A Man from Another Land: How Finding My Roots Changed My Life (19 page)

There was a wall of white powder mixed in with the smoke. I couldn’t really make out what it was. I released another long
burst from the fire extinguisher directly at it until I saw the flames had completely died out. Suddenly the white powder
and smoke began to move! It started advancing toward me, grabbing desperately at my legs. I tried to focus wondering if I
was now on fire. I blinked a few times trying to clear my eyes. I realized there were hands pulling at my legs! I stepped
back and realized what was holding the glass door open, it was a man covered completely from head to toe in white. He was
trying to pull himself upright. He looked like someone who had been frozen
in a blizzard, completely snow white. The only other color I could see was the dark brown of his eyes.

“Oh my God!” I thought. “He must have been on the balcony trying to fight the fire too!” Apparently he had become overwhelmed
by the smoke and dropped to the balcony floor, trying to crawl out. That’s why I could not close the glass door. He was trying
to crawl back into the room!

He ran by me in horror. I walked back out onto the balcony and assessed the damage. Dr. Kamara was very, very lucky. He was
the only African who owned a hotel in Sierra Leone at that time. The only thing damaged from the fire in his hotel was the
air conditioner itself.

I walked out of the room and looked for Guy. He was standing fifty feet away from the door, holding his camera.

“Hey!” I said. “Did you get that on film?”

He walked over and replied, “No, it was too much smoke, I couldn’t see anything.”

“Yeah, right!” I said, and walked past him, back to the restaurant to finish my lunch. Then a very familiar face appeared.
Award-winning actor Jeffrey Wright had walked in. Jeffrey is an example of someone who has taken the initiative to make an
immediate impact on global problems. After seeing
Cry Freetown (2000)
, a documentary film depicting the victims of civil war in Sierra Leone, Wright was inspired to learn more about issues in
Africa. He took his first trip to Sierra Leone in 2001 and, since then, has made twelve visits to the country, concentrating
on sustainable development. I was shocked to see him standing there. “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

“Isaiah.” Jeffrey smiled. “It’s Sierra Leone, the whole country knows that you are here.”

“Yes, but how did you know where to find me?”

“Isaiah, I can find anyone here,” he replied. “You need any security?”

“No, I’m good. I have a special agent and the U.S. embassy watching my back.”

“Well, if you need anything, just let me know. I am very well connected here.”

“That’s good to know, you hungry? You want something to eat?”

“No, I was just stopping by to say hello. I’ve got some business meetings to attend. Be safe out there.”

“I think I’m okay, brother, be well.”

And with that Jeffrey turned around and walked out of the restaurant.

After lunch, we traveled to the Bo School. The school has a national reputation for graduating the best and the brightest
students in Sierra Leone. We handed out a few pairs of NIKE sneakers and dropped off seven soccer balls, nearly causing a
riot. Two hundred Bo School boys went crazy, all trying to get a ball. The school’s headmaster was able to calm them down,
but I was a little embarrassed. I wished we had more to give them.

I explained to them who I was, why I was there, and why I was so proud to know them. One boy, who couldn’t have been more
than twelve years old but stood at about five foot ten, asked me if I could bring a basketball the next time I came. Some
of the other boys snickered at his request. I promised him that I would personally bring him a basketball when I returned.
He smiled and ran away.

I signed some autographs. Then we piled back into the SUVs and drove away. I will never forget the sight of all of those brilliant
young men, all dressed in white shirts and white pants, smiling. Raymond seemed to be very proud to witness our meet and greet
at the school. He said that being there brought back memories of when he attended Bo School as a young boy.

*     *     *

Mohamed Kamara was our driver for the day. He was an extremely quiet and resourceful young man with strong ties to his mother
and brothers. He was taken by the rebels during the war but managed to escape, hiding in the jungles to survive. He worked
very hard as a guide and driver for tourists to provide money for his younger brother’s education.

Later, when it was time to build the school in Njala Kendema, I made him project manager. After watching how diligently he
worked, I began to bond with him, knowing that I could trust him implicitly.

I took the opportunity to walk over to a kiosk and buy myself some homemade “cigarettes” before we headed off, through some
pretty rugged terrain, to our next destination, the Majestic Mining Company at the Sewa River. As we drove, Raymond talked
in great detail about how important diamonds were to the economy of Sierra Leone as well as most of Africa.

A few minutes later, I found myself hanging off the hood of one of the Land Rovers with a camera. I had relieved Guy of his
camera duties, deciding to take matters into my own hands to get the shots I needed. I thought some high-speed “action shots”
would spice up my documentary.

Sonya insisted that Mohamed stop the truck. She got out and proceeded to tersely remind me of my three children and wife at
home. I reluctantly got off the hood and slipped into a “heart of darkness.” I wondered if this was what Francis Ford Coppola
meant when he talked about what he went through psychologically when he filmed the classic
Apocalypse Now.
Then I wondered what in the hell was in those cigarettes.

Mohamed continued to maneuver the very winding and demanding roads through tall, lush green grass. The grassy walls that had
accompanied us for miles began to widen and eventu
ally disappeared. I could see a clearing up ahead that grew larger and larger, finally revealing the most expansive and cavernous
land mass I had ever seen. It looked much like the Grand Canyon, except these chasms were manmade.

Upon our arrival, Mr. Joe Demby, of Aureol Investments, introduced himself and proudly gave me the tour of the Majestic Mining
Company. It was here that I saw up close and personal how the diamond business worked.

I couldn’t help but think back to what I had read about how much the conflict over diamonds had cost Sierra Leone. The country
suffered horrifically, both socially and economically, under the reign of the terrorizing RUF, the civil war, and the fight
over diamond control. Economically, the country was cheated out of millions of dollars by illegal diamond trafficking. But
the social effects were equally devastating. From 1991 to 2001 the civil war had claimed more than seventy-five thousand lives
and turned a half million Sierra Leoneans into refugees, not to mention the millions who stayed but were displaced from their
homes.

As part of the tour, Mr. Demby showed me huge barrels of oil that were used for disciplinary purposes. He explained that if
a worker was suspected of or caught swallowing diamonds to smuggle off-site, the oil was poured down the suspect’s throat.
The diamonds were retrieved once they exited the worker’s body either through vomiting or the more “southerly orifice.” The
practice seemed so barbaric to me I couldn’t manage to comment.

I was amazed by everything I saw at Majestic Mining. The raw diamonds sifted straight out the “sluice box,” huge holes dug
into the ground. Yellow earth movers with Caterpillar in big black letters stenciled on the side just kept digging, digging,
digging.

W
e were on our way to Kono as darkness fell. For hours we followed behind our guide, Thani, who resembled the football player
Terrell Owens, on his motorcycle. The fatigue, heat, culture shock, sangria, and local cigarettes were all taking their toll
on my psyche. Michael, Raymond, and I played a CD by the R&B group P-Square over and over again. Our air conditioner had blown
out and it was too hot to keep the windows up. I applied Vicks VapoRub to my neck and arms to protect me from mosquitoes that
were particularly vicious at night. I listened to music, breathed in the eucalyptus of the Vicks, and stared at the tiny red
brake light on the back of Thani’s motorcycle peeping in the night ahead of us. The tiny light seemed to float, suspended
in midair. Up and down, up and down, up and down, we rode along the endless bumpy road into the ominous pitch-black darkness.

This was not the place or time to become stranded on the road. For the first time since arriving in Sierra Leone, Raymond
drove in complete silence.

He had solemnly explained that this area was the battleground for much of the heavy fighting during the war. I could feel
the spirits of dead people wandering around the densely wooded areas surrounding us, those who had been tortured and murdered
in the civil war. It was as if you could reach out and touch the malice that ran rampant and unchecked for eleven years. Evil
was in the air.

Thani’s brake light suddenly glowed even brighter and was getting larger and larger. I realized he had stopped in the middle
of the road. As we drove closer, I could see that Thani was talking to a tall, thin man. When I looked just past him, it became
clear why he had stopped. A huge cargo truck was overturned and lying in the middle of the road, blocking our path. Two other
men sat very quietly off to the side of the road by a small fire. They didn’t look very happy about our sudden arrival.

I asked Raymond to find out if they needed any help getting the truck right side up. I took out my flashlight and shone it
on the vehicle, illuminating three huge chains wrapped around the truck’s chassis that branched off in different directions
into the dark weeds. Someone from a high point alongside the road had already been trying to upright the truck.

“You think we can use our Land Rovers to help get this thing back on its wheels?” I asked Raymond. He assessed the situation
while the two men sat completely still, carefully watching us. Suddenly it dawned on me, the truck had been vandalized. The
doors, windshield, cargo, and seats were all gone.

I looked at the two men. They looked away and put their heads down. I could see the edge of a jack handle one of the men had
under his leg. Help was the last thing these guys wanted. They wanted us to turn off our lights and leave them the hell alone
so they could get back to the business of picking the truck apart. This truck would be nothing but a skeleton of itself before
sunrise.

I decided to prolong the thieves’ discomfort for a little longer. “Breton,” I shouted, “get over here! You are an architect!”
Breton sheepishly walked over, probably thinking I’d lost my mind. I looked up on the hill directly above us and spotted six
to ten villagers lurking in the tall, dense grass. I had no idea if they were watching out of curiosity, or if they were sizing
us up as potential robbery victims. I saw Raymond notice the “guests” skulking up above us too. He strongly suggested that
we mount up and leave.

But I stubbornly said, “No, no, nooo. We are here to
help.
Let’s help these good men!” Everyone looked at me as if I was crazy. Breton and I investigated all the possible angles and
places we could hook chains to get the proper leverage to upright the truck. I didn’t let anyone in on my private joke on
the thieves; I acted as if I was quite serious about helping them.

“Isaiah! Come on, man,” I heard Adisa say. “Let’s get out of here, brother. This shit doesn’t feel right.”

I glanced over at him and realized he wasn’t wearing his sound gear. Adisa
never
takes his gear off. I looked back up the hill and could now see more villagers had arrived, taking in the scene. I decided
not to push our luck any further.

“Okay, kids,” I said, “mount up!” We piled back into the SUV and drove behind Thani up onto the very hill where the villagers
were watching. We found a new path to take and drove slowly through the high grass until we cleared the wreckage. Raymond
navigated the Dodge Ram back onto the road and we continued on, driving into the darkness.

When we finally arrived in Kono, there was a youth organization waiting to greet us. The kids were holding up a huge banner
with my name on it. Raymond said, “They have been out here waiting for us since twelve noon.” It was after midnight.

The team assembled in the hotel restaurant and the youth organizers began to lay out their concerns and needs. I listened,
took notes on their requests, and told them I would do what I could do. This was just my first trip to Sierra Leone, I had
been here but a few days, and already I had pledged to help finance the construction of a much needed school in the village
of Njala Kendema and a CGI of the Slave Castle at Bunce Island, and taken on the Herculean task of raising the world’s awareness
of the serious problems plaguing Sierra Leone, and helping to return the country to its former greatness. I quickly remembered
and understood the advice Eric Nonacs shared during our meeting at the Clinton Foundation. He told me to make sure that I
did not promise anything that I could not deliver.

The meeting adjourned and the youth organization left. It was close to 2:00 a.m. I wasn’t tired, so I stayed in the restaurant
area and asked for a mango to eat. Dr. Panossian was wired too, so he joined me, as did Thani, who also worked for a diamond
company in the area. He was supposed to be in Kono to enforce the Kimberley Process, which, according to its Web site, is
a “joint government, industry and civil society initiative to stem the flow of conflict diamonds—rough diamonds used by rebel
movements to finance wars against legitimate governments.”
⁷

To my surprise, he reached over and tried to hand me some gold dust and raw diamonds to smuggle back to America for him. He
wanted me to sell them and purchase a computer and another motorcycle for him. He said the motorcycle he had was always breaking
down. When I declined his offer, Thani looked at me as if I was crazy.