Displaced (13 page)

“We have to walk some,” said a man in a white
t-shirt and blue jeans. There were three of them she could see now,
two of them were medium sized and the third was taller and carried
an AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

“I have to go,” she said.

They let her squat behind the truck and
urinate and they did not molest her. In the early light she could
see the results of a nose bleed down the front of her blouse.

“This way,” one of them said. A Fourth man
wearing a baseball cap had materialized she was not sure from
where. The man in the white t-shirt spoke to him in a language she
could not understand and gave him the keys to the car. They left
him behind and walked down into a ditch where the road had ended in
a washout. She looked back to see the man get into the 4 by 4 at
the terminus of the road that had been turned into a turn around.
The path ahead was steep and narrow and leveled out into what
appeared to be the bottom of a large sinkhole that opened up into
small valley. After about twenty five yards, they began climbing
upwards until they reached the edge of what must have been the
other side of the hole. She could see where the road began again
and they walked a short distance down the road away from the hole.
Parked in the bush on the side of the road, she could make out a
white range rover. One of the men opened the back door for her and
she climbed in. The door shut behind her, all present took their
place and they resumed their journey in the new vehicle.

They traveled throughout the day. The road
improved and then they would slow quickly to navigate a series of
potholes or drive over loose gravel. They stopped twice for breaks,
but otherwise drove continuously. In the afternoon, the truck
slowed and came to a stop as it arrived at their destination. The
door of the truck was opened from the outside and she knew to get
out and she did. She was lead from the back of the truck, and found
herself in a small compound. They were parked at the edge of a
turnabout at the end of a red clay track with three other vehicles.
Directly in front of her were two utilitarian warehouse type
structures, both white with corrugated metal roofs. One looked as
if it served as a dormitory of sorts and the other appeared to be a
large garage. Beyond the buildings, a grass field extended to the
tree line in the distance. To the right and thirty yards from the
turnabout was a large white cement home with palms in front,
surrounded by a well kept lawn. A vehicle was parked in front of it
but there appeared no road connecting the turnaround to the house,
which must have had its own access to the roadway.

The man in the white shirt and jeans grabbed
her by the knot of rope between her wrists and began leading her
toward the large garage.

“This way,” he said.

They walked toward the building then around
the front and along its side. Behind the building, out of sight,
she saw the orange cargo container and realized she was being led
there.

“Please,” she said, pleading, “why am I being
taken here? Why are you keeping me?”

“The boss wants you, I don’t know why.”

“Please don’t put me in there.”

“I have to do what I’m told. You’ll be better
off doing what you’re told. Don’t cause any trouble and maybe
things won’t be so difficult for you.”

When he opened the door to the container, her
first impression was the smell, then she noticed the figures
shuffling in the background, shabby figures that feared the open
door and recoiled at the daylight.

“Use the bucket it’s in the back,” he said as
he pushed her forward. “Someone will come later with some food and
water.”

The door closed behind her and she heard it
being bolted from the outside. Afraid to move, she stood in place
just inside the entrance to the container. Pitch black to her
except for a few rays of light, the air was stagnant and warm. She
turned to feel her way along the wall of the container and walked
into someone sitting on the floor.

“Hey, I am sitting down here.”

“Sorry,” she said and maneuvered herself
farther down the edge of the container. She found an open spot that
seemed to be dry and sat down with her head in her hands. She
ignored the voices around her. “Who is that?” they asked. “Why are
you here?” She was afraid and distraught and did not respond.

After a time, one of her fellow inmates
approached, she could hear the shuffling and see in the weak light
through adjusted eyes the figure of a man as he reached out to
touch the metal wall.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “I don’t even
know where I am.”

“You are near Arua, this is Mr. Orias’
farm.”

“I don’t know Mr. Orias,” she said. “I was in
Djugu and they took me. I’m supposed to be going to Uganda with my
sister.”

“I think she’s a Hema” a woman’s voice called
from the other side of the container. “I saw her when they opened
the door. You are a Hema aren’t you? Let’s get this Hema
bitch.”

“Shut up,” the man next to her yelled. “You
damn stupid woman. What does it matter what she is? We are all of
us locked up.”

“Do not worry about her,” he said now talking
to Nicole, “she won’t bother you. I am Samuel,” he said “I owe Mr.
Orias money that’s why I’m here,” he said as if making a
confession.

“I’m Nicole.”

“Also here is Gideon and Winthrop, they are
soldiers that were captured and Margaret, you heard Margaret
before.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that
bitch,” Margaret called out from the darkness.

“Be quiet,” he yelled back at her. “Maybe
things won’t be so bad for you,” he said. “Maybe they made a
mistake and will let you go in the morning.”

“Maybe they’ll let you go – maybe they’ll
kill you,” Margaret called out again.

“Shut up or I will beat you,” Samuel yelled
back at her.

“Anyway, you’ll probably see Mr. Orias
tomorrow, maybe it won’t be so bad,” he said in a way that was
trying to be hopeful.

When the men came with food the next day,
Nicole was filthy. She had not had enough water to wash and had
been defecating and urinating in a ten gallon bucket. Her pants
were stained with dirt and her shirt was dyed with the dried blood
from her nose. Grime and stench surrounded her and she had not yet
become as inured to the condition as her cell mates. Nevertheless,
she ate her bread giving little notice to the flies that buzzed
around her as if she were part of the ecology of the shipping
container.

The men came back a second time and they
summoned her to follow them outside. She walked out of the
container onto the grass near the side of the building. “God
almighty,” one of the men said in response to the odor. She was
made to strip and was just able to brace herself as one of the men
turned the hose on her without warning. Standing naked in the open
with the sun shining on her wet skin, she tried to cover herself
with her arms and hands but remained exposed and vulnerable. One of
the men, younger than the man who had brought her the day before,
called Ochiolo, approached her and kissed her and fondled her
breasts as she whimpered and tried to push away his hands.

“Oh c’mon now young mama,” he whispered to
her as he rubbed himself against her. She was fighting away his
hands as they moved further down her body when they were both hit
with another stream of water from the hose.

“Hey, what the fuck,” protested Ochiolo.

“That is for Orias to decide, now get away
from there,” said the older man. Ochiolo looked at him with
resentment, but did as he was told. A towel and dress were thrown
at her and she dried and dressed. After putting it on, she held the
pale blue dress away from her body to prevent it from clinging to
her damp skin.

“You wait here,” the older man said to
Ochiolo, who stood in the sun to dry himself while wringing out his
shirt.

“Yeah sure,” he acknowledged.

“You, let’s go,” the man said to Nicole and
gestured for her to follow. They walked across the grass away from
the cargo container and the large garage to a gravel path that lead
past the turnaround through a hedge bordering a yard and the house
she had seen when she first arrived. She followed her jailer around
to the back of the house to a terrace shaded by palm trees and
framed on two sides by bougainvillea. Sitting on the terrace in a
plastic white chair was a smallish man in a tie and shirt sleeves
speaking on a mobile phone. She was shown a chair and made to
wait.

“What you are asking me is impossible,” he
was saying.

“How about we stick to the original plan? I
will give you thirty as discussed, then in October, I will give you
again the same amount and the last amount in November. I will be
back around the twentieth of September. Call me then so I can make
arrangements. I might also be able to bring that device because I
will be going through Dubai. As for the shingles, I can’t do it
right now.” He paused and the person on the other end of the line
must have spoken and the man was shaking his head in agreement.
“Okay, I will talk with you then, may God protect you Gahizi.
Goodbye,” he concluded.

Nicole was not impressed by the invocation of
God and knew from experience that she could little expect God to be
represented in the determination of her fate. The man put down the
phone and turned toward her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No,” replied Nicole trembling from the wet
and fear.

“I know your father, we used to work
together, we did business together.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“You were younger at the time, I came by your
house in Bunia. How is your father?”

“My father is dead,” Nicole said surprised at
herself. She felt guilty for giving up her father’s life so
quickly.

“Your father is living in Bunia.”

“No, the soldiers took him, they killed my
mother.”

This was news to Orias. “Your father double
crossed me,” he spat, “he agreed to give me an Ituri concession and
then he went against his word. There is also the matter of a
loan.”

“I’m sorry for that, but my father is gone
and this business really has nothing to do with me,” she said stone
faced.

“For your sake, I hope your father is not
gone. You’re only any good to me if your father is still alive.” He
paused, “what were you doing in Djugu?” he asked.

She looked at her interrogator shifting in
his seat as if he suffered from some constant irritant, yellow eyed
and sweaty. “I was on my way to Uganda. After my father was killed,
I fled from Bunia.”

“Well we have a problem,” Orias said
contemplating the girl. “Your father owes me and you’re the only
collateral I have.”

“Please let me go,” Nicole begged.

“I’m going to check your story, you better
not be lying to me.”

“I’m telling the truth, my father is dead, I
know it,” she said crying.

If Jennifer could have marked a time or place
where her resolve formed, that evening at the Monocle was the
beginning of the end for her. In her case, there was no eureka
moment identifiable as a conscious decision. But an idea had begun
germinating in her subconscious, one that she could not shake that
threatened to form into a conviction. A conviction to do something,
something more than accept the conventional compromise of
principle. There was no particular reason why it should be at this
place or at this time. Sipping a glass of wine listening to office
gossip, Jennifer was happy. The Monocle, the bar and restaurant at
the end of the block from the Senate Office buildings, remained as
a throwback, a temple to backroom deals and paid influence. A place
that stood at the confluence of public and private, where the
conversations of legislators and lobbyists enjoyed the privilege of
penitent and priest.

A slightly tipsy Mark, her colleague from the
junior Senator’s office, was regaling her or at least attempting to
regale her with stories from a recent trip. Something about a
congressional staff trip to the everglades and visiting a sugar
farm. “The Fanjul brothers,” he was saying overly enthusiastically,
“captured an alligator and they roasted it for us. It tasted a bit
like fish.”

“How delightful,” she smiled. He had long had
a thing for her and like a school boy, he was over desperate for
her approval.

“I’d think that’d be against the law, but
sounds like a great trip.” She caught Kim, one of the junior
staffers in her office as she walked by. Kim was young and bubbly
and would talk without inhibition provided she had an audience.

“Hey Kim,” she said gently grabbing her at
the elbow. “I’d like you to meet someone, this is Mark, he handles
foreign affairs for Senator Gordon.”

“Hey Mark, nice to meet you,” she said always
keen to promote herself while he tried hard not to stare at her
breasts.

“Nice to meet you too, so you work with
Jennifer?”

“Excuse me one second guys,” said Jennifer
sensing her opportunity. “I’m just going to the bar,” she said,
touching Mark’s arm and smiling. Kim had begun a history of her
employment in the Senator’s office starting from her recent
graduation from college and had Mark’s full attention.

The bar was fully stocked and Jennifer got a
second glass of wine, which would be her last. She stood at the
edge of a group sipping at her glass not wanting to engage but not
wanting to be seen standing alone either. The Senator was standing
at one end of the room chiding his colleague, the junior Senator
from the state. He jokingly accused the man of being drunk on one
glass of wine. Those around him laughed enthusiastically beyond
what the joke deserved. Attendant and the host of the fundraiser,
the lobbyist from Pharma, Nick somebody, was appropriately oiled.
Dressed the part in a broad pinstripe suit, perhaps Armani, a
handkerchief decorated his jacket. Gold cuff links and a bright
green tie rounded out the costume. Tanned with hair combed straight
back, a made man, he smiled broadly, gangster lobbyist, a hired
gun.