by Mark Mannock
“Yes, I do, thank you,” she responded, before reaching over to a side table beside the couch. She picked up a picture. When she turned it toward me, I saw a black-and-white photograph in a modest wooden frame. “And Salim had a remarkable father,” she continued. “He doesn’t have that father anymore. Our family has previously been in what you call ‘harm’s way’.”
She passed the picture over to me. The man in the photo had a powerful face with eyes that blazed in defiance. I thought I saw a slight tear appear on Awadia’s cheek. She seemed to will it away.
“My husband, Aathif.”
Jumaa looked at his sister. Conviction had changed to concern.
“Normally I would not speak of this,” he began, before gathering his thoughts. Our friend sat upright on the couch, thrusting his shoulders back. “Nicholas and Jack, you need to understand who you are dealing with, and you need to understand why we must be at your side.”
Awadia glanced at her brother, offering him a silent nod of encouragement.
“The initial incident occurred twelve months ago, shortly before the fall of the government. My brother-in-law and I attended a place of worship. We took part in a scripture class to learn more about our God. As we left, we each carried a Bible. That was our crime.”
Greatrex and I glanced at each other but did not interrupt.
“Two blocks away from the church, a police car cruised past. Aathif and I became the focus of their attention. They must have circled the block, because they reappeared behind us, at walking pace, following as we strolled down the street. We both figured what was about to happen, but by then it was too late to run. The officers climbed out of their car and began asking questions. Where were we going? Where had we been? Then they searched us, and found their incriminating evidence, our Bibles. The policemen shoved us into the back of their car and drove to the local police station. They interrogated us for four hours. They demanded to know the names of those in our Bible study group and if we had the support of any infidel foreigners. In our country, interrogation by representatives of the law such as those dogs included being punched, kicked, tied up, spat on and urinated on.”
Jumaa paused again, gathering his strength.
“Worse than the physical pain was the complete humiliation,” he added.
“You need not go on,” said Awadia, no longer abandoning her tears.
“Yes, I do, my sister. We must talk about this, no matter how difficult it is.”
“Anyway,” he continued. “The police released us. We hadn’t given them any names. We feared that if we had, they would arrest our friends.”
“Or worse?” asked Greatrex.
“Yes,” replied Jumaa. He sat there, staring blindly into the air, lips pursed. Finally, he added, “I’m afraid this story becomes worse. Much worse.”
A cloak of silence enveloped the room as we all waited for our friend to continue.
“The second incident took place a week later. I should tell you that both Aathif and I attended university in Khartoum. We’d been keen to learn about, and to be part of, the movement for effective change in our community. We were optimistic. As things turned out, we were also fools.”
“In our optimism we had organized a Bible exhibition on campus. Our purpose was not to convert others to our faith, but to celebrate our beliefs with fellow Christians. You should realize that the Islamic government and security forces had people everywhere. They had young men and women attending the university. They appeared as if they were normal students, but it remained easy to identify them. In lectures, they wouldn’t be taking notes—they would glance around the classroom watching the students, measuring our reactions to ideas and points of view. We considered them harmless. At one point, the fake students informed our group that the Bible fair would be viewed as a terrible idea. Feeling untouchable on the university campus, we ignored the warning.”
Jumaa was in a daze, no longer present in the room. His memories had taken him to another place.
“At the end of the second day of the Bible fair, three of us waited at our bus stop outside the campus. Aathif, myself and our friend Mustafa. After the incident the previous week, we agreed to always travel in groups of at least three. We assumed it safer. It wasn’t.
“Out of nowhere, a white pickup truck drew up in front of us. Several men jumped out. They wore no uniforms, but they had guns, and they made sure we saw them. They threw the three of us into the rear of the vehicle. Two of the armed men clambered in beside us. The pickup sped off into the night. Although frightened, the worst we expected was another beating. There is a saying in Khartoum, if a car is speeding, it is either stolen or it is government. We didn’t believe we traveled in a stolen car.”
“They cruised around for about two hours. Halfway through the journey, the men in the rear secured a tarpaulin over us, presumably so we couldn’t determine our location. I thought that a positive sign. It meant we would come back.”
I started to comment, but as a tear rolled slowly down Jumaa’s face, it seemed better to let him continue uninterrupted.
“When we eventually stopped and climbed out of the vehicle, we’d parked in front of a massive, nondescript mud-and-brick building. There were no markings on the walls and no lights on the outside. I think my first realization that this might be worse than I thought occurred when the driver of the pickup got out. I remembered him as one of the policemen from the earlier incident. We’d been targeted.”
“The officer stared at me, eyes wide and teeth bared, as though anticipating the misery he intended to inflict. I will never forget that. I will also never forget his self-satisfied grin as he said, ‘I don’t understand why you bother to go to university. You Christian fools are too stupid to learn lessons. Perhaps you should just clean my toilet.’ Then he laughed, ‘Christians used to be fed to the lions, tonight I will feed you to Atha Riek, the Leopard.’
“We were handed off to a different group of men who shepherded us into the building. No sooner had the front door closed than the lights flicked off and the guards hustled us down some steep stairs into a basement area. They locked us in three separate cells. There was no light, no toilet and no windows. It felt like the dark, dank depths of hell.”
“I never saw Mustafa again.”
We watched while Jumaa got off the couch. As he got up, his movement seemed awkward. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed that before. He left the room, returning with a glass of water.
Awadia, who had been silent as Jumaa’s story unfolded, said, “Brother, if this is too much for you, stop, rest.”
Jumaa put up a hand to silence her.
“It was the evening of the second day when they came for me. I managed to keep a vague track of time based on when the guards changed shifts. My captors dragged me upstairs. Again, it was an area with no windows, only a bare light and some chairs. They ordered me to sit in the chair in the center of the room. Then the interview began. At first the questioning was slow, almost congenial, then the tempo built until it developed into a relentless barrage. ‘Where did you get the Bibles? Who is sponsoring you? Is your local priest involved? Were there foreigners at the Bible fair? Are foreigners sponsoring you? There was simply nothing I could tell them. They lectured us about the US-sponsored Christian invasion, and how all good Sudanese people should remain truthful to Islam.
“When I couldn’t answer the questions, the beatings started. It was the same as last time, pain and degradation. My increased resilience surprised me. I suppose this time I foresaw it. Only I didn’t. The taller, stronger-looking man threw his arms up in despair and moved into the shadows at the back of the room. He returned with a whip. The handle was short, but the weapon had many strands. Before I could react, another guard grabbed me and lifted my shirt over my head. He hauled me forward on my chair. That’s when the whipping began, over and over. The agony was beyond description.”
“Jumaa,” said Awadia.
“No, I will continue.”
“Abruptly,
out of nowhere, the violence ended, the four men that surrounded me stepped back into the shadows. Then he appeared: Atha Riek. I recognized his face. Instantly I understood why he was known as Al Fahad, the Leopard. His eyes were a menacing deep yellow. His features were sinewy, but he looked strong and agile. Above all, I sensed his hatred.”
“‘Do you know who I am?’ he demanded.
“‘Yes,’ I replied.
“‘Then you will be aware of my reputation.’
“‘Yes.’
“‘They claim I’m ruthless. It’s true, I have been brutal, but only to those who are the enemies of Islam. Tell me, Christian, are you an enemy of Islam?’”
Jumaa continued. “I didn’t know what to say, so I just shook my head. I recall staring down, first at my trembling hands, then my legs, I had no control. I was awash with fear, not only for myself but also for Aathif and Mustafa.
“When I raised my head, Riek was smiling, as though he was savoring my condition. ‘You now have two choices, Christian, what you decide will identify you as a friend… or enemy. You either give us the information we seek, or you lose your life. It’s that simple.’
“There was no doubt to the man’s sincerity. The trouble was that even if I wanted to, I had nothing to reveal. We had no Western sponsorship, our work involved no one from the US. We were just a group of friends and our local cleric. That information would certainly not satiate his rage.
“Suddenly, there was some scuffling outside the room, and then the door burst open. Two more of Riek’s men came in. They dragged Aathif between them. My brother-in-law’s face was a bruised and bloody mess. Someone had slashed his arms with a knife, and coppery red blood was oozing out of the wounds. He clearly couldn’t walk, in fact, he barely raised an eye when I called his name. I can’t describe to you, Nicholas and Jack, the abhorrent depths of my emotion. If there’s a word that describes a cesspool of fear and fury at the deepest of levels, then it would describe what was boiling inside me.
“It was then that Atha Riek transfixed his gaze on me. I swear I saw the Devil dance in his eyes. Without warning, he drew a handgun out from his belt and pointed it at my forehead. I recall that despite his anger, Riek’s hand was as steady as a rock. ‘Speak now, Christian, death is waiting at your door.’”
Jumaa stared across the room, first at me, then at Greatrex. His sadness obvious as his voice quivered. “I had nothing, nothing at all to give them. I remember inhaling deeply as I prepared to face my God. Four or five seconds turned into an eternity. Then, out of nowhere, this madman swung the gun toward Aathif. Before I could scream out, he pulled the trigger.”
“Each night, I relive the explosive crack of that weapon as it shatters my dreams. Each morning I awake to see Aathif’s life disappear in a devastating mist of blood and bone.”
The sound of Awadia sobbing filled the room with grief. I looked at the ground, not to hide, but to avoid intruding on this family’s anguish.
Greatrex got up. “I’ll make some tea,” he said and walked out.
No one spoke for several minutes. There were no words that would help. Eventually Greatrex brought in the drinks and we sipped them in silence.
In time, Jumaa continued his story. “You are probably wondering how I am here to tell you this tale. Why did I not join Aathif in a savage death? I cannot explain to you the why, but I can explain how. As I sat in that room, shattered beyond any belief, they offered me a pathway. Riek told me that if I gathered information about the people, both foreign and local, who were supporting the ‘Christian invasion’, he would let me live. I had to become his informant. Of course, I agreed. Not to do so would have meant instant loss of life. I traded my soul to buy further time on this planet. I then needed to work out how to spend that time. The deal was that I would contact one of Riek’s men at a football field in Wad Al-Bashir. I would meet them there three times. If by the third visit I had not given them the intelligence they required, my life would be forfeit.”
Jumaa again looked at me. “You are speculating, Nicholas, as to what I gave them?”
I nodded.
“Well, at the first meeting with Atha Riek’s men, they were late. I had to give the impression I was there for a purpose. To appear as though I was waiting to relay information was dangerous. I swung on the bars of the goal and jogged around until they came. If nothing else, it calmed my nerves. When they arrived, I was both relieved and scared. I informed them I was working on a source of intelligence and that I would have more for them next time. That bought me another reprieve.
“I couldn’t see a way out of my predicament. My eventual death seemed a certainty. I went to my minister for counsel. He was a prudent man, and under considerable duress himself. He instructed me to tell Riek’s men that he was preparing a detailed register of Christian sponsors for me to pass on. At the next meeting, that promise bought me additional time.
“When I returned to my minister after the second meeting, he said, ‘Jumaa, there is no list and you have no choice. You must leave the county now. If you meet with Riek’s people again and have nothing to offer, you’ll be shot.’ Of course, he was right. That night we started making urgent preparations for me to evacuate Sudan. By the grace of God, the social unrest that had been simmering broke over the next few days. Although the streets became violent, and we lost many lives, a miracle emerged among the bloodshed. There was a coup, and the extreme Islamic leadership was overthrown. Atha Riek would have suffered a loss of his support base. I decided to risk staying. I craved to carry on the work that Aathif and I had dreamed of, in his name… so here I am.”
“You are a brave man, Jumaa,” I said.
“I am a lucky man with a chance of redemption,” he countered.
“You have nothing to redeem yourself for,” added Greatrex.
“Maybe, maybe not,” replied Jumaa. “I can, however, tell you one thing. If fate presents the opportunity to avenge my brother-in-law’s murder, I will do just that. Possibly then, my conscience may be released.”
The weight of Jumaa’s words hung heavy in the ensuing silence.
A moment later he continued. “Since Aathif’s death, I have learned more about Atha Riek than any man alive. So, I will teach you about him, I will show you how he works, and I will lead you to him. In doing this, I have only a single non-negotiable demand; when the time comes for Riek to die, I must be the one to kill him.”
Jumaa looked at his sister. “That is why we are with you whether you want us or not.”
Chapter 10
The dusky light was succumbing to darkness as we sped through the outskirts of Khartoum.
We were heading north east but Jumaa had not revealed our destination. We were perhaps placing too much trust in this man, yet every instinct in my body told me this was the right thing to do. After hours spent dissecting the general’s update, Jumaa had suggested we drive through the night. A friend of Jumaa’s had provided us with another vehicle; the aging Nissan four-wheel drive didn’t look much, but it would do the job.
As we passed through the capital, the tension on the streets we had sensed earlier was building. There were many more people out. Most of them were roaming together in small groups or gathering in larger numbers on street corners. Several appeared engaged in animated conversation. It was also apparent that some men had armed themselves with homemade weapons such as pipes and lengths of wood.
“I don’t like this,” Jumaa observed. “There’ll be blood on the pavement before dawn. I have told Awadia and Salim not to leave the house. But, on the practical side, it will distract the authorities, providing us with an opportunity to slip away.”
So far that had been the case.
As we left the city lights behind, the road before us unfolded into a shadowed landscape of desert and mountains. We were clearly traveling to a remote section of the province.
“My contacts have informed me that Riek has been sighted in his preferred habitat. We are heading to the Batn-El-Hajar area,” said ou
r guide.
“Your contacts?” I asked. “Who are they, Jumaa? Where do they get their information? Can they be relied on?” The quality of the intelligence that we were acting on was paramount to any chance of success.
“Atha Riek is well connected,” said Jumaa. “To survive, he’s needed to have sources in the government and the military. Fortunately, through my own family connections, I also have sources. Sometimes his people talk, always my people listen.”
“So, do you know exactly where he is?” asked Greatrex from the back seat.
“No, not exactly,” said Jumaa. “I have an approximate location. When we get to Batn-El-Hajar, I’ll make more inquiries, gather more information.”
“What about the vice president?” I asked. “Is he with the Shararaa?”
“No one is certain, but my sources assume so. There is little talk regarding Vice President Blake.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good or bad omen,” I responded. “I just hope to God that Blake is still alive.”
With that thought in our minds, we pushed on into the night.
Several hours later, as we feasted our eyes on a vibrant desert sunrise, Jumaa pulled the car over beside the bitumen road. The three of us had taken shifts driving, but it had made sense that Jumaa take over again now that we drew closer to our destination. The scene was spectacular. Long tracts of arid landscape gave way to a stunning mountain range in the distance. In the morning light, the mountains presented as distant blue guardians of the desert. It was big country.
“The Batn-El-Hajar Mountains,” announced our guide. “They’re quite something, aren’t they?”
“They are magnificent,” I observed. “I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re about to tell us that Atha Riek is somewhere up there.”
“That is almost a certainty,” said Jumaa. “The problem is Al Fahad and his men live as noba—nomads. They never stay in a single place for too long.”
“So, our task is to discover where in those mountains the Shararaa have made their temporary base,” added Greatrex.
