The Easy Day Was Yesterday (30 page)

‘Nothing. He’s a UN photographer. I gave him some film, but he didn’t give me anything.’

‘I hope that’s the truth, mate, because they will want to search the helo.’

‘No problem, they can search.’

I returned to the Major who was now inspecting the wounded. ‘Sir [I was starting to suck up], the pilot has nothing on board that he shouldn’t have, and invites you to search the helicopter if you want.’

Three RPA officers checked every compartment in the helicopter. They opened boxes and packages, which were mostly survival packages, and found nothing — thank Christ. Finally, the Major gave the pilot permission to leave, and Jon and I headed back to the CCP.

During the morning the RPA shot an IDP very close to where we were. They’d shot him in the leg and then played with him. Lieutenant Tilbrook and a couple of soldiers stood over the bloke preventing the RPA from doing any more damage, and then carried him over to the CCP. He was losing a lot of blood. He wasn’t yelling and screaming as he had been initially, but had begun to drift into a semi-conscious state. Carol and George worked on him, but the blood loss through the femoral artery was too great. We filled him up with morphine and put him behind the Unimog, which was a quiet spot. He was dead inside five minutes.

The CO and RSM arrived in the early afternoon by helo, and we arranged to AME our four worst casualties on the helicopter that had brought them in. As Jon and I waited at the helipad for the helo, the RPA Major once again turned up to inspect the casualties. I had got to know the Major quite well by this stage, but I never let my guard down. That cowboy hat made him looked relaxed, but he was a crafty, ruthless bastard. He was in control of this camp and therefore responsible for the massacre the day before and for the shit that was continuing. This time the Major went through the four patients very carefully, then pointed to one casualty, a man about 30 years old, and said that we couldn’t take him. I argued and pointed to his horrendous injuries, but it didn’t do any good. The Major explained that the man was a criminal and could only go on the trucks. I explained that the long trip on the truck would be too much for the man and that whether he went out by helo or truck he would still end up at the same place and his men could find him there. But the Major would not change his mind.

While I was arguing with the Major, a Zambian soldier handed Jon a small boy about 18 months old. He’d been shot in the backside, but there was no visible exit wound and the young boy seemed happy enough. The kid was amazing. He was playing around our feet and getting in the way as any young boy does. He was just like any other kid; only he had a bullet in his butt. What this kid was doing at the helipad I’ll never know, but it probably saved his life. Kids are so resilient. The RPA Major said to take the young boy instead of the man, which we ended up doing. The RPA Major then told me that one of his men was being brought up. He arrived shortly after on an old mattress carried by four of his colleagues. He’d been shot through the right lung and the Major insisted that I hold the helo for his man. I argued that if he wanted me to do him a favour, then he must do one for me and let the other man go as well.

‘Either my man goes or no-one goes, you decide.’

I thought it best to stop arguing. Jon and I patched him up as best we could, but he was in a bad way. A bullet had hit him in right lung and exited just below his shoulder blade taking with it a piece of his lung. The Major wanted to send another one of his soldiers on the helo to accompany his wounded man. I told the Major that it wasn’t appropriate to send an armed soldier on the AME helo (I made that up on the spot) and that the space would be required for wounded. He said his man was going and that he would unload his weapon and give the bullets and weapon to the pilot. The pilot agreed with this and the AME went ahead.

A convoy of trucks driven by soldiers from India showed up and evacuated the majority of the patients. This meant a two-hour journey (if they made good time which was unlikely) along a bumpy dirt road that was in such a poor state that constant four-wheel drive was required to get from Kibeho to Butare. It would have been incredibly painful for the patients who were sitting or lying on the bare boards of the trucks. Each truck travelled without a medic on board — we simply couldn’t afford the manpower. Given this, drips were turned down so they would last the journey, but no morphine was given because we just didn’t have the stocks. The patients would have been bouncing all over the back of the trucks — most with broken bones. The trucks took all those on board to a stadium in Butare. A C130 Hercules aircraft with a medical team on board was deployed to Butare to load up with priority one and two patients to deliver them to AUSMED in Kigali. Later, we discovered the C130 couldn’t get in and had been forced to return to Kigali.

Another helo came in to take the RSM and CO back to AUSMED and was to take a load of casualties as well. Jon and I loaded up the ambulance and drove back to the helipad, a distance of 300 metres. The CO and RSM arrived and we sat there talking for a few minutes when I was called on the radio to bring the patients back as they were now going out on the truck. I was starting to get pissed off with this. We had so many people involved in this now that we were slipping into the quagmire of bureaucracy. When I got back to the CCP, I was told that room had to be made on the helo to get the journalists out. Okay, now the fuse was getting short. Fuck the damn journos, let them get into the back of the truck. Jon and I were filthy. Later, we realised that this story needed to be told to the world as soon as possible, so it probably wasn’t a bad idea to get these leeches out of here quickly. But maybe it would have given them something additional to write about if they had travelled with the wounded in the trucks for a few hours.

Just before leaving the camp, Jon and I went to have a look at a man who was trying to hide in the Zambian long drop toilet. It is a clear indication of how bad things are when you need to drop yourself three metres down into a metre of piss and shit. He must have been petrified. I guess he thought that this was the safest place to hide.

We left the camp at around 5.00 pm and spent the night at the Bravo Company position (the same place we’d met the second CCP the night before) which was only half an hour away. It almost felt like an early knock-off. We arrived at the Bravo Company position at 5.30 pm and were allocated a room where we could spend the night. The Bravo Company Commander was a big fellow with a massive fat arse that caused him to waddle like a duck. Jon and I retrieved our packs and food from the bin above the cabin and found ourselves a spot in the room. We made some chow with the bits and pieces from the French ration packs. After that, there wasn’t much conversation happening, everyone was just happy to get some sleep.

On Monday 24 April we went back to Kibeho. Carol’s CCP was told to stay back at the Bravo Company position which understandably upset her, and George Donalec took his CCP into Kibeho. When we arrived at Kibeho, the CCP started to set up, and we saw the RPA carrying a recoilless rifle past our position in the compound. This thing was huge and was a clear indicator that we were in for an interesting day. Jon and I went to the hospital to gather some injured when we saw the recoilless rifle on its tripod pointing at one of the buildings which was said to house armed Hutu criminals. We later confirmed that there were armed Hutus in the building. We stopped and watched as RPA soldiers busied themselves siting the rifle. There were a number of UN observers at the rifle site trying to persuade the RPA to dismantle the gun. Captain McMahon was also involved in the negotiations. He told us the RPA had given us until 12.00 noon to clear the camp because they were going to fire the rifle into the building to kill all the criminals. The building was located in the courtyard and obviously the rocket would kill a lot of other people as well as destroying the building.

Jon and I moved back to the CCP. They were setting up in the same place as the day before, but I told them to pack up because they and all the vehicles were in the line of fire. I thought the Zambians should have cleared the building days ago. The buildings clearly held members of the Interahamwe militia and should have been removed. The RPA was afraid to enter the courtyard for fear of being shot and was using the recoilless rifle as a weak way of clearing the building.

Meanwhile, back at the Zambian compound, the Zambians pulled out two men who had been trying to hide in the shit pit all night. They were quite a sight. They had shit up to their ears, and toilet paper on their heads. What could Jon and I do but laugh — poor buggers.

The Zambian Company Commander wanted to sweep through and force the IDPS out with the Australians alongside to assist, but we had to get permission from AUSMED Headquarters and, because everyone wanted to be in charge, we were 10 minutes late in helping the Zambians, which was embarrassing. The infantry spread out and Lieutenant Tilbrook tasked Jon and me to watch for snipers in the buildings. The infantry started to clear the rooms where the wounded were housed. The wounded were the only ones to be evacuated because the other IDPs had been told by the Interahamwe that, if they went with the white people, they would be killed when they reached their destination, and they thought it better to die where they were. We all tried to talk them into coming with us, but to no avail. We were all bloody frustrated that we couldn’t do anything for them because we couldn’t communicate our intentions clearly. The Interahamwe had themselves a human shield of frightened-for their-lives IDPs.

At this stage about 20 reporters showed up to record what was happening. They were basically a pain in the arse. We’d be running towards the trucks with a kid slung over each shoulder and a fool photographer would step in front to slow you down so he could get his photo. We started to get aggressive towards them and, if they got in the way, we’d push, shoulder charge or kick them out of the way. In retrospect I realise the importance of their presence in reporting this so all the world would know about this barbaric massacre, but at the time we just trying to get as many kids out as quickly as we could.

‘Gun!’ Jon screamed for all to hear. A Hutu pointed an AK47 at us and he, in return, had ten weapons pointed at him. He quickly dropped his weapon and hid in the building. All the IDPs in the courtyard hit the deck screaming, which didn’t help our cause in persuading them that we were the good guys. I don’t know how the others felt, but I was tempted to shoot that bastard. I wanted someone to pay for what had happened here. I wanted to feel some revenge. These Interahamwe militants were just as responsible for the Kibeho massacre as the RPA soldiers. The militants had hacked their people with machetes and shot them with their AK47s and now ensured their protective shield remained around them. On two occasions we saw IDPs jumping down from the roof with weapons in their hands, but they weren’t being pointed at us any more. Why the fuck didn’t we just go in and kill them all? Jon and I with a couple of infantry lads could have quietly sorted this drama without too much fuss, and then gone back to the task at hand — saving lives. Fuck the UN and their rules of engagement!

The IDPs handed us a lot of children, but they wouldn’t come themselves. I suppose they thought we would spare the children a horrible white-person death. I managed to convince a group of very frightened ladies to leave the camp, and I agreed to walk with them to a waiting UN truck. As I walked them slowly through the remaining people towards the trucks, another IDP approached them and convinced them that I was taking them away to be killed. I pushed this guy away, but he was persistent, so I punched him in the side of his head. Unfortunately, this confirmed for the ladies that I wasn’t the nice guy I was trying to pretend to be. The once saved turned around and went back into the courtyard. It was so frustrating. I just stood there in despair when two children ran to me, held my hands, and I walked them out to the Red Cross trucks. This gave me some hope in what seemed to be a hopeless situation. Others were standing around and listening to someone read from the Bible, or they were reading the Bible themselves. The only possession most IDPs still retained was an old Bible. Their faith was incredible, but then again what else did they have but some hope there might be a better life after their imminent death? How could this be? What greater being would ever allow people to be treated this badly? This was beyond inhuman and I can’t find a word to depict such indiscriminate, sadistic horror. Where was God in all this? I’ve seen thousands of people executed, butchered, mutilated and all said, ‘Please God, don’t.’ But God never intervened.

At some stage before the deadline, I got a bottle of water and jumped into the back of the truck that held the IDPs who wanted to leave the camp. I passed the water around and nearly caused a riot. I had to get violent with some of the adults so the children could have a drink first. These people had not been given water for two days and had been drinking from water collected in tarps or off the ground. For food, some still had a little grain; others were digging non-digested corn from shit lying all over the place. They washed the corn in the muddy water on the ground and re-ate it. That’s hunger! That’s how desperate these souls were. I found more water and they drank their fill.

I took a group of infantry and we went to the hospital to see if any IDPs had gone there. We found two very pregnant women, some children and two injured men — one of whom could not walk. We found an old stretcher and the infantry stretchered the man out. I got the women walking and, even though they were having a lot of trouble, they made it out. The other injured man had been lying down for so long he had trouble getting up. I didn’t have the manpower to carry him, so I indicated that he had to walk. He pleaded with me with his eyes and hand gestures, but I just shrugged and we walked away. As I walked out the door, I turned and saw the old guy struggle to get to his feet and begin shuffling after us. He saw me looking on and smiled, so we waited until he caught up with us and together we all made our way to the trucks.