Notes from My
Travels
VISITS WITH REFUGEES IN AFRICA,
CAMBODIA, PAKISTAN, AND ECUADOR
Available in English, Japanese, German, Russian.
Italian
unofficial translation
Informations and
links
UNHCR Review
Index
Africa Journal
Notes from My Travels
unofficial excerpt
POCKET BOOKS, a
division of Simon and Schuster, Inc.
www.simonsays.com
ISBN: 0743470230
Dedication
The ratio of staff members to people of
concern to UNHCR: 1 staff member per 3,582
refugees. This book is dedicated to them: to
their hard work and most of all their dedication
and deep respect for their fellow man.
I also dedicate this book to the men, women, and
children
who are now or have once been refugees: to those
who have survived against remarkable odds and to
those who did not, those who died fighting for
their freedom.
These people have taught me my greatest life
lessons and for that I am forever grateful.
Contents
Foreword by the United Nations High
Commissioner for Refugees ix
Introduction xi
Mission to Africa 1
Mission to Cambodia 77
Mission to Pakistan 133
Mission to Ecuador 193
Afterword 237
Maps 239
Foreword by the
United Nations High
Commissioner for Refugees
The Office of the United Nations High
Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) was established
in 1951 to care for those forced to flee their
homes because of persecution or war. Over the
past five decades, UNHCR has helped an estimated
50 million men, women, and children to find
safety and to restart their lives.
Our challenges are immense, and they could not be
met without the dedicated support of concerned
individuals around the world. One such champion
of the refugee cause is Angelina Jolie.
On 27 August 2001, I named Angelina Jolie as a
Goodwill Ambassador for UNHCR. Some time before
this, she had shown a profound interest in
refugee issues, and had visited refugee camps in
places like Sierra Leone, Cambodia, and Pakistan.
In 2002 and 2003, Angelina visited refugees in
Namibia, Thailand, Ecuador, Tanzania, Sri Lanka,
Kosovo, and Ingushetia, and worked closely with
UNHCR field staff. Her impressions are movingly
recounted in these vivid personal journals. She
will be making more field visits in the years
ahead.
Since her appointment as a Goodwill Ambassador,
Angelina has more than fulfilled my expectations.
She has proven to be a close partner and a
genuine colleague in our efforts to find
solutions for the world's refugees. Above all,
she has helped to make the tragedy of refugees
real to everyone who will listen. Angelina's
interest in helping refugees, her personal
generosity, and her truly compassionate spirit
are an inspiration to us all.
RUUD LUBBERS
U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees
Introduction
I was asked to write an introduction to my
journals, to explain how my journals came to be,
why my life took this direction, and why I
decided to start it.
As I try to find the answers, I am sure of one
thing: I am forever changed. I am so grateful I
took this path in my life, thankful that I met
these amazing people and had this incredible
experience.
I honestly believe that if we were all aware, we
would all be compelled to act.
So the question is not how or why I would do this
with my life. The question is, how could I not?
Many nights I sat awake reading stories and
statistics about national and international
tragedies.
I read about UNHCR:
- More than twenty million refugees exist
today.
- One-sixth of the world's population lives
on less than one dollar a day.
- 1.1 billion people lack access to safe
drinking water.
- One-third of the world has no
electricity.
- More than 100 million children are out of
school.
- One in six children in Africa dies before
the age of five.
I read about different organizations that do
humanitarian work. I had been reading about
Sierra Leone when I was in England. When I got
back to the States it was difficult to follow the
stories, so I called USA for UNHCR and asked if
they could help me understand the situation there
and similar situations elsewhere in the world.
Three weeks later I was in Sierra Leone.
I don't know how this will be as a book, how
readers will find it. I am not a writer. These
are just my journals. They are just a glimpse
into a world that I am just beginning to
understand, a world I could never really explain
in words.
Mission to
Africa
From February 22 through March 9, 2001, I
undertook a mission to learn about and assist
refugees under the care of the United Nations
High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) in Sierra
Leone and Tanzania.
Tuesday, February 20
I am on a plane to Africa. I will have a two-hour
layover in the Paris airport, and then on to
Abidjan in Cote d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast).
This is the beginning of my trip and this
journal. I do not know who I am writing to
myself, I guess, or to everyone, whoever you are.
I am not writing for the person who may read
these pages but for the people I will be writing
about. I honestly want to help. I don't believe I
am different from other people. I think we all
want justice and equality. We all want a chance
for a life with meaning. All of us would like
to believe that if we were in a bad situation
someone would help us.
I don't know what I will accomplish on this trip.
All I do know is that while I was learning more
and more every day about the world and about
other countries as well as my own, I realized how
much I didn't know.
I have done a lot of research and talked with
many people in Washington, D.C., at the United
Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), I
have read as much as I could. I discovered
statistics that shocked me and stories that broke
my heart. I also read many things that made me
sick. I have had nightmares--not many, but they
scared me.
I don't understand why some things are talked
about and others are not. I don't know why I
think I can make any kind of difference. All I
know is that I want to. I wasn't sure I should
go. I'm still not sure, but--and I know this may
sound false to some--I thought of the people who
have no choice.
It seems crazy to some of my friends that I want
to leave the warmth and safety of my home. They
asked, "Why can t you just help from here?
Why do you have to see it?" I didn't know
how to answer them. And I'm not sure if I'm being
crazy or stupid.
My dad attempted to cancel my trip. He called USA
for UNHCR, but since I am an adult, he couldn't
stop me. I was angry with him, but I told him
that I know he loves me and that as my father he
was trying to protect me from harm. We embraced
and smiled at one another.
My mom looked at me like I was her little girl.
She smiled at me through her teary eyes. She is
worried. As she hugged me goodbye, she gave me a
specific message from my brother, Jamie.
"Tell Angie I love her, and to remember that
if she is ever scared, sad, or angry--look up at
the night sky, find the second star on the right,
and follow it straight on till morning."
That's from Peter Pan, one of our favorite
stories.
I am thinking about those people I have been
reading so much about and how they are separated
from the families they love. They have no home.
They are watching the people they love die. They
are dying themselves. And they have no choice.
I don't know what it will be like where I am
going, but I am looking forward to meeting these
people. My first stop is Paris for a few hours
and then to Africa.
Wednesday, February 21
On the plane from Paris an African man wearing a
nice blue suit and a warm smile asked me if I was
a journalist. I said, "No, just an American
who wants to learn about Africa." He said,
"Good!" He seemed to be an important
man surrounded by others in suits who greeted him
as if to pay respect. As he got off the plane
with the group he was traveling with, a few
military men--one in front and one in back--led
them out and a camera caught him as he greeted a
man who must have represented another important
group. I write all this because when he asked me
on the plane if I was traveling to other parts of
Africa, I told him, "Sierra Leone," and
he said, "I am scared of that
place."After we landed in Cote d'Ivoire, I
was met at the plane by a very sweet man from
UNHCR. His name is Herve. He spoke French and
very little English. I speak very little French.
But I realized quickly that smiles and gestures
are all you really need sometimes. We stood next
to each other in silence, since my bags were the
last off the plane. Everyone's bags are opened
and checked. I saw more military people than
civilians. I then met another man from UNHCR.
We talked in the car about how Sierra Leone is
going through a civil war. It is not unlike the
Americans before they became what they are today.
When you think about that you realize how
important it is to help and support them as they
determine the future of fifty-two countries on
this big, powerful continent. If we consider the
people of Africa our allies and help them to
build, it will only help us. I have discovered
that the United States has helped a great deal
and that should not go unnoticed. But compared
with so many other countries we give less (per
capita). With what we have compared with others'
ability to give, we give less. Politics aside, on
a human level we should all be reminded of what
is important and how we are truly equal. We
should help in the beginning when people are
trying and forming, not when it is too late.
During the Cold War, Africa was split. They had
gained independence in the '60s, but when the
Cold War was over, Africa needed help to
strengthen its democracies. It needed help in
order to support those people who stood for the
same freedoms we all believe in. There was a
video I saw on Sierra Leone. They had a march for
democracy a few years ago. I can't remember what
year, but it was before the worst of the fighting
had started. If only we had offered our help back
then, perhaps it would not be this way now. We
can't forget that our founding fathers were
refugees. And then the Native Americans became
refugees.
The man who welcomed me spoke about his time in
America. We both expressed an awareness of how
little is told to the American people and how
sheltered they can be. But to their credit, when
they do see what is happening around the world
(from a special on CNN to occasional stories in
the newspapers), most Americans do want to help,
and they are very generous. He told me he had
been to Kansas City, Missouri, for one Christmas.
He also shared other stories of experiences he
had in America. I thought about how he had taken
the time to travel to the United States, because
he "wanted to understand America a little
better."Very few of us have been to Mali (a
country in Africa where he was born). And that
could be why he was so welcoming. He wanted to
share his country with me. I checked in to my
room in Abidjan on the Ivory Coast. This hotel
must have been beautiful once, and it is better
than I had expected my accommodations to be. I
feel wrong staying in this place, even though
it's only for a few nights. I am here in Abidjan
to have meetings with UNHCR. On Saturday I will
leave for Freetown in Sierra Leone to be with the
refugees. I have to admit I do appreciate the
proper shower and sleep. I know to enjoy it
tonight and I am grateful.
Thursday, February 22
I am sitting in a chair in a UNHCR office here in
Abidjan an. I am having a long morning.
I have come to understand many things, and yet
there is so much I don't understand. Most of all
I realized how little awareness I had of these
people. I am sitting under a sign--a poster for
UNHCR. It reads
IT DOESN T TAKE MUCH TO BECOME
A REFUGEE.
YOUR RACE OR BELIEF CAN BE ENOUGH.
I was allowed to sit in on an interview with
"asylum seekers."These "asylum
seekers" are here to apply for a chance to
live in the borders of a country that is
different from their own place of origin. UNHCR
will listen to their stories and sometimes check
on the information. They will help them if they
can. They have to try to determine if they are
eligible to be labeled a refugee, and therefore,
seek asylum. They must prove their need for
protection and support; that is, for whatever
protection and support is available, and in many
countries that is not much at all. The young
couple interviewed today lost contact with their
two children. The husband was thirty. The wife
was twenty-five (my age). They seemed much older.
Their bodies so weary, their eyes so sad,
desperate. They both spoke French and a little
English and were very intelligent.
They made a kind of attempt to make me feel
comfortable. When they were introduced to me, it
was explained that I was an American here in
Africa to try to understand and to learn in order
to help express situations like theirs to my
country. I was glad I felt they understood
another person was trying to help, but after
hearing their story, I felt helpless and yet full
of purpose at the same time. These people are
strong, smart people. Given the opportunity, and
considering all the resources that are now
tearing the country apart, they could be a very
strong, rich country. It may seem like groups
such as UNHCR and others are not successful at
times because of all that is still going on. But
in learning the history of the refugee situation
and understanding all the work that has been done
to help them, I realized that all of these
dedicated workers have been very generous with
their help. We should all be very grateful. I
believe without their intervention, the refugees
would have no hope at all. Most of these groups
of people would be dead and forgotten. Everything
would be in rebel hands and under the control of
dictators. We must continue to give support to
help the countries in Africa that welcome the
refugees and give them a home. Our country and
other countries will continue to have refugees
crossing our borders unless we help strengthen
the countries from which they come.
Friday, February 23
The next day I was brought into another office
room where I met Ioli, who sat me down to teach
me more things. She had a wonderful energy and
passion and a great laugh. I learned about new
computer technologies that help count, identify,
and give ID cards to refugees.It was encouraging
to hear of the different donations of equipment
that have been made and the new ideas that will
help. Microsoft donated one hundred ID card
machines during the crisis in Kosovo. Still, more
technicians are always needed to operate them. It
is amazing how many things must be thought of.
They are now in the process of raising funds for
a training program. You realize being here how
important these ID cards are. They are not only
for protecting the refugees and proving their
safe asylum. Their most important benefit is that
when refugees come to register, the cards give
them an individual identity. You can imagine what
it might feel like to not be able to prove who
you are--no proof of your name or country or
family or age.
Children with no ID can be forced into the army
or into performing dangerous labor. They can be
taken or withheld from school. Every child has a
right to safety and education.
At lunchtime, I went to a small market to buy
some local crafts.
While standing in one place too long my ankles
began to itch. They were being bitten by bugs so
small I couldn't even see them. In some areas the
smell was rancid. I felt sick. The strength of
survival here is amazing to me. They don't
complain. They don't even beg. Contrary to our
image of this country, its people are civilized,
strong, proud, stunning people. Any aggressive
feeling is pure survival. There is no time for
casual or lazy behavior. As I wrote that, I
realized I am writing as if I am studying people
in a zoo. I feel stupid and arrogant to think I
know anything about these people and their
struggles. But I am simply making observations of
the people here in Cote d'lvoire. This is the
first and only place I have been to in Africa. I
haven't even seen the refugee camps yet. There
are so many school children. The boys are in
beige. They are wearing short-sleeve shirts and
pants. The girls are wearing white blouses and
blue skirts.
In the markets there is so much gold and ivory
for sale--even diamonds. Everything is piled on
tables in small stacks.
The floors are all of dirt. A woman from UNHCR
named Demu offered to show me around. I met her
daughter and friends. They are all fourteen years
old and attend an international school. They
spoke many languages. They have lived all over
the world. They are all funny and each of them is
a unique individual.
They dream of their futures. They all seem so
much older than the teenagers in the United
States. They are all very politically aware. One
girl asked me what I thought of our new American
president, George W. Bush. They also seem to know
a lot about film. I hope they are seeing the good
ones as well as the cool and silly ones. But here
it seems just as important to laugh.
Saturday, February 24
We are waiting for our plane to Sierra Leone to
fuel and for all of our passports to be checked.
Ioli is with me. Although we are getting off in
different places, I'm happy to start the trip
with someone familiar. They just weighed my
luggage and myself. . . eight kilos four kilos .
. . and I weigh fifty-five kilos (whatever that
means, I don't know). A man in broken sandals
pulled out a plastic scale, one you would stand
on in your bathroom at home. It had two pink
bunnies on it, very faded. Our luggage was
spilling over it as we weighed each piece. I
can't imagine how they get it accurate. I am
surrounded by so many nationalities. I see a
beautiful African woman in semitraditional dress.
The plane is ready, but just before we take off,
we are warned to use the bathroom. It will be
hours before we are near one. Ioli and I go.
Everyone else waits in the hot sun. No one
boards. Then I realize why: ladies first.
"Bon voyage" and "Good luck,"
they all say. I am sitting in the plane now. I
picked a seat with no air vent. We have not yet
taken off, but I am already sweating. I lick it
off my top lip. Everyone is smiling at each
other, exchanging kind words and curiosities
about what they are each doing. They noticed the
tattoo on my arm. I was told the authorities have
recently had the job of clearing out rebels who
are pretending to be refugees. These rebels try
to get a part of whatever small support is being
handed out. A woman said she saw many men being
held (detained) for days having to prove their
identity. She asked why they were considered
suspect. "Because they have tattoos on their
arms!' (It's a common tribal practice in Guinea
and Sierra Leone.)
We laughed about the possibility that I could be
considered a rebel by authorities. Still, it
makes you think that the symbols we wear do
express ourselves. Symbols to some cause fear or
are looked down upon. I think of the choices I
have made--the markings I have--the jewelry I
wear:
- my brother's initial
- a quote about freedom by my favorite
American writer...
We just landed to pick up one more person. Now
there are seven of us. It got cooler in the air.
It is a beautiful day. Most of us got out and
stretched for a few minutes. When I was picked up
by the bus to be taken to the plane, there were
two people on board who I had not yet met--a man
in front and a woman sitting near me. They both
seemed not to like me, or so I assumed by their
distance. We did not introduce ourselves. I was
intimidated by the man. I wondered if I was going
to be working with him. Later on the plane I was
ashamed to realize I had judged them. I should
feel lucky to be in their company. After a while
the man turned to me and explained he was held
captive by the rebels in Monrovia, Liberia, for
six days. They had trouble up to the last minute
getting him out. He mentioned hours delayed in
this airport. When he and his wife and I finally
spoke, I found them warm and kind. Their silence
and the distance I felt was their feeling of
horror. We landed on the same ground where he had
been held captive. Most people in this country
have been through things I could never imagine.
As I stepped outside, I was told this area has no
real hope. Almost everything here was burned down
or shelled. When rebels leave on foot, sometimes
they take hostages simply to help them carry
stolen goods back home.
From the sky everything was so beautiful--the
land, the lakes, the forest--all as far as I
could see.
Army helicopters are the only aircraft in this
airport.
Finally we landed in Freetown, Sierra Leone. As
we drove through the streets we spoke of what has
been happening here. Revolutionary United Front
(RUF) called it "Project No Living
Thing."
I notice hundreds of people walking through the
streets holding hands--survivors!
Painted on cars is GOD IS GREAT and LOVE FOR
EVERYONE--HATE NO MORE.
You would think these would be the last people on
earth to believe that, and yet you realize they
have a deeper understanding because of all they
went through.
Strange custom: On the last Saturday of every
month everyone must stay home and clean their
environment until 10A.M. If you leave before then
you must have a pass explaining why you have been
given permission.
Saturday Night
UNHCR Guest House
Broken glass is stuck into the top of the cement
walls that surround the house. As our truck pulls
up, a guard opens the wooden gate. A small,
off-white building with chipped paint and a few
old cars stands beyond the gate. I am greeted
with smiles by most, stares by a few. I am in
room number I. That's what the piece of paper
stuck to my door says. I think they gave me the
best they have.
I could hardly get water out of the shower. The
room would be considered poor and run-down by the
people from the world I live in, but certainly
not by the people here. They would consider it a
palace. I am very grateful. Dinner was at eight.
Two members of the UNHCR field staff and I sat
and talked about war, life, survival. They told
me many things. I wish I could write every single
thing down. The television downstairs has one
channel. If they are lucky, it will get CNN. It
didn't tonight. Time is different here. There is
so much focus on survival. You simply live and
enjoy the day and the people around you as much
as you can.
People share.
I mention that this place is lacking in things
not because I miss them but because I see the way
the people who work here live. Most of them are
not making exceptions for themselves some may be.
I realize there are a few people in every group
who are not good people. A few nongovernmental
organization (NGO) and U.N. workers seem to be in
a strange competition. They help each other, and
yet sometimes criticize each other--trying to
hurt. But I do believe that even the critical
ones have to be a certain kind of good person.
You can't be a bad person if this is what you
choose to do with your life.
Sunday, February 25
I had a strange dream--not entirely bad, but bad
enough to call it a nightmare. I was being held
at a checkpoint as I stood on a sidewalk with
many women. I was trying to understand what was
happening. I was having thoughts of being
misplaced, remembering all the stories of sudden
attacks--forcing people to run--some with
bundles, some with nothing--not even family.
I have been trying to get back to sleep for what
must be about an hour now. The roosters are
screaming. This place seems to echo noises. I can
hear footsteps and floors creaking. I can hear
the noises of some animal, but I can't identify
it, maybe a monkey. I try to close my eyes a
little longer. Today is Sunday and not much
happens until after prayers. I just came back
from a walk. I decided after breakfast I would
take some time to see where I am. I was told this
area is safe. As soon as I was outside I put away
my sunglasses. Even though the sun was blaring, I
felt safer if people could see my eyes. They
might feel I am not a threat. Also, I did not
want to flash anything of value, not because I
feared theft, but because I felt bad. I walked
around people who were living with so little.
Very soon my feet and pants were covered in red
dirt.
One of the UNHCR security guards, a Sierra
Leonean named William, asked if he could show me
the area (the army barracks and the hospital). I
immediately agreed. We started up the road and
ran into George. For over a year, George has been
working at UNHCR cooking breakfast and dinner. It
is a good job, but it still doesn't provide
enough money to take care of himself, let alone
his family. But he was not complaining. The only
thing both of these men expressed was how
beautiful this place once was. At one time, all
of the people were good to everyone. Now everyone
suffers. They hope life here will one day be good
again, but it's hard to keep up hope or believe
that one day it truly will get much better.
I asked George about his family. He said his
mother just arrived from a refugee camp in
Guinea. I asked if she was okay. He said she is
better now, but she still gets colds, because
where she now lives, she has to sleep on the
floor. George was taken by the rebels. He said,
"They came at night. We all tried to run. My
mother was so worried about me. George has three
children. "One I have not met," he
said. We walked by the hospital. It is a very
old, small building with the paint almost
completely removed. There are two Red Cross
tents. I would guess about five cots could fit in
each tent. Maybe the reason there were no cots at
all was more people could fit on the floor. Many
people are out walking around today--most in what
must be their Sunday best--colorful and clean. I
don't know how they manage to have nice clothes,
but this Sunday tradition is important to them.
It is so beautiful to see. We continued to walk
the dirt road passing rocks, water, and streams
of what I assume--by the awful smell--to be sewer
water. I could hear chanting and drumming.
William and George pointed and said,
"Church!"
The church was a small cement building with
rubble around it. I looked inside and saw so many
colorful silhouettes moving to the rhythm of the
beating drum. Such beautiful people in prayer!
Since I have been here, this is the first time
that I started to cry. I kept it to myself and
walked on. Little children walked by me. I smiled
at them, and in return they smiled the sweetest,
biggest smiles I've ever seen. One little boy
asked in a very serious tone--defiantly Who are
you?"Angie."He giggled, smiled, and
walked away.
Saint Michael’s Lodge UNICEF
and
Family Home Movement (FHM)
A little baby was put into my arms. No words
could express how I felt.
Later, a small child put my hand into another
woman 5 hand (an NGO American worker).
UNHCR is working with FHM to help those returning
Sierra Leonean children who have been separated
from their families. A young African man was
helping to manage the place. He was very
nurturing to the others, very much a leader and a
caregiver. He had very kind eyes.
I asked him questions as one would to get to know
somebody. What does he love? Who is his family? I
wanted to know who he was. He does have family.
Many of his brothers and sisters are at the
university in Italy. He likes to travel, but he
feels he can do good and is needed there.
He said he does have a few months' leave coming
up, and he would like to take courses in
counseling trauma victims. Me wants to help
orphans, and refugee children, and child soldiers
with their traumas. This need is often
overlooked.
"Maybe they expect them to just bounce
back."He explained to me how in other parts
of the world--when someone needs help--counseling
is available. It is different in Africa.
Hopefully, you are helped and supported by
entering or joining a community. I met a boy who
had just been fitted with a prosthetic leg. He
was standing listening to news on a small radio.
People tell me he is one of the brightest
students. He is already walking well.
A boy of about eleven high-fived the nun showing
us around. "Sistah!"
UNHCR, along with Saint Michael's, is trying to
help register and track families--reuniting them.
There is hardly any international news here. You
only hear of the horrors nearby. If only the wars
and the worst of the people here are being
reported, then people hesitate to invest in
building up Africa. It is such an overwhelming
problem. What do you do? People here become
dependent and don't want to leave the refugee
camps. I can understand why. Their homeland is
still dangerous and empty. There is no food at
home. There are no jobs at home. Since it was
Sunday and we had a day off, at the end of the
day we drove to the water. The beaches here are
so white!
What a beautiful sight-white sand, light blue
water surrounded by mountains covered in lush
green!
This land was named Sierra Leone, because as the
first settlers arrived at these shores, it was
said to be thundering (like roaring lions).
Monday, February 26--7 A.M.
Breakfast Talk
Everyday it seems I learn more and more. In the
countries with no diamonds, the people are not
getting their hands on good weapons. Some
governments or individuals are getting richer
trading with the RUF. The United States and more
countries in Europe should help the Sierra Leone
Army, just like the British Army and S.A.S. are
currently helping by training the Sierra Leoneans
to defend themselves against the rebels.
FAWE--Forum for African Women Eeducationalists
Girls are educated and taught skills. They are
being helped to be independent. Most of these
young women were abducted and raped. I went into
a small room. Two women were looking after about
ten babies. Many of the women got pregnant when
raped. The babies didn't have toys or soft,
colored things. They were on the floor. Beautiful
faces. As I approached, one baby started crying,
almost screaming. The women apologized and said,
"He's scared because of the color of your
skin."When I was in the classroom I was
introduced as the Good Will Ambassador with
UNHCR. Maya, the woman with me, was introduced as
the protection officer with UNHCR. All the young
women were very welcoming. It was then explained
to them that I am also an actress from
California. The woman who runs the school told
them I was there to learn about them so I can
support their programs.
They hardly know any movies. I hadn't wanted it
brought up, but it did seem that my being an
actress made my visit more fun for them. What I
do is a strange job for them to imagine doing.
Sometimes being an actress seems strange to me
too, but I was happy about it today.
After spending some time together we began to
communicate even without an interpreter. Creole
is a little like very fast, condensed English.
They asked me for my address. I thought for a
moment about maintaining my privacy as I have
been told to do in the States, but they shared
with me, and so I will share with them. I want so
much for these young girls to succeed. I also
want to be a friend. I went to the chalkboard and
wrote my name and my private address. One girl
held my hand and said slowly, "I would like
to be your friend."She wrote her name down
so I could recognize her letter.
Jui Transit Centre
Jui Transit Centre is situated at the mouth of
the capital of Sierra Leone, just some seven
miles to the heart of the capital city, Free
town. Established in 2000, Jui Transit Centre was
one of the temporary settlements which were
primarily put in place by the UNHCR in Freetown
in response to the large-scale repatriation of
Sierra Leonean refugees in Guinea. Following
alleged Sierra Leonean RUF rebel cross-border
attack on Guinea, Guineans swooped on Sierra
Leonean refugees, who were accused of harbouring
RUF rebels and trying to destabilise Guinea. Many
Sierra Leonean refugees were physically
manhandled, forcing many to opt for a return to
Sierra Leone even though the war in their country
of origin was still raging. As a large part of
the country then was under rebel occupation, the
returnees could not return to their villages. To
meet the returnees' need for temporary
accommodation, UNHCR established two host
communities (Lokomassama and Barri) in the
northern and southern provinces. However, as
returnees arrived by ship from Guinea, there was
need for them to stay overnight not just to
recuperate after a long journey but also to make
decisions on where they will proceed based on the
information they received about other family
members. In Jui, like in other transit centres,
returnees were provided with such services. In
principle, returnees were to stay for no more
than five days in the Transit Centre, but in
reality, some 2,000 returnees were sheltered at
the centre until June 2002. The Transit Centre
itself is a neigbour to the Jui Village, which is
home to an estimated 6,000 Sierra Leoneans. There
is a primary school and a secondary school as
well as a Bible Training Institute. Returnees had
to send their children to these schools while
they were at the centre. The Transit Centre
itself had a health post, a huge water bladder
with several water collection points. Plastic
rents, dirt floors. It feels like nowhere. People
walk around. Can't help themselves. Can't go
home. A man ran up to UN HCR workers, his
hardworking hands begging for them to come quick.
They explained that he wanted them to look at a
boy. I met the boy. He looked about twelve, but
he could have been sixteen. It is hard to tell
because of the malnourishment. He was very sick.
I didn't want to lean over and look. I kept a
distance. I was a woman he didn't know. He was
being examined by a doctor.
He was so young and yet seemed so aware of what
was happening to him. His legs had become
paralyzed. His stomach and his ribs seemed too
wide. Later, I was told it looked as if he had
been operated on. His spine was severely damaged.
Disease was eating away at his body. It is likely
this all began with a gunshot wound and a poor
operation. Here he was being released from the
hospital. There are no funds and there is no room
to care for him past what is considered an
emergency (by their standards).
To me, this was an emergency. Now the
humanitarian workers will try to look for
help--but this boy is one of millions like him. I
will never be able to forget his face. I will
never forget the way he moved his legs with his
hands. UNHCR is in Africa to help these
persecuted people, and to continue to support the
many needs of these refugees. There is always a
concern of running out of funding for all of the
necessary programs.
I sat with leaders and chiefs and young women who
live in the camps. I asked, "What do you
want people to know?" A young woman
answered, "We continue to live in fear. We
are scared of more girls being abducted and
raped. We are scared of our young boys being
taken off to war. We need this war to end."A
UNHCR worker asked, "Do you think America
can help?"The young woman quickly responded,
"Yes, they are a superpower! We want to go
home. Our children need to go to school. We need
proper food."If only America were the place
they think it is. It could be. Someone asked the
elder chief, "How does it feel in a
camp?"
"We are embarrassed."I have been told
the funding is decreasing as UNHCR is attempting
to expand. Countries of asylum are now having
problems--countries like Guinea. UNHCR is now
handling internationally displaced persons (IDPs)
as well as refugees.
So many other organizations are set for long-term
funding. UNHCR is set up only temporarily. They
can't count on long-term funding; therefore, it
is difficult to create strong and lasting
solutions. They really don't know if their
programs will continue to be funded in the months
to come, and yet there seem to be more people in
need than ever. The problem (the need) is not
going away. I met a UN HCR man from Jordan. He
spoke of building a FAWA--type center for women
in refugee camps or settlements in his area.
Waterloo (Transit Centre)
The children here grab your hands and walk with
you, smiling and singing. They have nothing. They
are wearing ripped dusty clothes and they are
smiling.
The children came running. They are so happy to
have what little they have now. They are no
longer alone or in fear for their safety. Most of
them had to walk many, many miles for days with
no food or water. Their tiny little hands grabbed
on to mine. There was a child's hand around every
finger of mine. Mote children grabbed on to my
wrists--my arms. It was nearly impossible for me
to walk. I wanted to take each and every one of
them home with me. They saw my tattoos. They
found them funny. They asked, "Who stamped
you?" A woman told me her story. As she was
talking she unwrapped her grandchild from her
back and began to breastfeed the baby. Her
daughter (the child's mother) had been suspected
of being a rebel in Guinea because of her tribal
tattoos. She was killed. Suddenly, one of the men
I came with stood in front of me with his hand
out. "Time to go. Get up, please."I
could hear fighting. It was an argument about
moving to another camp. A refugee did not want to
leave. I've been told some refugees demand that
they be sent to a certain camp, because they
think they might find their family members there.
We made our way past the argument to the car. I
noticed a man hitting a wall. My companion
shouted, "Lock your door!"
I did not feel frightened. I felt sad for the
people in the camps as well as for the UNHCR
workers, who are unable to fulfill all the needs
of all the refugees. When the refugees are upset,
the UNHCR workers sometimes get the blame. These
are workers affected by war victims. It is hard
to be prepared when the number of refugees and
situations are always changing. So many people
need help to stay alive. Many children going to
school need medical attention--immunizations.
There are 22 million refugees. Two months ago I
had no idea. We need to help those who have to
run to escape to survive.
Problems and numbers will only increase until we
stop these wars.
Many of the children in the Waterloo Camp have
scabies.
I would rather get infected than to ever think
about pulling my hands away from these little
children.
The bigger realization is that this is only one
of the many things these children are living
with. The visible conditions are not good. To be
honest, they are awful. I'm sure most of the
worst atrocities are not even visible. I just
walked back into the room where I sleep. I washed
my face and hands. I found myself staring at my
hands. Later that day, I went to an amputee camp
full of internationally displaced persons
supported by other nongovernmental organizations.
I have just been holding the pen in that spot for
the last few minutes.
I don't know what to write. No--yes, I do. I am
angry. I hate the people who did this. I hate
that everyone is Suffering--the amputees, the
refugees, the displaced persons, the people
living in their war-torn community--everyone.
There are so many surviving while loved ones have
been maimed or killed. No one is living as they
did before the RUF I don't understand how it
continues--how my country can claim it comes to
the aid of these countries in need when all the
people here live every day knowing there has been
no justice, no vengeance, and no real peace.
And how do you tell these refugees to start to
rebuild their lives when they are sure that the
rebels will just take it away again? A man told
me the story of how he lost his arm (from the
elbow down). "The lucky ones are amputated.
We are left alive--but not all of us--many
amputees die from loss of blood--or
infection," The youngest amputee I met was a
little one-year-old girl. She was three months
old when they cut off her arm and raped her
mother.
So many people.
A young man I was sitting with for a while told
me his story. He was a businessman. "I sleep
on the floor, I don't have enough food. I am
grateful I am alive, but I can never go home. How
will I ever trade again?" It was the look in
his eyes that I can't forget--shaky, desperate,
traumatized.
A man with no hands understood I was there to try
to help. (I was introduced as a woman from
America who is here to bring information back to
the U.S.) I have never wanted to succeed at
anything more in my life. The man with no hands
put his arm out and smiled at me. I shook his
wrist. I felt humbled to be among such brave
people.
Dinner at the UNHCR House
Tonight we had fish and salad. It was a big
luxury. I was grateful but I had trouble eating.
I felt so hollow. Protection officers joined us.
For two and a half hours we talked about
problems. Everyone shared different projects they
are working on or serious events they have
witnessed. So much was discussed--too much for me
to write--and everything is always well
documented by UNHCR. A man from Jordan said,
"With love and tolerance any--thing is
possible." It's such a beautiful feeling to
sit with different workers from all over the
world--different ages, sexes, nationalities--all
with different stories of why they are working
with UNHCR. Some UNHCR workers were once refugees
themselves. They spoke about the boy I saw at the
Jui Transit Centre. Another person commented,
"The boy with the peaceful face."
"Maybe it wasn't a gunshot wound."
"Maybe he fell very far." One woman
said, "He won't make it." I shouldn't
have been surprised by that, but I was. A number
of cases in the camps will die without proper
hospital care. We need to push for more approval
from Geneva (UNHCR). This all takes time. It was
explained to me that in the camps there are other
victims who are not often discussed. I have never
read or heard about what they revealed to me.
Many refugees were forced to cut people. A gun is
put to their head or a knife is put in their
side. They are handed rusted swords or sharp
glass. They are forced to cut hands, feet, or
complete arms and legs off people they
know--quite often family members. These people
are going mad. They are no longer able to
function. In many cases, it becomes impossible
for them to live with the guilt. There is hardly
any counseling for them. There are barely enough
funds for physical survival, let alone help for
their mental and emotional recovery. I can see
how the refugees all try very hard to look after
each other. I want to write something before I go
to bed. But I can't.
I'm in shock.
Tuesday, February 27
There was a loud wake-up knock at my door. It is
7 A.M. Today I am tired. I was worried I might
have disturbing dreams. So I am glad that I slept
so hard. I didn't dream at all.
I sat in the office for about two and a half
hours, going over information and having meetings
to understand the different organizations.
Today, we are meeting a boat that is bringing
refugees back to Sierra Leone. Then we will drive
them to a camp near Kenema that will become their
new home, The boat was late. Finally, a call came
in. "Time to move!" I grabbed my
backpack. Another half hour passed. We were
handed a small bag of basic camp equipment.
"In case you break down...." Our car
was in the garage all morning for maintenance.
It's not much of a garage. The car is still not
ready. Everything here takes very long. The
registration of the refugees coming off the boat
is taking a while as well. Many government and
nongovernmental organizations were there at the
dock, three or four people from each group.
- International Medical Corps
- Red Cross
- Save the Children
- UNHCR
- World Vision
- International Organization for Migration
Since the time I woke up this morning, the
refugees have been waiting at the docks in the
hot sun, getting whatever food can be supplied (a
small loaf of bread and sardines). I asked how
long the boat ride would be for them this
morning.
"Eleven hours!"
Even though the sea was calmer than usual, many
children were throwing up. Two hundred and two
people were counted. A woman walked there today
to meet the boat. She is looking for her husband.
He was not there. She was told to check at
registration. It's a small table in the corner of
the dock. The only spot out of the sun.
As we drive through the streets at the start of
our five-hour journey, at almost every stop
beggars come up to the windows. There were blind
and injured children--children severely
handicapped for life. I asked if it was all right
to give money. 'No, not in this public area.
Everyone will come. It sets a bad
precedent." There are over 200 people on
this journey. Behind us are two small trucks
carrying all their belongings. These two small
U-Haul-type trucks contain the lifetime
possessions of over 200 people. They contain all
they have in the world. I don't know how the
people in the trucks are coping afterall they
have been through just with this journey from
Guinea. I can't imagine what it was like when
they were running. How did they make it to Guinea
in the first place? We picked up more refugees in
Waterloo. The count is now 387 people. We are
driving back to town to buy what we can.
These people are coming home. They were refugees
in Guinea, but now they are not safe there.
They are coming back to Sierra Leone to live in
camps.
Their homes were all destroyed. The areas they
used to live in are now held by rebels.
They have no real choice but to live in camps
with very little, and no real promise that the
same people who destroyed their homes and killed
and raped and maimed their family and friends
will not attack again. But if they are going to
die they want to die in their home country. I
can't imagine what they must be feeling. They are
packed in trucks and driven through the streets
where they used to live free and happy. Six
trucks full of people. Two smaller trucks with
all their belongings. We have been following in
our truck for protection and support. We have
just moved ahead to lead the way. We are the only
protection vehicle so every half hour we check
everyone by moving from the front to the back. We
have just been informed that there is no water
packed for the journey. A woman (a UNHCR officer)
is trying to make contact by radio. It is a bad
connection. She is asking how to find supplies
along the way. We need to figure out the water
supply.
We have also been told we will be arriving in the
dark, because it has taken longer than expected
to leave.
I was asked if I was still sure I wanted to go.
They said there is no reason to worry, but they
would prefer if I got off one stop before the
final one. They said it would make them more
comfortable. I don't want to put myself at
unnecessary risk, because I understand UNHCR
would feel responsible. We agreed to make a
decision when we got there. We would also have to
figure out where we can stay. Another protection
vehicle just joined the convoy. Our driver
signaled for them to take the back. UNHCR is also
here to make sure they clear all roadblocks and
checkpoints. We are now driving through the area
where the British helped to clear out the rebels.
The Westside Boys
The Westside Boys were a group of ex-soldiers who
supported the military coup which ousted
President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah in May 1997. They
fled to the bush together with other soldiers of
the Sierra Leone Army (SLA) when the Economic
Community Monitoring Group (ECOMOG) reversed the
coup in February 1998 and reinstated President
Ahmad Tejan Kabbah. The Westside Boys were part
of the invading forces which captured over half
of Freetown on 6 January 1999, when at least
5,000 people were killed and houses and
properties estimated at millions of dollars were
destroyed. The Westside Boys fled again to the
bush when ECOMOG forces beat them back from the
capital. Then, they stayed around Okra Hills
situated about 50 km from Free town. They
ambushed a number of civilian and military
vehicles, causing a lot of disturbances along the
Freetown-Masiaka Highway. The capture of some
British military personnel and their Sierra
Leonean SLA guide climaxed the activities of the
Westside Boys. When all negotiations to secure
the release of the captives proved futile, the
British launched land-air operations, killing and
capturing the Westside Boys in the jungle. Those
who were captured, including the jungle leader,
self-styled Brig. Foday Kallay, are all behind
bars in Freetown. It was these operations which
put the existence of the Westside Boys to an end.
The Westside Boys named themselves after one of
the gangster groups in the United States, the
Westside Squad. Now we are on another road, but
this road is not good. We need to go east. Our
arms are out the windows, signaling the trucks
behind us to speed up. I saw a man walking along
the road. He was wearing shorts and was very
dirty. He was holding a machine gun and he was
yelling--talking to himself. Shells of burnt-down
houses are everywhere. Cars and trucks must have
exploded here as well, leaving only rusty
turned-over shells. Beautiful jungle.
Occasionally, I see small villages that are half
burnt down and half built back up with wood and
dirt (clay). The few old schools and churches
along this road appear empty and full of bullet
holes. If we arrive at the camp after 8 P.M., we
won't be able to enter.
Many people were upset at how fast we had to
drive. "Sorry. Secure your children. The
sooner we get there, the sooner you can eat and
rest. We do not want to travel too much in the
dark." They understood. Still, there seems
to be no end to their difficult journeys. Even
after today it is far from over. A little better
maybe--still alive. We are now about two and a
half hours into our journey. One of the baggage
trucks just broke down, Everything in it had to
be unloaded and then reloaded into the second
baggage truck. I don't see how they are going to
fit everything into one truck. It seemed packed
before. We continue on while they transfer all
the bags. They will try to catch up. I will never
be able to express or translate who these people
are, what they are going through, or why it is so
important that we help them. I suggested that
someone should organize a video camera so they
can speak for themselves. They want very much to
do that. They don't want the press to decide what
is important. They want to talk for themselves. I
thought when I came here I would be saddened and
sickened by all that has happened to these people
and how they are living. Instead, I see their
survival, their still smiling faces, kids holding
hands, people (what seems to be everybody)
working. I am in awe of these people. Their will.
Their hope.
We stop to unload a few people in one area. The
food seems to be in the truck that is far behind
us--the baggage truck. We are all sitting
together outside. It is about two in the
afternoon and the heat is unbearable. I see so
many refugees working--carrying wood and other
things, trying to settle this new area. I don't
know how they do it. Someone explained to me that
morning is about getting supplies for breakfast
(water, wood), eating, cleaning, and trying to
sell or make things if they can. Afternoon is
about getting water and wood and making lunch.
It's the same at dinner. All day is about
survival.UNHCR lost four staff members this year.
Every week, one humanitarian worker somewhere in
the world is killed. There is a great need for
much more safety and protection. The UNHCR agency
has one of the highest rates of divorce, suicide,
and depression.
Entering Area 91 a sign reads:
PLEASE DO NOT CUT HANDS
LET' S JOIN HAND
We had to walk to a market to buy extra
sardines and bread. Our supplies were only half
the needed amount. We are told a boy on the third
truck is very sick. The nurse has very little
medical supplies--none, really.
UNHCR needs so much more funding for doctors,
nurses, and medicine. Operations are rarely
performed smoothly here. I am here with Nyambe, a
UNHCR woman who has been accompanying me to my
various appointments and activities. This is her
first convoy and first visit to a camp not close
to a transit center. We went for medical
supplies. We saw U.N. soldiers stationed in the
area. It turns out they were from Bangladesh. One
of the soldiers did not want to help us. He said,
"Go find NGOs." We looked back at the
dusty roads, the poor townspeople, and the little
shacks. "Where?" we asked. Nyambe'
explained that we are all brothers and sisters
under the U.N. flag. They asked if we were
doctors. We explained, "No, just
workers." They gave us a small bag with
medicine for pain and dehydration. After food is
distributed, we check our bags. Heads of families
step forward for those not on the registration
forms. A yellow paper card will allow a bread
roll and a half can of sardines per person. The
sun is going down. We are trying to call ahead to
get a place in the Bo camp, which is one hour
closer, to prepare dry-food rations for 400
people. We will not make it to our final
destination. We will have to head out again in
the morning. We had a flat tire on the second (of
the two) baggage trucks. We have to move on as
they change it. The first truck was left behind
earlier in the day-mechanical problems. UNHCR may
have problems, but they are the only ones here to
attempt this convoy. No one is here taking
pictures for CNN. It is just another day. It is
now 7:40 P.M. It is pitch--black outside. A man
is walking toward us. He was from one of the
trucks ahead of us. We pulled over. "What's
the problem?" we asked. He said, "My
truck has no headlights." We are waved down
at a checkpoint by young boys. They shine
flashlights in our truck and hold the lights on
our faces. They let us pass. It is 9:30 P.M. We
arrived at Bo. We will spend the night here and
move on at 7 A.M. We met with Muhammad, who was
working there. He had prepared (with the others)
three large bowls of bulgur wheat and three large
bowls of beans. We started to give out food with
the woman who was clearly a leader of the group.
It had already taken a while to unload all the
refugees from the trucks, and everyone was very
hungry. I can't imagine how they were feeling. I
was nauseous. I probably would have thrown up
from the ride, but I did not have any liquids and
I only ate bread for the last few hours. There
was no bathroom along the journey so I drank no
water.
I tried to help by handing out cups and spoons,
and making sure that the servers had enough
plates. There were not enough metal plates to go
around, so we tried to organize washing when the
first to eat were finished.
The children were fed first, then the women, and
finally the men. Some referred to me as
"pumwi," which means "white
person. Some called me "sistah." They
were very kind to me, aware I was there to help.
Other people might push and yell and be angry for
all the time it had been taking and all they had
been through. But they have been through so much
for years now and, if anything, I felt they were
helping me to understand how it was done because
I was new. Nyambe and I were told to sleep in a
nearby motel. It doesn't feel right that I am
given this privilege, but I am so tired. I am
deeply grateful. They gave us rooms with fans,
but mine is not working. Out the window I hear
people talking and very obscure '8Os American
music. I just saw a fat jumping spider. The bed
board was once covered in plastic, but now it is
mostly ripped off. There are no sheets on the
bed, only a mattress cover. I can't help but love
this room. The man who took me to it smiled when
the door opened and said, "Nice! Good!"
Then he showed me the toilet and, with an even
bigger smile, he said, "Look!" And then
he flushed the toilet. He just returned a moment
ago to give me matches and a candle, There is no
electricity from 1 A.M. to 4:30 A.M. Nyambe' came
into my room, and we split what was left of the
loaf of bread. It was too hot to eat so I saved
my share for breakfast.
Wednesday, February 28
6:17 A.M. We are back in line and almost ready to
start toward Kenema. I hardly slept. It was so
hot and the noise was constant. I kept thinking
about how much better I had it than the refugees.
I thought of how the mothers and babies might
feel at night. I wondered why so few children
were crying. I suppose they are used to these
awful conditions, or maybe they are just too
tired to cry. This morning I discovered a big
knife slice in my door. Nyambe' said she noticed
it last night when she was knocking. I wonder
about privacy, but I don't really care. It is too
early and I am happy to be on the road again.
Many people with UNHCR are from the countries
they are working for so it feels like (and often
is) their own people helping them. Communities
and countries helping each other. The Norwegian
Refugee Council was also there to give support.
We finally arrived. Groups of people brought
before on other trips ran out to see if they
might recognize a friend or member of their
family. A few people who had been traveling in
the trucks screamed with joy when they recognized
a friend. Each family group was given a, plot of
land to start building. They were given a small
bundle of supplies. The refugees need help to
start projects that will make them independent.
It would be nice to have a workshop to teach them
about gardening so they can grow their own food.
This new refugee area has only been in existence
for a few weeks, and already there are many
little clay and wooden hut structures that are
built. At the office I saw about seven people
waiting with very large bundles. Some women were
pregnant. I was told these women are among the
hundreds of people who came from Guinea. They
came on foot, and they need medical attention,
registration, and placement in the camp. We are
at the airport waiting to be flown back. It is a
small, white building surrounded by nearby army
campsites. African troops are wearing U.N. hats
and their flag on their uniforms. More British
troops just arrived--in full uniform--carrying
large sacks and guns. They all run in an orderly
fashion as they disembark the helicopters and run
to board the trucks. We were told our plane was
here, but it is not. So we wait--trying to stay
out of the hot sun. When the plane didn't come,
we asked for an estimate. One hour. We all wanted
breakfast, or at least coffee, so we decided to
drive to a nearby cafe'. It was little and dusty
and great.
A strange mix of African and Chinese. The menus
were old, and I could hardly make out the words.
We ordered and started to discuss the various
things each person was dealing with. But as soon
as we started talking, two minutes after we
ordered, we heard the plane had landed, and we
had to run. We laughed. The local airline was
understandably late from all the military
activity. About ten of us crammed in. It was hot.
Some music was playing that I can't even
describe. I think the words were in French. Once
it started to play it never stopped. When we
finally made it back it was almost 2 P.M. On the
drive in I watched the people. Now I have a
better understanding of their struggles.
I look out the window.
The romance of their bravery falls shadow to the
very little boy trying to support gallons of
water on his head. He is barefoot. It is very hot
and I am sure he has far to go. And long after I
am gone--or as someone might be reading this--he
will still be doing it, as well as many other
things. He is just a little boy. And he is one of
the lucky ones--for now. He is not in the army.
He has access to water. No one has cut his hands
or feet off. And although he is very skinny, he
seems to be relatively healthy. A photographer
came into the office asking about what is
happening in the different areas, and could he
have help or information on how to get into the
areas of most conflict right now. It is difficult
because it is hard to access most areas. It has
been hard to even get food to people in need
there.
They tried to work out a route and different
rides along the way where he could hitch a ride.
He is trying to help bring awareness so people
can see what is happening and judge for
themselves how they feel. I am sure that most of
the pictures he takes are images many of us don't
want to see--but should. He asked where I was
from.
"America."
"Ah! I have been a photographer for ten
years. American press don't buy these kinds of
pictures. Other countries do." Tonight I am
scheduled to have dinner with Mr. Arnauld
Akodjenou, the representative of UNHCR in Sierra
Leone. He is going to help me understand what is
going on in this country--what is being done,
what needs to be done, and the politics. I tried
to clean the dirt off my boots and find clean
pants. But I'm sure he understands. There was
something nice about my clothes being so dirty
and knowing why. I don't feel I am able to help
very much at all now, but I am starting to do
something. And it feels very good to know, as
time goes on, that I will be able to help more.
On my way to dinner I was told Mr. Akodjenou was
going to be late. "There are problems. The
police got wind of a demonstration
tomorrow."When I got to his home, I was led
by a man with a flashlight. His property had
two-foot-high circles of barbed wire over the
gates.
Inside, every window was secured. Different types
of metal or plasterwork were used so as not to
look like bars. The more I learn about this man
and the people here, the more I realize the risks
they face. Apparently, today was the end of the
government term. Some people want to see a change
in government. They want to take over, He is not
sure exactly who will be demonstrating, but he
mentioned probably some RUF. The last time there
was a demonstration, nineteen people lost their
lives. On the day of that occurrence, he was
stuck in his office. I think he said from 10 A.M.
to 4 P.M. And when the vehicle was on its way to
finally get him out--it was hijacked. He told me
it was suggested after the last demonstration
that they should move the office. Other U.N.
agencies had left the area, but their landlord
would have held them to $55,000 for the agreed
lease. They could not afford to move, and they
did not feel it was as important as all the other
things the money could be used for. He spoke
about his appreciation of the staff, who are so
dedicated, They continue to work there, even
though they know the dangers. Also, in this
country the staff cannot have family with them at
this time. An emergency situation calling more of
them to this area happened right after Christmas.
Many have not seen their families in a very long
time. Tomorrow everyone will stay
inside--everyone who can. Three people will have
to make it to the wharf because refugees are
coming again from Guinea. Buses will have to be
rented. Trucks could be targeted because of the
U.N.
I was supposed to help with registration, but I
have been asked to please stay inside. The
American Embassy is one of the targets. Nigeria,
the United States, and England supported the past
term and don't want a change. I hope I am getting
all these facts right. I am frightened. I know
everything will be fine, but I also must admit
that because I don't know anything about these
situations, I suppose anything can happen. It may
seem silly, but I think I will pack up my
backpack before I fall asleep--just in case I
wake up and have to run out. The good thing is I
am exhausted, and I think I will be able to
sleep. Also, I am supposed to have a meeting
tomorrow--a dinner with Joseph Melrose. He is the
U.S. Ambassador to Sierra Leone. I will also be
meeting with different NGOs as well. I am not
sure what will happen now. I don't really know
what is going on.
Thursday, March 1
9:30 A.M. and no news.
A man came to hook up a better radio contact.
At breakfast we didn't talk about it at all. We
shared photos and stories about our families.
10:20. It looks like it may not happen. But no
one will leave for the office for a few
hours--just in case. Maybe the fact that they
were prepared to defend themselves stopped it.
Apparently troops have been guarding different
headquarters, offices, and embassies since early
this morning. I had to go into town to pick up
money from Western Union. Nyambe picked me up in
her car so they could not see UNHCR on the work
truck. Police stopped us and checked us. We were
at Western Union fifteen minutes early, but they
would not let us in the office. They had strict
orders. Most of the staff were leaning against
the walls across the street. In the UNHCR office
we hear from men who were at the wharf that about
485 refugees arrived today. They will stay in a
transit center until tomorrow, and then they will
go up by convoy. This time they are going home.
We also hear that the demonstration will start at
3 P.M. Others say the police were already
stopping them from assembling. The other rumor is
that they will start demonstrating at the
American embassy. I have an appointment there
this afternoon. We have tried calling to confirm
my appointment with Ambassador Melrose, but we
are told we have the wrong number. It must be for
security reasons, because we checked and it is
the correct number. I did notice bullet holes in
the glass inside the embassy. At some point,
people were here to attack and they got inside,
Luckily, there are many different levels to
"inside." There was tremendously high
security at the U.S. embassy. I don't know why I
thought it would be like visiting home, My
country. It didn't feel that way at all. I was
left outside as Nyambe was interviewed and ID
checked. Then I was signaled in. They wiped down
my bag and put the swab in a computer I also had
to walk through a metal detector. Once I was
inside, everyone was very friendly. We discussed
how there were about 400 amputees in the amp that
I saw, and many more in the camps at Bo and
Kenma. Most of them are staying together, but
they have no support or funds. I was told there
are two new amputees. There had not been any at
all in the last year. It had stopped. But around
Ramadan, child about one and a half and another
about eight had received fresh wounds. Their
hands were cut off. We sat in silence for a
moment. Then the ambassador said, It is very sad.
There are always things that need to be
done." I later sat in on a meeting on how to
fix some of the convoy problems to help it run
smoother. With lack of funds they have to shift
things around. They depend on NGOs and other U.N.
agencies to help in time. They have to make
adjustments and compromises. The lives of many
people are affected by every decision, and they
all art every time something is cut back. The
number of arriving refugees is so high--400 a
day. Can we handle more? Where can we place them?
These refugees are already sharing their food
rations. They e feeling so overcrowded. They are
not welcoming new arrivals. It's not that it's
their choice, but they will fight new arrivals
for food. It sounds harsh, but it is survival.
As everyone talks, I notice their frustration and
their fight to find solutions. There is no air
conditioner so they open the windows. Everyone
now has to talk very loudly because we are on a
street with many trucks passing by. Behind me
there is a table with four photographs of the
UNHCR staff workers who were killed in the line
of duty in 2000. They look like very kind people.
Sweet faces. I had a wonderful dinner with Joseph
Melrose. Other NGO officials were also
there--most of them working for UNHCR. We talked
all night about the different countries and
situations. We also managed to be very human and
share some laughs. I don't know what I should or
should not write about. There were many different
opinions. I can write that I felt everyone in the
room was very dedicated to finding solutions. To
understand or explain the RUF, or how and when
they will be dealt with, is very difficult.
Everyone seemed in agreement that they did not
trust that the RUF had really granted "safe
passage" from Guinea to Sierra
Leone--through their territory. I had wondered
myself why the rebels would do that. To steal
supplies? To take hostages? To make human
shields? There is nothing else in it for them, so
why would they? There is no answer, There is a
lot of funding for the refugees, but the majority
is earmarked for areas where some projects are
already well supported. Some camps have more than
enough while other areas have hardly anything.
The organizations do not have the right to move
that money around. The amputees have had much
support and press. It is wonderful people cared
and stepped up with funds. But as I understand it
more now, many of the war wounded--even many of
the amputees--were not all victims tortured
directly by the rebels. I have been told that
many doctors were forced at gunpoint by the
rebels to do some of the cutting and mutilating.
If they didn't obey these brutal, inhuman orders,
the doctors and their families would be killed.
The camps for the war-wounded areas definitely
need more funding. As I sit here writing, it is
hard to believe that I will be leaving Sierra
Leone tomorrow.
Friday, March 2
I am on a plane leaving Freetown, Sierra Leone,
flying to Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire (for one night).
I don't know what I am feeling. A woman who was
traveling with her daughter thanked me for
coming. "It is nice for us to know we are
thought of." She was working with UNHCR and
had also been in Guinea. I wanted to thank her
for her strength. I wanted to thank this country
for allowing me to come here to learn as much as
I have about such an amazing place and people.
But I couldn't speak. I was afraid I might cry.
As I was leaving Sierra Leone people said,
"Please stay in touch. I hope you don't
forget about us here." It was said with
smiles-friendly. Of course I will never forget,
but many people do. There are places all over the
world that need assistance. I was even surprised
to hear of the problems in Ethiopia. I was under
the impression that the situation in that country
was better. I thought the worst was over because
years ago so many stories of worldwide relief
were in our news. Money and much awareness
regarding Ethiopia was raised, and then it all
seemed to go away. What I am reminding myself is
that these problems do not disappear just because
we do not hear about them. And in that
thought-there is so much more happening around
the world than what is communicated to us about
the top stories we do hear. We all need to look
deeper and discover for ourselves.
What is the problem?
Where is it?
How can we help solve it?
As we were getting off the plane, the pilot told
us there had been an explosion in Conakry, the
capital of Guinea.
Accident or attack?
We don't know.
Many people on the plane had just come from
Conakry. It is where the plane originally
departed from this mohad been warned that an
attack may be coming.
Suddenly, all of us who bad just been talking,
and been happy to have arrived, were now sitting
in silence. We walked out of the plane very
slowly. I am now waiting in passport control.
Many people are on their cellular phones. I don't
know what they are saying, because their
conversations are in French-but it is obvious
there is a reason for deep concern. Finally, I
was told that part of the army's ammunition depot
blew up. It doesn't sound like people were hurt.
It is hours later and I am alone. I feel sick. I
don't know if I ate bad food or if I am upset.
Even though I am in a hotel tonight, I haven't
been able to get through to home yet. I left a
message and found myself crying. I am very
worried about everything I have seen. And I
realize that if I am scared, how do these brave
women manage when they are forced to flee their
homes because of the war? Some of these women
have not seen their husbands or their children in
years. I can't stop thinking of all their
different faces. I am also remembering that young
boy with the sweet face who has severe spinal
damage. He will never walk again. I am resting in
a hotel, and he is still in the corner on that
dusty dirt floor. I never cried when I was in
Sierra Leone. With everything I saw, I never
cried. Tonight I can't seem to stop crying.
Tomorrow 1 will see new faces. Tomorrow I have to
do more. I don't want to write anymore, I feel
nauseous,
Saturday, March 3
I am on my way to Zurich, Switzerland. My next
stop is Tanzania, but I can't fly there from the
Ivory Coast so I will stay in Zurich for two
nights. There must have been five security
checkpoints. Everyone's bags were inspected with
flashlights on the tables near the runway. Our
bodies were inspected with metal detectors. I
wonder what the security worry is.
Sunday, March 4
Here in Zurich, I am staying at the Dolder
Grand Hotel on the lake. ro. Everything smells
like oranges and vanilla. There is snow on the
ground. I saw a young boy in the lobby and
thought of the dusty lit- tle African boy
carrying water on his head, sweating and trying
so hard to focus. Both innocent, cute, little
boys just in separate parts of the world, and
they will grow up so differently. What decides
where we are born and into what kind of life and
why? I can't stop sleeping. I didn't realize I
was so tired.
Monday, March 5-8:40 P.M.
Swissair Flight 292
I departed from Zurich bound for Dat es Salaam,
Tanzania.
Tuesday, March 6
Before sunrise we prepared to board the second
plane, but there was no paging system so we
weren't sure what time the plane was going to
take off. While waiting to board I was casually
making new introductions when a UNHCR worker came
rushing toward me.... "We have to run!"
The man who took our tickets gave us a scolding
for being late. I kept apologizing. I thought he
wasn't going to let us on. It was a very old
propeller plane. A flight that would normally
have taken thirty minutes took three hours. We
landed on a dirt road in the middle of the most
beautiful green land. The sun was out. Next was a
two-and-a-hali-hour drive to the headquarters
near the refugee camp. I was told to put on my
seatbelt "so you don't bounce around so
much."It is a holiday today. I am not sure
what it is for or about, but any reason to
celebrate seems like a good idea here. Some say
they don't understand why, with hardly enough
food or supplies to survive, people sell their
goods to buy impractical things, all for a
wedding or a birthday. You realize that is what
they are surviving for. They don't save up and
wait for a magical day to come when it will all
be better. They have to live each day for each
day, as we all should. We arrived not sure where
we were staying or if there was any food for us
anywhere. We went to a market. I felt bad because
I could buy food.
Notes from
My Travels,
246 pages including 16 pages of
pictures and 5 maps
POCKET BOOKS
a division of Simon and Schuster, Inc.
www.simonsays.com
ISBN: 0743470230
Angelina
Jolie will donate all her proceeds from the Simon
and Schuster book to the refugee agency
"I've
taken on the responsibility of donating at least
a third of what I earn to humanitarian aid. If
anyone thinks the way I look in photos is more
important for me than the fact a sick child has
food, they are mad". Angelina Jolie
Bookstores selling this book.
Other unofficial English excerpts can be found here and here.
Informations and
links
Pictures from an episode of "What's
going on?" with Angelina Jolie,
News, Jan 2003:
UN PLANS FAMILY TV SERIES COVERING CRITICAL
GLOBAL ISSUES
The United Nations has announced that as part
of the UN Works campaign it will co-produce a
10-part family television series to be broadcast
on the Showtime network in the United States.
Entitled "What's going on?" each
half-hour episode will examine a critical global
issue such as HIV/AIDS, conflict and child labour
by profiling the life of an individual child. The
programme will be hosted by a UN Goodwill
Ambassador.
The series begins on Sunday, 19 January 2003
with an episode on the HIV/AIDS crisis in the
Caribbean hosted by actor Danny Glover, a
Goodwill Ambassador for the UN Development
Programme (UNDP). Other shows will feature actor
Michael Douglas, a UN Messenger of Peace who will
travel to Sierra Leone to host the episode on
child soldiers, and actress Angelina Jolie, an
emissary for the UN High Commissioner for
Refugees (UNHCR), in a segment from a refugee
camp in Tanzania.
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