Liberia's Son

PROLOGUE

The sun had just come up in Monrovia on a beautiful cloudless morning when government soldiers kicked in the door to Yu-jay’s home. The eight armed men dressed in green camouflage military uniforms stormed through the house like a pack of rabid dogs, snarling and vicious and wild-eyed.

Get up! Everyone outside! they screamed. Now!

Yu-jay and his younger brother, Jared, along with their mother and grandmother, came out, arms up, squinting into the sun. They were joined by several adults the family had taken in for shelter during the civil war that had spread from 200 miles away in the countryside into the capital city of Monrovia. The jittery soldiers brandished M16 and AK-47 assault rifles as they lined up the terrified men, women, and children, nearly all stripped to their underwear. It was the first step of a mass murder.

At only 14 years old, Yu-jay understood he was probably going to die. He felt numb, almost as if his soul was already leaving his body. He became only flesh and bone now, already coming to terms with his imminent death. He made his peace with God, recalling a familiar Psalm: Lord, into your hands I commend my life.

These soldiers were on the run; the last men standing in their company. The rebels had beaten the government forces and were advancing on this remnant, pushing their way down the city streets; now this beautiful place, this coastal city, had descended into lawlessness and terror. They were men hardened from battle, but their eyes darted with fear and desperation. Their time was up. They knew they could rob these defenseless people, and then gun them down with no consequences. As soon as the rebels caught up with them, they’d all be dead men anyway. There was no hope for anyone here.

I didn’t think I was supposed to die this young, 12-year-old Jared thought to himself.

Who else is with you? one of the soldiers barked at the line of civilians. They stood wordlessly, fearful and shivering, half-naked. Anxiety shot through the group. One other person, Fela, a Nigerian man who had become a close family friend, was hiding in the small, two-bedroom guesthouse to the left side of the main home Yu-jay lived in with his mom and brother. Fela had been in the small house when the soldiers arrived in the neighborhood. He ran to the main house to warn the others, then retreated back to the small house. During the brief time he was away alerting the family, the soldiers had taken the neighbors who lived in the house just behind where Fela was hiding and shot them dead. The armed men had apparently found bullet casings in the neighbor’s home, which one of them had apparently been collecting, and accused them of being rebel sympathizers. They had killed two innocent people without a moment’s hesitation. It was clear they intended to do the same thing here.

They knew it would be risky to expose Fela, but maybe even riskier to cover it up. If they lied, they’d all be dead when the men discovered Fela in the guest house; if they cooperated, maybe they’d have the slimmest of chances. There was no good choice here. Everyone sensed the soldiers were on the edge, unstable. These men were capable of anything. One misstep and this whole group of good men and women and even children could be gunned down in an instant. Finally, one of the men spoke.

Come with me, he said. He led the soldiers to the little house where they rounded up Fela.

Some of the soldiers ransacked the two houses, gathering valuables into their bags and pockets. They took rings and gold necklaces and bracelets, jewelry Yu-jay’s mother had been saving for her boys to give to their future wives. Now, it seemed likely there would be no future wives, no future children, no future. They took the Tissot watch Yu-jay had been given for his thirteenth birthday. It was his most prized possession. It scarcely mattered now.

Out front, there were 21 innocent people in all, completely dependent on the whims of these desperate armed men. Yu-jay’s mother, Rosetta, kept the frightened group calm.

We all need to pray, she told them.

The rebel gunfire grew closer and more intense. Yu-jay and the others knew their time was running out. If the soldiers didn’t execute them, they would likely be caught in the crossfire of the coming battle and die anyway.

Will you let us go back in the house? Rosetta asked the man who appeared to be in charge. And after the fighting is over, you can bring us back out and do whatever you want.

The man hesitated and eyed her with a steely stare. Their lives—all of them—hung in the balance of this hopeless man’s decision.

Yeah, go ahead he said, then paused, but I’m gonna throw a grenade in there.

They couldn’t tell if he meant it—maybe he didn’t even know—but all 21 of them quickly herded inside, aware of what certainly awaited them if they stayed out front.

The rebels soon arrived with gunshots and grenade bursts. The fighting raged throughout the neighborhood, up and down the streets. Inside, the terrified group crouched down away from the windows, but they could hear all of it. Gunfire and explosions, screams and yells. During this time, Yu-jay pleaded with God promising to live for Him if God would preserve him and his family. After three long, horrifying hours, it all stopped. There was an eerie silence. The once lively neighborhood, a place that had been filled with sounds of children playing and laughing, neighbors talking, dogs barking, birds chirping, even the chimes of an occasional ice cream truck, was now deadly quiet.

No one dared to move.

Finally, one of the men in the house slowly rose up and looked out the front window.

The men are all gone, he said.

One by one, they slowly stood up and went outside.

They saw bodies everywhere. The soldiers, who just hours earlier had scared the family almost to death, lay about 50 yards away from the house, scattered about, some of them still clutching the loot they had stolen from Yu-jay’s house in their hands.

A dead body, that’s something you’ll never forget, Jared said later. Never in your life.

The soldiers who had just hours earlier held all of their lives at the tips of their jumpy trigger fingers now laid lifeless on the ground. Yu-jay and a few others briefly considered taking back their things, meaning they literally would have to pry their belongings out of the hands of these dead men. They decided against it. The stuff was just not that important now.

In a lawless land, there would be no one to take the bodies away. In a few days, the stench would become unbearable. In reverence, the older men gathered the two bodies of the neighbors that had been killed next door, placed tires on them, doused the pile with gasoline and set it ablaze. No one dared to touch the soldiers’ bodies because they were not close enough to the houses and everyone was too frightened to mess with them. So they left them there. These soldiers and a few rebels had lost their lives, but so had the survivors. For Yu-jay and his family, the life they once had was gone.

1

A SPECIAL DAY

There are two great days in a person’s life—the day we are born and the day we discover why.

- William Barclay

Yu-jay Harris turned 13 on April 26, 1989. It was a Wednesday on the coast of West Africa, an ordinary school day. Elsewhere in the world, there was trouble and turmoil—a huge tornado killed 1300 people and left another 80,000 homeless in Bangladesh and the rumblings of unrest in China’s Tiananmen Square were just beginning—but in Monrovia, all was peaceful and calm. Yu-jay rose early and got dressed, just as he did on any other school day. He ate a bit of sweet cornbread his mom had made for breakfast before she took him to school that morning around 8:30. The school was St. Patrick’s, perhaps the most prestigious school in the country, outside of the private American Cooperative School in Monrovia. St. Patrick’s was a private, all boys, parochial Catholic school well known for its academic rigor and excellence

At St. Patrick’s, everyone went to mass each Wednesday and this week was no exception. The students, all wearing the same uniform—khaki pants and white shirts with the school’s badge sewn on the right pocket —filed into the small chapel to begin the service. Afterwards, they went to their classes, but no one mentioned Yu-jay’s birthday. Birthdays were usually not that significant in Liberia, at least not enough to warrant public attention and celebration at school. The school day ended around 2:00 p.m. and Yu-jay slid into the back seat of a taxi his mom had hired to pick him and his brother up from school. Once home, he did his homework right away. Mom’s rule was you could not play until all homework was finished. It was strictly enforced. On some days, he had an after-school tutor, and he would be done with all his homework before he even got home. But on this night, he still had some work to do before he could go out. When he was done, he hurried out to join the other kids for soccer and some ping-pong in the driveway on a makeshift ping-pong table—a plywood board with a net on top of two chairs.

There wasn’t much distinction between the classes in this neighborhood full of families. Yu-jay and his family lived in a nice, eye-catching house, but right outside their door was a small shack that was home to another neighbor. And so it was throughout the neighborhood with the well-off and poor mixed together. The kids played with each other; their parents chatted and had dinners together. In America, the neighborhoods tend to be clearly separated by class, but this wasn’t the case in Liberia. The lines between one class and another were evident in some ways, especially in the style of dress and where kids went to school, but these external differences were no barriers to relationship.

There was a feeling of safety in the neighborhood. It was virtually free of crime, with hardly any break-ins and certainly no violence. The nights were still, and before the kids arose for school, the mornings were full of the sound of chirping birds

You didn’t lock up your doors, Rosetta said, recalling the experience of living in that serene place. People didn’t kidnap kids and your neighbors could come in and out of your house. Your friends came in and out.

For the neighborhood kids, it was more out than in. They’d play soccer and other games until dark. Usually the only time they might come in during the daylight hours was to get a drink of water and escape the heat for a few minutes, then it was back outside to play. The kids stayed active and lean. Watching television around the clock or spending hours playing on a gaming console were not options.

Rosetta’s house, a unique, seven-sided beauty, was the hangout for the rest of the neighborhood, adult and child alike. This house, the neighborhood’s hub of activity, was a blessing that Rosetta and the boys didn’t take for granted. A lot of struggle and hardship had gone into getting them into that house. Over the years, Rosetta managed to parlay her job with a German company to another job with the American Embassy in Liberia. The job afforded them even more income and allowed them to have even nicer things.

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We were living such a wonderful life, she said.

Rosetta’s generosity extended beyond the immediate family. She learned of a young man named Sylvester Yarpah whose father had fallen on hard times. His family had little means of support at the time, but his father desperately wanted Sylvester to complete his education. The boy was in the eighth grade at the time and was bright, capable, and full of promise.

Rosetta gladly took him in, like another one of his family members had done earlier in his life, and helped Sylvester finish his high school education. He quickly became like an older brother to Yu-jay and Jared and was considered a part of the family, which happens frequently in many African cultures. Families take others of lesser financial and educational means into their homes when they are in need and those individuals become part of the family. It was also typical in many African cultures for this adopted child to sleep on the floor in the house, but Rosetta would not consider it for Sylvester.

I never let him sleep on the floor. I would sleep on the floor and let him sleep in the bed if we had guests. She believes her earlier hardships actually made her more aware of the need to treat all people with respect. "Because I was treated badly, I wouldn’t turn around and say, ‘Oh, because I was treated wrong, I should do it