I took my last view of the huge town, shook hands with some of the people around me, turned around, never to look back. Ahead of me were the same man and woman who had taken me to the town. We walked a few kilometres and reached the river, I mean, the River of Death. Just before I could step into the canoe, someone came running and shouting, “Paul, Paul, Paul, please take this to Ta-you-kpan-fleh.”

That was strange, wasn’t it? I don’t know of anyone by the name of “Ta-you-kpan-fleh.” The only thing that I know about this word is that it is a Bassa word that refers to a kind of small mushrooms, which usually grow on palm trees. I reasoned they wanted to tricked me, and let me stay in their place, which I was neither ready for, nor willing to do. I reminded my self of the old man’s words that life is worth having, even if living is not good.

I acted as if my eardrums had exploded and I could not hear anything. As mentioned supra, I reasoned the gods and the ancestors were trying to trick me just to make me die by force, when I had not even died when they took me across the River of Death.

I stepped into the canoe and sat with my legs crooked, like a run-away child seeking comfort at night. I closed my eyes, as the man paddled the canoe. I didn’t open them until we were on the other side of the river. In the twinkling of an eye, I jumped out of the canoe, bid them farewell, without looking at them, and stood on the bank from where they had earlier picked me up.

I left the river bank, walked and passed a cotton tree standing nearby, and saw one of the students I taught at the Haywood Mission School in Monrovia. As soon as he recognized me, he shouted my initial with a kind of syllabicated tone, “P-Y-H,” as they usually called me. Just as I was about to say, “What’s up, Moses Washington?” my stationary phone rang. It was only then that I realized I had only been having a dream.

As soon as I got up, I wrote the story, whose last part is this current article, and kept it on my computer. But as I wrote, I thought about what would happen, if what has happened to Charles Taylor were to happen to the other Liberian warlords. Besides, I also questioned myself whether it was possible at all for what has happened to Taylor to also happen to the other warlords.

As I was thinking about all this, my mind went to what my maternal Grandfather once said, when he was asked by my nephew about making all the warlords stand trial. Actually, it happened that we had just come from church on a Sunday afternoon, eaten some war-time food and decided to walk on the beach, behind the Catholic Hospital in Monrovia. In Sunday school that day, my nephew had just recited the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, which he had been practicing for days before.

As we walked a few meters and picked up a few shells, here and there, my nephew posed a question to Grandpa: “Grandpa, why is almost everyone thinking that it would be a very good thing to take all the warlords to court?”

“Because of what is written in Genesis Chapter One.” Grandpa quickly responded. “Because of what is written in Genesis Chapter One? What is written there?” My brother asked. Without allowing my nephew’s confusion to subside, Grandpa began to recite what is written in his Genesis Chapter One. And this is how he went …

“In the beginning the warlords created hardships and death for the Liberian nation state and people."

“And the civilians were unarmed and afraid. Fear covered the whole country, and the rebels moved upon the entire land, burning villages, farms, religious institutions, cultural sites, etc., in addition to the acts of massacre, genocide and disembowelment of pregnant women."

“Then the warlords said let there be more factions, and it was so. The warlords saw that the creation of new factions was incredibly beneficial to their plans. And they cunningly separated each faction from the other by long, incongruous civilized better-sounding names. And there was more suffering the year before and the year after."

“And the warlords said let’s have borderlines that will separate one faction’s territory from that of the other, and it was so. So the warlords created borders to divide their territories. They called the borders buffer zones. And there was more suffering the year before and the year after."

“And the warlords said let there be areas called war zones, in addition to the buffer zones, and it was so. And they said let the areas called buffer zones be used for mutual interactions among the factions, as well as for illegal business transactions among the various factions, at the expense of the suffering majority, and it was so. And there was more suffering the year before and the year after."

“And the warlords said let each faction use the areas called war zones as the registered regions for uncontrolled looting, killings and all sorts of wicked acts, and it was so. And there was more suffering the year before and the year after."

“Then the warlords said let each faction produce more killing groups such as Small Boy Unit, Cobra Unit, Marines, Bare-balance Cutlass Unit, Death Squat, Wild Geese, etc., which will act according to their own rules and wishes, and it was so. And the warlords saw that it was beneficial to their plans. And there was more suffering the year before and the year after. “ And the warlords said let there be … ”

At this point, my nephew could no longer swallow it. He shouted, “Stop that, Grandpa, that’s completely different from what we learned in our Sunday school class.”

“I see. So you are used to only one version of Genesis Chapter One?” He asked my nephew. I laughed and ran behind a crab that was ahead of us.

Allow me to rest my pen for the next article.

Paul Yeenie Harry is a Liberian; he writes from Poland.

Photos Above: Charles Taylor at Freetown airport enroute to the Netherlands