BEYOND INSANITY

Moment of Anxiety

Chapter 7

IT HAD BEEN three nights since he was brought here. He could not remember the specific location he was brought, but he could admit that because he was seeing the Atlantic Ocean from the dungeon where he had been kept, he was probably being held at the dungeons at the Executive Mansion. The room was not bigger than the average room space in Monrovia.

James Zonn attempted to stand up but realized that there was a rope strapped on his waist to a board on the floor. Though he had been in this dungeon long enough, and could now make out some of the features in the room, he still felt dizzy, and weak. This was because the soldiers who had deposited him at the dungeon had insisted that he must confess to them all that he knew about the rebels.

The three soldiers who had interrogated him had proven that they could be mean and dangerous. One, seemingly the commander, since he was always referred by the others as CO, held him to the ground, while the remaining two soldiers made several attempts to strangle him. At one of the numerous actions, he had lost consciousness, and had regained it when water was poured over him.

“Who are the rebels?” The question had stunned him, since though he was a Gio; he had no contact or knowledge of any rebels.

“I don’t know no rebels.” He had said that in pain, while the other soldier choked him. He came to the conclusion that there might be something good in dying after all. Why? The deliberate human suffering, the murder of his mother, and the disappearance of his father, and his sisters, and the wind of fear hovering all around Gios and Manos, were indications that dying was better than living, under conditions that were distressing and horrible.

“All you Gios and Manos are sanamabitches.” That was the unmistakable voice of the man who had tried to strangle him the third time. And why he was not succeeding, Zonn could not know for sure. At one point, he almost succeeded when he dropped his huge frame, a frame that Zonn considered to be about two hundred pounds on him, while the others held him to the ground.

He had only choked, when in an apparent act out of sympathy, born out of a soldier’s commitment to protect and defend his countrymen, without being selective, one of the shorter soldiers had said he doubted the boy had any connection with the rebels. That assistance had generated some argument among the soldiers.

“If he is not a rebel now,” the other soldier said, “he may be one day.”
“After all, this war is a war that is killing all Liberians.” The other had insisted, and in a determined statement, pointed out, “We are all Liberians, if even our tribal affiliations make us different. Being a Krahn is not by choice.”

“And would you go against the instructions of the president?”

“All I’m saying is that our hatred for the Gios and Manos has blinded some of us,” the other said, in defiance, “killing this boy may be nothing, but as a man, at least, and a soldier, there should be some conscience remain within our bosom.”

The soldier who had come to his defense was truly making some sense, but did he know that his action would lead to his own death? That was what Zonn was thinking, for he knew that Liberians or Krahns married to Gio and Mano women, and were unwilling to agree for their spouses to be murdered, were also being killed.

And that was how the CO and the second soldier stormed out of the room. And Zonn knew he had no chance of leaving the dungeon alive, he managed to say, “thank you,” to the soldier. But before he left the dungeon, the soldier had said to him, “I know I will not live very long, and so if you survive, remember, it is not all the Krahn people who want your people dead.”

THE DEATH of Colonel Moses Gosoe came two days after the encounter at the dungeon. And Zonn could not control his tears, especially when he remembered what the soldier had said to him, before parting.

“I know I’ll not live very long, and if you survive, know that not all the Krahn people want your people dead.” Remembering those words struck him like he had lost an immediate family member. And of course, he would not have known that the soldier was dead, had the second soldier not come to inform him.

“You damned Gio ass,” the soldier had taunted him, “the Gio soldier-lover is dead and we’ll see how you will get out of here alive.”

And before the soldier left, he had sent a warning to him. “You made us to kill a Krahn person; it’s your turn to die.” That statement had rendered him speechless, and it was the more reason he wanted to die before they came for him. It appeared that the soldiers were determined to kill him. For the last six days, he had not been fed.

As James Zonn reclined on the prison bed, he lost all sources of comfort. However, he remembered the many days he had attended church services and at Sunday school, he had learned some comforting words from the Bible, it was time to use it while he waited for the end.

So while he searched his memory bank for assistance from the Bible, he knew that his days were numbered. How many days left for the soldiers to come back and to dispose of him? He could not be certain. He had heard many stories since the war began when several Gio and Mano people began to disappear. Their bodies had been found, but their heads were missing. He knew the situation was depressing, but what could he do?

He blamed Liberia for letting his people down.

He knew he would die, but at the prime age of seventeen, it was difficult to accept it. Then he felt elated, but could not understand why.

In the next minute, he understood why. If a Krahn man could lay down his life for him, who was he to refuse, when it came for him to do the same? Here, he admired the sacrifices of Jesus, as he had learned in Sunday school. No, he was no Jesus, but to die without knowing what you had done, was something he could not understand.

His stomach churned him, demanding for food that was not there. He closed his eyes, as the cold breeze from the Atlantic Ocean seeped through the only window in his dungeon. He felt the salty water on his tongue, and dropping his head on the hard board, Zonn, who had deliberately been denied sleep, as a form of torture, received the visit from providence, and went into a deep slumber.