The characters of the story are real but the facts have been fictionalized for dramatic effect.
“Video, let’s go, what, you behind that woman there? Let’s go.” Joan held the short Guinean soldier by his shoulder and dragged him behind her. Dressed in the peacekeepers’ uniform, with a rifle on his shoulder, under a hat big enough to cover his whole body, the man stumbled but followed her, still looking behind and talking somethin’ big to one fat woman selling peanuts on the street corner, promising her marriage and all the good thing.
“Video, let’s move on.”
A wide smile covered the soldier’s face. He was shorter than Joan, heavily armed, and while walking, everything on him was shaking, clattering, as if the whole man was falling apart and coming together again, at each and every step.
“Yoh terrible madame, tres terrible: I wan’ marry fine Liberiene woman, and yoh take me, with yoh Video besniss. Yoh see?”
“That’s not what I asked you to do: I asked you to come and walk me up to Mamba Point, to my uncle’s house. I don’t want to go alone. I just got to be there, at six in the evening. Now, you can marry anybody in the meantime, but carry me to Mamba Point first. We are still at the Benson Street corner because of your woman business.”
They kept on walking until they bent and started going up Broad Street.
“C’est une clinique pour eye, Atlantique Eye.” Video was talking to himself about how he got wounded and came to the clinic. The doctor bandaged him, then he, to thank the man, brought him two video decks, from the ones he collected at one warehouse around Waterside, from where he got this name, "Video," because he spoke no English, and all he could ask was “Video?” If the answer was “no,” he would spray the doors of the store and take the videos. If yes, well, then no problem. The next one. How the man said no, because he had no time for such thing. How he insisted, but the doctor did not want the good, fine thing from him.
Joan was not listening. She was making her way up Broad Street, as they still had way to go, to the place right under Ducor, somewhere on the left, to the house.
As they were walking, they passed by the church yard. In the yard, right in front of the church door, a peacekeeping officer was sitting on a chair, and on two rows, on his both sides, soldiers were sitting and talking.
“Yoh now wan’ see Nigeriene?”
Video reached Joan’s side and asked her once more. Of course, she didn’t. It was someone else she really wanted to see tonight. Curious to see someone tonight. And Video was wasting time.
“Friend, let’s go. You walk me, I reach, you leave. That’s all.”
They finally bent leftwards, and they reached to a house, from where Monrovia stretched far to the ocean and into the colorful evening ready to darken.
“C’est tres beautifule! Tres , tres . . . ”
“Video, keep quiet. Let me call my uncle. The gates are closed and I have to shout. You make this kind of noise, we will summon up here all the Nigerians right under us.”
Video kept quiet. This woman had her own way, and he, the protector, could not say anything. “Video, keep quiet, Video do this, Video don’t . . . ”
“Uncle Jallah!” She called, but not so loud. Nothing moved in the yard. The windows were closed. It was only the kitchen door that was open, downstairs. Upstairs, on the first floor, everything was quiet.
“Uncle Jallah!” The breeze started unfolding softly from the ocean. The papaya leaves were brushing the air like wings, with wide movements, like that of the black widow bird. Strange name for a bird, black, gracious, with a tail like a woman’s hair swaying in the breeze.
“Uncle Jallah!”
A man showed himself in the door, but stopped there, looking at Joan and the soldier, standing behind the bars of the gate.
“Any problem?” He was surprised. He did expect her, but she was standing at the gate, with a soldier’s rifle stuck in her shoulder.
“Why is he holding you at gunpoint? Any problem?”
Jallah rushed to the gate. It was only then that Joan felt the rifle. Video felt comfortable leaning that heavy thing against something, even if he used Joan’s shoulder. The woman had not objected.
“I am not at gunpoint, uncle. This son ‘om a . . . can’t hold his own gun, it’s too heavy. He short and weak for heavy war machinery like rifle.”
“Ay, yoh make me shame front big man, yoh see? I hold gon good, tres good, shoot down everytin’, door, man, all!”
“Are you my hero! Thanks, you can go back to the checkpoint. I don’t want trouble for you. You did too well for me.”
Jallah opened the gate. He stepped out and looked at the soldier, short and loaded with all kinds of equipment he didn’t even need.
“Big man wan shake hand?” Video showed all this teeth, teeth a lion would have envied.
Jallah stretched out his hand, and Video took it in both his hands, as he could hardly reach to Jallah’s chest, and the hand the man had stretched out could have easily pushed him into the ground.
“Yoh not want Video protégé yoh? I stay here and build checkpoint!”
“Tank you, no, we are fine.”
Jallah looked at the soldier. He truly did not want any checkpoint right at his gate. And he did want this man away. Why should everybody know where his house is? Joan could do things at times.
Joan sat down, on the balcony. She had always liked that spot. Monrovia was right under it, and so was the Atlantic. So were the people. Right behind the cliffs. Black cliffs, spotted with vegetation and banana trees.
Far away, behind the horizon, the road was going up in the interior, from where the people had come with the news, over which she had cried for days.
She imagined Joseph leading the people through heavy bushes, away from Voinjama, away from Lofa. He said there was no town anymore. The bush had taken over, after hell had rolled out on earth. After the government soldiers had bathed it in blood, fire, and wailing. There was no Voinjama anymore. How did they make their way, through the bush, over bamboo bridges, over swamps and nights of terror, without fire?
“Look, Joan, my intention, when I accepted Nadia’s invitation, was to hear what the people got to say and basing on that, we, you and I, will decide whether you stay or fly straight to Europe.”
Jallah’s voice was firm and powerful. Joan had always taken that voice and his words as scripture, because they had always been right.
“Whatever you say, uncle, but let’s see. Maybe, if there is a chance for me to stay, I will.”
“Do not force your way. We don’t know what the fate of the whole thing is, we will hear it tonight. You told me that Nadia’s house is like a Pentagon office, so let us see. Taking into account that one of the top people comes to this dinner, I myself want to know what is what. Maybe we will find out. But, you’ve got to understand and accept whatever decision we come to. There is no need for you to die here for nothing. We shouldn’t plan anything now, let us just go to Mamba Point, and then we see.”
“Of course, uncle Jallah. Yeah, uncle Jallah.”
She followed him into the yard, as it was getting dark. They got into the car and Jallah started driving down Broad Street slowly, bent, and continued down Randall Street, towards Coconut Beach, then they took the road up to Mamba Point. Jallah turned left, right before the embassy area. He parked the car in front of the building where Nadia was living, on the ground floor. They saw light at her windows, and the balcony doors were open.
“I don’t know about this woman, how she can leave all her windows open like that, right the ones facing the street. Anybody can do just anything.”
Jallah had stopped and was watching the windows. He heard laughter from inside.
“What I’m telling you, this woman is crazy, for true.”
Joan followed him. Jallah knocked at the door, and a girl opened it. They both walked into the apartment and stopped in the door of Nadia’s sitting room.
Inside, in the center, there was a long table, clad in a lacy tablecloth, with candles burning from one end to the other. Silverware, vases with flowers, and the table laid the European way. There were candles of various sizes in all the corners of the room. Two men were sitting down at the end of the table talking. The three girls Nadia had in her house, one of them her own daughter, were busily bringing all sorts of trays with foodstuff to the table.
Nadia walked out from her room and welcomed Jallah and Joan. “I thought you will never reach. I was even worried that you would decide on not coming at all.” She embraced Jallah than she greeted Joan. “You know, I have to embrace him first because . . ”
“Yeah, sure, because he’s a man, and I’m a woman. I know.” Joan did feel like biting at Nadia all the time. She was just asking for it.
“Your trouble is that you don’t have enough respect for men. I don’t know how you will find a boyfriend if you don’t treat men with full respect.” Nadia never understood what made this sister-in-law of hers so independent, so sure about herself, so frisky. Joan had always been a question without answer to her.
Nadia, with her tall figure, with her long dark hair and her very submissive way did attract men quickly. Joan had nothing of all these, except her very sharp mind and tongue, and men would immediately shift to her side. This did make Nadia angry at times, because men would engage in big talk with Joan and leave her aside. Joan then would walk out, and Nadia would willingly do the rest, but men would keep asking about Joan.
Jallah sensed the amiable enmity between the two women and he enjoyed it. He preferred doing business with Joan though. Nadia would sell everything on first come-first carry principle. Joan had a solid word.
They sat down at the table and engaged in conversation with the other two men. One of them was a doctor and the other one a business man in town.
The war had made them refugees in Nadia’s apartment, big enough to host them, too, while waiting for some kind of outcome. Now, if people had a presidential candidate, they might engage in settling things. But nothing was sure. And the presidential candidate was to reach there soon. So they would know more. But then, the warring factions. Taylor and Prince. Taylor was coming for Monrovia. Prince said that Charlie would not make it anyhow. So nobody knew anything for sure. The dinner bringing together some of these people would clarify things. To some degree at least.
Joan took her glass and walked into the balcony. She found the little bench among Nadia’s flowers, huge, covering the windows, and sat down. People were walking up and down the street. At times, a car would pass.
The balcony was almost at the level of the yard, with creepers hanging down and continuing their way to the shrubs in front of the house, near the fence. That was Nadia’s idea about how she could bring the bush closer. What Nadia knew? What new thing to buy, how much for it, who that man is, who to invite and make friends around town, and that was all.
“Oh, good evening to all!” A man walked into the sitting room, with a deep and friendly voice. He greeted and shook hands with everyone, so Joan walked inside to greet him. It was the presidential candidate, with pictures in all the newspapers in the city.
“Oh, how you doin’, all right?” He was friendly and open, with a powerful personality, and a deep, strong voice. They all sat down, talking.
Of course, there had been efforts to settle things. But, to convince Taylor now, that was a different thing. Taylor wanted Monrovia and he had promised he would come for it. So, of course there was a peacekeeping force, there were negotiations with the American side, but Taylor didn’t give up. So, all they had to do was to negotiate further.
“In fact,” the candidate said, looking at everybody sitting at the table, “we will have facts very soon, as a friend of mine will join our table within a few minutes. The commander from Caldwell. Just keep calm, he is a straight fellow. Nobody will be hurt.” He added the last words when he saw some of the faces lengthening all of a sudden.
First Joan did not react. The commander from Caldwell, well, everyone was a commander. But, wait . . . oh, well, it might have been that . . . Caldwell. What? Of course, the man whose guns had saved them from the soldiers. The soldiers that were shooting at the buildings on Randall Street, at an unseen enemy, the night she had thought that death was the only chance.
Suddenly, heavy gun roar stabbed the night from Broad Street way, and the soldiers started yelling and retreating towards Coconut Beach. The heavy gun roar was getting closer. When it got close to their building, it went on for some time. It had saved them. They had finally reached. They had made it. He and his men were taking over the area. They could breathe now. Prince was there.
She felt no fear. Of course, it was the chance to meet one of the warlords. A tough one. So, she walked out to the balcony again, lit a cigarette. Jallah followed her. “So, are you scared?”
Joan looked at him. She didn’t answer. “All I know is that my fate turns tonight. If he indeed comes, we will know what is next. And, tell me, why don’t I want to hear it, Jallah?”
The man didn’t answer either. He looked around to see if she was safe there, but didn’t see anything to worry him. Yet, he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone there, but the woman didn’t seem to be willing to leave the place.
“Anyway, don’t wait for those people out there. They should find you inside, with all of us, OK?”
She was just sitting there. She didn’t feel like listening to Nadia, lecturing about the things in the house, how much they cost, what plans she had with her boyfriend and so on. She was just gazing into the darkness, watching fires people had lit here and there, right on the road, to make some light.
Suddenly, she felt something moving around her feet. She looked down, but didn’t see anything. She definitely felt that under the balcony, right in front of her, something was moving slowly, imperceptibly, or maybe, it was just her imagination wandering. She was sitting still. The creepers could have covered a human being easily. But nothing seemed to be there. Should she stay? Something kept her glued to the bench. Right in front of her she sensed some kind of presence, not threatening. On the contrary, it bid her to stay. She was sitting motionlessly.
“Joan.” The whisper came so faintly, like a thought.
“Don’t move. Don’t betray my presence.”
She heard the words distinctly, yet she did not see anything.
“Who is this?”
“Think.”
It was a woman. The type that feared no devils, no people. A shadow of the night passing easily, like breeze, and people would not know. Where was she?
“Are you a spirit this time?”
Joan wanted to see her. Of course she did. She had not seen this warrior for a long time. It couldn’t be anyone else but her.
“Why can’t you show yourself small?”
“You are showing yourself enough, why would I show myself too? How you manage to get into the lion’s mouth like this? Ain’ I told you to go away and stay in Europe, what are you doing back here? I told you when we come for Monrovia we will not pick and choose. Look, where you are now. And we are in town, Joan, we are in town. Damn you. How will I get you out of here?”
“What ? Do you want to attack right away?”
She felt terror. She did. A black jeep appeared in the yard, silently parking near the opposite fence. Another followed. Joan sat like a piece of ice.
A tall man holding a rifle in front of him got out from the first jeep. Two others followed. From the second jeep one heavily man stepped out and joined the others. They took a few steps around the yard, leaving Joan breathless among Nadia’s plants. Another man walked through the gate and went straight to the main entrance. Two people followed him; the others got into the jeeps and silently closed the door. The yard seemed deserted.
“Go into the house, Joan. Join your people fast.”
“I can’t leave you here alone. What happens if they catch you?”
“Me? My people are all around. You are a perfect target. Get your ass into the room. Whatever happens, I will cover you. Move. Move. Move now.”
Joan listened to her and walked slowly into the room. She sat down by Jallah, at the table, without being able to lift up her head.
“Uncle Jallah, they are here. All of them are here.”
Jallah looked at her in horror, but had no time to talk, as the door opened, and a man dressed in African clothes walked in. The candidate greeted him first, the others followed, Nadia put up her show, then finally Joan and Jallah shook hands with him. He took a seat right in front of Joan and Jallah and started talking with the other people.
The door opened and two more men came inside, the tall people from the yard, without weapons. They too sat at another table and the girls ran with food, to serve them.
While the other people were talking, Jallah turned to his niece. “Is this what you wanted to tell me, when you said they were here?”
“Not only this . . .”
“Who the woman?”
The commander looked at Joan straight and all the other people kept quiet.
“She is family; she was married to one of my brothers.” Jallah answered him and waited for further questions.
“You were married? What happened to the man?”
Jallah attempted to talk, but the commander lifted one of his hands to silence him. “I’m asking her.”
Joan looked at him. She felt no fear. The force within and around that man gave her power. Prince.
“He was killed, sir. The soldiers shot him.”
“Yoh’ve been here ever since?”
“No, I went back to Europe, then came back again.”
“What for?”
“We have our lives here, sir. God has not sent me here for nothing. To tell you frankly, even now, while sitting here, I do not believe, I still don’t believe that my husband is dead. If he is, I still have a family here. So, I came back to see for myself.”
The people were quiet, looking at the woman. Prince stood still. Joan couldn’t bear the silence, so she felt like telling him something to please him.
“I want to thank you and your people for saving our lives, as the soldiers had almost done with us, had your people not arrived and taken over the Randall Street area. We owe you and your men our lives.”
“Yeah, it’s good.” Prince wanted to say something else, but Nadia came offering food and drinks. Jallah felt like silencing his niece first, but he didn’t. Let the woman talk for herself. She would do that anyway.
Seeing that Nadia had prepared all kinds of Asian stuff to eat, Joan asked her for rice, dry fish, oil and pepper.
“Are you crazy? This is not a refugee camp, this is . . .”
“Shut the f . . . up, Nadia, and bring my food if you want me to eat.” Joan’s eyebrows joined together. Prince smiled. So did the candidate.
“For true, bring the rice, oh.” The candidate laughed. “So, you know something about Liberia: that food is good, ha, ha . . .” The two men laughed. Jallah smiled too.
Joan waited for the girl to bring her plate from the kitchen. The other plates of rice came too, and they started eating. The talk started too. Taylor didn’t want to come to an understanding. He was getting ready to come for Monrovia. So, the fight was imminent. Taylor had promised a city in ruins. That he would not pick and choose. That he would be president in Liberia.
“So, instead of peace, we are ready for even more fighting,” observed the candidate, shaking his head.
“But, why, this thing should be solved among Liberians. Both sides can see that war does nothing good. It has been enough now! Why kind of different fighting are they on again?”
The doctor made visible efforts to hide his irritation. “It will not be solved only by Liberians.”
The commander looked at the people around him. “This thing is not only Liberian. It came from different place. And, it’s not about Liberia only. It’s about West Africa. People bigger than us want the whole shore broken into pieces.”
The silence in response to his words seemed to choke everybody.
“Taylor is the main man in this thing. After Liberia, different places are on target. Even this election business . . . it will not work. You hear what he says, interim government, interim gang, he’s the only one here to stay. And he’s determined to do that. He still has more to do, but the first thing is to take Monrovia. So, all we can do is to join ECOMOG when he is ready.”
“When is he ready? When does he plan to attack the city?” The men were waiting for an answer from the commander.
Joan looked at herself in the glass she was holding. When? Prince to join ECOMOG? But . . . the people are there. The dark angel from outside lifted its wings and the air brushing around Joan became icy cold.
Joan poured herself some soft drink. The men were talking, so she decided to see about the shadow around the balcony. She walked out , but didn’t sit down, just stood there. The men were busy talking.
“Are you here?” No whisper returned. But she stood there. The jeeps were parked at the same place and looked deserted. The men must have been inside. That is why the shadow did not talk back.
She walked back into the room. The two men sitting at the other table watched her. She took her seat near Jallah and poured another glass of soft drink. She started sipping from it. The two men stopped looking at her and started eating again. She didn’t move. The silence standing between the yard and the room seemed a menace to her. She just had to find way to get back to the balcony. It was very close to her. So, she took out a cigarette, lit it, and walked a few steps, stopping and leaning against the balcony wall outside.
The candidate took his glass and joined her. “Anything good out here?" he asked smiling at her.
“No, I just don’t want to fill up the room with smoke. The others are eating. It’s not nice, so I came out here.” She talked pretty loud to be heard inside, outside. The candidate took a few steps around the balcony then left her there and joined the men talking inside.
“Leave. Take Jallah and leave in ten minutes. You have no more time left.” The whisper came unexpectedly.
“Yeah, but Prince is here . . . ”
“So is the other one, leave now!”
Joan froze. She suddenly found herself between two war camps, what could she do? “Sneider…”
“Don’t waste my time. Go!”
“What if these people find out that you and the others are all here?”
It took a few minutes until the whispers reached her. “They know.”
Joan froze again. So, they were both there . . . so was Sneider. She was all the time around and behind the other warlord, so he must have been around. And Prince knew that. So did the candidate. All the rest of the people had just joined the trap like that. And nobody knew whose trap it was, or who had set it for who. Others were to fall into it.
By the time she went back, Prince and his people had left. Where to? How? The jeeps were still parked at the same place. Nadia was talking to her guests, but where was the candidate? Jallah called his niece and told her to get ready to go. She did. She was happy it was not her who had to say that.
“Madame, oh, madame!” Someone outside in the street, right in front of the balcony, was calling from the street. Nadia walked out to see who that was.
Jallah was just opening the door, when Nadia came saying that a Guinean peacekeeper was waiting for Joan outside. When they got into the yard, walking to the car, Video jumped in front of them.
“Madame, back home now! Quick! We get alert . . . rouge! You go home. I take you.” He jumped into the car near Jallah, and they opened the backdoor for the woman. They drove down, then up Broad Street speedily. Jallah had to stop for Video to get down at his checkpoint.
Joan walked to Jallah’s balcony and collapsed into an armchair. “Get inside, no more outside business! Something is happening!”
“But, you didn’t talk to the big man? He said nothing about what is going on?”
“Who man like that will tell you? But, his people were very tense. He wasn’t. One thing I understand is that this town is going to be heavily shaken up by Taylor, when he comes, so you, with the first flight out of here, are leaving first thing on Monday, since today is Friday. Because when Taylor comes, and he will . . .”
“Taylor is here, uncle Jallah. Taylor is here.”
Jallah looked back at her in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Charlie is here, uncle Jallah. His people are already deployed, or if not his people, his heralds for sure. You see how the peacekeepers too have received red alert.”
They left the balcony doors open. The two girls in the house and an old man came and sat down too, in the sitting room, waiting. It was late after midnight, but nothing happened. The menace had taken silence by throat and wouldn’t let go. And yet, nothing happened.
In the morning, around four, Jallah sent everybody to rest. They all went to bed, except Joan. Something must have happened. Sneider must have been sure of things, as she had urged her to leave. Something might have stopped their operation. Or, there may have been nothing at all. But then why did the peacekeepers get red alert? Why would Video run like that and escort them home?
The sunrise caught Joan praying. She kept on repeating the prayers until she fell asleep. A bamboo bridge was hanging over a gorge surrounded by heavy vegetation. She was standing there, not knowing whether to cross it or not. She did, and holding the ropes, with the bridge shaking and swaying, she made it to the other side.
She opened the huge curtains of dense leaves, and right behind them, there was a shiny, green river. A girl wrapped in a red lappa had just finished her bath, with drops of water shining on her shoulders. Some women were carrying washed clothes on the other side of the water.
The river was green, so green as to keep like that forever.
