on the desk, under the lamp. It was a picture of a soldier, a huge man, dressed in green clothes, with sleeves folded up. The giant was also wearing a dark cap. The expression on his face seemed to speak about all the kindness a human being could gain by helping others. She sensed a sharp contrast between the soldier and the man.
        She concentrated on the voices and heard them talking about guns, about no killing.
        “Look¸ General, when they go up the cliff, you bring your men behind them . . . he come back from ELWA, you start firing . . . he go straight to Mamba Point. People wait . . . when he come from there he will not know . . . he reach ELWA . . . put some tough guys to make it hell of a heart-shattering, let people see . . . of course, it is definitely Mamba Point, not back to Mansion, I say, Mamba Point.”
        When Michael finally came back to the room, sweat was dripping from her forehead. “You take bath or something?” he asked her.
        “What’s happening, Michael?”
        “I love to sense fear in a woman’s voice when the question is that of what is happening, but as usual, with you, it sounds like some kind of military command.”
        Joan recognized the voice of a man she'd seen and heard on the news. “Is that General Morgan?”
        “Joanita, it is the man. This is not for you. They are staging a little military coup here, so they talk. I’ll take you back to the office. By the way, do you like the house? I want to show you the rest of it.”
        “No time for such a thing now! I want to go. Oh¸ not before you tell me about this photo on your desk. Who is that man?”
        He smiled. “Oh, the man? She noticed the man. Well, the man is the man cast in the show. That’s who the man is. Now are you satisfied?”
        She wasn’t. “What show? Who is the man? What coup? What are these people after?”
        “I can only tell you that the small game they are staging needs that man. Because he will not make it anyhow, but it will be enough to scare Doe. But we’ve got nothing to do with that.”
        “What do you mean scare Doe? Can't you people find anything more inventive to do than to stage some kind of foolish thing in which you sacrifice a man like that? Why don’t you play with Doe’s own people? Who is the one you have chosen?”
        “Why would you be so interested? What do you care? All you should worry about is safety, nothing else. Not who kills who.”
        “Who has to kill who? Why kill? What does all this mean? And what are these people doing in your house?"
        “Oh, that’s the same question they asked me. What are you doing in my house. They feel you are an Israeli spy. It is not easy for me to defend you¸ Joanita. These guys have quick solutions to answer such questions. Don’t ask for their identity¸ let’s just go. And¸ yes¸ yes¸ stop worrying over who is who here. They will play their game surely. They’ve been hired for that."
        “Hired? By who? What makes them think I am Israeli spy? Why not Liberian spy? They would surely have more reasons to feel that I am a Liberian spy! Why an Israeli spy? That’s really funny. And what would scare Doe¸ me being an Israeli spy¸ you with the picture of that man on your desk and a gang of motherfuckers sitting in your house?"
        “Joanita¸ this is no way to talk¸ no way. You are not a lady now. You are an Israeli commando. Now¸ for the last time¸ that man came with Doe in the 1980 coup. They didn’t agree over issues so Doe had the man’s family killed. The man went into hiding, and hatred was born¸ enough to replace the ocean. Now¸ this same man is here to take his revenge. What more? This is no game for you¸ so let’s go!”
        “If I were a commando¸ I would simply go outside there¸ with a rifle¸ and open fire on all your bitches. I wouldn’t spare anyone¸ anyone¸ including you!”
        “It is interesting to observe how much the Liberian business got into your head. You are ready to waste blood for these people who in my opinion don’t give a damn about you¸ no matter how related you are to them. I'm surprised you are ready to set fire to your own kind for the photo and story of a Liberian man you don’t even know¸ you have never seen! You have no thin’ in hell in common with him!”
        “Oh¸ yeah¸ do we have somthin’ in common? He and myself do have somethin’ in common! Look at the expression on his face. It is the price of suffering that paints this expression on someone’s face¸ that of bitter kindness as you call it! Yeah¸ that’s the common thing we have¸ the kindness of bitterness brought by some huge price we have paid by suffering¸ which becomes as natural as being alive. That’s the common thin’! There's no place for no son’om a’ bitch like you people inside it!”
        Joan grabbed the photo and held it with both hands. Michael stepped closer to her¸ reaching for the photo. She pulled back¸ looked at it again¸ then smiled. "Of course¸ you will not let it go." She put the photo back on the desk and walked out of the room. Michael followed¸ reaching for her arm. The place was silent. Everyone seemed to have left. Before she reached the door, a tall figure came out of nowhere and slid out through the opening. The man looked back and Joan stopped.
        “Michael¸ General Za—" Michael covered her mouth with his palm until the man left and then led her to the car and drove off into the city.
        The road was winding, leaving the Executive Mansion, Capitol Hill, and the University behind. “Michael, what did you mean by a little coup? How come it is a little coup and we bump into the Chief of Staff¸ Doe’s former comrade in arms¸ into your gang of commandos—"
         “I mean that they want to overthrow the man in the neighborhood and that they are getting ready for it. One of these days, they will fight. Until then, I want to make sure you are safe.”
        “Oh really, do you mean you are part of these guys? Michael, are you part of these guys?"
        “Why can’t I? This is a free country.”
        “If you speak the truth, Michael, I swear to my living God, this is our last meeting. We can never see each other again. I know that’s small threat to you. But¸ I know you: if you want to change things¸ you can make it. Please¸ you know all about human beings. Why waste a valuable one? Why him? Why don’t you people tell him the truth¸ so that he too can save himself? And Michael¸ you’ve been in this place for thirty years now¸ would you harm it to this extent? Would you?"
        Michael smiled. “You, woman, can give hell to a man. Don’t bring such sentimental issues up. It is not us¸ neither me¸ nor my guys there¸ who have decided over the issue. They’ve been hired. I am just a simple advisor. With me or without me¸ they will launch the operation. Don’t ask me further. Don’t ask me why¸ how¸ or what. We are simple executors. Someone else decides what we do: if we don’t¸ our life is the price. Don’t question me further. Don’t.”
        She tried some more arguments. “Besides, my relatives are highly ranked military officials, and I will tell. Michael, I will warn them.”
        He stopped the car right in front of the post office and looked straight at her. His eyes suddenly turned into steel. “Fine lady, do not play with fire. These guys are professionals. They were sent here. Do not attempt to know more. These things are not for you. If you make one move, one word, not only you, but all those around you will be killed. You know these things because you happened to be there and because I am dead sure I can trust my bride-to-be.”
        “Michael, look, I have done business with you, you have offered me many things which can't be found in Monrovia, you have given me a taste of class, but I can’t be your bride-to-be. I have a family, and I have no intention of destroying it. I have always been behind you because you played no man-woman games with me. It just seemed right and natural to be friends.”
        “Joanita, can’t you be straight to yourself? You do not belong among these people. You love my taste of class because it is there you belong. You are not Liberian. Can’t you see? I have made all the efforts to ensure everything that will give you a good start—”
        “Michael, this is an end. It’s no start. When I step out of this car, I give you my word, you will never find me.”
         “Joanita, you have to pack tonight. The only way I saved your back in front of the team was that I told them you were my bride. Stop making this more difficult. Take the boy with you, anything you want. In fact, you don’t need your things. Let’s go to the house in Congo Town. From there, as soon as things settle a little, we can leave for Malta.”
        “Good-bye Michael.” Joan stepped out of the car and walked into the post office, stopping in front of a counter. By the time the clerk turned to her, Michael was already at her side.
        “Joanita, please, I’ll take you from the house at ten o’clock tonight. Please, these people are going to shoot. It may turn into a massacre. You are so close to the beach, to the Mansion. Please, let me save you from sure death. Think of your son.” She turned around and said, “I’ll inform General Cooper.”
        Michael smiled. “Think of you watching all your family, neighbors, shot on the beach. They will be kind enough to leave you last, so that you don’t miss the show, then you will die slowly, chopped piece by piece. They’ll love your flesh.”
        Joan imagined wet, hot blood and sand sticking to her soles and face.
        "I’ll be there at ten o’clock, woman.”

        Joan reached home late in the afternoon. She was happy to see her husband Morris in the yard¸ talking to the neighbor. He always had solutions. He should have one now. Right now. They had until tomorrow morning to find a solution. Things couldn't follow the trail. Of course¸ he would talk a lot. Main feature. She had to find a proper moment to shovel all the history in front of him. And he would get mad. Man in his own rights. Dinner was a good time to talk about fate. Of course¸ not to Morris¸ but this time he would listen.
        The girl working in the house dished the rice and left the two of them to eat and talk. Morris took his newspaper to read while eating. That was just a pretext¸ because Joan would never let him read anything. She always had world-shaking issues to discuss. Today, he felt that the food was on the table just for design. She was not eating. She was playing with her spoon and looking at him from time to time. Silent¸ silent she was¸ not like her.
        “OK¸ what’s happening this time?” He asked the question without lifting his eyes from the paper, pretending to dive into the stories of the day.
        “Oh¸ Morris¸ I have a suitor."
        He smiled. “That’s not a bad thin'. At least man can be left alone to enjoy his life without having to be buried at least three times a day. Who is the lucky fellow? Are you ready for such a commitment?”
        “Stop making fun with me. I am serious. He wants to marry me to save me from Liberia and what is coming. If we don’t do something right away¸ tomorrow morning history will change.”
        “Now, what do you want me to say? My wife tells me over dinner that she has a suitor and for that reason¸ I am called on to change history. What kind of thin’ is that? You tell me now.”
        “Well¸ you know the fellow I change money with? Today¸ he invited me for the usual business lunch and there I found some people ready to tear up this place into pieces. On top of it¸ I found the picture of a man who is supposed to lead the whole thing and fail. They will turn the whole place upside down. I also said that I would inform others to stop the whole damn thing. He threatened me and all those close to me with death.”
        Morris put the paper down. He took off his glasses and looked at his wife. For a few moments he seemed to weigh things¸ then¸ resting his back on the chair¸ he asked softly, "What are you talking about? How come you were in such a place? Why do you like danger to the extent that you put all of us in fire? What do you expect me to do?"
        “Who is the man who came with Doe to overthrow the government at the time we were still in Europe?"
        “I don’t know who you are talking about. And you¸ you don’t know what you are actually talking about.”
        “Of course¸ I realise everything¸ that’s why I came home straight to talk to you. To ask you what we should do. Especially that there are people involved¸ people who sit right by Doe.”
        “I must have been blindfolded when I got married to you¸ Joan. Blindfolded¸ for true. How can you get into such a mess? My woman leaves for work in the morning¸ and in the afternoon she comes home with som’ kind of thin’! I am sure we are already watched. Now you tell me¸ for God’s sake¸ what would you do if you were me?”
        “I would find someone worth talking to. What about sister Beth¸ what about uncle? Let’s say . . . your cousin¸ the General?”
        “If you go to Beth¸ by this evening you will be dragged to the Mansion and you will be killed before your man reaches there¸ that’s sure. Beth is nobody you can rely on now. Uncle, well¸ you tell him this kind of thing¸ he will ship you out of this place first thing tomorrow morning. Not talk about what he can find for me. General, Rudy? He is one of the top guys around Doe¸ but¸ to tell you frankly¸ I don’t know what he might say in this case. I really don’t know.”
        Morris rocked back and forth in the chair. How many times hadn’t he told the woman that they should go back to Europe¸ or even try America? But she wouldn’t listen. Africa was all she wanted. Europe was too much of a strangling tradition¸ America did not attract her¸ he didn’t want Asia¸ she thought Australia was too far¸ but she did embrace Africa. Why? She herself didn’t know.
        “Look¸ Rudy can usually spend his evening at Mother’s house. Let’s try go there¸ see if¸ if at all¸ we can talk to him¸ but you got to promise me one thing. You don’t jump at Rudy straight with 'look¸ this is it.' We try to hint things to him. Don’t act upon whatever you know right away. Have some tact¸ Joan¸ have some tact¸ I beg you."
        Joan jumped and embraced him. Of course he had a solution. He had always had solutions. Solutions for everything and everybody¸ except for himself¸ for their life. But¸ maybe together, she thought, in God we trust . . .

        Mother’s house was above the Red Light Market. Joan knew Mother’s story; that she was very poor¸ that she used to beg for a cup of rice¸ that she started from those cups of rice and kept on building until others begged her for a place to sell cups of rice. Mother was hard-working and with all the little English she could speak¸ she understood Joan very well. It was only their eyes and gestures doing the talking. Mother called Joan "small girl." She felt the small girl’s body language told her a lot and she needed no English for that. She liked the small girl. When Joan said "Mother!", the old woman smiled and they shared a warm feeling that brought peace and joy to the both of them.
        Mother’s sitting room was always full with some old ladies from up country¸ wrapped in their lappas and eating rice after a day’s work at the market. Whenever Mother held out her hand¸ Joan would take it and stick her forehead to it. The old ladies were amazed. But¸ after the usual slap on the small girl’s back¸ they would move their chairs to make space for one more.
        "Morris! Outside! Go to the men! Tha’ place for the women!"
        That’s how¸ one evening¸ while they were eating and talking¸ while Mother made the small girl try some kitile, one tall soldier man came inside to greet the women. The women spoke with excitement in their own language¸ shaking his hands¸ embracing him¸ and then they showed him the small girl.
        The sleeves of his spotted green shirt were folded up¸ and those huge arms had space for all those old ladies dancing around him. Mother put one of her strong arms around Joan’s shoulder and laughed when the small girl drew close to her¸ with her eyes opened huge on the giant in front of her.
        “What happened? Are you afraid of me? I’m no’ comin’ to hurt you!” He bent down where Joan's head reached him below his chest and pet her curly¸ auburn hair.
        Mother slapped the huge hand still resting on Joan’s head. “You see¸ we get small girl like this! Oh¸ she someone wife¸ move yoh’ hand from her!” The man laughed and sat down¸ while the old ladies brought him a plate of food.
        “Mother¸ who is he?” Joan couldn’t take her eyes off from the man laughing¸ talking¸ eating at the same time. “Yoh move eye from General¸ move yoh eye before Morris come talk plenty. Go eat now!” But she was still standing there¸ irresolute about her next move. When the General stood up to reach her¸ all those old ladies jumped at him laughing¸ beating him¸ while one of them came shouting something to Joan and pulled her outside¸ into the yard¸ laughing and pushing her away.

        The evening was like one of those tens of other evenings at Mother’s house. The only different thing was that the old ladies were already surrounding Rudy¸ who was eating with them. Red Light Market was full of sounds¸ of people talking¸ laughing¸ children coming and going¸ not frightened by the darkness outside. Morris and Joan greeted everyone. The old ladies made a place for Joan to sit. Morris went outside to the men talking¸ sitting on the stairs. He looked at his wife. No use telling that woman anything again. She would have her own way¸ so let her do whatever. He trusted the fact that she would not do anything foolish. Dangerous¸ yeah¸ deadly dangerous¸ but not foolish.
        As she sat and started eating¸ she found herself right in front of General. He was arguing about something with the old ladies in their language. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He laughed at her and invited her to enjoy her food.
        “That’s not eating business I’m after now General. It’s you.” He laughed and stretched one of those huge hands to grab hers.
        “General¸ this is no time for jokes. People are ready for some kind of thing you alone should know about. It’s serious.” The General laughed again and became more attentive. “Talk!”
        “Right here?" Joan put her plate down and pulled closer to him. He sent the old ladies away. They stood up and walked outside in silence. Mother stood there questioning Rudy about all that. He replied that she, too, should leave. And she did.
        “General¸ by some circumstances¸ I came across some people today who are ready to burn one of your people for the sake of some kind of coup or something. They say that blood will be wasted over this thing¸ so I want to let you know¸ maybe you can stop it.”
        “Where were these people? What exactly do they want? Who did you talk to?” Rudy’s hands were resting on the table. His face¸ like one of those sculpted wooden masks¸ was motionless and serious. Joan felt scared.
        “I didn’t talk to them. I heard them talking. The idea is that they will stage a coup¸ headed by one of the men who came together with Doe in the 80s. The thing is that they don’t want him to succeed¸ just to scare Doe¸ and they want him to fail and stir unrest in the country."
        “Who are these people? When did this happen? Who is the man? Was he there too?” Rudy drew closer.
        “He was not there. There was a picture on my business partner’s desk . . . ”
        “What business partner? What business do you have with such people?”
        “We have been dealing with this man to change the Doe coins at better exchange rates. I joined him to that house to —”
        “Do you know that such things are illegal? Your company does not know that this is not the way to do things?”
        She became small and explained that changing money that way was not her decision at all. All the companies around the city were doing the same thing. She only went there for the exchange. Rudy's face was flooded with anger. “Why do they put your life in such danger? Does Morris know?”
        “He does. However¸ I didn’t expect something like this to happen.”
        “I wonder who the man is. What does he look like¸ if you say you saw that photo? When do they want all this to happen?"
        “They are talking about tomorrow morning. He is much like you¸ he seems to be someone very tall¸ well-built¸ and with some kind of sorrow on his face that shocked me. He's somebody who had been through a lot of suffering. Such an expression of the face comes from a lot of suffering. They said Doe had his family killed.”
        “Jesus¸ no . . . Jesus¸ not again." Rudy buried his face into his palms and remained silent. Joan sat in front of him with the sensation that she had just opened hell beneath him and he would be swallowed by flames any minute.
        “Look¸ General¸ you and I may suffer¸ both of us from different reasons. But others shouldn’t. That’s why I’m here.”
        Rudy moved his hands from his face¸ looked at her¸ then called for Morris. “I say¸ Morris¸ take the woman¸ go straight home¸ and don’t move from the house. Don’t let her go to the yard even. Keep her safe inside."
        Morris nodded and reached for his wife. Rudy stood up¸ his hands on the table. He looked at Morris. “Rudy¸ you think what she sayin’ is serious? You think they will act upon all that? Who you think is the man she is talking about¸ the one in the photo?"
        Rudy looked at him¸ without a word. Then¸ with a sigh to rip the place apart¸ he whispered, “Quiwonkpa.”

        Five o’clock in the morning¸ heavy gunfire sounded from the Mansion area. Joan ran from the bedroom to find Morris in the sitting room¸ smoking. He had spent all night there. He was still dressed¸ but in different clothes from what he had worn in the evening.
        They couldn’t talk. Gunfire blasted all over, from the Mansion¸ from the beach¸ biting at the black rocks behind Pan African Plaza¸ from all over. People were running from the beach¸ spreading out among the houses. The radio was on¸ but no sound came on the air.
        “So¸ here they are. Your friends are doing somethin’ out there.”
        Joan didn’t find enough force inside to answer him. She sat down in a chair and looked outside. “They didn’t manage to do anything. General didn’t make it. This is not possible. By the way¸ how come you are wearing beach clothes¸ Morris? Where are you coming from¸ dirty like this¸ you even get some leaves or what in your hair!”
        “You made me curious¸ so I went to see things for myself. They were right here. Close to the Mansion¸ close to us. It was in the night, at about three o’clock¸ around PHP area, behind the Mansion¸ on the shore. A group of fifty men were standing there in the dark¸ in uniforms. Each of them held a rifle. They were talking loud to each other and people in the houses around woke up. People were scared, but the fighters did not waste time. They called the people. Women, children, and men came. Soon there was a crowd of people surrounding the soldiers. One of the men was particularly different from the others. Tall, well-built, laughing and waiving his rifle in the air. His mates responded. The mob was saluting and cheering. As the sun was rising, the tall man lifted his gun and cut through the noise around him. He said, 'It’s time to move straight for the Mansion! Straight for Doe!' They started running up toward the Mansion¸ straight up the cliffs on the side. That’s the time we all ran from there. I jumped over a fence and fell in the grass¸ to tell you frankly¸ I crawled from the yard into another¸ under these bamboos¸ until I crawled into the house. In no time¸ heavy gunfire. People hid themselves inside their houses. The rifles seemed to be ready to blow up the lion’s den they had gone for.”
        The shooting lasted throughout the morning. When it somewhat cooled down¸ people came out, running towards the main road, chanting, “They are going for the station! They are going for the radio station!”
        Women¸ children¸ old people followed¸ everybody running to see the fighters in jeeps¸ driving towards the station. “Oh¸ the man going! He fini’ with the Mansion!” People were shouting¸ cheering.
        “Let’s go¸ Morris¸ let’s go see them!” Joan jumped to her feet from her confinement in the armchair at Morris’ orders¸ but the man said no; she shouldn’t show herself. What the General said should be respected.
        Hundreds of radios carried the message over the air: “This is General Thomas Quiwonkpa. We have taken the power! Doe is in hiding!”
        Many other people ran under the window, heading for the street. Some people were carrying palm leaves¸ hibiscus flowers¸ bamboo branches¸ waving them in the air.
        "Let's go see," Morris said finally. Outside, they joined the huge crowd that filled the sidewalk. The road was filled with flowers¸ red¸ white¸ and pink, and green palm leaves flying in the air to welcome the man on his way back to the Mansion¸ "where he comin’ to stay!"
        “They are coming back¸ they are comin’!” Thousands of hands raised up in the air. Thousands of flowers and leaves flew¸ covering the road¸ the jeep¸ in which a tall¸ bearded man was standing¸ his left hand holding onto the jeep¸ his right hand lifting the rifle into the air.         “Quiwonkpa! Quiwonkpa!!!” The people brought down the heavens by that name. Hundreds of palm leaves went up into the air¸ and hibiscus flowers rained down. The three jeeps passed¸ heading for the Mansion¸ and the road was closed behind them by a wall of people dancing¸ shouting¸ rejoicing¸ running¸ walking¸ behind their man.
        The sound of gunfire again sent people running back to their houses. Morris pulled Joan behind him¸ pushed her behind the entrance door and locked it. “No walkin’ about again. They are not finished. Let’s see what BBC get to say. By this time¸ they should be on with the news.” He found the news program and they listened.
        “There is a change in this morning’s situation in Liberia’s capital city¸ Monrovia. The attempted coup headed by one of Doe’s former fellows in arms¸ Thomas Quiwonkpa¸ was brought under control by government forces. Although the fighters reached the Mansion¸ they were received by the heavily armed presidential forces in waiting¸ who responded to the attack. Many of the fighters got killed. Another group of soldiers came from the fighters’ back, from the beach side, cutting their chance of retreating¸ as if they had been sent there. Some people died¸ some found refuge. The soldiers looked for the leader, but could not find him. They went to the houses around the barracks looking for rebels and demanding that that people bring them out¸ that nobody shelter rebels. Curfew has been imposed on the city and the presidential guards have already taken to patrolling and checking the observance of the curfew.”
        “Morris¸ how come they found out so fast? Those jeeps had just passed¸ how come they already have the news in London that the coup is a failure¸ that it’s just an attempted coup? It means Quiwonkpa didn’t go to the Mansion! It means he is somewhere else. He didn’t go to the Mansion. Things can’t just change in less than an hour!” Joan stood in the middle of the sitting room trying to reason. So¸ this was it, she thought, but¸ he had just passed! Where was Quiwonkpa¸ where was he in hiding?
        “It means Rudy didn’t do anything! He couldn’t do a thing! He should have tried to do something! He is in authority for that!”
        “There are some things about Rudy that you don’t know," Morris said. "First of all¸ starting from those times¸ Doe did not see with good eyes the friendship and brotherhood that developed between him and Quiwonkpa. When trouble started¸ it was Rudy who opened way for Quiwonkpa to leave Liberia¸ a thing Doe knew about¸ but left Rudy alone¸ because of his great influence over the army. People liked Rudy a lot and obeyed him without coercion. So¸ Doe feared the fact that if anything happened to Rudy¸ the soldiers would cause trouble. You heard him the other night¸ saying that ‘not again’ thing? I am sure that all this thing had been planned without including any kind of role for Rudy. In fact¸ some of the boys told me that Rudy spent the night and is still at his house¸ almost under gunpoint. Doe sent him some company.”
        The radio started playing the national anthem of Liberia. President Doe went to the radio station in Paynesville and put his message over the air that the attempted coup was under control and that Thomas Quiwonkpa, the leader, was in hiding. It was around three o’clock in the afternoon. The streets in Monrovia were so quiet, as if a big storm had swept through leaving nothing behind. The streets¸ where crowds had danced and cheered¸ were empty, palm leaves¸ and hibiscus flowers smashed all around. The cigarette sellers were not there either. Menace was in the air.
        Curfew was imposed and the soldiers were all over the streets, harassing people. Some were even killed at their mercy. Pregnant women¸ outside after curfew hours¸ were made to crawl on their stomachs and sent back into their houses in great pain. Children found outside were threatened and beaten. The city felt that there were harder times coming.
        The next morning, people turned on their radios with the hope of hearing the same message over the air that lit up their hearts one day before. That Quiwonkpa was there to overthrow the Doe government. Instead, the usual program was on. There was no news on Quiwonkpa. Towards the afternoon, an urgent message came across the air to inform the Liberian people that Thomas Quiwonkpa had been caught and killed. His body was to be displayed at the Barclay Training Center. He had been hiding in a house, around the ELWA junction, when a man came in and found him there, begging for help. The man got scared, told him that nothing could be done. Soldiers were all over.
        Suddenly three soldiers burst into the house, one of them commander of the Mansion guards. They shot Quiwonkpa, piercing him with bullets. Other soldiers patrolling the area came right there at the sound of the shots. The man was dead, lying on his back, soaked in blood. Three, four people were holding his hands and dragging him on the ground. Another soldier was still holding the rifle to the dead man’s throat.
        The soldiers carried the body to the BTC. It was displayed in front of the building, close to the church. Crowds pouring in from all directions came to see him. The soldiers were still afraid of him; they kept their rifles close to his throat with threatening gestures. Finally, as the people stirred at seeing the great man lying lifeless in front of his enemies, the soldiers started cutting off parts of his body to preserve some of the warrior’s spirit, to bring them strength.

        So the history of the news archives will tell it. That the man with the face of bitter kindness attempted to take the power¸ but he failed¸ in 1985. It may not tell about the background¸ about people playing with other people’s fate¸ about the great menace and sorrow that came over his own people¸ who would feel his doom for years¸ starting with 1989¸ whether behind Catholic Hospital¸ or the UNDP compound in Congo Town¸ and forever buried in blood¸ on Saint Peter’s night¸ in Sinkor¸ church compound¸ where fifty of Doe’s soldiers stopped one evening and gunned down men¸ women¸ and children of the Mano and Gio tribes¸ who had taken shelter there¸ leaving hundreds of bodies lying in the heat of those days¸ in the heat of the war. And they were all his people.

Copyright © 2005 by Eva Acqui

The painting on this this page, Thin Line Between Life and Death (Oil) appears courtesy of the artist, ENOCK MUKIIBI, Kanyanya Village, Kampala, Uganda