T's Story

While waiting nearly 2 hours at the airport for news of my lost bag, I had the opportunity to talk to one of the Liberians who works with CBW and was helping me locate my bags. While we waited, he filled the time by telling me the story of who he ended up at the camp.

T was working as a nurse in the emergency room at a hospital in Monrovia before the start of the war. One day a dying man was brought in by his hysterical brother who told T that he would hold him personally responsible if his brother were to die. Despite T's efforts, his patient died later that night and upon hearing this the brother attacked T. Fortunately, the hospital authorities intervened explaining that this death was not T's fault. The brother remained unconvinced but left. One year later Charles Taylor's rebels reached Monrovia and the hospital and T was met again by the brother - this time a leader in the rebel group - who recognized T and promptly told him that he would now definitely die. The rebels beat T mercilessly and threw him in the back of their truck as they left the city. Lying in the back of the truck, my new friend was sure he was going to die. But the truck stopped at a checkpoint of West African peace keeping soldiers who questioned the rebels as to what they were doing with T, who was now covered in his own blood. The rebels attempted to convince the officers that T was an enemy, but T was still wearing his hospital badge, and this made the soldiers suspicious. An argument ensued, but in the end the soldiers prevailed. T was thrown from the truck and told "god has saved you today, but you may not be so lucky tomorrow"

T left the next day and has never returned to Monrovia. He found his way to Ghana and this camp and later learned that his house was burned the day after he left. The rest of his family is still in Liberia, but he fears returning. With all this he considers himself lucky.

His story sounds so unbelievable. For those of us living in a safe world it is the stuff of movies. But I imagine that every adult in this camp has a story equally tragic and harrowing. In the end, their lives somehow go on, and that is what I see. I'm not particularly religious, but I think the churches here (there are an incredible number of them) aid tremendously in this healing. Every morning I wake to hear a preacher say through a loudspeaker, "we are thankful to god to be alive in this new day." Oftentimes, those who tell me their sad stories end with, "...but I know with god's help I will fulfill my dreams." It may at first seem simple-minded or naive, but I think this faith provides people with comfort and a sense of order where otherwise the world would seem unreasonably chaotic and cruel.

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note- I changed T's name and some details to protect his identity.