26 AUGUST 1994

On our return to Goma, the Dutch MOVCON advised there was a US tent left in the vacated compound - a deserted volcanic gravel clearing surrounded by barbed wire.  The lone tent was all that was left of what had once been a busy, noisy US army camp.  A few French soldiers were curiously inspecting the "oppositions" tent.

Afraid they may claim it, I quickly ran over and asked them in an appalling attempt at French, ' Bonjour messeurs.  Francais no bein.  Palez vous petit Englais?'

'Oui. Petit.' a soldier shrugged modestly.

'Is it possible for me to take this tent for the sick children in Kibumba?' I asked smiling my most appealing smile.

"Oui!' they all replied, and before I knew it, they had dismantled and packed the tent for me.

'Golf Oscar Four, this Golf Hotel Gaynor.  Please could you meet me at the airport entrance.  I have something for you.'

I walk over to the entrance and wait.  With the US Army now gone and only a few French soldiers left, the airport looks dejected and almost abandoned.  The minutes tick by.  A non-descript car passes me and drives into the airport grounds.  It is full of  heavily armed Zairian soldiers.  Next minute the car erupts and they are out and running, spreading out, chasing a teenager.  They catch up with him, kick his legs out from under him and start beating him as he cowes on the tarmac, those knotted rope belts they are so fond of using, flaying in with force.  A boot to the head finishes the teenager off.  The French Army look on.  I look on.  We want to stop them, but I guess we are afraid.  The French because it would cause a political incident that might explode if the two armed forces clashed.  Me, because....I was just afraid. A French soldier looks at me from across the road.  'I'm sorry' he seems to say.  So a I.  This savage, lawless land has a way of making you feel impotent.

Diesel arrives at five p.m.  We fuel up in readiness for tomorrow, our mission into Rwanda with the water tankers a 'Go'.  Joe Flannigan, the sergeant in charge of the convoy, lets me drive a tanker around the airport.  Sixteen gears and half gears later, he decides I would make the perfect passenger.

Dinner at GOAL is delicious as always.  A second Orphanage/ Child Care Centre is to be set up in Kibumba.  If I was available, would I like to help?  Sure.  There was nothing for me to do at the airport that wasn't already been done by others, but I wanted to go to Kigali first.

It is now forty one hours since I last slept.  Want to go to sleep early tonight, but it is not to be.  Back at the UNHCR compound:

'CARE AUSTRALIA is under attack!   A crowd of stone throwers have surrounded the house,' the voice crackles over the radio.  'It's dark outside.  We cannot see exactly how many there are.  We also think shots were fired.'

UNHCR is in a quandary.  No-one knows what to do.  Felippo Grandi, the Team Leader, wants everyone to stay where they were.  Jasper and Stein (the second housekeeper and first housekeeper ex-Norwegian policeman) want to go to the aid of CARE AUSTRALIA, but Felippo will have none of it.  The minutes tick by as we  listen on the radios to the strained Australian voice keeping us updated.  Eventually we can't take the inactivity any longer.

'I would like to think that if we were under attack, especially at night, someone would come to our rescue.'  declares Jasper, keeping his voice even.  Six of us follow him out the door.

'No, no, no!' said Felippo.  'You stay here.  I am responsible for you.  My radio officer and I will investigate.  Stay in the compound.' and with that, he drives out the gates.
We don't agree.  Safety in numbers seems a far smarter option.  We could not let them go alone.  No sooner has their car disappeared up the road, then did we all pile into the Toyoata Landcruisers and follow.  The convoy winds its' way through the silent streets of Goma.  At last we are on the move, doing something.  Twenty minutes have passed since the emergency call first went out .  We hope we are not too late.  We pass Felippo's car, parked on the side of the road.  He is radioing the Governor for assistance, but getting nowhere.  He joins our convoy taking the lead.  He sets a slow pace.  All of forty minutes passes before we reach the CARE AUSTRALIA house.  The cars split up, parking defencively, engines running.  No-one is in sight.

The Israeli's who have been monitoring the radio traffic throughout and offering assistance, again offer to send troops.
'If you like, we can bring some equipment to clear the area.  We can be there in 15 minutes,' offers the female soldier's voice.

'It appears unnecessary for the moment, but thank you,' declines Felippo.

Albert, in charge of UNHCR security, finally arrives.  We search the area in our cars, headlights probing the night.  Whoever has been making trouble was long gone and so, after assuring CARE AUSTRALIA that we would keep monitoring the radio, we return to base.  Not many people here like the Israeli's due to their deadly efficient approach to security in Lebanon.  However, everyone agrees that should the "shit hit the fan", the heavily fortified Israeli field  hospital is the first place they will go.  The "humanitarians" may not like their methods, but they would trust their lives to the hard core Israeli's.

Two days without sleep.  When sleep finally arrives, it  iwas broken and crowded with dreams and nightmares.