Justice Without Fail

By Omari Jackson

He glanced at the list and his eyes watered, and pulling a paper towel from his breast pocket, he slowly dabbed his face. Once in a while, he would turn around and glanced at the mass of people sauntering about.

He was not in Liberia but why was he looking among Americans to identify those whose names were registered on the news-bulletin? He could not be sure why, but at the same time, Sam Wollobah could not fail to remember that many of those wanted might be hiding in one of the cities in the America.

He was not a representative of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Liberia but that did not suggest that he should close his eyes without looking.

He moved a few steps in front of the Bank of America building in Lawrenceville, and glancing at the paper he held in his right hand, he read the introduction, again and again: “List of perpetrators or alleged perpetrators who have been invited but refused to appear before the TRC in response to various forms of human rights and international humanitarian law violations ranging from murder, massacre, rape to forced displacement, etc, levied against them.”

On the list were names, as if in their order of authority, during the days of the Liberian civil-war. A smile came to his mouth when he considered it.

The first name was Charles G. Taylor. Then he turned to read the introduction again.
“List of perpetrators or alleged perpetrators who have been invited but refused to appear before the TRC…”

“But Taylor is not a free man to refuse to attend the TRC,” he said it loud and it drew the attention of a young man who had been eyeing him. Sam had, however, observed him, and not wanting to sound alarming, had pretended to ignore calm.

He thought he was being watched since he had just come from the bank, and these of days of government bail-outs, he could not entertain the negative notion that the man might want a bail-out from him.

He was turning around when their eyes met, and he mockingly bared his teeth. The other man, about twenty eight or thirty five returned the smile, and began to walk towards him.

Sam was not really afraid since it was almost twelve noon; a glance at his wrist watch told him that.

“You from Liberia?” The man said, complementing it with a smile. Sam nodded in answer, and began to fold the paper in his hand.

“I have been watching you,” the stranger said, “the war; I mean the civil-war.”

“Yes,” Sam said, and from the stranger’s accent he could feel the Liberian in him. “I know you were watching me, anything?” His reaction might have told the stranger to react friendlier.

“Well, I have heard the news about the list,” he said, “and though I am not surprised, I am glad that they are asking many people, those who played major roles to appear.”

“You see,” Sam regaining his composure and realizing that there was no danger, opened up, “its interesting a person like Charles Taylor has been asked to appear.”

“But he is still in The Hague, right?”

“That’s what I thought,” Sam said with a grin. “What about Christopher Vambo, whose nickname is Mosquito.”

“That could be his ‘commando’ title,” the other said, “by the way; I’m Tom, originally from Gbarnga, Bong County.”

“Have you been in the US long?”

“Three years ago,” Tom said, “my entire family was wiped out during the war.”

“It was a tragic war,” Sam told him, “I resided in Logan Town and during the Octopus the rebels stole me to Gbanrga.”

“Is that Coocoo Dennis’s name on the list?” Tom said, “I know him back in Liberia.”

“Yes,” Sam said, “their names look like a role-call for a soccer game, where the first name is for the goalkeeper.” Sam continued to smile, and the stranger also laughed.

Both men glanced at the list:
1. Charles G. Taylor
2. Christopher Vambo (Mosquito)
3. Coocoo Dennis
4. Edward Farley
5. Eugene Wilson
6. Gborbo Gblinwon
7. George Boley
8. Melvin Sogbandi
9. Momo Gebbah (Bull Dog)
10. Ofori Diah (Iron Jacket)
11. Roland Duo
12. Ruth Milton
13. Sando Johnson

“So as you said,” Tom said, “since Taylor will be the goalkeeper, Vambo will be the reserve goalie.”

Tom was still smiling, when Sam said, “There is a day of reckoning for everything that is done on this earth.”

“True,” the other agreed, “but sometimes justice stay too long that those who are deserving of their just punishment do not receive it.” And that was absolutely true, Sam thought.

Sam was no stranger to suffering. When he was bodily captured and carried to Greater Liberia, as the rebels called their arrears, he saw what human suffering was all about.

He saw dead bodies of both men, women and children, unburied, and the more he thought about it, the more he could not understand the senselessness of Liberia’s tragic past.

His silence bothered the stranger, who sensing what was happening, said, “To talk about the Liberian war and not to share a tear for our people is something I cannot understand.”

With a face still remembering the painful memories of the past, Sam folded the paper, and placed it in his breast pocket, and gave a deep breath.

“I know how it was,” Tom said, placing his right hand on his left shoulder.

“What I don’t understand is,” Sam said, bracing himself to face the reality he knew he must face, “George Boley is somewhere in America, can’t he be arrested and sent to face the TRC, like they did to Taylor?”

“I wish I know the answer to it,” Tom said, with sympathy for Sam and anger for Boley. “After all Boley was also a murderer, whose forces killed hundreds of Liberians.”

“That’s the world for you,” Tom told him, with glee.

“But why are they refusing to attend to explain the roles they played in the war, why?” Sam found himself asking, and the stranger watched him with some amount of concern.

“I know one day,” Tom said, “they will get their pay.”

“That’s for sure,” Sam said, “God’s justice is slow by human standard, but it is sure will not fail.”

“Amen,” Tom said.