Sometimes the driver would get out of the car and look around before deciding to force it through the bushes away from the road to avoid areas that were too damaged. He would find the road again only to halt at another obstacle—a small river in the road, a tree that had fallen. Those used to traveling on such roads went on with lively conversations as if nothing dangerous was going on outside. When the vehicle sped closer to the bushes, a branch slapped a man who was about to bite into his bread and he lost his meal to the road. People laughed—not at the man but at the situation. Bockarie was quiet, even though the fellow sitting next to him tried to bring him into many conversations. The eyes of the children swung between Fatu and Bockarie throughout the journey, and they were met with smiles and funny faces from Bockarie. They would giggle and then hold on to the waistcloth of their mother.
At one point all the passengers had to step out so the vehicle could climb a hill on its own. While they walked behind it, doused in smoke from its dying engine, a man in a white robe with a cross dangling from his neck offered to pray for them. He went on without the passengers’ consent, and when he was done he asked for donations. Everyone refused.
“Perhaps if you had prayed for a new vehicle—and it had arrived—you would have had better luck getting contributions,” someone said.
“No, that isn’t it,” said another. “I think it’s because he wasn’t planning on sharing the money he would have made with God, whom he is asking to keep us safe. God does all the work and yet this man keeps the money. I wouldn’t go in for such a partnership, and I am very sure that God is smarter than I am.” Even the man in the white robe had to laugh at that.
* * *
When Bockarie, Fatu, and the children finally arrived in Koidu, they decided to walk to a nearby restaurant to settle down and drink some cold water before heading to Benjamin’s family home. At the entrance to Koidu stood the corpse of a United Nations tank. It had become an accepted part of the decoration at the roundabout; children even played on it, chasing one another around it, climbing inside, swinging on the machine-gun frame. Their bright faces made Bockarie and Fatu forget that they were looking at an instrument made to claim lives. Bundu and Rugiatu saw it only as a plaything and wanted to join in, but their mother’s face had an answer that made them keep their desire to themselves.
It wasn’t just the tank. Bullet-ridden buildings, still missing walls and roofs, had also been accepted as normal. It was remarkable to see what human beings could get used to. It seemed no one had tried to fix things or remove the scars of the recent past here, at least visually. The only houses in excellent condition were those of the diamond buyers and sellers. They all had signs that read
WE BUY AND SELL DIAMONDS
, and they were surrounded by iron gates, cement walls, and concertina wire. Fatu searched for clinics, hospitals, or pharmacies; she knew where a few used to be, but they might no longer exist, and these days one was better off pretending the things you once knew about were gone.
Inside the restaurant, a well-dressed black fellow and a white man were discussing business. Looking at the amount of food and drink on their table, Bockarie could tell they were well off and showy, so he eavesdropped on their conversation. A poor man with no prospects sometimes needs to live vicariously through others’ proclamations of wealth or seeming happiness to remind him he may still have some luck left in the universe besides the luck of being alive.
“This is a wretched place with beautiful things in the soil. I have spent hundreds of thousands of dollars just to set up my operations,” the white man said.
“You will make back your money in no time. Don’t worry,” the black fellow responded. “We all know that a businessman is only going to spend that kind of money, even in a ‘wretched place,’ if he knows he is going to make way more than he spends.” He laughed.
“I love this land. That’s why I spent that much money.”
“Really?”
“Of course not. But people buy that story about loving this land and wanting to invest in its development and future!” The white man toasted the black man. They drank deeply, with great satisfaction. They went back to tasting the various dishes they had in front of them.
Bockarie thought,
It is indeed part of the larger truth. This is a place with beautiful things, not only in the soil but outside as well. Yet that beauty causes the wretchedness of this place. The wretched land with beautiful things and people with indescribable strength … Has it always been like this? Will it change?
The waitress brought cold water and mango juice and they drank quietly before leaving for Benjamin’s house. Fatu and Bockarie prolonged the short walk by starting unnecessary conversations with every person they passed. It has always been difficult to bring the news of death, but it was even more so these days after the war, when some had convinced themselves that having survived the past ordeals, they might at least have some years’ pardon from death.
Alas, Fatu, her children, and Bockarie had come all this way, and no matter how much they stalled, the destination brought itself nearer to them. Finally, they saw the house, its veranda and yard animated by the activities that anticipated the arrival of evening. The men sat on wooden benches and in hammocks; the women finished their cooking, some hovering over boiling pots of food, others fanning rice or pounding something in a mortar. The younger girls were braiding one another’s hair, and some were returning from wherever the source of water was, carrying buckets on their heads. Nearby, the boys juggled a football, stopping only when they were called upon to run errands such as going to the market to buy an ingredient or chop firewood.
Benjamin’s mother was sitting against the guava tree in the yard and she was the first to see them coming. After her heart did its initial welcoming dance, she started to cry: she saw that her grandchildren were without their father. A mother has instincts on such matters.
“Why are you crying, Grandmother?” Rugiatu asked.
“If you miss Father, don’t worry, he is in that small machine that Uncle Bockarie has,” Bundu said. Their grandfather, who had left the company of his friends to greet everyone and console his wife, decided to take the children for a walk so Bockarie and Fatu could explain what had happened.
On the veranda that evening, Bockarie told Benjamin’s parents, Mr. Matturi and Sia, how wonderful their son was, how he had made it easier to cope with life’s difficulties through the humor and determination he had about everything.
“He left here after the war because most of his friends died in the diamond pits trying to make quick money. I made him leave to find a safe job somewhere else. I suggested he teach again, as that seemed a safer job,” Mr. Matturi said. “Perhaps he was right that he could have made it here in the diamond business without setting foot inside the pit. Now he is gone.” Bockarie knew then that Benjamin hadn’t told his parents about working for the mining company.
“We were hoping to leave this place and go to your part of the country,” Mr. Matturi went on. Bockarie wanted to ask why they would want to do such a thing when he was looking to leave his own hometown.
There is nothing there to improve one’s life and the things that used to make it feel like home are destroyed every day
, he wanted to say, but he kept his thoughts to himself and listened to them talk about how difficult life was and about the desperation, especially among young people who were looking for opportunities. You could see them everywhere in town, waiting in vain for something. After they had waited for so long, anything, even the devil, became an opportunity—they found themselves in holes digging diamonds, holes that collapsed on them. Mr. Matturi spoke until deep into the night, his voice becoming heavier and adding solemnity to the sigh of the darkness.
A cock had crowed around midnight and Mr. Matturi thought it was very strange. Bockarie had remembered that such a thing had happened in Imperi before things got worse.
* * *
Sleep didn’t come to Bockarie that night. His mind kept replaying Benjamin’s last breaths, which he’d heard over the phone. It felt as though it were happening again, as if Benjamin were in the room or breathing through the phone. Sometimes Bockarie picked up his phone and put it to his ear. The breathing seemed to get louder as the night aged.
Since his spirit was unable to entertain sleep, he rose early and went for a walk around town. As his body released its sluggishness, he saw young boys and men with shovels and pickaxes heading to diamond pits, hoping to find one stone that would make them rich. Some of them held their heads in their hands with a heaviness that came only from going through the night hungry over and over again while having other problems on your mind. Bockarie couldn’t take these sights anymore. He had been hoping to find something in the new morning that was pure, that hadn’t yet been bruised by the world.
He returned to see Fatu and the children around ten in the morning. Nearer to the house, he saw police trucks and policemen armed with batons and rifles. They were banging on doors and demanding that people come out and depart the area immediately.
“Let’s go, people,” the commander shouted in his megaphone.
“Quickly.”
“Off your lazy buttocks.”
Men came out shirtless and picked up their littlest children, the others trailing behind, and ran toward the center of town. Women who were already up followed their families with whatever food they could grab during the commotion. Young children were everywhere, but their faces told that they had done this a lot. It wasn’t like the panic of war, of something unknown, but nonetheless, Bockarie found it disturbing. He tried to ask what was going on, but he got surly looks.
Should I know what this is?
he thought. He ran toward the house to find Fatu and the children. The sound of a siren came through the wind and more people ran out of their homes. Bockarie saw Benjamin’s father.
“Let’s go, man. I will explain later,” Mr. Matturi said, jogging as fast as his old bones allowed him. He passed Bockarie with Sia behind him; Bockarie picked up Rugiatu and Bundu from the veranda and made sure Fatu was with them. The children were trembling with fear from the chaos; they had frozen on the veranda. Fatu wasn’t afraid, and something about her slowness showed that she didn’t care what happened to her. They ran behind the crowd.
People kept running even as they were struck by the rocks, which came with such speed that Bockarie guessed it wasn’t a human being throwing them. A boulder hit two boys and their father, hurling them into a tree, where they were left unconscious. No one was going to stop now to check on them. An explosive sound erupted and the earth trembled. All the buildings wobbled and some began to come apart, shedding corrugated tin, thatch, or bamboo roofing.
Everyone sat on mats and waited for a few hours. The explosions went on and stones were seen flying in the distance.
Someone should explain something to me
, Bockarie thought, and as though Mr. Matturi had heard him, he spoke: “This blasting happens here every day, and the times vary. So we have to be ready to run away from the blasting perimeter at any time. The sirens don’t give us enough time.”
“So you mean you are displaced every day?” Bockarie tried to understand.
“I haven’t thought about it that way, but that is correct.” He pondered something for a bit and then continued. “They say they have nets over the blasting holes to prevent the stones from flying and wounding people. But you saw for yourself what the truth is. Sometimes the police come and force us to leave our homes. You saw that, too.” He shook his head.
“The wounded people, do they go to the diamond company’s hospital? I saw a hospital on my walk this morning that looked sophisticated,” Bockarie said.
“That should be the case, shouldn’t it? But no, my son, if you are wounded or killed, that is your problem or your family’s.” Mr. Matturi sat by his wife and held her to comfort her. Their son’s death had somehow been brought up within her during the run. She hadn’t cried so much the night before, but now she saw the opportunity.
“Is Grandmother crying because of the stones flying?” Rugiatu asked.
“They can come with us back to Imperi. There are no stones flying there and Father is still there,” Bundu said. He went to his grandmother and touched her face, trying to wipe her tears with his little hands.
* * *
They returned home several hours later. Some houses had been damaged, their windows shattered by rocks, and the old tin roofs had collapsed. There was debris everywhere. The women and girls took brooms and started sweeping. The men and boys began repairing the damage, and soon people went about their lives as though nothing had happened. The youngsters who had school in the afternoon put on their uniforms and left to learn.
Bockarie had abandoned any thought of moving his family to this town. At the same time, Imperi wouldn’t do. He had to go somewhere else in the country. He decided to speak with Mr. Matturi so that Fatu and the children could come along if they wanted.
When Bockarie brought it up, Mr. Matturi agreed to speak with Fatu and said he had already made plans to move with Fatu, Sia, and his grandchildren to the capital city, Freetown. He had a cousin whose home they could stay in until they found a firm footing. Bockarie said he would speak with his wife about it.
“My cousin can help you find a place or provide you one. You are family. I hope you know that. I see the same curiosity in you that my son had in his eyes. It will be good to see you often,” Mr. Matturi said, putting his arm around Bockarie’s shoulder.
That evening they had a small ceremony for Benjamin. The pastor said a prayer and the imam recited another. People ate and spoke of Benjamin. Sia and Fatu took the children aside and found the words to tell them the truth about what had happened to their father. Bundu and Rugiatu still didn’t understand that their father was gone and never coming back.
“Why didn’t he come and say goodbye, then, before he left forever?” Rugiatu asked her mother. Her brother ran and forced himself between Bockarie’s legs, his little eyes searching for his attention. When he got it, he asked, “Uncle Bockarie, can I say goodbye to Father through that small machine?”