Pendembu,
Sierra Leone
“His name’s Matthew,” Dr. Anthea Rucker said.
The doctor’s kind eyes were sad and glistening.
“He’s six,” she added. “Hasn’t said a word since he arrived here two years ago. His parents are dead... killed by roving bandits. They’ve been a problem since the civil war. Matthew must have witnessed some terrible things. He can’t tell us about them... just yet.”
Paul could see the boy was clearly frightened by his presence, but he sensed something else emanating from his bright dark brown eyes... a softer side.
“Would you believe, Paul,” Anthea said, “Despite what Matthew has been through, he’s really a very gentle, loving soul. Every day, he comes to the infants’ ward and helps us care for the babies and the toddlers. I think his instincts must be telling him it’s therapeutic. He’s a very bright boy, you know.”
“I see that,” Paul said.
Matthew was skillfully holding an infant, encouraging it to nurse from an old-style glass baby bottle equipped with a makeshift rubber nipple.
My word, Paul thought. Those things became obsolete years ago. I wonder where they get the nipples?
“Rubber gloves,” Anthea said, anticipating Paul’s question. “We use fingers from heavy rubber gloves tied over the necks of the bottles. We can’t afford the disposable stuff and can’t get real nipples that fit anymore. They don’t work all that well but we’ve no other choice.”
Good grief! Paul thought. The number of infant orphans must be overwhelming and finding the resources to care for them has to be next to impossible out here.
“Matthew’s not the only one who doesn’t speak,” Anthea continued. “We have two other children here just like him. They can’t tell us about the trauma they’ve experienced... tragically; most likely like him they’ve watched their parents and siblings being murdered. You know, Paul, every single one of our children needs to be loved, and loved a lot, and they need much more... so much more. With Elijah gone, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
She paused to collect herself, dabbing her eyes with a corner of her threadbare apron.
“He hoped to raise money on his trip... at least enough for food and medicines, and a few other things, to get us by for a while. A church in Pittsburgh paid for his ticket... bless them.”
Anthea turned away from the boy as she broke down. Paul helped her out of the open doorway, down three rickety steps and over to a bench in the courtyard.
“Thank you again for coming, Paul,” she said, wiping her eyes once more with the corner of her greyed, once white bib apron. You’ve come a long way at Elijah’s request to tell me of my dear husband’s passing.” She paused to gather herself. “I don’t know how to thank you for your thoughtfulness and for bringing Elijah’s ashes to me. I’m so grateful. Fifty-four years we had together. I won’t pretend his passing was unexpected, by Elijah or by myself. We knew he was living on borrowed time, a gift, and we cherished every minute.
“Do you know how Elijah measured each day... how he determined the success of each and every day?” she asked. “Well, of course you wouldn’t. He measured them by the number of children he was able to help that day... he kept track. Elijah took an interest in every single one of our children... giving them medical care, food, clothing, personal guidance and encouragement, by giving lessons on reading, writing or arithmetic in our little classrooms, or by just sitting quietly with a few of them... but above all by giving each one of them his unconditional love.”
“I can see he was a very special man,” Paul said.
“You know, sometimes when I went looking for Elijah, there he’d be with a few little ones crowded around him, and on him, every one feeling his love as he told them stories. His greatest reward was to get a smile. Isn’t that something?”
“Yes indeed,” Paul said. “I can see that.”
“My poor Elijah,” Anthea continued. “He refused to spend our limited resources on his own care, on that pacemaker we both knew he needed so badly. He insisted it was far more important to spend the few dollars we had left on helping our children for as long as we could. He said they had long lives ahead of them, unlike us. He was a very caring man, you know.”
“I got that sense,” Paul said. “I’m sorry that I only knew him such a short time, just a few hours, but I must say I feel as if I’ve known him much longer. I wish I had.”
“You’re a good man,” Anthea said, wiping away tears again from the dark wrinkled skin of her cheeks. “Coming here at your own expense was very generous.”
“I will admit this was a sad mission, Anthea,” Paul said. “But it’s also a privilege to meet you, and to see what you and Elijah have been doing here... what you’ve accomplished. It’s amazing... truly amazing. It’s heartwarming.”
“It’s hard to believe Elijah and I have been running this clinic for over fifty years... since shortly after we graduated together,” Anthea said. “We were married in medical school, you know.
“Elijah mentioned you’re a physician, too, right?” Paul asked.
“Yes, and we certainly could use two or three more, especially a pediatric surgeon,” she replied. “The few nurses we have here are saints, truly saints. They’re often called upon to perform medical procedures far beyond what they’d be allowed to do in the west... they must, or lives would be lost. It’s that simple, and they’re good at it.”
“How many children are you caring for here?” Paul asked.
“Between the orphanage and children needing medical attention, its around two hundred and fifty-three. It varies day to day. We have a hundred and twenty-seven in the orphanage at the moment; the rest are patients recovering from illness or injuries. Sadly, many others need surgery to repair broken bones and internal injuries,” she added. “Can you imagine a starving six-year-old barely strong enough to stand acting as a parent, scavenging for food, clothing, and shelter for one or more younger siblings? I’ve seen their terrible injuries from beatings for doing that. It breaks my heart!”
Anthea paused, her emotions choking her voice.
Paul guessed she would be in her mid-eighties, perhaps her late eighties like Elijah.
What’s going to become of this place when she’s gone? he wondered.
Paul understood the answer and made a decision. That’s not going to happen... that simply cannot happen.
“Do you mind if I come back tomorrow?” Paul asked.
“Of course not!” Anthea said. “But I hope you’ll come prepared to do some work,” she added, smiling. “Do you mind? We could use the help.”
“I’d be delighted to do whatever I can,” he said.
“Are you handy?” she asked. “Do you repair things?”
“Yes,” Paul said. “I grew up on a ranch.”
“Oh, good!” Anthea said. “See you tomorrow.”
***
Paloma Guest House
Kenema, Sierra Leone
“Malcolm, like I said, the children’s hospital and school here are in desperate shape in every possible way. The children and staff are barely surviving, mostly on donated food.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Milord,” Malcolm said on the phone. “What can Secret Shepherd do?”
“I’m faxing you a list of food and supplies they need right away. I’ll keep looking around quietly and be adding to that list. Perhaps we should set up a schedule for regular replenishment.”
“With pleasure,” Malcolm said.
“It looks like we’ll need to truck the supplies from Freetown,” Paul said. “The shipments will require large lorries... we call them semi’s in America. I tried to find stores in eastern Sierra Leone that could handle orders of the size I expect we’ll need. No luck; same with hotels. I did find a nice hotel here in Kenema. Unfortunately, it’s fifty miles from Pendembu.
“I’ll fax you the names of contacts at four supermarkets in Freetown. I called a bunch, but only these four have the facilities
to package orders for long distance shipment, including frozen foods and other perishables. Pendembu is two hundred and thirty-five miles east of Freetown, so everything needs to be packed appropriately.”
“Leave that with me,” Malcolm said. “Actually, I know a lawyer in Freetown. I’m sure he would be willing to act as our eyes and ears on the ground there. Juana and I were involved in a city-twinning project with a place there called Bo Town a few years back. I’m sure he’d be delighted to help.”
“Fantastic!” Paul said. “Perhaps he could recommend someone locally who’d be willing to help Dr. Rucker assess the food, medicines and other supplies she needs.”
“Good idea, Milord,” Malcolm said.
“And Malcolm,” Paul said. “Secret Shepherd needs to open an account at a pharmacy in Freetown in Dr. Anthea Rucker’s name… one she can draw from as required.”
“Good as done,” Malcolm said.
“One more thing, Malcolm.”
“Yes, Milord?”
“That list I’m sending you... it includes ten gross of baby bottles and disposable liners,” Paul said.
“Yes, Milord?”
“Double that order, please.”
“Yes Milord.”
***
Paul arrived at the hospital/orphanage the next morning and was put to work immediately repairing a water pipe under the school building. It had been leaking for weeks.
The six-room school occupied the center of a large courtyard. It was the hub, surrounded by long narrow structures radiating outward like the spokes of a wheel. All but two of the ‘spokes’ served as residences. Another housed the clinic and operating theatres, and the last one the children’s hospital. The long narrow buildings reminded Paul of army barracks.
He was under one end of the school finishing repairs to the damaged pipe when he heard feet pounding on the floor above. Women were screaming and children crying.
Paul scurried out to a scene of chaos.
Women were rushing children into the classrooms and gathering desks to barricade the open doorways. None had doors. A few armed men with aged weapons were guarding over the women and children as they ran into the school.
Paul spotted Anthea near one school doorway, protectively directing children inside. He ran over.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Bandits!” she said. “They come often to try stealing some of our girls! This is the second time this month. They make the children become forced brides... sex slaves! Terrible, terrible men! Barbarians! Savages!”
Paul heard repeated bursts of gunfire from several directions and men shouting.
A young man ran up to Anthea carrying an AK-47 rifle with a large sidearm strapped to his belt.
He was agitated; his dark face was creased with worry.
“You okay, Mrs. Doctor?” he asked, bowing slightly before her.
“Yes, my dear,” she said. “Thank you. Benjamin, this is Paul Winston. Paul, this is Benjamin Lansana.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winston,” Benjamin said hastily looking around. “I must go, Mrs. Doctor! I don’t know why they are back again so soon but we must drive those bandits away. I’ll come back and meet you more properly, sir.”
“Do you have another weapon?” Paul asked Benjamin. “I’m familiar with firearms. I can help.”
“Here,” Ben said, handing him the AK-47. “I’ll get another. Please keep Mrs. Doctor safe. And you may need these extra magazines,” he added, digging into a knapsack slung over his left shoulder. “Please take Mrs. Doctor inside. I must go now.”
“Of course,” Paul called out as Benjamin turned and ran down a path between two of the sixty-foot buildings.
Paul helped Anthea climb four steps into a classroom. About thirty-five elementary-aged children were huddled in one corner with two young women. An adult male that Paul assumed to be a teacher was helping six older boys pile desks to block the open doorway. Paul assumed similar scenes were taking place in the other five classrooms in the building.
“Get back!” the teacher called loudly to the boys, his eyes focused outside. “Back against the wall! Quickly.”
He turned and gestured ‘quiet’ to other students huddled tightly in a far corner of the room. Some were whimpering, others were crying. All stared at the door and open windows, their red eyes wide with fear.
Paul tucked Anthea behind him against a wall about ten feet back from the doorway. He heard shooting draw closer to their classroom. It suddenly stopped. An eerie silence followed. He could hear someone talking in a language he didn’t understand.
“They’re searching,” Anthea whispered. “I’m sure they’re looking for girls. They will steal some of these children, if they see them. We must do something!”
Before Paul could stop her, Anthea scurried toward the huddled children. A shot rang out. A bullet hit the wall above her head.
A man dressed in camouflage clothing kicked at the pile of desks blocking the doorway.
The man leaned across the scramble of desks and aimed his rifle at Anthea and then saw Paul, firing at him instead.
Paul dropped to the floor and fired two bursts from the AK-47. The man fell across the overturned desks. His rifle clattered into the classroom. The teacher rushed over and picked it up. He grabbed hold of the dead assailant’s camouflage jacket and threw the body backwards out of the room.
The teacher crouched on the opposite side of the doorway from Paul. He fired three shots, grunting once in satisfaction. Paul held fire, uncertain who were the bad guys among the men scurrying around outside. He kept watch from the two windows behind them, and the door, on alert for more intruders.
The classroom was silent for almost ten minutes.
“They’re gone,” the teacher said finally. He glanced over where Anthea and two older girls were helping to calm the younger children, and introduced himself as Joseph.
“I teach English,” Joseph said. “That man you shot did not look like the others. We should go check.”
Paul helped Joseph clear a path around the desks and then followed him out the door.
“This man is not from here,” Joseph pronounced.
The body was on its back, eyes open in a death stare.
“Middle Eastern,” Paul said. “I think I might have been the target of this attack.”
“Whatever for?” Joseph said.
Paul explained.
“Mr. Mousavi is a very fortunate man,” Joseph said.
Benjamin joined them.
“This is odd,” he said. “I don’t think this raid was to steal girls.”
“I believe you’re right,” Paul replied. “They were after me.”
Paul told him what he’d explained to Joseph.
“You seem to be quite good at your own defense,” Benjamin said, smiling.
“I apologize for causing this attack,” Paul said. “I’m not sure how they found out I was here, but I’m going to look into it. You folks have more than enough to worry about.”
“Oh, we’re used to it,” Benjamin said. “Sadly, these raids happen much too often. We have to be on the alert all the time. I wish we had more money for better defenses. We do the best we can with what we’ve got.”
Benjamin excused himself to check on Anthea. Satisfied she was safe, he re-joined Paul and Joseph to help them untangle the desks piled at the door. Boys who’d gathered the desks earlier helped organize them back into the rows where they’d been.
“Those are horrible people,” Benjamin said. “That man you shot must have paid them to help find you. Anyway, they won’t be back today. I must go now. Some of our people were hurt. They need help.”
Paul looked around. He was amazed at how calm all of the adults seemed to be as they resumed their normal activities while trying to comfort the frightened children.
“Benjamin works for us,” Anthea said after he left. They were sitting on the steps to one of the schoolrooms. “He used to call Elijah, ‘Mr. Doctor’. I told him about
Elijah after you left last night. He was devastated... everyone here is devastated.
“Benjamin’s a teacher and a medical assistant and a guard. His father was one of the first orphans who came to us after we opened the clinic and children’s home. The rebels kidnapped his mother and killed his father. They murdered her when she refused to become a sex slave and a spy for them. We can’t pay him much, so he and his fiancée work in town. They both teach two days a week at a school in town and work here four days. Isn’t that something?”
“What do they teach?” Paul asked.
“Benjamin teaches biology and mathematics,” Anthea said. “Elijah and I taught him. His fiancée, Isata, teaches the girls human anatomy and self-reliance skills. I taught her. She was raised here too.”
She stood.
“Please come with me,” Anthea said. “I’d like you to meet some of our children in the hospital. Would you mind reading a story or two to them? They love stories. The distraction will help calm them from this morning’s frightening events. I think stories also help to develop their imaginations.”
“Do the stories have African settings?” Paul asked as they walked across the courtyard toward the hospital. “Stories with settings in Sierra Leone?”
“I’m impressed you’d think of that,” Anthea said. A big smile adorned her work-weathered face. “And, yes we do. Elijah and I rewrote a number of children’s stories so they would be set in contexts our children will recognize. Some didn’t need much adaptation. For example, Winnie-The-Pooh... those wonderful stories are told in scores of countries around the world... the settings are everywhere and anywhere.”
“Is English prevalent here?” Paul asked.
“Oh yes,” Anthea said. “While this region hosts two of Sierra Leone’s three major indigenous languages, English remains the official language... another legacy of British colonial rule. But it’s beneficial since English is such a universal language around the world.”
Paul followed Anthea into the long barracks-type building, one of many radiating from the large courtyard where the school served as the hub, both social and educational.
“This is our clinic and hospital,” Anthea said.
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