BEYOND INSANITY

The Rescue

Chapter 15

“BIG BROTHER COME out.”
“Big brother come over here quickly.” The voice, shrilled and calm, repeated the call. Zonn’s heart thumped repeatedly as he ventured outside to the call of the unknown voice. He had been placed in a shack, waiting for the final determination of his life. After all, thirty minutes was not too much to waste any more precious time. But now things were changing. He eased himself out of the small door to meet a flush of fresh air, and squinted to adjust his eyes to the immediate glare of daylight.

“Yes?” His voice rose faintly above, and he saw one of the rebel soldiers, Small Boy Soldier, standing there, his M16 slung across his chest, his right hand indicating to Zonn that he meant no harm, beckoning him to follow him. Zonn wanted to ask about his companion, but the Small Soldier did not allow him the chance, when he said, “don’t worry, she is safe.”

He followed the soldier, and they moved along a narrow pathway. After several twist and turns, they arrived at a location bothering on a rubber plantation, and it was there that he saw Klubor sitting at one of the several benches, lined up on both sides of a clearing center. His heart leaped in his chest when their eyes met.

Then another man, probably a rebel soldier, emerged from between two of the zinc shacks, and beckoned Zonn and his companion to move away, towards the direction of the main road. None of them had exchanged any communication, and Zonn realized that some power above man had intervened to save him and his companion. Zonn looked up in the heavens, and said a silent prayer.

In his heart, he kept repeating, “Lord You’re in Control.”
About five minutes later, the Small Soldier moved swiftly to Zonn and handed him a bunch of cash, but Zonn hesitated, and looked the small soldier in the eye, demanding to know why the generosity. The other, standing about four foot three, looked at him with a smile, and indicated by pointing his hand towards him, asking him to accept the money and be gone. Zonn, whether he wanted to cry or smile, looked at the soldier with surprise, and then grasped the money, and muttered below his breath, “Thank you.”

Small Soldier, apparently, with some appreciation, told him, “we’ve killed many of our brothers,” his right hand sweeping around his neck, to indicate the manner they had used to kill fellow Gios and Manos and other Liberians, “Go away and don’t come back.”

The morning sun was gaining, and Zonn felt warm. In his heart, he credited the God of Heaven for His show of mercy, which he knew many other Liberians had been unfortunate to miss. His survival made a deeper impression on him, and whatever he considered from now was deciding to make amends in God’s service. With the report of murders of thousands of Liberians, that he had been spared on two counts, were not only miracles, but an act of God’s undeserved kindness. What else could he do to show his appreciation for the Lord? True, his parents, sisters and many thousands of Liberians had been wasted, victims of the war that would not end. Perhaps, their murders could mean a new direction that he would take. But, why?

Probably, surviving meant a message for him to follow the Lord, and to make disciples for Him. It was also true that the young men and women in arms in the bush needed redemption. He remembered thinking about that aspect before. Now, he must demonstrate his calling to the Lord, and someday find a way to make some of them, if possible, all of them, and turn them into children of God.

Presently, they continued to walk away from the check point, and at a reasonable interval, another soldier, who had apparently been instrumental in the rescue walked to meet them. It was then that Zonn recognized him. Earlier when Zonn and his companion came to the Paynesville Red Light district, they had come across a man who had requested for financial support. In fact he had come begging for money, and without giving him any hard look, Zonn had conferred with his companion, and had given him ten Liberian dollars. Afterwards, the man had hung around wanting to talk, but Zonn and his friend were too much involved in their troubles that they did not pay him too much attention. Here, he knew it was a payback for a good done.

“I didn’t know you were a soldier,” Zonn told him. “We’re grateful to you.” The other had simply responded with a smile, and grabbing Zonn by the hand, pumped it several times to indicate that everything was fine.

“I have an advice for you,” the man said, “As you travel through the areas we are controlling, there will always be some of our friends who want to do you harm. And so joining the army here can be between your personal safety, and how you are treated from thence on.”

“A soldier?” Zonn’s response might have shocked the soldier, but he only offered a dim smile, and looked away. The idea of totting a gun, and going into war was something he had always hated. And yet, he realized that despite the harsh treatment he had suffered at the hands of his fellow country men, there were still other Gios that still had a level of humanity in them, and could reciprocate a good deed done in silence.

“Two miles from here,” the soldier broke his thought, “you will come across a bus stop, you can take it, and when you get to Gbarnga, you will be safe.” Zonn could not control his tears, his pent up emotions, which had sided with him when he had every reason to take consolation in it, now came to his assistance. He turned to look at Klubor, and her eyes were filled with tears too, her emotion already spent. Holding her by the hand, they walked briskly towards the safe haven they had been directed.

Thirty minutes later, Zonn and Klubor boarded a twenty right seated bus bound for the central Liberian town of Gbarnga. Even here he saw the presence of many young soldiers, some smaller than the ones he had earlier encountered. There was also abundance of weapons, and that convinced him of the danger the ordinary rebel soldier faced.

ST. KOLLIE TOWN (SKT) was the gateway to the central Liberian town of Gbarnga, the headquarters of the rebel movement. Here, barely four hours since their vehicle left the outskirts of Mount Barclay, deep inside rebel territory, James Zonn and his companion, along with other Liberians, were stopped. It was around two in the afternoon, and there seemed to be a flurry of activities going on here.

SKT, Zonn guessed, might have had not more than seventy mud houses, on either side, since the dividing line of the town was the access road, directly towards the city of Gbarnga. It was reasonable that being the link to the rebels command center and residence of their leaders, security would be on the high alert. Similarly, the SKT was the home of the Liberian Agricultural Company, LAC, where modern residential houses were located. And rightly, the leaders in Gbarnga were using the lodgings as residences.

But it was apparent that James Zonn had not thought about meeting with any experience worth its name. But considering the splintered nature of the rebels, there was everything to imagine that misunderstanding, even on a trivial issue, could result in the loss of precious limb or life. But the rebel soldiers did not let Zonn to wait further, when fifteen minutes after their arrival, what appeared as an apparent confusion was brewing ahead.

There were a number of rebel soldiers, their guns at the ready, moving about in a hurry. “I can take care of that bitch,” he heard a soldier say, and then another, probably twenty, his face lined with worry, and unable to discern between life and death, said, “If you kill me today I die and my business is finished.”

It was then that Zonn saw that the source of the contention was apparently the murder of three members of a family. Their bodies sprawled across the road, and there were still others standing by in tears. Among the dead, Zonn learned was a woman, a Gio, who had defended her husband, who was a Sarpo.

“The woman said the man was her husband,” a young man told Zonn, as the vehicle was finally released to go, “she would not hear the soldiers decision that the man should be killed, and as a result she chose to die with her husband.”

“What about the third body?” Zonn’s curiosity moved him to ask. “Why did she die?” The other, his eyes downcast, said, “She was standing across the road when another soldier called her, and told her she was a Sarpo and before she could defend herself, he shot her dead.” As the vehicle hummed along, Zonn turned his attention to the road as it raced toward them. All of Liberia had become a jungle, and there was no Liberian who was safe. It was a hard judgment call, but whether anybody would survive the civil-war could be anybody’s guess. In fifteen minutes, Zonn felt the bus slowing down to a halt.

“This is another check point,” the other told him. It was apparent to Zonn that his informer was a frequent traveler on this part of Gbarnga, and as Zonn looked him in the face, the young man said, “Our suffering is beyond reason. We are unable to understand what crime we have committed to be treated this way.”

“Wipe your tears my friend,” Zonn urged him, when he saw his new friend in tears. “Believe in God, and pray for survival as long as the war continues to be waged.”

“Yes,” his new friend also looked into his eyes, “our treatment is beyond insanity.” Zonn felt the rush of emotion gripping him, and turning around he saw Klubor soundly asleep. He felt some urge within him, but knew that till they reached the city of Gbarnga, the various checkpoints would present another barrier after another. But then he had given everything he had, and committed it into the hands of God. For, he believed that for whatever Liberia had become, God had a way for them to live. He would find it, and search for it if he did not find it the first time. Then he would lead the campaign to save lost souls back to God.