Under the shade of the Safou tree

It was something new for him. Not only the fine sand brushing on his cheeks, but that smell of gun smoke, hot sand and ocean breeze. He looked around and listened as if he wanted to remember all the details of the landscapes: the hills, the streets of the city, the bumpy road and his comrades in the back of the old truck. He saw his comrade Julius smiling at him, pulling a beer out of a box.

“Are you thirsty brother? It’s rather hot in here, right? Banana beer! Drink it, Kidege!”

He reached for the bottle and took a short sip.

“Thanks, sergeant!”

It had been told to them, that the small city they had occupied was harboring a tyrant and the citizens of that city had to be freed at all costs. They controlled now most of the city. The only outpost left was the embassy of a neighbor country. At an intersection the truck came to a stop.

“What happened?” asked Kidege. He leaned out of the truck seeing in the middle of the intersections the bodies of four men lying down, in a pool of blood, some dead, some agonizing.

“They’re members of the Resistance. The last members, I hope!”

“Ulani, go around them. We don’t have time for them now. The captain will take care.”

“It’s justice, Kidege. Justice!”

“Justice” thought Kidege. Why does justice have to take such an ugly shape? Why does justice have to equal death? But he had been told before, even by his superiors sometime doubting his capabilities, that he was naïve, foolish. He proved them wrong, and now they thought highly of him. When he goes back to his village in the mountains, they will welcome him as the hero that he was. He was proud of his acclaimed bravery in the war, the liberators that they were, but the horrors of war made him feel that a quiet life at the family farm would be ideal for him. “We are proud of you, Kidege” shouted his friends and relatives and neighbors when he went to war. It was true. They had something to be proud of. But he wanted to see, to know what he had fought for; the people that were now free, due to him and his comrades. But he didn’t see them happy, joyful or free for that matter. He saw them scared, frightened, horrified; he saw the bitter smile on their lips, the tears in their eyes. He thought of them often. He also wondered about his comrades. Were they happy? Did they feel like heroes, like liberators? Julius seemed content and eager to accomplish his mission, eager to bring “freedom to the oppressed”.  Julius, yes, he had what it took to be a leader. He was a leader in his hometown; he was a leader here too. But Yakub, his other comrade… He met him when he was in high school. He always had a look of sadness. And he rarely smiled. He had a rifle and a dog that he saved from death. And those were his two best friends. The glory of the battlefield was his life, his credo. And also he hated those who waged wars, the atrocities, the massacres of innocent people. When he was covered in blood and gun powder shouting out orders, the look on his face showed that he felt invincible. The ringing sound of the telephone interrupted his thoughts and Julius raspy loud voice woke him up from introspection. “I should focus more on the road” thought Julius and tried to ignore the thoughts and questions that appeared in his mind incessantly.

“Brothers, Mbegwa left. We are finally free. The people of Nyumbani are free. There are only the traitors left at the embassy, the traitors and the criminals. We will deal with them quickly, now that the murderer Mbegwa is gone!” shouted Julius turning to his comrades as soon as he finished the phone conversation.

“You like it here, Kidege? I mean there is not much to like now, but the ocean, the warm, soft sand?

Kidege smiled to him and turned to the road ahead.

“Nah, of course you don’t. Mountain boy! You’re used to fresh air and green hills. I bet you miss home bad. And you only left 6 months ago. I left my home, five years ago. Far away from here, in the Nubian Desert of Sudan, far away from this beautiful coast of West Africa. I was studying engineering. I went to work in an office and I wore a suit and tie. Now I am wearing this army clothes and this beard makes me look so old. Do you have any girl back home, young brother?”

“No, I don’t” grinned Kidege.

“I can hardly believe that. But even so, you will meet a lot of beautiful girls here. The problem is, we don’t stay in the same place for long. And as time passes you will love and forget, over and over again.  I would like to stay here, though. These people will have a better life now, because of us, because of you, Yakub, because of you, Kidege. They have been lied to so many times, killed and robbed. Now they can start fresh, from the beginning.

Kidege tried to think of the people that will be free at last, of the peaceful lives that the people will live from now on. However he could not stop thinking about the traitors in the embassy. Was it necessary to execute them? Was there no other solution? Surely they could imprison them. There was too much bloodshed. He wanted to ask the sergeant who these people were, were they all guilty of crimes, but he knew that the sergeant will consider him weak and unable and he could send him home to the base, humiliated, or worse, he will consider him a traitor. And he was told so many times what horrid crimes these people had done. He saw pictures of mutilated children, men and women and he swore to bring justice to this land. Now they were getting closer to the embassy. They passed beautiful buildings, which were now deserted. He imagined it would be different. He imagined they would be welcomed as liberators, he imagined that people would greet them, thank them and offer them food and encourage them. Instead people were sad, angry, suspicious as if they were not the heroes they had been waiting for, as if they were not bringing freedom and peace, but death and violence.

Kidege was beginning to feel sleepy as the mild sea breeze caressed his bare arms. The sergeant’s voice woke him up again.

“Hey, look, there’s the captain. Ok, we’re here” said the sergeant pointing to a beautiful Victorian white building that Kidege understood to be the embassy. A few yards away in front of the gates, Captain Samir Makena was waiting with other eight comrades. Kidege knew Captain Samir from the boot camp. It was the type of commander that any soldier would like to have, like a father, a teacher. And he was indeed a teacher, a wise and educated man, in spite of his rough, ragged, fierce looks; the soldiers often called him Mwalimu, teacher.

“Finally you have arrived, Sergeant Kenya! And you brought your best men, corporal Kidege and Yakub! Good! As you well know, Mbegwa took off with a helicopter. We don’t know exactly where he is, but this is not important know. Comrades, inside the embassy, there are traitors, still hiding! They refused to leave with Mbegwa, they do not want to relinquish the power!”

“Are they armed?” asked the sergeant.

“Possibly, though I highly doubt it. We have surrounded the area and not one bullet was fired from the embassy. However, the doors are locked. We will have to break in. I have to leave to a close village. Members of the so-called Resistance and terrorists might be hiding there. I will leave you with three of my men. Sergeant Kenya, you will lead the operation. There are three entrances. Take the front one with three of my men and break in. Kill the terrorists inside and take their valuables. They have carried lots of money and jewelry with them. We will need their valuables to help the people and the poor villagers.

“Kill them on the spot?” thought Kidege as he watched the captain jump in his jeep with 5 of his men and headed south of the city. Surely there must have been some sort of trial before the execution. Even a short, improvised one.

“Sir”, he asked the sergeant, “Should we interrogate them first, as to find out where Mbegwa left and where are the remaining terrorist hiding?”

Kidege feared for a moment that the sergeant might take his question as an act of disobedience. The sergeant frowned a little, but it was more a sign of annoyance than anger.

“Corporal, do not bother your mind with such things. The Captain will find out. This is not our mission. You have heard the orders. Break into the embassy, annihilate the terrorists and confiscate their valuables.” The sergeant’s voice was calm and reassuring, so Kidege decided he should focus on his task.

“Yakub, you take the west wing. Together with private Obi, Basil and Fahd, I will take the front entrance and Kidege, you take the east one. Proceed with caution!”

Kidege looked one more time at the beautiful garden in front of the small embassy and headed to the east door. He heard no sounds coming from the embassy. He crouched, thought and reached the door. It was locked. With one hit of the rifle he smashed the lock and entered the embassy. A hall with expensive furniture, heavy wooden tables, beautifully crafted and big, soft armchairs caught Kidege’s eye. A few cups of coffee and a teapot together with a plate of sandwiches were laid on the table. It all appeared to be warm and the intense aroma of the fresh coffee made Kidege forget about his task, and he came close, sniffing the coffee from a nice china cup. “It could be poisoned” thought Kidege. Why else would they leave those here? Who would have time for breakfast in this hell?” From cross the hall, he heard the creak of the door. He took his AK and held it tight with his finger on the trigger. He kicked the door and a small dog barked at him. He turned to the hall and looked up the stairs. He heard a whisper from above the stairs.”

“Give up, come out! You are surrounded by the Nyumbani liberating army. It’s time to give up, traitors!”

He waited, his heart beating fast and his sweat dripping down his cheeks and temples. Maybe the captain was wrong. Maybe they would wait for him upstairs with, rifles and machine guns and shotguns and grenades and machetes. Maybe he wouldn’t even have the chance to shoot one bullet. As he reached the first floor, he saw a door opening. He aimed and pressed the trigger. A 13 year old girl opened the door and Kidege felt tenser. It was a trap. Should he lower his gun, behind her, a terrorist would shoot him dead, he thought. But the girl kept on staying in the door, looking at him scared. She was wearing a green satin dress with a jersey and a white hat. Her brown eyes searched deep into his soul.

“Move away!” Kidege said.

The little girl ran back into the room closing the door. Kidege stepped carefully and very slowly opened it. Around 30 people were crammed in an office room. The room seemed big enough, but he noticed they were sitting on desks, chairs, there was also a big sofa, and others had blankets on the floor. It was a blue painted room with modern elegant furniture. One of the windows was broken and the bullet that broke it was now laying on the edge of the frame. He looked at those who were in the room. Mostly elders and women frightened and crying and a few young men, cautious but ready to jump and take him out at the first sign of inattention. Some were eating on the floor; others were drinking water from a plastic canister. One young man pulled out from his vest a small black version of a Walther pistol and pointed it to Kidege.

“Put your gun down, now!” shouted Kidege aiming to shoot the young man. He felt compelled to pull the trigger on his AK-47 and shoot a bullet in his head.  The man resisted.

“Gun down or I will shoot everybody!” Again he shouted, louder and louder.

“Aren’t you gonna do that anyway?” the young man snarled.

A businessman, thought Kidege. He’s probably some businessman, probably the executive of some of the factories around, with his tinted glasses and his grey suit. What if he shot him, on the spot, right here, right now? What was he waiting for? Damn it, kill him now and get it over with.

“Damn mercenaries, hungry for money and loot, you come here to kill, rape and pillage in the name of freedom. Here, I’m tired of fighting. May you rot in hell!” said the man, throwing away his gun.

Kidege ran and hit him hard in the chest with the rifle butt. The man groaned and fell to the floor. A woman ran to the young man crying.

“Listen traitors!” shouted Kidege. “You are surrounded. There is no escape for you. You will all give me your valuables, jewelry, money, watches. If you have any more guns, give them to me now. Don’t do stupid mistakes. No one is coming to rescue you!”

Kidege took his knapsack down and showed it to the people. “Throw here, all you have.” The young were the first to give up their valuables, their money, their jewels; they threw all their belongings in the bag, begging Kidege to spare their lives. An old man refused to take off his wedding ring.

“Take it off, I said”, yelled Kidege. “You stole it from the people. Now you give it back, you hear old man?”

“You fool; I didn’t steal it from no one. I bought it with my own money, working hard as a laborer, on a construction site, in my youth. I have nothing to give back, mercenary”, replied the old man.

“Fine, said Kidege. “I will deal with you later.”

Kidege looked at him one more time with the though of striking him hard with the rifle, right in the head. But then he thought of his father and it seemed the old man resembled him. “There is no resemblance, tried Kidege to drive this thought out of his mind. “My father is a poor but hardworking man, this one is a traitor, one that took advantage of the hardship and the hard work of the workers and lived in luxury. And that word again, “mercenary”. How bad, how vile it sounded. When you pronounced it, it had the taste of murder, the taste of blood and death. He knew very well he wasn’t a mercenary. They were liberators; this is what they were told. “Was it for the money, too?” he thought. It was the idea of justice that made Kidege volunteer, but also that of glory and the money he would bring to his family, after the war. He remembered his grandfather’s words, his last advice before we left the village. “If it is money that drives you to shed blood, don’t go. Probably you’ll still be poor, but you will have your conscience clear. You are a warrior, not a criminal.” But Kidege smiled and assured his grandfather that is justice and freedom he wants, not wealth. What did his grandfather know, anyway? He had been a farmer as long as he knew. He knew nothing else than his simple life and the crushing poverty.

Kidege looked over the room. Everybody had put their money and jewelry in the knapsack as Kidege required, except one young woman. She had long black hair, and a blue old suit. She was lying on a blanket with her back against the wall. Kidege walked to her and threw the knapsack in front of her.

“Jewelry and money in the bag, now!” ordered Kidege.

The young woman took three coins and a banknote she had in her wallet and a small old wooden cross.

“I said all!” shouted Kidege. Is that all? A wooden cross... A useless dalasi banknote and some coins… Is that all you have?”

“Yes”, shrugged the young woman.

“What is your name, woman?”

“Kayla” she answered shyly and from her big beautiful black almond eyes she begged for mercy.

“Kayla. Put all you have here. This is my last warning!”

“But this is all I have!” pleaded Kayla.

“What is the small plant, the small tree you’re holding there?”

“It is...a young safou tree. One day it will grow big and it will feed many people.”

“Why the hell, would you bring such a thing with you? Everybody brought something, money, jewels. You brought a damn tree. Does it have any value at all?” asked Kidege nervous.

“For you, no it doesn’t. You won’t get much for it. But for me, yes, it is worth something. It is more than a safou tree. It is my family and it has its own story.”

“Not interested about your damn safou tree” replied Kidege.

“Corporal, corporal, do you copy?” sounded the sergeant’s voice in his radio transceiver.

“Copy that, sergeant” answered Kidege.

“Listen, there are three helicopters coming our way from the east, at about 30km from here. You have 10 minutes to get out of the building. We have to leave. We don’t have an RPG so we can’t take them down. Have you finished there?”

“Sergeant, I can’t really…” stopped Kidege.

“Corporal, I asked, is it done?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet? Finish the damn task, Kidege, as you were ordered!” yelled the sergeant.

“Sir, there are children and women and old people here. And only a few young men. And they don’t have many valuables on them.”

“I don’t care. Do you understand that? Captain Makena ordered us to clear the embassy off terrorists. Take them out now!”

“I can’t! Sir, there must be a trial of some sort. There must be a court, they should be judged in a court!”

“There will be no trial. Do you understand that? Take them out now and then leave the building. They are coming to rescue them but there will be nothing to rescue. This is an order! Over!”

He knew. He always knew. It didn’t come as a shock to Kidege. He knew there would be no court, no judge no trial. Only a rain of bullets, blood, pain, anguish and death... Everyone had listened to his conversation and now they were looking frightened at their executioner.  He looked at them and he looked outside the window as his comrades took the truck and left the embassy. He waited and he waited, he hoped somehow he would spare their lives. When he left home, he hoped that it would be only soldiers and terrorists that would die by his hand. Not innocent people, not some poor villagers. Somehow he tricked himself to believe in the lies of captain Makena. Now it was a dead end. If he had left the building, he knew very well… The captain’s commando would come and kill everyone in that room: children, women, young men, elders. He couldn’t let that happen. But if he disobeyed, he would die, along with them. Now he understood what his grandfather told him, that his conscience matters so much more than a damn fat paycheck.  He had the impulse to leave the embassy and he headed to the room but then he heard the voice of one the older men.

“If you leave now, you won’t have time to escape. If you stay here you will have some chance. The helicopters are not coming for our rescue. There will be an air strike after. Mbegwa wants to destroy some of the documents, the information he accidentally left here.”

“I don’t need your advice, old man.”

“So, then, why are you staying here? Why don’t you just kill us and leave with the other criminals!”

“I don’t want to kill you! I don’t know if you are innocent or not. But I know you have the right to a fair trial”, replied Kidege.

“There won’t be any trial, fool! So leave now!” desperately cried the old man.

 

“The old man was right”, thought Kidege. His comrades left him and if had left the building, he wouldn’t have had the chance to either finish his task or save them. Traitors, terrorists that is all he heard from his superiors. He couldn’t find any “terrorist”.  He had been tricked, lulled into the idea that his brothers and sisters were criminals and traitors. “When did our brethren become our worst enemies?” thought Kidege. And it didn’t only happen here. All over Africa it was brother against brother. And those words: traitor, cockroach. The word gave birth to the crime and the crime created the word. How did he become, so gullible, so naïve, so foolish? He cared for his own comrades, but he felt they were fooled just as well.  Does an order values more than a life? Who did he become? Wasn’t he Kidege Diome from the great Diola tribe? A warrior, not a criminal, as his grandfather said. A warrior, not a criminal!

He turned to the young woman, Kayla, again. She was holding the small tree, caressing its yellow flowers. She had tears in her eyes.

“So, what’s the story?” asked Kidege.

“Story?” she raised her head.

“Yes, the tree. You said there was a story. Although I don’t see what great story a tree would have…”

“Safou. My great grandfather brought a safou tree in our village. He built my village with other tribesmen he helped escape from the slave traders. They came here, in a nearby village, Nyasa, close to the sea. They didn’t have much to eat. But when the tree grew big, it fed the entire village. We had a lot of the safou trees, before the war came, before the fire burned it to the ground. I have saved only this small tree. It brought wealth to my village. This tree is my village, my family. It is all I have now.”

“Where was the gold? The money stolen from the villagers?” wondered Kidege. “He had only found some meager savings, some jewelry that the so called traitors inherited from their parents and grandparents and…a tree. A safou tree. If only his comrades, Yakub and Ulani and Julius, knew that they had been lied to, tricked into killing innocents.

As he took his radio transceiver from the pocket, a loud deafening bang shattered the other window in the room and knocked him down.

“God helps us. That was the airstrike. My guess is that it fell on the west wing.” said the old man.

Kidege heard again now the sergeant’s voice in the transceiver.

“Kidege, do you copy? Are you still there?”

He hesitated to answer, but the confrontation with the sergeant was something he could not avoid.

“Copy, sergeant. I am still here!” replied Kidege.

“Good. The helicopters came to clear the area for an airstrike on the embassy, not for rescue. You are lucky to be alive!”

“I didn’t have time to leave the building.”

“Are they dead, Kidege?”

“Sir?”

“The terrorists, corporal! Are they dead?” asked Julius in a slow pace, trying to be calm.

“No. I will not kill them. There are no gold, no diamonds and no jewelry. There are no terrorists here, sergeant; there are only innocent people, children, old and young civilians. We should let them go!

“Corporal, who in the hell twisted your mind so bad? We are coming back with captain Makena! If you let them leave, the moment they walk out the door they will be dead. And so will you! We came here to get rid of the oppressor, to free the people of Nyumbani!” yelled the sergeant.

“We came here for money, so did you! So did Makena. You don’t care about the people. All the villagers we killed. They were no terrorists. “Members of the Resistance”, farmers trying to protect their lives, their families, their lands. You were lied to, Julius. Captain Samir Makena lied to us all!”

“We are coming, Kidege. If I find those cockroaches alive, I will kill you myself and send you pieces to your village, so everybody will know you are a traitor like the rest of them. So choose corporal, you can live and become a wealthy man and return to your village or you can die with the rest of them! Decide!”

From across the room a phone rang. It was an old black rotary dial telephone with its paint scratched and its receiver cracked. The young man that was close to the phone hesitated to pick it up. Kidege nodded and the man picked up the phone.  The man’s voice became more alert and Kidege knew that old broken phone was now their hope.

“So? What does it say?” asked Kidege

The young man again hesitated to answer.

“What did it say? Tell me!” insisted Kidege.

“They, th-they are sending a helicopter to rescue us. In about 20 minutes we should evacuate the building and be on the roof when the helicopter came. There is room for all of us.”

The old man that had advised Kidege to stay inside, burst into tears.

“That means we are saved!”

But soon everyone remembered that they weren’t alone, that death was very near and also imminent.

“So decide now, corporal, said the older man. Kill us or let us go!”

He could turn the situation around right now. He could execute everyone and he would return to his village with glory, fame and money, as a hero. Indeed, as a hero for the others, but as a criminal for his own conscience. He had been lied by his superiors, lied by his comrades. But he could not lie to himself.  He saw outside the truck and Makena’s Jeep approaching the gates. Kidege armed his rifle and prepared. Julius came closer to the building. He had his SMG in his left hand and a megaphone in his other hand.

“Kidege, my friend, come out now. If you can’t, we will do the job for you. There will be no consequences if you come out now and let us take out the terrorists.”

Kidege looked again at his hostages. Hope glistened in their eyes, but they were still unsure of their fate.

“Go! Go now. Go to the roof. I will try to keep them out until your rescuers come” he rushed them. “Kayla”, he said to the young woman, “plant one for me also, where you go. I may not have the chance.”

“Thank you” said Kayla as she wiped the tears that rushed from her beautiful eyes.

“Kidege”, shouted Julius again through the megaphone. “This is my last warning. We are coming in.”

There was no turning back now. The room was now empty. Those who were earlier his hostages now had a chance to live. He saw his comrades jump out of the truck and rushed to the door. He took his first shot, hitting the pavement as a warning. The soldiers took cover behind the truck and fired back. Two bullets hit the cant of the window and Kidege drew back.

“You have written your death sentence Kiege. You traitor! We’re coming for you, Kedougou cockroach. You will die here. We’ll burry you in the f*****g desert!” he heard the voice of Captain Makena.

Another fire burst from his rifle and hit the truck. He heard the helicopter above and he knew Kayla was saved. He knew all of them were saved now. One of Makena’s men took an RPG from the truck and aimed to shot down the helicopter. Kidege shot another round and the soldier fell down. The fire stopped. He leaned to look out of the window and a bullet hit him in the left arm. It was just a matter of time until they would break in and fill him with bullets. He rushed to the roof with the hope that he could still climb aboard the helicopter. He reached the roof, but it was too late. The helicopter already took off. He saw Makena’s commando and Julius entering the building. From the roof he could see the ocean. He could see it for the first time and the sun was just rising from the ocean. Through the loud deafening gun fire he heard Kayla’s voice. In the distance, on the water glare, he saw his village; he heard the morning azan, the church bell… Hit by bullets that came from everywhere, he fell down to the ground. But nothing mattered anymore. He was in his village breathing the fresh air and Kayla smiled at him as she planted the little Safou tree.