BEYOND INSANITY

The Agony Deepens

Chapter 6

JAMES ZONN had now come to accept the reality that these days were dangerous days. He remembered what the English writer, Charles Dickens, wrote in his monumental masterpiece, A Tale of Two Cities, and with his face, flushing in bitterness, as the sounds of AK-47, and M16 rifles, boomed all around him, remembered what was said by the Englishman.

But Zonn could not be certain if Dickens had Liberia on his mind when he wrote what, evidently was the portrayal of Liberia’s insanity when the book was written.

“It was the best of times,” Dickens wrote, and yet “it was the worst of times.” Yes, who would deny that events in Liberia since the infamous year of 1980 resembled the very elements that the English writer had written about? James Zonn, as young as he was at the epoch making year of 1980, had learned afterwards, the calamitous events which however provided an opportunity for total national reconstruction, which was not to be. Though the beginning of the 1980s was the best of times, but the political upheavals, with its attendant destruction of thirteen politicians and later some members of the military junta, the People’s Redemption Council, indicated clearly the prophetic meaning of Dickens’ farsightedness, and truly “it was the worst of times indeed.”

At the New Kru Town Junior High School, James Zonn had developed interest in literature, and on many occasions he had taken refuge in it. So, little wonder that at this particular day and age when Liberia had been pulled asunder, and those who had vowed to defend the people had become enemies to some of the people, he could find solace nowhere but on the pages of a writer whose time was far removed from his own.

But he knew that Dickens was no prophet, despite the clarity of the message that seemed to represent the madness of the time in Liberia he was living in; he could not but admire the Englishman who further observed, among others that “… it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.” Darkness, yes, and as it was becoming clear, and the newspapers had reported it, “Dark Clouds Hung Over Liberia.” The clouds were overwhelming a nation that was originally established to become the champion for the freedom of all Africa, a realization that James Zon admitted, as tears rained down his face.

For the truth was clear as daylight to James Zonn, a son of Nimba County, that barring a miracle would any of his people remained alive. This was because, the last few days had been hectic, and there had been reports of several Manos and Gios having disappeared from their homes, when they were picked up by men in military uniforms, only to be discovered with their heads missing. Reports from the various towns, and the county itself were too distressing. One of his relatives, who arrived three days before the disappearance of his father from Sanniquellie, reported that even children had not been spared the deepening agony of madness by their elders, and many had been buried by the soldiers in unknown graves. It was then that he remembered the Biblical paraphrase that “Rachel is mourning her children because she could not be comforted.” For all around him Gio and Mano women were washing their disappointment with tears in torrents.

And painfully, he could not even understand why Liberians married to Gio and Mano women and men had been reported disappearing from their homes.


James Zonn brooded over the calamity over his people and country in the empty house that had once been their own. His sisters, he did not meet them when he returned few minutes ago, after the violent beatings and rapes the night before. This, he reasoned, was a deliberate attempt to wipe his people from Liberia.

Call that genocide, if you please, was his thought. Yes, he was convinced that he would either survive the injustice facing his people, or perish by starvation. He must do something, and it must be done with all precision.

What hope was there for him and his people? And remembering the poignant description of our time by Dickens, he returned to his memory bank, and sought solace from there, at least to understand the dangers Liberia had sunk into so far, and how and what could be done to save it.

“It was the spring of hope,” Dickens wrote, “it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us.” James Zonn had always believed that there was much good in the quality of the character of Liberians to cherish. History had taught him how the Pioneers came, seeking for freedom and human decency. And the same history told him how those who sought freedom did not allow his people to enjoy the decency of life they had sought for themselves. So to his mind, the Krahn, the Gio, Mano, Kru, Mandingo, Vai and all the ethnic groups of Liberia were victims of man’s inhumanity to man. But in the wake of that reality, what was happening now? It was clearly a wedge of misunderstanding between and among the ethnic groups, as the tribes could no longer hold together as one. What was supposed to happen? Here we must beg Nigerian author, Chinua Achebe for assistance, and declare that “Things began to fall apart.” For the powers that be, identified his people as the worst on earth, and began a systematic revenge killing ever to occur in the annals of Liberia.

This, Zonn, admitted, was not only wrong, but downright insane.

“We were all going direct to Heaven,” that was what Dickens wrote, adding, “ we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.” The surreal nature of Dickens’ review of the dark days of his time, as far as his tale was concerned could….

“Anybody in there must come out here,” Zonn came out of his reverie, when he heard voices outside of the house, demanding anyone in there to get out. “Put your hands over your head so that we can see you.” He heard the crunching of gravel in the yard, and he realized that they were soldiers out there seeking for him.

“What have I done now?” His thoughts refused to accept the reality, this time, that all was coming home. He had said previously that the time had come for him to either die or live. Now they had come, and had come for him. As the boots outside his room demanded his presence, he heard someone shouting behind the house, “they are setting fire to the house.”

In such a situation, death was more preferable than life. He could understand that, and he could wish for that. Adjusting his worn out trousers about his lanky frame, James Zonn reacted with defiance, a characteristic of his Nimbain people, tall, proud and willing to meet any danger. “I’m coming out.” And he meant it.

What could they do to him? His father, mother, and sisters were all gone, and he was alone, he believed that and now he might be going out of this unfriendly world. With his hands over his head, his face demonstrating his faith in God, the young man pushed the door open, and what he saw, with the day light streaming on his face, were men in military regalia. No, this was no dream, and neither was he in the cinema, watching a Rambo movie. He starred in amazement as two soldiers moved towards the house, setting it ablaze.

Across from the house, someone asked, “Who they come for again?” And the tallest of the ten soldiers, remarked, “Shut up and move from here before I make you a dead body.” It silenced the intruder, and those who could not help it, stood at a distance, watching the end of a Liberian family.

In a distance, gun shots screamed for attention, as the soldiers, tying Zonn’s hands behind his back, took him away.