ST. KOLLIE TOWN (SKT) was the gateway to the central Liberian town of Gbarnga, the headquarters of the rebel movement. Here, barely four hours since their vehicle left the outskirts of Mount Barclay, deep inside rebel territory, James Zonn and his companion, along with other Liberians, were stopped. It was around two in the afternoon, and there seemed to be a flurry of activities going on here.
WHOEVER SAID ‘seeing is believing’ had it right, James Zonn considered since his present predicament was in the hands of his own countrymen. It was a situation that the young Gio found distasteful but acceptable. Who would have thought that while a Krahn Good Samaritan overlooked the misdirected vengeance against his so-called enemies and sacrificed to set him free, fellow tribesmen would do just the opposite. Now thrown in a windowless shack wedged on the grasslands of Mount Barclay, he saw his chances dwindling, and his sense of hope growing dimmer.
At that moment the wife looked up at him again. He smiled at her as before. She did not return the smile but sat in shocked silence, as if he had just told her to go and dig her own grave because she was about to be shot. Gbassy remembered that during the quarrel she had been the most vociferous; that if she had not been there the husband probably would have paid for the chicken and the row would have ended altogether. But she had cussed him, hurled a bucketful of water in his face, grabbed him by the collar and slapped him.
FOOTSTEPS ECHOED behind James Zonn, and he felt his legs weakening, and protesting their movements. It was too early to face another danger, he knew that well. The steps were crunching behind him, and at one point he wanted to run. But why would he run?
He was no criminal, just someone who had been freed from bondage.