Rwanda/Zaire - August 1994 - Chapter 6 - Primus and Coke

“Isn't the volcano beautiful tonight”, said a familiar voice. I was sitting on the back step of the kitchen at UNHCR House One. The sky above the volcano glowed red. Turning, I saw the camouflage uniform of a US soldier. “Hello Tom. What brings you here?” I smiled. “Jim's car is in for a service, so I dropped him off.” He eased himself down beside me. “And how did it go in the camps today?” “Oh, you know. The usual.” I paused, trying to think of something I could say. “We finished erecting the tents”, I said triumphantly. “The Orphanage now has eight hundred children and it's only been a week.” “That's a lot of kids.” “Yeah. And they keep coming”, I said ruefully, “one thousand is our limit. After that I don't know where they will go.” I looked up at the stars. The sky sparkled. “No-one knows the exact figure, but it is estimated that there are over forty thousand orphans.” Tom let out a low whistle. “We only take in the six years olds and younger, unless they are siblings of course. We try not to split up what little family there is left. Even then it is estimated that we will soon be looking after about ten thousand children.” “What about the kids over six?” he asked, peering into my eyes. I could not hold his gaze and looked away. “They are considered adults. They have to look after themselves.” A cloud hung over the volcano. The red glow expanded, reflecting off the cloud. “Can I get you a beer?” I asked, changing the subject, “I am afraid we only have Primus, the local brew.” “Sure.” I returned with a Primus and coke. “What happened in town?” I enquired. “Not good”, he said, taking a long swig of beer. “The civilians nailed the soldier they had been dragging around to a cross. They stuck him in the center of the round-about.” “The soldiers were really pissed. Came in guns blazing. Ten people killed, all locals. Most of them shot in the back. It was pretty hairy.” “The US Army didn’t stop it?” I asked, incredulous. “Nope. It was a Zairian affair. No Expats involved. To intervene would be considered an act of war.” Holding his beer in both hands, Tom looked up into the sky. “There was nothing we could do”, he said softly. “I'm sorry. It could not have been easy.” “Hey, TIA - This Is Africa”, he said brusquely, brushing it off. “Well, what does the American Army do when it's not directing traffic?” I smiled changing the subject once again. “We secure the airport. Whether it is against the Rwandan refugees or the Zairian army is debatable. There is the water purification plant down by the lake and the water tankers we drive up to the camps.” “I saw a bulldozer near Kibumba today. What was it doing there?” I asked. “We have a few digging access roads for the water tankers and Aid vehicles. Others dig mass graves. That's one of the things that get to the guys. Most of them would like to help more, but US policy won't allow it. Something about not wanting to expose us to psychological damage – I tell you, it's tough seeing a woman load decomposing bodies and you can't help. We are not even supposed to be anywhere near them.” “That's Jane. She is the only woman I know on body detail.” “Yeah well personally I wouldn't want to be in her head in a few weeks time”, he mused. “How are you coping?” He looked directly into my eyes again. I shifted uncomfortably. Tom had a very disconcerting way of looking right through a person. “Oh, I'm fine. The Orphanage is like a cocoon. Very safe and protective … considering what's outside its’ walls. That is why I'm taking a little field trip tomorrow.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “Since I got here, I've only seen Goma and Kibumba. Guy, one of the UNHCR Field Officers, has offered to drive me to Kahindo where they are building a new camp.” Tom nodded. “Our guys are bulldozing the roads there. Having a rough time of it too, by all accounts. The lava is so hard they are already behind schedule and they have only been on the job a week.” “Well enjoy your ‘field trip’”, he said getting up. “I must be off. Take care and thanks for the beer.” “My pleasure. Good-bye Tom.” I watched him climb into his jeep and gun the engine. The Zairian guard scurried over to the gate, opening it just in time. With a wave, he disappeared into the dark streets of Goma.

Last Updated ( Thursday, 19 July 2007 )

 

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