by Paul Jordan
After orders, Jon and I returned to the Swamp (the evac room, named in honour of the MASH series) to sort out any last minute bits and pieces. I also ran into Terry Pickard. Terry was a good soldier and 2IC of the Casualty Clearing Post (CCP). I asked Terry if they were all packed. ‘Hell, no, mate, we’ve got miles to go.’
‘Do you need help? We’re done here.’
‘Nah, we’re good, thanks Jordo.’
‘Righto, see you in a few hours.’
The force, commanded by Major Steve McCrowin, comprised two infantry sections commanded by Lieutenant Steve Tilbrook; the CCP commanded by Captain Carol Vaughan-Evans (an army doctor); one evacuation crew which I commanded; and a signals detachment which was to be located at the Zambian Headquarters at Gikongoro. The force departed Kigali at 3.00 am on Wednesday morning and headed west to Butare. At the UN Headquarters in Butare we turned right and continued on to Gikongoro. A two-minute drive out of Gikongoro had us at the Zambian Headquarters at 7.30 am where we set up a base camp.
This was a very long drive for that hour of the morning. After orders the night before, Jon and I had decided to have a few beers to help us get to sleep. We got our heads down at about 9.00 pm and, ten minutes later, we were called out on an evacuation task. We were told to go to the MP (Military Police) compound where a prisoner had been beaten. Realising that we smelt of beer, we threw half a dozen minties into our mouths so we wouldn’t get our arses kicked by the MPs for driving around half-pissed. As it turned out, there was nothing wrong with the prisoner, so we went back to the hospital to see how things were going down there. The poor bastards were still at it, loading shit into the truck. We hung around for a while, but given that they were nearly done, we went back to bed, happy that we had pre-empted the move and packed the moment we had got wind of the deployment. We were back in the compound and in bed by 12.30 am. So, when we got up two hours later, we weren’t quite ready for an outing to a massacre.
I’m buggered if I know how Jon drove for the five hours without falling asleep and killing both of us, but he managed to get us there without any drama while I slept my lazy arse off next to him. Occasionally, I asked Jon if he wanted a spell, but he always said that he was okay, which was a good thing because, the way I felt, I’d have driven about 300 metres before I’d have fallen asleep and driven the ambo off a cliff. It was great when the sun came up because we got to see some more of this country and, while it was still recovering from the genocide that had taken place a year before, it was a beautiful country with a great climate. I pulled out some of our French rations and made myself useful by making some snacks for Jon to keep him going. I also had the map laid out so I could work out where we were and where we were going.
At 7.45 am, I left the ambulance with Jon at the Zambian Battalion Headquarters with one infantry section and, under command of Major McCrowin, the remaining section, the CCP and I continued on to Kibeho. The drive to Kibeho was interesting. Gikongoro was surrounded by a mountain range and the best way for the kids to get into town was to scream down these hills on home-made wooden scooters. The scooters were fashioned from old bits of wood, but were quite well put together. The wheels were made of wood as were the axles. The forks sat over the axle without anything to lock them in. The riders of these scooters had to dodge the holes in the road because to hit one would see the axle jump out of the forks and some poor kid doing cartwheels down the hill.
We left the solid road and hit the dirt road that would take us all the way into Kibeho. On the way we were surprised to see some quite large IDP camps, although the occupants seemed to be doing okay. We drove through coffee plantations and small villages. We passed a number of small children walking along the roads and they gave us the usual greeting by calling for ‘bisquee’. During the French occupation they had obviously given the kids biscuits, so now they demanded them every time we saw them. After a while the infantry lads got sick of this, so they’d hold a biscuit out the back of the rover and tease the kids into chasing after them. The kids would run flat out trying to get the biscuit while the infantry soldier took a bite from it. Finally, after three kilometres or so when the kids would start to slow, the infantry lad would drop the biscuit. Bloody cruel, but they were bored.
We arrived at the outskirts of the camp at 9.30 am. The place looked like a ghost town and we all assumed that we’d missed the IDPs. We were told that the RPA were going to clear the camp and we thought that they had already done so. As we continued through the camp I could see that it had been cleared very quickly because most of the IDPs’ belongings had been left behind. We continued on towards the buildings of Kibeho and, as we rounded the corner to the centre of the community, we were confronted by a sea of humanity. It’s difficult to describe the sight of 120,000 people all herded together like sheep. There were so many of them it was overwhelming. Later, we found out that the RPA had used gunfire to round up all the IDPs and, in the rush, 10 children had been trampled to death. As we drove through the camp, the crowd parted and began to clap and cheer as if we were their saviours. I wasn’t sure what they thought we could do for them.
The Zambian company located at Kibeho had set up a watering point and, beyond that, was the documentation point where the identification of all IDPs was being checked by the RPA before they were loaded onto trucks to be transported back to their communities. We tried to set up the CCP but were twice told that our location wasn’t satisfactory and eventually we set up beyond the documentation point. While the RPA were not happy with us being in the camp, they put up with us. We spent the whole day there and saw only one casualty, a Zambian soldier with a minor injury. We left the camp that Wednesday with the feeling that we were not really required and should return to Kigali.
Back at the Zambian compound, Jon and I had a work-out using the dumb-bells and then got cleaned up for dinner. We were invited to have dinner in the respective messes with the Zambians, and the food was quite good — certainly better than the French rations we had. The French ration packs made a change from the Aussie packs, but were good for only one day, and then we’d have been happy with an Aussie rat pack again. The French rations were full of lollies and biscuits. The lollies consisted of a bag of caramel bits which, due to my love of caramel, I managed to shove into my mouth all at once, and a piece of sugar-covered jelly which I also liked. The quantity of lollies and biscuits contained in the rat packs told us why they were thrown to the kids — there were just so many.
The Zambian camp was surrounded with concertina wire and, beyond that, there was always a local or two asking for food. The kids openly asked for food, but the adults just stood there looking at us until we could stand it no longer and gave them a tin or two. Jon and I did a lot of our eating while on the move; I’d pull out a rat pack and start making cheese and pâté biscuits. We did this because we were dog tired, and the eating gave us something to take our minds off sleeping. It also took some time to put these culinary delights together and therefore gave us something to occupy our time.
On Thursday 20 April, we arrived at Kibeho at 8.30 am and entered the Zambian Charlie Company compound. This time I had Jon and the ambulance with me. The Charlie Company compound was located in the middle of all the IDPs. We were told by the Zambians that they had a woman who had given birth the night before and still had a child inside her. She also had a three-year-old daughter who, at the time, was with an old woman who had two children herself. Carol spoke to one of the specialists back at AUSMED and explained the situation to him. This took some time because a driver had to go to the hospital to collect the specialist and take him to the communications centre. The specialist recommended evacuating the lady back to AUSMED, so Carol prepared the woman for the flight. We argued the point with our headquarters in Kigali that the woman’s young daughter should travel back to AUSMED with her. However the headquarters said no, so we felt as though we had broken up another family. AUSMED insisted they didn’t have the manpower to babysit a child while her mother was recovering.
We had her aeromedically evacuated (AME) to Kigali and it was later discovered in theatre that all she had was a swollen bladder. Once again, we set up the CCP at the documentation point and this time we went ‘shopping’ for casualties.
The RPA soldiers would fire their weapons into the air to control the IDPs. At around 1.00 pm we heard sporadic fire, so three infantry soldiers, Jon and I moved off towards the fire to look for casualties, although we didn’t manage to locate anyone who needed our help. Tension was mounting in the camp and, as we left that night, we heard more firing from inside the camp. We had difficulty leaving the camp that day as the RPA had set up roadblocks. We decided to follow a convoy carrying IDPs when one truck slid in the mud and went off the bank, so every other truck stopped and blocked the road. We turned around to find another way out and, as we passed Kibeho, we again heard the crackle of gunfire.
We eventually found a secure route out and were 30 minutes from the camp when we spoke to a man from UNICEF (United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund). He told us that he’d heard over the radio that 10 IDPs had been shot dead in the camp. Due to restrictions we were not permitted to stay in the camp overnight, so we continued back to the Zambian Headquarters.
Once back at the Zambian Headquarters we showered in a bucket of cold water and went to the Zambian mess for some dinner. Inside the mess, the fire they used to cook the dinner was like a bushfire and was smoking terribly. This didn’t seem to worry the Zambians and they chatted happily to us in the smoke-filled room. But in the end I had to get out of there because I was starting to drown in my tears — it was horrendous. Jon and I slept in the back of the ambulance because it offered the best bed in the area.
On Friday 20 April, we arrived at Kibeho at 8.30 am and were told that there were 30 dead from the night before and that the Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) hospital was busy, but at this stage required no help. When the Kibeho camp was initially established, MSF moved into the camp to set up a small hospital which was kept very busy. We set up the CCP at the documentation point and saw a few patients who were suffering from colds and basic infections. For most, it was a case of giving them antibiotics and sending them on their way. A number of children came into the CCP and, if there were no RPA around, we gave them dry clothes and pushed some lollies into their mouths. Towards the afternoon we picked up an IDP with a broken femur whom we planned to drive back to the hospital in Butare that evening.
There was a group of IDPs sitting on some high ground near the documentation point awaiting transport, so some of us went over to look through the crowd for wounded. As we did this, an RPA soldier started to tell me to leave the area. I approached him and, even though he wasn’t speaking English, I knew exactly what he wanted. I basically told him to shove it up his arse and, even though I couldn’t speak Rwandan, he knew what I meant and didn’t trouble us any more. Sometimes the bluff worked, most times it didn’t. That morning, an RPA Corporal tried to make us leave the documentation point and set up somewhere else. Major McCrowin told the Corporal that we were not moving and that he would not speak to him, reminding the Corporal that he was a Major. He told the Corporal to go and get his CO as he was the only person he would speak to. The Corporal left and we never heard any more about it. In the early afternoon, Major McCrowin left Kibeho to return to Kigali and placed Lieutenant Steve Tilbrook in command. Tilbrook was a young infantry platoon commander with a couple of years’ experience up his sleeve and, by all accounts, a pretty good officer.
Eating became a bit of a problem. I mean, there were thousands of starving IDPs walking past us the whole time; we couldn’t just rip out a bar of chocolate and start feeding our faces in front of these people. Jon and I took it in turns getting into the back of the ambulance and eating a cold meal. We always waited till we got back to the Zambian Battalion compound to have a decent feed. Another problem was the call of nature. For most, it was a case of not going. The Zambian company at Kibeho had three toilets dug next to its compound, but you’d have to be pretty desperate to hang your arse over them. The dug toilets at the Zambian Headquarters weren’t too bad, so we went in the morning or at night. But, right now, we were down at the documentation point where a toilet had yet to be dug. Before the good old Infantry had it dug, Jon felt the need, so he found a nice little secluded spot next to an abandoned hut, dug himself a hole and went for it. Just as he was settling in and starting to enjoy himself, he heard some laughter and swivelled around to notice a group of RPA soldiers behind him giggling. It was probably the first white arse they had seen. Needless to say, Jon finished up and got the hell out of there. Jon couldn’t wait to tell me about it. I always knew when he had a good story to tell. Jon was one of those blokes who had trouble getting words out when telling a funny story because he laughed so much during the telling.
As we packed up that evening, we were told that the MSF hospital had six priority one patients and needed assistance to get them out. Carol Vaughan-Evans, Terry Pickard, Jon and I went down to the hospital and identified those patients requiring AME by helicopter. As an MSF nurse identified the patients to Carol, I followed, recording the patient’s state and location within the maze of hospital rooms and patients. At one stage we all walked into a small theatre where a young boy was having his calf muscle sewn back on. The boy was conscious and the doctor, wearing a pair of shorts and a singlet, told the nurse which patients to evacuate. This was unusual for us to see because, back at AUSMED, you were lucky to get anywhere near the theatre, let alone wander in and see a doctor in shorts and singlet. One patient had recently been struck with a machete across her arm, so Jon stayed with her to get her ready for AME. Once all the patients had been identified, Carol, Terry and Jon returned to the compound to prepare a CCP to stabilise the patients before the AME arrived. I stayed at the hospital ready to identify the patients to the infantry. The infantry came to the hospital with stretchers and we transported the patients to the compound where we prepared them for AME. This involved inserting an intravenous (IV) drip, stopping any bleeding and bandaging their wounds. Then we put the patients into the ambulance and drove them to the helipad.
The helo landed at 5.00 pm and we loaded the patients on board. One patient had been shot through the bladder and bowel and could not sit up, but it was a case of either sit up or stay here, so Jon and I forced him to sit up. Once we had him on the helo we noticed a lot of blood coming from the bullet hole in his backside. We checked the stretcher and saw that the bandage had fallen off. The end result was we simply pretended that we hadn’t seen it. We could not evacuate the man with the broken femur because there was no way we could get him to sit up, so we decided to take him with us to the Butare hospital.
The RPA were not happy that people were being evacuated by helo and wanted to inspect every wound to be sure we were not smuggling people out of the camp. This delayed the AME by 20 minutes, but it eventually took off. This was my first experience in negotiating with the RPA Major (who spoke good English) and was certainly not to be my last.
We moved from the helipad back to the Charlie Company compound and were told that we had another wounded IDP. This one had been shot in the lung and had a sucking chest wound. He was in a bad way and, as it was getting dark, we decided to take him with us in the ambulance. Carol and Jon stabilised the man for travel. The military treatment for a sucking chest wound is to stick the outer wrapper of a field dressing over the hole and, using sticking plaster, stick three sides down. This creates a valve, stopping air from going in, but letting air out. This bloke was covered in blood and sweat; there was no way that plaster was going to stick. Jon had to hold the wrapper firmly over the hole and try to judge when he was breathing out so he could release the wrapper to let the trapped air out. We were then faced with the problem of getting through the RPA checkpoints. Carol and Jon sat in the rear of the ambulance and continually worked on the patient as we talked our way through each checkpoint. At the checkpoints we were forced to open the ambulance and the patient
s were checked to ensure there was no faking of injuries.
After two hours of travelling through rough terrain, the convoy (which consisted of two military observers from Uruguay driving a Pathfinder, the infantry 6 x 6 troop carrier with the infantry section and Lieutenant Tilbrook on board, the ambo with the two casualties and Jon and Carol in the back, and the CCP land rover) came across a muddy section of road. The Pathfinder driven by the military observers drove straight through the bog without hesitation as the other three vehicles prepared to negotiate it. The 6 x 6 troop carrier took off up the right-hand side of the bog with the driver giving her all she had. Soldiers bounced around the back as the 6 x 6 slowed down and stopped right in the middle of the bog and wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. I decided there was bugger all we could do from the back so put the ambo into 6-wheel drive, threw her into second gear, told Jon and Carol to hang on, and gave her a solid kick in the guts. We took off up the left-hand side of the troop carrier with the old ambo, being top heavy, bouncing all over the place. As I came level with the stranded 6 x 6, the bog began to direct me towards the rear of it. There was no way I was going to take my foot of the accelerator, momentum was the only way to get through areas like this. If the back of the ambo connected with the front of the 6 x 6, so be it. Fortunately, the ambo didn’t connect and I could feel the wheels start to grip the road under the mud and we drove through the bog. I pulled over behind the Pathfinder and had a look at the situation, watching the CCP vehicle also become hopelessly bogged. The only thing we could do was to try to winch them out using my winch. There were no trees around so, for a quick recovery, the winch on the 6 x 6 was useless. I opened the back of the ambo to give Jon and Carol some fresh air and told them what we were doing. Carol was concerned about the sucking chest wound and said that we couldn’t stop for long. I turned the ambo around, parked it, pulled the winch out, and attached it to the bull bar on the 6 x 6. Jon operated the winch from the front of the vehicle as I operated the gears and accelerator while, at the same time, the driver of the 6 x 6 tried to drive forward. All we did was buckle the bull bar and drag the ambo back towards the bog. The 6 x 6 was so heavily bogged that we couldn’t get a chain around the chassis so the bull bar was as good as it was going to get, and we’d just about stuffed that. Again Carol told me we had to go. ‘One more go,’ I told her, ‘one more go.’ I backed up the ambo and attached the chain lower down on the bull bar of the 6 x 6. Once again, with Jon on the winch and me behind the wheel, we tried to recover the 6 x 6, but once again the ambo was being dragged towards the bog. I told Lieutenant Tilbrook that we couldn’t help any more and that we had to go because the sucking chest wound was getting worse. Tilbrook and I made arrangements to marry up at the UN Headquarters in Butare.
